Chapter 93
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 93
Chapter Title: Human Memories and Longings
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Truly beautiful.
Watching the young god play with his eyes closed beneath the moonlight, Hera thought.
As the queen of Olympus, she could always enjoy Hebe's wine accompanied by Apollo's lyre whenever she desired.
Yet standing here with her feet on this rugged grass and rock, sharing quiet conversation and music with this young yet aged child from foreign lands—it seemed to seep deeper into her heart.
Apollo's playing always sang of joy and glory, but Dianes's notes were serene and tranquil, the complete opposite.
Apollo's lyre brimmed with vibrancy and delight, aspiration and splendor.
But the child born of night played always of regret and longing, worn sorrow, tempering the writhing resentment lurking beyond.
The melody wailed in anguish amid the notes, yet the face of the one playing it remained undisturbed, perfectly still.
Hera inwardly sighed. Better, even, than those so-called gods rampant across Olympus.
'A child Ares would adore.'
If two lions met in the same territory, they would fight over it. But if a lion and a bear crossed paths on a mountain, they could coexist well enough.
The result might be similar, but the shades within differed.
Ares was a lion brimming with youthful vigor; this child, a bear wandering silently.
They had met at the right time, their temperaments aligned, so it made sense that thunder-headed son of hers was hounding Hebe to give the boy something.
Even on Olympus, where that fiery temper made more flee than welcome him upon sight, Ares remained Hera's sore thumb.
Aware of it himself, he always wandered beyond Olympus, tending carefully to his own women out of pity for his mother, who wept alone over his father's philandering.
That her such son had found a good friend was Hera's sole comfort these days.
But even so, had she come merely as a mother to visit this young god?
No, not at all.
The child of the ancient Night Mother, come after so long.
If Zeus wielded absolute influence over the gods as head of the Twelve Olympians,
Hera stood in direct opposition—as the bridge to the now-retreated elder gods and Protogenoi, even to Gaia and the Uranus kin who cursed Zeus.
The god of sleep Hypnos, her priest; pitiful Argus, born of the earth and slain by Hermes; the golden apple tree gifted by Gaia and its guardian Ladon; the wandering isle Calypso, gift from her adoptive parents Okeanos and Tethys, and more.
Long ago, as priestess to the Protogenoi and disciple of the Night Mother, she had offered sacrifices to gods who received no worship.
The authority and faith promised to her surpassed any god save Zeus, and the giants and divine beasts she commanded were revered as the goddess's devoted servants.
How could she not yearn for that radiant past?
Though now she was a self from a past without singers, this beautiful gift from the Night Mother soothed her longing for that brilliant era and the goddess's heart with its melody.
Thus, as both reward to her young priest and a test of his composure, she had revived her old charms and openly seduced him.
Yet the young god had paid the highest tribute to Hera the woman with one hand, and shown praise and respect to Hera the goddess with the other.
Zeus's endless infidelities throughout her long marriage had brought her not just rage, but despair as well.
The despair and doubt of whether her beauty, her feminine allure, had faded.
That this child—who might have received even greater faith than Zeus—blushed at her every gesture and smile was endearing, and it reignited her confidence.
'Unlike the purely innocent gods, he's bold too.'
And not only had he endured her seduction, but he'd even thrown impish jests to hold his ground.
Praising her beauty and allure, while honoring her divine deeds and majesty.
'...This is enough. I can entrust it to him.'
-𝅘𝅥𝅮𝆕~
As the performance ended—even the constellations stitching the night sky seemed to writhe in rapt attention—Hera snapped from her reverie with one firm resolve.
A grand resolve that might shake the entire world.
'I've endured long enough, Zeus.'
Not as queen of the gods, nor guardian of the hearth.
As the ancient priestess, goddess of magic and mystery, she would unleash one final storm upon Greece.
Through her young priest, no less.
For his final trial, Hera spoke once more.
"You fear no gods, do you?"
As the music faded, the young god meticulously tuned each string of his instrument and replied in even tones.
"As I said, I hail from lands several times vaster than all Greece combined.
Even the followers of mighty, exalted Zeus dare not call them foes for the sheer number of gods, devotees, and subordinates I command."
"Mountains crumbled at my gesture, great rivers blocking my path dried up. Day and night bowed to my wisdom and knowledge, forcing sun and moon to trade places."
He was such a being, one whose power and authority could match yours. The child stated it plainly to the queen of the gods.
Had it been baseless arrogance, Hera would have chastised him severely. Mere ravings of madness, and she would have pitied him into some lowly beast.
But those black eyes simply voiced the plain fact, neither more nor less.
"I've witnessed countless knights and calamities, fought life-or-death battles against those beyond human realms.
I've crossed lines myself in pursuit of power. And so I reached that point."
"What place?"
"A place where I can claim to have touched divine realms in mortal flesh."
Of course, seeing true gods now, there's still far to go, he added with a wry smile.
Dianes smiled bitterly.
"Fear you? No. For shaking the earth, shattering mountains, reaching across a thousand li or defying fate—such hands are not yours alone."
"Then why so quiet?
How can you dwell so peacefully in human flesh, doing only what you can?
Do you not miss Olympus's throne, the seat all men and gods revered, the hand that touched the heavens?"
"....."
To that question, the little god smiled faintly, his eyes gleaming mysteriously as he gently stroked his now-cased instrument.
"Because you were one child's dream."
"...What?"
Caressing the case nostalgically with distant eyes, the child smiled.
Like stars twinkling fleetingly, like a human life burning fiercely yet pitifully fading.
A smile so beautiful, so ephemeral, warm yet sorrowful.
"You were the memories of a child clutching his blanket under the moonlight.
The inspiration that visited when that child grew busy, urging dreams.
The longing of one human life—fierce yet serene, fleetingly extinguished."
Slowly stroking the case with a smile, the child gazed into it intently before shutting the lid with finality.
"That's why I could breathe quietly in this land of myths, embracing those memories, that inspiration and longing. A brief respite with long-lost peace and reminiscence as companions."
No smile lingered on his face now.
That beautiful visage mirroring the Night Mother was coldly mask-like, those eyes deep and dark as the abyss's edge.
They held only the bright moon in the sky.
Hera shuddered, half-fearing the moon might be swallowed by those eyes.
"With such memories and longings, I respect you. I yearn for you, love you, hold you dear—and still savor my humanity."
He shook his head slowly, a pathetic sneer on his lips.
"But fear? Fear is not mine.
It belongs to those who raise blades and schemes against me. Not me.
The world may fear me, but I have no reason to fear anything."
A declaration mad and arrogant.
Yet the face uttering it held no arrogance, no provocation, not even anger or challenge.
"So if those foolish memories become blades aimed at me in the end... painful as it is, I'll sever them, shatter them to pieces. So no one can ever point a sword at me again."
Once more, that Night Mother-like beautiful face bloomed with a radiant smile.
A cold, mad smile as cruel as Tartarus devouring Titans.
Precisely the smile befitting the divine artifact Hera envisioned.
"Pfft... Puhahaha!! Nyx preserve us! Hahaha!!"
Hera laughed heartily for the first time in ages.
Since marrying Zeus, had there ever been such joy and delight? Forgetting decorum and dignity, she laughed freely from the heart.
Her teacher, her friend, her goddess had sent the long-resentful queen of gods a gift so precious and beautiful.