**Hera stopped wearing the heavy golden robes.**
It wasn't a deliberate decision. One day, she simply looked at the long, gleaming garments and told her handmaiden:
"Not this one. Bring the lighter one."
And the next day, she chose the simple one again.
The other goddesses noticed, of course. They whispered in the halls:
"She's not wearing the golden armor."
"She's not wearing a crown."
"Not even earrings."
"She's going to receive the Egyptian gods in plain linen?"
And Hera did, in fact, receive the Egyptian gods dressed in linen.
She stood tall, as always, with the silent servant two steps behind. She didn't smile. She wasn't gracious. She simply listened, replied, and dismissed them.
Then she returned to the garden without drawing attention.
It wasn't that she was trying to be discreet. She just no longer saw the point of adorning herself for visitors.
---
**The Hall of Justice in Olympus had always been her domain.**
Hera enjoyed settling disputes. She liked order, hierarchy. She commanded silence, punishment, division.
But that day, upon seeing two minor gods bickering over a broken lightning bolt, she simply asked:
"Who used the bolt last?"
"The Lord of Delphi."
"Then the next one fixes it."
They fell silent. It was a... simple decision. Direct. Without symbolic weight, without lengthy explanations.
Hera returned to her seat, turned to the servant waiting by the wall, and said:
"We don't need rituals for such small things."
He didn't answer. As always.
But his simplicity had already begun to seep into her decisions.
---
**Once, Hera would never eat fruit with her hands.**
It was tradition. They always came in goblets, in ornate displays.
One day, she picked an apple straight from the tree and ate it then and there.
Alone.
And she was surprised to realize that no one had died for it.
The heavens didn't fall. Olympus didn't quake.
It was just... an apple.
---
**She also began walking barefoot at times.**
Across marble, through the gardens.
Over stones.
Not like a mortal seeking connection to the earth. But like someone who had grown tired of the loud sound of her own sandals.
The servant walked silently. And in time, Hera began to imitate him.
Not out of admiration. Not out of attachment. But because the sound of her own footsteps suddenly bothered her—and she couldn't say since when.
---
**Zeus watched her more than before.**
He didn't say anything. But he looked. Every time she walked through the hall wearing light dresses and no jewelry, he frowned.
"You seem smaller like that."
Hera didn't look at him when she replied:
"I'm the same size. I'm just not shouting."
He distanced himself after that. As if unsure what to do with a wife who didn't shout, didn't demand, didn't ask.
---
**One day, Hermes dropped a vase of rare orchids in the corridor. It shattered completely.**
Hera saw it.
He shrank back, expecting punishment.
But she simply said:
"Watch your step."
And walked on.
---
**Other gods began visiting the terrace where Hera used to isolate herself with the servant.**
First timidly. Then more frequently.
They didn't speak much. They just sat, looking at the sky. Sometimes with fruit in hand. Sometimes in silence.
Hera didn't send them away.
Nor did she invite them.
She simply let them stay.
She didn't know why she did it.
She just knew that... **it didn't bother her.**
---
**Once, Aphrodite brought a flower from another world. It glowed like cold fire. She set it on the table before Hera.**
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Hera looked at it. Then turned to the servant. She removed the dried flower he wore and placed the new one instead.
Aphrodite watched, surprised.
"You usually choose simpler flowers."
"Today I didn't see a reason to."
"Because I brought it?"
"No. Because it was within reach."
Aphrodite smiled, almost teasing.
"You're becoming more practical."
"I don't practice. I do."
---
**A few days later, Athena commented to Artemis:**
"Hera's different. But I can't say how."
"Maybe she's grown tired of us."
"I don't think that's it. It's like she discovered there's another path—and just hasn't told anyone."
"She seems... lighter."
"Yes. But not happy."
From a distance, they looked at the terrace. Hera stood there, watching the horizon. The servant nearby, as always, still.
---
**Hera walked past an old statue of herself in the main hall. She stopped, stared at it for a few seconds.**
It was her, larger than life: adorned in jewels, a tall crown, severe eyes.
She tilted her head slightly.
"I was very loud."
The servant beside her didn't move.
She kept walking.
---
**The handmaidens stopped tiptoeing around her.**
The gods began speaking in softer tones when Hera was near.
Even Zeus's thunder lessened in volume when she entered.
Not because she commanded it.
But because something in her no longer called for conflict.
Hera never noticed. Never commented.
But the silent servant's presence had begun to spread like a thin mist through her choices—and through her, across Olympus.
No grand gestures.
No miracles.
No hearts pounding.
Just... a silence that was catching.
And Hera, without realizing it, **was no longer the same as before**—though she remained **entirely herself**.