The integration of the Ice Godhood propelled Hebe directly into the First-tier lower rank. Beyond the massive surge in divine power, the advancement triggered a subtle yet profound transformation in her physical appearance.
Previously, under the lingering influence of the office of Youth, Hebe had maintained the appearance of a somewhat budding, adolescent girl. Now, having reached the first tier and merged with the essence of frost, she seemed to break free from the shackles of eternal girlhood. Her stature increased noticeably, her silhouette becoming lithe and curvaceous.
The last traces of childishness vanished from her face, like green fruit ripening overnight. Her features, once as delicate as a fleur-de-lis, became radiantly striking. Her violet eyes took on a deeper, cooler quality, shimmering with a profound, wintry depth.
If the former Hebe felt like a flower bud—innocent and frail—the current Hebe was undoubtedly powerful, confident, and possessed a razor-sharp edge of martial resolve. She was like a vibrant rhododendron: breathtakingly beautiful, yet undeniably dangerous.
Ares looked at the transformed Hebe, a flash of astonishment in his eyes. He had always known his sister's features were exquisite—inheriting the best of their father and mother—but her previously "young" appearance hadn't quite fit the mature aesthetic preferred by the Olympians. Seeing her now, stripped of that youthful softness, he found her truly stunning.
He had every reason to believe that if this version of Hebe were seen by the lecherous male gods of Olympus, they would swarm her like hounds scenting a marrow bone.
Unacceptable. Ares's hands suddenly felt a bit restless. I really should find some time to sharpen my axe.
"Congratulations, Sister. Now, Artemis is no longer your match."
Ares was confident. The gap between divine tiers was not something easily bridged. He certainly didn't believe that Leto—who was so destitute she had to rely on her sister Asteria (the personified Isle of Delos) just to give birth—could have left Artemis any treasures capable of overcoming such a disparity.
Hera, too, was surprised by the ease with which Hebe had subdued the godhood. Watching her daughter, she felt a surge of maternal pride, but also a twinge of loss. It was the bittersweet realization that her child was becoming someone who could stand on her own, slowly drifting out from under her protective wing.
"Very good. First-tier lower rank," Hera noted. "But a mere promotion in power is not enough. Over the next month, you must immerse yourself in the laws within that godhood. It shall be your greatest weapon."
Merging with a godhood did not mean mastering it; it only granted the right to touch the law. One had to meditate and comprehend it to weave divine arts and use the power with true finesse.
"I understand, Mother."
Hebe felt the changes in her body and was thrilled. After being a "fake loli" for centuries, she had finally outgrown the restrictions of her office. While this new beauty might invite unwanted attention from male gods, she was no pushover. If they dared to try anything, she'd let them taste the bite of Absolute Zero.
"Go now," Hera said, glancing toward the mortal realm. Her all-seeing eyes pierced the clouds, spotting the grim-faced Zeus leaving Lemnos. "Your father will be back shortly. There are some... scenes that are best if you do not witness."
"Mother, are you sure you'll be alright?"
Even knowing Hera's resilience, Hebe was worried. Zeus had shown her mother "favor" over the eons, but his constant betrayals—even at the risk of fracturing Hera's godhood—were a testament to his selfishness. In a state of rage, who knew what he might do? After all, Hera had orchestrated the entire play that forced him to bow.
"Do not worry," Hera's face flashed with a flicker of disdain and regal pride. "No matter how angry he gets, he cannot touch me."
Perhaps she had spent too long as a pampered Queen, leading others to forget that during the Titanomachy, this goddess was a war machine who had carved a path of terror from the south of the mountain to the north, leaving countless Titans trembling. She wasn't Metis, who possessed only a clever head and was ultimately swallowed to serve as a internal advisor. If Zeus wanted to move against Hera, he had to weigh the cost.
Ares felt as though he were in a different dimension than his mother and sister. He understood every word they said, yet the subtext left him utterly baffled. The straightforward God of War decided that "riddlers" were his least favorite type of person.
Since Hera had insisted, Hebe and Ares returned to their respective temples. Following Zeus's return, thunder and storms raged within the Great Hall for a long time, but nothing else of note occurred. Hephaestus, the God of Fire, was officially welcomed back to Olympus as a newly instated Major God.
In the midst of these events, however, a monumental shift occurred within the ocean. A singular, extraordinary goddess was born.
Legend tells of the ancient eons when the first King of Gods was Uranus, the God of Sky and Stars. He had emerged from the fingertips of the primordial Gaia, Mother Earth, and ruled over the heavens. He was both Gaia's son and her husband. In those beginning days, the sky and earth were so entwined that the stars almost touched the soil.
Their union produced twelve Titans—six sons and six daughters—with Uranus ruling as their leader. Unfortunately, the Sky Father was not a benevolent king. Despite his godhood representing hope and the future, his personality was as volatile and cruel as the shifting stars. His tyranny oppressed all life, including his own mother-wife. Uranus bound Gaia's later children—the Hecatoncheires (Hundred-handed Ones) and the Cyclopes—within her womb, preventing their birth.
Incensed, Gaia commanded her Titan children to rise against their father. But the Titans had lived in the shadow of Uranus's oppression for too long; they lacked the courage to face the risk of total annihilation. Only Gaia's youngest son, Cronus, the God of Space, stood up.
"Mother, I will try," he had said.
As students of divine history know, Cronus succeeded. Under Gaia's guidance, he ambushed Uranus during his union with the Earth. Using a stone sickle provided by his mother, he severed the First King's symbol of patriarchy. Uranus's scream of agony echoed through the cosmos as he tore away from Gaia, ascending uncontrollably to the highest reaches of the universe, where he was pinned for eternity.
Cronus took the throne as the Second King. As for the severed flesh of Uranus, it was cast far away into the Aegean Sea.
The flesh of a god never loses its vitality unless the god truly perishes. This fragment of the First King's essence incubated in the depths of the Aegean for eons, eventually giving birth to the most famous goddess in myth.
On this day, the sky over the Aegean remained clear, yet the sea was a churning mass of undercurrents. Brilliance erupted from the waves, and countless bubbles surged from the depths. Those that remained whole transformed into shimmering pearls; those that burst became nameless, pure white blossoms. A heavy, intoxicating fragrance swept across the ocean—the scent of the Rose, the goddess's sacred flower and symbol of love and desire.
A pillar of light shot into the heavens, announcing to the world the birth of a deity with the power of a Major God. The sudden phenomenon drew the eyes of all deities.
The foam churned, revealing iridescent pearls and blooming roses. Pods of dolphins gathered to escort a massive white shell as it rose to the surface. The shell glowed softly and slowly opened, and a goddess of peerless beauty stepped forth.
Sss!
The gods watching from the shadows let out a collective gasp.
She had thick, voluminous golden hair that cascaded over her proud figure like flowing seaweed, shimmering with an alluring luster. Beneath the gold was a face from a dream, with emerald eyes that seemed forever filled with an intoxicating, lingering passion. Her skin glowed like fine white porcelain in the sun, and her physique was flawlessly proportioned—perfectly healthy, neither too lithe nor too full.
Around her waist was a magnificent, ornate golden belt—the Cestus. Its radiant divine glow left no doubt that it was a powerful artifact.
Every god is a masterpiece of creation, possessing unique beauty—Hera's regal elegance, Athena's intellectual strength, Artemis's spirited purity, and Hebe's refined grace. But before this new goddess, their beauty seemed to be veiled in mist.
She was the collection of all things beautiful—the incarnation of desire born from the essence of Father Sky. This was the Goddess of Love and Beauty, who would later navigate the hearts of Hebe's brothers and the most powerful gods of the mountain: Aphrodite.
The goddesses watched her with instinctive jealousy and hostility. The male gods watched her with unabashed lust, their minds already weaving a hundred scandalous fantasies.
The Aegean Sea itself seemed softened by her presence, gently pushing her shell toward the shore with its waves. The moment she stepped onto land, Mother Gaia showed her favor. A warm spring breeze ruffled her hair, and roses bloomed wherever she stepped.
The Horae (Goddesses of the Seasons) had already arrived, following Gaia's decree. With smiles, they crowned the newborn goddess with a shimmering golden diadem and draped her in vibrant, elegant robes, making her even more enchanting.
"Goddess of Love and Beauty, noble Lady Aphrodite. By the decree of Mother Gaia, you are a born Major God and shall dwell upon Mount Olympus. Please, follow me."
The Horae guided Aphrodite to a chariot drawn by doves, and they took flight toward the divine peak.
Aphrodite's arrival was welcomed by many on the mountain; these beauty-obsessed deities were instantly conquered by her dreamlike charm.
"Aphrodite, Goddess of Love and Beauty, greets the King and Queen." Even her etiquette was flawless, every movement imbued with an indescribable grace.
"Mm. Aphrodite, the Earth Mother has decreed that you shall be the ninth Major God of Olympus, Mistress of Love and Desire."
Zeus's eyes betrayed his lecherous greed, but he maintained a veneer of kingly dignity, appearing both majestic and welcoming. To an outsider, he might have looked like a true gentleman—had they not known his reputation.
Hera sat beside him, sipping from a golden chalice, a cold light crossing her eyes.
"Aglaia, Euphrosyne, and Thalia!" Zeus boomed.
"Noble King."
"From this day forth, you shall serve as Aphrodite's attendants, assisting her in the governance of love in the world."
Three exquisite goddesses stepped forward. They were the Charites (The Graces), daughters of Zeus and his third wife, the Oceanid Eurynome. Representing Splendor, Mirth, and Good Cheer, they were known as the "vase goddesses" of Olympus—high in status but lacking in raw power. By assigning his own daughters as her attendants, Zeus was offering Aphrodite the highest of honors.
"My thanks, King of Gods."
Aphrodite's smile was like honey. Her soul-stirring glance nearly caused Zeus to lose his composure. Truly, if her magic were used correctly, this goddess was a weapon of mass destruction.
After all, lust is a blade that strikes at the head...