Once the transaction with Apollo was finalized, Hebe readily handed over the Delphic Oracle and integrated the two new Godhoods into her core.
Afterward, Hebe claimed the carcass of Python. To Apollo, the dead monster was a useless, space-consuming heap; he assumed Hebe intended to present it to Hera for her macabre collection and thought nothing of it. With their respective goals achieved, Apollo set about establishing his new Temple of Light at Delphi, seeking to spread his faith and solidify his standing as the God of Light and Prophecy.
As for Night's Veil, it was Artemis who personally delivered it to Hebe's temple. The goddess still harbored a deep grudge over her previous defeat, handing over the artifact with a face so sour it could curdle milk. Having secured what she needed, Hebe didn't bother to entertain Artemis's petty mood games and promptly dismissed her. Hebe was far too busy for such trifles.
If she truly had any ambition, Hebe thought, she ought to follow her brother's example and prepare for the seizure of the Sun's sovereignty, rather than spending her days hunting for sport in the woods.
Within the Temple of Life, Hebe channeled her divine power. The unparalleled creativity of the Life Law surged forth, and within moments, a duplicate goddess—an exact image of herself—stood by her side. This was a temporary decoy created through the Life Godhood. "She" sat with closed eyes and a peaceful expression, as if in a deep slumber. Her aura was identical to Hebe's; even Helios's Eye of the Sun would struggle to distinguish this "Hebe" from the original.
Hebe had already instructed her Nymph servants that her exertion in the battle against Python had been immense, and she would require a deep sleep within the hall to recover her strength, forbidding any interruptions. Clothed in Night's Veil, the darkness of the starless night erased her form and masked her presence.
The golden-haired goddess, veiled in shadow, traveled far to the west until she reached the Valley of Cocytus at the world's edge. In that dark, narrow chasm flanked by towering obsidian cliffs, a vast field of narcissus flowers grew at the base. These were the sacred blossoms of the King of the Underworld; to touch them was to reach the realm of the dead.
Hebe looked upon the flowers and invoked the Pale Terror derived from her Ice Godhood. A thread of death-oriented divine power flowed from her jade-like fingertips into the narcissus. The flowers emitted an eerie glow, and in a flash of shifting scenery, Hebe stood silently within the Underworld.
Before her lay a dark, seemingly boundless river—the Acheron, the first river at the entrance to the Underworld. All who wished to enter the realm of the dead had to cross its waters. Yet the river possessed no buoyancy; even a god, without the aid of the ferryman, would be stripped of their power and sink into eternal oblivion should they fall in.
Hebe discarded her veil. The Pale Terror and the Plague Godhood shimmered as she enveloped herself in their power. Her golden hair shifted to a dense, ink-like black, and her magnificent violet eyes were stained with a crimson hue. Her exquisite features became bewitchingly malevolent, radiating a cold, demonic allure. Even if she encountered an Olympian now, no one would ever associate this figure with the Goddess of Life.
After a brief wait by the shore, a rowing figure emerged from the mist. He had bluish-gray skin and held a long pole, his eyes burning with ghostly blue fire. This was Charon, the Ferryman of the Dead.
"Crossing?" Charon asked, his spectral eyes tracking the unfamiliar goddess. Sensing the divine energy, he judged her to be a deity of the Underworld.
Hebe offered no words, merely nodding as she handed Charon a gold coin condensed from the power of plague and death. Charon weighed the coin, grunted with satisfaction, and gestured for her to board. With a push of his pole, the boat glided toward the far shore of the Acheron.
Stepping formally into the Underworld, Hebe found the realm as the legends described: a place of perpetual darkness where nothing grew—a stark, incomparable contrast to the vibrant peaks of Olympus. She donned Night's Veil once more and sped toward a corner of the Underworld's border, near the prison of the fallen gods—Tartarus.
She dared not draw too close. Tartarus was guarded by the Cyclopes, and Hebe could not guarantee her actions would remain undetected if she approached the gates. She merely required a wisp of the Abyssal aura to forge a legitimate identity for the avatar she was about to create.
Hebe withdrew a Seed of All Things she had secretly kept from the creation of humanity. Her fingers traced a divine rune, stripping away the essence of Gaia within it. Without the Earth Mother's power, the shimmering seed became a mundane vessel.
Next, she released the compressed carcass of Python. Channeling her Life power, she refined the remains into the purest Abyssal energy. Hebe's fingers blurred as the Life Law wove together, forcing the two clashing forces to merge. The gold-green radiance of the Earth and the violet-dark glow of Tartarus fused under her direction. As time ticked by and her divine power drained away, she summoned the Scepter of Life to replenish her strength.
After hours of catalysis, the two forces transformed into a purple-gold divine egg.
Done! Hebe forced out a drop of divine blood to mark the egg with her seal. She closed her eyes, and her dense, tempered spirit leaped forth.
"Split!"
With an inexorable command, an invisible blade of spirit slashed through her soul, carving away exactly half. The agony of the soul-rending strike turned Hebe ghastly pale. She guided the severed half of her spirit into the divine egg. Simultaneously, she drew the Death Godhood (evolved from Ice) and the Plague Godhood (extorted from Apollo) and sent them into the egg.
The Godhoods, shimmering with pale and purplish-black light, integrated into the vessel. The egg flared with light as a sleeping deity slowly took shape within.
A smile touched Hebe's lips as she looked upon the dark-haired, winged god slumbering inside. This was her "Half-Self"—a deity of entirely opposite nature. Born of the House of the Dead, he was Pagos, the God of Death who would harvest lives with plague and frost.
The gods of Olympus could rack their brains for eons and still never link these two deities together.
Hebe leaned down and tenderly touched the egg before burying it deep within the soil of the Underworld, surrounding it with layer upon layer of protective barriers. Her Half-Self had only just been conceived; it would require time to gestate before breaking the shell. Until then, she had to ensure its safety.
The seeds had been sown. Hebe departed the Underworld, returning to the surface to wait for the future.
Time, to the gods, was as grains of sand slipping through the fingers—decades passed in a blur.
One day, within the Palace of Helios, the Sun God, the halls of gold and precious gems hummed with heat. The ivory eaves and silver gates, carved with the legends of the mortal world, shimmered under the solar glare.
Phaethon stepped into the palace. He saw his father, the Great Helios, radiating an intense heat and brilliance as he sat upon a throne of emeralds, clad in bronze robes. Clustered around him were three graceful goddesses: Eunomia, Dike, and Eirene—the Horae of Spring, Summer, and Autumn. They watched Helios with gazes of adoration.
"Phaethon, my dear child, what wind blows you here?" Phaethon was Helios's most cherished son, and even the stern Sun God softened his visage at his arrival.
Phaethon appeared morose, his delicate features—inherited from his mother, the Oceanid Clymene—clouded with gloom.
"Noble Father," Phaethon began. "The gods mock me. They insult my mother, Clymene. They say my father is not you, but some nameless mortal man."
Clymene was a well-known figure among the Greek deities. On one hand, she was the mother of the brilliant Prometheus; on the other, she was known for her many dalliances. Aside from the four sons she bore her husband, Iapetus, her illegitimate children in the world were countless.
Phaethon was the result of a tryst between Clymene and Helios. Yet, perhaps because fire and water do not easily mix, Phaethon possessed a divine body but had manifested no Godhood. This, combined with his refined, mother-like beauty, made it difficult for others to associate him with the rugged, masculine Helios.
"Insolent!" The insult to his son incensed Helios. His solar radiance flared, nearly scorching the air, before he hurriedly reigned it in to avoid harming Phaethon.
He embraced his son and whispered, "My child, you are undoubtedly the son of Helios. I shall never deny you, regardless of the place. To dispel your doubts, ask of me a gift. I swear by the River Styx to fulfill your heart's desire!"
"Truly, Great Father?" Phaethon's eyes widened. He gripped Helios's muscular arm and spoke immediately. "Then satisfy my greatest dream: let me spend one day alone driving your winged Golden Sun Chariot!"
Phaethon's gaze was filled with infinite yearning. He had watched his father patrol the heavens countless times; that majesty was his life's aspiration. He wanted to hold the reins, to show those who mocked him that he was the true Son of the Sun!
Helios froze. Horror replaced his surprise, and his face twisted with immediate regret.
"This... Phaethon, this wish..." A powerful sense of dread washed over Helios. He wanted to refuse, but his oath had already been recorded by the Styx. A vow sworn upon that river was immutable.
"Phaethon, you must understand: driving the Sun Chariot is no simple task. Those divine horses are wild and untamable, and the path is treacherous and steep. At the highest point of the sky, even I feel dizzy. You must exert every ounce of strength to maintain the course. How can you hope to master them?"
"Ask for another gift, my lovely son! While there is still time, I will give you anything else!" Helios was suffering the consequences of his own loose tongue, desperately trying to persuade Phaethon to change his mind.
But Helios underestimated the obsession in Phaethon's heart. Desire had grown like a wildfire, turning into a manic fixation.
"No, Father! I must drive the chariot. I will fly to the highest peak of the heavens and show them all that I, Phaethon, am the true Son of the Sun!"
Once I prove this, no one will dare call me a talentless bastard again!
"..." Helios realized the depth of his son's stubbornness and felt a flicker of annoyance. Fine. Let him drive it. Once he suffers a bit of a fright, he'll learn his lesson. Surely nothing cataclysmic will happen.
Dismissing his unease, Helios commanded the Horae to lead out the chariot. The goddesses led the fire-breathing steeds from their luxurious stalls and busily fitted them with ornate bridles. Since Phaethon lacked a Godhood, Helios applied a sacred unguent to his skin to protect him from the flames. He handed the reins to his son and sighed.
"Phaethon, remember: only maintain the balance. Do not use the whip. Let the horses run their course. Do not fly too high, or you will scorch the firmament."
Blinded by excitement, Phaethon barely heard the warnings. He gripped the reins, nodded to his worried father, and set off. The flaming steeds neighed, their hot breath sparking in the air. Their hooves struck the sky, and the journey began.
The horses quickly realized that the master of the reins was not their lord. Their nostrils flared with heat and flame, and a rebellious light danced in their eyes. As the steeds of the Sun, they acknowledged only the Sun God. They began to bolt, and the chariot lurched and swayed like an empty vessel, careening wildly through the air.
Phaethon felt the world tilting. He was seized by a paralyzing terror, losing all sense of direction. He didn't know which way to pull and could not control the galloping beasts. When he chanced a look downward and saw the boundless earth stretching beneath him, his knees shook with fright. He tried to call the horses by name, but he didn't know them. In his panic, he saw the strange, demonic shapes of the constellations in the night sky, appearing like monsters in the dark.
It was as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over him; his excitement vanished. With a gasp, he involuntarily let go of the reins.
It was over.
The Sun Chariot was utterly out of control. The horses neighed in triumph and abandoned the path, running aimlessly through the heavens. They veered high, nearly touching the fixed stars, then plunged toward the lower atmosphere. They scorched the clouds until the sky hissed with white smoke.
The earth suffered under the relentless heat. The soil cracked; all moisture evaporated. Sparks flew from the fields; the grasslands withered, and the forests ignited. The fire spread to the vast plains. Crops were incinerated, and fertile land turned to desert. Countless cities were wreathed in smoke as the countrysides were reduced to ash, their inhabitants scorched.
Hills and woods became pillars of flame. Rivers boiled and surged backward toward their sources until they ran dry. The seas shriveled, and what were once lakes became parched earth. More terrifying still, as the chariot brushed against the firmament, the stars themselves were scorched by the solar fire and began to fall from the sky, trailing long tails of flame as they struck the earth.
Phaethon felt the world dissolve into a wave of heat. The flames licked at him, the sacred unguent evaporating from his skin. The tongues of fire began to taste his hair...
"No! Stop! Please, stop!!" The son who wanted to prove himself to the world finally faced the price of his arrogance.
"PHAETHON!"
A thunderous roar of rage echoed from the horizon. Dark clouds gathered instantly, and a bolt of blinding white lightning tore through the sky, striking Phaethon. He was thrown from the luxurious chariot, falling like a ball of living fire, spinning toward the earth below.
Within the Temple of Life, the golden-haired goddess snapped her violet eyes open. With a flash of light, she vanished from her sanctuary...