Hebe's rapid ascent to the First-tier Peak sent shockwaves through the divine assembly once more.
Not long ago, what was this goddess's rank? A mere bottom-rung third-tier deity. How long had it taken her to climb to the first tier? Barely a century. And now, after only another brief interval, she had reached the very pinnacle of the first tier, standing but a single step away from the rank of a Major God.
Such "involution" was enough to make the other gods question their own existence. Most deities present felt a deep sense of powerlessness. Some even began to reflect—had they truly been too lax in their divine duties? No, absolutely not! Lady Hebe must be cheating! Yes... she's definitely cheating.
"My child, noble and kind Hebe, you have worked hard for the sake of the mortal realm."
Hera, who had just been frostily rebuking the three Horae, instantly transformed into a doting, gentle mother the moment her eyes fell upon her favorite daughter—the one who had brought her nothing but pride for centuries. Her speed in switching temperaments was a feat that left the assembly speechless.
"Defending the glory of the gods is my duty, Great Mother." Hebe offered her respects to Zeus and Hera before casting a glance at the three Horae. A cold smile touched her lips, which were as vibrant as rose petals. "Do the Ladies have any objections to the birth of Winter?"
"..."
The sheer pressure of a First-tier Peak aura made these three goddesses—who had lived in pampered "greenhouses" since their birth—struggle to breathe. Among them, Dike, the mistress of Summer, was the most impulsive. She stepped forward and spoke plainly:
"Noble daughter of Hera, Lady Hebe. We three are the Horae adjutant to the Sun God. By the recognition of the laws, the sovereignty over the seasons has belonged to us since ancient times. You have unilaterally tampered with the order and added this 'Winter,' causing our divine power to decline. Do you not owe us an explanation?"
"An explanation?" Hebe's violet eyes flared with a frigid light. "My Ladies, you are daughters of my Father and adjutants of the Sun Temple, yet you allowed the Sun God to commit a catastrophic error. Had the gods not reacted in time, the New Humanity and their fledgling faith would have been annihilated! It is thanks to Winter that humanity survived. The Great King Zeus has yet to summon you for judgment, and you dare come here to demand an account?"
Hebe's voice grew sharper. "If the Ladies are dissatisfied and believe the emergence of Winter is an unjust conspiracy, then in the name of the Goddess of Life, let Themis—the wielder of Justice and Law—raise her golden sword! Let her judge if the creation of Winter was a misguided act of arrogance that must be corrected!"
Justice is omnipresent. Even though the Goddess of Justice, Themis, now dwelled deep within the Underworld, she could still hear Hebe's invocation.
Deep within the dark reaches of the House of Hades, a blindfolded goddess sat upon her throne, clad in white robes and a golden crown. She held a scale in her left hand and a sword in her right, leaning against the fasces. After a moment of silence, she let out a long sigh. Her golden sword of justice shimmered, and her stern, impartial voice resonated across the entirety of Mount Olympus:
"In the name of the Goddess of Justice: The emergence of Winter is not an error."
"Mother!" Eunomia, mistress of Spring, shrieked in desperation. "But Hebe's actions caused our power to fall! Is she not responsible? How is that justice!?"
"You are mistaken, My Lady," Hebe said, shaking her head. "The root cause of your decline is not Winter. You focus only on your Season Godhoods being diluted, yet you fail to see that your Justice-aspect Godhoods—Order, Justice, and Peace—have been stained by filth?"
Hebe's words turned the sisters' faces ashen. They immediately inspected their inner essences and found that their once-flawless Godhoods were indeed peppered with dark, mottled stains. They swayed, nearly fainting. This was a backlash—the world's retribution for their failure to restrain Helios.
The three sisters were silenced, consumed by grief as they pondered how to restore the radiance of their tarnished Godhoods.
Seeing Hebe dismantle the Horae's arguments with a few sentences, Hera's eyes filled with pride. The White-armed Goddess turned to her husband, openly maneuvering for her daughter's benefit.
"Zeus, Hebe now holds the Winter Godhood and has received the Crown of Winter from the laws of the world. Therefore, the four seasons require a leader. Spring's bloom, Summer's lushness, and Autumn's harvest all consume the world's essence. Only in Winter, under the snow, do all things sleep so the world may recuperate. I believe Winter should be the head of the seasons, with Hebe commanding the three goddesses to govern the cycle."
Zeus considered Hera's words and found them logical. "What say the gods?"
"Mother is correct," Ares was the first to shout his support. "Hebe is the most suitable to lead the seasons. I agree!"
"I also agree," the honest blacksmith Hephaestus added.
"Agreed." "I concur."
Most of the gods saw no reason to oppose the motion; it didn't infringe on their interests, and it allowed them to stay in Hera's good graces. With a majority in favor, Zeus raised his Thunderbolt Scepter.
"In the name of the King of Gods, I acknowledge Hebe, the Winter Goddess, as the Sovereign of the Seasons. I command the three Horae to serve as her adjutants in the governance of the cycle."
The King's decree invoked the law. The three sisters felt invisible shackles settle upon them, compelling an instinctive sense of submission toward Hebe. The Crown of Winter upon Hebe's head erupted with divine light. From the ice-wrought crown, a brown vine sprouted, adorned with green leaves, flowers, and fruit—the world had formally acknowledged her as the Master of the Four Seasons.
Hebe was thrilled. Though she had inherited three somewhat dim-witted "hangers-on," the status of Sovereign of the Seasons offered her immense strategic leverage. She knelt on one knee amidst the envious gazes of the assembly, her expression full of gratitude.
"My thanks to the Great King. May the glory of the gods be with you."
"Rise, my lovely daughter." Zeus was highly satisfied with her obedience. He found himself liking her more and more—who wouldn't want a powerful, yet submissive child?
"Now," Zeus's handsome face returned to a stern mask, "there is another matter. Has Helios been brought forth?"
This was the core of the meeting: the judgment of Helios for his negligence.
"Great King, Helios has arrived, but he remains in a coma and cannot be awakened," Apollo said, walking into the hall. Behind him, several Nymphs carried the unconscious Sun God on a stretcher.
"Have you found the cause of his slumber?" Zeus asked.
Before Apollo could answer, a commotion erupted outside.
"Let us in!" "You cannot do this to our brother! He is the Sun God!"
Two beautiful goddesses burst into the hall. One wore a saffron gown shimmering with rosy light (Eos, Goddess of the Dawn), and the other wore a long robe and a lunar crown (Selene, Goddess of the Full Moon).
"Ladies, please remain calm," Hermes said, blocking them with his Caduceus. "Even if the King does not judge him, we must find a way to wake him, must we not?"
"Spare us your platitudes!" Eos snapped. As part of the solar line, she had always held a superior status because the world required light. Her arrogance was such that she sometimes failed to show Zeus proper respect.
"Eos!" Selene pulled her sister back, shaking her head. She knew they had to stabilize Helios first if they hoped to preserve his throne. "Great King, forgive our intrusion. Our concern for our brother made us lose our composure."
Selene's moon-crown and elegant, ethereal beauty radiated an air of apology. Many male gods felt a surge of pity for her. Even Zeus felt his interest piqued as his gaze swept over her lovely face, and his annoyance at Eos softened.
"Apollo, see to Helios," Zeus commanded. While he enjoyed the company of beautiful goddesses, consolidating power was his priority. Selene was beautiful, but her political position was too sensitive.
Apollo stepped forward, pressing a hand to Helios's broad chest. Divine Light enveloped the fallen god. Apollo's eyes flashed with his All-seeing Eye as he investigated.
Selene's expression flickered with a momentary twist of bitterness as she watched the solar light radiating from Apollo. She knew Helios's throne was likely lost today. Therefore, I must ensure my own Lunar authority is not taken, she thought, glancing at Artemis.
Apollo's gaze pierced through to Helios's Godhood. Such an intrusion was usually a grave taboo, but Helios was a criminal and unconscious. Apollo saw the brilliant, burning Sun Godhood, his eyes flickering with a moment of raw greed. This is mine. This is what was always meant for me.
Suddenly, Apollo frowned. The Sun Godhood was dimmed. Thick, ink-like black spots had coalesced upon it, radiating a sinister, ominous energy. "Great King, Helios's Godhood is polluted, just like the Horae's. Because his scale of responsibility was larger, the backlash has rendered him comatose."
"And the cause?" Zeus asked. He had intended for Apollo to replace Helios immediately, but a polluted Godhood was a thorny problem.
"Noble Father, the pollution comes from the Curse of the Wrongfully Dead," Hebe explained, stepping forward. "Lord Helios lent the chariot to a mortal, creating a global disaster. They are the direct architects of this tragedy. Phaethon has perished under your lightning, leaving Helios as the sole target for the world's retribution—the collective resentment of every soul lost to the fire."
Hebe's calm explanation served as a warning to the pantheon: there is no free lunch. Gods are blessed with power, but incompetence brings a price they cannot afford.
"Hebe, my daughter, do you have a way to wake him?" Zeus asked. If she knew the cause, he assumed she had the cure.
"I do, Great Father."
Hebe walked toward Helios. This was exactly what she wanted. She couldn't seize the Sun's primary sovereignty from Apollo, but she could certainly take a piece of the pie.
"Lord Apollo, if you would step aside."
Apollo moved back reluctantly. He was wary of Hebe; every time she acted, he felt like she was about to squeeze more benefits out of him.
He was right.
Hebe summoned her Scepter of Life, which shimmered with gold-green light. She leaned over Helios, her face a mask of gentle mercy and compassion. It was a beautiful, sacred sight.
Then, in the next second, her ivory hand lunged forward and plunged directly into Helios's chest. With a violent, visceral motion, she ripped the Sun Godhood straight out of his body.
The sheer agony caused even the unconscious Helios to convulse as divine blood sprayed the floor.
The assembly of gods stood frozen in absolute shock. What... what kind of treatment is this!?