"Noble Primordials, Personifications of Night and Earth—to what do we owe the honor of your presence upon Mount Olympus?" Once the assembly was complete, Zeus addressed the two Primordial goddesses with a practiced, genial smile.
"Great King," the grey-eyed Nyx replied, her voice soft yet carrying the weight of the void. She did not assume an air of superiority despite her ancient status. "We have come because a matter has arisen that concerns the very ascension of this world. It is a task that requires the cooperation of several deities of this mountain."
In the goddess's pale hand, shimmering with a cold, divine light, a scroll of Golden Parchment appeared. It was similar to the one Phagos had produced earlier, yet significantly larger; following the negotiations—and the division of interests—among the Underworld deities, the blueprint for Reincarnation had grown thick with detail.
Nyx cast the scroll into the air. It unfurled in a burst of brilliant radiance, projecting the grand concept of Reincarnation before the eyes of the gathered gods.
The deities were visibly shaken by the sheer scale of the vision. The more cunning among them immediately began to calculate how they might extract some benefit from this new order. However, since the concept had originated in the Underworld and its primary theatre was the land of the dead, the Underworld gods had already staked their claims. The Olympians found themselves looking at "chicken ribs"—meager scraps that were too small to be satisfying, yet too significant to simply discard.
Zeus's expression shifted between curiosity and wariness. His sky-blue eyes stole a glance at his brother, Hades, who sat beside him, as impassive as stone.
If there was one god Zeus feared more than Prometheus, Athena, or even Poseidon, it was his silent eldest brother. Hades was a paragon of composure. Even when he had been assigned the Underworld—a realm of harsh conditions suppressed by three Primordial powers—he had shown no resentment. He had simply accepted the lot in silence and assumed his duties.
At the time, the gods believed Hades had received the worst hand among the three brother-kings. In truth, the most unfortunate was Poseidon.
Though Poseidon's oceanic realm was vast and rich, it was already crowded with ancient powers. There were the three thousand Oceanids sired by Tethys, the ancient Sea God Pontus, and his formidable brood: Nereus, the benevolent elder; Thaumas, the wonder of the seas; Phorcys, the embodiment of oceanic fury; Ceto, the hidden danger; and Eurybia, the strength of the tides. These two great factions had carved up almost every essential Authority of the sea. Had Poseidon not possessed the power of the Earth-Shaker and the majesty of the tsunami—and had he not wed Nereus's favorite daughter, the Pearl of the Deep, Amphitrite—he likely wouldn't even have been able to build his palace. It was no wonder Poseidon had effectively pledged his loyalty to Zeus; without a seat on the High Council of Olympus, his life would have been one of constant, stifling frustration.
Zeus's own reign was a constant struggle for equilibrium. When he first took the throne, the mountain was filled with Titans who had defected to his side or the children of those who had remained neutral. Zeus had spent centuries consolidating his power.
By contrast, Hades's life seemed idyllic to the other two. Upon arriving in the Underworld, he had been welcomed by the resident deities. The three Primordials had declared their intent not to interfere with the administration of the realm, leaving everything to Hades. Nyx and Erebus had even sent their own children to serve as his subordinates.
Authority held with such ease was enough to make any king envious. Of course, had Hades known their thoughts, he would have likely spat in their faces and told them to check the mountain-high stacks of paperwork in his hall before speaking of "ease."
Returning to the matter at hand: the interests within Nyx's proposal had largely been claimed. What remained were two crucial roles: the Guide of Souls upon the earth and the Authority to Restore Vitality to the spirits of the dead.
"We have established the entrance to the Underworld at Mount Pargos," Nyx said, addressing the Council. "A deity is needed upon the earth to guide the spirits of the deceased to that gate. Do any among you find themselves suited for such a task?"
The Olympians remained silent. Some found the role beneath their station; others saw it as a tedious, thankless chore. No one volunteered.
Hebe watched them, her mind filled with a sense of absurdity. Guiding souls might not garner much Faith, but it was a vital link in the Cycle. Such service to the World would eventually draw the favor of the World's Will, leading to a certain ascension of status. Yet the gods, blinded by the perceived "toil" of the job, avoided it like a plague.
"...You hesitate to name even a single god. You spend your days in debauchery and pleasure—what use are you all?"
Before Nyx could speak, Gaia, the Mother of All, erupted in anger. This was Hebe's first true encounter with the Primordial who had once lent the Vase of Life to Prometheus.
Gaia, the first-born of the world and the source of all creation, possessed a form that was both statuesque and robust. She wore a golden robe and a crown carved with every living thing of the earth. Her face held a maternal majesty, yet she appeared weary—lacking the youthful, cold beauty of her sister, Nyx.
In her early days, Gaia had been just as vibrant. But under the influence of Eros, she—as the foundation of the world—had entered a cycle of perpetual procreation. She had birthed Uranus, then the Giants, then the Titans. Giving birth to so many gods and monsters had drained a vast portion of her Primal Essence. While she was honored as the Mother of Gods, she alone knew that beneath the glory, she had fallen to the lowest rank among the Primordials. She had little patience for these "descendants" who were technically her own kin yet lacked any sense of duty.
At the Mother's wrath, the gods in the Great Temple fell into a terrified silence. Gaia was a fierce Primordial; when pushed, she was capable of striking down her own children, let alone this assembly of second and third-generation deities.
"Great Mother, Radiant Gaia, pray, stay your anger," Zeus said, stepping in to smooth things over. Thinking rapidly, he suggested a candidate. "My son by Maia of the Winds, Hermes—the Messenger of the Gods. His eloquence is suited to guiding souls, and his winged sandals grant him the speed of the winds. He is the perfect fit for the office of Soul-Guide."
Hermes, who at this time was only a deity of secondary power and had not yet ascended to the High Council, suddenly found the weight of the entire pantheon's gaze upon him. His expression stiffened.
Are you serious? Why me? he thought. Iris is just as fast—why not her?
However, Hermes lacked the courage to defy his father and two Primordials. The wily god immediately wiped the stiffness from his face, replacing it with a mask of surprise and delight as he stepped forward.
"I am honored by the favor of the King and the two Noble Goddesses. Hermes is privileged to accept this mandate."
I'll just burn some essence to create a couple of subordinate gods to do the actual walking for me, he decided privately.
Gaia's deep green eyes scanned Hermes critically. This matter concerned the world's ascension; if it succeeded, the world's Primal Essence would swell, potentially replenishing her own depleted reserves. She could not afford to be careless. After a moment, she noted that while the minor god's power was unremarkable, his existing Authority was indeed well-suited for the task. She nodded her consent.
With the Guide chosen, the Council moved to the heart of the matter: who would hold the Authority to Restore Vitality to souls tainted by the aura of death?
The immense value of this Authority was lost on no one. The atmosphere in the temple grew thick as the "Golden" deities prepared to stake their claims. In truth, only a few had the standing to compete.
Seeing her cue, Hebe stood. The golden-haired goddess gripped her Scepter of Life, which shimmered with soft radiance. "I am the Goddess of Life, the creator and protector of the new humans. I hold the offices of Childbirth and Youth. The Mandate to bestow new life upon the soul belongs to me."
Hebe's claim was formidable, but the other gods were not about to let such a massive "cake" be taken without a fight.
Demeter, the Goddess of Agriculture and Harvest, set aside her usual docility and stood. "I am the Goddess of the Harvest. My reach within the domain of Life is vast; it is I who bestows vitality upon the earth itself. I believe this Authority should be mine."
Athena gritted her teeth and stood. "I am the creator of the first woman. I hold the secrets of the soul. I, too, possess the capacity to rejuvenate the spirit. This Authority should fall to me."
Apollo, the Sun God, added his voice to the fray, the gentle glow of the morning sun manifesting around him. "The light and heat of the sun are the source of all vitality. As the Sun God, I hold the Mandate of Life. I shall use the radiance of the morning to wash away the taint of death and reignite the spark of life."
The gods glared at one another, the air heavy with tension.
"Lady Demeter," Hebe began, addressing her strongest rival. "Your Authority was inherited from the God of Growth, Ceres. You govern the cycles of flora. Using that to rejuvenate a human soul seems... ill-suited. We wouldn't want the new humans to be as immobile as trees, would we?"
"All life is equal, as are souls," Demeter replied calmly. She was a quiet god, but a clever one; she knew exactly how to appeal to Zeus. "My rejuvenation would grant humans a peaceful temperament and a docile instinct." She stole a glance at Zeus, effectively lobbying for his vote.
"Lord Apollo," Athena interjected, seizing on the Sun God's weakness. "Your morning radiance is indeed gentle for the living, but we are dealing with the dead. Are you certain you can control your heat enough to avoid incinerating the soul? One soul might be managed, but what of ten? A hundred? Thousands?"
It was a battle for a Mandate. Friendship was set aside for the sake of divine office.
As the arguments raged, the assembly eventually turned to the four figures with the most weight: the two Primordials, Zeus, and Hades.
"Heh..."
A faint smile touched Zeus's lips. A flicker of electricity danced between his fingers like a small snake. The gods went pale as they felt it: within that spark of thunder, there was the vibration of Life.
"Lightning is not merely an instrument of destruction," Zeus said, his voice resonating with power. "It is the force that triggers growth and brings forth the life-giving rains. Furthermore, I am the King, the ruler of all life. This mandate of Reincarnation should be held by my hand."
The gods were stunned. Zeus had entered the fray as a dark horse.
Athena, Apollo, and Demeter looked at one another and saw the same thought: retreat. There was no point in fighting the King. To seize the prize from him would mean facing an eternity of his retribution. The prize was tempting, but not worth the risk of his enmity.
The two Primordials remained half-lidded, appearing indifferent to the squabbles of the Olympians, as if they were merely observers.
Just as the assembly assumed the matter was settled and Zeus would seize control of the Cycle, a singular light erupted in the temple.
It was a strange, gold-and-blue radiance. The gods felt a power they had never experienced before—a majesty that shrugged off the shroud of death and embraced the core of existence. It was the miracle of returning from the void.
Resurrection.
The golden-haired goddess stood, her brow shining with divine light. Her rose-red lips parted to speak a God-Word, each syllable ringing with absolute authority.
"I am the holder of the Godhead of Resurrection. I am the mistress of the High Mystery of Life. Reincarnation belongs to me!"