"Reincarnation belongs to me!"
The Goddess's declaration rang out with the weight of an iron decree. A halo of gold and blue divine light swirled around her, casting her form in a brilliance that transcended mere royalty. It was an image of absolute, terrifying majesty.
So bold, so domineering was her claim that the assembly of gods fell into a stunned silence.
They were shaken to their core—shocked that this goddess had once again defied all expectations to master a power never before seen in the history of the cosmos. But more than that, they were reeling from her audacity. She had dared to openly challenge her father, the supreme ruler of Mount Olympus, King Zeus, for a Mandate of power.
Even Apollo, who had never quite seen eye-to-eye with Hebe, could not help but feel a surge of grudging respect. Such courage and decisiveness made even Athena—the Goddess of War who stood peerless on the battlefield—seem cautious by comparison. After all, during the recent incident with Prometheus, Athena had proactively surrendered her claim to the Wisdom Essence simply to appease Zeus's growing paranoia.
Zeus felt the shift most acutely. Initially, his irritation with Hebe had been that of a superior toward an insubordinate subordinate—a nuisance he could suppress or punish whenever he pleased. He had not expected his daughter to have been working in the shadows, somehow condensing the Godhead of Resurrection, the ultimate power to bring the dead back to life.
Compared to the sheer miracle of Resurrection, his own "life-giving lightning" appeared amateurish, almost laughable.
As expected, the eyes of both Gaia, the Mother of All, and Nyx, the Personification of Night, lit up at the sight of the gold-and-blue radiance emanating from Hebe.
"It appears the Will of the World has made its choice," Nyx remarked, her grey eyes lingering on Hebe with a mixture of admiration and a cryptic, deeper meaning. She turned to her elder sister. "Gaia, my glorious sister, to whom do you believe the Mandate of Life should be entrusted?"
The answer was obvious to everyone present. Nyx's question was a gesture of profound respect, placing the final decision in the hands of the Mother of All.
Nyx's deference visibly pleased Gaia. She looked at Hebe, and the more she observed, the more satisfied she became. The Godhead of Resurrection was born from the very concept of "life springing from death."
What was truly remarkable was that this power caused negligible damage to the soul. Unlike other deities who might use their divine energy to "wash" a soul or force vitality into it, Resurrection used the very aura of death clinging to the spirit as fuel. It ignited the spark of life from within, allowing it to roar back to brilliance. For the World, this represented a massive conservation of Primal Essence.
As the foundation of the world, Gaia favored anything that benefited the world's stability.
"Hebe, Goddess of Life," the majestic Gaia declared, her voice resonating through the stone. "As the foremost master of the Laws of Life, I, Gaia, Mother of All, acknowledge your status and your glory. The Mandate to bestow new life upon the spirits of the dead belongs to you. To mark this, I grant you a sapling of the Golden Apple Tree."
A singular, wondrous sapling appeared in the palm of the Primordial Goddess. Its trunk and leaves shimmered with the luster of the purest gold, sparkling in the temple light with an intoxicating, heavenly beauty.
Of course, this was merely a graft from the mother tree. To make it bear the legendary Golden Apples, Hebe would need to nourish it with her own divine power.
Envy and longing swept through the ranks of the gods. The Golden Apple Tree was a divine treasure of incalculable value, but more importantly, it was a symbol of Gaia's personal protection and favor. The last time such a gift had been bestowed was at the wedding of Zeus and Hera. No deity since had received such an honor.
Gaia's intent was clear. She had witnessed the friction among the Olympians. While she could ignore the others, she knew Zeus—the grandson she had helped raise on Crete at Rhea's request—all too well. She knew his methods and his pride. But Hebe was the cornerstone of the Cycle of Reincarnation. Without her, the plan to trigger the world's ascension would fail. Gaia would not allow Zeus to sabotage her own replenishment. By gifting the tree, she was telling Zeus: This goddess is untouchable.
Zeus remained silent, a storm brewing in his deep blue eyes. He understood the subtext perfectly. Though he seethed with resentment, the absolute authority of a Primordial forced him to swallow his bile.
The King was suffocating under the pressure. The internal heat of his fury caused the unstable Wisdom Essence within him to churn, threatening to break free. A man without reason cannot hold Wisdom. Zeus struggled to regain his composure, his mind darting to Prometheus—the original cause of his current instability. Knowing Hebe and the Titan were on good terms, he mentally commanded his herald, the Eagle, to strike with double the ferocity during Prometheus's punishment today.
With the Primordials' decree, Hebe's position within the Cycle was beyond dispute. The gods realized that once Reincarnation was officially established, Hebe's status on the mountain—and indeed, in the world—would be unshakeable. It was no wonder she had dared to challenge the King.
"Now that this matter is settled," Nyx said, rising, "we must return to the Underworld to begin the preparations. Establishing the infrastructure for the Cycle is no small feat. Unless... any of the gods of Olympus wish to volunteer their aid in the land of the dead?"
The Olympians offered only nervous, hollow smiles. To go to the Underworld? To stay in a place devoid of sunlight and luxury? They feared their divine radiance would dim in such a gloom. No one volunteered for the hardship.
Nyx had only asked out of habit; the outcome was already decided. She prepared to depart. As the Personification of Night, she preferred the tranquil depths of the Underworld and the company of Erebus over the garish light of Olympus. Gaia, too, was eager to return to her slumber in the depths of the earth to recover her essence.
As the two Primordials departed, the gods stood in a row, bowing deeply and singing praises to their greatness, watching until they vanished beyond the gates.
With the "Great Powers" gone, the tension in the hall did not dissipate. Instead, it thickened. The gods remained silent, waiting for a reaction from the King of Gods.
After a long, suffocating silence, the Master of Thunder stood and began to walk toward his daughter.
"..."
Suddenly, Hera, the white-armed and ox-eyed Queen of Heaven, stepped in front of Hebe. She stared at Zeus with a cold, piercing gaze—the look of a mother leopard protecting her cub, filled with a primal, feral ferocity. Zeus did not doubt for a second that if he took one aggressive step, Hera would break their union and strike him down with everything she had.
The cold clatter of armor rang out as Ares, the God of Blood and Battle, stood beside his mother and sister. His dark red eyes burned with a restless, defiant wariness. To protect his family, the God of War was prepared to challenge the very hierarchy of heaven and strike his own father.
The usually stoic and clumsy Hephaestus hesitated, looking between his formidable father and his mother. Finally, he overcame his fear. The lame god stepped forward, his gait uneven but his resolve firm, joining the line of defense. His eyes shone with a light as fierce as molten lava.
Hestia, the eldest daughter of Cronus and Rhea, also appeared at Hebe's side. One could not underestimate this mild-mannered goddess; she held the first-born right of the previous generation. Though she chose the office of the Hearth, she had once held the Essence of Fire. During the Titan War, her flames had left a lasting scar of fear in the hearts of many.
Zeus looked at the four deities standing against him. His face turned as dark as the stormiest sky. Hera, Ares, Hephaestus, Hestia—four of the eleven other Primary Deities were now openly aligned with Hebe.
In the shadows, his daughter had built a formidable faction.
For the first time, his perception of Hebe shifted. She was no longer the "useless" third-tier Goddess of Youth, nor was she the cupbearer he could summon or dismiss at a whim. The girl who had once looked to him for protection and favor had grown into a soaring eagle, revealing sharp eyes and lethal talons.
She was Hebe, Mistress of Life and Reincarnation, a Primary Deity of Olympus, and a power that could now realistically contend with his own. Had he not known the prophecy specified a son would overthrow him, he would have suspected Hebe was the child of destiny.
"Hahahaha!" Zeus suddenly erupted into laughter. "My daughter, the beautiful and noble Hebe... As your father, I am profoundly gratified that you have secured the Mandate of Reincarnation. You have truly grown up..."
"I thank you for the praise, Great Father," Hebe replied, her tone perfectly measured. "I owe my current achievements to your... cultivation."
The two deities locked eyes, each fully aware of the daggers hidden behind their words.
The wily King's smile widened, sounding genuinely joyous. He raised his hands, his voice echoing like thunder. "To celebrate the great responsibilities entrusted to Hebe and Hermes by the Primordials, I shall host a grand banquet upon this mountain! Let all of Olympus celebrate this glorious occasion!"
The sudden shift in Zeus's attitude allowed the other gods to breathe a sigh of relief. Accustomed to luxury, they were terrified of a second civil war. They quickly joined the chorus of praise, congratulating Hebe and Hermes with various degrees of sincerity.
Under the King's orders, the Nymphs of Olympus began to flutter about, their translucent wings shimmering as they carried jars of nectar, roasted meats, and fresh fruits across the plazas. The mountain was transformed into a scene of revelry and indulgence.
Hermes, the co-guest of honor, basked in the attention. He had never received such deference in his life. The flattery of the higher gods made his head spin with vanity, and his resentment toward the "Soul-Guide" role began to fade.
Hebe remained the true center of attention, though she made it clear she preferred her peace. The gods did not dare disturb her, yet they could not take their eyes off her.
Athena stood in a corner, gripping a golden goblet. The wine, though divine, tasted like ash. Her silver-grey eyes were fixed on Hebe. If I had her help, perhaps...
Hebe, meanwhile, made her way toward her mysterious uncle, Hades. "Greetings to the Master of Souls and Wealth."
Hades, draped in black, looked at her with emerald eyes. "Hebe, whose aura is eternally vibrant... I am surprised you would approach a god of the dead, shrouded in the scent of the end."
"Life and death are but two sides of the same world," Hebe replied softly. "Death gives peace to all things; it deserves its own respect."
Hades's eyes sharpened with interest. He raised his cup to her. "A unique perspective. But you didn't come here just to discuss the High Mysteries, did you?" He had seen the drama with Zeus and guessed her intent.
Hebe smiled, skipping the pleasantries. "The Primordials have given me the Mandate. I believe it is necessary for me to visit the Underworld to discuss the finer details with the resident deities."
Hades arched an eyebrow. She's clever. She knows she's provoked the King and wants to take refuge in my realm while the heat dies down.
It didn't matter to him. He needed her for the Cycle anyway. And while others feared Zeus, Hades did not. If Zeus tried to invade the Underworld, he would have to answer to the three Primordials.
"In the name of the Lord of the Dead," Hades said, "go to where the asphodel and poplars grow. Call my name in your heart, and the Gates of the Underworld shall open for you."
Hebe flashed a stunning smile and touched her cup to his in a silent toast of gratitude.
In a far corner of the banquet, Artemis drank alone, her face a mask of gloom. She watched Hebe chatting with Hades, her heart a tangle of complex emotions. Her old jealousy had faded; when the gap between two people becomes this vast, jealousy only makes one look foolish. She was simply despondent over her own stagnant future.
"Artemis..."
The radiant Apollo appeared behind her. As twins, he felt her sorrow as if it were his own.
"Apollo," she whispered, her grey-blue eyes misty. "You have the Sun. But my Moon is still out of reach. Selene is too perfect; she never falters. How much longer must I wait?"
"Artemis." Apollo pulled his sister into a protective embrace. He looked across the feast toward Selene, the Full Moon Goddess, who was talking with Eos. A dark glint flickered in his eyes. "It is coming, sister. Very soon... the Moon shall be yours."