"Hahahaha! Eros, my divine son—let your father hold you."
Hephaestus gazed at the adorable young god lying beside Aphrodite. A rare, joyous smile broke across the rugged, weathered face of the usually taciturn deity. He reached out with hands that had forged mountains and gently scooped up the infant god, his eyes shimmering with the warmth of a steady hearth-fire.
"Hmm? Are you my father?" The pink-haired Eros did not resist. He felt the genuine, overflowing affection radiating from Hephaestus, which made him feel remarkably safe. He adjusted himself into a comfortable position in Hephaestus's arms, his jewel-like azure eyes scanning his surroundings with wide-eyed wonder.
"Yes, Eros. I am your father," Hephaestus replied, his voice dropping into a register of unprecedented tenderness. He looked at the child he had anticipated for so long with bated breath. "Can you call me... Father?"
"Father!" Eros chirped without a moment's hesitation, flashing a brilliant, toothless grin.
"Good! Wonderful!" Hephaestus's smile widened further. He immediately drew a piece of soft, snow-white fabric from his robes—it was a cloth he had woven from the purest clouds of the horizon. He hadn't expected his son to be born in the form of a toddler, so his previous preparations were far too large.
But it mattered little. He was the God of Fire and Forge; crafting something on the fly was child's play. Within seconds, a tiny, pristine white chiton was fashioned and draped over Eros. The soft, cloud-like texture made the little God of Love squint in delight, and he beamed at Hephaestus.
"Thank you, Father!"
Hephaestus felt his heart melt instantly. To show off for his new son, he produced a lump of gold and ignited a divine flame in his palm. Before the boy's eyes, the gold was expertly molded into a series of delicate toys: a golden slingshot, a golden rocking horse, a golden ball...
"Whoa! Father is amazing!" The newborn Eros, never having seen such wonders, clapped his hands in excitement, his eyes full of hero-worship.
Watching this idyllic father-son bonding, Ares felt a surge of burning envy. He stepped forward, his ruggedly handsome face wearing a somewhat forced, placating smile.
"Eros, I am Ares. I am your..." Ares caught the sudden freeze in Hephaestus's expression and felt a wave of acute awkwardness. "...I am your uncle."
"..." Eros looked at Ares, then up at his stony-faced father. As the God of Desire, he was naturally attuned to the emotions of living beings. He sensed immediately that this warrior-god was not welcome in his father's sight. Without a word, he lowered his head and resumed playing with his golden ball, ignoring Ares entirely.
Hebe, watching from the side, found the scene nearly unbearable. What a tangled, wretched web this is, she thought. However, with the other gods still gathered outside the floral bower, this was hardly the time for a family intervention.
"Ahem!"
At that moment, Aphrodite—who had collapsed from the exhaustion of labor—finally stirred. The goddess opened her sapphire eyes, her expression initially dazed.
"Mother!"
Seeing Aphrodite awake, the child in Hephaestus's arms brightened. He fluttered his small, white wings and flew toward her. To seek his mother was a divine infant's first instinct.
"Don't come near me! Stay back!"
To the shock of those present, his mother did not welcome him. Her gaze was filled with a mixture of terror and loathing, as if she were looking at a monster rather than her own child.
The little god, his memories erased by reincarnation, was visibly wounded by the rejection. His wings stopped fluttering, and he drifted slowly back down to the floor, looking desolate and confused. It was a sight that could break anyone's heart.
Hephaestus quickly scooped him back up, ignoring Aphrodite entirely as he whispered words of comfort to the boy.
"Aphrodite!" Ares rushed to the goddess's side, pulling her into his arms. His large hands stroked her back, trying to soothe her frantic breathing and calm her nerves.
"Ares! Get over here right now!" Hera's fury finally boiled over. She could not believe her second son would so blatantly disregard his brother's dignity and lay claim to Aphrodite in such a manner.
"Mother... I..." Ares turned to face her. There was frustration and guilt on his handsome face, but notably, no regret. He helped Aphrodite up and looked into his mother's burning eyes. "I know this is wrong, Mother. But Aphrodite and Hephaestus do not love each other. You know why they were wed. But love—"
"Enough!" Hera snapped, using her divine power to seal the sound within a small radius. "The gods are all outside! Do you intend to air this here and strip your brother of his last shred of dignity?"
She rebuked Ares in a harsh whisper, her eyes full of disappointment. This son of hers possessed immense martial power, but he acted with the consideration of a charging bull, never weighing the consequences.
"..." Realizing the impropriety of the moment, Ares looked at the cold, silent Hephaestus—who was still focused solely on Eros—and fell quiet.
Hebe remained silent. This level of domestic complexity was far beyond the expertise of a "perpetually single" soul like her.
The auburn-haired Queen of Heaven took a deep breath to steady her emotions. "Once this is over, all of you are to come to my Temple of Marriage! Hebe, my daughter—dissolve the bower. Eros's identity must be revealed to the Council."
She gave one last, sharp glare to Ares, who was still supporting Aphrodite. "Let her go!"
"Yes..." Under his mother's iron gaze, Ares released Aphrodite, allowing Hebe to take over and support her.
Hebe waved her hand. The concentrated power of Life retracted. The wooden house, the rose-beds, and the lush grass vanished in an instant.
The assembled gods finally regained sight of the family. They leaned in eagerly, desperate to see what kind of child Aphrodite had birthed—one with such potential that even a Primary-level goddess had nearly withered during the gestation.
The sight sent a ripple of shock through the crowd. They noticed immediately that Aphrodite's divine rank had plummeted to the First-Tier.
Hiss! What kind of child was this? To cause such a massive drain on the mother just by being born?
Their questions were answered as their eyes landed on the toddler in Hephaestus's arms. He was exquisitely beautiful. His bright, curious eyes triggered the maternal instincts of every goddess present. They looked upon him with soft, adoring gazes.
"He's so precious!" "Look at those cheeks! I just want to pinch them." "And that little backside—truly a work of art."
As the gods praised his appearance, a soft light shimmered around Eros. The Godhead of Childlike Beauty began to crystallize within him. The surge of power made him squint with comfort.
Wait, seriously? Just like that?
The onlookers were dumbfounded. Another self-condensing Godhead? What was it with Hera's lineage? First the daughter, and now the grandson?
In truth, it was a convergence of factors. Eros was the first deity in the world of Kaos to be born as a child. Having been nurtured by the Goddess of Beauty and having fought her for the Essence of Beauty in the womb, he had retained a fraction of that essence. Because even minor gods could influence the Laws through their will, the collective adoration of the pantheon for his appearance provided the final catalyst. The Laws responded, granting him the perfect Godhead for his current state: Childlike Beauty.
"So this is Aphrodite's son? Why is he so small?" Zeus asked, eyeing the child. He could feel the First-Tier power—high potential for a newborn—but the form was wrong. Most gods were born in their adult forms, or at the very least as adolescents, like Hermes or the original Hebe. To remain a toddler with such power was bizarre.
Hebe stepped forward, her voice calm. "The little god Eros was brought forth through a special catalyst by myself and the Queen. While his Godhead is high in rank, his accumulation of power is still insufficient. He remains a child for now. Once his power and essence are replenished, he will grow."
As for how that essence will be replenished, Hebe thought, I'll be relying on you for that, Great Father.
"The Little God of Love?" From his high throne, Apollo scanned the tiny deity. When he saw the miniature golden bow and quiver at the boy's hip, he let out a sharp, mocking laugh. As the master of archery, the Sun God found the toy-like weapon ridiculous. "He looks quite frail. What use is that tiny bow? Hephaestus, you certainly pamper him—making such a little plaything for him the moment he's born."
Apollo's mockery struck a nerve. Eros, already upset by his mother's rejection, felt a surge of petulant fury. In this childlike form, his mind was that of a child—mercurial, impulsive, and ruled by instinct.
Angered by the laughter, Eros fluttered his small, luminescent wings and rose from Hephaestus's arms. His wings, about the length of a man's forearm, sparkled with fairy-like dust, looking perfectly suited to his delicate frame. The sight of the pouting, blushing child God flying through the air made several goddesses clutch their chests. He was, in modern terms, "lethally cute."
"My bow isn't a toy! You laughed at me, so I'm going to make you sorry!" The indignant Eros reached into his quiver and pulled out a shimmering, golden arrow. He notched it and loosed it at Apollo.
Apollo didn't even flinch. He raised a hand, and solar radiance condensed into a shield to deflect the heart-tipped miniature bolt.
To his shock, he had miscalculated. The Golden Arrow of Love ignored the solar shield as if it were air, sinking deep into Apollo's chest. The Sun God frowned, checking his body for a wound, but found none.
He scoffed. This little love-god is just like his mother—a hollow vessel of vanity.
But in the next second, his gaze happened to fall upon a golden-haired Water Nymph standing in the crowd. Suddenly, she became the most breathtaking being he had ever seen. An uncontrollable, raging fire of passion ignited in his heart. The once-arrogant Sun God fell instantly and completely in love with a nymph he usually wouldn't have spared a second glance.
Apollo blurred across the hall, appearing instantly before the girl. He seized her hands, his sky-blue eyes overflowing with soul-searing devotion. Poetic endearments poured from his lips like a mountain spring: "Beautiful goddess! Your hair is as radiant as my own sun; your eyes are the finest gems of the earth! Pray, accept my heart's true devotion! Save me from this agonizing longing!"
The nymph was stunned, her face flushing crimson. She was Daphne, daughter of the River God Peneus. She had only come to Olympus to see the sights with her father. To be suddenly courted by the most handsome god on the mountain—the dream-lover of a thousand spirits—was a shock beyond measure.
Just as she was about to look up and accept his advances, a dull, leaden-grey light streaked into her body.
Daphne's expression froze. Looking at Apollo's peerless face, she was suddenly overcome by a wave of inexplicable revulsion. He seemed hideous to her, his voice grating and his touch nauseating. A look of intense disgust crossed her face, and she violently threw off his hands.
"Don't touch me! Get away! I hate you! Stay away from me!"
Stricken by the harsh words of his "beloved," the lovesick Apollo felt as though his soul were being torn apart. He took a step forward, reaching for her, but Daphne fled as if he were a plague, running out of the Great Temple without looking back.
"Wait! My love, wait for me!" Apollo cried, immediately giving chase.
"Hahahaha! Fun! So much fun!" Eros clapped his hands, delighted by the chaos he had caused.
In his hands, the passions of the world were mere playthings. Born of a child's form, love had become as blind and irrational as its master.
"What is the meaning of this?" Zeus asked, his eyes fixed on the golden bow. He was deeply intrigued by the artifact.
"Father," Hebe explained, stepping up. "The Golden Bow of Love and its Quiver are artifacts born with Eros. The Golden Arrow drives a soul into an obsession for love and marriage. The Lead Arrow does the opposite, filling a soul with revulsion, destined to end in a bitter parting."
The mockery died instantly. Every god in the room looked at Eros with a new, guarded respect. They had seen the transformation of Apollo. If a Primary-level deity could not resist the magic of the arrows, was this child truly just a "First-Tier" god?
Aphrodite, leaning against her attendants, watched her son with a shimmering gaze. Her blue eyes held a complex swirl of thoughts. Her rank had fallen, and while she still held her High Council seat, her fragility would now invite insult from the others.
But this child... he was born for Desire. The powers she wielded with such clumsy effort, he moved with the ease of breath.
If my Temple of Love has him as its master, she mused, who would dare look down on me?