The collective gaze of the pantheon shifted toward the golden-haired, purple-eyed goddess. They had nearly forgotten that without her intervention—without her peeling away the Starry Essence from the fallen Titan—the lights in the sky would still be nothing more than cold fragments of terrestrial rock.
Hera's assertion met with little resistance. Firstly, her logic was sound: without Hebe, there would be no birth of the stars. Secondly, Hebe's personal trajectory—from a lowly third-tier deity to a Sovereign of the High Council—had earned her a prestige so immense that even Zeus offered a polite smile before addressing her. No god was foolish enough to challenge her right.
Even the Underworld deities remained silent. During the creation of the Cycle, the Goddess of Life had journeyed to their sunless realm, laboring personally on the Temple and the Archway without burdening them, even taking on their tasks. Furthermore, once the Cycle was established, she had not hoarded her power but entrusted the guardianship of the Gate to Hades, currently overseen by Phagos.
Her reputation in the deep was sterling. Rumor had it that the King of the Dead had even considered making her his Queen. Though that proposal had failed, the Underworld gods knew that persistence often won the day; if it didn't work once, he might try twenty more times. To them, Hebe was a likely future mistress of their realm, making her someone to be courted, not offended.
Seeing no opposition, Hera's expression softened. She turned to her daughter with a warm, maternal smile. "Hebe, my most glorious child—select the star you most desire from the remaining eight."
With her mother having cleared the path, Hebe did not hesitate. She immediately struck one of the celestial bodies with her divine mark.
The gods looked on in bewilderment. Hebe had chosen what appeared to be the most unremarkable and unpromising of the eight.
To call it unremarkable was not to say it lacked beauty; on the contrary, the star shimmered with a chaotic, kaleidoscopic radiance, resembling a brilliant, iridescent opal. However, that very radiance was why the gods considered it a "burdensome gift."
The elemental properties of this star were a complete disaster—it held a trace of everything but mastered nothing. Worse, these conflicting energies were in a state of perpetual riot, triggering frequent internal collisions and mini-explosions that made the star's foundation dangerously unstable.
To become its guardian would require an exhausting investment of divine power and focus just to keep it from tearing itself apart. It was a "hot potato." Minor gods wanted the prestige but lacked the power to hold it; powerful gods saw no reason to take on such a thankless chore when seven superior options remained.
Yet Hebe had picked it without a second thought. She had ignored the magnificent star adorned with seven-colored rings, which hummed with the power of harvest and growth—a body that, even setting Demeter aside, seemed tailor-made for a Goddess of Life.
Demeter, sitting upon her throne, exhaled in relief. With Hebe's current status, if she had wanted the harvest-star, Demeter would have had no recourse but to yield.
A few deities narrowed their eyes, watching the opal-like planet with suspicion. Is there a hidden mystery to this chaos?
The star chosen by Hebe flared with light and ascended into the firmament, its dazzling shimmer marking its place.
"This star shall be called Zoe," Hebe declared. It was the name for "Life."
She offered no explanation to the questioning eyes of the assembly. She was under no obligation to enlighten them. Hera, too, was curious, but she trusted her daughter's instincts and said nothing.
Upon the Primordial Throne, Nyx's grey eyes sparkled with a secret amusement. Her ally possessed a singular vision. That star was undoubtedly the one with the greatest potential—and the one most suited for her. With its aid, Hebe's path to the Primordial rank would accelerate.
And none too soon, Nyx mused, her gaze drifting toward the toddler in Aphrodite's lap. Eros was already stirring; they had to keep pace.
"Seven Leader Stars remain," Nyx continued. "My sister Gaia, the Mother of All, remains in her restorative slumber. The earth requires a steward to govern in her stead. She has selected Demeter, the Goddess of Agriculture and Harvest. This star shall bolster your foundation and assist you in wielding the Authority of the Earth."
Nyx waved her hand, and the beautiful star with the seven-colored rings manifested before Demeter.
"I thank the Great Mother! Demeter shall not fail her!" The goddess stood excitedly, her face alight with joy. She branded the star with her power and watched it fly to the horizon. This star not only represented her Primal Essence but confirmed her status as the Spokesperson for Gaia—a vital boost in status for a goddess who previously lacked a strong faction.
"This is Saturn, the Star of the Harvest."
One less. As the prizes dwindled, the remaining Primary Deities grew restless.
"Zeus and Hades have made their choices," Poseidon declared, standing with his wave-like blue hair tossing. "As the Sea King, it is my turn." He looked at the six remaining stars with naked greed; if he could, he would have pocketed them all. But he knew his limits.
"The mountain gods and the Underworld each hold three. We of the sea ask for no more than our due. Among the remaining six, these two pulse with the power of Water. By nature, they belong to the Sea."
Poseidon pointed to two blue planets. One was a pale, serene azure, radiating a peaceful, tranquil energy. The other was a deep, dark indigo, filled with the violent power of storms and tsunamis—a perfect match for the Earth-Shaker's own wrath.
"Hah! Lord Poseidon certainly has a large appetite," Athena sneered, her bright eyes flashing with contempt. Aside from her general distaste for his arrogance, she had her own designs on the pale blue star.
"You receive a star not because of the Sea Gods' contribution—which was nil—but because of the High Council seat gifted to you by our Father. Pray, Lord Poseidon, align your expectations with reality and cease these flights of fancy."
"You! Athena! Are you determined to be my shadow?" Poseidon roared. Their feud over the city of Athens was still a fresh wound. To be undercut in front of the Council was a humiliation he would not endure. The Trident appeared in his hand, humming with the power of the tides. "If you have the courage, let us settle this outside! Let us see if a slip of a goddess has the right to speak to me thus!"
"Hmph. If a fight is what you want, do not think I fear you." Athena stood, her long-spear and golden shield manifesting. Her eyes blazed with battle-intent. She had no fear of her uncle. Her mother, Metis, was born of the Great Ocean; Athena's understanding of the sea's power structures was deeper than Poseidon's. He held so little true Authority over the depths that his title was almost hollow. Her War mandate was not just for show.
The fires of conflict were about to ignite.
"Enough. Such brawling is unseemly before Lady Nyx," Zeus interjected. The King looked leisurely, almost bored, as he glanced at Athena. "Athena, my daughter—Poseidon is your uncle and the Master of the Oceans. Speak to him with the proper decorum."
"I hear and obey, Great Father," Athena replied instantly, retracting her weapons and sitting as if the tension had been a mere illusion.
"And Poseidon," Zeus said, turning to his brother. He wore a mild smile, but Poseidon could see the gathering storm in the King's eyes. "Athena is correct. The sea contributed nothing to this forging. To demand two Leader Stars is an overreach. Choose one, as a member of the Twelve."
Poseidon's bravado faltered. Zeus's gaze reminded him of their father, Cronus—the King who had swallowed them without hesitation. He fell silent for a moment, looking at the two stars. He eventually pointed to the deep indigo one. "I take this one. Its storms and tsunamis answer to my soul."
He also noted that this star was accompanied by fourteen smaller satellites. Inspired by Hades's move, he planned to distribute those to his children to pacify the ancient sea gods upon his return.
"This is Neptune, the Star of Storms."
Azure power struck the star, and it roared with the sound of crashing waves as it ascended, followed by its fourteen guardians.
"The pale blue planet... I feel the pulse of the High Mystery of Water within it," Athena began, seizing her chance. "My mother, Metis, was a Goddess of Wisdom born of the water. This star's true attribute is Intellect. It belongs to me." She moved to mark the star.
"A moment," Zeus interrupted, his smile still in place. "Speaking of Wisdom, my daughter... your brother Hermes governs Eloquence and Commerce, both of which require a sharp intellect. Furthermore, his recent diligence in guiding souls has been exemplary. You shall share this star."
Another one? The gods whispered. Hermes isn't even on the Council yet. Then they remembered: He's Zeus's favorite son. Figures.
The assembly sighed at the blatant nepotism. Many noted that the final Council seat was clearly a race between Artemis and Hermes now.
Athena's eyes flickered with a dark light. She looked at Hermes, who appeared genuinely dazed by this sudden windfall, and offered him a thin smile. "I obey your decree, Father."
The two gods marked the pale blue star together. A surge of intellectual radiance erupted, seemingly clearing the minds of all present.
"This is Mercury, the Star of Wisdom."
"This next star pulses with the power of Fire and War," Hera declared, pointing to a brilliant red sphere. "Let Ares and Hephaestus share it." She hoped that by making them co-guardians, they might begin to mend their fractured brotherhood.
No one objected. Pallas and Perses looked as though they had something to say, but they no longer held any sway on the mountain.
Hephaestus was reluctant, but he would not refuse his mother's gesture. He marked the star. Ares, fresh from his ten years as a boar—during which he had become the King of the Swine but learned a healthy respect for his brother's power—was quick to follow. He was genuinely contrite and hoped to use their time fostering the star to apologize.
"This is Mars, the Star of War."
Red light flared, and the star joined its kin in the heavens.
Aphrodite bit her lip. Nearly every Primary Deity had a star. Only she, Hera, and Hestia remained. She stood, clutching Eros, and pointed to a star that shone like polished gold.
"This star is the most enchanting of all. As the Goddess of Beauty and one of the Twelve, it belongs to me."
The star was indeed magnificent, resembling a golden apple from Gaia's own garden.
"I find myself interested in that one as well!" Hera interjected coldly. "It looks regal and prestigious. It fits my status as Queen."
"You!" Aphrodite's blue eyes blazed with fury. This woman is insufferable!
"I support the Queen," Hephaestus said immediately. "And I," Hebe added. While in her old world this was Aphrodite's star, there was no reason not to secure it for her mother now. "I... I support my Mother as well," Ares muttered, avoiding Aphrodite's murderous glare.
Zeus, still eager to appease Hera after his recent scandal with Io, threw his weight behind her as well. The rest of the Council followed suit.
Isolated and outvoted, Aphrodite was forced to relinquish the golden star. Hera marked it with a triumphant flourish.
"This is Venus, the Star of Marriage." (Hera notably called it the Star of Marriage, not the Star of the Queen).
Deprived of Venus, Aphrodite turned her gaze to the remaining two. Hestia, the truly detached deity of the pantheon, made no move, content to let Aphrodite pick first and take the final scrap for herself.
"...I take this one," Aphrodite said, pointing to a pale, teal-green star that shimmered like a pearl, shrouded in wisps of white mist. It was not as garish as the golden star, but it possessed a delicate, refined beauty. More importantly, Aphrodite felt a resonance within it—not of Lust or Beauty, but of her bloodline: the Authority of the Sky.
Her heart leaped. By trying to spite her, Hera had accidentally let her choose the star most attuned to her origin—the power of her father, Uranus.
After five years of wandering as a dove, dodging hawks, vipers, and tigers, the capricious goddess had developed a newfound sense of caution. She masked her delight.
"This one is... passably beautiful. It will suffice for my title," she said, marking it with her power while secretly infusing it with her core essence.
"This is Uranus, the Star of Beauty."
"Then the last belongs to me," Hestia said softly. The final Leader Star was the smallest, radiating a deep, wine-red glow and an aura of warmth and celebration. As the Goddess of the Hearth, she found the energy pleasing.
"This is Vesta, the Star of Joy."
All twelve Leader Stars were now in place, each claiming its sector of the firmament while remaining inextricably linked. They encircled the world of Kaos, casting a brilliant, multi-colored light. The countless smaller stars in the nebula vibrated, eager to follow their kings.
"The Twelve are settled," Nyx declared, her voice final. "As for the distribution of the lesser stars, you may determine that among yourselves in the future. However, the initial division shall be: fifty percent to the Underworld, twenty percent to the Mountain, and thirty percent to the Sea."
The Primordial's decree was law. No one argued.
Nyx waved her hand. The sea of minor stars erupted from the nebula, integrating into the sky to guard their respective leaders, weaving a colossal Star-Network Magic Array.
On that day, an unprecedented starlight blanketed the world. The lights linked together like a vast, shimmering web, forming a resolute barrier that shielded Kaos from the outside void.
Beyond the world's edge, the chaos gas surged and churned, drawn in by a mysterious suction. It was absorbed by the network and converted into Primal Essence, which rained down from the heavens onto the parched earth.
A nameless joy filled the hearts of the gods. The World Will was becoming clearer, more active, and more vibrant than ever before.