Olympus glittered under the light of the eternal flame, but for Hera, the queen of the gods, the brilliance did not soothe her thoughts. She sat in her throne beside Zeus, her golden crown resting heavily on her brow. Normally she carried herself with regal composure, but these days her sharp eyes darted too often to the empty thrones around the chamber.
Athena's throne was vacant. Artemis had not been seen in council for weeks. Even Aphrodite, who often lingered near her with trivial chatter, had disappeared for long stretches of time. Hestia, the ever-constant presence of warmth, also seemed distant—she spent more time elsewhere, baking, than at her hearth in Olympus.
Hera's fingers drummed the armrest of her throne. They are plotting something. They must be.
Zeus, sprawled on his throne with the ease of one who thought himself untouchable, finally noticed her silence. "What gnaws at you, wife? Your face is tight as if you've bitten into sour olives."
Hera shot him a glare. "Do you not see it, Zeus? The goddesses. They are gone, all at once. Meetings unattended, duties delayed. It reeks of conspiracy."
Zeus chuckled, waving a careless hand. "You always suspect daggers in the shadows. They are gods, Hera. Perhaps they are simply… busy."
"Busy?" Hera's voice sharpened like a knife. "Busy where? With whom? Athena, Artemis, Aphrodite—they vanish together, and when they return, they are tight-lipped. Do you not wonder why they no longer come to me? Why Hestia, who always visits, now avoids my halls?"
Zeus shifted uneasily. He preferred thunderbolts to court intrigue. "Even if they plot, what can they do? None would dare raise a hand against me."
"That is where you are wrong," Hera whispered. Her eyes gleamed cold. "They do not need to raise a hand against you. They can simply whisper to the others. Poseidon has always been more popular than you. You rage, you thunder, you philander. Poseidon builds cities, grants calm seas, gifts horses to kings. If the goddesses turn the Olympians to his side, you will find yourself very alone."
Zeus's smile faltered. Hera had struck home. For all his power, his brother's reputation among gods and mortals was… steadier.
Hera rose from her throne, her gown flowing like a storm cloud. "I will find out the truth. If they plot, I will know. And if they dare try to crown Poseidon king, then I will tear their schemes apart before they draw breath."
Hera summoned her handmaid Iris, goddess of the rainbow and messenger, to her private chambers.
"I want you to watch Athena. Follow Artemis. Listen at Aphrodite's doors. I will not be made a fool."
Iris bowed nervously. "My queen, if I spy on them and they discover me—"
"Then tell them it was my command," Hera cut in. "Let them know the queen of Olympus watches their every step."
Alone, Hera paced before her mirror. The paranoia burned deep in her heart. Once, she had been adored by many of the goddesses, who came to her for counsel or companionship. But now… now they vanished into the mortal world, whispering, hiding things.
Her thoughts turned dark. Could it be they are plotting something together? Does Hades want war again?
Hera clenched her fists. If Artemis, Athena, Aphrodite—even Hestia—were gathering around a somewhere secret, then it was not merely disobedience. It was rebellion. And rebellions must be crushed before they bloomed.
Hera walked through the golden corridors of Aphrodite's palace, her gown sweeping noiselessly over marble floors. The palace was stunning as always—its columns carved with roses, its ceilings painted with dawn and dusk—but Hera's eyes were cold, searching.
Servants bowed low as she passed. She ignored them until she reached the grand hall, where Aphrodite's absence was immediately obvious. The queen of Olympus narrowed her eyes. Not a single note left for her husband, not a single whisper to her queen. Something is amiss.
She snapped her fingers, and a young nymph maid hurried forward, trembling.
"Where is my son's wife?" Hera demanded.
The nymph bowed so low her forehead touched the floor. "Lady Aphrodite departed three days past, my queen. She said nothing of where she went. She took only a small bag, and her dove-drawn chariot."
Hera's lips pressed thin. She had suspected this. "And my son?"
"In the forge, my queen," the nymph answered quickly. "As always."
Hera's footsteps echoed as she made her way to the far edge of the palace grounds. The palace itself was built with elegance, fountains singing, gardens blooming—but in the far corner, smoke and sparks rose from an ugly annex of black stone and iron.
The forge.
Hera's nose wrinkled. Even from a distance she could smell scorched metal, coal, and sweat. It was everything she despised: crude, ugly, practical. Her son had built it himself, and it clung to the edge of the palace like a scar. No wonder Aphrodite scorns him, Hera thought with bitter satisfaction. He knows nothing of beauty, of pleasure, of refinement. Only hammer and fire.
She stepped inside.
The heat hit her at once. Flames roared, molten metal hissed, and the ring of hammer against anvil echoed like thunder. Hephaestus stood over the anvil, his muscular arms glistening with sweat, his face grim with focus. Sparks danced across his scarred cheek, but he did not flinch.
"My son," Hera said coldly.
Hephaestus did not look up immediately. He finished striking the metal into shape before plunging it into a barrel of water with a hiss. Only then did he glance at her. His eyes were wary. "Mother. Rare for you to visit my forge."
Hera's gaze swept the room, disgust barely hidden. "I did not come for this—" she gestured to the smoke and grime "—filth. I came for answers. Where is your wife?"
Hephaestus set the cooled blade aside. His jaw tightened. "Gone."
"Gone where?" Hera's tone sharpened.
He shrugged, though the movement was heavy. "Do you think she tells me where she goes? I am her husband, yes, but never her confidant. She leaves as she pleases. She always has."
Hera's lips curled. "You accept this mockery of a marriage?"
"I accept reality," Hephaestus said bluntly. His hammer slammed onto the anvil again, sparks leaping. "Aphrodite has never been mine. She never will be. You arranged that marriage, Mother, not me."
Hera's nostrils flared. "I did it to protect Olympus. To keep Aphrodite out of Zeus's reach. If she is bound to you, she is daughter-in-law to the king. And Zeus will not soil his hands with his son's wife."
Hephaestus's laugh was bitter. "And yet, while you scheme to protect Olympus, I am the one living with the ashes of that choice."
Hera ignored his bitterness. She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. "Do you know where she went?"
Hephaestus shook his head. "No. But I know this: wherever she went, it wasn't for me."
Hera's eyes flashed. Then it must be for him… Ares. Her second son.
"You must tell me," she said, voice iron. "If you hear where she has gone, if you catch even a trace, you will inform me. Immediately."
Hephaestus looked at her for a long moment. "And if I don't?"
Hera's lips curved into a cold smile. "You will."
The palace of Ares loomed over the crimson cliffs, a fortress of iron and blood-red stone. Unlike Aphrodite's rose-scented halls or Hephaestus's smoky forge, Ares' domain reeked of battle—walls hung with rusted banners, corridors echoing with the clash of phantom armies. Hera walked with her head high, unbothered by the ghostly roars that trailed her steps.
She found Ares lounging on a throne of spears, polishing his blade with idle care. He grinned when he saw her, sharp and mocking.
"Mother," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Come to scold me again? It's been centuries since you last stormed in here. To what do I owe the honor?"
Hera's eyes narrowed. "I came for Aphrodite. Do not play games with me, Ares. Where is she?"
Ares leaned back, laughter booming through the hall. "Ah, still obsessed with her, are we? No, Mother, she has not warmed my bed in two years. Maybe more. I've lost count."
Hera's jaw tightened. "You expect me to believe that? You two flaunted your affair before the entire council. You brought shame to Olympus. You destroyed your brother's pride, and still you boast."
Ares' grin faded, replaced with something harder. "Hephaestus was never a brother to me. Weak, limping, hiding behind his tools. Aphrodite never wanted him, never loved him. That marriage was your chains, not hers. She was fire, and I—" he tapped his chest with a fist "—I was the only one who could match it."
Hera's voice was cold as steel. "And yet, now she is gone from you as well. Where is she?"
Ares shrugged, his tone suddenly serious. "That is the irony, isn't it? Aphrodite always returns, no matter how far she strays. But this time… this time feels different. She hasn't come to me in years, Hera. Not for love, not for comfort, not even for war games."
Hera's frown deepened. "Why?"
Ares leaned forward, eyes gleaming with a strange mixture of curiosity and irritation. "Because she found someone else. Someone not of Olympus."
Hera blinked. "What are you saying?"
Ares laughed again, but it was bitter now. "That her lover isn't me, nor Hephaestus, nor any god or demigod. It's a human, Mother. A mortal."
Hera sat on her ivory throne in her palace, her fingers tightening around the armrests. Ares' words rang in her ears.
Aphrodite with a mortal… for two years.
That was more than a dalliance, more than the fleeting amusements the Olympians indulged in. It was permanence, devotion. And that threatened the very order of things.
For centuries, the gods had their flings. Zeus with his endless pursuits, Apollo with his muses, even Hermes when mischief led him to mortal beds. Always the same pattern—intense passion, a few months of indulgence, a demigod born, and then the god moved on, leaving both mortal and child to fend for themselves. That was the rule, unspoken yet unbreakable.
But love? Lasting love? That was dangerous.
"If Aphrodite has truly bound her heart to a mortal…" Hera whispered to herself, "…it will shake Olympus to its core."
She imagined the whispers: immortals mocked by mortals, the goddess of love chained to a human lifespan, an Olympian lowering herself to fidelity. The others would never accept it. Not Zeus, not Athena, not even gentle Hestia.
Her eyes darkened. "And if Aphrodite bears him children, what then? Will they be raised above other demigods? Will her mortal lover be given privilege among gods?"
That could not be allowed.
She rose to her feet, her robes shimmering like storm clouds. Her voice echoed through the empty hall.
"No more excuses. No more hiding. The next time I see Aphrodite, she will answer me. She will not escape."
Her hand clenched into a fist, her mind burning with suspicion.
"If she has betrayed Olympus for a mortal, I will strip her pride before the council. Even if I must expose her before all the gods. I will not allow the foundations of our order to crumble for her foolishness."
The council chamber of Olympus glittered with golden light as the thrones filled one by one. Zeus sat at the center, regal and bored, his thunderbolt resting lazily across his knee. Poseidon slouched in his sea-stone chair, eyes distant like the tides. Athena was composed as always, her eyes scanning parchments of reports from Camp Half-Blood. Aphrodite smirked faintly, her beauty radiating. Artemis sat with a hunter's poise, silent and cold. Hestia, as usual, smiled warmly and poured ambrosia for the others.
Only Hades' throne remained empty. None of the gods commented—he had long ago withdrawn from these gatherings, and no one wasted breath expecting him.
The meeting began with the usual.
Reports of rising monster activity in the mortal world. Artemis listed hunts and recent kills her hunters made in Eastern Europe. Athena mentioned strategies being passed to Chiron for training demigods. Dionysus muttered complaints about unruly campers. Hermes gave a sly grin when asked about missing divine relics but said nothing of substance.
Zeus waved it all off with thunderous disinterest.
Then Hera leaned forward.
"So," she began smoothly, her eyes sweeping across the assembled goddesses, "what have my sisters been doing with their… free time? Athena? Aphrodite? Hestia? Artemis? You all seem… occupied lately."
Athena did not flinch. "My time is as it always is, Lady Hera. I read, I plan, I teach. Knowledge does not gather itself."
Hestia folded her hands gently. "I bake, I visit, I tend the hearth. Surely that needs no explanation."
Aphrodite smiled languidly. "Do you truly want me to detail my evenings, Hera? I doubt your ears are prepared for it."
A ripple of laughter moved around the thrones, but Hera's eyes stayed sharp.
After the council adjourned, Hera drew Poseidon aside.
"You," she said sharply. "Tell me—have Athena, Aphrodite, Artemis been visiting you? Have they conspired with you?"
Poseidon raised a brow, sea-green eyes narrowing. "Conspired? No. They hardly visit me at all. Athena still despises me, Aphrodite keeps her lovers elsewhere, and Artemis… well, she avoids men, as you well know."
Hera searched his face. "So you have no clue what they spend their time on?"
Poseidon chuckled. "None. And frankly, I don't care. But if they are hiding something, it is not with me." He turned and left, trident gleaming in his hand.
When Poseidon was gone, Hera turned back to the goddesses who lingered in the hall.
Her voice sharpened. "Aphrodite. Tell me of your mortal lover."
The room stilled.
Aphrodite tilted her head, lashes fluttering. "How forward of you, Hera. But why should I answer?"
Athena's eyes flicked up from her scroll, her voice calm but pointed. "Lady Hera, perhaps you should mind your own affairs. Mortals and gods have always mingled. A goddess keeping company with a mortal is not new. Why now do you pry?"
Hera's lips pressed into a thin line. "Because this is not any fleeting affair, this is some kind of conspiracy. You all vanish together. You all return with excuses. Do you think I am blind?"
Artemis' silver eyes flashed, but she said nothing. Aphrodite only smiled, infuriatingly serene.
Hera's suspicion deepened. They are hiding something. Together. And if it is true that Aphrodite has given her heart to a mortal… then the foundations of Olympus tremble.
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