Divine Ascension: Reborn as a God of Power

The throne room of Hera was quiet, save for the faint rustle of silk as she adjusted the folds of her gown. The light that filtered through the high, arched windows was muted, a pale shimmer that gave the whole chamber an almost dreamlike stillness. Hera's eyes drifted over the marble floor, but her mind was elsewhere — somewhere in the invisible threads that bound Olympus to her will.

Then the air changed.

A ripple, deep and unnatural, passed through the chamber like the silent beat of an alien heart. Shadows lengthened without a source. The temperature dropped a fraction, enough for her breath to plume faintly in the air. Hera straightened, every nerve alert. She knew this presence.

"You're late," she said, her tone calm but taut.

A laugh — if it could be called that — slid into the space between them. It was a sound without shape, a vibration that didn't need a mouth or breath. The shadows behind the pillars thickened until they bled together into a single amorphous mass. It had no defined form, yet its presence pressed against the mind like an ocean on glass.

Chaos had arrived.

"I am never late," Chaos replied, its voice echoing as though it came from every point in the room at once. "I arrive exactly when the pattern demands it."

Hera's lips curved into a cold half-smile. "Patterns can be broken."

"They can be… disrupted," Chaos conceded. "And right now, three threads are fraying your tapestry."

Hera stilled, but her gaze sharpened. She already knew which three names would leave its formless mouth.

"Aphrodite. Ares. Hermes," Chaos said, each name dripping like molten metal, slow and deliberate. "They think themselves clever. Moving in the shadows. Piecing together fragments of the truth."

"They are acting outside my design," Hera murmured.

"No," Chaos corrected, voice flattening into something heavier. "They are acting against it. And against me. They intend to free the Moirai."

At that, Hera's hands tightened slightly on the arms of her throne. The Moirai — the Fates — were not merely three women weaving destiny. They were the foundation. The loom upon which Chaos itself had anchored its order in the cosmos. If they were freed, everything Hera had so carefully woven would unravel faster than even she could control.

"And if they succeed," Chaos continued, "you will not be able to put the strands back together. Not this time."

Hera met the shadows without flinching. "I have control over Zeus. Over most of the Council. The rest are pacified or distracted. They can't possibly—"

"Do not underestimate them," Chaos hissed. For a moment, the entire throne room felt smaller, compressed by the sheer gravity of its presence. "They are not relying on strength. They are relying on opportunity. And you have given them too many cracks to slip through."

Hera's jaw tightened, but she said nothing.

Chaos leaned closer — though it had no true form, the sensation of its focus bore down on her like the sun's weight without heat. "You will act, Hera. Now. Or the design fails."

"You speak as if the design is mine to keep," Hera said, her voice low.

"It is yours to keep because I allow it," Chaos replied, the words slipping into her mind like knives she could not remove. "Do not mistake your position for permanence."

Hera allowed a pause, the silence heavy between them. "What do you require of me?"

"Divide them," Chaos said simply. "Distract them. Push them into conflict with each other. Aphrodite's compassion is a weakness — press on it until it becomes doubt. Ares' pride is a chain — rattle it until it drags him down. Hermes' cunning is a fire — smother it with suspicion. They must not remain united."

Hera considered the suggestion, her fingers tapping once against the marble. "And if subtlety fails?"

"Then you will burn them out of the weave entirely," Chaos said without hesitation. "Erase them from the pattern. Their absence will be… regrettable, but necessary."

Her eyes narrowed. "Killing them will draw attention. Even the controlled will notice."

"Then make their absence… poetic," Chaos said, voice curling like smoke. "Let their end be a tragedy of their own making."

The shadows shifted again, deeper now, almost touching the edges of her gown. "Do not fail me, Hera. You are not irreplaceable."

Hera's eyes flared with a sharp, cold light, but her voice remained even. "Neither are you."

For a heartbeat, the chamber seemed to hold its breath. Then Chaos withdrew, shadows receding like a tide pulled back into the abyss. Its voice echoed one last time, softer but no less dangerous:

"Do what must be done… or I will."

When it was gone, the room felt wider, emptier — but the air still carried the metallic tang of its presence. Hera exhaled slowly, flexing her fingers.

She hated being ordered.

Yet Chaos was right. The three were becoming a problem. Aphrodite had been quiet for centuries, content to play her role as the charming distraction, but now… now she was showing teeth. Ares was easier — pride could be used, manipulated into reckless moves. Hermes, though… Hermes was dangerous when his mind was set on something.

Hera rose from her throne, the sound of her sandals whispering over marble. If she moved too overtly, she risked exposing her own hand in the matter. This required careful design — a deception that felt organic.

She began to pace, her mind already moving faster than her feet.

First, she would plant doubt between Aphrodite and Ares. A whisper here, a suggestion there — perhaps a rumor of betrayal, or that Ares was considering aligning himself with another god behind her back. Jealousy and mistrust could do the work without her lifting a finger.

Hermes would be trickier. His network of informants was nearly impossible to mislead, but if she could control the information he received… yes, she could feed him truths wrapped in lies. Make him chase ghosts while Aphrodite and Ares floundered in discord.

And all the while, she would keep Zeus firmly under her influence. The last thing the three could survive was an open confrontation with the King of Olympus.

Her mind sharpened further — she would not just divide them. She would make them choose their own downfall.

The sound of footsteps echoed faintly from beyond the chamber doors. One of her handmaidens entered, bowing deeply.

"My Queen, the Council session you requested is ready to convene."

Hera's lips curved, the faintest trace of satisfaction in her expression.

"Good," she said. "Send word to Hermes, Aphrodite, and Ares. Tell them I wish to speak with them privately after the meeting. Separately."

The handmaiden bowed again and withdrew. Hera turned her gaze toward the high windows, where the pale light had grown warmer, sharper.

Chaos had given her an order. Hera would obey — but in her own way, and for her own reasons.

If the three wanted to play at conspiracy, she would make them regret stepping onto her board.

---

The air inside the Hall Beyond Time was a still, oppressive void. Hera stood at the center of the black marble dais, the faint shimmer of golden wards around her like the petals of an invisible flower. She had been summoned here before, but never like this. The space itself seemed aware—its silence stretching unnaturally long, as though holding its breath.

Then, a ripple tore through the darkness.

From that tear emerged a voice, low and resonant, neither male nor female, each syllable echoing like it carried the weight of the first dawn. The void shifted, threads of silvery light knitting together into the silhouette of a figure vast beyond comprehension. Its outline was humanoid, but it flickered with starfields and shadows, as though the night sky had taken shape.

"Hera," the voice of Chaos whispered, though even in its softness, it struck her like thunder. "Your complacency ends now."

She straightened, folding her arms, but the flicker in her eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. "I've followed your instructions precisely. The Olympians remain docile. No one suspects a thing."

"No one," Chaos repeated, "except three who refuse to bend to the current."

The void trembled, and images began to swirl in the blackness between them. Aphrodite, her golden hair dimmed by determination, walking beside Ares through a mist-shrouded ruin. Hermes, moving between shadows with an unnatural lightness in his step. The three converging at an abandoned sanctuary—its walls choked with ivy, its columns cracked but standing.

"They have already begun," Chaos said. "Your little distractions no longer deter them. Aphrodite questions. Ares schemes. Hermes listens where he should not. Together, they will unravel the seal."

Hera's lips pressed into a thin line. "The seal on the Moirai," she said, though it was not a question.

Chaos's eyes—two stars of impossible depth—flared. "If the Moirai awaken, they will see the fractures. They will remember what I have done. All the threads I've rewoven will snap."

Hera's mind worked quickly. She could feel Chaos's power pressing at her thoughts, urging her toward urgency, toward obedience. "You want me to stop them."

"I want you to remove them," Chaos corrected, the word dripping with finality. "But do so quietly. The others must not realize the threat exists. If you make them martyrs, the doubt will spread."

The darkness shifted again, and the vision of the three intruders became sharper. They were in the sanctuary now—Ares testing the stability of a broken stairway with his boot, Aphrodite brushing dust from an old altar, Hermes crouched over strange markings on the floor.

"They think they are clever," Chaos murmured, "but their curiosity will be their ruin. Use what you know of them. Aphrodite's compassion. Ares's pride. Hermes's hunger for secrets. Turn each against the other."

Hera tilted her head slightly. "They are not easy to manipulate. Even you know that."

A shadow-smile curled through Chaos's voice. "Everything bends, given the right pressure."

The darkness flickered again, and a wave of memory flooded Hera's mind—not her own, but one Chaos forced upon her. She saw Aphrodite in another age, kneeling beside the body of a fallen mortal she loved, her tears mixing with his blood. She saw Ares, humiliated in battle before a crowd, his rage blinding him to reason. She saw Hermes, years ago, stealing a relic he believed would grant him knowledge, only to find it cursed.

When the visions faded, Hera's breath came sharp. "You've been watching them for longer than I thought."

"I watch everything," Chaos replied. "Now you will too."

Hera considered her options. Confronting them directly risked drawing attention. But Chaos's pressure was like a hand at her throat—there was no room for refusal. She had to act.

"What do you suggest?" she asked.

Chaos's eyes dimmed slightly, as if retreating deeper into the void. "Divide them. Begin with Aphrodite. Plant doubt in her about Ares's true loyalty. Suggest that Hermes has his own agenda—that he will sell them both out if it serves him. Once she hesitates, the chain will weaken."

"And if they resist?"

"Then you make them resist each other. Do not fail me, Hera. This is not a request—it is preservation."

The shadows around Chaos began to ripple more violently now, the sense of presence growing overwhelming. Hera fought the instinct to look away.

"I will see it done," she said finally.

"Good." Chaos's voice was little more than a sigh now, though it thrummed with dangerous satisfaction. "You still serve the future I am shaping. Remember—there is no place in it for those who cling to the past."

The vision broke like glass. Hera was alone again in the Hall Beyond Time, the golden wards flickering faintly before dying entirely. She exhaled slowly, letting her fingers unclench from fists she hadn't realized she'd made.

But she could still feel the weight of Chaos's eyes on her.

---

By the time Hera returned to the mortal realm, night had fallen over the sanctuary. She kept her distance, cloaking herself in divine concealment, observing the three as they worked. Ares was prying loose an ancient slab, revealing a spiral staircase beneath. Hermes had already descended halfway, torchlight flickering below. Aphrodite lingered at the top, fingers brushing the altar again as if she could feel something through the stone.

Perfect.

Hera's voice, carried on a whisper only Aphrodite could hear, slid into the goddess's thoughts.

"He hides things from you."

Aphrodite froze. "Who—?" she began aloud, but caught herself. Her eyes darted toward the shadows, but Hera had no form here—only a suggestion, a weight pressing gently against her mind.

"Ares," the whisper continued. "He isn't telling you what he truly seeks. It's not the Moirai's freedom—it's power. Control. When the seal breaks, he'll claim it for himself."

"That's ridiculous," Aphrodite murmured under her breath, though the hesitation in her tone was subtle.

"Is it? Ask yourself—when has Ares ever sought anything that wasn't for his own glory?"

Below, Ares's voice echoed faintly. "Aphrodite! Come on, we need your help with this."

She looked down toward the stairwell, her hand still on the altar. Hera smiled to herself.

---

Far below, Hermes examined the markings on the staircase walls. Symbols of weaving, cutting, knotting—the language of the Moirai. But something about them felt… wrong. His instincts, honed from centuries of theft and trickery, screamed at him.

And then another voice slid into his thoughts.

"She's watching you."

Hermes froze mid-step. "Hera?"

"You think Aphrodite trusts you?" the whisper teased. "She suspects you'll use this knowledge for yourself. Ares believes it too. Why do you think they keep speaking in hushed tones when you aren't near?"

Hermes's eyes narrowed. "You're lying."

"Perhaps. But perhaps you've been the fool in their little game."

Hermes's grip tightened on the torch. He didn't answer, but Hera could feel the seed had been planted.

---

In the shadows outside the sanctuary, Hera withdrew, her expression calm but her mind already working through the next moves. Chaos's warning still echoed in her skull.

If the Moirai awoke, everything would collapse.

But if she played her hand well, Aphrodite, Ares, and Hermes would never reach them alive—nor suspect the knife had been hers until it was too late.