Divine Ascension: Reborn as a God of Power

Hera stood alone in her private chamber, the vast marble hall silent except for the faint echo of her own footsteps. Chaos's words still coiled in her mind like a serpent, each syllable heavy with threat. "If they succeed, Hera, everything we've built collapses. Do what must be done… or the Fates will unmake our design."

Her fingers lingered on the edge of her throne, nails tapping against the cool stone. She had never feared any god—not even Zeus when he was at his most wrathful—but Chaos was different. Chaos had no heartbeat, no mortal flaw, no ambition in the way the Olympians understood it. Chaos was the beginning and the end. When it commanded, there was no refusal without consequence.

And yet…

Her gaze wandered to the bronze mirror in the far corner of the room. The polished surface reflected her sharp, regal features, but her eyes… her eyes betrayed the smallest flicker of hesitation. She had told herself countless times that what they were doing—sealing the Fates, rewriting the threads of destiny—was necessary. That the old order had failed, and it was time to create a new one, free from the meddling of those ancient weavers.

But the look on Aphrodite's face when she had last seen her—anger, yes, but also confusion and something perilously close to betrayal—kept intruding into Hera's thoughts. Ares, Hermes… even Zeus, when he had broken free for that fleeting moment. Were they truly threats to the new order… or warnings she was refusing to hear?

A shadow stirred in the air, the faint hum of Chaos's presence brushing against her mind.

You hesitate.

Hera straightened, masking her uncertainty with a queen's poise. "I consider the best approach."

Consider quickly. The three have already moved. They search for allies, for answers. If they reach the sealed Fates, they will learn too much.

"They won't," she replied, voice like ice. "I know every step they could take."

Then ensure they take none. And Hera… sentiment will be your undoing.

The presence withdrew, leaving the air cold and still. Hera exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening into a fist. She could not let Aphrodite, Ares, and Hermes continue. But part of her—small, stubborn—wanted to see what they would uncover.

For centuries, she had played the role of enforcer, the unyielding queen who guarded Olympus from within. Yet in the stillness, doubts began to thread through her mind. The Fates were dangerous, yes… but they had also been a safeguard. Without them, Chaos's influence could twist the very fabric of reality unchecked.

Her steps carried her toward the tall, narrow window that overlooked the gardens of Olympus. In the distance, she could see the gleaming spires and halls, each a symbol of their divine perfection. But perfection was a fragile thing—it cracked easily beneath the weight of truth.

A memory surfaced: long ago, she had stood in the Hall of Threads, watching the Fates weave. She had hated their smug detachment, the way they spoke in riddles, claiming to see every choice before it was made. But there had been a strange comfort, too, in knowing there was a design beyond even her reach.

Now that design was gone.

Hera turned away from the window and began to pace. She could sabotage the three's efforts directly, confront them with the full weight of her authority. But doing so might push them into desperation—and desperation could be far more dangerous than quiet defiance.

No. She needed to maneuver carefully. Slow them down. Divert them. If she crushed them openly, others might begin to suspect that something was wrong.

She moved to her desk, retrieving a small crystal orb that shimmered faintly in the torchlight. Her fingers brushed over its surface, activating the enchantment woven into it. Threads of golden light bloomed inside, swirling into an image of a vast courtyard where divine messengers were gathering.

Hermes was among them. Hera's lips pressed into a thin line. He moved with the restless ease of someone already plotting an escape, a dozen thoughts flitting behind his quick eyes. Ares would be close by—never far from the god of messengers when battle might be at hand.

And Aphrodite…

The orb shifted to another vision—Aphrodite in a shadowed corridor, hood drawn, speaking in hushed tones to a minor river god. Even from here, Hera could see the determination in her movements. It was the same determination she had once admired, when they had been allies in courtly intrigues rather than opponents in a silent war.

Sentiment will be your undoing. Chaos's warning hissed again in her mind.

Hera's jaw clenched. Perhaps it would. Or perhaps it was the one thing keeping her from becoming exactly what Chaos wanted her to be.

Still… she had to act.

Her first step was subtle: she whispered commands into the orb, sending them out to loyal retainers. Patrols would be increased in the lower sanctums. Routes Hermes might use for covert travel would be sealed under the guise of "repairs." Ares's favored armory would mysteriously lose key weapons to "misplacement." And Aphrodite… Aphrodite would find her contacts suddenly too frightened to speak, their memories clouded by enchantments placed without their knowledge.

It was not enough to stop them entirely—but it would slow them. And slowing them might buy her time to decide where her true loyalty lay.

When the orb dimmed, Hera sat back, fingers pressed to her temples. She needed more information. If she could understand precisely what Chaos feared, she might find a path that didn't lead to destruction—for the Fates, for the others… and perhaps for herself.

But finding that answer meant walking a dangerous line. Too much defiance and Chaos would see her as expendable. Too much obedience and she might be complicit in something even worse than the old order's flaws.

She rose once more, gathering her cloak. The marble floor echoed with the sound of her footsteps as she left the chamber, her mind a storm of conflicting resolve.

Tonight, she would act the part Chaos expected—tightening the net, watching the three, ensuring they remained just far enough from their goal. But somewhere in the quiet, hidden beneath the layers of duty and command, Hera would search.

Because if there truly was a force capable of controlling Zeus, of bending the other gods to its will, then not even Chaos might be safe from what would come next.

And perhaps—though she would never say it aloud—Hera found herself hoping that Aphrodite, Ares, and Hermes would succeed… just enough to show her the truth.

---

The lower sanctums of Olympus were nothing like the gleaming halls above. Here, marble gave way to black stone, smooth as glass yet warm to the touch, carved by forces older than the gods themselves. The air was heavy, as if weighed down by the secrets buried here. Even Hermes, who prided himself on being unshakable, felt the press of unseen eyes following them.

Aphrodite's sandals clicked softly against the floor as she walked ahead, her posture regal despite the damp chill. "We need to move quickly," she murmured, her voice echoing off the walls. "If Chaos suspects we're anywhere near the bindings, the whole corridor will be crawling with sentinels."

"Then we kill them," Ares said without hesitation, his hand already tightening on the haft of his spear. The faint glow of its tip cut through the darkness like a shard of fire. "I'm not here to tiptoe around."

Hermes sighed, stepping between them before they could start their usual bickering. "And if the bindings collapse because you turned this place into a warzone, what then? We'll be buried under divine rubble before we even see the Fates."

Ares gave him a look sharp enough to cut marble, but Hermes didn't slow his pace. The god of war might bristle at him, but Ares wasn't reckless enough to ignore that Hermes was the only one who knew every twist and dead-end of the old paths.

The corridor narrowed, the walls closing in until even Ares had to duck slightly to avoid scraping his head. Old carvings lined the stone — not of the gods, but of shapes stranger and less human. Aphrodite trailed her fingertips along them, feeling the faint thrum of magic beneath the surface.

"These were carved before Olympus existed," she said quietly. "Before even the Titans."

Hermes nodded. "This was part of the Weave Chamber. The Fates didn't just live here — they were this place. Every wall, every carving, is part of the loom. Which means…" He stopped, crouching beside one panel of stone. "…which means if we find the right thread, we can bypass half the traps."

He traced a spiral symbol with his fingertip, and the stone shivered faintly, a sound like a string being plucked filling the corridor. Ares tensed, his spear shifting into a defensive stance, but nothing leapt from the shadows. Instead, a faint golden glow lit up ahead, revealing an arched doorway that hadn't been there before.

Aphrodite stepped forward, but Hermes caught her wrist. "Don't touch the threshold. It's laced with binding magic. You cross without a counter-sigil and your soul won't make it three steps before it's yanked out of your body."

She raised an eyebrow. "And you happen to have a counter-sigil?"

Hermes grinned, tapping his satchel. "I happen to have a lot of things." He withdrew a small disc of bronze etched with overlapping circles and slid it into the arch. The metal pulsed once, twice, then dissolved into a fine dust that clung to the edges of the doorway.

"Now it's safe," he said, sweeping a hand theatrically toward the entrance.

Inside, the chamber was vast — far larger than the outside could have suggested. The floor was a mosaic of gold and black stone, depicting an unending spiral that drew the eye toward the center. There, a single column of light descended from the ceiling, illuminating a circular dais.

Ares stepped forward instantly, spear lowered, scanning the shadows for movement. "Too quiet," he muttered.

"Too quiet means we're close," Hermes replied, moving toward the dais.

Aphrodite followed more slowly, her eyes drawn not to the dais but to the walls. Thin threads of light ran across the stone, weaving patterns so intricate they seemed almost alive. They pulsed faintly, like the slow beat of a heart.

Then, as they neared the center, the air shifted. A whisper, not unlike the one Hera had felt, brushed across their thoughts. It wasn't language, not exactly, but each of them understood it.

—You should not be here.—

Aphrodite flinched, her hand flying to her chest. "That… that was—"

"The Fates," Hermes finished, his tone suddenly serious. "They can sense us. Which means the bindings are weaker than Chaos wants us to believe."

Ares's grip on his spear tightened. "Then we break them."

Before either could stop him, he stepped onto the dais. The moment his foot touched the spiral's center, the column of light flared, and chains of molten gold erupted from the floor, snapping around his arms and legs.

"Ares!" Aphrodite darted forward, but Hermes caught her by the arm again, pulling her back.

"Don't. This is a containment trigger. Touch it and it'll bind all of us."

Ares snarled, straining against the chains, the floor trembling under his effort. "Get me out of this."

"I'm trying," Hermes muttered, his hands moving rapidly through his satchel. He pulled out a shard of obsidian etched with runes and pressed it against the nearest chain. The moment it touched, the gold flared brighter, but a thin crack began to spread along its surface.

While Hermes worked, Aphrodite stepped to the edge of the dais, her gaze locking on the walls again. The threads of light had shifted. They no longer pulsed in slow rhythm — now they were flowing, like strands being drawn toward the center.

And somewhere beyond the chamber, deep in the stone, she could feel another presence. Not Chaos. Not Zeus. Something older. Watching. Waiting.

"Hermes," she said quietly, "we're not alone."

The god of messengers didn't look up from his work. "You think I don't know that? There's a guardian here. There always is."

The air grew colder, and a shadow began to form along the far wall. It coalesced into a shape vaguely human, but impossibly tall, with limbs like sharpened spears and eyes that burned a cold, silvery white.

The voice came again — deeper this time, threaded with authority.

—Leave. This path is not yours to walk.—

Aphrodite met the being's gaze and felt her heartbeat quicken. The weight of its presence was crushing, like standing at the bottom of the ocean. "We came for the Fates," she said, her voice steady despite the pressure. "If you know what's happening above, you know why."

The guardian tilted its head, the motion slow and deliberate.

—Above will fall. Below will endure. That is the order.—

"Not if Chaos wins," Hermes cut in sharply. "You think binding the Fates will keep the weave safe? You're just letting someone else write it."

The guardian didn't answer. Its gaze flickered between the three of them, lingering on Aphrodite. Then it stepped back, the silver in its eyes dimming.

—One choice. One thread. Pull it, and you cannot stop what follows.—

Ares growled in frustration. "Enough riddles!"

But the chains around him cracked with a sharp sound, shattering into molten dust. Hermes stumbled back, panting from the effort. "We're in. But whatever happens next…" He glanced at the guardian, whose form was already fading back into the wall. "…we've been warned."

Aphrodite stepped onto the dais beside Ares, her gaze fixed on the center of the spiral. From here, she could see the threads clearly — all converging into a single knot of light beneath the floor. The heart of the bindings.

And somewhere in that knot… the Fates were waiting.

She took a deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper. "Let's set them free."