Divine Ascension: Reborn as a God of Power

The sky over Olympus boiled with thunderclouds, the kind that only Zeus himself could summon. The air tasted of copper and ozone, and the mountain trembled under the weight of his fury.

The doors to the Grand Hall flew open with a deafening crack, the marble splintering at the edges as Zeus strode in, each step echoing like a drumbeat of war. Poseidon followed close behind, his trident in hand, sea-spray clinging to his bronze armor. Neither spoke at first, but the silence carried more threat than any roar.

Hera stood at the far end of the chamber, her back to them, gazing at the vast mural of the cosmos that adorned the wall. She had chosen not to be seated upon her throne—perhaps because sitting would make her look too much like she still claimed the right to rule beside him.

"Do you intend to keep your back to me, wife?" Zeus's voice rolled like distant thunder, restrained but seething.

"I am considering my words," Hera replied, her tone poised, but the faint tremor betrayed her. "Because if I speak hastily, I may say something neither of us can take back."

Poseidon's voice was the sound of crashing waves, blunt and unforgiving. "You've already done things you cannot take back, sister. The question is whether you have the courage to face them."

She turned then, her golden eyes catching the light of the storm through the shattered doors. For all her composure, there was no mistaking the shadow under them—remorse, heavy as a stone in the heart.

Zeus stepped forward, the air around him crackling with pent-up lightning. "I know you have been… influencing me." His gaze narrowed, studying her as one might an adversary across the battlefield. "And not merely with words. Something deeper. Something that makes even my thoughts feel… not my own."

Hera's jaw tightened. "You think I am your enemy."

"I know you have acted like one," Zeus shot back. "The Fates are sealed. Olympus is in disarray. And somehow… somehow, I find myself making choices that serve an agenda I cannot fully remember."

Poseidon's grip on his trident tightened, knuckles pale. "Aphrodite, Ares, and Hermes are moving to undo your work, Hera. You must know that. The only reason you still stand here is because my brother believes you may yet give him truth before justice."

Hera's lips curved into a bitter smile. "Truth and justice rarely share the same path." She stepped down from the dais, her movements slow, deliberate, the silks of her gown whispering against the marble. "Do you think I wished for this chaos? For the Fates to vanish, for you to question your own mind? No, my husband. This was not the ending I sought."

Zeus's eyes flared with a light that could scorch the air. "Then what ending did you seek?"

Her answer came like a confession dragged from the depths. "One where the arrogance of the gods did not doom us. Where you—" she paused, swallowing the lump in her throat "—did not let your pride blind you to the threats beyond Olympus."

Poseidon stepped closer, his shadow long and dark against the floor. "And for that, you chose to manipulate the King of the Gods? To play with forces you clearly do not command?"

Hera turned her gaze toward him, sharp as a blade. "Do you think I acted alone? That this influence I have over Zeus was born of my will alone? No. I was approached. Persuaded. Told that to keep Olympus safe, I must… nudge the King into certain decisions."

Zeus's hand twitched at his side, arcs of lightning snapping between his fingers. "Who?" His voice was deadly quiet.

Hera hesitated, and for a heartbeat, Poseidon thought she might lie. But when she spoke, it was worse than either expected.

"I never saw them clearly. Their form was hidden—only a voice, distorted, speaking through an orb of light. They called themselves the Harbinger, and claimed to act in service of balance."

Poseidon exchanged a glance with Zeus, both of them recognizing the danger. "Balance," the Sea God muttered. "A word that liars often wear like perfume."

Zeus's fury flared again, but now it had an edge of dread. "You let this… thing… into your mind. Into our rule."

"I thought I could control it," Hera said, her voice cracking just slightly. "I thought I could use its knowledge, its warnings. But it grew stronger… and the more I listened, the more my own will blurred."

Zeus advanced until he was mere steps from her. "And now you stand here, telling me you regret it. That you did not mean for it to go so far. But regret will not free the Fates. Regret will not stop the rot from spreading through Olympus."

Hera lowered her gaze, the weight of his words pressing down. "I know."

Poseidon circled her slowly, like a predator assessing prey. "Then answer this: do you still feel its presence?"

Her fingers clenched at her sides. "…Yes."

Zeus's lightning dimmed slightly, his mind turning like a storm changing course. "Then we may yet use that. Track it. Find where it hides."

Hera's eyes widened. "You would have me act as bait?"

"I would have you act as queen," Zeus said coldly. "If you still claim the title."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Outside, the storm lashed Olympus with rain and wind, as if the mountain itself shared in the turmoil of its gods.

Finally, Hera straightened, her spine regaining the steel that had always made her formidable. "If this is the only way to end what I began… then so be it."

Poseidon stopped pacing, fixing her with a stare that could pierce stone. "But understand this, sister: the moment I suspect your loyalty is truly gone, I will not hesitate."

Zeus stepped back, the faintest nod passing between him and his brother. "Prepare yourself, Hera. When Aphrodite and the others return with the Fates, we will need every advantage."

She said nothing more as they turned to leave, the great doors closing with a thundering echo. But when the sound faded, Hera found herself alone once more in the vast, silent hall.

And for the first time in an age, she allowed her knees to weaken, sinking to the cold marble floor. Her fingers trembled—not with fear of Zeus's wrath, but with the haunting certainty that the Harbinger was listening… and smiling.

The storm over Olympus was not born from weather, but from Zeus himself.

The clouds churned like an ocean of black ink above the marble towers, pierced now and again by jagged spears of lightning that struck too close to the central halls. The air was thick with ozone, every breath a reminder that the King of the Gods was no longer in the mood for restraint.

Inside the throne chamber, the great doors had been thrown wide, their hinges protesting. Zeus strode in first—every step a measured blow against the polished floor, his knuckles tight around the haft of the master bolt. His expression was not rage alone; there was a grim clarity in his eyes, the kind that meant something had shifted deep within him.

Poseidon followed, trident in hand. He rarely left his domain for matters of Olympus, but the look in his sea-green eyes showed that whatever they had discovered was enough to draw him to his brother's side. His presence brought with it the scent of salt and the low, restless rumble of the ocean.

At the far end of the hall, Hera stood.

Or rather—she lingered in front of her throne, her posture upright, but her gaze drifting anywhere but to the two gods approaching. She had faced monsters, challengers, and even titans without flinching. Yet now, the weight in her chest pressed down harder than any chain.

Because she knew.

The things she had set in motion—born from a carefully spun web of intentions—had twisted into something she no longer fully recognized. The thought of meeting Zeus's eyes and seeing what he had pieced together made her stomach knot.

"Explain yourself." Zeus's voice cracked through the chamber like the very lightning outside.

Hera's lips parted, but no words came.

"You've been moving pieces in shadows," Poseidon said, his tone less thunder and more tide—a steady push, a constant erosion of her composure. "And now those pieces are moving without you."

A shiver traced her spine. He was right. She could feel it—threads she had once woven now slipping from her fingers. It was no longer entirely her design.

"I have done what I always do," Hera finally said, forcing steel into her tone. "Protect Olympus."

Zeus stepped closer, the light from his bolt painting his face in stark gold and shadow. "Protect?" His voice carried the barest laugh, low and dangerous. "Is that what you call it? Whispering into my ear, turning my thoughts where you would have them go?"

The accusation hit harder than she had expected—not because it wasn't true, but because she had never thought he would see it so plainly.

Hera's jaw tightened. "You would have done nothing, Zeus. You always wait until the threat is on the doorstep before you act."

"Better that," Poseidon interjected, "than act so early that you turn the tide against yourself." He shifted his trident slightly, the prongs glinting in the dim light. "And perhaps against all of us."

Her eyes flicked to him, but she could not summon the sharp retort that would normally come so easily. Instead, her mind wandered—just for a heartbeat—to the Fates.

The seal.

She had told herself it was necessary. That without their influence, Olympus could be steered more cleanly. That the danger of their visions was too great to risk when so many other storms were already brewing.

But what if she had been wrong?

What if in cutting their threads from the loom, she had left the tapestry to unravel entirely?

"Hera." Zeus's voice snapped her back. His gaze was locked on hers now, the crackling storm in his eyes demanding truth. "Where are they?"

The words hung between them, heavy and certain. He knew she was involved. There was no pretending otherwise.

The silence stretched until even the sound of the rain beyond the marble walls seemed to fade. Hera's fingers curled at her sides, nails biting into her palms.

"I don't know," she said at last. And though it was technically true—she no longer knew exactly where the Fates were—it sounded like a lie even to her own ears.

Poseidon's frown deepened. "Then you've lost control."

The phrase hit her like an arrow to the gut. She did not answer.

Zeus took another step forward, until the scent of ozone and the faint hum of divine power around him pressed against her like a wall. "If your games have endangered Olympus—if you have made enemies of your own kin—then I will tear down every veil you hide behind until I see the whole truth."

The muscles in her throat tensed. Part of her wanted to lash back, to remind him of the countless times her strategies had saved Olympus while his pride blinded him. But another part—quieter, more insidious—whispered that perhaps she deserved his fury.

Because she could already feel it, just beyond the edges of her sight: something moving, vast and deliberate. A force she might have once thought she could bend to her will, but now suspected might be bending her instead.

"Leave her," Poseidon said suddenly, though his gaze never left her face. "If she will not speak, then she has chosen her side. And the sea has a way of washing truth to shore eventually."

Zeus's grip on the master bolt tightened, but he did not strike. Instead, he turned sharply, the storm following him as he strode toward the doors. Poseidon followed, his trident scraping softly against the floor in his wake.

Hera remained still until they were gone, the sound of the doors echoing like the closing of a judgment she had not yet faced.

Only then did she allow herself to breathe—and with it came a whisper of something she did not want to name.

Regret.