Divine Ascension: Reborn as a God of Power

The sky above Kaeron seemed different that afternoon. Not brighter, not more radiant, but carrying an unusual calm, as though the air itself exhaled in relief after surviving a storm no one had chosen. Beneath that fragile peace, Akhon made his way back toward the sacred gardens where the Hesperides waited.

Every step he took carried weight—not of his body, but of the memories restored. The gods had recovered them, the mortals had recovered them, and so had he. Memories that bled with pain, betrayal, hope, and unity. The truth had returned to every mind like a flood smashing through a dam, unstoppable, merciless, and cleansing.

He paused before the threshold of the gardens. The golden light of the late sun draped itself over the trees, the air carrying the sweet fragrance of blossoms untouched by corruption. Yet even here, in this sanctuary, he could sense the heaviness of what the Hesperides now remembered. They too had seen and felt what had been taken from them.

As he stepped forward, three figures came into view among the orchard of shining fruit.

Erytheia was the first to notice him. Her amber eyes widened, her lips parting as though she wanted to speak but could not. For once, her usual sharp, tsundere retort was absent; the weight of memory had silenced her tongue.

Aegle, radiant as her name, trembled where she stood, hands clasped to her chest. Tears glimmered in her eyes, not of sadness, but of overwhelming recognition. She had not forgotten him—her love, her devotion, her fear of losing him—all of it had been stolen from her. And now, returned in full, it was almost too much to bear.

Hesperia lingered behind them, quieter, solemn. Her gaze locked onto Akhon with a steadiness that carried neither tears nor smiles. Only the gravity of someone who had seen what lay behind the veil and knew there was no erasing it again.

"Akhon…" Aegle finally whispered, her voice fragile but warm. "You—You came back."

He walked closer, each step deliberate, grounding himself. "I promised I would," he answered softly. "Even if the world itself forgot… I couldn't."

Erytheia swallowed hard, finally finding her voice though it trembled. "You—You idiot… Do you have any idea how much—how much we—" She broke off, clenching her fists at her sides. "We thought you were gone. That everything was gone."

"I know," Akhon replied, his eyes lowering for a moment. "I felt it too. The emptiness. The silence where memories should have been. But it wasn't your fault. None of you chose this."

Hesperia's calm tone cut through the air. "Chaos."

The name lingered between them like an echo.

"Yes," Akhon confirmed, his voice firmer now. "It was him. He erased it all, every bond, every truth, every pain and joy. But Aphrodite, Ares, and Hermes… they fought for us. They risked everything to trap him inside Pandora's box. Thanks to them, we remember again."

Aegle stepped forward suddenly, unable to hold herself back. She pressed herself into his chest, her arms wrapping around him as though anchoring him in this reality. Her tears dampened his tunic. "I don't care about Chaos, I don't care about the gods… I only care that you're here. That you didn't vanish into nothingness with everything else."

His hand lifted gently to her back, fingers threading through her golden hair. "I'm here," he murmured. "And I'm not leaving you again. Not while I still draw breath."

Erytheia turned her face away, crossing her arms. "Tch. Pathetic… hugging him like that in front of us. Have some dignity, Aegle." Yet her trembling voice betrayed her, and when Akhon glanced at her, he caught the glint of unshed tears at the corner of her eye.

"You don't have to hide it, Erytheia," he said softly. "You missed me too."

Her head snapped toward him, cheeks blazing red. "I—! N-No I didn't! I just… I just didn't want the garden to be empty forever, that's all!"

Akhon smiled faintly, warmth in his eyes. "Then I'll make sure it never will be."

Hesperia's steps were silent as she approached, her gaze unwavering. She studied him as though searching for cracks, for proof that this was real. Finally, she placed a hand on his shoulder. "You carry their gratitude, but you also carry their burden now," she said, referring to the gods. "Chaos may be sealed, but seals break. You know that as well as I do."

"I do," Akhon admitted, meeting her gaze. "That's why I came back. Not just to keep my promise to you, but to prepare for what's coming. We can't pretend this is over."

The orchard was quiet then, the only sound the rustle of golden leaves. The three sisters stood before him, each embodying a different reflection of what he had lost and regained—love, defiance, and clarity.

Finally, Aegle drew back, wiping her tears but smiling through them. "Then we'll fight with you, Akhon. Whatever comes, we'll face it together."

Erytheia grumbled, though she nodded quickly after. "Don't think you're doing this alone. You're strong, sure, but you're also reckless. Someone's gotta keep you in line."

"And someone's gotta remind you when to stop running headfirst into the fire," Hesperia added dryly.

Akhon chuckled softly, though his chest felt heavy with emotion. "I don't deserve you three. Not after everything. But I'm grateful. More than I can ever say."

He looked up at the sky, where faint streaks of twilight began to paint the horizon. The memory of Chaos' presence still lingered in the back of his mind—a pressure, a void too great for words. Even sealed, he was a threat that would not fade with time.

But here, in this moment, standing in the golden garden with the Hesperides, Akhon felt something else too. A reason. A purpose.

He turned back to them, his voice firm. "The gods will call councils, armies will prepare, mortals will pray. But none of that will matter if we forget why we fight. Not for pride, not for power, not for Olympus' politics. We fight so no one—no force, no god, no primordial void—can take away what makes us who we are. Our bonds. Our memories. Our love."

For the first time since memories had returned, a quiet smile touched Hesperia's lips. Aegle's eyes glimmered with renewed determination, and even Erytheia's stubborn façade cracked into a faint smirk.

And in that garden, as the last rays of sun fell across their faces, the promise was made: Chaos might return, but so too would their defiance.

And this time, they would not be erased.

---

The sky above Kaeron shimmered with the faint hues of twilight, the kind that painted the horizon in tones of gold and violet. The town had grown once again—its stone streets filled with laughter, its fields blooming with life, its people praying in gratitude to their protector. And at the heart of it all stood Akhon, sitting quietly beneath the great olive tree that had grown in the center of the plaza. The tree was no ordinary plant—it had blossomed from his divine presence, a symbol of faith and resilience.

He sat with his arms resting on his knees, watching the townsfolk move about with renewed hope. Yet in his heart lingered the weight of what had just transpired: the unraveling of Chaos, the reset of existence, and the gods finally regaining their memories. He had felt it all like an echo etched into his very soul.

A sudden gust of wind brushed past him, stirring the leaves. Not the natural kind—this one carried the scent of cypress and cedar, swift and mischievous. Akhon didn't even need to turn his head before a familiar voice rang out.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite mortal-turned-god, sitting around like some brooding philosopher," Hermes teased, appearing in a blur of silver and white. His winged sandals touched down with effortless grace, and the god leaned against the tree as if he had been there the entire time.

Akhon cracked the faintest of smiles. "I should've known it would be you. Not even reality resetting can slow you down."

"Please," Hermes said, flicking dust off his tunic. "If anything, it gave me time to stretch my legs. But I wasn't about to let my best friend sulk alone in his little haven." He crouched down, meeting Akhon's eyes. "So… how are you holding up?"

Akhon exhaled slowly, his golden eyes dimming with thought. "I don't know if I'm holding up at all. The memories… they didn't vanish when the world reset. I remember everything. The terror of Chaos, the fragility of reality itself. Even the gods looked small before it."

Hermes' usual grin softened. "Yeah. I remember too. Every second of it. And let me tell you, Akhon… you did more than most of us combined. Don't think for a moment the gods didn't notice."

Akhon shook his head. "I wasn't alone. Aphrodite, Ares… and you, Hermes. Without you three, none of this would have been possible." He raised his gaze, a rare sincerity shining through. "I should be the one thanking you."

Hermes blinked, then let out a chuckle. "You know, that's usually my line. But I'll take it. Still, don't twist this—if it weren't for you holding the line, Kaeron wouldn't even exist to thank us."

The two sat in silence for a moment, the sounds of Kaeron's people filling the quiet: children running, farmers calling out, the distant ringing of a blacksmith's hammer. Life had returned, vibrant and loud, but there was a fragility to it—like glass that had been broken and reassembled.

"You came to check on me," Akhon finally said.

"Of course I did," Hermes replied, resting his arms behind his head. "You're more than just another god playing his part on Olympus. You're my friend. And after what we just went through, I needed to know you were okay."

Akhon's lips curved into a faint smile. "I didn't think the Messenger of the Gods had time for personal visits."

Hermes smirked. "For most, I don't. For you? Always."

The words hung heavier than either expected. Hermes wasn't one to reveal himself so plainly, but in that moment his honesty outweighed his trickster's mask.

"I wonder," Akhon muttered, looking up at the olive tree's branches. "If we sealed Chaos away, does that mean it's truly gone? Or just waiting?"

Hermes' playful demeanor faltered. "You already know the answer."

"Waiting," Akhon whispered. His hands tightened into fists. "And when it comes back, this world won't be ready."

Hermes studied him for a moment before stepping closer, crouching low. "Then we make it ready. You're not alone in this, Akhon. You've got allies now—mortals and gods alike. And… you've got me."

Akhon turned toward him. "You'd stand with me, even against Chaos itself?"

Hermes' grin returned, though softer this time. "I've stood with you against Zeus when he raged. I've stood with you against the silence of the void itself. What's one more impossible fight between friends?"

Akhon let out a small laugh, the tension in his chest loosening for the first time since the reset. "You're insane."

"Of course I am," Hermes said proudly. "That's why I'm fun at parties."

The two laughed, the sound light and grounding. For a brief moment, it was as if the weight of eternity lifted, replaced by something far simpler—companionship.

As the laughter faded, Hermes glanced at Kaeron's bustling streets. "You've done something incredible here, Akhon. This city… it's more than walls and houses. It's hope. A reminder to mortals that they aren't pawns in divine games. They have someone who cares, someone who'll fight for them."

"They chose me," Akhon said softly. "Their faith gave me strength. I can't abandon them."

"Then don't," Hermes said firmly. "But don't carry it all alone either. That'll destroy you faster than Chaos ever could."

Akhon studied his friend for a long time. Hermes wasn't like the others—he didn't lecture with the weight of Olympus, didn't demand obedience or loyalty. He offered something far rarer: trust.

"I'll remember that," Akhon said finally.

"Good," Hermes replied, standing tall again. He stretched, the wings on his sandals fluttering. "Because if you burn yourself out, I'll have to actually work hard delivering all the news about your absence, and that sounds dreadful."

Akhon chuckled. "Don't worry. I'll be here. Always."

Hermes' expression softened once more, a flicker of relief passing over his features before he masked it with another grin. "That's all I needed to hear."

The god of speed stepped back, wings unfurling. "But don't think this is a farewell. I'll be dropping by again. After all, what kind of best friend would I be if I didn't?"

"An unreliable one," Akhon replied.

Hermes winked. "Exactly. And I'm many things, Akhon… but never unreliable with you."

With that, the Messenger launched into the sky, a streak of silver light cutting across the twilight. Akhon watched until the glow faded beyond the horizon, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

For the first time since the world reset, he didn't feel alone.

He had a friend.

And with that, he felt ready to face whatever shadows lurked beyond the stars.