Olympus
Hera walked through the gardens of Olympus with careful grace. Olive branches swayed overhead, their silver-green leaves rustling softly in the mountain breeze. She let her fingertips brush against them as she passed, her face calm and composed. But inside, her thoughts were coiling tighter with each step.
She had seen Zeus’s eyes just now. The way they flickered with gratitude, but not love. The way his praise landed shallow, never sinking deep enough to touch her heart. She felt it like cold water pouring down her spine. Praise without intimacy. Acceptance without devotion.
She hated it.
She paused by a marble fountain carved with scenes of old wars. Water spilled gently over the rim, catching the sun in soft flashes. Hera looked down at her reflection. The flawless face. The dark hair pinned in elegant coils. The eyes that had made countless gods and n flinch from their sharpness.
A queen’s face.
But not his queen.
Her hand clenched against the fountain’s edge, nails biting into the cold stone. She closed her eyes, drawing a long, asured breath. When she opened them again, they were calm, the storm behind them hidden once more.
If fate made tis his queen, she thought, then fate... must be persuaded.
She turned swiftly, robes sweeping behind her like a violet storm. Her sandals clicked across the mosaic paths as she walked back through Olympus, passing nymphs and minor gods who bowed deeply, not daring to et her gaze. Their deference ant nothing to her today. Only one thing mattered now.
The Loom of Fate.
The Temple of the Moirai – Edge of the World
Beyond the halls of Olympus, past the sky’s highest vaults and into the silent realm where light did not shine nor shadow dared gather, stood a temple carved into nothingness itself.
Three thrones sat there in a circle. No walls. No ceiling. Just a great endless dark, lit by the soft silver glow of the Loom of Fate.
Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos.
The sisters.
They worked silently, as they always had. Clotho’s spindle spun the threads, bright as starlight. Lachesis’s rod asured them, marking length and weight with eyes that saw no illusions. Atropos’s shears glead dark as obsidian, her fingers poised in a patient promise.
Hera stepped forward, her sandals silent on the invisible floor. Her heart thudded once in her chest, heavy as iron, before she spoke.
"Great Moirai."
They didn’t look up.
Their hands never paused in their work. Threads stretched and looped between them in glittering rivers of fate, weaving the lives of mortals, gods, and monsters alike into one silent, inescapable tapestry.
Hera bowed deeply. "I seek counsel."
Clotho’s spindle humd, but she did not speak.
It was Lachesis who answered, her voice a soft, hollow chi. "What do you seek, Queen of Olympus?"
Hera felt the flicker of bitter laughter in her chest at those words. Queen of Olympus. A title she wore in na alone. She swallowed it down and raised her head.
"I seek... guidance," she said carefully. "On Zeus. On... tis."
Atropos’s shears clicked once, a sharp tallic note that cut through the silent dark.
"What guidance do you seek?" she asked, voice as still as the grave.
Hera took a slow breath. "Will he ever make his true queen? Will Olympus ever be mine to rule beside him... alone?"
The sisters paused their work for the first ti.
They turned to her as one. Three faces, ageless and cold, eyes glowing with that silent knowing that saw the marrow of the world.
Clotho spoke, her voice echoing softly like a loom’s song. "The threads of love are woven with choice."
Lachesis continued, "The threads of fate are woven with law."
Atropos finished, her shears clicking gently, "But the threads of power... are woven with sacrifice."
Hera’s brow furrowed. "What does that an?"
Clotho’s pale lips curved faintly. "If you wish to cut tis from his side, you must cut sothing of yourself in return."
Lachesis’s rod hovered over a single glowing thread – golden and thick, pulsing with divine light. "Zeus’s life is long. His loves, many. His loyalty... rare."
Atropos’s shears shifted closer to the thread, but did not cut. "Remove wisdom, and the king becos blind. Blind kings... trust their queens."
Hera’s heart quickened. "Are you saying... I should remove her?"
Clotho tilted her head. "Fate does not command. It shows paths."
Lachesis asured again. "One path ends in your rule. One ends in your ruin."
Atropos clicked her shears softly. "Both require sacrifice."
Hera stood silent, feeling the words coil around her like snakes of cold iron. Her hands trembled slightly as she clasped them together. She bowed her head deeply.
"Thank you... Great Moirai."
She turned away, her robes sweeping softly behind her. As she stepped back into the world of light, the temple vanished behind her like a dream dissolving at dawn.
The Edge of Olympus – Twilight
Hera stood at the outermost balcony, watching the sun sink into the western horizon. The sky blazed in crimson and gold, the colours reflecting in her eyes like war paint. The wind tangled her hair around her face, but she didn’t move to smooth it back.
Remove wisdom...
She could hear their voices still, whispering at the edge of her thoughts. Sacrifice for power. A queen for a queen.
She closed her eyes, feeling the breeze brush against her skin like a silent promise.
"I will rule beside him," she whispered to the dying sun. "No matter what I must do."
As darkness fell over Olympus, Hera turned back towards the glowing halls. Her footsteps were quiet, her gaze calm, her mind a silent storm waiting to break.
She walked with a new resolve, her heart cold with purpose. Because she knew, now more than ever –
In the ga of gods, rcy was a weakness.
And Hera... would never be weak again.
A/N
Thanks for reading my work, drop power stones, golden tickets and gifts to support .
User Comments
0 comments from readers