Divine Ascension: Reborn as a God of Power-Chapter 49: The Schism of Olympus (Part 9)

(2 days till the start of the War...)

The air was still filled with that smell that lingers after sex. Dawn was beginning to paint the edges of the sky amber, while the first candles were being extinguished on the houses of Kaeron below, like golden fingers caressing a living map. Meanwhile, I was lying on the grass on the hill, my back still warm from the contact with her skin.

I was completely naked, my defined physique, result of so much training and quests accomplished, now was exposed for anyone to see. Along with, obviously, the python protruding from my crotch, which had grown to 15 inches during the intercourse, but had now returned to its normal length of 12 inches, accompanied by my heavy nutsack, which was the size of two tennis balls.

Aphrodite was next to me, half turned toward me, her tousled hair falling like a golden curtain over her naked chest. There was something different in her eyes now; they no longer had the same calculated intensity as before. I didn’t know how to explain it, but now she seemed better, more human, perhaps. Or was it just a different mask?

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice low, almost as if she were afraid of breaking the calm that surrounded us.

I nodded. ’I don’t know if and I don’t care if all this was part of the plan, but... yes, I’m fine."

She smiled, tilting her head. ’Not everything has to be part of an intricate plan to seduce you, Akhon. Some things just... happen."

"And this was one of those things? Because I doubt it."

"Maybe." She leaned in slightly, resting her cheek on her hand as she looked at me. "Or maybe I was just waiting for you to be less... cold."

"I’m not cold, Aphrodite. I just know when I’m being used."

"And that’s changed now?"

"I don’t know. Maybe? Or maybe I just decided I didn’t care."

For a moment, Aphrodite didn’t respond. Her gaze had turned toward the city, and she seemed to be silently admiring it, as if she also needed a break from being herself. When she finally spoke, her tone was more serious.

"I wanted to include you from the beginning, you know? Beyond your potential to be a God of Olympus, you have something most don’t have, and that’s empathy. It sounds crazy, I know, but most gods only look out for themselves.

"And you’re not like that?"

Her gaze turned to me.

"What do you mean?" she asked with a confused expression. I just smirked.

"I’m talking about how, if my memory serves me right, a few years ago, you asked me for a specific favor, to distract your husband while you went to do who knows what with Hades."

Her expression changed quickly at that moment, going from surprised to somewhat melancholic.

"You...you...you’re right," she admitted, surprising me, "I haven’t been a good wife to Hephaestus, and I haven’t been fair to you either. I’ve only turned to you whenever I needed you to do something, always thinking of myself and what I wanted...but I’ve changed."

I looked at her with a neutral expression.

"If you’ve changed, prove it. So far, you haven’t shown that you have," I said as I shifted closer to her, which she noticed, but she didn’t move. "Anyway, it’s not like I can judge you too much. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, but that doesn’t mean that because I did something bad, I stopped caring about those around me. That’s the problem with Olympus, always trying to look perfect, like they’re the elite, the best of the best, and yet they end up forgetting basic things like not being a dick."

Her gaze was lost on the horizon for a long time, while the people of Kaeron began to come out and move about to do their jobs or activities below, one by one, like ants waking up with the city. The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was thick, as if Aphrodite was digesting every word, something unusual for someone who always seemed to have a ready answer for every situation.

"You know what the worst part is?" she finally said, in a softer, perhaps more... honest tone. "You’re right. And I’m not used to being told that. Straight up, without fear."

"I’m not like them," I replied. ’And if you want me in Nemesis, you’re going to have to get used to that."

"I know.’ She paused, taking a deep breath. "That’s why I wanted you with us, not because you might be useful, which you obviously will be, but because you’re different."

"I’m not a symbol, or a tool for anyone. The only ones I serve are my friends and my people. If you want my help, it has to be because you truly believe in what you’re building, because I’m tired of being part of power games disguised as ’noble causes.’"

Aphrodite nodded slowly, still motionless. Her naked skin glowed in the first rays of the sun, and for a second I thought that perhaps, beneath all her divine charm, there was someone who also wanted to be more than her eternal role.

"I swear this wasn’t a trick," she said suddenly, looking at me again. "Tonight, what happened between us. It wasn’t a ploy to break you down."

"And yet it worked."

That made her smile. A tired smile, the kind you don’t rehearse. "It worked because you let it work. Because maybe... you needed it too, even if you don’t want to admit it."

I looked away toward the city so I wouldn’t have to answer her. But deep down, I knew she was right about that part. Part of me had sought this contact. This connection. After all, I had learned that the Hesperides are virgin goddesses, similar to Hestia, who cannot have sexual relations with anyone, not even a loved one.

That’s why the most we had ever done with Aegle was to touch each other a few times, but never anything more than that.

As much as I felt guilty, thinking that this was already the second time I had "betrayed" her, part of me felt satisfied.

I don’t know if I’ve already explained this, but gods have a gigantic libido; it’s one of the reasons they leave children everywhere. The other, of course, is political. Having offspring among mortals—or among other gods—is a way of marking your territory, of establishing and expanding your influence. An ancient, constant game played in the upper echelons of Olympus as if it were part of the natural fabric of power.

That... speaking of sons and daughters, I had remembered a certain person I met in the mortal world. He had seemed familiar to me from the first moment, but it wasn’t until now, with the memory of Aphrodite’s body still warm next to mine, that I finally managed to tie up the loose ends.

"Aphrodite, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, go ahead," she replied, without opening her eyes. She was lying on the grass, still damp from the dawn, her silhouette outlined by the growing light. She had that post-ecstatic tranquility that only immortals can sustain without appearing vulnerable.

"Who is Harmony?"

Her eyes opened. Not suddenly, not with a start, but with a certain stiffness. As if I had said a word laden with weight, with history. The kind of name you don’t just blurt out.

"Where did you hear that name?" She asked, now sitting up slightly, looking at me with something that wasn’t fear, but caution.

"I met her some time ago in the mortal world. She didn’t tell me who she was, of course, but... she looked too much like you. Not physically—although there was a resemblance—but in the way she spoke. The way she moved. She had a grace... instinctive. As if she had inherited it."

Aphrodite sighed, bringing a hand to her chest, as if protecting herself from a memory that still hurt. Or weighed heavily.

"Harmonia is my daughter," she finally said. "With Ares."

That made me frown. Not out of surprise, but because of the subtext.

"And what is she doing in the mortal world?"

"She ran away," she replied, without embellishment. "From Olympus and from expectations. She didn’t want to be part of all this. Not me, not her father. She said she wanted to be... something more."

"And you let her go?"

His gaze locked on mine, a mixture of wounded pride and resignation. "I had no choice. Beyond the fact that as a mother, you want the best for your children, Harmonia cannot be controlled. She has something of me, yes, but she also has something of him. She’s... different."

The way she spoke of her made me think of something else. Of how the gods rarely spoke of their children with such care, with such sadness even. For many, they were nothing more than instruments. To Aphrodite, Harmonia seemed to have been a wound that had not yet fully healed.

Which gave me an idea.

"And... wouldn’t you want to see her again?"

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