I Am Zeus-Chapter 41: Advice From Gaia

Gaia’s Cavern – The Roots of the World

The quiet stretched between them, broken only by the distant drip of water from the roots above. Gaia’s breathing was slow and deep, like the pulse of the world itself. Her eyes drifted closed for a time before flickering open again, pale green and clouded with age, but still seeing everything.

"...tell me," she rasped softly, her voice dry like old earth shifting under deep roots. "What... has been happening... up there?"

Zeus exhaled, rubbing his jaw as he looked at her. His thumb traced circles over the back of her hand, feeling the faint warmth beneath her cracked skin.

"Where do I even begin..." he murmured, his voice low.

He paused, listening to the cavern breathe around him before speaking again.

"Typhon is gone," he said quietly. "Sent him back to Tartarus. Nearly tore me apart, but... Olympus still stands."

Gaia’s lips twitched faintly, her eyelids fluttering as if in relief, though her breathing remained slow and laboured.

Zeus’s gaze dropped to her chest, watching the faint glow of her veins flicker like dying starlight beneath stone. His throat tightened slightly.

"And now..." he continued, voice trailing before he gathered himself. "Now I’m dealing with something worse than monsters."

Her eyes opened fully then, fixing on him with that deep, ancient focus that always made him feel like a child again. She waited silently, patient as the earth itself.

Zeus shifted, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees. His golden hair fell forward around his face, hiding his tired eyes from the glowing roots above.

"I’m about to announce Metis as the queen of Olympus," he said softly.

For a moment, Gaia said nothing. But the roots above seemed to shift, their green light pulsing faintly with quiet knowing.

Zeus let out a humourless chuckle, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Hera... she’s furious," he said. "You should’ve seen her face. The way she looks at Metis now... like she’s already planning a hundred ways to bury her."

He paused, his fingers curling into his palms.

"And knowing Hera..." he continued, his voice lower, almost resigned, "she probably has. She’s not the type to sit quietly while someone else sits where she believes she belongs."

Gaia’s breathing rasped quietly, filling the cavern with a sound like shifting gravel. Her cracked lips parted, her voice quiet but steady.

"...and you... storm child... what... do you... want?"

Zeus closed his eyes, feeling her question settle deep in his chest. He let the silence stretch before answering, his voice softer than thunder had ever been.

"I don’t know," he said honestly. "I want peace. I want Metis. I want Hera to accept it... to accept her place beside me without needing to be everything."

He looked up at Gaia, his golden eyes flickering in the dim glow of the cavern.

"But I know Hera," he said, his voice heavy with tired certainty. "She won’t. She’ll keep fighting. Keep plotting. And Metis... she’ll never fight back. She’ll just... let Hera do what she does, and stay silent."

He rubbed his forehead, feeling the ache behind his eyes.

"I don’t know what to do," he admitted quietly. "That’s... one of the reasons I came here. You’ve always seen things clearer than I can. Even now."

Gaia’s eyes remained on him, unblinking, deep and ancient. For a long moment, there was only the sound of her slow, laboured breathing and the quiet drip of water from the glowing roots above.

Finally, she spoke, her voice rough and quiet, but carrying that unbreakable certainty of stone and soil.

"...storms... cannot... force the earth... to move," she whispered. "But... they can... shape it. Slowly."

Zeus listened, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Metis... is wisdom... but wisdom... needs... patience," Gaia continued, each word pulled from deep within her. "Hera... is pride... pride... needs... boundaries."

She paused, her eyelids drooping with exhaustion.

"...you... storm child... must be... both." ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

Zeus swallowed, feeling her words settle into him like heavy rain sinking into dry ground. He nodded once, slowly, squeezing her hand gently.

"Thank you, Granny," he whispered.

Gaia’s lips twitched faintly into the ghost of a smile.

"...remember... storms bring... life... but also... ruin... choose... which... you wish... to be."

Her eyes closed then, her breathing slow and deep again, returning to that ancient sleep beneath the world. Zeus watched her for a long moment, the flickering green light of the roots casting shifting shadows across his face.

He stood slowly, his limbs heavy but his heart steadier. As he turned to leave, he paused and looked back at her once more, his golden eyes quiet and thoughtful.

"I’ll come back soon," he murmured. "Rest well, old mother."

Then he turned and walked out of the cavern, his sandals crunching softly against the stone as the quiet hum of the earth faded behind him.

Olympus

The dawn sky over Olympus was pale and quiet, brushed with thin streaks of cloud that drifted like ghost veils across the rising sun. The air was cool and clean, carrying the faint scent of olive trees and mountain stone.

Zeus walked slowly through the long colonnade leading to the council courtyard. His robes of deep blue and white moved softly around his ankles, the golden clasps at his shoulders catching the new light. His sandals whispered across the marble, leaving faint sparks where the storm within him brushed the world.

Gods and minor attendants watched him as he passed. Some bowed deeply, some fell to their knees. But none spoke. His presence today was heavy – not with anger, but with a silent certainty that pressed on every chest it passed.

When he reached the high steps overlooking the main courtyard, he paused. The courtyard stretched wide and open before him, ringed with pale marble columns. Bronze braziers burned low around the edges, their smoke curling into the quiet air. Gathered below were the gods of Olympus – Poseidon, tall and silent, trident in hand; Hades, dark-robed and watchful; Demeter, radiant in green and gold; Hestia, standing calmly with her hands folded before her; and many others, lesser gods, river spirits, wind nymphs, all called to hear the words of their king.

Zeus let the silence settle before he spoke, his voice quiet but carrying across every stone, every heart.

"Olympus," he began, his golden eyes scanning the gathered gods, "has stood through darkness and storm. Through Titan wars, through the rise and fall of old powers. It stands now, and it will stand tomorrow."

He paused, feeling the faint stirring of wind around his ankles, the morning breeze rising with his words.

"But a kingdom is not its halls or its thrones. It is its rulers. Its guides. Its voice."

His gaze turned to Metis, standing slightly apart from the others. She wore a robe of pale lavender, simple and unadorned, her dark hair falling loose down her back. Her eyes were calm, steady, as they met his.

"I have ruled alone," Zeus continued, his voice deepening with quiet resonance. "But Olympus does not need a king alone. It needs wisdom beside thunder. Thought beside storm."

A faint murmur rippled through the assembly, some nodding, some glancing at Hera who stood further back in a robe of deep crimson. Her face was blank, carved from marble, but her fingers twitched slightly where they clutched her golden sash.

Zeus raised his hand, the sparks crackling faintly along his knuckles.

"In three days," he said, his voice like rolling thunder now, low and unbreakable, "Olympus will gather again. And on that day, I will place the crown of queen upon the one whose wisdom has guided us from shadows, whose voice has steadied me, whose mind sees beyond storms."

He paused, turning his gaze fully to Metis. For a moment, the courtyard was silent except for the distant cry of an eagle circling above.

"Metis," he said softly, but the quiet carried more power than any roar. "Three days from now... Olympus will know you as its queen."

Metis bowed her head, her expression unchanging, but her eyes shone faintly with a warmth that reached only him.

Zeus looked back to the assembly, his gaze sweeping across gods and spirits alike.

"Prepare the halls," he said. "Prepare the songs, the offerings, the rites. Olympus will crown its queen under the eyes of dawn and dusk alike."

No one spoke. They simply bowed as one, a silent wave of reverence that rippled through the courtyard. Even Poseidon inclined his head, though his eyes flickered once towards Hera.

Zeus turned and descended the steps, walking towards Metis. As he reached her, she lifted her eyes to his. Neither spoke, but their silence was deep with unspoken words.

Behind them, Hera’s gaze burned like cold iron. Her nails bit into her palms until they almost drew blood. But she said nothing. She simply turned and walked away into the shadows of the inner halls, her robe trailing behind her like a dark river.

Above Olympus, the sun rose fully, washing the marble towers in pale gold. The wind carried faint scents of cedar and olive blossom across the quiet courtyards as the gods dispersed, their hearts trembling with the echo of thunder and the whisper of coming storms.

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