Once Mnemosyne finished speaking, the Mother of All closed her beautiful emerald eyes in pain, her heart left with nothing but endless bitterness and anger.
Zeus spoke slowly and without a ripple: "Are there any accomplices in this treason?"
Mnemosyne paused for a moment, then said decisively: "No."
"The other deities knew nothing of it. This criminal god acted on a sudden bout of stupidity, his mind clouded by drink and resentment. Taking advantage of the rare opportunity when all gods came to witness Your Majesty's enthronement—leaving the Ocean empty within—and the multitudes gathered to pay homage to Your Majesty, he secretly and alone committed this presumptuous deed."
Poseidon did not know why the all-knowing goddess would say so.
But the heart suspended in his chest could finally, barely, settle a little.
He cast a covert, grateful look toward Mnemosyne, but she did not so much as glance at him.
Then he clearly felt an icy, bone-piercing gaze fall upon him.
He jerked his head up and met the cold, keen eyes of Zeus upon the throne. In that instant he knew why.
His heart turned to ice.
"Zeus knows! Zeus knows it all?!"
"Of course—he must! The goddess of memory is Zeus's wife! There's no way she would hide it from Zeus!"
"It's over!"
Mnemosyne and Zeus were of one mind, and naturally she knew what result Zeus wanted. It wouldn't do to truly drag Poseidon into this, would it?
Even if one didn't care about that foolish little brother, one must care for the feelings of the sacred Queen Mother, Rhea.
Besides, if Poseidon were exposed as well, it would not look good for the God-King's face.
Poseidon must be dealt with, but not through this matter.
As for the others, they were indeed innocent. This had nothing to do with them to begin with. One could not drag them in, could one?
As for Oceanus, it was a charge of negligence; handle it in the ordinary way.
After Mnemosyne spoke thus, Oceanus and Tethys exhaled long, quiet breaths and likewise cast a grateful look toward Mnemosyne.
After all, they were one family of gods.
Zeus nodded slowly. "I see."
He paused, then said in an exceedingly even tone: "In the past, I pitied the deep love the Ocean god bears his daughter, and I pitied Clymene's profound love for her sons. Though Iapetus's house committed unforgivable faults, I granted great clemency."
"I permitted Atlas and Menoetius to be kept within the Ocean."
"So that in the turning of years, elders could teach them; between day and night, kin could keep them company."
"Though they were confined to the Ocean, so long as they did not leave the Ocean, not even the sea, they were in no way otherwise restrained."
"The children of Atlas are my personal attendants. Depending on their conduct, should they truly repent, I am merciful and inclined to pardon."
The God-King's words made the great Ocean god bow his head so deeply he nearly pressed his brow to the floor. Steadfast Clymene could not help but silently weep.
Here Zeus paused again.
He leaned forward slightly, brows knit, as if puzzled: "But is this what my tolerance has brought back to me?"
"Amalthea has been my beloved companion since childhood. In my lonely youth, it was thanks to her careful care. She is one of the most important goddesses to me."
"I entrusted her to you, honorable god of the Ocean. Because I trusted you absolutely."
"And what was the result?"
Zeus's tone was not cruel. He looked at Oceanus, and even his gaze was not stern—only heavy with disappointment so weighty it nearly crushed honest Oceanus.
Zeus continued: "Today is the grand assembly of all gods, the most magnificent moment of this brand-new universe. It is also my most important hour. And yet what occurred?"
"Honorable god of the Ocean, you betrayed all of my trust in you."
The Ocean god, who had been kneeling on one knee, trembled throughout his divine body upon hearing this and could no longer support himself. He fell to both knees, prostrating himself nearly flat in abject shame.
With his brow pressed to the floor, his voice choked with pain, he said, "Your Majesty the God-King, Oceanus has nothing to say."
"It was I… I who failed your most precious trust! It is all my fault! I broke my promise to you! I have no words of defense!"
"Any explanation is a pale sophistry—an unacceptable excuse!"
"Your Majesty! Oceanus begs punishment. Whatever punishment you mete out, I will accept gladly, without the slightest complaint!"
"Please punish me heavily! I… I have no face to meet your trust in me."
This noble, ancient, mighty primordial Titan god of the Ocean could no longer restrain his tears.
His heart was utterly submerged by boundless guilt and shame.
Now he truly regretted it bitterly.
Things had come to this point; he bore inescapable responsibility.
He had been too careless. Menoetius had uttered grumblings in ordinary times,
Yet he had not left any means of control!
So that at the most important moment in the entire universe, he could do such a traitorous thing—enough to ruin everything!
No matter what one said, as supervisor he was the primary responsible god.
The bright-eyed goddess of wisdom now had eyes full of urgency and worry.
Her gaze moved back and forth between her father and her beloved God-King.
But she only pressed her lips together tightly, saying and doing nothing.
Zeus let out a deep, heavy breath. His incomparably majestic face remained expressionless, revealing nothing.
As the atmosphere in the hall grew ever more oppressive, he spoke slowly—his voice not loud, yet clear in every deity's ears: "Goddess of Night."
"Here, my king." Ever attentive to Zeus, Nyx hurried to her feet at the summons and bowed in reply.
Zeus said coolly: "Cast the criminal god Menoetius into the abyss of Tartarus."
"Since he so misses his father, then let him keep his father company forever."
Nyx's heart gave a jump. "As you command, Your Majesty!"
All the gods within the hall stiffened at heart.
Their divinities quivered, stabbed by bone-deep fear.
The God-King, famed for mercy and magnanimity, once truly angered, was terrifying indeed!
To be cast into Tartarus is a punishment more dreadful, by countless measures, than any other—the ultimate torment.
But in this moment, no god dared voice a single objection, and none dared to step forth to plead.
All gods now truly understood the God-King's majesty. The God-King is unwilling, not unable.
If one truly enrages the God-King, then perhaps utter annihilation would be a happiness too much to hope for.
As for Poseidon—his vast and radiant divine body was trembling beyond his control.
When he saved the six giants, he had witnessed with his own eyes how they collapsed and went mad after the punishments of Tartarus.
He knew more clearly than most the terrors of Tartarus.
As for the six giants behind the Mother of All, merely hearing of such punishment—even if it was not theirs to bear—turned their faces stark white. They shook like sieves.
Only with the support of the three Furies did they barely avoid collapsing.
This fear was branded into the depths of their divinity; no length of time would easily erase it.
It was fortunate that Zeus had specially permitted them to attend in newly made bodies. Otherwise, with their true bodies so huge, shaking like this might have made even the gods in the hall lose their footing.
The fearful Poseidon now understood thoroughly—making trouble in ordinary times was one thing,
But he must never—never truly anger Zeus!
If Zeus were truly angered, the consequences would be beyond his ability to bear.
He had been spared this time, but next time, he would likely not be so lucky.
Poseidon, amid fear and relief, was tense and yet glad to have escaped calamity.
But his gladness may have come a little too soon.
After dealing with the culprit Menoetius, Zeus turned his gaze upon Oceanus, still prostrate upon the floor.
He said slowly: "After the ceremony, Oceanus, for one hundred thousand years, without my personal command, you are not permitted to set one step beyond the sea."
"Clymene, you are punished to attend me for ten thousand years. During this period, all your honors are stripped."
Oceanus and Clymene heard the God-King's sentence and felt only gratitude. They bowed and assented in unison.
Compared to their fault, Zeus's punishment was exceedingly lenient.
Zeus's tone softened slightly as he looked to Pleione, kneeling at the side, and said, "At least Atlas has not disappointed me."
"Pleione, keep an even stricter watch on him henceforth. Do not allow him to commit the same foolish mistakes as his brother."
Pleione cupped her hands before her breast, overcome with gratitude.
She had never imagined the great God-King would truly judge only the matter itself, with no intention of implicating the family of Atlas.
Her voice trembled with excitement: "Your Majesty the God-King! Great Majesty! Merciful Majesty! I—I will! I will counsel him well and keep a close watch on Atlas!"
"I will surely lead him to abide even more by your sacred order! For your grace, the house of Atlas will give all in return!"
Zeus said faintly: "I have no intention to vent the guilt of one criminal god upon other innocent deities. Punishment must be grounded in cause."
"For gods clean and innocent, with consciences clear—even if they are kin to a criminal god—I will never punish them indiscriminately."
"Rise, all of you."
When the gods kneeling in the hall had all bowed and withdrawn, Zeus's razor-sharp golden eyes slowly swept over all the deities, and in an indisputable, cold and majestic voice he solemnly proclaimed:
"From this day forth, no deity shall plead for any god cast into Tartarus!"
"Any deity who pleads shall be punished with the same crime!"
"Any pardoned rebel who again plots rebellion shall, without exception, be punished more severely!"
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