The pure and lovely Hemera had no thought of comparing herself with Hera; she still possessed a clear sense of herself.
Between herself and Hera there was a distance that could not be crossed.
In her heart she felt only endless envy for the goddess Hera.
And, for the moment… a heart full of worry for her own mother.
Fortunately, Night and Day have ever existed together, able to comfort each other.
As for upon Mount Olympus, the great all-knowing goddess who appeared to lie drunk upon her throne yet in truth had been quietly attending all along to the "work-practice" of her own daughters likewise let out a plaintive sigh.
That sigh was so light, it was as if, in the already written Book of Fate, another predestined page had been turned.
Even if she knew the whole course of things—the cause and effect, the beginning and end.
Though the all-knowing goddess of civilization and memory had ever been bright in insight, intelligent and magnanimous.
Yet when she truly beheld all that had happened before her eyes, she still could not behave as though nothing had happened.
Fortunately, that all-but-eternal career of omniscience had long since tempered her soul beyond the ordinary.
Though a bitterness of jealousy was hard to avoid, in the end she could still soothe her heart.
The acid whirled like motes in her breast, yet she smoothed them one by one and sank them into the deep well of memory.
The one most at ease, paradoxically, was Themis, the most holy Lady of Justice.
She understood how deep is the pain of "suppressing one's own love," and how great the torment.
Even she—pure as a mirror—had felt endless suffering when facing the fierce conflict between keeping principle and the yearning of her primordial divinity.
It is not hard to imagine, then, what pain Hera—whose temperament was not so tough as hers yet who bore a deeper divine longing—would endure.
Hera, the gentlest and most gracious of goddesses, had long suffered such pain, which was not what she wished to see.
Now that Hera had at last found some relief, Themis instead let out a long, heartfelt breath.
Of course, in the depths of her heart there was a little helpless reproach for the God-King she loved.
Though it was as shallow as cloud that scatters at a breath of wind.
The one who suffered most was the goddess of wisdom.
Even if she had achieved that "supreme, complete" wisdom; even if her character had reached the state of "the highest goodness like water."
Even if she had long known this day would surely arrive; even if she herself had urged Hera to accept her heart and accept her beloved God-King.
Yet when this moment truly came, she still could not control the pain in the depths of her heart, as if it were being ravaged by countless great hands.
If her beloved God-King had joined with any other goddess, she would not have been so pierced with pain.
For she knew that, compared to other goddesses, the God-King loved herself most.
But Hera was not like the other goddesses.
She also knew that Hera…
was the goddess her own beloved God-King loved most in his heart.
At the same time, though, there was a faint comfort in her breast.
As Hera's friend, she was too kind-hearted to bear seeing her dear confidante sunk daily in such tangled pain.
Eurynome sat to one side, full of worry as she looked at her heavy-hearted elder sister, wanting to offer comfort yet not knowing where to begin.
Metis merely smiled faintly, gently embraced her pure, lovely sister, and tenderly stroked the ends of her smooth hair.
Whether she wished it or not, her beloved God-King's heart would not change.
Since that was so, why should she make both her beloved God-King and her friend sink together in torment?
After all, her beloved God-King loved her deeply as well.
Only why, then, did her own heart still ache so…
This silent question from the deepest place of her heart hung the bitterest tears upon the depths of the wisdom goddess's divinity.
The warmest Hestia only gave a wistful smile and swept away the faint thought in her heart.
They were, after all, the closest of sisters.
Even if their beloved most loved Hera, the result would not change.
Dear family is always what matters most, is it not?
More than anything, she felt genuine joy for Hera.
She knew how deeply Hera loved Zeus, and she knew as well the immense dual torment she bore—from both heart and divinity.
Now, though her dear sister still had knots she could not quite untie, at least she no longer had to withstand that backlash of divinity.
The greatest tangle had been crossed; the rest would be easier.
At the same time, she felt somewhat relieved.
Fortunately Demeter was still in slumber and, by estimation, would need a few days to wake.
Otherwise, if she saw such vast portents, eight or nine out of ten she would take a good, jealous bite—hardly helpful to sisterly unity.
Sensing that Hera had returned to Olympus, Hestia at once set out to go to Hera's temple to see her.
Asteria, who had long since returned to Mount Olympus, had already learned from her sister Leto the words Zeus had spoken.
Her heart was both glad and sad, both grieving and full of pity.
Glad that her father and mother had at last obtained the God-King's own promised forgiveness as a result.
Though they would still need to undergo a period of torment, in the end there was a sure hope.
But what grieved her was the dear elder sister who bore all this cost.
The God-King's meaning was clear enough now.
He had set his heart on her elder sister.
Indeed, he wanted both sisters.
What moved her to pity was precisely this.
If His Majesty the God-King truly loved her elder sister, then so be it.
To become the God-King's wife was no disgrace to her sister.
After all, her sister did have a special feeling for the God-King.
The problem was that, with their present station, it was doubtful they could become His Majesty's wives.
They feared they could only be the God-King's lovers!
And as for herself, she feared she would meet the same end.
To be a lover…
For radiant, resplendent Asteria, that was truly hard to accept.
Yes, His Majesty the God-King was the greatest of God-Kings, the most handsome and valiant, the most courageous, mighty, and wise.
He was God of gods, King of all gods, lord of all.
But Asteria did not like it.
For no particular reason—she did not like it.
Not liking is not liking.
Asteria was the goddess of brilliance, the goddess of splendor, the goddess of dazzle. What she pursued was openness and honor, a clear conscience, freedom to display all her light!
She admitted the most charming god in the cosmos was the God-King.
She admitted as well that she deeply revered the God-King's power and authority, including his fathomless strategy.
Sometimes she imagined what it would be like to have the God-King as husband.
But she did not want to gaze up humbly at him after becoming a god's wife.
The relation of spouses, even if not absolutely equal, should be relatively close to equal.
But before His Majesty the supreme God-King, what talk of equality could there be?
Even the first wife of His Majesty—even the goddess Hera whom His Majesty loved most—were they truly equal before His Majesty?
Know this: even the great eternal, holy goddess-queen Rhea, His Majesty's mother, before His Majesty must still bow that most noble head.
She could accept being the God-King's subject, even his attendant.
But she could not accept being both his wife and his handmaid.
She could not accept folding away all her splendor and brilliance, making herself a speck of dust at the great God-King's side.
She could accept the role of attendant; that of wife—no.
Husband and wife should not be like that.
And now—let alone being an unequal wife—she feared she might be made an unseemly lover!
Worse, if it came to a colder prospect and there was not even the least feeling between them, then she would be a mere toy.
What then would that be?
And then there was the goddess Hera.
Hera was the most gentle and loving, had always sheltered the sisters, and had treated them with unfailing generosity.
They served before her—yet in truth she had treated the sisters like her own dear younger sisters.
Hera loved His Majesty the God-King so deeply.
How could her own sisters steal the Lady's beloved god?
How would that face Hera?
If they truly yielded to the God-King, how would they have any face left to see Hera in the future?
Yet in all of this the sisters had no right to choose.
All principles were powerless to stand.
Before the God-King's will, they had almost no right to choose.
Let alone themselves, who held no honor—what god in the universe could go against His Majesty the God-King's will?
Principles can be held high; resistance must face reality.
All noble creeds and firm principles before the truly supreme God-King Zeus are only the thin frost of morning, which melts at a flick of the sleeve.
How could this not make brilliant Asteria feel pity?
For herself, and for her sister.
Compared to Asteria's brightness and stubborn pride, it was the seemingly delicate and melancholy Leto who saw most clearly.
Leto, the goddess of insight and penetration, knew full well that in this world nothing goes perfectly to one's will; one must always choose and give up.
However unwilling, however helpless—so it ever is.
In the end, one must make a choice.
The God-King's goddesses were many; he did not lack for the two sisters.
As for the goddess Hera…
A jest. Could the two of them pose even the least threat to Hera?
As for having wronged Hera—there would be time to make it up slowly; grace could be repaid as opportunity allowed.
But to go against His Majesty the supreme God-King—that was absolutely, absolutely impossible!
The God-King's promised words still echoed long within Leto's divinity—that in the future he would pardon Coeus and Phoebe.
Leto was not unaware of the price that must pave the way behind that lightly spoken "in the future."
In truth, even earlier…
she had already made more realistic plans—for herself and for her sister.
When one chooses on barren ground, one never chooses by fault-finding but by bearing.
The principles of heaven and earth are never rewritten by wishes.
Before true order and power, an individual's likes and dislikes are only a light feather.
She knew there were not many paths to choose. She never deceived herself.
She would turn the choices she did not have into a way she could take.
Besides, His Majesty the supreme God-King had never been a bad choice.
The God-King might be greedy and amorous, but he was also affectionate and generous, strong and brilliant, and he always remembered his promises, did he not?
When the warm Hestia came to Hera's temple of Procreation, what she saw were two goddesses in the courtyard, faces of very different hues.
One's expression looked calm; indeed, within that calm there was faint relief and lightness.
The other's face was clearly heavy; her look was gloomy and brows downcast, as though twilight cloud had laid a shadow upon her.
The sisters' temperaments had, by now, completely reversed from before.
Leto, once full of melancholy, was now clear as a mirror; Asteria, once all blazing brilliance, had drawn in her light and sat silent in thought.
Hestia was a little surprised, but took little heed.
They were Hera's attendants, after all; it would not do to say too much.
In any case, in all the cosmos there was no god bold enough to show Hera disrespect.
Goddesses each had their flames and their shadows; some small private feelings and affairs were only natural.
Seeing Hestia arrive, Leto at once went forward with her gentlest smile, walked quickly yet composedly, and led Hestia directly into the hall.
Given Hestia's noble station, there was no need to announce her.
Though Hera's mood might be somewhat complicated now, it was no great problem.
On the contrary, the warm Fire of the universe could comfort the Lady's tangled heart. That was a good thing.
Leto could understand Hera's tangle and resolve, but in truth she could not quite comprehend it.
To receive the God-King's seemingly boundless favor—what, in that, was there to be tangled about?
Having received the most love from the God-King, yet still wanting to have the God-King alone—that was rather too greedy.
How could the God-King belong to a single goddess?
He was the Sky, the universe itself; like the sun, to shine upon all was his nature.
To force the One was no different from a mortal trying to hide the sun in her own arms—far too unrealistic.
There was only one Ocean God in the whole cosmos.
Even her own extraordinarily loving father and mother—her father, in private, was hardly entirely "well-behaved."
Though Leto invited Hestia straight in, she was also most circumspect and, by divine thought, gave Hestia a discreet reminder: the Lady's mood was presently complex—please, Your Eminence, comfort her.
She did not follow Hestia inside, but led the noble goddess to the hall and then quietly withdrew.
Her too-straight-tempered foolish little sister still needed some careful comfort.
Within the temple the clear light was like water; starlight fell in golden ripples—utterly serene.
Gracious Hera sat upright upon her throne, eyes closed in quiet, her breathing long and distant, her divine thought ebbing and rising like the tide—she had been pondering for a long time.
She recalled Zeus's final look before they parted.
That look was stamped upon the depths of her divinity, surfacing again and again before her eyes, impossible to dispel.
In it there was love hot enough to pierce a nebula, and a rare guilt deep as the sea.
Complex as a rainbow after thunder, wind, and rain.
She still minded, but she no longer wished to avoid.
She still ached, but she had learned to knead that ache into a song of sweetness and happiness—the first voiceless lullaby—to sing to the child in her womb, not yet born.
She was learning to reconcile with herself.
And thinking on how she should compensate and balance those goddesses she sincerely respected and who had become wives of her beloved God-King.
"Love" should not take hurt as its price.
What Hestia saw upon entering the hall was just such a scene—her dear sister sitting quietly on the throne, face clear and serene with closed eyes, like the first bright day upon a spring sea.
Her good sister had become more beautiful.
Not that any particular change had come to her face.
But in that air and charm that flowed out from within.
Having wholly united with the Great Father God, the now-complete "Great Mother Goddess"—her beauty had fully blossomed.
It was truly that she now possessed the supreme grace of a "Great Mother Goddess" to a fuller degree.
The warm, contained charm of a Great Mother was like springwater filling rivers; in her divinity there was an inexpressible fullness and poise.
This maternal radiance that bears all living things made Hera the unquestioned first among goddesses (with several peers).
Hera's beauty was in no way inferior to Aphrodite's.
The Mother of all living was naturally the most beautiful—dazzling like the great Mother of All.
Even more profound in beauty.
Hestia's eyes first, without thinking, looked at Hera's belly.
It was still slender and flat; a flawless jade-like hand rested there, unconsciously stroking.
Under the goddess of Fire's sight, she could clearly "see" a god most mighty and towering, sleeping quietly in that most holy place of life, being borne by endless mother-love.
Though still asleep in the sea of procreation, his divine radiance was like a multitude of stars all burning at once—dazzling and hard to look upon.
The pulse of that law was familiar enough to make the heart tremble.
It was the most primordial power of their once-cruel father.
The old God-King's supreme authority of "Creation."
After being rewoven by Zeus to a more precise "law of creation," it was now being conceived anew in Hera's womb.
Moreover, it had first been borne within the law-essences of the Great Father and Great Mother, and now continued to be borne in the Great Mother's womb.
He was fated to descend as a first-rank great god!
Though Hestia had slipped quietly into the hall, Hera still kept her eyes shut, as though her spirit roamed far out upon the sea—thinking on something unknown.
The warm Sovereign of Fire let out a voiceless sigh.
She came to the side of her gentle, lovely sister, opened her arms, and gently gathered this spring-soft sister into her embrace.
Her embrace was as warm as the primordial cosmic hearth at the universe's birth.
The fire's temperature was not scorching—only perfectly warm.
Hera's divine body jolted; she started, then finally came back to herself. Sensing it was Hestia, she relaxed at once.
She returned the embrace of this warmest sister and, full of reliance, buried her head in that warmest bosom.
Hestia could clearly feel the inescapable melancholy and wistfulness in Hera's divinity.
She smiled faintly and said softly, "My dear Hera—congratulations. You have a most precious child."
A complicated smile tugged at Hera's lips—happiness and sweetness, knot and bitterness, all within.
She sighed lightly and did not speak at once—only held her sister tighter, as though to draw from this warm calm the courage to face the future, herself, and her friends.
Hestia smoothed her golden hair and soothed her gently: "Hera, you need not be tangled in this. You love Zeus, and Zeus loves you. That we can be together forever is already enough."
"I know you have borne too much grievance and torment. But that rascal—no matter how he indulges—has always loved you most, has he not?"
"As the Cosmos's sovereign, he cannot change his nature and must bear the burden of perfecting the universe. My most gentle, loving Hera, be more forgiving of him—and of yourself."
"You cannot be without him, and he cannot be without you—so why make each other bear unnecessary sorrow? Why struggle in sweetness and pain?"
Hera gave a muffled sigh in her arms; her voice came low from Hestia's breast: "Dear Hestia… my warmest sister… I know. I already… am willing to accept him."
She paused, then said softly and sincerely, "But… how am I to face magnanimous Metis? She is my best friend. She has always treated me with such gentleness, always encouraged me."
"She even said she did not mind my becoming Zeus's wife—welcomed me to be her closer sister."
"But—but she loves Zeus best. Before me, Zeus loved her best as well. She is Zeus's first wife. Now… how do I have the face to see her?"
Hera's voice took on a sobbing lilt: "She… she has always wanted to bear a dear child with Zeus, to give birth to Zeus's firstborn son… But—but now Zeus's firstborn is already in my womb…"
Hera lifted her eyes; her gaze was clear yet pained. Her voice trembled faintly: "Dear Hestia—tell me, how am I to face my best friend?"
Hestia blinked her golden-red flame-eyes and nearly could not speak.
Had she not known Hera too well, she might have thought Hera was boasting.
Indeed… in other ears, ten out of ten would think it boasting.
"Zeus's most beloved," and "the God-King's firstborn"—however you heard it, it sounded like boasting.
But she knew Hera's nature—Hera was not that kind of goddess.
How could a goddess who would soften at the sight of a bird bullied by wind and rain ever use her own happiness to pierce another?
What she truly cared about were the principle of fidelity, the dignity of her friend, the happy beauty of affection.
Now Hera was truly and deeply feeling guilty for this—truly feeling she had wronged Metis.
Though none of it was her fault.
Her noble and holy godly character still made her suffer from conscience, feeling pain for a fault that was not hers.
Hera knew the bitter pain of sinking in the honeyed pool of love.
She also knew the sourness of having to share with other goddesses the god she loved most.
Hera was not one who, having been rained upon, would want other goddesses to be rained upon too.
All the more when the one to be rained upon was her best friend.
And her friend had once had an umbrella.
Though that umbrella was indeed rather torn and ragged, at least it was something.
But now it was Hera herself who had snatched this already ragged umbrella from over her best friend's head—
What pained her more was that, in the depths of her heart, she felt an incurable sweetness from the warmth under this umbrella.
In her complete divine union with her beloved God-King, she could clearly feel that she was her beloved God-King's indisputable, only "most beloved."
That point made her nearly go mad with happiness!
Sweetness and pain churned into one tide within her; she knew not which part to show to whom.
The happiness born of their embrace—she could not lie to herself about that feeling.
This complex emotion, woven of sweetness and guilt—given Hera's divine character—truly left her without ground to stand upon, ashamed beyond measure.
Hestia had come precisely to comfort Hera.
Knowing her sister deeply, she knew Hera's present spiritual bind.
Before she came she had already prepared a solution.
Holding her dear sister with a heart full of pity, she gently comforted her:
"Hera, my dear Hera—my kindest, gentlest Hera—this is not your fault, not in the least. You are blameless."
"You plotted nothing, you took no initiative; you even used all your strength to refuse."
"If blame is to be assigned—let Zeus carry it. It is all that rascal Zeus's fault!"
Hestia paused a moment, held Hera tighter, and softened her voice still more: "But if you truly cannot feel at ease, I do have a thought you might consider."
Hera lifted her head at once; in her tear-bright eyes a flame of urgency sprang up, and she asked in haste, "Dear sister—truly? Please tell me quickly!"
Hestia weighed her words for a breath or two, chose them carefully, and then said slowly:
"I know you and Metis are best friends. And Metis has always been close and friendly with me as well."
"She is a goddess equally gentle, kindly, compassionate, and ardent—and she truly should not suffer innocent hurt for the mistakes of that rascal Zeus."
"But, Hera, now that matters have come to this, running from them is no use; we should face the problem actively—look it in the eye and deal with it."
"The precious friendship between you should not be harmed for this. I think it is the last thing Zeus wishes to see, too."
"Metis is a broad and magnanimous goddess; she is worthy of the title of the God-King's first wife. I believe there is no problem in our sharing Zeus's love."
"As for… as for the matter of the child…"
She looked at the jade hand resting lightly upon Hera's belly; her voice paused, becoming ever gentler and more solemn. "Though Metis has not yet had her own child, and though the God-King's firstborn is settled… you can still fulfill her."
"You can share the God-King's firstborn with her."
"Mm?!" At this last sentence Hera swiftly raised her head from Hestia's arms.
Her golden eyes, full of shock and doubt, looked straight at her warmest sister.
This proposal truly left her utterly astonished.
To have a supreme Great Mother Goddess "share" her child with another goddess—what could be more egregious or unreasonable?
Hestia, of course, knew this; and so she continued: "My good sister, don't misunderstand—I have not finished."
"What I mean by 'share' is not at all like Night and Day dividing and changing their very origins."
"My meaning is: when you bring this dear child into the world, you may invite Metis to be this child's one and only 'godmother.'"
"This also is a most sacred intimate bond. In that name, let the child likewise call her 'Mother,' and invite her to help tend and teach."
"Look—your child holds the most exalted authority of 'creation.'"
"But this authority of 'creation' is likewise inseparable from the nurturing of 'wisdom.'"
"Wisdom is the foundation of 'creation.' Without wisdom, 'creation' can only be a vain piling of chaos."
"Only with wisdom can 'creation' burst forth with boundless inspiration and great power; only with wisdom to give it direction can 'creation' break all existing shackles."
"You are the great Mother who guides all 'evolution,' and Metis is the wisdom goddess who can make 'evolution' more beautiful."
"Thus, if this child can be the child of you both, it will be the best choice—for the child and for the whole universe."
Hera listened quietly; the rise and fall of her breast slowly steadied, and she nodded slowly.
This proposal she could accept.
So long as it was not like Aether and Hemera—changing even the essence of origin.
And it truly was a plan that killed many birds with one stone.
For the child's future development, it was indeed most advantageous.
Hera's heart, knotted by guilt, at last found some ease; a smile appeared once more upon her face.
She said softly, "Dear sister—thank you for this proposal. It truly is the best way! I will go to Metis at once and hope she will accept it."
As she spoke, her decisive, vigorous self would have risen, but Hestia gently caught her hand.
The Sovereign of Fire laughed lightly: "You—why so hasty?"
"There is no rush in this moment; I have not finished speaking."
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