Hera gave a wry smile and sat down again: "Metis's heart must be bearing unbearable torment right now. I truly don't want her to endure it a moment longer."
"If making her the child's godmother can ease her sorrow, I really don't want to delay even an instant."
Hestia nodded, warmth deepening in her eyes: "I know, I know. But it won't delay you long; in any case it isn't urgent in this moment. Hear me finish one more matter."
"I also came with a gift to give you. Mm—no, not to you, to this dear child."
"This child is Zeus's firstborn son, and likewise the Kronos family's first third-generation male god. I want to present Him with a spark of our family's love."
Hera shook her head lightly and smiled: "We are one family—what need is there for gifts? And I—I have not yet accepted the title of Zeus's wife. This child…"
She shook her head again. "Let's forget it."
Hestia said helplessly, "You—your temper gives even me a headache. I daren't imagine how much of a headache Zeus must have."
"But then, he deserves it."
The warm Hestia teased Zeus once more, drawing a knowing smile from Hera.
Then she straightened and said, "But this gift of mine isn't for you; it's for this dear child. So you must accept it on His behalf."
"This child bears the supreme authority of 'creation.' He is destined to lead all civilization toward progress and prosperity."
"And all of this is inseparable from the power of 'fire.'"
"So I will grant Him the 'fire of civilization,' that is, the 'creation-fire that forges all things.'"
"I hope that once He has these, He can better lead those newborn lives along the road to a more brilliant civilization."
"May this fire become the heart-lamp that lights His way ahead, and the furnace in which He smelts conception into reality."
At this Hera's face changed; she was profoundly shocked.
She hastily waved her hands again and again, incomparably resolute: "N-no, no! Dear sister, absolutely not!"
"Your gift is far too weighty! I cannot accept it, and neither can this child!"
"He already possesses authority strong enough—how can He then encroach upon your great authority?"
"This is not an ordinary branch under your authority, but one of your core essences!"
"I absolutely cannot accept this gift! Say no more!"
Hestia smiled gently and did not argue, only gathered her beloved sister back into her arms:
"Dear Hera, did I not already say it? This is not for you; it is for the child. Thus, you have no right to refuse on His behalf."
Hera, agitated, tried to refuse again, but Hestia raised a hand and gently stayed her.
"Don't get worked up. What is such a small matter?"
"My authority has long been linked with Zeus's. 'Fire' will exist forever within thunder, within radiance, revolving without cease upon that supreme throne."
"Even if I give away some authority, what effect could it have on me? It is only drawing out one wisp of the 'civilization-spark.' It does me no loss."
"My dear sister, the meaning of fire lies in sharing and ignition, bringing warmth to all beings. Warmth hoarded alone is not only meaningless—it will end in extinction."
"This child's 'creation' is strong and destined to be mighty beyond compare, but He still lacks much."
"Even if Metis becomes His godmother and He has 'wisdom' as a foundation, He still lacks two things."
The Sovereign of Fire raised two knuckles. "He lacks a touch of the 'spark of inspiration,' and the 'sustaining energy to turn every conception into reality.'"
"Is not my 'fire' the best supplement?"
"Only with this 'civilization-creating fire,' this 'reality-forging fire,' can He turn every 'possibility' into 'reality.'"
Hera's golden eyes shimmered as she stared at Hestia, murmuring, "Hestia… my sister, this… this, I…"
Hestia smiled tenderly. "All right, let's not waste time. Aren't you going to Metis anyway?"
Before the words had fallen, Hestia, without hesitation, drew from her own primordial law a "fire" she had long prepared—the "fire of civilizational creation!"
It was a sacred spark, incomparably hot and dazzling, shimmering in nine varicolored hues.
Its heat burned without cruelty, its light shone without glare, as though millions of newborn stars had been smelted into one flaming heart.
Within it were stored inexhaustible forging-vistas and blueprints of civilization.
And this most precious, sacred spark she, without hesitation, lightly sent into Hera's womb.
The radiant, warming fire seeped in without a sound; the "Sea of Creation" rippled faintly.
The child sleeping within, by instinct alone, joyfully opened an unseen "divine mouth" and swallowed the warm spark in one gulp.
Hestia, the great Sovereign of Fire—the warmest goddess of flame—selfless and generous, poured into the body of "creation" the most crucial, most indispensable point, that "possibility" might be forged into "reality," that "matter" might be shaped into "implements!"
The everlasting furnace of civilizational creation!
In a flash, deep in the rhythm of the womb-sea, there lit a "furnace star-spark," tiny yet steady.
It made no clamor, yet gave warmth to every thought.
It was neither hasty nor harsh, yet gave conceptions the chance to set into form.
The great, holy, most precious fire entered "creation," becoming "creation's" inner, eternal drive!
From then on, creation had the most sacred initial impetus; creation had the flame of civilization as its support; creation had limitless energy as its foundation.
From then on, "civilization" had the core fire-kernel for iterative accumulation; "craft" had the enduring hearth on which inspiration could be forged into formed instruments.
And all of this sprang from the great Sovereign of Fire—the warmest and most selfless love for all living things!
Creation would no longer exist only in song; craft would no longer depend only on imagination.
Inspiration would have a furnace; forging would have a hammer; civilization would have fire; all beings could learn!
All this, because the warmest goddess was willing to share a tuft of her heart's fire with the "future," bringing hope to all beings!
Praise Hestia—holy, warm, primeval fire!
Praise the eternal, burning, selfless, gift-giving fire of civilization!
Praise the undying furnace, the source of all arts!
When all was a settled fact, Hera lowered her head and lightly laid her fingertips upon her slender, flat belly.
She could clearly feel that "spark of civilization" Hestia had bestowed, radiating a sacred, everlasting warmth within.
Like a heart-lamp set upon the seabed, it pulsed steady and long.
It was the "fire of civilizational creation" Hestia had just given, embracing the "Sea of Creation" within her, becoming the calm heartbeat of the child's slumber.
She raised her eyes to Hestia; in the depths of her golden pupils surged a tide of gratitude and warmth. "Sister…"
Before the words were finished, Hestia once more gently drew her into her arms.
The warm Sovereign of Fire smiled gently. "No more 'thank yous.' We are one family of gods. And you—don't lock yourself inside those too-sharp fixations anymore."
She blinked playfully, lashes filmed with firelight, and half-playfully, half-petulantly muttered, "Mm—though that rascal Zeus is indeed bad. Still, as elder sisters, we must be a touch more forgiving toward Him, mustn't we?"
Hestia winked at Hera.
Hera was softened by the light tease; lips pressed tight, she rested in quiet for a time, and finally spoke, slowly.
Her voice carried profound and solemn feeling: "Hestia, my dear sister—thank you. On behalf of this child yet unborn, I thank you deeply."
"The selfless gift you have granted this child is a precious grace He must forever remember with gratitude—and forever repay."
Hestia only smiled gently, raised a hand, and pinched her delicate nose in affection, teasing, "You—ever so stubborn. Why always speak so formally? We are one family of gods. Only when all are well is it truly well."
She released the embrace and smoothed a stray lock of gold from Hera's temple. "All right—go to Metis now. You are both gentle, kind goddesses. Whatever it is, speak frankly face to face, and all will be well."
"I believe the precious friendship between you will never be harmed by that rascal Zeus."
Hestia set her hands upon Hera's shoulders and exhorted with utmost seriousness: "Remember to tell Metis properly about the 'godmother.'"
"Tell her you can both share the God-King's firstborn—a most precious child. Let this child have the 'evolution' you grant and the 'wisdom' she guides."
At this Hera also nodded with utmost seriousness. The waves in her heart were smoothed by a steadier warmth.
After Hestia left, the grand temple of Procreation returned once more to stillness.
Thinking of Metis, of that friend she had always deeply respected—magnanimous, broad-minded, kind and gentle—Hera found herself absentminded again.
Unknowingly, another day passed quietly.
Another dawn on Olympus—the first, most pristine thread of light—silently shone upon her hall.
That light was gentle and warm, like the song a lark did not sing, like that soft tuft of plumage that once nestled in her arms in wind and rain.
Startled into realization, she lifted her gaze and looked quietly upon that ray of morning, and at last, smiled—softly.
The smile was very slight—very slight—and still bore a trace of bitterness that could not be wholly erased.
Yet it was enough to shift every shadow in the depths of her divinity into the corners.
She laid a hand upon her belly. There was an exceedingly slow, yet incomparably resolute fetal rhythm there, answering her heartbeat afar—holding what seemed an eternal promise.
It was the most radiant, holy crystallization of herself and her most beloved God-King.
Their most precious child.
The sweetest and heaviest charge of her life.
Love is a tide of grace; when the tide has passed, I will be the hard rock that builds the dam.
Happiness is thunder's roar; when the roar has gone, I will be the quiet breeze that lays the echo to rest.
She was ready—to speak, to make good, to repay.
And she was ready to face, with composure, every goddess worthy of her respect—especially her best friend, Metis.
In the deeper place of her divinity, she lightly stroked her belly and, in a voice only she and the child within could hear, whispered:
"My child, you will be born into a world with less guilt. Your mother will do her best."
Some guard promises with reality; some guard light with courage.
And she would guard order with gentleness, guard love with love.
Hera gathered her heart. No hesitation remained.
She had risen and gone forth—her pace not swift, yet every step was steady beyond compare.
The universe is broad; the laws are weighty. And love is a tide that cannot be avoided, yet can be set in place.
It passes that border where "sacrifice" meets "forgiveness"; it threads the stubbornness of "fidelity" and "togetherness."
At last, in mornings warm with loving and being loved, it gives rise to great miracles that can be born again and again.
Love's patience and sacrifice, fulfillment and forbearance have never been two diverging streams, but a single, gentle light quietly converging in the dark.
Before the temple, Asteria and Leto stood side by side.
They watched quietly as Hera's steadfast figure went away.
The breeze stirred their hems; the silver-blue weave of their long skirts was like fine ripples drawn by the wind.
The two peerless goddesses stood like lovely statues, quiet as a light wind.
Asteria's eyes were still very bright, like a meteor that flits swift across the night.
Only, within that brilliance there was a trace of inexpressible complexity.
Leto reached out, laid her palm lightly upon her sister's slightly cool hand, and quietly passed her warmth and calm.
Asteria's light and splendor were wont to be fully displayed beneath a star-bright sky—even a cloudless day could not dim them.
She was not yet skilled at seeking a way out within a reality full of shadow.
But she was, even now, learning to accept.
She recalled the goddess Hera's unalloyed gentleness, recalled how the Lady had treated the sisters with intimate care.
And recalled the God-King Zeus's imperious gaze that could not be resisted.
The God-King's gaze was strong as the sun, pressing as a storm—that was the most alluring yet most fatal radiance in all the cosmos.
She resisted it for no reason—and yet could not deny its brilliance.
She did not like this.
But she knew as well that some things must be accepted.
She gazed upon Hera's receding figure and said inwardly: if… if on some day to come she must draw nearer to that God-King…
Then she would first place this apology deep within her heart.
And then repay a hundredfold the grace she owed the goddess Hera today.
Leto's palm grew steadier.
She had always understood that before true power and order, choices are few. Bearing and choosing are the only road to walk.
The sisters kept a tacit silence; they had both settled the road they would take.
Time is ever the best medicine.
The quiet and discerning wisdom goddess, after several days of settling, at last made shore again from the surging tides of heart, and recovered her calm and stillness.
True wisdom will never leave itself sunk forever in a vortex of useless pain.
Only, the nameless urgency in her heart, unavoidably, grew a shade heavier.
She was now teaching her dear sister more intently and in every way—all the arts of winning the God-King!
As Hera's good confidante, she knew Hera too well.
Hera's pride and divine integrity would never allow her to carouse with Zeus alongside any other goddess.
Since that was so, then sister and sister together might at least vie a little more for their beloved God-King's favor?
After all, that was just what their beloved God-King was like!
When she heard the nymph announce Hera's visit, Metis could not help but start.
And then, she more or less guessed Hera's purpose.
Hera must be coming with overflowing guilt to apologize.
Modest, gentle Metis sighed deeply in her heart.
This was clearly all their beloved God-King's fault. How could Hera be blamed?
Who in this world can truly resist the God-King's will?
Hera was also a pitiable sufferer, long tormented in love.
Gracious Eurynome looked anxiously at her sister.
Metis only returned a soothing, faint smile, with no shadow within it, and took her sister's hand to go out and receive their guest together.
Upon the steps, at the first sight of Metis—at the sight of that sincere, unforced, comforting smile upon her face—Hera's already heavy guilt surged in an instant to the utmost.
She parted her lips and called weakly, "Metis…"
Metis said nothing; only the smile upon her face grew warmer and closer.
She went forward on her own and took Hera's slightly cool, stiff small hand, leading her into the hall.
"Hera, my friend—welcome. Pray, no needless thoughts."
"I only want you to know—you are always welcome here."
"As it was before, so it shall be. We are forever friends. And from now on, we are closer still. Henceforth, we shall be nearer."
Hera, heavy-hearted and tangled in her thoughts, was silent.
She opened her lips several times but did not know where to begin; every word in her throat was blocked by formless guilt.
Metis led Hera straight to the most private inner hall.
As they had done countless times, they sat together upon the soft cloud-bed.
Metis gently took Hera's hands, which trembled slightly with tension.
Gold met gold as four eyes held.
With a gentle smile, Metis said in the most sincere, most earnest tone, "Hera, I know it all. You need say nothing."
"None of this is your fault; all of it is that rascal Zeus's fault. He is too greedy and too amorous, always making us goddesses heartsore."
"And who made us so useless? Every one of us, deeply in love with that scoundrel."
"But it is no matter. We have endless eternal life; we will stay with Zeus forever, unto the undying."
"In the river of time without end, we can amply love Zeus, and amply enjoy Zeus's love."
"What little heartache has happened now—what will it amount to in the long, long beauty of days to come?"
"It is but one more ripple worth savoring in our immortal love."
The more magnanimous Metis was, the more Hera felt guilty.
She bowed her head deeply, all pride gone, like a little girl who had erred.
In a voice nearly too soft to hear she said, "Metis—my best friend—I'm sorry, truly sorry… It is my fault—it was I who could not refuse Zeus… I'm sorry…"
Metis drew Hera lightly into her arms and embraced her, speaking softly: "Hera, how could I blame you? I repeat—it is not your fault."
"I know how noble and holy your divine character is, and I know how you have suffered for this."
"You have endured too long—truly. This is not your fault; I know. Zeus forced you."
"You and I both know—who can go against Zeus's will? Whatever He wishes to do, He will do—no matter what it is."
"He seems the gentlest, yet in truth is the most overbearing. Once He has fixed on something, it must be done."
"I told you earlier: if it were you—gentle and kind you—who could become Zeus's wife, I would not mind."
"I also said before all gods that whatever Zeus liked and whatever Zeus acknowledged—I would make no objection."
Metis smiled serenely, her tone still softer and gentler. "Dear Hera—not only you. Just as the Lady of Justice—purest and most fair—once sank in the painful rending of conflict between divinity and principle."
"None of this is what I wish to see. I do not wish to see any noble, holy goddess tormented in love."
"For I know how bitter it is—this love that cannot be had. It is all divinity enduring the cruel dryness of unending thirst."
"And my dear sister Eurynome—she, too, loves Zeus."
"I will not stop her from becoming Zeus's wife; I will help her have her wish. And so it already is."
At this Hera blinked, and, by reflex, looked aside at Eurynome, who had sat all the while like a quiet lotus.
This she had, indeed, only just learned.
She knew Eurynome's secret love for Zeus; on Olympus there was hardly a god who did not know.
But that she had had her wish granted—this she did not know.
She could not help herself but curse inwardly again: That rascal Zeus!
But it was only the faintest of thoughts.
She felt very much at fault now. They were six of one, half a dozen of the other; how could she scold Eurynome?
All the more when Eurynome was Metis's own sister.
Metis herself had said nothing; how much less place had Hera to speak?
At least now, she had none.
Sensing Hera's gaze, Eurynome only returned a shy, faint smile and did not interrupt.
Metis took it all in and went on: "You are all my dearest family and friends. How could I bear to watch you forever suppress your divinity and suffer unbearable torment?"
"If my love is not shared with you noble and kind ones—shall it be stolen by other sly, scheming goddesses?"
Clear light flickered in the wisdom goddess's eyes; her words were both comfort and strategy.
"So, dear Hera—please stop ravaging your noble and beautiful divinity. Accept this with composure. I do not blame you—not in the least."
"Our beloved God-King's love is vast and boundless. So long as we can enjoy eternal joy and happiness with Zeus, let many little things pass."
"Let us be closer friends—let us be the closest of sisters."
With that, Metis laughed and drew nearer still, a fond complaint between her brows: "Dear Hera, I can never refuse Zeus; I cannot manage Him, and He certainly cannot manage Himself."
"Hereafter we must both keep an eye on Him. We must by no means let Him be willful and indulgent again."
"If no goddess keeps Him in check, I can be sure that the least beckon from any goddess and He will take the hook."
"My dear Hera, our union is both sharing and strengthening. We must build a fortress no outer force can shake."
"Hera, it is well and good for Zeus to share Himself with goddesses worthy of our respect and noble holiness, but we must not let Him be hoodwinked by sly, greedy goddesses. We must keep watch together."
Hera listened to Metis's sincere, wisdom-filled words, and her heart took on a feeling beyond telling.
She wished to say much, but found any words pale in such a moment.
The warmth of being understood, the feeling of being received, the stance lifted to the height of "guarding together"—all of it left her unable to restrain her heart.
At last all her gratitude, guilt, joy, and love turned into a single act.
She could only hold her friend tight and say again and again, "Metis—my friend—thank you for this grace—thank you for this forbearance—"
"I—I… I have only gratitude… Metis—thank you! Truly, truly—thank you!"
Before Hera's thanks had finished, a smile had risen upon Metis's rosy face, half-mock chiding.
Her voice was soft, with a touch of feigned severity: "Dear Hera, please don't say such things. If you do, I will not like it."
"Between us—sincere friends and sisters—there's no need to use stiff thanks to set a distance. That would make me feel a rift had grown between us."
As she spoke, her gaze could not help sliding to Hera's belly.
It was still slender and flat, yet it was as if a hidden heart-lamp hung there—its flickering set her own heart alight.
Metis's eyes trembled, and her heart sighed quietly in its sourness.
She knew, of course, that this "heart-lamp" bore the image she had sketched more than once in the depths of her divinity—the God-King's firstborn son.
Alas, her beloved Zeus still wished only to beget His firstborn with Hera.
"Hera," she said softly and sincerely, "congratulations. You and Zeus have a dear child."
"With your and Zeus's essences and authorities, His future will be incomparably glorious and towering. He is destined to lead the civilization of the cosmos."
As she spoke, the tightly reined bitterness in her heart still crept to the corners of her eyes; the deepest longing and envy flashed within.
Only, the wisdom goddess had more than wisdom—she was kind and gentle, magnanimous and broad. She only ground her jealousy into dust, letting that fine dust drift down with the wind.
What she presented to her friend now was only heartfelt blessing.
At the mention of the child, Hera's breast rose and fell; a complex melancholy was lightly brushed away by a soft wind, and the dimness in her eyes was replaced by a maternal glow, full of unconcealed comfort and longing.
But in a moment she came back to herself and recalled the main purpose of her visit from that tangle of thought.
Composing her heart, she clasped Metis's jade hands tight, summoned all her courage, drew a deep breath, and spoke with utmost seriousness: "Wise Metis—my dearest friend—your magnanimity and breadth are beyond the reach of any god."
"You are the God-King's first wife. Your love for Zeus none can compare."
"You think of everything for Zeus; you have given us latecomers our chance, letting us be together with Zeus in the open."
"All this proves your noble, broad, most gentle, most gracious divine character. I believe not only I, but the other goddesses too, will thank you deeply and admire you."
"Metis—my friend, my sister—you bear the highest character and have borne the most pain."
"But it should not be you who bears this pain. Under the sacred just order Zeus established, good and generous gods should not suffer innocent pain."
"Dear Metis—I do not know what to do to repay you for this grace. But I have come today with one heartfelt wish."
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