Leaving aside the affairs of the Underworld, atop glorious Olympus, the God-King Zeus was once again hosting a grand banquet.
In the palace built of crystal and marble, beautiful nymphs danced.
Perhaps to show off his generosity or because he was in a good mood, Zeus uncharacteristically ordered his precious divine wine to be brought out and generously shared it with the gods to enjoy.
Apollo sat in the same spot as his sister Artemis, not surrounded by flatterers like the other gods, appearing somewhat aloof.
But the siblings—one the cold goddess of the hunt, the other the proud god of light and art—were unconcerned by this and freely enjoyed the tranquility of each other's company.
Occasionally whispering, their gazes glided over the noisy gods with a hint of detachment.
At the feast, Zeus sat on his throne of ivory and gold, holding the thunder scepter and drinking fine wine from a cup.
His gaze, like an eagle searching for prey, smoothly shifted between the magnificent goddesses and graceful nymphs.
Soon, several bold and uninhibited goddesses gathered around him with coy smiles, singing and bantering, trying to win the God-King's favor and affection.
No one noticed that on the seven-stringed lyre Apollo had casually placed beside him, the grimace drawn by Hermes was emitting extremely subtle magical fluctuations.
And the body of the instrument had long been replaced by the body of the trickster god himself, quietly hiding there.
Just as the banquet atmosphere was at its peak, Zeus raised his golden cup and took another sip of the mellow divine wine—
"Ah-choo!!"
A shocking sneeze suddenly erupted from the God-King's mouth!
This was no ordinary puff of air, but several uncontrollable lightning bolts and thunderclaps that exploded with his exhale, knocking the golden cup before him askew and frightening the surrounding goddesses, who lost their composure and retreated with exclamations.
As if on cue, immediately after, all the gods who had drunk the divine wine offered by Zeus at this banquet, regardless of status, began to sneeze one after another.
"Ah-choo!"
"Heh-AH-choo!"
"Ah-choo, ah-choo... Ah—choo!"
...
For a time, the solemn and magnificent temple was filled with sneezes and nasal sounds, mingled with the crackle of thunder, the exclamations of goddesses, and the awkward sniffling of male gods.
The aroma of fine wine and food mixed with a faint scent of ozone and a comical atmosphere.
The gods looked at each other, not understanding the source of this sudden collective affliction. Only Zeus, between sneezes, had a face so dark it could drip water, his eyes burning with suspicion and anger.
Just as this chaos and embarrassment reached its peak, the seven-stringed lyre lying nearby began to play a clear, melodious tune on its own, with no one plucking it.
It flew into Apollo's slightly stunned hands, as if it possessed a life of its own.
Apollo subconsciously caught it, and the moment his fingers touched the strings, a cool, serene melody involuntarily flowed from his fingertips.
The sound of the lyre, like a clear spring, spread with the power to calm the mind and soothe unease, subtly integrating into this symphony of sneezes.
Under the cover of this wonderful music, the gods' uncontrollable sneezes gradually subsided, and the runaway thunder and lightning quietly disappeared.
Soon, order was restored in the temple, and only Apollo's healing and beautiful piano music sounded.
The frightened gods naturally attributed this timely rescue to Apollo holding the lyre.
Praise and gratitude flooded towards this god of light like a tide.
"Oh, great Apollo! It was you who dispelled this inexplicable affliction with your beautiful music!"
"Truly worthy of being the god in charge of art!"
"Thank you, Apollo."
Even Zeus on the throne, rubbing his reddened nose, cast a rare approving glance at Apollo, his thunderous voice echoing through the hall: "Well done, my son! Your music can indeed dispel even ill omens."
Apollo held the lyre in his hand, which had suddenly become a little warm, accepting praise that was not his due. His golden brows furrowed almost imperceptibly.
On his handsome face, there was no joy, only a slight stiffness and unease at being forcibly placed on a throne of glory.
The banquet finally ended in a slightly eerie atmosphere.
The gods dispersed, discussing the commotion and Apollo's 'heroic deed'.
When the hustle and bustle had faded, Apollo immediately found Hermes, who was hiding in the shadow of a pillar on the terrace, smiling and playing with a few pearls from the feast.
"Hermes!"
Apollo's voice suppressed anger, his golden pupils burning with a sense of dignity being blasphemed.
"What have you done?!"
Hermes looked up, still with a cynical smile on his face, as if he had just finished a harmless game. "My dear Apollo, why are you angry? I helped you, didn't I?"
"Helped me?" Apollo stepped forward, his voice cold.
"By forcing upon me, through such deception, an honor that is not mine? That's not help, it's an insult! The glory of my Apollo should come from the true power of my arrows and strings, not from... obtaining a fictitious name through such tricks!"
He could not bear this gracious, false praise, which stained his pride as a god of light.
Hermes blinked, an almost innocent puzzlement on his face, and asked rhetorically:
"You complain to me because you're disgusted with the Father God and have lost his favor? Why are you so angry when I try to help you win his favor and the praise of the gods?"
His words were like the sharpest daggers, precisely piercing the contradictions in Apollo's heart.
Apollo was momentarily speechless; he had indeed been venting his dissatisfaction with Zeus's alienation onto Hermes, but he had never thought he could make up for it in this way.
Looking at Apollo's complex and indignant expression, Hermes's smile deepened, with a hint of cunning and insight:
"Sometimes the path to glory isn't just sunny and smooth. What's wrong with taking a little... shortcut through the shadows now and then? In the end, results are what the gods see, aren't they?"
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