CHAPTER 104: FINDING ALLIES

Aphrodite wandered the silent marble corridors of Olympus, her thoughts a whirlpool of confusion. The place where the Loom of Fate was supposed to be... was gone. Not just hidden. Gone. As if it had never existed at all. The archway that once led to the secret chamber had become a smooth wall of white stone, unmarked and untouched. Even her divine senses couldn’t detect the faintest residue of magic.

She clenched her jaw, her sandals echoing across the floor with each determined step. "Someone’s done more than just erase memories," she muttered. "They’ve rewritten the fabric of Olympus."

But she couldn’t solve this alone.

If there were inconsistencies in the timeline—if things like the Trojan War hadn’t yet happened, if some stories seemed missing—then she needed the help of gods who, like her, had an eye for detail and movement.

Her first stop: Hermes.

The god of messages, travel, and secrets.

She found him in one of Olympus’ upper chambers, lounging in a chair suspended upside-down from the ceiling, lazily spinning a caduceus in his fingers. Scrolls floated around him like leaves in a windless autumn, each inscribed with recent mortal events. His gaze flicked toward her as she entered.

"Well, well," he said with a knowing smirk. "Aphrodite, gracing me with her presence. I assume this is about something more serious than scandal or perfume?"

"Don’t flatter yourself, Hermes." She crossed her arms. "I need information. And I need your honesty."

He flipped down from the ceiling, landing lightly on his feet with the elegance of a cat. "You wound me. I’m the very embodiment of honesty."

"I’m serious," she snapped. "Something’s wrong. Terribly wrong. I’ve been reviewing our histories—true histories, unchangeable tomes in the sacred archive—and some events haven’t occurred that should have. Events that I remember. Events you should know."

He blinked. His smirk faded slightly. "You’re talking about the Age of Heroes."

"You do remember," she said, leaning in. "The war of Troy. Helen’s abduction. Achilles, Hector, Odysseus. You remember it, don’t you?"

"I... I have glimpses," Hermes admitted, his voice unusually subdued. "Flashes, like a dream I woke from too quickly. But those scrolls don’t exist. Not anymore."

"Exactly," she said. "The records are gone. But the archives can’t be edited—not by gods, not by Titans, not even by Chaos."

Hermes narrowed his eyes, tension growing in his shoulders. "You think someone altered reality?"

"I think someone rewrote it," Aphrodite replied. "And whoever did it, they wanted us to forget."

She hesitated, then added, "And Akhon... he’s not himself. His memories are gone. He believes he’s only ever been your brother, son of Zeus. He doesn’t remember anything else."

Hermes stiffened. "That’s not right. Akhon’s power... it’s unique. Even I never understood its origin fully. He felt older than Olympus itself."

"I think he is. Or was."

Hermes walked to one of the floating scrolls and tapped it. "And the Fates?"

"Gone. Their chamber doesn’t exist anymore." Aphrodite’s voice dropped to a whisper. "It’s like Olympus itself has been restructured. I’m going to find out who did it. But I’ll need help."

Hermes hesitated, then gave a nod. "You’ll want someone who sees through the cracks. Try Hestia. If anyone still remembers the old warmth of truth, it’s her."

---

Hestia’s sanctuary sat apart from the rest of Olympus. A quiet, humble place, all firelight and silence, with no golden thrones or shimmering columns. Aphrodite stepped inside and was immediately wrapped in warmth—not just from the hearthfire, but from the calm that always accompanied the goddess of home and hearth.

Hestia was kneeling, feeding a flickering flame with dried herbs. She turned as Aphrodite entered, her gentle face creased with curiosity.

"You seem troubled, child."

"I am." Aphrodite sat beside her, not bothering with pleasantries. "I need your help. Something’s wrong with Olympus—something no one seems to notice."

"I’ve felt it," Hestia said quietly, hands still tending the flame. "A shift in the rhythm. As if a familiar song now plays in a strange key."

"You remember too?"

"Not clearly," she admitted. "But I know there should be more. More stories. More voices. More fire."

Aphrodite felt a wave of relief. She wasn’t imagining it.

"The Fates are gone," she said. "Their chamber has vanished. The books in the sacred library show a history I don’t remember living through. Akhon doesn’t know who he is. And some gods think I’m being paranoid."

Hestia turned her gaze to the fire. "Then perhaps the fire can guide us."

She stood, gesturing toward the hearth. "Sit. Let the flames show you what they will."

Aphrodite obeyed. The flames danced wildly for a moment, then began to shape themselves—images flashing in orange and gold. She saw visions: a city bathed in golden light, people cheering Akhon’s name... a council of gods not gathered in centuries... and a mist, a deep violet mist that swallowed light.

Then the fire went out.

Hestia was pale. "There’s something old in this. Something before Titans, before memory. And it wants us blind."

Aphrodite stood. "I need to reach the truth before it’s too late."

"You’ll need allies," Hestia said. "Those who still remember fire, movement, and change."

"I already have two." Aphrodite turned toward the door, determination flaring in her eyes. "And I’m not stopping until I find the third."

---

And now, she was doing something she had sworn never to do again.

She stopped before the darkened entrance of a domed hall tucked behind the Forge of Hephaestus. The air here was thicker, warmer. Red banners fluttered inside like bloodstained memories, and from within, the sound of steel clashing against steel echoed faintly.

"Ares," she called, loud and clear, ignoring the lump in her throat.

Silence.

Then the unmistakable voice answered, gruff and edged with amusement. "Did Olympus run out of charm, or are you finally here to apologize for everything?"

Aphrodite stepped inside, head held high. The god of war stood shirtless at the center of the hall, training against three animated bronze soldiers. With a flick of his wrist, they froze. He turned to her, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Still dramatic as ever," he said. "What do you want?"

"I’m not here to fight," Aphrodite replied. "And I’m not here to apologize either."

Ares smirked. "So, diplomacy, then?"

She sighed. "I need your help."

That caught him off guard. The amusement on his face faded as he crossed his arms. "You’ve got Hermes, don’t you? Or that hearth mouse, Hestia?"

"They don’t remember," she said, her voice lowering. "Something is wrong. The library holds scrolls that mention the Age of Heroes, the Trojan War, names like Odysseus and Achilles... but no one remembers any of it. Not even me. I read those names and feel nothing. But the scrolls can’t be changed. Not even by a god."

Ares’ expression shifted. His eyes, once mocking, narrowed into focus. "You’re serious."

"I wouldn’t come to you if I weren’t."

He approached her slowly. "You said the Fates. You think they have something to do with this?"

"They must," she replied. "Their sanctuary is sealed. The entrance is gone. It’s as if they never existed—but I remember it. Not the details, not clearly... but the space, the energy. The absence is loud."

Ares walked past her, grabbing a dark red cloak from a rack and throwing it over his shoulder. "How long has this been going on?"

"Since a few days ago. It started with a conversation I had with Akhon."

He stopped mid-step.

"Akhon?" he asked. "The lightning brat?"

Aphrodite nodded. "He said something strange—he spoke as if he knew me from a different time, mentioned things that made no sense. And the next day, he didn’t remember any of it. He doesn’t even seem to know what he said. It’s like he was... reset."

Ares’s brow furrowed. "That’s not like him. The kid’s strange, but not confused."

"Exactly," she said. "And I think it’s connected to the Fates."

He paced, rubbing the back of his neck. "You really think someone messed with the threads?"

"I think someone erased them."

Ares stood silently for a long moment. Then, to her surprise, he nodded.

"You came to the right god," he muttered. "If there’s a fight coming, I’d rather be in front of it than behind."

Aphrodite let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. "You’ll help me?"

He turned toward her, and for a moment, his eyes softened—not with love, not anymore, but with something older. Respect. Shared history. Unspoken loyalty.

"I’m not the fool I was, Aphrodite," he said. "We burned each other down once. But if what you’re saying is true... this isn’t just about you, or Akhon. It’s about Olympus itself."

Aphrodite nodded. "Then we find the truth together."

He picked up his spear and nodded toward the exit. "I know a few old tunnels. Forgotten ways down into the roots of Olympus. If the Fates are sealed, maybe someone didn’t want them found. But there are other paths."

They walked side by side into the light, the tension of years still between them but softened now by necessity. The breeze outside carried the scents of olive trees and lightning in the distance. Olympus hummed, unaware of the cracks beneath its divine calm.

"You know," Ares said, glancing sideways, "if this ends up with us fighting some ancient force bent on rewriting fate, I’m going to enjoy myself."

"I thought you might," she said with a smirk.

He grinned. "And if you betray me again, I’ll throw you into Tartarus."

She raised a brow. "Then don’t give me a reason."

They laughed—not like lovers, not like strangers, but like gods who had survived each other, and who now shared a new enemy neither could name.

The path forward was uncertain, but for the first time since the memories began unraveling, Aphrodite didn’t feel alone.

Not anymore.