CHAPTER 93: AEGLE AND HESPERIA

My garden looked exactly like the Hera’s gardens of my reality, they looked the same. That was the terrifying part. The same shaped hedges, the same song of birds in the branches above, the same scent of warm nectar carried by the breeze.

And Aegle stood in the center of it. My Aegle... or at least the version this place had to offer.

She knelt before a blooming patch of golden flowers, her hands gently trimming the stems with a careful touch. The same grace. The same silver-laced braid hanging down her back. And yet something in her aura—it didn’t hum with that warm pulse I’d grown to recognize. It felt... muted.

"Aegle," I said softly, stepping into the garden path.

She turned, face lit by recognition—but not the kind I hoped for.

"My lord!" she exclaimed, quickly standing and bowing with reverence. "I didn’t hear you approach."

I smiled awkwardly, testing the waters. "You don’t need to bow. You never did."

Her eyes blinked rapidly, confusion coloring her expression. "But... protocol demands I address you properly. Is something the matter, my lord?"

’My lord.’ The words stung more than they should have.

"I just wanted to speak with you," I said. "Alone."

She nodded, a little hesitant, and stepped closer. "Of course. What troubles you?"

Akhon walked quietly beside Aegle through the inner gardens of the new Olympus, surrounded by an unsettling calm. She looked just as radiant as he remembered—her skin kissed by the sun, her golden hair cascading gently down her back. But something was... missing. Something in her eyes felt hollow.

"Aegle," he said softly, coming to a stop. "Have you ever felt like something’s not right? Like... like something’s missing, but you can’t quite tell what?"

She blinked and tilted her head slightly. "My lord?"

"Have you had dreams?" he pressed. "Visions that don’t feel like yours? Places you’ve never been, but still seem familiar somehow?"

Aegle offered a gentle smile, though there was confusion in her gaze. "Sometimes I dream of winds, of fire, of distant lands. But I thought they were divine visions. Maybe sent by you."

Akhon stared at her, searching her face for something—anything—that might hint at recognition. "And me? Have you ever felt... that there was something more between us?"

She seemed taken aback, not offended, just lost. "You are the god who watches over this world. I exist to serve you, to support your will. That is all there has ever been."

His heart sank.

There was no hesitation in her voice, no flicker of doubt. No hint that she remembered Kaeron, or the life they once shared. Because in this version of reality... she never did. She wasn’t there when the Athenians attacked, when he stood alone to defend that city. She had never stood at his side.

Everything between them had been wiped away and replaced with something pristine—but fake.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "That’s all I needed."

Aegle bowed her head respectfully. "Of course, my lord."

He turned away, walking faster now, his chest tight.

If what Athena told him was true... then Hesperia—another of the Hesperides—was now working under Aphrodite’s domain. Maybe she wasn’t as deeply embedded into this constructed illusion. Maybe her memories hadn’t been completely overwritten.

Maybe she still remembered something.

The temple of Aphrodite shimmered with warmth and pleasure, every inch bathed in golden light and perfumed breeze. It was an artificial paradise, carefully cultivated—just like everything else in this illusion Olympus.

Akhon hated it.

He stood at the entrance, watching courtiers dressed in silks dance to the slow music of invisible lyres. Laughter drifted like incense. Everything felt so pleasant it was suffocating.

And then, she appeared.

Aphrodite herself.

She descended a short staircase with the poise of a queen and the seduction of a siren, her beauty wrapped in silk and rose petals, her smile effortless yet unknowable.

"Akhon," she purred, her voice like velvet over steel. "To what do I owe the honor? I heard you have been saying a lot of nonsense lately. Have you finally come to your senses and decided that nothing is wrong with the world?"

"I’m not here to debate philosophies," Akhon replied, his voice steady. "I’ve come for Hesperia. I need a few moments with her."

Aphrodite arched a delicate brow. "You’re not the first god to want a moment with one of my attendants. But usually, they have the decency to bring gifts or flattery."

"I’m not most gods."

"That," she said, amused, "is painfully obvious."

Despite her teasing, she waved a hand. "Very well. She’s in the inner garden. I trust you’ll be... respectful."

"I always am," he replied, though there was little warmth in his voice.

He strode past her, deeper into the gardens until he saw Hesperia.

She was kneeling by a marble fountain, humming a soft tune as she plucked petals from a bowl and scattered them into the water. Her bronze hair glimmered in the sunlight, and her green eyes flicked up at his approach.

She stood immediately and bowed. "My lord Akhon. I was not told you would visit."

"We don’t need to stand on ceremony," he said quietly. "I just want to talk."

She tilted her head, curiosity creeping into her features. "Talk?"

"Do you remember perhaps the garden of Hera?" he asked.

Hesperia blinked. "No. Should I?"

"It was a garden under the protection of you and your sisters. You protected it and took care of it. I remember that on there, you liked to read poetry under the shadow of the trees."

"I’ve never heard of such a place, my lord. I’ve always served here, in Aphrodite’s court. I think you may have me confused with someone else."

He clenched his fists, voice lowering. "I’m not confused."

Her smile faltered at his intensity, but she kept her tone kind. "You may be remembering another vision. Or perhaps a dream? The Fates sometimes send us confusing things."

"They weren’t dreams," he said through his teeth. "They were real. You were different, very different. You laughed more. You argued with me. You were—alive."

A silence stretched between them.

Finally, she said softly, "I’m sorry, my lord. I wish I could help."

She bowed again, but this time with genuine sympathy.

He exhaled slowly. "Thank you."

She turned to leave, but as she walked away, Akhon stayed frozen.

And then, without warning, he turned and stormed back into the temple.

Aphrodite was reclining on a silk-draped divan, sipping something sweet from a goblet. Her expression sharpened at the sight of him.

"That was quick," she said. "Did she disappoint you?"

"She doesn’t remember," he growled. "None of them do."

Aphrodite’s brow lifted with mild interest. "Memory is a delicate thing."

"Don’t play coy with me." He stepped closer, voice hard. "You’ve lived countless cycles. You were there when the world ended. You remember the old gods, the old betrayals. You remember me."

Her smile remained—but there was a new edge to it. "What exactly do you think I’m hiding, Akhon?"

He stared into her eyes. "You and I fought once. You tried to sway me with temptation and I sent you away. You joined Nemesis and even guide it...mostly. You were also known for manipulating mortals, gods, even your own allies."

A long pause. Then, softly: "Nemesis?"

His pulse quickened. "Yes."

She stood slowly, her expression unreadable. "I have never heard of such a place or name or whatever it is. And we never even joined the same faction, we never even joined a faction if I can remember."

Akhon took a step closer. "You expect me to believe that?"

"No," she said calmly. "I expect you to listen."

She looked almost... sad. "Whatever past you think we shared, I have no memory of it. And that’s not a lie, Akhon. I gain nothing from pretending."

"Then how do you explain it?" he demanded. "The others are different. Doesn’t this world seem too clean to you? Too perfect?Or fabricated? Because for me, I know it’s not real!"

Aphrodite studied him. "Perhaps it’s real to us. And that frightens you."

"I watched you play with mortals like dolls," he growled. "And now you act like a caretaker of peace?"

"I am what this world needs me to be," she said, her voice turning sharper. "As are you."

He stared at her, jaw tense. "There was a war. There was death. Chaos. Love. Regret. Pain. You remembered it once. Don’t tell me you forgot all that."

Her eyes didn’t flinch. "If I did remember it... maybe I chose to forget."

That stopped him.

"Why?" he whispered.

"Because maybe that world failed," she replied. "Maybe this one is the second chance."

Akhon said nothing.

Her tone softened again. "You’re not alone in feeling out of place, Akhon. But if you keep searching for ghosts, you’ll miss what’s right in front of you."

He turned away from her, his voice bitter.

"I don’t want what’s in front of me. I want what was taken."

Without another word, he walked away—out of the temple, away from the laughter and honeyed lies.

And into the cold silence of his thoughts.