CHAPTER 127: CHAPTER 26

The ash had finally settled. The once-vibrant town nestled at the base of the green hills, where golden wheat fields kissed the horizon, now stood amidst charred ruins and broken bones.

And Demeter, the goddess of harvest and fertility, stood in the middle of it all—silent and heavy with sorrow.

She had arrived too late to save them all.

The monsters, grotesque abominations born of Clytius’ twisted craft, now lay torn and crumbling into dark dust around her.

Her wrath had scoured them from the earth. Their roars had turned to screams, their advance halted by the primal vengeance of a goddess whose children had been threatened.

But it was not enough.

Demeter’s fingers traced a fallen child’s burnt toy, her face unreadable.

Her eyes shimmered—fields of green drowned by sorrow. The air around her crackled, not with power, but grief.

Then, with one breath, she knelt and placed her hand to the scorched earth.

A green ripple spread from her touch. Grass sprouted. Flowers bloomed. Broken homes mended, trees stood tall, and fresh water bubbled from shattered fountains.

Cries turned to gasps as the injured found themselves whole.

Even the deepest wounds vanished under the warmth of her healing embrace.

The people slowly gathered around her, some crawling, others limping, but all of them are weeping in gratitude. And then, one by one, they fell to their knees.

They prayed. They whispered her name.

"Goddess Demeter..."

"Praise be thy name..."

The goddess bowed her head. "I am sorry I wasn’t here sooner."

This is the best she could do. She can restore the town, she can heal the injured, she can recreate their crops and plants...

But even in her divinity, she could not bring back the dead.

Not without tearing the balance of the world apart.

She stayed in the place for awhile, making sure everyone has recovered and even accompanying them to bury the dead, or what’s left of the dead.

Those monsters were too eager to rip apart and swallow the mortals.

Once everything was done, Demeter decided to leave.

She left them with food, warmth, and protection before walking toward the forest to the east.

Towards a quiet place untouched by war and chaos—a place sacred only to her.

Her garden.

Demeter’s heart quickened.

When she stepped past the edge of the enchanted grove, she felt it—the old magic still lingering, the smell of wet earth and life bursting at the seams.

Flowers leaned in her direction, trees stretched their limbs toward her presence.

Then they appeared.

The Nymphs.

Ethereal women cloaked in petals and mist, their laughter as soft as falling rain.

They gasped in joy upon seeing her, rushing from behind flowering trees and crystal streams.

"Lady Demeter!" they cried, throwing themselves to their knees.

Demeter smiled gently, emotion welling in her chest. "You kept this place safe."

"We would never let it fall," one said. "Even as monsters crept near, we protected it."

Demeter placed her hand on the nymph’s head. "I should have been here. I failed you. I’m sorry."

"You didn’t," another said, shaking her head. "You had a realm to guard. We understood."

Demeter looked around, the familiar faces all there—except one.

"...Where is Eirene?" she asked quietly.

The nymphs exchanged a somber glance.

"She’s... gone," said one, her voice trembling. "When the shadows approached, Eirene stood at the gate alone. She stalled them while we secured the garden’s core."

Demeter closed her eyes, her heart heavy. Eirene had been her closest aide, her trusted right hand for centuries. A nymph born from moonlight and wheat, gentle but fierce in her duty.

"But, she left a legacy behind," a younger nymph said, stepping forward.

The group parted.

And in the center, swaddled in soft moss and sleeping in a basket of woven rose stems, was a baby.

Demeter’s breath hitched.

"She... she had a child?"

"Yes," the elder nymph nodded. "We didn’t even know until after. She left the garden for a few years and only returned recently with her daughter, that was a few days ago. She is named Kore, the Maiden. She is all that remains of Eirene’s legacy."

Demeter knelt, her trembling hands reaching forward as if unsure she deserved to touch her.

Then, softly, she cradled the child in her arms.

Kore stirred.

Big, bright eyes, green as new leaves, looked up at her.

She giggled and reached her chubby hands to Demeter’s face, touching her cheeks with innocent wonder.

Demeter laughed softly, the sound breaking under the weight of emotion. She hadn’t realized tears had started falling until they landed on Kore’s cheeks.

"She looks like her," Demeter whispered. "The same smile... the same eyes..."

The baby cooed and nestled against her chest.

Demeter held her close. Her heart, which had felt empty for centuries, now pulsed with purpose once more.

She looked up to the nymphs. "May I... take her?"

The leader stepped forward and nodded, her own eyes wet. "Nothing could make Eirene happier. She revered and respected you. I’m sure she’d be beside herself with joy if she knew you’d be the one taking care of her daughter."

Demeter’s arms tightened gently around Kore.

She stood, lifting the child as the soft winds played with her golden hair.

"Then I will raise her," Demeter said, her voice resolute. "I swear on the river of Styx, I will make sure she live a happy and carefree life. I will protect her and give her all that she deserves."

Then, Demeter pierced her heart.

The nymphs gasped.

Soon, Demeter pulled out her hand as the hole on her chest quickly closed and healed.

Then, from her palm, a golden flame flickered into life. It danced like sunlight over wheat fields, divine and pure, pulsing with the rhythm of life itself.

"A fragment of my authority," Demeter said, her voice reverent. "A seed of divinity."

She placed her glowing hand against Kore’s chest.

The golden flame sank into the baby.

And then—

The air shifted.

A wave of warmth spread out. Flowers erupted across the garden, blossoming instantly. Light poured from Kore’s small body, golden and green. Her laughter now echoed with divine resonance, pure and radiant.

The nymphs fell to their knees, overwhelmed by the sacred presence.

When the light faded, Demeter held not just a child—but a being now touched by godhood.

Her skin seemed to shimmer with a divine halo, her eyes now gleaming with the light of budding spring.

"I name you Persephone," Demeter whispered, "Bearer of Renewal. The bloom after the frost. The light that follows death. The goddess of springs."

Persephone reached up again, touching her mother’s lips, as if sealing the name herself.

"From this day forth, you will be my daughter."

*

*

*

The last of the monsters let out a shrill, otherworldly shriek before its blackened body crumbled into embers, caught in the sweeping bloom of divine azure fire.

It disintegrated, like a shadow cast out by the arrival of dawn.

Hestia, the Oldest Olympian, the Gentle Goddess of Hearth and Home, stood tall amidst the ruins of the small village she had just saved.

Her breath was calm, her posture as elegant as ever, and her divine weapon—the Azure Lotus, a radiant, flaming staff crowned with the image of a blooming lotus—still glowed with sacred fire.

The humans gathered slowly, hesitant at first, before collapsing to their knees, offering food, gifts, tears, and prayer.

Their voices rose in song, praising her name, calling her savior, goddess, mother.

As always.

She smiled softly, painfully.

"You do not need to praise me,"she said, her voice like warm wind. "Just live. Survive. Keep each other safe."

But of course, they didn’t listen. Just as they never did. Not out of disobedience, but reverence.

She didn’t like being worshipped. She never asked for temples or tribute. She had been the first to give up her seat on Olympus for peace. She was never the war goddess. Never the storm goddess. Never the harvest goddess.

She was just...her

She looked around.

The buildings were mostly intact, though singed. The people were scared, but alive. And yet, her eyes immediately honed in on something wrong.

A man, young, perhaps no older than thirty. He stood when the others knelt. Not in defiance, but in dissonance. His expression was not one of awe or trembling praise, but curiosity. Cold, piercing, almost clinical curiosity.

His eyes scanned her, not with fear, not with reverence... but as though she were an object to be studied.

That was weird. There has been no humans to look at gods like that.

However, what caught her attention was the presence of something akin to a curse embedded on that man’s soul.

The divine senses within her stirred.

Something was wrong.

She stepped down from the temple steps and slowly approached the man. The crowd parted for her, whispering. The man stood still, eyes unmoving, face unreadable.

"You..." she said softly, "you are cursed. Something tampered with your soul."

The man didn’t flinch. But a tremor passed through him—one too faint for mortal eyes.

Hestia’s hand glowed with soft fire as she gently raised the Azure Lotus, its flames dancing with a holy light. "You carry something within you. A corruption, a curse. You may not even realize it, but I see it."

The man’s expression shifted into fear, and then, an impulse to flee.

He turned, slightly.

But Hestia moved first.

With a motion as fluid as breath, her free hand extended. The fire wove from her palm like ribbons and bound him in place, lifting him gently from the ground.

"Do not worry, I will cure you." she whispered. "This won’t take long."

The flames of the Azure Lotus ignited fully, blooming around the man like a halo.

He screamed.

The crowd gasped in fear, but Hestia’s voice calmed them.

"Fear not, he is cursed and I am trying to help him."

The fire from the Azure Lotus pierced the man’s body, or rather, his spirit. It seared through the invisible curse that lay coiled like a snake around his soul.

Something howled, but not the man. A distant sound, impossibly far, yet intimately close.

Something inside him was being torn away.

The flame snapped, recoiled, and the man collapsed.

Silence followed.

Then slowly, he lifted his head, his eyes wide, and this time, they were no longer cold and curious, but trembling with realization, overflowing with reverence.

He dropped to his knees. "Goddess..."

Hestia blinked. Confused. Her hand lowered.

How come his expression switched up that quick?

Was he that grateful?

"...How do you feel?" she asked, kneeling beside him.

"I... I don’t know," the man replied. "No, I feel fine, goddess. Perfect, even. T-thank you, Goddess."

He trembled.

Hestia didn’t say anything right away. He observed the man for a few moments before smiling.

"That’s good. I’m glad you’re fine."

Instead, she looked skyward, brows drawn low. Something wasn’t right here.

What was that ’curse’?

*

*

*

Elsewhere.

Deep in the soul of Porphyrion, the Giant King.

A vast, infinite void churned with black, starless waters. And a presence moved within it.

It had no name that mortals could comprehend. It was not a god. Not even a demon. It was an intruder—a fragment of a greater whole, something ancient, vast, and eternal.

Its form was hidden, but it had been watching.

And it had seen everything.

It felt the Azure Lotus. The moment it purified that human it had corrupted, it immediately felt the threat of that weapon.

It recoiled.

What... is that weapon...?

It had corrupted countless mortals. Influenced scholars and kings. Twisted prophets. It had embedded itself within Porphyrion’s soul, nudging, whispering, directing.

The war of the giants? That was only the beginning. Its goal was this whole universe.

And now, that goddess, that gentle flicker of flame, threatened everything.

...It must be destroyed.

The voice within Porphyrion’s soul twisted in a tongue older than gods.

Hestia... must die.