"How amusing, truly amusing."
Zeus sat high upon the throne of the King of the Gods, gazing at the old man who claimed to be his and Hera's son, and laughed in fury.
Had it been a handsome Divine Being who came to claim that title, he might have been annoyed, but he wouldn't be this angry.
But now, this old and hideous man was claiming to be the son of the handsome Zeus and the beautiful Hera—was this an insult to his intelligence?
He, Zeus, the King of the Gods, the most handsome male Divine Being in all of history—how could he possibly have such an ugly son?
"I'll give you one chance. Choose a Divine Being from here. If he or she believes you are my son, I'll forgive your offense."
As Zeus finished speaking, his gaze swept across the assembled gods. Those who had been watching the scene for entertainment quickly restrained their laughter—though the amusement still lingered in their eyes.
Hephaestus grew even more sorrowful upon hearing Zeus's words.
He looked around at the gods, only to see mockery in their eyes. They regarded him as nothing more than a joke.
It seemed that no Divine Being on Mount Olympus believed in him anymore.
"The Fates."
In the end, it was Tethys who reminded Hephaestus to consult the Fates, and only then did Hephaestus come to his senses.
"Honorable ladies of the Moirai, please tell the gods the truth that fate has decreed."
Moirai was the collective name for the Fates, just like how Horae were sometimes referred to as the Horae sisters.
At this moment, the eldest of the Fates stepped forward. Facing her father, the King of the Gods Zeus, she spoke softly:
"King of the Gods, Hephaestus is indeed your son with the Queen of the Gods. There is no doubt about it."
The moment she spoke, the entire divine hall erupted in an uproar. The gods were all stunned. No one had expected the Fates to give such a definitive answer.
"Silence, silence!"
Whether from the noise or some other reason, Zeus suddenly felt a pounding headache. He immediately struck his scepter to quiet the hall.
Instantly, silence fell over the divine hall.
Queen of the Gods Hera's face had gone pale, while Zeus, King of the Gods, looked sharply at the Fates.
"Are you certain?"
The eldest of the Fates nodded. "Without a doubt."
Zeus's headache worsened. He turned his face toward Hera.
"My dear Queen of the Gods, can you give me an explanation?"
Hera said nothing, remaining silent.
Zeus no longer looked at her. After a moment of thought, he said to the goddess of the rainbow:
"Iris, summon Themis, the Goddess of Justice, and have her explain this to me!"
Now he suspected that Themis and Hera—his two most trusted Divine Beings—had conspired to deceive him.
His headache intensified without warning, and a soft groan escaped his lips.
"Zeus, what's wrong?"
Queen of the Gods Hera looked at Zeus, puzzled by his groan.
Zeus gave her a sharp glance. "I'm in so much pain from your nonsense that I can't stand it. What do you think is wrong?"
Hera said no more. As she turned her gaze away, she glanced—almost imperceptibly—at Bolos, who was still lost in the surge of his second Divine Power awakening. Worry filled her heart.
If Bolos's true identity were revealed, could he still remain unharmed?
Zeus was never a generous god. And Hera herself had no clear way to explain where Bolos had come from.
She was already trying to figure out how she would explain everything once Themis arrived.
…
The Goddess of Justice, Themis, arrived, bearing her Prophetic Oracle, her scales of fairness, and her sword of judgment.
As she stepped into the Divine Temple, her eyes immediately landed on the old and hideous Hephaestus. She instantly understood what had happened.
This goddess, who held the Prophetic Oracle and upheld justice, first nodded toward her daughters—the goddesses of fate and time—before turning to Zeus.
"Themis, use your Prophetic Oracle to tell me: is this Hephaestus beside you truly my son with Hera?"
Zeus's voice was tinged with agitation.
Themis responded calmly, "No need to consult the Oracle. He is indeed your son with Hera."
The last time she had used her Prophetic Oracle to confirm Bolos's identity, she had already caught a glimpse of the future.
In that future, atop Mount Olympus, twelve Supreme Gods sat at a round table. Among them was Hephaestus, son of Zeus and Hera.
Hearing Themis's firm answer, Zeus suddenly sprang from his throne and roared:
"Then what about the other one?! That black-haired, black-eyed boy—is he my son too?!"
Panic welled up in his heart. His two most trusted goddesses might truly be colluding against him.
Themis's expression remained serene, her tone unwavering. "He is also your son."
Zeus was speechless. He opened his mouth to curse at Themis, but suddenly his head throbbed with unbearable pain—so much that even the mighty King of the Gods couldn't endure it.
Zeus staggered and had no choice but to sit down again, clutching his head as cold sweat formed on his face from the pain.
"Zeus!"
"King of the Gods!"
The gods cried out in alarm, looking at Zeus, unsure what was happening. Why had the powerful King of the Gods suddenly become so tormented?
Zeus was dazed. And in that moment, he suddenly noticed that Hephaestus—the old and ugly "son"—was carrying an axe.
He spoke:
"Hephaestus, is it? Come forward."
Hephaestus didn't understand the intent but obediently hobbled closer.
Still at some distance, he was visibly afraid of Zeus.
"Closer."
Hephaestus stepped forward again, but Zeus was still not satisfied.
"Closer."
Only when Hephaestus had approached further did Zeus point to the axe on his waist and say:
"Use your axe to split open my head."
The request startled not only Hephaestus—who dared not comply—but also the other gods, who now wondered if Zeus had been driven mad by the whole situation.
"Zeus, are you alright?"
The Queen of the Gods Rhea, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke—concerned about her son's state.
Zeus waved her off and shouted at Hephaestus:
"Hurry up and do it! Or do you think a cripple like you could kill me with a single swing?"
At the word "cripple," fury rose in Hephaestus's heart.
He had never minded being mocked for his looks. But he hated that word.
Appearance was a matter of fate. But his crippled leg—it was caused by the cruelty of his mother.
That wound ran deep in his heart.
Without hesitation, he raised his axe, took a deep breath, and—with all his strength—brought it down on Zeus's forehead.
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