Chapter 248: Chapter 6
Overworld.
All across the land, the divine order stirred as the ripples of Zeus’s summons reached every corner of heaven, sea, and earth.
One by one, the Olympians felt the faint pulse of divine authority that could only come from their king, a call that no god, no matter how distant or disobedient, could ignore.
In the temple of Rhea, Hestia looked up from the simmering cauldron where she was preparing an enormous feast beside her mother Rhea, her gentle face bathed in the soft orange glow of sacred fire.
The smell of ambrosia and honeyed wine filled the air, but her hands paused mid-stir.
She closed her eyes, sensing the call that brushed her divine essence like a whisper of thunder.
Rhea noticed immediately, her motherly smile faltering as she, too, sensed the disturbance.
"Zeus has called," Hestia murmured softly, her voice steady yet distant, the calm surface of a lake disturbed by a sudden storm.
Rhea nodded, sighing quietly; she had lived long enough to know that such summons rarely came without great cause.
Far away, in her golden temple resting upon a mountain ridge, Astraea, the virgin goddess of justice and stars, sat gazing at the celestial tapestry she had woven across the heavens.
Her eyes shimmered with starlight, and her long hair flowed like moonlit silk.
As the divine pulse reached her, the stars around her trembled faintly in response.
She frowned, lowering her hand from the sky map she had been drawing.
"That man... He rarely summoned all of us at once. I wonder what happened?" she whispered to herself, rising gracefully from her seat, her robes glimmering like the night sky itself.
Deep beneath the ocean, Poseidon, lord of the seas, reclined lazily upon his coral throne, the sound of waves echoing through his great hall.
Tritons and nereids danced and played around him, their laughter echoing through the vast expanse.
But the moment the thunderous ripple reached him, the water around him darkened.
His eyes opened, sharp and stormy. The laughter died instantly as even the ocean seemed to hold its breath.
"Zeus," he muttered, gripping his trident, a deep rumble rolling through the ocean floor. "What is it this time, brother? You don’t usually summon all of us."
Yet even as he grumbled, a part of him knew—it was not a trivial call.
After all, Zeus would usually only send an invitation, but never would he summon all of them at once.
Meanwhile, in a forest clearing fragrant with the scent of blooming flowers, Hermes was lounging on a tree branch, his silver tongue spinning honeyed words toward a group of giggling nymphs.
He had one arm draped over his knee, his grin mischievous, when suddenly his eyes flickered.
The laughter ceased as Hermes’s smirk faded into mild irritation.
"Tch, of all times," he groaned, tossing an acorn into the air. "That old man sure knows how to ruin a perfectly good afternoon."
The nymphs pouted as he stood, stretching lazily, wings fluttering from his ankles.
"Sorry, my darlings," he said with an exaggerated bow, "duty calls—and when it’s Zeus doing the calling, you either go, or you get roasted."
High in the mortal realm, Apollo sat beneath the shade of an olive tree, the sunlight weaving through the branches like spun gold.
His lyre rested against his leg, and his voice flowed like honey as he sang to a mortal lover resting against his shoulder.
Yet, as he strummed the next chord, a divine chord stronger than any melody resonated through his being.
He froze mid-note, his eyes dimming.
"Father? What does he need to summon hs for?" he whispered.
His mortal lover looked up at him, worry in her eyes.
Apollo smiled faintly, placing a tender kiss on her forehead. "Do not fret, my muse. I shall return before your heart forgets my song."
But his gaze drifted toward the distant heavens, knowing deep down that whatever awaited him would not be so easily forgotten.
In the depths of a moonlit forest, Artemis stood surrounded by her Huntresses, her silver bow gleaming under the stars.
She had been overseeing the training of her followers, watching them loose their arrows through the dark with deadly grace, when the call came.
The string of her bow snapped taut with a faint hum as she paused mid-draw. Her Huntresses looked to her in confusion.
"My father calls," she said, voice calm yet cold, her silver eyes narrowing. I shall head to Olympus at once. Continue your practice. I shall return soon."
She disappeared in a shimmer of moonlight, leaving behind the faint sound of a wolf’s howl echoing through the night.
In a blazing forge beneath Olympus, Hephaestus lifted his hammer from the glowing metal he had been shaping.
Sparks danced in the dim light like fireflies.
He was building a weapon so intricate and deadly that even the gods would envy it.
Yet as Zeus’s call resonated through the forge, the flames dimmed for a heartbeat. Hephaestus exhaled slowly, setting the hammer down.
"That old man sure knows how to choose a bad time to summon us." he muttered, his scarred hands still steady, his eyes reflecting molten gold. "Although, I’m curious as to why he requires all our presence."
On a battlefield drenched in sweat and dust, Ares, the god of war, swung his blade in a flurry of movements, facing two of his Amazon daughters at once.
Their spears clashed against his sword in a shower of sparks. The air rang with laughter and fury both.
But as the divine summons echoed within his core, he halted mid-swing. His daughters blinked, confused, as Ares’s eyes turned toward Olympus.
"Tch. Zeus is calling. Way to ruin my good mood." he said grimly, lowering his blade. Before a grin stretched on his face, "Zeus isn’t one to summon us lightly. If he did, it must mean it concerns the faith of Olympus itself. Maybe there might even be a war."
In a golden hall overflowing with laughter, Dionysus was raising a cup with other lesser gods, wine spilling from the rims as music filled the air.
His cheeks were flushed with joy—or intoxication.
But then the air trembled, the laughter dying as the divine message reached him. Dionysus blinked, tilting his head, his smile fading.
"Ah, Zeus," he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "You couldn’t even let me finish my wine?"
He drained the cup in one gulp, stood, and sighed. "Fine, fine. But if this ends without a feast, I’m throwing another riot."
And in the mortal mountains, far from Olympus’s splendor, Athena was scaling a steep, jagged peak alongside Herios and Medusa, her robes flowing like white flame against the wind.
The air was thin and biting, yet Herios climbed easily, his body honed through both ruthless training and mortal perseverance.
Athena moved with measured grace, her divinity still hidden behind a mortal guise.
But as she reached a narrow ledge, her steps slowed, and her expression changed—her sharp eyes flickered, her divine aura pulsing faintly for a brief moment.
Herios noticed immediately.
"Athena?" he asked, his voice low but steady. "What’s wrong? Are you tired? We can rest for a bit."
Athena exhaled slowly, looking down at him.
"No. My father has called," she said after a moment, her tone unreadable. "All Olympians are required to meet with him no matter what. It must be important."
Behind them, Medusa, her long purple hair fluttering in the wind, turned her blindfolded face toward Athena’s voice.
"Does that mean our adventures are postponed?" she asked softly, her tone laced with curiosity—and a trace of relief.
Athena hesitated, glancing between the two of them.
"You may continue without me," she said at last, her voice calm though her eyes betrayed uncertainty. "I will return shortly."
Medusa’s lips curved into a smile that was far too sweet, almost triumphant.
"Then we’ll have plenty of time," she said lightly, her tone innocent but her meaning anything but.
Herios blinked, oblivious to the undercurrent.
"We’ll wait for you in the nearby town," he said earnestly, turning toward Medusa. "That should be fine, right?"
Anyway, the Grand Order has grown large enough that they no longer need to personally manage it.
Now, only the Mage Association founded by the Great Sorceress Medea can actually match their power and influence.
So the three have plenty of time to see the world.
Medusa tilted her head slightly, her smile widening. "Of course. I’ll follow wherever you go."
Athena’s cheek twitched. Her composure wavered just slightly.
Of all the times, she thought grimly, Zeus had to summon her now? Leave these two alone for who knows how long?
She was confident, no, absolutely certain, that Herios would remain a perfect gentleman.
But Medusa... Medusa was a problem entirely of her own creation.
If this meeting took too long, Athena thought darkly, she might very well return to find her priestess with a round belly and a victorious smile.
After all, the only reason Medusa had not already pounced on Herios was out of respect—or perhaps fear—of her goddess.
But once she was gone? That barrier would vanish like morning mist.
Athena exhaled heavily, rubbing her temples as the wind tugged at her hair.
"Father, this had better be worth it," she muttered under her breath, already regretting her decision to answer the summons.