Chapter 5: Divinity
"Is that all, Lord Father?" Athena's voice held that steady, professional edge she always had. It seemed she'd already wrapped her head around his seismic transformation and was already following him around for his orders, like she was born ready for this.
The Goddess of Wisdom held out something that looked like it leapt straight from a sci-fi flick. In her hands sat a massive, transparent tablet, a holographic image dancing above its surface. It showed the renovation plans for the hall they were standing in.
"Yes," Zeus affirmed, a satisfied grin on his lips. "It's perfect."
Athena acknowledged his approval with characteristic composure, but Zeus knew his daughter too well. Her grey eyes carefully traced over the renovation plans, undoubtedly examining every subtle alteration he'd made. From the new style of seating pattern to the heightened emphasis on artwork, and the lighter hues that adorned the hall, she was no doubt dissecting it all. Wondering what it signified, how it would tally with the purpose behind his push for this new, exclusive council, and ultimately the transformation he'd undergone in these recent days. And probably already devising considerations and plans for the future of the new council, backups in case she didn't make the cut. Perfect and objective and prepared down to detail like always. This was her greatest characteristic yet also her greatest flaw, and also the reason why Zeus had always kept her at arm's length in the past.
"Father, if I may ask," Athena began, looking up at Zeus from the tablet, but her hands hovered around the projection of the new council, especially around the number of seats which Zeus hadn't specified because even he hadn't finalized the members of the council yet. "How many members are going to be in the new council of…?" She probed, letting a touch of curiosity color her professional features.
"Advisers," Zeus completed, then considered the name, but 'the council of advisers' doesn't have a ring to it. "But what about Advisory Council?" He wondered out loud, scratching his chin and leaning into the holographic projection. "Nah, too basic," he shook his head.
Athena obviously didn't miss the suggestion to put out her own suggestion. "High council?"
Zeus shot his daughter a reproaching look. "Too provocative."
"Of course, Lord Father," Athena nodded understandingly, with a touch of apology in her expression. It was clear that her daughter was still trying to test him, attempting to glean insight into the mystery that was the new him. If it were before, Zeus would have gone with Athena's suggestion because that was totally his style. Even now, he really liked the grand and befitting sound of it. However, that name could end up causing a division within Olympus. Athena knew that very well, and yet she still decided to push boundaries with that suggestion, just to test him. She must be very unsettled by his transformation, wasn't she? Behind her calm and professional mask, probably more so than many here.
Anyway, Zeus didn't really mind her testing, wanting to give his daughter peace of mind. He was giving these opportunities and suggestions from time to time to her for a reason, after all. But he hoped Athena remembered there were lines she shouldn't cross, even if he had changed. He very much hoped she hadn't forgotten, for otherwise, it would be a real pity.
Returning to the name for the advisory council, Zeus continued his deliberation in his mind, while Athena remained unusually silent. Their gazes, however, remained fixed on the project.
"Sovereign Advisory," Zeus ultimately decided. "There is no need for a council in the name."
"Sovereign Advisory" was a fitting name for what he had envisioned—a group of advisors directly assisting him in the rule of the Olympic Divine Empire. Major matters and issues affecting the Empire would be thoroughly discussed and addressed and finalised before being brought before the Olympian Council for approval and implementation. It would make the systems and gears of Olympus much more efficient, able to respond to dire developments and also possibly appease some of the discontent and frustration against his rule since not everybody in the Sovereign Advisory was going to be his sons and daughters.
Athena immediately nodded. "It's a fitting title," she affirmed prudently. "It embodies the purpose of the council and also," she lowered her head subtly, respectfully, "addresses any potential concerns of bias partisanship that others may have."
"Indeed," Zeus nodded in contentment and finality. It should be noted that he wasn't showing blatant favoritism with the Sovereign Advisory, which maybe he indeed did on some level, but that shouldn't be apparent on the front. It was the first step of the change and it wasn't without its own disadvantages, but this council was necessary and crucial, even more so for the coming turbulent times.
"Begin, Athena," Zeus ultimately ordered his daughter.
Athena nodded and gave the hologram on the tablet one last look, absorbing all the information prepared for the renovation. Then she willed the tablet away and raised her hand, bringing her middle finger and thumb together.
A snap resounded, faint yet powerful.
The sonic waves erupted from her snapping fingers, emanating through all around the hall, from within every corner and nook, crescendoing.
Immediately, everything within the hall began to destabilize and morph out of their original shapes, as if the snap had finally shattered the mold that encased them, and they were free to take whatever form they desired. But Athena didn't grant them that much freedom. In fact, she took back whatever freedom she had given, encasing everything again in a newer and different mold, one that captured the change of Zeus.
Athena and Zeus stood shoulder to shoulder, watching as everything around them broke and twisted and morphed and solidified into new structures. From the solidifying ocean of matter, the new council was rising from the embers of the old.
Yes, you guessed it right: Athena was manipulating matter. The atoms were shifting and transforming and bending and rearranging themselves to the will of Athena. This is what you would see if you looked at the world from a materialistic and scientific standpoint. From a divine and godly perspective, she was just making the world bend to her Wisdom, manipulating the fabric of matter by pulling the fulcrum of Knowledge.
As for exactly how Athena was achieving this? Wisdom divinity. It didn't grant just Athena extraordinary and abstract wisdom to her mind—Divinities were never mundane like that—but also it allowed Athena to materialize her wisdom and change the world through it, quite literally.
If Zeus were to define what Divinity was actually in essence, it was the command code to reality.
They were called the Gods for a reason.
Divinity.
It was truly fascinating, terrifying, and eye-opening, looking at it all from a mortal perspective. Previously, Zeus never felt just how extraordinary and versatile the power of the Gods was. Maybe through this perspective, he could open a path for himself, to break free of the chain of stagnation that held him down.
Zeus looked at the rising council, his deliberating eyes settling down. Then he turned around and walked toward the exit, leaving Athena alone to do the final checks and touches.
Athena nodded at his departure, silent and composed. She didn't turn back even as he reached the foyer, looking on as all the renovations were solidifying into their mold.
Zeus stopped there, his gaze ahead at the white marble corridor, one hand in the pocket of his trousers. "Don't fret yourself, Athena," he finally addressed the elephant in the room, "You have your place in the council."
With those words, the King of Gods left the hall, closing the door behind him. The thudding sound of the door wasn't enough to drown the sigh of relief that escaped the lips of the Goddess of Wisdom.
——————
"Bia," Zeus called upon one of his four attendants, walking along the long corridor with wide arched windows on both sides.
With a flash of light, a winged goddess materialized to the side of him, "Yes, my Lord." She bowed her head, keeping up with his steps.
Zeus spared a glance at his attendant sideways. Bia was the Goddess of Force and Might. She was monikered as the Sword of Zeus. Along with Kratos, Zelos, and Nike, she was part of his retinue. They rode with him since the days he was nobody under his grandmother's wing. To be honest, they were more than just his subordinates; they were the closest things to friends he had back then. He trusted them big time, even after he ascended to the throne of Olympus, more so than some of his kin. Even now, they had adapted much faster than others to his transformation because they could see the truth.
"Tell Ganymede to bring me the usual," Zeus ordered. He was thirsting for a drink. "With extra ice."
Bia nodded immediately, her form flashing with the light of teleportation. But Zeus gave another order. "Also, pass my summons to Apollo. He is to return to Olympus as soon as possible." He continued, answering the question that Bia wanted to ask, her lips parting in uncertainty. "He is hiding in Delos."
Being the God of the Sky did have its perks, after all. It was perfect for surveillance. With everything under the sky within his perception, there wasn't much that could escape his senses. And seriously, Apollo should do better. It was like he was practically begging to be discovered.
The Goddess of Force nodded again, accepting his orders. "I am on it, my Lord." She teleported away in a blaze of light.
Zeus pressed on, striding through the palace corridors, his gaze piercing down at the now desolate Olympus below. The once bustling streets were mere echoes of life, the rare pedestrians attempting to blend into shadows. The divine palaces, once resonating with uproarious laughter, now harboured only hushed murmurs.
Since his transformation, it had all unraveled like this. Everyone teetered on the edge, afraid to draw even a breath too loud. He got it – he was no saintly ruler. Even now, he wouldn't dare call himself benevolent. In the past, he'd been a tyrant, a word that actually suited him well. But that didn't mean everything that was happening didn't grate on him.
But change, in most cases, took time. Though Zeus didn't mind pushing the edges to greatly shorten it, but first, let the initial storm settle.
The King of Gods continued on his path through the main palace of Gods, which mirrored Olympus. Occasionally, nature spirits hovered into the path, but they immediately bowed to him with tremble and quickly scurried away. He nodded in acknowledgment to them, keeping a straight face until he reached his destination.
Zeus walked out into the courtyard, where Hermes was present. The God of Thievery was staring at the wall of Mist rising and stirring before him. There were images flashing by in lightning speed on its surface, feeds and information from around the West and even the World pouring in front of Hermes in flickering and passing images: newspapers of many languages reporting bizarre accounts of people witnessing a magical and starry night, debates and jokes erupting around the incident, trying to dismiss it all with their own mundane explanations; scientists, astrologers, and astrophysicists around the globe beginning their day with their nerves frayed. Even the President of the USA squinted in incomprehension as his cabinet confirmed that there was no such thing as a phenomenon that lit up the Milky Way in the night sky.
Hermes turned to Zeus, ready to bow, kneel, or adopt whatever new form of greeting his son might have recently picked up—his son was like that, always trying something new and different. Stagnation and mundanity were Hermes's enemies, after all.
The King of Gods watched in amusement as Hermes bowed with palms pressed together in a prayer-like fashion. "Lord Father," he greeted respectfully.
"Where is this from?" Zeus asked curiously, gesturing for him to stand up. He was genuinely intrigued, as Hermes's greeting looked very similar to namaste from India.
Hermes obviously didn't seem surprised at all by his new interest in little things and gestures; rather, his son looked pleasantly pleased. "This is Wai, a formal Thai greeting," he began explaining with much enthusiasm under Zeus's attention. "It is similar to Namaste from India. In fact, most of Asia uses this form of greeting, deriving their own versions with little tweaks here and there." He performed the greeting again, but it was different now; there was power in his each of his careful movement, an ethereal grace beyond earthly comprehension, and the fabric of reality thrummed with power when he joined his hands with a touch of reverence. "But Lord Father, they all share a singular origin: Anjali Mudra, the dancing move performed by the primordial Shiva in his form of Nataraja, the cosmic dancer who will herald the Destruction of the Cosmos."
Alright, Zeus had no clue about this. That a famous greeting was tied back to a Primordial, and Shiva at that? "Well, that's... fascinating," he muttered, a mix of surprise and doubt in his voice. The power radiating from Hermes was unmistakable. It held within it both death and destruction, like a force ready to wipe out anything in its path. Yet, there was something else, a sense of creation and rebirth, a cycle.
Yeah, it did fit with how Shiva was portrayed in Hinduism. But here's the thing, Zeus had no clue when or how Hermes picked up something like this. Dancing wasn't exactly what he'd picture Hermes getting into.
You think it's a cakewalk for a God to pull off a move from a Primordial? No chance. You can't do that without genuine interest or burning passion or extraordinary talent or stupid luck—you get my point; the gap between Divinity and Primordial was practically impossible to bridge. And yet, here was Hermes, mimicking a move from Shiva's cosmic dance. It might not hold a candle to Shiva's original, but if Hermes unleashed the power from that imitation, he could probably flatten the whole United States of America.
Hermes noticed his surprise and doubt. His son visibly paled, and he could practically see the gears in the brain spinning and clicking, all in the wrong direction.
The God of Thievery exited his stance, letting the destructive power fade away into nothingness. Then he explained, hasty and hurried and pleading. "Lord Father, I picked it up during my last diplomatic visit to the Hindu Pantheon. Surya, the Sun God there, chaperoned me and he was somewhat gullible; all it took was a few praises of their pantheon with little sincerity and interest, and he was showing me some of the treasures of their pantheon. The divine statue of Nataraj was there, which contained a fraction of the dance of Shiva. And I was immediately captivated..." He sneaked a glance at Zeus, who was looking on with his stony face as ever, and Hermes gulped and continued. "But make no mistake, Lord Father, it is nothing comparable to the Primordial Shiva. I doubt I could even stimulate the fraction contained in the statue. And I should have informed—"
"Hermes," Zeus let out a sigh. He knew what was happening here; previously, Zeus hated secrets, especially those of his family—you know what? He was paranoid, there was no easy way to put it. Especially in recent centuries, where his power began to wane, and he was very afraid that his subjects would notice that their King wasn't as powerful as before, wasn't as invulnerable as before, and they would again move against him, and this time, succeed. "I understand." He placed his hands on Hermes' shoulders, and as much as his son tried to hide it, he could tell Hermes was uncomfortable under his touch, and that made his heart twist.
He wasn't a good father to any of them, was he? Terrible, in fact. Child services would probably have a stroke if they saw my track record with my children.
"If dancing is what you feel passionate about now," Zeus continued, letting his hand fall from his son's shoulders, "then go for it." His expression was as sincere and supportive as possible. "By the way, has any of our gods picked up dancing divinity?" His expression turned thoughtful.
"No, Lord Father, none," Hermes answered reflexively. He looked somewhat spooked at his supportiveness, and Zeus couldn't really blame his son. Even he would be spooked if his paranoid and abusive father suddenly turned up to one of his games with a sign that said: go, son, go! You were born for this! Smash them all!
But hey, you've got to start somewhere, don't you?
"Then it's settled," Zeus decided. "Become the God of Dancing, Hermes. Put on a dancing concert in Olympus after you have ascended. It would be great," he added with a feigned grimace, "and Olympus could do with a change from Apollo's concerts, don't you think?"
Apollo's concerts weren't actually terrible. In fact, his son's voice and music were unmatched. But the thing about Apollo's concerts was that everything he performed was all about himself. About how great and benevolent he was, about how he valiantly and righteously slew the Python, about all of his bright deeds and feats—exaggerating it all as he saw fit.
Jeez, I wonder who he got this particular trait from?
"It really could," Hermes echoed, his lips rising to form an amused smile.
Zeus smiled with his son, his pained heart lightening.
Hermes hesitated for a moment, his fingers clasping together uncertainly. "Thank you, father," he uttered, taking a deep breath and meeting Zeus's electric blue eyes. "Your support means a lot."
"Good, you will smash it, Hermes!" Zeus encouraged with pride. Okay, maybe that was too much, too soon; dial it down a bit!
But Hermes actually smiled again. "Despite everything," he abruptly said, his tone emotional, confessing. "I like the new you, father."
Zeus was silent for a fleeting moment, savoring Hermes' words in his heart. "The feeling is mutual, son," he exhaled. "Mutual."
A beat of comfortable and warm silence passed.
Then Hermes recovered, assuming his professional expression. "Come on, Lord Father," he waved at the wall of mist flickering with images of the world. "I don't want to keep you waiting. I will brief you on the situation."
Zeus nodded and stood with his son, shoulder to shoulder, looking at the changing and shifting images in the mist.
It all showed the fallout of him brightening the night sky with the Milky Way.
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