Divine Ascension: Reborn as a God of Power

Warmth.

That was the first thing he felt.

A golden hue bathed his vision, soothing, gentle. Like the final light of day before the sun dipped below the horizon. He blinked slowly, his breath steady. A soft breeze brushed over his skin, carrying the scent of olives and honeyed air. There was peace in the atmosphere, but it felt… artificial. Constructed.

A voice cut through the haze, serene and commanding all at once.

"Akhon," it whispered. "Wake up, my son."

His eyes opened fully.

Standing above him, her black hair flowing with the wind, it was Hera. Her smile was serene, her robes cascading like rippling silk, but her eyes watched him with an intensity that unsettled something deep within him — something he could not name.

He sat up slowly. The marble bed beneath him was surrounded by veils of silk and columns of ivory. The domed ceiling above shimmered with enchanted stars. He recognized it. This was his room on Olympus. Or so his mind told him. The memory was there… wasn't it?

"Where… am I?" he asked, his voice gravelly from disuse.

"You are home," Hera said gently. She placed a hand on his shoulder and offered a smile. "In Olympus. Among the gods. Where you belong."

His brows furrowed. "Olympus…" The name carried weight. A familiarity. Yet there was a fog behind every thought. He couldn't remember how he had gotten here. Or why he felt a strange hollowness inside.

"You must feel disoriented. That's normal," Hera said. Her voice was smooth, like calm waves hiding undercurrents. "Your essence was strained. You've been… resting for some time."

"Resting?"

She nodded, her gaze never breaking from his. "There was a storm. A great imbalance in the heavens. You stood at the center of it, as always. The gods rallied behind you, Akhon. My son. The God of Power and Electricity."

Power. Electricity. The titles echoed in his mind like thunder in a deep cave. Yes… he remembered the surge of lightning in his fingertips. The crackle in the air when his emotions flared. He was a god. That was real. Wasn't it?

But the rest… was a void.

"I… don't remember any storm."

"You wouldn't," Hera said softly, reaching out to brush a lock of silver hair from his face. "The price of restoring Olympus came at a cost. To shield you from the chaos, we had to seal the pain away."

Akhon looked away, uncertain. "Seal? What was taken?"

"Only what was necessary," she said. "The pain, the struggle, the grief. You are at peace now. The world is at peace."

He didn't respond right away. Something about her words sat wrong with him — not because they were lies, but because of what they lacked. They were too… neat. Too perfect.

He rose from the bed slowly, feeling the marble floor under his feet. His body moved easily, like it remembered things he didn't. He glanced at the window. Beyond it stretched a horizon of light: Olympus in all its radiant glory. No war. No strife. Gods walked its golden streets. He felt it in the air — divinity, order, serenity.

But serenity was not the same as truth.

"Why don't I remember Father?" he asked suddenly.

"Zeus?" Hera tilted her head. "You remember your name. Your domain. That is what matters. Zeus will see you when the time is right. For now, you must regain your strength."

Akhon frowned. "And the others? The gods?"

"They have missed you, of course," she said, her voice ever warm. "But it is best you do not tire yourself too soon. Olympus will still be here when you're ready."

The avoidance was subtle, but he noticed it. Every time he probed, she redirected. Polished words, curated answers. Hera was loving — but also calculating. A ruler. A queen. She was shielding him.

From what?

He stepped toward the balcony, the wind brushing past him. The sun was setting, painting the sky in molten gold. A breathtaking sight. And yet… he felt nothing.

"Did I… fight for Olympus?" he asked quietly.

"You did more than fight," Hera answered, her voice steady. "You saved it. You saved us all."

"Then why does it feel like I lost something?"

There was a beat of silence. Just one. Barely a moment. But it was enough for him to notice.

"You're still healing," Hera said at last, stepping beside him. "Some things the mind buries for a reason. But know this: we are safe now. Because of you."

He glanced at her. There was genuine affection in her eyes. But behind that — something more. Guilt. Or fear.

He couldn't tell which.

And then, quietly, Hera spoke again — this time with less honey in her tone.

"You were never meant to be part of this, Akhon."

He turned sharply. "What?"

"This world. This reality. You… were added late. Against my wishes."

His pulse quickened. "What are you talking about?"

"I created this place for peace," Hera said, her gaze hardening. "A new Olympus. A perfect harmony. I did everything to keep the old chaos from returning. But he demanded you be included." ThischapterisfromthecollectionatM-VL-EM-PYR.

"Who?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "A presence beyond us. I never saw his face. Only the voice. A force wrapped in mist and silence. He gave me the power to rebuild all this. In return, he asked for you."

Akhon's jaw clenched. The purple mist. He didn't remember it, but something inside him recoiled at the idea.

"Why me?"

"I asked him the same," Hera said, stepping away. "Even I don't understand why you're so important to him. But he insisted. And when I resisted… he made it clear I had no choice."

"So I'm a pawn?" Akhon asked, voice bitter.

"You are my son," Hera said firmly. "I protected you the only way I could. By giving you a life without pain. Without war. Don't throw it away for shadows."

But it was too late. Something had cracked in his mind. Something primal. His fingers sparked with faint electric glow.

The peace, the comfort, the serenity — it was all too perfect.

Too… controlled.

"I need answers," Akhon said quietly.

And Hera's face tightened. "I think you need to rest son, I will leave you alone."

And after that the goddes left the room, leaving Akhon alone.

Meanwhile, he only stared out into the horizon again, lightning faintly pulsing in his eyes.

However the soft knock on the marble doors echoed faintly through the chamber interrupted his thoughts. Akhon, seated near one of the open balconies, turned slightly toward the sound. Golden sunlight bathed the room, casting shifting reflections against the obsidian veins in the walls. Aegle had left a few moments earlier, and the stillness in the air had only now begun to settle.

"Akhon?" came a familiar voice—measured, sharp, yet laced with a warmth she rarely allowed herself to show.

Athena.

"You may enter," he said calmly, standing and adjusting the bracer on his right wrist.

The doors opened, and she stepped in, dressed in her usual white and gold attire, her gray eyes scanning him with an intensity that belied her casual posture.

"You look better than yesterday," she said, her voice a touch lighter than usual. "No more talk of... broken realities and shadow conspiracies, I hope?"

He tilted his head slightly, expression neutral. "I don't recall saying anything like that. Are you sure it wasn't someone else?"

Athena's lips pressed into a thin line, a flicker of thought passing through her eyes before she masked it. She stepped further into the chamber, hands clasped behind her back.

"You were... disturbed," she explained. "You kept insisting something had been taken from you. That none of this was real. That even I wasn't myself."

Akhon frowned slightly. "I don't remember that."

"Exactly," she said with a short sigh. "Which means you're probably fine now. Dreams can cling to you even after waking—confuse the senses, twist memories. The mind doesn't always know how to tell the difference."

He nodded slowly, but the gesture lacked conviction. "So I said all that because I had a nightmare?"

"Likely." She didn't sit, merely paced a few steps forward, keeping her gaze on him. "You were incoherent. And restless. Muttering names I didn't recognize. You even asked me if I remembered the Hesperides."

Akhon blinked.

"Do you remember that part?" she asked.

"I…" He faltered. The name stirred something deep within him—like a vibration in an untouched harp string—but it vanished as quickly as it came. He shook his head. "No. Not really."

Athena's lips curled into a faint smile. "Then the fever's broken. You can relax. Olympus hasn't fallen into madness, and you haven't gone mad either."

Her teasing tone tried to disarm the tension, but Akhon felt a stubborn thread tugging at the edge of his mind. Something about that name—Hesperides—still felt important. Familiar, somehow.

"And you're certain I was dreaming?" he asked.

Athena stopped pacing. Her eyes locked on his. "Akhon, you're one of the gods of Olympus. You were born here. You've trained with us. Laughed with us. Fought beside us. What else could it have been but a dream?"

He considered that, but the question felt hollow in his chest.

"I see," he said finally. "Still… strange. It felt too vivid to be just a dream."

"That's how they are sometimes." She gave a soft shrug. "Even I've had dreams where I was someone else. Where my spear was not mine, and Olympus was crumbling under a blood-red sky."

He raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

A small smile touched her lips again. "Once. Long ago. But I didn't let it disturb me for long. Reality always reasserts itself."

"Or what we think is reality."

She narrowed her eyes playfully. "Philosophy now? You really are feeling better."

Akhon gave a short laugh and nodded. "Perhaps I am."

"Good," she said, walking over to the balcony and looking out. "There's a war game later this evening. Ares and Hermes will be participating. I thought you might like to join. Or at least observe."

"I might," he said, walking beside her, letting his eyes drift over the serene sky. "It does feel like I haven't been part of anything in a while."

Athena glanced at him sideways. "You've always been part of this. Don't forget that."

He didn't answer immediately. The breeze brushed past them, warm and fragrant with ambrosia blossoms. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the chiming laughter of Apollo's muses. He tried to imagine a life outside these walls—but there was only fog. He was the son of Zeus. God of power and electricity. His place was here.

And yet…

Why did the mention of Hesperides linger?

Why did some names echo in his skull with more weight than the names of his supposed brothers?

Athena reached for his arm, squeezing it lightly.

"If the dream returns," she said quietly, "don't let it anchor itself in you again. Dreams are shadows. And you, Akhon, were born to stand in the light."

He gave her a nod. "I'll keep that in mind."

She smiled again—though something in her gaze remained watchful, almost searching—and turned away.

"I'll see you at the war games, then," she said before exiting the chamber.

Akhon remained on the balcony, his eyes distant, his thoughts stirred. He looked down at his hand. A faint flicker of lightning crackled along his fingers—familiar, controlled.

Still, a whisper threaded its way through the corners of his mind. A name. A place. A feeling of loss without context.

He gripped the marble railing tightly, trying to shake it.

But he couldn't help but wonder.

If this was truly all there was—why did part of him felt that something was stolen from him?