Chapter 6: Voítheia
Demeter's world shattered when her beloved daughter, Persephone, vanished.
Frantic with worry, she begged Hecate, the goddess of sorcery and ghosts,
for information about her daughter's fate.
The goddess told Demeter all she had heard but did not know who had taken her daughter
which made Demeter feel devastated.
Hecate tried to comfort her and told her Helios, the all-seeing god of the sun, might have the answer.
In an island not far away, the golden sands of Sulani Island
glowed under the soft embrace of the setting sun,
glowed under the soft embrace of the setting sun,
casting a warm light on the water as it kissed the shore.
The beach was quiet, save for the gentle whisper of waves and the distant calls of seabirds.
Amid this peaceful scene stood Ares and Aphrodite, lost in each other's gaze, their connection magnetic.
They leaned in, their kiss intense, unmindful of the world around them.
But the world was not as blind as they hoped.
From a distance, Hephaestus watched them, his expression frozen in shock and disbelief.
He had not meant to witness this; he’d come to the beach seeking tranquility.
But now, in a single glance, his heart was cracked wide open.
Aphrodite, sensing his presence, paced back and forth not knowing what to do next.
Aphrodite, sensing his presence, paced back and forth not knowing what to do next.
Ares, on the other hand, stood frozen in deep shock as his brother caught them in the act.
Back atop the volcano, within the blistering heat of his workshop,
Hephaestus grappled with his emotions.
The flames surrounding him mirrored the firestorm within.
He clenched his fists, his eyes distant yet full of pain.
Here, in the heart of his volcanic forge, he could lose himself in his work,
pouring his anguish into molten metal.
Sparks flew, illuminating the darkened corners of the workshop as he hammered away
with relentless focus, crafting something powerful, something lasting.
pouring his anguish into molten metal.
Sparks flew, illuminating the darkened corners of the workshop as he hammered away
with relentless focus, crafting something powerful, something lasting.
Each strike of his hammer was a release, a beat in the symphony of his sorrow.
Sweat poured from his brow as his hands moved with an almost feverish urgency.
Through his pain, he sought solace in creation,
every piece of armor, every intricate weapon a testament to his strength
—and his heartbreak.
Hephaestus hadn’t anticipated that Aphrodite’s infidelity would stir such a storm within him,
leaving him to question the true nature of his feelings.
Was it jealousy gnawing at him,
or merely wounded pride that his own brother had deceived him
and pursued an affair with his wife?
To be continued...
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