Chapter 2- What to do?

Unlike the myths, I was born first. Not Hestia or anyone else—it was me. I don't know if Chaos herself meddled to make it so, or if this was how it was always meant to be. Either way, it was clear that the threads of destiny were no longer bound to the familiar myths. If my existence had already deviated so drastically, then who's to say what else could change? That thought alone kept me cautious, even as I began crafting my plans.

Plans. Oh, I had plenty. This wasn't going to be some idyllic journey to divine greatness. No, I knew exactly what awaited me if I let events play out as they once had. Zeus, with his boundless ambition, his silver tongue, and his insatiable hunger for control, would rise to power and do as he pleased—binding my domains and making me a puppet to his will.

But this time, things would be different.

Yes, Zeus is a problem, a colossal one. But even the mightiest can be weakened with the right strategy. Instead of outright opposing him, why not turn the tables? Make the puppeteer as the puppet. It's fitting, really. Zeus, the self-proclaimed orchestrator of fate, never realizing he will be dancing to a tune I've composed all along.

So let Zeus believe he's the hero of this tale, the chosen one to lead us all to glory. I'll smile, nod, and play the role of the dutiful brother. All the while, I'll be pulling the strings from the shadows, ensuring that when the dust settles, it's me who holds all the cards.

I spent my days exploring my powers. The gods are born innately attuned to their domains, so it wasn't long before I understood the scope of mine. So I then moved on from that to other things, from meditating to training in actual combat with training dummies I created by using whatever my father ate and putting a pseudo soul into it. Training was not really that great if I was honest as these dummies had no mind I could not give it the ability to adapt so the training was always more like a dog fighting a mouse. 

When training became too boring, I decided to write scriptures. Why? Because I knew that the Greek gods, for all their power and influence, had never truly bridged the gap between themselves and mortals. Unlike other pantheons, they lacked teachings, philosophies, or structured beliefs that mortals could follow to connect with their gods. Sure, there were myths and legends, but nothing tangible, nothing really guiding.

Well, there was the Septuagint, a Greek translation of the Bible written in Koine Greek between the 3rd and 1st centuries BC, but that wasn't really about the Greek gods. If I was going to be reborn as a god, then I would make sure that I am not only worshiped by my followers but have an actual relationship with them where they respect me for the kind of god I was. Not because I was a god.

Using my powers over creation, I summoned the tools I needed: a black and gold fountain pen and a black leather-bound tome, sleek yet ancient in appearance, filled with smooth gold pages that shimmered faintly under any light. The craftsmanship, though my own, seemed divine. Fitting they would be the better version of the Golden Plates in the Christian believes. 

I sat in silence and began. The words flowed effortlessly, the pen gliding across the page as though it were alive, leaving behind lines of shimmering ink. I wrote scripture after scripture, meticulously crafting teachings that embodied wisdom, strength, and justice. I poured into that book the ideals I believed a god should represent. The task was more consuming than I had anticipated. Time blurred as I wrote, losing myself in thought and memory, making certain to include everything. Every lesson, every insight, every truth I had uncovered in both this life and the last.

And speaking of knowing when something was going to happen? It was about time that Hestia would be dropping into this prison. I stood on the shore of the acid lake, my arms crossed, eyes fixed on the sickly green sky where I knew she would soon appear. The air here was suffocating, heavy with the acrid stench of decay, but I had grown used to it.

It didn't take long. A shimmer rippled through the air above the lake, and moments later, a figure began plummeting toward the churning acid. Without hesitation, I reacted. Summoning my power, I conjured two enormous shadowy hands that rose from the lake's bubbling surface. They surged upward like titanic serpents, catching her mid-fall.

The hands formed a cocoon of darkness around her, gently cradling her as they slowed her descent. The acid hissed angrily below, splashing harmlessly against the impenetrable shadows. With careful precision, I guided her toward the shore. As her feet touched solid ground, the hands dissolved into tendrils of smoke, leaving her standing there, unharmed.

She was breathtaking. A head of bright red hair cascaded down her back, a vivid, fiery contrast to her pale, almost luminescent skin. Her large, expressive eyes darted around, a mixture of confusion, fear, and disbelief etched into her delicate features. Her presence was a stark, beautiful contrast to the grotesque landscape around us, as though she didn't belong here—as though she were a flame in the darkness.

I took a moment to steady myself, then spoke, forcing my voice to remain calm and steady despite the whirlwind of emotions stirring inside me. "Hey," I said, stepping toward her and extending my hand. "Welcome."

Her gaze snapped to me, wide and searching. She hesitated before taking a cautious step back. "Who… who are you?" she asked, her voice soft, trembling like a fragile whisper against the oppressive atmosphere.

I gave her a small, reassuring smile. "My name is Hades," I said, my tone as gentle as I could muster. "I'm your older brother."

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she seemed frozen. Then her head tilted slightly, her brows knitting together in a mixture of disbelief and budding recognition. "Brother?" she repeated, as though trying to make sense of the word. Her gaze flicked past me, taking in the jagged rocks, the bubbling acid lake, the endless darkness. "Where… where are we?" she whispered, her voice barely audible, as though speaking louder would break her.

I exhaled, my smile fading into something more solemn. "We're…" I paused, searching for the right words. "We're inside our father's stomach," I finally said, gesturing to the grim, twisted surroundings. "Our prison. At least, until we're rescued." I kept my voice steady, though the weight of that truth hung heavily in the air.

Her mouth opened as though to speak, but no words came out. She looked around again, her movements slow, deliberate, as though she feared what she might see. After a long moment, her lips moved. "Inside… his stomach?" she murmured. 

"yep, we are inside dear old daddies tummy." 

She hesitated, staring at me as though trying to determine whether I was real. Finally, she drew in a shaky breath and nodded. "Hades," she said, her voice gaining strength. "I… I'm Hestia."

"Hestia," I repeated, her name rolling off my tongue like a sacred hymn. My smile grew, the smallest flicker of warmth piercing the bleakness around us. "Well, it's nice to finally have some company."