A Toast for Glory

There were tales remembered through bonfires and songs from old folks.

There were tales recorded on stones, on paper, or simply in the running blood of one's heart and brain.

However, there were tales forgotten—Hidden in the wisps of time.

But as the winds continued to blow, seas continued to dance, and heaven's light brightened the darkness—those silenced stories might still linger inside the single nucleus of consciousness.

A single breath from a person still held these stories that many ears no longer heard for so many eons.

***

A long time ago, during the golden era of gods and mortals; of monsters and different kinds of beasts from hither-tither—the ancient land of Hellas and its city-states ruled gloriously in flourished wealth and peace.

Olympus was at the height of its power with the continuing flow of burning tributes and sincere prayers on altar steps. Beyond any doubt, with this ritual being religiously complied with, men's fate would tread on good soil for generations to come.

From all the great stories told, from the very beginning of Chaos's existence up to the current reign, many had been raising their hands high to the heavens, praising the deities' power that hovered over mortal plains. The dwellers of Olympus championed every tale of battles and faithful rendering plastered on every tongue of young and old. They solidified their place in time as many works of the mind were devoted to them. The good and the bad, all of that, made the gods and goddesses more relatable to the corporal beings.

With psyches worth the eminence, the Olympian deities assembled at a luncheon. All then agreed to the idea of a banquet that would honor them and required both heaven and earth to be involved.

"Let us commemorate the rule of the divine. Let the wine flow like the rivers and food laid on golden plates. Let everyone be merry, merrier than the Great Dionysia. Let us acknowledge the mortals below, for their gifts proved our authority as the handler of the goblet of life. Let this delightful feast last for seven suns and seven moons." The mighty Zeus proclaimed.

Everyone rejoiced, toasting their cups to the sky god's declaration.

Athena, the goddess of wisdom, the goddess of the crafts and strategic battles, usually was reluctant in these kinds of merriment. However, with this agreed assembly, the bright silver-eyed deity was enlivened. She silently vowed to join and finish the seven-long day celebration. "Must hinder the scrolls and weaving." She said to herself.

Together with the others, she reluctantly toasted and gave a little smile.

As everyone was in high spirits, it was not the same disposition with two certain gods: Apollo and Ares, sons of Zeus–one was loved, while the other was despised, hated by the majority. Both were in deep blues, sitting like loners in their seats. Their forlorn aura was silently potent, giving Athena goosebumps. Just across the table and two sits to her right, Apollo seemed to be quiet—motionless. He usually was one of the loudest whenever the talk of inebriation centered on a conversation. Yet this time, he did not say anything. Not a smile nor a little nod of agreement, Apollo only raised his cup with an indication of fatigue in his golden eyes.

On the other hand, Ares was usually silent and villainous in his seat. But during this luncheon—he was more cynical as if an ominous feeling was drifting upon him. Athena looked in his direction. She noted that he was not interacting—not even raising his head to look at everyone else. Something was not right with his recent temperament.

* * *

"For seven suns and seven moons." The soft-spoken goddess of the hunt said while she polished her bow and arrows.

"Indeed, Artemis," Athena replied as she sat comfortably by the window, letting her thoughts wander about. "I am determined to join the feast this time. I will do my best not to get carried away by my writings and crafting."

"You always had your nose stuck to your creations." Artemis giggled.

"Heavy feast is not really for me. Dionysus's play is what I adore as some kind of leisure."

"Then why did some mortals depict you in their pottery drinking in a feast? I, too, am part of some paintings joining in the merry-making! Well, I am happier lingering in my forest than in the company of food and wine." Her child-like voice pitched to her confusion.

Athena laughed at how innocent and laughable her face was. She also wondered at the strangeness of the mortals. She was fascinated by the workings of their brains that created so many interpretations about them. Because of such fondness for art, she let the humans be in their work. She made no restrictions for as long as it would not cause blasphemy.

Artemis laughed along with her before returning to polishing her favorite weapon.

Athena went on wandering again, overseeing the whole plains of Olympus. At the back of her mind, she wondered why peace was never a forever gift in being a deity. Serenity seemed to be a reach far for them—a similar impasse with the earthlings below.

But, she never let that question grow like the mountain ranges. With a satisfied sigh, she savored the beauty of the dancing flowers, the waterfall that graces from the highest and most sacred peak, then splashed down to feed the greeneries that ran through the vastness of their abode. If only these were her everyday immortal life. If only this sincerity gained equal respect from her fellow gods, much like how the mortals gave to them.

Yet, the deities themselves were flawed.

Athena knew this. Her heart was damned by the reality that they were all blinded by the might they had obtained. She even confessed to having this conduct, resulting in her character suffering criticism and disdain in some ballads But what was done had already passed and cannot be altered.

Her thoughts had gone deep as her fingertips danced on the window pane, with her hair blown and scented by the breath of Zephyr.

"What is with that long face, Athena?" Artemis asked as she sat beside the thinking goddess, sensing the intense swirling of her mind.

"Huh?" Athena was stunned. "Oh, I am sorry. I was just thinking of something." She shook off. "By the way, have you noticed Apollo? He seemed forlorn."

Artemis sighed and answered, "I did notice. I do not know that change of his spirit."

Her doe eyes drooped down, recalling her twin brother's behavior just days before. It was a conversation that dawdled inside her head.