Munch. Munch. Munch.
"Why are you even here!?" Akeno snapped, her voice trembling with fury and heartbreak. "It's not like you care what happens to me!"
Baraqiel flinched, guilt creeping like cracks through his divine facade. "Akeno, that's not—"
"That's not what? True?" Her voice rose. "Then tell me—where were you that night? When they came to kill us? When they called my mother a monster? When I screamed for you and no one came?"
Her eyes blazed, the faint crackle of lightning at her fingertips echoing her rage.
Silence fell between them.
Baraqiel, mouth slightly open, seemed to struggle for words that wouldn't come too late.
Munch.
Munch.
Munch.
The sharp, wet crunch of something being eaten broke the tension like a bat through stained glass.
Both turned slowly toward the source—
—and found Hespera lounging sideways on an embroidered divan like a queen at a feast, one leg draped over the other, casually munching from a shimmering crimson bowl of popcorn that sparkled faintly with black and blood-orange cheesedust.
Beside her, Aigle was sipping strawberry tea. Khrysothemis had conjured tiny forks to elegantly eat popcorn one flake at a time (weirdo). Erytheia had already stacked her bowl high with round two.
Kuroka was curled up beside the divan, purring and flicking her tails with interest like she was watching a drama she totally didn't pay for but was very invested in.
Hespera crunched loudly.
"Sorry," she said around a mouthful. "Do go on. This is the best daddy-daughter trauma I've heard since Aphrodite yelled at Hephaestus for making her a foot taller than her Tinder profile." (Does Hephy give off big daddy vibes, though?🤔)
Khrysothemis nodded solemnly. "We've got bets on whether or not lightning hits someone before the end of this conversation."
Baraqiel flushed. Akeno twitched.
Hespera held up the bowl.
"Popcorn?"
Akeno blinked. "…Is that red?"
Hespera's smile sharpened. "Burning flame flavor."
She tossed a piece in her mouth and looked at Baraqiel with idle cruelty. "You're doing terrible, by the way~"
He groaned softly, covering his face with one hand.
Erytheia whispered to Kuroka, "Fifty soul-coins on Akeno zapping him by the end."
"Make it sixty," Kuroka whispered back, licking her paw.
Baraqiel opened his mouth to respond—but Akeno had already turned away from him.
Her shoulders shook, her fists clenched tight at her sides as arcs of yellow lightning cracked across her fingertips. Her voice trembled—but not with hesitation.
With rage.
"You don't get to grovel now."
Baraqiel froze.
"I begged for you. Begged, Father. I screamed your name. I prayed. Every night after they killed her, I waited for you. I thought maybe you'd show up. Maybe you'd tell me she wasn't a monster. That I wasn't a mistake."
The words came faster now, a dam bursting open.
"But you didn't. You left me alone for years. You let me think that I was cursed. You let me believe I was something to be ashamed of."
Tears welled in her eyes, sizzling slightly from the electricity running wild in her aura.
Baraqiel stepped forward, slowly. "Akeno, I—"
"NO!" she screamed, and the floor cracked beneath her feet as a shockwave of lightning burst outward—rattling windows, making the walls quake.
The divine tension in the air grew so thick that even Ophis looked mildly intrigued.
"You don't get to explain now!" Akeno snarled, her voice rising over the sizzle and crackle. "You don't get to suddenly care! You had years. You had all the time in the world—and all you did was hide!"
Khrysothemis whispered to Hespera, "It's the yelling-with-lightning phase. Classic unresolved daddy trauma."
Hespera nodded solemnly, still chewing. "Yep. Let her ride it out."
Back in the center of the courtyard, Baraqiel knelt, wings trembling.
"You're right," he said quietly.
Akeno blinked, chest heaving.
"You're right," he said again, louder this time. "I failed. I let my fear and shame chain me. I wasn't there for the woman I loved and the daughter I should've protected."
He looked up, meeting her eyes.
"And I don't expect your forgiveness. I don't even deserve to speak to you. But I'm here now. And I'm staying. Whatever you need. Whatever you ask. Even if it's never seeing me again."
The courtyard fell silent.
The only sound was the soft pat of rain beginning to fall from the stirred skies above—a gentle, almost symbolic drizzle across the stone.
Akeno stared at him.
And then she broke.
Lightning faded.
Tears spilled.
And she dropped to her knees, sobbing—not for him, not for words—but for the child inside her who had waited too long to hear any of this.
Hespera rose slowly, brushing cheese dust from her outfit, her voice soft as velvet blades:
"Well done, Backy. That almost made me not want to flay you."
Hespera didn't say a word as she walked over—her boots soft against the rain-slicked courtyard stone.
Barachiel wisely stayed kneeling, his eyes lowered, wings folded tightly behind him like a penitent statue.
Akeno trembled where she knelt, shoulders shaking from the weight of grief and release. Her hands were clenched in her lap. She didn't look up when Hespera stopped beside her.
For a moment, the goddess of Chaos said nothing.
Then—
A quiet snap of fingers.
A soft magenta light shimmered in the air.
And above them, the rain slowed—then stilled, suspended in the air like delicate glass. Warmth enveloped Akeno like a blanket as Hespera knelt beside her.
"I know what it's like," she said softly, "to be betrayed by someone who was supposed to care for you."
Akeno didn't respond. But she listened.
Hespera continued, voice lower now—like a lullaby woven with ash and memory.
"I once thought I was born to be protected. I was a cherub, a daughter of the Heavenly throne, a sister to Heaven's favorite prodigy and a prodigy in my own right. I thought if I obeyed, if I shined, if I stayed somewhat good… I'd be cherished."
Her emerald and amethyst eyes grew distant.
"Then He sealed me. Said I was too dangerous. Said I needed to sleep. Said it was for my own good. Said it was love."
She smiled.
There was no joy in it.
Only knowing.
"And just like that, I was buried. Forgotten. For centuries."
She reached forward, fingers gently brushing the back of Akeno's lightning-marked hand.
"But you know what happened when I woke up?"
Akeno sniffed faintly, her voice a hoarse whisper. "...What?"
"I cursed Heaven," Hespera said simply. "Not all at once. Not even violently. Just enough. Just a few curses here in there every year. Just enough to make my siblings suffer. It even fucked up my seer brother's sight. Hehe~ even now he's unaware I can mess with his scrying on me. It helped that during the time, I was being tortured and experimented on by one of my little brothers. So the resentment and rage actually had a cause."
Her smile softened, and she tilted Akeno's chin up with two fingers.
"You don't need to forgive him right now. Or ever. That's not power. That's not healing. And let's be real here, it would be a rather boring outcome."
She leaned closer, eyes fierce and bright and warm.
"You hold the storm in your blood, little priestess. Let it serve you. Not consume you."
Akeno stared at her.
And for the first time in a very, very long time… she didn't feel like a curse.
She felt seen.
Hespera gave a small, approving nod and rose to her feet, brushing her hands off like the job was done.
Behind her, the Hesperides all gave varying "awwws" and slow claps. Erytheia discreetly wiped a tear with a monogrammed chaos napkin.
Ophis sipped from a strawberry milk bottle and added coolly:
"She's better at comfort speeches now. The last one included fire. Lots of fire."
Akeno said nothing to Baraqiel.
She didn't look at him.
Didn't move toward him.
She simply stayed kneeling in the warmth of Hespera's suspended space, letting the quiet surround her. The weight of betrayal, abandonment, and pain still sat heavy in her chest—but for the first time, it wasn't unbearable.
It wasn't hers alone.
Hespera turned without another word, her black cargo boots tapping lightly against the marble as she walked away—her presence already shifting, refocusing, refolding itself into something colder. Sharper.
Businesslike.
As she passed the stunned crowd still lingering at the edge of the courtyard, she gave a single clap.
"Girls," she said to her daughters without turning. "We're heading to Olympus."
The Hesperides stood immediately—Aigle still regal, Khrysothemis balancing her tray of sweets like an oracle of desserts, Erytheia snapping her fingers as a small vortex of lightning flickered to life beside her.
Behind them, Ophis blinked lazily. "I'll watch the house," she said, not that anyone had asked.
Kuroka, now wearing one of Hespera's long black shirts like a claimed pet, slinked after her mate with a possessive grin and a dangerously smug sway of her hips.
Baraqiel, still kneeling beside Akeno, dared to raise his head slightly—just enough to watch the retreating figure of the woman who had, once again, shifted the axis of power.
Hespera didn't spare him a glance.
But the air behind her whispered like prophecy:
"I'll deal with you later."
And then she vanished into a swirl of magenta flame and starlight, her daughters behind her.
The sky trembled.
It was time to pay Olympus' little king a visit.
Whether he wanted to or not, he made her angry. Very angry.