There are many stories about how humanity came to be.
We're not getting into all of them.
We're getting into the Greek version.
Some of you already know this story. Some of you have heard of it. And some of you have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about.
To the first two groups—buckle up for another round of Mythology 101. It'll make a whole lot of sense later in the story. Promise.
Now, where was I… Right, right. The origin of humanity.
Well, it all started with Zeus being a dick.
Are you surprised?
Yeah, me neither.
You see, there was this Titan—an older race of gods, basically the divine big brothers who got grounded by the younger siblings—named Prometheus. He adored humanity. (And just to confuse things, there were apparently three versions of humanity: gold, silver, and bronze. We're talking about the golden ones here. Spoiler alert: we're the bronze.)
Prometheus—whose name literally means forethought—had a twin brother named Epimetheus. Take a wild guess what his name meant. Yep. Afterthought.
Zeus, the Almighty Dick, gave the two brothers a job: create the animals of Earth and a creature in the image of the gods.
Epimetheus, being a certified himbo, handed out all the cool traits to the animals without thinking. Claws, fangs, flight, venom, you name it. So when Prometheus finally created humans in the gods' likeness—there were no divine goodies left to give.
Zeus looked at these soft, naked, clueless humans and laughed his Olympian ass off. To him, humans were only good for worshipping the gods' egos.
But Prometheus wasn't having it. He swore to find a way to help his little mortals.
Zeus, being Zeus, ordered Prometheus to teach humans how to properly offer tribute to the gods.
Prometheus, being Prometheus, wasn't about to let his kids be bullied by the heavens' top jock. So he pulled a fast one.
Switched the sacrificial offerings.
Gave the gods the bones and fat, kept the good meat for the humans.
Zeus was not amused.
So, like the sore loser he was, he punished the humans.
"No human may use fire on Earth. No warmth, no cooking, no light. You will suffer in darkness and remember always how powerful the gods are—blah blah blah."
Humans froze. Starved. Suffered.
Prometheus? Oh, he wasn't done.
He stole fire from the heavens. Literal divine fire. And gave it to humanity.
But wait, there's more.
He also taught them forbidden knowledge—reading, writing, astrology, navigation. Even how to sail the seas. (Pretty sure Poseidon had an aneurysm.)
But with knowledge comes power. With power comes greed. And with greed? Comes the idea that maybe humans didn't need the gods.
Some bold idiots started whispering about replacing them.
Zeus. Lost. His. Shit.
So what does Zeus do? Orders Hephaestus and the other gods to create man's downfall.
They crafted the first woman—Pandora. Beautiful. Clever. Cursed.
They married her off to Epimetheus (because clearly, he hadn't messed up enough).
And gave her a wedding present.
A sealed box.
"Don't open it," they said.
Pandora? Opened it.
Because of course she did. Don't hand a woman a pretty box and expect her not to open it.
Out flew a swarm of evil spirits—chaos, sickness, despair—plaguing mankind forever.
Only one thing remained at the bottom: Hope.
A single mercy.
"…And that's why men are idiots, Zeus is the king of small dicks, and women are forever the reason men die of 'unknown causes.'"
Kuroka and the Hesperides just stared at the very sugar-drunk Hespera as she finished her tale—mouth full of candied pomegranate and absolutely no regrets.
Kuroka blinked slowly, her head tilted like a confused cat trying to make sense of a shiny object. "So… what I'm hearing is… Pandora just had no chill?"
Khrysothemis raised a perfectly plucked brow. "That, and Zeus was the original drama queen."
Erytheia popped a candied fig into her mouth. "Honestly, I'm with Prometheus. Humanity's cute when it's not lighting itself on fire."
Aigle, who had been sipping her tea in composed silence, finally spoke: "And yet… we're following her into Olympus."
The four turned in synchronized silence toward Hespera, who was currently sprawled across a velvet couch like a divine cryptid. Her cheeks were flushed from too many strawberry cake shots, and she was holding a half-empty goblet of sparkling ambrosia like it contained the secrets of the universe.
She kicked one leg lazily into the air and muttered, "I swear on Nyx's toenail polish, if Zeus tries flirting with me again, I'll shove a lightning bolt so far up his ego, he'll be able to taste his own hypocrisy in surround sound."
Kuroka purred, her tails swishing. "Mou~ you're so hot when you threaten deicide, my mate."
Hespera giggled. Then hiccupped.
Aigle glanced between her sisters and Hespera, brow furrowing. "So… what was the point of that story again?"
Hespera blinked slowly, her half-lidded eyes drifting toward Aigle like the question had personally offended her reincarnations.
She blinked again. Once. Twice.
Then she sat up with the unsettling grace of a hungover goddess who just realized someone touched her last slice of cake.
"The point," she said, swirling her fork through the remnants of ambrosia cake with ceremonial precision, "was... was... huh? I forgot."
She paused.
Then smiled wickedly.
"Well, whatever. It's time to meet the Olympian brats~"
Olympus trembled.
Not from war. Not from rebellion.
But from her presence.
A ripple—no, a fracture—coursed through the divine firmament that laced the marble peaks of Mount Olympus. Birds fell silent. Nectar stopped mid-pour. Even the ever-burning braziers dimmed, flames curling inward as though trying to hide.
Every god and goddess, from the minor to the mighty, turned their eyes skyward with an unfamiliar sensation prickling down their spines.
Dread.
The sky itself darkened—not with clouds, but with absence. A void that was not empty, but too full.
Then came the sound.
A soft hum.
Faint at first, like the universe whispering in reverse.
Then louder. Deep. Heavy. Like an entire library of forgotten truths being unraveled and rewritten at once.
Hermes dropped his ambrosia. Apollo nearly fell off his throne. Athena straightened with alarm, her tactical instincts flaring like a blade drawn in darkness.
And Zeus?
He went pale.
The air was thick with the scent of magenta flame and unraveling certainty.
And then—
She arrived.
Reality cracked open above the throne room, not with divine light, but with spiraling ribbons of Nihility. The kind of power that didn't exist with things—it existed without them. The opposite of creation. Not destruction, but erasure. The return to un-Being.
And from that spiral descended a figure—
Tall. Radiant. Lethal.
Hespera Eveningstar.
Twelve wings fanned out behind her like a collapsing nebula—six woven of starlight, six soaked in abyssal draconic and angelic phoenix. Her hair flowed like cosmic silk, colors of silver to magenta to green, trailing behind her like a comet's tail. Her heterochromatic eyes—emerald and amethyst—scanned the chamber with a bored intensity that made gods shift in their seats.
She didn't land.
She floated.
Every step an act of defiance against gravity, against Olympus, against the very rules the pantheon held sacred.
"Hello, Olympus," she said softly, her voice like lullabies dipped in acid. "You rang?"
Zeus opened his mouth. But no sound came out.
Hera sighed, sipping her wine and muttering, "Well...this should be fun."
Aigle, Khrysothemis, and Erytheia stepped through the portal behind their mother with all the chaotic grace of fireworks in a library. Kuroka followed with a smug strut, tails flicking proudly.
Hermes scribbled furiously. Athena clenched her spear. Ares grinned.
Hespera's presence flooded the hall. Not like an invader.
Like an old god returning to a seat she had left behind.
And Olympus?
Held its breath.
____
No chapter tomorrow. I have to do overtime at work 😩 😫