CHAPTER 283: CHAPTER 41

Greek Universe.

Overworled.

Hera sat upon the golden throne of Olympus, her slender fingers pressed against her temple as she sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

The once-proud Queen of the Underworld, goddess of marriage, protector of the underworld order, and symbol of majesty, now found herself drowning beneath a mountain of paperwork, petitions, and complaints that could rival the weight of Atlas’s burden itself.

The soft glow of the marble hall did little to soothe her growing irritation. It only served to illuminate the chaos she had inherited.

When Hades and the others had departed to assist the Norse, he had looked at her with that calm, confident expression of his and said, "You’re the most dependable one, Hera. Olympus will be in good hands. I trust you and your abilities."

She should have known then that he was setting her up.

Trust her and her abilities? Fuck that. She’d rather be in the Norse fighting with Hecate and the others than doing all these work.

Hera leaned back against the throne that should’ve belonged to Zeus and let out a long, exhausted groan, her golden crown slightly askew from hours of pacing, arguing, and reorganizing.

"Good hands?" she muttered, glaring down at the countless scrolls piled on the steps before her. "Any more and this good hands will be the reason why Olympus would fall. My patience is nearing its end."

Zeus, the so-called King of the Gods, had long abandoned most of his responsibilities in favor of "field work", which, from the looks of it, mostly involved chasing nymphs and causing storms over trivial mortal affairs.

The other Olympians weren’t much better. Apollo had turned his temple into a concert hall, Artemis was always on one of her endless hunts, Ares would rather be fighting imaginary wars in dream realms, and Hermes was... well, Hermes.

Although he was doing his job, looking at his past records, his reports, if they could even be called that, were scrawled notes of gossip and pranks, often accompanied by stolen fruit or a doodle of Zeus himself looking angry.

"Do they ever take anything seriously?" she muttered, flipping open another report.

It was from a minor god under Dionysus, requesting divine permission to extend the "Festival of Eternal Wine" indefinitely.

Hera pinched the bridge of her nose. "Eternal? Oh, I’ll make it eternal when I strangle you with your own grapevines."

The throne room doors opened just then, and a small group of nymph attendants entered timidly, carrying more scrolls.

"My lady Hera," one of them said softly, "these are the latest reports from the mortal realm. There seems to be... unrest in the city of Athens again."

"Of course there is," Hera said with a weary smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Because why wouldn’t there be? Go on, put them there."

She gestured to the already teetering pile beside her throne.

The nymphs hesitated, exchanging nervous glances, before carefully adding the new stack.

It immediately collapsed, scattering parchment across the floor like divine snow.

Hera stared at it for a long moment, her eye twitching slightly.

She had always believed that she had been the responsible one among the children of Rhea, the Queen who can maintain her calm and dignity even in the most dangerous and complicated situations.

But this....this was chaos even she had not anticipated.

Every minor dispute, every neglected duty, every divine request, all of it had accumulated into a monstrous mess that only grew the more she tried to fix it.

She clenched her jaw.

"When Hades comes back," she said slowly, "I am going to kill him. And then bring him back. And then kill him again."

She hasn’t seen her daughter in days! She just hoped Demeter has been taking good care of them.

But despite her irritation, there was a faint warmth beneath her frustration.

Because even as she cursed his name, she knew Hades had trusted her completely. He had left Olympus in her care not because he wanted to burden her, but because he truly believed only she could bring order to it again.

Her expression softened slightly as she gazed out the great balcony, where clouds drifted lazily over the mortal world below.

"You better come back soon," she murmured. "Because when you do, you’re helping me clean this mess."

Then she straightened her back, adjusted her crown, and raised her voice so that it echoed through the hall.

"Someone find me a messenger! And tell whoever that divine spirit who is singing that if he doesn’t stop, I will personally turn his lyre into a lightning rod and blast his face to oblivion!"

The nymphs scurried away at once, leaving Hera alone once more in her throne room—a queen of underworld, buried in bureaucracy of a realm she doesn’t even rule, holding it together by sheer will and divine exasperation.

*

*

*

Unlike the stressed and overworked Hera who was drowning in scrolls and divine paperwork up in Olympus, Aphrodite, down in the depths of the Underworld, was living her best immortal life.

For the first time in centuries, the goddess of love and beauty had been given full authority over the realm of the dead, and rather than rule with grim solemnity as Hades always did, she decided to do something... a little more her style.

At that moment when Hades stepped into the portal to the Norse universe, Aphrodite clapped her hands, her eyes sparkling with mischief and excitement.

"Let’s make the Underworld shine, darlings!" she declared then.

And so began what could only be described as the Festival of Endless Pleasure, a grand celebration that stretched across the vast caverns, rivers, and fields of the dead.

From Asphodel to Elysium, music thundered, laughter echoed, and the air itself shimmered with divine intoxication.

Souls that had spent eons wandering in dull monotony now found themselves dancing beneath glowing lanterns that floated across the blackened skies.

Rivers of wine replaced the rivers of sorrow, and even the ferryman Charon, for once, was seen tapping his foot in rhythm while guiding his boat across a glowing, golden Styx.

Gods, spirits, shades—everyone joined.

Satyrs brought their pipes, nymphs twirled in translucent veils, and even the grim judges of the dead were dragged into the festivities.

Rumors had it that the hero Orpheus was spotted trying to dance, and his wife Eurydice was trying not to laugh, and Pygmalion was arm-wrestling with a heroic spirit who had clearly been dead for centuries because his wife, Galatea, wanted him to show his manly side.

Aphrodite herself reclined upon a throne made of rose quartz and obsidian, a goblet of ambrosial wine in her hand, her golden hair cascading like silk fire.

She did not actively participate in the festival, as she was making sure the underworld itself doesn’t fall into chaos.

She wanted to have fun, not destroy the natural order.

She even assigned the gods and spirits to work on shifts, just to make sure the underworld doesn’t stop functioning.

Around her, ethereal attendants fanned her gently with feathers made of light, while divine musicians played songs that could make even the dead feel their hearts beat again.

"Won’t Lord Hades be angry at this, Lady Aphrodite?" One of the nymphs asked, nervously.

"Ah, that’s for me to handle. For now, just let them laugh and love," Aphrodite said to herself, gazing upon the spectacle. "Hades made them fear death. I’ll make them enjoy it."

Of course, not everyone was thrilled.

Persephone stormed into the grand hall, her usually calm composure replaced with visible annoyance.

"Aphrodite!" she shouted, her voice carrying through the halls over the blaring music. "What in Tartarus is going on here?!"

"Oh, my dear, you’re finally here!" Aphrodite purred, spreading her arms in mock delight. "Isn’t it wonderful? Look at them—all so lively, so happy! Even Cerberus is wagging his tails!"

Indeed, the three-headed guardian dog was seen nearby, his heads bobbing in rhythm to the music as nymphs adorned him with flower crowns.

Persephone rubbed her temple. "You do realize that Hades will kill you if he finds out what you’ve done to his realm, right?"

Aphrodite giggled, swirling her drink. "Oh, darling, he won’t. He’ll scold me a little, then I’ll smile, bat my eyes, and he’ll forget all about it. Besides, the souls deserve a little fun. Eternity is too long to be so serious."

"You’re impossible," Persephone muttered, sighing.

"Thank you," Aphrodite said sweetly.

Despite her frustration, Persephone didn’t stop her. She simply retreated to the quiet halls of Hades’ palace, drowning herself in her duties while the rest of the Underworld celebrated.

After all, even she couldn’t deny it—the usually gloomy realm had never looked so alive.

The caverns shimmered with spectral lights, laughter carried through the windless air, and the normally gray rivers now reflected colors unseen even in Elysium.

Perhaps, deep down, Aphrodite wasn’t doing this just for pleasure. Perhaps she wanted to give the dead something more than silence and sorrow, to remind them that even in darkness, joy could still bloom.

She raised her goblet high, smiling as fireworks of golden souls exploded across the endless dark sky.

"To live," she whispered, "even after death."

And the Underworld roared back in cheer.