The Time of Zeus Book 5: the Coup
Copyright© 2025 by Carlos Santiago
Chapter 12: The Preamble to Man
“Your privilege is the dirt.”
— Emperor Valkorion (as portrayed by Darin De Paul), Star Wars: The Old Republic – Knights of the Eternal Throne (2016). Directed by Charles Boyd; head writer Ian Ryan; written by Evan Higgins, Hall Hood, Drew Karpyshyn, and Samantha Wallschlaeger. Released December 2, 2016. Published by Electronic Arts. Copyright © 2016 Electronic Arts Inc. All rights reserved.
Worthless sack of shit that I call ‘brother’ ... That was one of the many thoughts running through Bia’s mind. He was completely obsessed with Prometheus and his supposed betrayal of Zeus.
How could Prometheus be guilty of sedition? He was creating something based on orders from Zeus. Prometheus was not always on the up and up with Cratus, Bia, or even others lIke Hera or Hestia, but when it came to the loyalty to Zeus, Bia would not question him.
He had not known where Atlas was. He only had an idea where he might be given they had buried Iapetus. Should he have given Cratus and his siblings that information sooner? Likely, but Zeus’ counselor could not know everything.
Bia shook her head as she walked into the pavilion of Athena’s palace in the morning sun. The warrior daughter of Zeus was adorned in golden, polished plates. It was early, so Bia had expected to catch Athena resting, so this could be a simple visit. However, even as the dew clung to the grass outside, and a weak breeze was all the Anemoi (the four winds of Greece) could muster.
Athena, for all of her position as an Olympian or the daughter of Zeus, had already begun her exercises for the morning. She was alone, spear in hand, beneath the open dome of her training ground.
Her spear danced like light as she twirled it with a seasoned hand. She might not have been alive during the Great War, but she would have been a force of nature on that, or any, battlefield. Then, just as quickly, she brandished her shield and moved with the weight of centuries behind the circular metal. It was the same protective weapon that Athena’s mother, Metis, wielded during that same Great War.
While others might have not noticed, but Bia was of victory and success, and she knew that each motion was intentional just as the titan goddess studied the movements. There was not only power in each blow but a certain perfection. Every blow would have killed or disabled her opponents, no matter who they were.
The enforcer stepped softly into the training ground, so that Athena was all too aware of her existence. Though, if Bia had to make a guess about the Princess of Olympus, Athena was aware of Bia the moment she entered the goddess of wisdom’s palace.
Of Zeus’ four enforcers, Bia held herself with the most honor. Not arrogance like Zelus, not wild fervor like Cratus, not triumphant laughter like Nike. She knew her sibling’s weaknesses well. She had lived with them all of her immortal life, and while she loved them, the others wanted the approval of others. Bia saw all she did as duty, which was complicated at times, but duty, tempered by a strange nobility born of loyalty, was what grounded her.
She stood near the edge of the training ground, folded her arms behind her back, and waited for the goddess to finish her form.
Athena lowered her spear only after a moment’s pause of finishing a slash.
“Bia,” Athena said, breath calm but eyes sharp. “You have come too my home very early on this day.”
The enforcer inclined her head in respect.
“Forgive the intrusion, Lady Athena. I would not disturb your morning without cause.”
“You are never unwelcome here,” Athena replied, straightening with poise. “Nevertheless, I sense this is not a visit of leisure given the time of day.”
“No, my lady,” said the protector.
Bia stepped forward and produced a small scroll from within her bracer.
The parchment was wrapped in black ribbon and sealed with the thunderbolt crest of Olympus and its king, Zeus. She unfurled it carefully and began to speak in the measured cadence of Olympus’ formal tongue.
“To my dearest Athena, First of the Wise, Highest Among my Children, Daughter of the Stormborn King,
You are requested to attend a private audience with the Ruler of the Sky and Father of Gods, within the High Hall of Thunder at the hour of high sun. Let nothing dissuade, delay, nor hinder your coming, for the matter concerns the divine workings of the realm.
Given under seal and sanction of the King of Mount Olympus,
Zeus.”
The scroll curled closed with a soft snap. While she did not need to hand the paper over to the princess, Bia held it out, arm extended in ceremony and courteous respect. Athena was not like the other children of Zeus. She was mature, polite, and well-mannered.
Athena accepted the parchment without any visible change in her facial structure.
After the reading though, Bia noticed that a pause passed between them.
Athena turned away from Bia and looked back toward the pavilion’s horizon to enjoy the view of the sun cresting fully over the mountains.
“My father scarcely does anything without reason,” Athena remarked simply. “Did he share his thinking with you or are we both left not to know?”
Athena was not eager nor disdainful by Bia’s assessment. Rather, she seemed like stone that had adopted mild annoyance, which was fair, as Zeus did play games with his subjects. He might not have been a brutal ruler like his father, but Athena must have believed like Bia and thought that he was using her for his amusement.
Bia hesitated, not from fear but genuine ignorance.
“No, my lady. I was not told the matter’s nature.” A beat. “Only that it was not to be delayed or refused.”
Athena accepted that with a slow nod.
Bia bowed low and deeply at the waist. Protocol may have required less, but for Athena, no show of honor was too high in Bia’s estimation.
“You honor me by receiving this personally,” Bia added, lifting her gaze. “It is said you are the favored of Olympus. If so, then I am proud to serve, even in small ways.”
Athena tilted her head at that.
“Favor from my father is no constant; it is warm one moment and gone the next.”
But there was no mockery in her words, only observation.
Bia gave no reply because she had none. To her, Athena was the love child of Zeus and Metis. Some gods whispered that had Metis not died, Metis would have been his wife, and Athena would have been their sole heir. Others said that Zeus and Metis had already married, and that he did not want to say so out of respect for Hera, but that Chaos had allowed Athena to burst from Zeus’ head in acknowledgement of their love.
As none of those words would have been appropriate to say to Athena, Bia simply bowed once more, turned on her heel, and departed in clean, strong steps. She did not want to disrespect Athena with her presence, nor did she want to overstep her bounds.
Athena stood alone beneath the dome again.
Something was wrong. She knew that much of it. Why was her father summoning her? Ares and Bia’s assessment of Zeus was correct. Athena was favored, but not for the reason most on Olympus knew. She, alone, held the secret knowledge that Zeus had consumed her mother. If the gods came together to try Zeus for any of his crimes, it was Athena that had known far more than the others. It was Athena who would have been the evidence that would condemn him to whatever punishment he suffered.
The scroll still rested in her hand. She did not open it to look at the words. There was no need. Veiled as they were, she could understand a threat when she heard one. After seeing Zeus, she would need to speak with Hera. Maybe not right away just in case she was being followed, but Athena knew they were inching closer and closer to the moment when she would have to turn and enact violence upon her father.
With that on her mind, she turned to resume her training, but her spear no longer felt quite so light.
Morning slowly crept into Hera’s palace, but when the light hit her face, she found that she was waking for the day.
Hera stretched as she rose from her bed of clouds and silks, letting out a soft, unguarded yawn. Her wavy brown hair was loose around her shoulders, and she felt like the day would go well. Events on Olympus were slow, but for her, the last few weeks had been productive. She felt she had earned a true ally in Athena, and she was coming to see her own faults as a mother.
Keeping Ares and Hephaestus out of what was to come was the right choice. Ares would have wanted conflict, probably a never ending one, but Hephaestus did not deserve to deal with another of Hera’s failures.
Her robe was sheer and pale as milkglass. No one ever dared come into her personal apartments within her palace, so she had no fear of anyone objectifying her or ogling her body without her consent.
Her bare feet were quiet against the cold floor, but to her, it was a calming silence that reminded her of an existence from when she was a child under the care of Rhea. There was no conflict, battles, or subterfuge that she needed to bother with. Her life was a simple one where she woke, practiced magic with her mother, and then socialized with her sisters before heading back to bed.
The boring routing might not have been much for most others, but strangely, it was a wonderful existence to Hera. Though, truth be told, she knew that she could never admit as such to others. She was responsible for far too much.
Sentiments like nostalgia was why the queen of Olympus had not bothered with ceremony or posturing this morning. When she was alone, it was clear that there was no need to perform.
Her dining chamber was serenely quiet with a table laid out in elegant modesty: a bowl of figs, olives, a still-warm loaf beside a pat of melting butter, and a goblet of something chilled.
However, when she saw what was resting in the center of her dining table, she let out a silent gasp.
Resting there was the chain.
She could not be sure of the materials, but given her royal status and time in a chair she loathed, she could tell there was woven gold and threads of adamantine. The links were fluid in their look though she knew that they were as firm as the foundation of the mountain of Olympus. There was an unyielding magnificence to its craft by her son. Before her hand even touched the material, she could feel an enchanting magic within that would drain life and power from any it touched.
Hera stepped closer, reaching out, but not touching. Her hand hovered no closer than an inch from the creation.
Her son had left no note. He had come and gone without any announcement or conversation. She had expected the weapon by morning, as he said he would deliver, but she had not expected the quiet ache at his silent coming and going.
She would have loved his company. It truly was a shame that she only had visited him because she needed something. Lowering her head in shame, she whispered only two words for her son.
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