EoM Bk 1: The Gift of Fire
Copyright© 2026 by Carlos Santiago
Chapter 9: The Right to Consequence
“Maybe. But it’s mine to make.”
— Android 18 (voiced by Amber Lee ‘ShudoRanmaru’ Connors). Dragon Ball Z Abridged, Episode 47: “Family Reunion”, produced by Team Four Star. Released on YouTube on May 12, 2015. Based on Dragon Ball Z created by Akira Toriyama. © 2015 Team Four Star. Original Dragon Ball franchise © Bird Studio / Shueisha / Toei Animation. All rights reserved.
Time passed without concern for the King of Olympus. He had thwarted destiny, and he had nothing to fear, so what did the temporal march into the future matter to him?
Zeus returned to the wild orchard again and again because the woman that lived there was beautiful. Since his first meeting with her, he chose the visage of a white-haired wanderer; sometimes, he came as a less radiant man. Regardless of how he came, the woman did not judge him.
She had been free with her affectionate kindness. When he gave her the name ‘Xenon’ for his identity, she never judged him for the deception. She knew he was more than what he had said he was, yet she still openly gave him her name of Elysía.
Elysía was always there, gathering fruit for herself. She had been ostracized by her village. If Zeus had to guess, she did not want to be taken advantage of by the lesser species of men like Pandora. This conception, he could easily respect.
Regardless of what he said about himself, she did not ask him where he came from. More than that, she did not ask where he went when he vanished.
She was grateful to his presence. He did not have to conjure up a storm, slay a Titan, sit on a throne. He simply had to show up, and she was glad for him. For Zeus, that was a gift worthy of having.
They spoke simply in a way that said they could talk of nothing and everything. The wind and birds were of amazing fascination for Elysía while Zeus was amazed by the tartness as compared to the sweetness of some of the apples.
The simple interactions made life all the easier. Well, that was not completely true. Exchanges such as though made life feel simpler and therefore easier.
For the first time in the entirety of his rulership, he was not the King of Olympus nor the vaunted son of Cronos who was destined to rule over the divine. He was simply a man.
When he laughed, the sound was genuine and from his chest startled him. It had been centuries since laughter came so easily. The sensation reminded him of Metis.
When she was alive, she had been disrespectful, challenging, and difficult, but what he realized when with Elysía was that Metis was the last person to treat him like a person.
Rhea and Gaia had used him as a means to remove Cronos from power, and then they needed him to procreate with. Hera did not love him. He was a means to the throne for her. The same could have been said of Demeter. His Titan lovers did not love him, but they needed allegiances through children to keep him in line. He knew what strange games they were playing.
There was more to say about others who wanted favors from him. Elysía wanted nothing from him when it came to him. His company sufficed, and for this, Zeus smiled.
Elysía liked to walk high places.
On the particular evening, she was glad to share the late afternoon with him.
“You are sad,” she said out of the blue and without judgment.
What was comedic to him was that she would normally be correct. The games and politics of Olympus would take a toll on him. He always came out on top (much like with Typhon), but a price was always exacted for his victory.
“I can be,” he admitted. However, after a pause, “I am not when I am with you.”
She reached for his hand with a mortal fragility that allowed him to know she appreciated his affection all the more.
He should have let her go.
There were a thousand reasons as to why he should. She was one of the hairless ape mortals that were unworthy of the gods. He had said so multiple times. Hypocrisy was not a virtue in the eyes of Zeus, yet in the moment, he struggled not to have multiple viewpoints.
Fundamentally, everything boiled down to he liked Elysía.
And so, he did not let go of her hand.
Rushing, violence, or even conquest would not do for what was required. She had the forthright strength and conviction to lean into Zeus.
Their lips met in a soft moment of intimacy, and Zeus could not contain what was to come because the tenderness was authentic. It might have been because she was mortal, and for her, time was fleeting.
There were a million reasons for her to be so forward with her affection, yet only one mattered: She wanted to.
And so, he deepened the kiss as his hands roamed over her body. The moan that left her lips told him just how much she desired him, and that was more than enough to push this man to his breaking point.
As ichor rushed to his phallus member, he would have her. It was not about his station of her body, but rather that she wanted him, the person.
He dropped her crude dress to the ground, and on her body, he saw the small flaws of wrinkles and time that would never touch a god, but on her nipples, he saw a puffiness that no goddess fully exuded. In her pubic bush, he could feel a moisture from her cunt that Hera could never have.
Her eyes were desperate when his lips reached her nipples. Her back arched, and he could want nothing more than to feel what her body did when she orgasmed.
She held onto him desperately in her own cravings. This was all he could want and more.
His eyes blazed with selfish, lustful intent. Elysía was his to have. She was his personal toy to fuck and be pleased by, and maybe she did not know that, but he adored who and what she was to him.
And when he probed her wet crevice, she could not contain herself from climaxing. Perhaps, this came from the fact that he was a god; maybe it was because he was far more skilled than the average lover.
As he fingered her pussy, he watched her with undisguised curiosity. She was climaxing much faster than someone like Hera. She was gasping and crying out his name before too long. This was all he could want.
She cried his name, and when the explosion of pleasure unleashed itself onto his fingers, he smiled.
He positioned her onto her back, and he maneuvered his cock between her legs. Using her own orgasmic juices as lubrication, he slid his cock into her.
He felt the resistance of her hymen, and she cried out in a mixture of pleasure and pain. He tried to offer her comfort, but before too long, she was becoming lost in their sex.
By Mount Olympus, her slit was tight and felt like paradise itself. He could not help himself. He plowed into her with near abandon. He could not afford to unleash his godly form or power or else she would die, but with the might of his mortal visage, he gave her all she had.
On his eight inch member, she came over and over for him.
He bent down and suckled on her breasts, marking them with his strength.
The conclusion was rapidly approaching, and he could not help himself.
She had his cock in a vice, and he wanted her to finish once more. He wanted his seed in this woman, and he did not care.
Gone were the thoughts of humanity, of the risks they presented, and of the fear. He was the King of Mount Olympus, and his pleasures came first.
That was the last thought before his ropey semen shot into this receptacle of a woman.Ap
Athena’s infirmary was more of a lounge area that she had altered to help mend Hephaestus. In the coming years, she would need to consult her nymph servants to recondition parts of her palace to be for healing.
A reconstruction of that sort made sense to her. Even if she was not a warrior goddess, she was also a daughter of an Oceanid, and Oceanus had a ward for the convalescing. If she were to be one who dealt in combat, she would need to accommodate the inevitably of the injured.
Tall lamps of steady flame lit the room. The air smelled faintly of oil for her weapon, bronze because of the metal of her weapons, ichor from Hephaestus’ wounds, and unclean rags that had been used to try and assist her Olympian sibling...
Hephaestus lay upon her couch in bandages that Athena put on him. So many of the cloth rags looked disgusting with the internal fluids of the forge god. Thankfully, the wounds were sealing closed.
When the daughter of Metis looked up, both she and Hephaestus were surprised to find Hera entering the room.
The Queen of Heaven entered without formality, yet her natural grace mixed with her trained elegance to form a dignified eloquence that could never be mistaken for anything less than courtly majesty.
Who would need a retinue or peacock crown when her gait was sufficient to declare who she was? A bright coldness veiled her eyes as she approached. In her, there was no question of courtesy or want for her desires; rather, decision sprouted from her as a tree came from a seed.
“Mother Hera,” Athena said in her formal manner.
The Queen of Olympus ignored the warrior. She stood over her son and spoke,
“Hello, Hephaestus,” she said.
He turned his head with effort, wincing in pain.
“My queen,” he answered. “I would bow, but your husband’s servants are powerful, and they did their work well.”
“No need for etiquette right now, my son,” Hera replied.
Her gaze swept over his wounds and recognized the good work done.
“I see that Athena has you on the mend.”
“Thank you, Majesty,” Athena said with a hand over heart before bowing.
Hera did not address her foster-daughter. Her eyes were for Hephaestus, and all of her senses were for herself.
“I have come to speak of your desire,” she said. “Do you still hold true to the desire we spoke of?”
Hephaestus nodded.
Hera looked mildly frustrated at her son.
“You are aware of her truthful reputation?”
“I am.”
“Then, you know what she is. Both in action and how others view her?” Hera asked in seriousness.
“I do.”
“Then you must know what she has given to others freely with careless abandon?”
“I do,” he said again. “I do not care about her reputation. I want what I want.”
“Very well,” she said. “It will be done. By my word, you will have Aphrodite as your wife, but by doing this, Hephaestus, any debt that I might have had with you is ended.”
“And Zeus will agree?” Hephaestus wondered. “Even after this?”
He asked the question, motioning to his body. The consequences of his father’s servants left a mark that no one in that room could forget.
“Zeus will respect my decision.”
Hephaestus looked from Athena to Hera.
“Is that it then, Mother?”
“It is between you and I,” Hera said.
She left the room, but Athena would follow.
“What was that, Mother Hera?” Athena asked, annoyed.
“I was keeping an arrangement with my son, which is more than you did for me.”
“Is that why you’re still mad at me? For a decision I made all those years ago?”
Whatever manners Hera might have had left in the proximity to Athena, they evaporated when the questions were asked.
“You made a decision that influences my life to this day, Athena! Apologies and niceties like calling me ‘Mother Hera’ will not salvage this situation.”
“And this is why you bartered Aphrodite to Hephaestus?”
“One thing does not have to do with the other, child, and you should learn to not inflate your own importance,” Hera said sternly.
Athena recoiled in silence from the blow Hera struck.
“Ares will not stand for this.”