The Myth of the Greek Heavenly Demon

As she watched the young god playing music with his eyes closed under the moonlight, Hera thought to herself.
As the Queen of Olympus, she could always enjoy Hebe’s drinks accompanied by Apollo’s lyre whenever she wished.
But standing on this rough grass and rock, having a chat and playing music with this young yet old foreign child seemed to seep deeper into her heart.

Unlike Apollo’s performance that always sang of joy and glory, Dianes’s melody was calm and quiet.
Apollo’s lyre was always vibrant and radiant with joy, desire, and glory.
But the child born of the Night always played regrets and longing, soothing the writhing resentment beyond.
The melody, infused with such emotions, screamed and wailed, while the face of the child playing it remained as still as a ripple-free pond.
Hera sighed inwardly, thinking that perhaps this child was better than the gods who filled Olympus.

‘Ares would surely like this child.’

If a lion and another lion met in the same territory, they would fight over their domain. But if a lion and a bear met on the mountain, they would manage to coexist.
They were similar in nature, but their hues were different.
If Ares was a fiery male lion, then this child was a silent wandering bear.
The timing of their meeting was fortunate, and it was understandable why her thunderous, bare-chested son badgered Hebe to give the child something as a token of friendship.

Ares, with his fiery temper, was more often fled from than welcomed, even on Olympus. To Hera, he was her troubled child.
He knew it, so he always wandered outside Olympus, feeling sorry for his mother, who cried alone because of his father’s infidelity, and took good care of his women.
The fact that such a son had made a good friend was Hera’s only joy these days.

However, if one asks whether she came to visit the young god merely out of a mother’s heart.

That was not the case either.

The child of the Night Mother who came after a long time.

If Zeus had absolute influence over the gods under him as the leader of the Twelve Olympian Gods.
Hera, on the contrary, had become a bridge to the old gods and Protogenoi, who had stepped back, and even to Gaia and Uranus, who cursed Zeus.
Hera, in her role as priestess, maintained ties to gods like Hypnos, the God of Sleep, and to poor Argus, who was born from the earth and killed by Hermes. She cherished the golden apple tree, a gift from Gaia, and the dragon Ladon who guarded it, along with her foster parents’ gift, the drifting island Karkinos.
In ancient times, she was a priestess of the Protogenoi and a disciple of the Night Mother, offering sacrifices to the gods who were not worshipped.
The authority and faith she was promised could not be coveted by any god except Zeus, and the giants and divine beasts she commanded were revered as the goddess’s confidants.

How could she not yearn for that splendid past?
Though she is now a figure of the past with no one to sing her praises, this beautiful gift sent by the Night Mother was soothing the goddess Hera’s heart, who longed for her glorious past, through its melody.

To reward the young priest and test his composure, she decided to revive her old charms and tempt him openly.

But the young god praised her as a woman with the highest respect, and as a goddess with both admiration and reverence.

For so long, Zeus’s endless infidelities had brought Hera not only anger but despair.
She had begun to wonder if her beauty, her allure as a woman, had faded.
But seeing the child, who might have received greater faith than Zeus, blush at her gestures and smiles was both endearing and confidence-boosting.

‘Unlike the purely obedient believers, he is quite bold.’

And yet, not only did he endure and withstand her temptation, but he also managed to hold his ground with playful jokes.
While praising her beauty and charm, he also respected her divine status and authority.

‘…With this, I can entrust it.’

-~

As the performance that even made the constellations in the night sky wriggle and listen intently came to an end, Hera, too, awakened from her contemplation and made a resolution.

Perhaps a resolution that might shake the entire world.

‘I have been patient for a long time, Zeus.’

Not as the Queen of the Gods or the Guardian of Marriage.
But as the old priestess, the Goddess of Magic and Secrets, she would unleash the final turmoil upon Greece.
Through her young priest.
For his final test, Hera spoke again.

“Are you not afraid of the gods?”

As the performance ended, the young god carefully tended to each string of the instrument and replied in a calm tone.

“I told you, I come from a land several times larger than the combined lands of Greece. Even the devout followers of mighty and great Zeus would dare to call it small, as I lead countless followers and subordinates.”

“At my gesture, mountains crumbled, and the great rivers that blocked my path dried up. Day and night succumbed to my wisdom and knowledge, forcing the sun and moon to switch places.”

He was such a being, a force, and authority to rival even hers. The child calmly informed the Queen of the Gods.
If it had been baseless arrogance, Hera would have dealt with it harshly. If it had been mere madness, she would have pitied him and turned him into a creature.
But those black eyes conveyed nothing more or less than simple facts.

“I have seen countless knights and countless disasters, fought life and death battles with those beyond human realms. I, too, crossed the line and sought power. Eventually, I reached that point.”

“Where is ‘that point’?”

“A place where I dare claim to have reached the realm of gods with a human body.”

Of course, seeing the real gods made it seem like there was still a long way to go.
Dianes smiled bitterly.

“You ask if I fear you gods? I’ll answer. No, I do not fear you. For the hands that shake the earth, break mountains, and touch both fate and destiny are not yours alone.”

“Then why are you so quiet? How can you settle so peacefully and calmly in a human body? Do you not miss the throne of Olympus, the place revered by all people and all gods, the hand that touched the heavens?”

“…”

The young god, who smiled faintly at the question, let his eyes gleam mysteriously and gently caressed his instrument, now stored in its case.

“You were the dream of a child.”

“…What?”

With a wistful look, as if in longing, the child smiled while caressing the instrument.
Like the fleeting starlight, living fiercely but ultimately fading away, like the life of a human.
It was a warm yet sorrowful smile, so beautiful and ethereal, disappearing gently.

“You were the memory of a child who clung to a blanket and looked at the moonlight. You were the inspiration that visited the grown-up child during busy times, making him dream. A fierce yet peaceful, fleeting longing of a human.”

Slowly, the smiling child closed the lid of his instrument case with a firm gesture.

“Thus, I was able to breathe quietly on this mythical land, carrying those memories, that inspiration, and longing. I could enjoy a bit of tranquility and nostalgia that had come after a long time.”

There was no longer a smile on that face.
The beautiful face, resembling the Night Mother, was as cold as if wearing a mask, and those eyes were as deep and dark as the edge of an abyss.
What those eyes held was the bright moon rising in the sky.
Hera shivered at the illusion that the moon might be swallowed by those eyes.

“With such memories and longing, I respect you. I could admire, love, and cherish you in my heart, still enjoying being human.”

He shook his head slowly, with a mocking smile as if pitying.

“But fear, fear alone is not mine. That is the thing of those who point their swords and schemes at me. It is not mine. Even if the world fears me, I have no reason to fear anything.”

A grandiose and arrogant declaration.
Yet, the face that uttered these words showed neither arrogance nor provocation, not even anger or challenge.

“So, if a foolish memory insists on becoming a sword aimed at me. Though it pains me, I will have to cut that memory to pieces. So that no one can ever point a sword at me again.”

Once again, a brilliant smile appeared on the beautiful face resembling that of Nyx.
A cold and grandiose, merciless smile like Tartarus that swallowed the Titans.

It was indeed a smile befitting the image Hera had in mind.

“Pffft…. Puhahahaha!! Nyx, my goodness! Hahahahaha!!”

Hera laughed aloud for the first time in a long while.
Hera laughed heartily, forgetting her dignity and prestige, as if she had never been so happy and excited since marrying Zeus.

Her teacher, her friend, her god had sent a precious and beautiful gift for the long-suffering Queen of the Gods.