6 Crooked Thrones

Artemis, guardian of youth so dear,

We sing your praises loud and clear,

In your embrace, we find solace and light,

Sheltered beneath your gentle might.

In times of danger, we turn to you,

Artemis, our protector, strong and true,

Your arrows fly, swift and sure,

To safeguard the innocent and the pure.

- A part of the hymn dedicated to Artemis Paedotrophus.

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The Throne Room, Olympus.

Artemis reclined upon her gleaming silver throne, immersing herself in the intoxicating surge of newfound power. It permeated her being, imbuing her with a strength magnified many times over. In that moment, she comprehended the true reason why the Olympians stood unrivalled and elevated above all others.

The very designation of "Olympian" held an inherent power, an essence that resonated within their being. It symbolised their divine lineage, their connection to the lofty heights of Mount Olympus, and the supremacy they wielded over mortals and immortals alike. The weight of the title carried with it a profound authority, affirming their status as the ultimate beings not only in the Olympian pantheon but in the world.

However, Artemis didn't lose herself in the overwhelming surge of power. While she acknowledged and embraced the immense strength that accompanied her status as an "Olympian," she refused to let it become entwined with her very essence or define her true identity. Instead, she harnessed it as her brother had suggested—an additional enhancement to her inherent abilities, a mere augmentation or, as he had put it, a "buff" to her innate power.

After all, this extraordinary power she possessed was not truly her own. It belonged to Olympus, encompassing all that the divine realm represented and embodied. And as the ruler of Olympus, Zeus should hold the authority to revoke this bestowed power from any of the Olympians, should he deem it necessary.

Artemis maintained a keen awareness that if she were to allow the power bestowed upon her by Olympus to intertwine with her very essence, there existed a significant possibility that her father could extend his influence into the core of her divine being. Such an intrusion could potentially enable him not only to strip away their granted power but also to divest them of their immortality and divinity, reducing the Olympians to mere mortals. There was also the dreadful possibility that if Olympus were to fall, all of her power would go away with it.

These sobering realisations reinforced her resolve to safeguard her true essence and maintain a clear distinction between the external power bestowed upon her and her intrinsic divine nature.

'You can rely on external power as much as you want, my dear sister,' Apollo had said, after they completed a momentous task together in the first week of their life. 'But at the end of the day, your own power will be all that matters.'

It was as if he knew this day would come, where she would sit on the throne of Olympus to face just this situation. For a moment, she seriously considered whether her brother already possessed the divinity of Prophecy—Apollo was truly an enigma; nothing could ever deny that.

Setting the mysteries of her brother aside, Artemis discreetly shifted her attention towards Zeus, hoping to catch a glimpse of his reaction. With practiced subtlety, she let her gaze wander across the rest of the council, as if merely surveying the surroundings. Meanwhile, her father, seated on his majestic platinum throne at the center of the council, exuded an air of regality and authority, seemingly oblivious to her clandestine actions.

It appeared that her worries were unfounded, as her father remained oblivious to her manipulations concerning the bestowed power of Olympus. The reasons for his lack of awareness eluded her; she could only speculate without certainty.

Nonetheless, she understood the importance of being prepared and enhancing her own power to the best of her abilities in case her actions were ever exposed in the future—a possibility that loomed large—

"It's intoxicating, isn't it?" a sweet voice interrupted Artemis' calculative musings, causing her to turn towards the source. Her gaze met the ever-changing irises of Aphrodite, seated on a throne fashioned like a seashell, its seat adorned with swansdown, just to her left.

Aphrodite, the goddess who reigned over the realms of love and desire, cast a side glance at Artemis, her lips curved into a warm and gentle smile. However, Artemis, with her sharp huntress instincts, saw through the facade. She glimpsed the true emotion hidden beneath Aphrodite's smile: detest.

This animosity didn't come as a surprise to Artemis, considering she had sworn the oath of maidenhood under her father's witness, forsaking most of the domains Aphrodite presided over. It would have been strange if Aphrodite didn't harbour resentment toward her.

To be honest, those feelings were mutual. The Goddess of Hunt didn't hold a high opinion of the Goddess of Love, judging solely from first impressions.

"It is surprising," Artemis curtly replied to Aphrodite, maintaining a neutral facade.

"Surprising?" Aphrodite raised her eyebrows. "Indeed, it must be, considering the wilderness you called home until now." Her multifaceted eyes flashed with a mixture of pity and concern. "Oh, poor thing, how are you feeling now? Everything must be overwhelming, isn't it?"

Artemis remained composed, her eyes narrowing slightly as she gauged Aphrodite's words. She knew all too well the subtle art of manipulation that Aphrodite employed. The seemingly sympathetic tone concealed a hint of condescension, as if Aphrodite relished the opportunity to undermine Artemis' newfound position.

"I am quite capable of handling my own affairs, Aphrodite," Artemis replied evenly, her voice laced with a touch of cool detachment. "Unlike some, I have not relied solely on external allure to wield influence and power."

Aphrodite's smile wavered for a fleeting moment before she composed herself, her expression morphing into one of mild amusement. "As expected of the huntress, so quick to assert your independence," she purred, her voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm. "But power takes many forms, and not all are as straightforward as your bow and arrow.

"Spare us your patronizing words, Aphrodite," Demeter chimed in, her patience waning due to their exchange of subtle jabs. "And leave my niece alone."

Unperturbed, Aphrodite flashed a brilliant smile and redirected her attention to the God of War seated across the council. However, she couldn't help but notice the sharp gaze Artemis sent her way.

"Now, turning to you, dear Artemis," Demeter continued, shifting the focus to the Goddess of Hunt with her ever-green eyes. "How do you feel about your ascension? Did everything go smoothly?"

Artemis sensed the weight of the council's collective gaze upon her. Some eyes held scrutiny, searching for any hint of weakness, while others conveyed gentle curiosity. A few pairs of eyes, however, appeared indifferent and lethargic, seemingly disinterested or even harbouring hidden hatred in the case of Hera. Yet, despite their varying expressions, all eyes were fixed upon her, waiting for her response.

"I appreciate your concern, Aunt Demeter," Artemis replied, allowing her confidence to radiate through her words. "My ascension was smooth and seamless. I have embraced the responsibilities and challenges that come with this position."

Artemis's measured and steady response held a touch of authority, holding the attention of the council members solely on her.

"Artemis, the Olympian Goddess of the Hunt, Archery, Wilderness, and Childbirth," Zeus proclaimed with a touch of pride resonating in his voice.

With a humble nod, Artemis lowered her head in acknowledgment of her father's words. "I am honoured, Father," she replied respectfully.

Zeus's satisfaction was evident as he let out a contented hum, his hand idly stroking his neatly-trimmed grey-black beard.

Eager to steer the conversation towards more thrilling matters, Ares spoke up, his impatience palpable and his fiery eyes ablaze. "With that settled, can we finally move on to the fun part? I'm eager to see if the new one can live up to the brilliance of his title!"

Artemis's brow furrowed as Ares's brash words reached her ears, but her true concern lay elsewhere. Her heart was consumed by worry for her brother's perilous journey to Delphi. It wasn't the Python that troubled her the most, but rather its mother—the formidable Primordial of Earth. In her previous offer to accompany Apollo, she had failed to fully consider the existence of the Earth Mother, assuming that the Primordial would remain in a dormant state. However, her mother had pointed out the flaws in her assumptions after they entered Olympus, leaving her filled with regret for sending her brother alone to face the dangers of Delphi.

Though she trusted that Apollo must have devised a plan to handle the situation with the Earth Mother, Artemis couldn't help but be consumed by a sense of unease. Her brother was many things, but reckless and senseless he was not. Yet, her worries persisted, refusing to be quelled. She had decided to convey her concerns to her father when she met him for the first time, and as she spoke to him, her father acknowledged the weight of her worries.

"It will be fine, Artemis," Demeter said reassuringly, sensing her worries.

Artemis nodded silently, her fingers curling around the armrest of her throne.

"Hestia," Zeus spoke up, capturing the attention of everyone in the room. "Bring forth the projection. He is nearing Delphi."

Hestia softly hummed, and instantly, the hearth at the center of the room erupted in a dazzling display of fiery brilliance. The flames coalesced and formed a projection that flickered with vibrant light, eventually revealing a vivid live image of Apollo soaring through the sky at dawn, leaving behind a trail of dazzling radiance. A golden bow was proudly strapped to his back, shimmering in the light of dawn.

'Brother,' Artemis thought, her silver eyes solely fixated on the image of her brother in the live projection.

Hera, who had maintained her graceful silence, suddenly spoke up. "Hephaestus," she called out to her son, "that bow is your craftsmanship."

It was not an assumption but a statement, a fact.

"Not only that, my dear mother," Hephaestus side-glanced Hera, coolly placing his chin on his palm. "I crafted two more artefacts for my brother Apollo as well."

Hera snapped her gaze towards her son. "Maybe you can create an artifact that can finally teach you some manners, Hephaestus," she said sharply. "Remember who you are talking to."

"Understood, my Queen," Hephaestus drawled, his tone thick with sarcasm.

Poseidon, Demeter, and Hades chuckled in their thrones, relishing the drama, while Ares shot a glare at his half-brother. Athena remained silent, her scrutinising and calculating eyes never leaving the silhouette of Apollo in the projection. Artemis, on the other hand, chose to ignore the existence of Hera. It was honestly vexing and harrowing to know that neither she nor her brother could do anything about the true culprit behind their mother's suffering.

Unfazed by the commotion, Hera maintained her calm and regal demeanour. However, before she could reprimand her disobedient and rebellious son, Athena interjected, drawing attention to the projection. "Look."

All eyes refocused on the projection. Apollo had come to a halt, suspended in the dawn's soft glow. His gaze, with its piercing golden intensity, seemed to penetrate through the image, as if he sensed their presence. Their doubts were soon confirmed, for a bright smile bloomed on the lips of the God of Light, and he waved directly at them.

"Greetings, my soon-to-be family," Apollo declared. "I regret not being able to join you alongside my sweet sister. However, as you may already be aware, I have certain debts to settle. So brace yourselves, for my vengeance is about to unfold!"

The God of Light then shot toward Delphi with unimaginable speed, leaving the Olympian council in a flurry of reactions.

Artemis wanted to face-palm herself. 'Oh, brother,' she couldn't help but smile in the end, her worries waning ever so slightly.

As the Goddess of Hunt observed the council's reactions, she couldn't deny that Apollo had certainly made one hell of a first impression on them.

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The Oracle of Delphi resided within a cave, where tendrils of green smoke billowed out and hung in the air, only to be dissolved by the gentle touch of Eos. Apart from this ethereal display, there was nothing particularly remarkable about the cave's appearance.

Apollo despised it the moment his shimmering golden eyes fell upon the sight: a mere cave, unworthy to house something as sacred as the wellspring of Delphi. Once he claimed Delphi as his own, he intended to relocate it to a more pivotal and prominent location. He envisioned constructing a magnificent monument that would endure throughout the ages, serving as a worthy abode for its divine presence. Perhaps he could even build his own city around it. However, those were considerations for another day.

Apollo landed lightly before the abominable cave, his bow in hand, ready to face the Mighty Python.