Chapter 141: The Pride of Immortals
Above the world, where time ran in threads rather than lines, and reality was as malleable as breath, four goddesses gathered once more. The stars shifted around them like obedient dancers, moonlight spilled like silk across their feet, and at the center of their attention — curled safely beneath a quilt in The Manoir des Ombres — was a small girl with the weight of gods in her veins.
"She quoted me," Athena said first. Her voice was smooth, level, but unmistakably smug. "In front of the entire Council."
Aphrodite arched a sculpted brow, reclining lazily on a ripple of stardust. "Oh, you mean the bit about strategy over strength? Or the one where she said diplomacy is the real battlefield?"
Athena didn't look at her. "The part where she said Athena's legacy is not in battle, but in the restraint before it. She understands me."
"She called you a myth, darling," Aphrodite said, lips curling around the word like honey. "She said you were strong, but in the end — just a story."
"She said I was an ideal," Athena corrected. "A living symbol of discipline and will."
"She said you needed better publicists," Vaethea murmured, smiling gently as she braided a constellation around her wrist.
Aira snorted, then immediately resumed sulking, curled up on a shadow woven from sorrow and perfume. "At least she mentioned you two. She didn't even look my way."
"She felt you," Vaethea said softly, brushing her daughter's hair back with a hand made of dusk. "When she hesitated. When she feared. That ache in her — she doesn't have the words yet, but that was you."
"She didn't say it," Aira muttered.
"She doesn't have to say it," Aphrodite drawled. "Darling, we're goddesses, not Instagram tags. The girl has layers. And pain. She's poetry with feet. That's you, Aira."
Aira peeked up, hopeful. "Really?"
"Yes," Vaethea said, resting her cheek atop her daughter's head. "She's your shadow, just as she's my light."
Athena folded her arms, gaze sharp as blades. "She's also mind and reason. She wove through that council like a master. She deflected, redirected, observed. She didn't fall into a single trap. Not even the one Laurent set."
"Laurent looked like he'd swallowed a lemon," Aphrodite sighed happily. "Gods, I love watching smug men get bested by six - year - olds."
"She was wearing rosewater," Aira said suddenly. "My scent."
Aphrodite's eyes glittered. "She also quoted me. Said kindness is the most powerful choice."
Athena muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "that was my line."
"No, dear. That was charm," Aphrodite grinned, flipping her hair as stars flared behind her. "You don't do charm. You do stern."
"And you do petty," Athena replied coolly.
Aira raised a hand. "Can we get back to me for a moment?"
"She's a blend of us all," Vaethea said gently, still braiding light. "And yet — she is entirely herself."
"She sparkles," Aphrodite whispered, almost reverent now. "Not just beautiful — radiant. As if every heartbreak in the world passed through her and left her luminous."
"She's clever," Athena added. "She sees things. Already planning three steps ahead."
"She's lonely," Aira said. "I felt it. Even surrounded by power and people, she's already learned to be alone."
Vaethea lifted her eyes. "And still she chooses grace."
Silence stretched for a moment. Not heavy — but sacred.
…The banter resumed after a moment of reverent silence.
Athena gave a sidelong glance at Aphrodite, who was still basking in the memory of Eva's rose - scented grace and charm.
"She's inherited your flair for love affairs," Athena said casually, twirling a strand of starlight between her fingers. "Charming everyone in the room. Boys, girls, guards, grandmothers — doesn't matter. She walks, they melt."
Aphrodite's smile sharpened. "Are you implying that being beloved is somehow a flaw?"
"No," Athena smirked. "Just observing how she'll probably need a second phone by the time she's twelve. One for statecraft and one for breaking hearts."
Aphrodite huffed, tossing her golden blonde hair over her shoulder with flair. "Eva does not break hearts. She enchants."
"She's six," Aira cut in with a protective little growl. "And she's not flirting. She's just… luminous. They don't fall for her — they're drawn. Like petals to the moon."
Aphrodite smirked, a mischievous glint sparkling in her emerald eyes. "Oh, please. Eva didn't get that enchanting allure from me. No, no — she got it from you, my dear Aira. You attract them like flowers draw bees. When you were mortal, they flocked to you without even trying."
Aira's cheeks flushed a delicate rose, but she crossed her arms with a sly smile. "Flatterer."
Athena chuckled softly, stepping closer to loop an arm around Aira's waist, her voice teasing yet warm. "I have to agree, love. You attract them all — the brilliance, the magnetism. It's impossible not to be drawn in."
Aira nudged Athena gently, her eyes shining with affection and playful challenge. "And here I thought I was the one stealing all your attention."
Athena's grin deepened, her gaze locked on Aira's as she whispered, "You always do."
Aira grinned mischievously, then leaned in and kissed Athena lightly on the lips. "Well technically, she got our eyes. More mine, actually — I have the pale grey, and you, darling, have the sharp darker grey."
Athena smirked, eyes gleaming with victory. "I got your eyes, love. Sharp and unyielding."
They all burst out laughing at Aira's mock attempt to win the contest, their warmth spreading like gentle fire.
Athena kissed Aira back, a slow smile playing on her lips. "Our daughter will break so many hearts — especially since she got Aphrodite's charm."
Aphrodite flicked her golden hair again, eyes sparkling with pride. "I knew it. The world won't know what hit it."
"She doesn't chase love," Athena added, "it finds her."
"She's our daughter," Vaethea said softly, braiding the last star into her constellation bracelet. "Every part — mind, grief, grace, and charm."
"She's not a siren," Aira muttered, still sulky but smiling. "She's a storm in a glass harp."
"Aira, my darling," Aphrodite cooed, "that was actually beautiful."
"Don't get used to it," Aira replied quickly, cheeks flushed the color of dusk.
Vaethea, seated in the center like the quiet core of a hurricane, let out a soft laugh, brushing her fingers across the air as if soothing the world. "Let them fall for her. All of them. If they're brave enough to love something so bright."
Athena nodded. "But they'd better be worthy. Or I will be personally delivering divine smiting."
Aphrodite clapped once. "Ooh, group effort?"
"Oh yes," Aira said darkly. "I'm good with nightmares."
Vaethea only smiled, quietly, powerfully. "Let her love. Let her be loved. Let her choose."
"After all," Athena murmured with a small, rare smile, "she chose us."
And for a moment, the entire sky seemed to pause — grateful, eternal, and fiercely proud.
"Did you see the way she dismissed that question about Kronos?" Athena asked, a smirk tugging at her lips.
"'He's a story we keep telling to remind ourselves we've survived worse,'" Aphrodite quoted, eyes gleaming.
"She burned him," Aira said, sitting up straighter now, excitement rekindling in her voice. "And then she turned the conversation toward Athena, just like that — pivoted the whole room."
"She defended both of you," Vaethea added. "She called Athena the wisdom behind restraint, and Aphrodite the reason empires fall in love with peace."
"I liked the part," Aphrodite added, swirling her fingertip in a spiral of shimmer, "where she said Aphrodite wasn't weakness, but the courage to be seen without armor."
"She called you brave," Athena admitted.
"She called you brilliant," Aphrodite countered.
"She didn't call me anything," Aira sulked again.
"She will," Vaethea said, kissing her temple. "When she learns the word for ache that still moves forward."
Aira's eyes watered slightly. "She's so much, mother. How can she possibly —"
"She doesn't carry it alone," Vaethea said softly. "She carries us. All of us."
Athena exhaled. "For now, that's enough."
"But soon," Aphrodite said, "she'll awaken fully. She'll know us. She'll know what she is."
"She'll hate us," Aira whispered.
"She'll love us," Vaethea whispered back.
"She'll question us," Athena said with something between pride and dread.
Aphrodite leaned over to touch Vaethea's hand. "She's going to change everything."
"She already has," Vaethea murmured.
"I want to braid her hair," Aira said suddenly.
"She'll let you," Aphrodite smiled. "Eventually."
"I want to teach her war," Athena said, eyes glinting.
"She'll teach you restraint," Vaethea replied with a smile.
"I want to dress her," Aphrodite sighed dreamily. "Can you imagine the gowns?"
"I want to guard her dreams," Aira said, softer now. "Like a nightlight that never dims."
"She'll call on you in time," Vaethea promised. "All of us. When the moment comes."
"And when it does," Athena said, "let's just hope she still loves us."
"Even if she doesn't," Aphrodite said, lips parted with something like sorrow, "I will love her. Until the stars dim. And after."
There was no need to reply to that.
Because they all would.
Every heartbeat of Eva's was written into their myth now — not as a chapter, but as a genesis. She was not their heir.
She was their culmination.
Below, Eva stirred slightly in her sleep, her fingers tightening around the edge of her maman's scarf.
Above, four eternal women watched her, the way poets watch sparks that could become wildfires.
And then—
"I still think she loves me most," Athena said lightly.
"Delusion is an art form," Aphrodite replied.
"She wore my scent."
"She quoted my line."
"She cried my tears."
"She is my light," Vaethea said, eyes soft, voice like woven moonlight. "And none of you would exist without it."
The other three paused.
Then Aphrodite grinned.
"Fine. Shared custody, then?"
Aira laughed. "I get Wednesdays."
Athena smirked. "And strategy weekends."
Vaethea smiled. "She's all of us."
And somewhere, far below, Eva exhaled in her sleep.
And the moon, just for a moment, curved a little closer.