Zeus leaned back in his throne, nodding slowly. "Good," he said at last. "I'm glad to hear that. But words alone are not enough."

His gaze sharpened, his tone growing heavier as he continued. "We must ensure that you not only keep your word but that this never happens again."

Just as your mind thought of the worst, he raised his hands and clapped twice, the sound echoing through the chamber like thunder.

The double doors at the far end of the hall swung open almost instantly, two nymphs stepping through with a practiced precision. Their movements were fluid as they held the doors wide, their glowing forms casting faint light across the room.

A moment later, the steady thud of uneven footsteps echoed through the hall. Hephaestus' hulking form emerged, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He leaned heavily on a large, intricately crafted cane, its surface adorned with molten designs that glowed faintly, as if alive with fire. Each step was accompanied by a faint metallic scrape, his limp a testament to both his pain and resilience.

Behind him, an automaton wheeled in a large, ornate box, its metallic limbs whirring softly with every calculated movement.

The box was an imposing sight, its surface dark and unyielding, etched with intricate runes that pulsed faintly with a golden light. Its edges were reinforced with celestial metal, giving it an almost otherworldly presence as it came to a stop in the center of the hall.

Hephaestus paused near the box, his fiery gaze sweeping over the gathered gods, lingering briefly on the King of Olympus. "It's done," he said, his voice low and gruff. "Just as you requested."

Zeus inclined his head, his expression solemn. "Thank you, Hephaestus."

The automaton stepped back, its task complete, and the chamber fell silent once more as all eyes turned to the box.

Just as the faint hum of the runes began to settle, another figure entered the room. Hestia followed behind the automaton, her presence soft yet radiant. The warmth she carried felt like a balm against the tension that thickened the air, her calm energy offering a quiet contrast to the sharp heat of her nephew's presence.

Hera's sharp voice cut through the quiet, her golden eyes narrowing as she addressed her sister. "Hestia? What are you doing here?"

Hestia met Hera's gaze calmly, her expression serene. "I was called," she said simply. "Zeus thought my presence might be of use."

Zeus nodded in confirmation, his attention shifting between the two goddesses before returning to the box. "Hestia's wisdom is invaluable here," he said firmly. "She has always understood the balance between chaos and calm, creation and destruction."

The room was silent as all eyes turned to the goddess of the hearth. Hestia stood quietly for a moment, her presence a soft glow against the harshness of the situation. Her gaze moved from Zeus to the box, and then to you, her expression warm yet steady.

Zeus gestured toward her with an open hand. "Hestia, if you would, please begin."

Hestia inclined her head as she stepped forward, her hands clasped lightly in front of her. The automaton beside the box moved with mechanical precision, its gears whirring softly as it opened the container.

The lid lifted slowly, revealing a golden choker nestled within. It gleamed under the flickering light of the torches, intricate designs etched into its surface—patterns that seemed to shift as the light hit them, as though the choker itself were alive.

Hestia reached inside with both hands, her movements deliberate and careful, as if she were handling something sacred. When she withdrew the choker, the faint hum of power rippled through the air, stirring the silence.

Without hesitation, she turned and made her way toward you. Her steps were steady, her expression calm, but the weight of what was happening pressed against your chest like a stone.

When she stopped before you, she bent slightly, lowering herself to your level. Her warm, golden eyes met yours, and for a moment, the tension in the room seemed to lessen. She smiled gently, her voice soft but firm. "Don't be afraid, little one," she said, her tone soothing. "This is not meant to harm you. It is to help you."

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling slightly as you nodded. Slowly, hesitantly, you allowed her to lift the choker toward your neck.

The cool metal touched your skin, and you flinched slightly, the sensation strange and unfamiliar. Hestia's fingers were steady as she clasped the choker in place, the designs glowing faintly as they locked into position.

She rested her hands lightly against the choker, her warm touch grounding you as she began to murmur a series of enchantments under her breath.

The words were ancient, unfamiliar, but they carried a power that made the air around you hum. A soft breeze picked up in the room, swirling gently at first before growing stronger. The torches lining the walls flickered, their flames dancing as though caught in the wind.

Hestia's eyes began to glow, a soft, otherworldly light that seemed to pierce through the dimness of the chamber. The golden choker responded, its designs shifting and pulsing with energy.

You gasped as a sudden heat spread from the metal, searing through your skin and into your body. Your muscles tensed, your breath catching as the sensation radiated outward, filling you with a strange, overwhelming warmth.

Unbeknownst to you, your own eyes glowed faintly, the same light coursing through the veins beneath your skin. The patterns of the choker seemed to extend into your body, faint lines of light tracing down your neck and shoulders before fading.

The power built to a peak, and then, as quickly as it had started, it stopped.

You staggered slightly, your breath uneven as the heat faded, leaving a strange emptiness in its wake. Your body felt heavy, your limbs weak, as though something vital had been drained from you.

Hestia removed her hands from the choker and turned to Zeus, her voice calm but firm. "It is done," she said. "His powers—his influence over the seasons—are temporarily disconnected."

As she stepped away, the absence of the power hit you fully. Your legs trembled, and the room seemed to spin. You tried to steady yourself, but the exhaustion was too much.

Your knees buckled, but before you could fall, Demeter was there. Her arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly as she steadied you.

"I've got you," she murmured, her voice low and filled with concern. Her hands gently guided you upright, her warmth a stark contrast to the emptiness you felt.

You leaned against Demeter, your breath coming in slow, shaky bursts. The ache in your chest was unfamiliar, a heaviness that wasn't just physical but emotional, as though the weight of everything that had happened had finally caught up to you.

Hestia turned back to you briefly, her gaze warm but firm. "Rest now," she said gently. "You've carried too much. Let us carry the rest for a while."

You exhaled a shaky breath, your eyelids fluttering as exhaustion overcame you. Demeter tightened her hold, her arms cradling you closer to her chest as your body went limp.

"It's all right," she whispered softly, her voice low and soothing. "I've got you, my little one."

She gently shifted her grip, her golden robes pooling around her as she knelt, holding you protectively. Your head rested against her shoulder, your face pale, your breathing slow and shallow.

When Demeter looked up, she found all eyes in the room fixed on her. The Olympians were silent, their gazes ranging from curiosity to something softer, though none dared to voice it aloud.

Surprisingly, it was Apollo who broke the stillness. He stepped forward, his golden robes catching the faint light, his expression thoughtful as he regarded you in Demeter's arms.

"How long has he been in your care?" he asked, his voice calm but edged with curiosity.

Demeter hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering down to you before returning to Apollo. She took a steadying breath, her fingers brushing lightly over your hair as she answered.

"As ____ told you earlier," she began, her voice quieter than usual but steady, "he came from a tree."

The gods exchanged glances, murmurs rippling through the room, but Demeter pressed on, her gaze unwavering.

"The tree Persephone gave me centuries ago..." She paused, her voice softening as she glanced briefly at her daughter. "...It grew under my care, nurtured by the seasons. I thought it was just a gift, a symbol of love. But last year..."

She paused again, swallowing hard as she looked down at you, her expression filled with both pride and sorrow. "Last year, it changed. It bloomed in a way I'd never seen before, and from its center, ____ was born."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. The room fell silent once more, the weight of her revelation settling over the Olympians.

Zeus leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze fixed on Demeter. "And you knew nothing of what he was?"

Demeter shook her head, her golden hair falling over her shoulders. "No. I thought he was just...unique. A spirit tied to the seasons, perhaps. But I never imagined..." Her voice trailed off, the unspoken truth hanging in the air.

The gods murmured among themselves again, their voices low but filled with a mixture of curiosity and unease. Hades, who had remained silent until now, leaned back in his seat, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he watched the scene unfold.

Demeter's grip on you tightened slightly, her gaze flickering between the gods as she braced herself for whatever judgment might come next.

The silence was broken by a soft chuckle.

"Weird-looking little bugger, isn't he?" Hermes quipped as he floated closer, his wings fluttering faintly as he hovered just above the ground. His sharp eyes gleamed with mischief as he leaned in, studying your face.

Demeter's scowl was immediate, her eyes narrowing as she shifted you away from him, her arms pulling you closer to her chest. "Careful, Hermes," she murmured, her voice low and warning.

The trickster god raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. "Hey, I didn't say he was ugly," he said, his tone playful. "Just... unique-looking. You've got to admit, Demeter, he's one of a kind."

Before Demeter could respond, a new voice cut through the tension.

"Move aside, Hermes," Aphrodite said, her tone laced with amusement as she strolled over, her presence immediately commanding attention. With a flick of her hand, a soft wave of magic shimmered through the air, gently nudging Hermes to the side.

"Ah, always so dramatic,"  Hermes muttered, floating back slightly but remaining close enough to watch.

Aphrodite stood in his place, her radiant form glowing faintly as her curious eyes fell on you. She tilted her head slightly, her golden curls catching the light as her lips curved into a thoughtful smile. "Honestly, Hermes, the last time you had this much interest in something unique-looking, we ended up with your child Pan. Let's not repeat history, hmm?"

Hermes raised an eyebrow, his grin undeterred. "What can I say? He's got charm. Takes after his father."

Aphrodite waved him off dismissively, her full attention now on you. As she leaned closer, her gaze softened, the mischief in her eyes giving way to something deeper.

The longer she looked at you, the more her divine aura began to glow. A faint pink light radiated from her, delicate and warm, spreading through the room like the scent of fresh blooms. Her luminous blue eyes sparkled, the color deepening as a soft flush crept up her cheeks.

She held a hand to her chest, her voice breathy with wonder. "Oh, my," she murmured, her tone rich with admiration. "He's absolutely scrumptious."

Demeter bristled slightly, her hold on you protective, but Aphrodite was undeterred.

"No wonder he's so unique," the love goddess continued, her gaze lingering on your face. "I can feel it—the love that created him. It runs through his veins like a song, every thread of his being woven from it."

Her words were light, almost playful, but there was a reverence beneath them that made the room grow still. The faint glow of her aura grew brighter, her voice softening further.

"He is a creation of love, pure and profound. A love that transcends the ordinary."

She leaned back slightly, her gaze shifting briefly to Demeter and Persephone before returning to you. "It's... rare. Beautifully rare."

For a moment, even Hermes was silent, his sharp grin fading into something softer as he watched Aphrodite's reaction. The rest of the gods exchanged quiet glances, the gravity of her words sinking in.

You stirred faintly in Demeter's arms, your body still weak but drawn to the warmth of Aphrodite's presence. Her glowing eyes softened further, her hand brushing lightly against your arm.

"You're precious," she said gently, her tone carrying a warmth that seemed to reach past the exhaustion clinging to you. "And you deserve to know that."

Demeter tightened her grip protectively, her expression wary, but she didn't interrupt. The room remained quiet, the weight of Aphrodite's words lingering as her glowing aura slowly dimmed.

Dionysus, leaning lazily against his seat, broke the quiet with a casual question. "So, does he belong to someone? Like a parent or something?" His tone was light, but his sharp gaze suggested more curiosity than his nonchalant demeanor let on.

The gods shifted slightly, their attention flickering to Demeter and Persephone. But before either could answer, another voice cut through the room—commanding and resolute.

"He belongs to no one," Hera said, stepping forward from her place at the table.

The movement was subtle but deliberate, the soft rustle of her robes drawing every eye in the chamber. The gods, one by one, stepped back instinctively, creating space as the Queen of Olympus made her way toward the center of the room.

Hera's presence was regal, her every step measured as her gaze swept over you, Demeter, and Persephone. She stopped a few paces away, her piercing eyes lingering on you briefly before lifting to meet Demeter's.

Her voice, when she spoke, carried the weight of both authority and understanding. "But if we are to understand what he is, we must first look to how he came to be."

Demeter stiffened slightly, her arms tightening around you protectively. Persephone shifted closer, her green eyes narrowing, but neither spoke as Hera turned her attention fully to them.

"Your account, Demeter," Hera began, her tone calm but deliberate, "has made much clear. Persephone's twiglet, nurtured by your care and love, grew over the centuries into a tree unlike any other. A tree that bore not fruit, but him."

Her gaze softened briefly, glancing down at you before returning to Demeter. "It is a creation born from your longing, your grief, and your hope—yes. But there is more to it than that."

She turned slightly, her gaze sweeping the room, drawing the attention of every god present. "This was not just Demeter's work. Nor Persephone's alone."

The air in the chamber grew heavier, the divine energy palpable as Hera continued.

"The twiglet was crafted with sorrow and longing—emotions tied not just to Demeter but also to Persephone, who left behind the love she bore for her mother each time she returned to the Underworld."

Her words hung in the air, the weight of them pressing down on everyone. She turned, her sharp gaze settling briefly on Hades.

"And there lies the missing piece. Hades."

The Lord of the Underworld raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. He didn't speak, but the subtle shift in his posture suggested he was listening intently.

Hera gestured faintly toward him. "Each time Persephone left for the Underworld, her presence carried with it the essence of that place—the stillness, the cold, the quiet power of death itself. Those threads, however faint, mingled with Demeter's care and the natural magic of the earth."

Her voice softened, but her words remained steady. "The result was something none of us have ever seen before. A being born not from a single god's will, but from a convergence of love, grief, and opposing forces. Life and death. Growth and stillness."

The chamber was silent as her hypothesis settled over the room, the gods exchanging glances filled with both awe and unease.

Hermes, however, couldn't resist breaking the tension. He burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the stillness.

"Well, look at that!" he exclaimed, shooting a wide grin at Hades. "Welcome to the daddy club, Unc! Guess you've got yourself a kid now."

Hades' scowl deepened, his dark eyes narrowing dangerously as he shot Hermes a withering glare. The trickster god floated back slightly, still grinning. "Hey, I'm just saying," Hermes added, his tone light. "Technically, you did contribute."

The laughter faded as Hades shifted his gaze back to you. For a moment, his expression remained cold, but as his eyes lingered on your small, exhausted form in Demeter's arms, his features softened, ever so slightly.

Once again, he didn't speak, but the subtle change in his demeanor did not go unnoticed.

As the room settled into an uneasy silence, Athena stepped forward, her movements measured and purposeful. Her grey eyes gleamed with sharp interest, the gears of her mind clearly turning as she studied you from head to toe.

"This is fascinating," she began, her voice steady but edged with curiosity. "There hasn't been a birth like this since my own, eons ago."

Her words drew a ripple of murmurs from the other gods, a quiet acknowledgment of the rarity of such an occurrence. Athena's gaze remained fixed on you, her analytical tone carrying across the chamber.

"But the question we should be asking is what comes next. Will he ascend to godhood?"

Her question struck a chord, the weight of it reverberating through the hall.

"Athena raises a good point," Hermes chimed in, floating closer to the table. "He's far more powerful than a typical nature spirit. Honestly, he's already stronger than most minor deities."

He shrugged, his grin sly but genuine. "It's only right he gets the recognition he deserves."

Athena nodded in agreement, her tone thoughtful as she continued. "He is the personification of the seasons themselves. His power, even untrained, is immense. It's unlike anything we've seen. There are gods for concepts and elements far less grand—Harmonia for harmony, Iris for the rainbow, Nyx for the night..."

She turned her gaze to Zeus, her expression calm but expectant. "And yet... there is no god of the seasons."

Hermes floated higher, his wings fluttering as he clapped his hands. "Arty's right! I mean, Hera said it herself earlier—____'s got the essence of life and death, of growth and change. If that doesn't scream godhood, I don't know what does."

The gods murmured among themselves, the sound rising and falling like a tide as they exchanged glances. Even Posideon, who had remained quiet for most of the trial, nodded in agreement.

Zeus, however, remained silent. His golden gaze shifted between the gods before settling on you, his expression unreadable.

The tension in the room grew thick as the King of Olympus leaned back in his throne, his fingers drumming lightly