Even if Hephaestus did not grow up on Mount Olympus, even if Hephaestus never inherited Olympus’s vanity, he was still the son of Hera and Zeus.

Even if Hephaestus only saw his mother once at birth and thereafter learned about Hera from birds, beasts, nymphs, and sea goddesses, Hephaestus still bet correctly on Hera’s character.

As Hephaestus had imagined, the queen of the gods appeared somewhat impatient for the title “most beautiful, most noble goddess.”

Perhaps Hera had been disappointed by Zeus and then saw the praise on the chair; she clearly believed this throne had been made for her.

Look at the splendid reliefs on the chair—these carvings depict various scenes from the life of the queen Hera, full of praise, or perhaps because Hephaestus cast some kind of magic upon the throne… this magic taught by a sea goddess obviously attracted the queen.

Hera sat upon the throne… like a fat fish taking the bait.

The moment Hera sat down, the magic woven into the gold and silver quickly took effect. True to his name as a born craftsman, Hephaestus could create objects more powerful than himself; the items he forged possess divine artifact power that can even surpass certain fates. Thus the throne Hephaestus made bound Hera… and Hera lost all her powers, becoming like an ordinary person, immobilized on the throne.

More terrifying for Hera was that she saw a man emerge from beneath the branches.

A red-haired god wearing a mask, metal prosthetics encased in his boots with metal showing at the knees—this red-haired god’s blue eyes were full of coldness. He walked slowly toward Hera, blue spiritual flames spreading around his body; that familiar spiritual fire nearly suffocated Hera.

“It's you!”

Hera's voice sharpened: "Why are you... why do you always haunt me?!"

The diva's voice screamed like a swan with its throat cut: "You should be dead!"

Hephaestus stood expressionless before Hera; the towering deity bowed his head, his long red hair strikingly similar to Hera’s, both as vivid as pomegranate seeds.

“Long time no see... Hera.”

　　Hephaestus's voice was indifferent, and his eyes looked with the same coldness at Hera, who was bound by the throne.

“No, I should say, long time no see, Mother.”

For that single word "mother," Hera clearly seemed somewhat unable to accept it; the noble queen of the gods shook her head as if trying to shake the word "mother" out of her mind: "Don't call me mother! I do not have a son like you!"

Hera's scream made Hephaestus feel uncomfortable, and along with the discomfort he felt boredom. He looked coldly at the agitated Hera and said in a flat voice: "I have no affection for you either. Rather, I am ashamed to have a mother like you."

“Then why have you come before me?” Hera felt both stirred and humiliated by Hephaestus’s words; she clenched her teeth as she looked at the son she had cast off.

“I will return to Mount Olympus and take back the rights that are rightly mine, Hera—no, Mother.” Hephaestus bent forward, his finger pressing on the bonds around Hera’s wrist. Hephaestus looked at Hera deeply: “Mother, I believe you will make the best choice. I do not harbor love for you; if you refuse my request, I cannot guarantee what I might do to you.”

Hephaestus, with red hair, spoke softly; he looked at his mother indifferently as a troubled expression slowly appeared on her face. After a long moment, Hera narrowed her eyes.

Hera was now bound by Hephaestus and could not wield her divine power; this humiliation made her hate the Hephaestus before her. Hera thought it was all Aphrodite’s fault — that damned, frivolous goddess of beauty!

If Aphrodite had not seduced Zeus, Zeus would not have struggled with her, causing her to leave Olympus for her foster parents Okeanos and Tethys, which led to her being ambushed by Hephaestus on the road. Seeing how thoroughly Hephaestus had prepared, there must have been someone directing him from behind the scenes.

Damn Aphrodite… damn Zeus… damn Hephaestus!

Hera cursed everything in her heart, but showed no sign of it on her face. She put on a contemplative expression; her red lashes half-lowered, veiling her deep blue eyes.

Hephaestus’s deep blue eyes were identical to Hera’s. Aside from Hephaestus inheriting Hera’s pomegranate-red hair, those tranquil, ocean-blue eyes alone were enough to prove the mother-and-son relationship between Hera and Hephaestus.

The queen of the gods seemed to recall something. In the next moment, Hera smiled at Hephaestus, though the smile did not reach her eyes. In a soft, gentle voice she said, “Very well, I can let you return to Olympus and reclaim the rights you deserve. I will accept you as a mother, do many things for you, care for you as I care for all my children, and I will find you a beautiful wife… just as I dote on Athena and Ares.”

Hera thought of Aphrodite and looked at Hephaestus with malice. Yes, like any mother, she would seek a beautiful wife for her son…

But she would not tell Hephaestus that this beautiful “wife” was a lascivious deity.

An ugly god paired with a flawless goddess of beauty — Aphrodite would surely feel suffocated and humiliated.

Hera thought maliciously.

Hephaestus did not seem to feel joy or honor at Hera's words.

Hera looked at Hephaestus: "I swear by the River Styx... let me go now, and I can take you back to Mount Olympus. I swear by the River Styx—surely you must believe me now?"

Hephaestus stared at Hera in silence, pondering, and only when Hera truly swore by the River Styx as she had said did Hephaestus finally release the mechanism.

The towering god undid the bindings on his mother Hera's wrists and ankles, and then unfastened the restraints around her waist.

Hephaestus extended his fingers, rough and callused; he loosened the bonds on Hera's wrists and bent slightly. The heat of the flames that belonged to Hephaestus made Hera grit her teeth.

Hera watched this ugly, towering son painstakingly remove her restraints, and she could feel Hephaestus's fingers touching her skin...

That burning sensation, the blue spiritual fire born in Hephaestus's soul and body from the moment of his birth, was precisely what Hera could not accept.

What child would burn his own mother from the moment of birth?

Hera looked at Hephaestus's body with a complex gaze; she saw his vivid red hair falling over her thigh—this bright red hair was undoubtedly inherited from her bloodline.

Even if Hera did not want to admit it, this child was indeed hers.

"...You grew up. I had thought you wouldn't survive."

Her mind in turmoil, Hera spoke; her voice was somewhat hoarse, but that was caused by her earlier shouting and screaming, not by guilt making her want to cry now.

Therefore Hephaestus's voice was cold. He stared at his mother: "I now release you, mother. My calling you 'mother' is not out of love for you, but simply because you indeed bore me—nothing more."

Hera stood up; this delicate and frail queen clasped the wrist of one hand with her other hand and took a deep breath.

“All right, I knew it, hmph.”

Hera pressed her lips together helplessly. "Now, come back to Mount Olympus with me, and I will tell Zeus to acknowledge your status."

Hera also needed to find a wife for Hephaestus.

Of course, Hera thought a lot; earlier, while staring at her ugly son from the throne, she thought of Aphrodite.

Aphrodite was always flirting among the gods. Zeus wanted to punish her; he could either marry the bothersome Aphrodite off to his ugly, detested son, or make Zeus change his mind, while also punishing Aphrodite—truly killing three birds with one stone.

Hera pondered; she did not actually want to be a caring mother to Hephaestus, but having sworn to the River Styx, she was helpless.

Hera only wants to win back Zeus's heart; after he married her he showed her no more love, and it’s Aphrodite's fault for seducing Zeus.

That damn Aphrodite; tempting those mighty gods wasn't enough—she even seduced Zeus.

...So despicable.

Hera's mind raced with these thoughts: she felt the joy of about to humiliate a "rival in love," the happiness of possibly winning back Zeus's favor, and the little scheme of putting her detested son together with the detested goddess of beauty.

Hephaestus knew what Hera was scheming, but he didn't care; he only wanted to go to Mount Olympus, find Aphrodite, and have her undo the spell of "admiration" she had cast over his heart.

Forget reclaiming the glory he deserved, forget receiving his mother's affection...

Hephaestus was no longer that young child; he no longer expected such so‑called "love" and "warmth."

If his heart weren't urging him to find Aphrodite, he might have spent his whole life on the island of Lemnos, protecting the humans who had raised him.