The following night.
"Where's the wine?"
"All gone."
"Don't try to fool me. You clearly have two flasks of divine nectar wine tucked in your robe."
"Your injuries haven't healed yet.
It's better not to drink."
"I want some..."
The noble lady spoke quietly, gazing with genuine intent at Lorne before her.
In the end, Lorne conceded defeat and had no choice but to hand over his private stash.
Watching the noble lady deftly pull out the cork stopper and drink deeply with furrowed brows, the young man let out a helpless sigh.
It wasn't that he begrudged the wine.
He simply felt that he, as a friend of women, seemed to have encountered a patient he couldn't quite handle.
Obviously, this lady hadn't truly developed a taste for wine.
She had simply worn her mask for too long and found it almost impossible to take off.
So she needed alcohol to numb herself, to break through the composed and dignified face she maintained while sober, and give vent to the negative emotions she had suppressed for so long.
'That a single drink could turn a noble lady into a raving shrew.
One could only imagine how deep her resentment toward her late husband ran.'
Watching the other party sway to her feet after downing two full flasks, Lorne rubbed his forehead in resignation.
'Right then. Another night without proper sleep.'
However, the anticipated storm never came, instead a graceful head collided gently into his chest.
Lorne initially wanted to push her away. But as warmth spread and dampened against his chest, he ultimately rested his hand on the noble lady's back, silently and gently patting.
The more outwardly formidable a person or thing was, the more thorough their collapse tended to be when it finally came.
Considering the proud self-esteem of people like her, pity carried an insulting undertone for them.
So there was no need for excessive comfort or expression.
Just give them a small point of support, stand quietly, and let them sort themselves out.
After an unknown length of time, the noble lady's shoulders stopped trembling and leaning against that warm chest, she sank into a deep sleep.
In the morning, the clear sound of birdsong by his ear drew Lorne out of sleep.
He opened his eyes and glanced at the familiar blanket on his body, then shifted his gaze to the graceful figure standing by the riverside.
"What are you doing?"
The noble lady turned her head and answered lightly. "What you said. Watching how the sun rises and how the water flows."
Lorne smiled slightly, stretched with a leisurely yawn, got up and walked over to ask.
"And how does it feel?"
"Not particularly remarkable."
The lady shook her head and turned a quiet gaze on the young man beside her. "Does this method actually work?
I feel like you might have been deceiving me."
"Telling you to look at the scenery was meant to help you settle your state of mind and find a little more joy in everyday life. Not for you to complete it like a task."
Lorne explained with equal amusement and exasperation, then picked up a pebble from the ground and flung it with a sweep of his arm across the lake surface.
In an instant, the spinning, accelerating stone skipped along the lake in a chain of splashes, all the way to the opposite shore.
"Oh yeah! A hundred and thirty-seven! New record!"
Lorne pumped his fists with a touch of excitement, cheering with delight.
The noble lady beside him glanced at the man, letting out a contemptuous hum. "Childish!"
That a dignified divine descendant could lose composure to such a degree over what was essentially a child's game was genuinely beyond her comprehension.
Lorne didn't pay any attention to her disdainful look, and grinned as he held out a pebble toward her.
"Not convinced? You try. This is a skill I've worked hard to develop. Beating me at this won't be so easy."
"How pointless..."
"You don't dare?"
"Hmph!"
The proud and haughty noble lady naturally couldn't stand being mocked as she snatched the pebble out of Lorne's hand and flung it toward the lake.
The result was that after the stone skipped off the water at an angle for a few dozen bounces, it flew off into the forest on the opposite shore.
"Ha ha. See? I win."
Having been so thoroughly beaten at such a simple game, the noble lady began to lose her composure as she let out a cold hum and turned away.
"Are you done playing? I'm leaving."
"Hold on just a moment!"
Accompanied by a low murmur, a figure stepped up behind her, before two hands stretched to rest at her waist and along her right arm.
"Let me show you how it's done.
Come now. Feet shoulder-width apart, body tilting slightly forward, grip the edge of the stone firmly between thumb and forefinger.
That way you can better control the stone's flight path and force..."
Under Lorne's careful instruction and hands-on guidance, the noble lady's stiff body gradually softened.
Her waist turned with the direction of her instructor's lead, and then the two right arms placed together swung forward in a sharp arc.
In an instant, a chain of splashes erupted across the lake surface.
"A hundred and eight. Not bad at all."
The man behind her offered cheerful praise, and the noble lady's lips curved upward in tandem as she admired her own handiwork.
"See that. You smiled, didn't you? Making yourself a little happier isn't as hard as you imagined."
Hearing this, the lady immediately composed her cheeks, reined in the smile, and restored her usual cold composure.
"A small trick. Is that worth your smugness?"
Lorne didn't argue or protest.
He simply released the noble lady's waist and arms, and spoke with a smile.
"Practice more in the future. Maybe you'll get a chance to beat me."
Watching the man leave from behind her and walk toward the campsite to pack up, the lady left alone by the lake felt an inexplicable sense of emptiness, and before she quite knew what she was doing, had bent down and picked up a pebble.
But then she shook her head.
'Why would I suddenly care about such a pointless little thing. Really.'
She tossed it away casually.
The stone skipped nearly a hundred bounces across the lake surface and reached the opposite shore with ease.
Without realizing it, she had used the technique a certain someone had just taught her.
The noble lady, entirely unaware of this, turned and walked to the cleared campsite, looked at Lorne standing still beneath a tree, and showed a puzzled expression.
"Why haven't you left yet?"
"Just a moment. I'm finishing up treating this little one."
Lorne turned around, cradling a small bird trembling in his hands from beneath the tree, and explained quietly.
"Looks like the wind was too strong last night and blew it out of its nest. Seems like only the left wing is broken. Nothing serious. It'll be fine in a moment."
As he spoke, tiny points of pale green light appeared in his palms, then seeped into the small bird's body, causing its bones to realign on their own.
"Tweet tweet!"
With its injuries healed, the surprisingly perceptive little creature let out an excited chirp, then blinked its tiny bead-like eyes and curiously looked back and forth at the man and woman before it.
Seeing this, Lorne laughed and opened his hands.
"It seems to rather like you?"
The small bird immediately beat its wings and flew straight into the noble lady's chest, apparently trying to express affection.
However, upon seeing it was a cuckoo, the noble lady's expression changed drastically as she swung her hand violently.
"Get away!"
"POP!"
Accompanied by a burst of golden divine power, the cuckoo flying through the air exploded in a spray of blood mist, scattering to the ground as fragments.
The warm scene abruptly turned into something bloody and the noble lady who had caused it stood with an unreadable expression.
In the end she bit her lip and spoke in a measured voice.
"Argos is almost in reach. Let's go."
Lorne gave a nod, asked nothing further, said nothing more, simply guided his suddenly changed-in-temperament employer onto the chariot, drove the two divine horses, and set off toward Argos.
'A stress reaction? Over a tiny little cuckoo? What is this about?'
Lorne's flickering eyes were full of questions, his confusion about the employer in his carriage only deepening, about what she had once experienced and who exactly she was.
However, his confusion didn't last very long.
Of course, not because he had found the answer.
Rather because after several days of hard riding, they had already arrived on the soil of Argos.
"Up ahead. Into the mountains!"
"This isn't the road to the city of Argos, is it? People along the way said this city-state seems to be called Nafplio?"
"Mm. There is a spring pool in the mountains nearby. The destination I'm looking for is there."
The noble lady spoke lightly while directing the chariot.
A short while later, the chariot passed through a stretch of drifting mist and arrived at its destination.
Clear spring water gurgled and flowed, converging in a low-lying area into a pool as green as jade.
Something sacred and pure was gathering and condensing within it.
"We're here. Stand guard outside. I'll be right back."
The noble lady jumped down from the chariot, gave a simple instruction, and headed straight for the pool ahead.
Watching this scene, a strong sense of deja vu wrapped itself around Lorne's heart.
A scene like this.
'I feel like I've seen it somewhere before.'
In a haze, he lowered his eyes and looked at a stone stele standing at the edge of the pool's perimeter.
On it was written a line of Hermes script serving as a geographical marker.
'Kanathos?'
Lorne instinctively read the characters, and then lightning split through his mind. His expression changed drastically.
'The Sacred Spring of Kanathos?'
'Surely not...'
Lorne looked at the pool shrouded in drifting mist ahead, and at the graceful figure bathing within it, her presence rising step by step before a faint sweat broke out on his forehead.
The Sacred Spring of Kanathos near the city of Nafplio could completely wash away a bather's past restlessness, fatigue and age, allowing them to return to the pure, youthful image of their maiden days.
Its effect was similar to the sacred pool of Paphos on Cyprus island, the one belonging to the Goddess of Love Aphrodite...
Only this one belonged to a different divine beauty of the divine realm.
The Queen of Heaven, Hera!
'...Klera. A woman from Argos. Stress reaction at the sight of a cuckoo...'
'...Her late husband was a womanizer, with illegitimate children everywhere, and had even entangled himself with the great-granddaughter's generation...'
Lorne recalled the noble lady's self-introduction and outpouring along the road, and couldn't help swallowing.
He remembered now.
Hera's main sphere of worship was centered in the Argos region, which was why she was also known as "the Goddess of Argos."
Long ago, when she lived on Cuckoo Mountain, Zeus, transforming into a trembling cuckoo, exploited her compassion, flying into her arms, and mating with her.
'Having just come off the first half of a domestic altercation, a stress reaction at the sight of a cuckoo was perfectly understandable.'
'So the late husband who loved to fool around was obviously Zeus himself.'
'Otherwise who could have beaten Hera into serious injury?'
'Only, the proud Queen of Heaven obviously had no wish to admit the painful experience of attempting to catch her husband in the act and ending up being beaten instead.
So in her telling, she had finished off her unfaithful husband herself and emerged victorious in the end.'
The result was that one lie hidden among ten truths, combined with Hera being in a weakened state, had led Lorne to mistakenly believe he had simply encountered some Argive royalty and a messy domestic drama.
He hadn't expected to come face to face with Hera herself.
And finally, as the clues were traced and connected, fragmented memories cleared, and the riddle of "Klera" gradually unlocked in Lorne's mind.
In certain regions of Greece,
Hera was worshipped separately as maiden, mother and widow, with three distinct temples dedicated to each of these three forms.
As an unwed maiden, Hera was called Pais.
As mother and wife, Hera was called Teleia. As a widow who had left Zeus, Hera was called Khera...
So by introducing herself with that name, she was placing herself in the role of a widow.
Declaring that her womanizer husband was already dead to her in her heart?
Well. That so-called lie was apparently also half a truth.
He had always been the one using this trick to fool others.
Lorne never expected there would come a day when it turned around on him.
He muttered to himself in discontent, and looked guiltily toward the mist-shrouded sacred pool, quietly edging his feet backward.
He hadn't forgotten that during the escort of Hera to this sacred place, he had done quite a few things that overstepped his bounds.
Who knew whether the Queen of Heaven, once her divine power was restored, would come looking to settle scores?
After all, that was Hera.
She wasn't exactly known for being benelovant.
Of course, that had something to do with her cheating husband Zeus.
She was still a decent fellow known for compassion.
But when your husband is Zeus, the single greatest womanizer in all of Greek mythology, anyone placed in her position would probably lose their mind sooner or later.
Mortals, nymphs, queens, priestesses, goddesses—there was hardly anyone he hadn't slept with at some point.
And every affair left behind consequences.
Heroes. Demigods. Entire bloodlines carrying his divine blood.
Thousands of descendants scattered across the world like weeds that could never be uprooted.
Worse still, some of them were impossible to avoid—like Artemis and Apollo, whom she had to see regularly upon Mount Olympus itself.
In fact, compared to what most people imagined,
Hera's restraint was almost admirable because of the fact that she didn't destroy Olympus.
Although, most of her anger instead spilled onto those connected to his affairs—mortals unfortunate enough to catch the attention of the King of Gods.
But what else could she do? She couldn't defeat Zeus, so all this anger turned her into a goddess known for her jealousy and wrath.
However, it has nothing to do with Lorne.
'Maybe I should just make a run for it?'
'But if I ran, wouldn't that be as good as confirming his guilt?'
"Splash..."
Just as Lorne was tangled in indecision, the mist surged and parted.
A goddess with arms as white as lilies, beautiful curling hair cascading from one side of her crown, eyes bright as stars, and a dignified bearing that could rival Aphrodite herself, walked barefoot down the stone steps.
Looking down from above at the young man standing guard below, she spoke with lofty composure.
"I am Hera, Queen of Heaven of Olympus. You have done well. Escorting me here to complete my ritual of renewal is a service I hold in my heart.
As agreed, I will fulfill one request of yours. Speak. What do you want, outsider?"
Hearing that the Queen of Heaven apparently had no intention of burning bridges after crossing them,
Lorne felt a measure of relief settle in his chest.
But then he found himself facing a genuinely difficult choice.
Right. What exactly should he ask for?
(End of Chapter)