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Hera, The Queen of Olympus, sat on her golden throne , an absolute symbol of her solid power. Yet, beneath this majestic shell, she felt like as if she had carried thousand years of exhaustion. As her eyes drifted toward the horizon where Zeus pursued his latest affair, she felt something breaking in her soul. For her husband, who held power in his hands, loyalty was merely a word. For Hera, it was something she gave but never received in return.
She took a sip of nectar from her crystal goblet, but once again, it tasted like nothing. “We are immortal,” she whispered to herself. Her silent screams echoed in her empty palace. “Nothing ends, nothing diminishes. However, nothing has value.” She realized eternity was not a blessing, but a prison where her emotions were frozen in time. Her divine power offered her everything but made her feel nothing anymore. This awakening led her to an irreversible decision: she should have her own fate.
She dropped everything that belongs to her to the floor, she made sure that nothing was left on herself; her jewelry, her golden crown. But especially her love for Zeus. It was the end of an era.
She felt light as a feather, yet heavy with heartache, Hera began her journey of going to the world of men. As she descended from the divine kingdom of hers, the density of the air began to change. For the first time in her existence, she felt sensation of ‘weight’. When her feet finally touched the dusty soil of the valley, she felt the warmth of the Earth instead of the coldness of Olympus. She no longer wore majestic silks, but something that a ‘normal woman’ would wear. Her eyes, once glowing with power, now held the curiosity of a wanderer.
She felt like she had to change her name, she was simply ‘Era’ now. As she walked, human needs she had never known began to emerge. She was dehydrated, her knees hurt with her every continuing steps. Strangely, this physical pain made her feel more ‘alive’ than ever. She was walking like a stray cat, searching for some water to drink, she saw a man laying under a tree. The man did not look at her when she approached.
He lay beneath the tree as if the world had paused around him. Hera waited, unsure why she did so. Goddesses were never taught to wait.
She cleared her throat, but he did not respond. She thought he was sleeping at first but he was not. He looked at her, Hera couldn’t understand the look in those eyes.
“Wait here, stranger.” the man said, leaving Hera beneath that tree. When he returned, he offered her some water. “Here, drink. It looks like the roads have been unkind to you.” Their fingers did not touch. Yet something in that distance felt deliberate.
He watched her drink, not with desire, nor with fear, but with the quiet attention of someone who expected nothing. For the first time, Hera felt no role placed upon her.
She felt that single sip of water was sweeter than any nectar; for this water was a gift given to her from a “real human.” It had been a while since Hera went there. The man did not ask where she came from. He only pointed toward the shade beside the tree, as if it had always been meant for her. They spent the afternoon there. He repaired a broken strap on his sandal; she watched, unfamiliar with the simplicity of such labor. Time passed without being measured.
When the sun began to lower, Hera stood, uncertain. “I should go,” she said, though there was nowhere for her to go. He looked up at her then. “You may stay,” he said. Not as an offer, but as a fact. She hesitated before asking, “What should I call you?” He paused, as if considering whether names were necessary. “Zeno,” he answered at last. Hera repeated it silently. The name felt grounded, heavy, and real. She sat back down.
They sat together as the light thinned and the air cooled. Zeno attempted to light a small fire, failing more than once. Each time the flame died, he simply tried again, unbothered. Hera watched him, amused by the patience of it. As she know, Gods commanded fire; they did not negotiate it. But watching that man trying to warm her, made Hera's heart flutter. When the flame finally caught, small and uneven, something escaped from her mouth,before she could stop it. A brief sound, light and unfamiliar. She looked down, hiding behind the flicker of the fire, her cheeks warming faster than the flames.
Zeno looked at her, surprised. Then he smiled, as if he had just discovered something rare. Hera touched her mouth. “I didn’t mean to,” she said softly. He did not replied her. He suddenly asked her name then, casually, as though it were no more important than the weather. She hesitated. Names had always carried weight for her. Power. History. Obligation.
“Era,” she said at last. The word felt smaller on her tongue. Lighter.
Zeno nodded, accepting it without question. And for the first time, Hera felt she had introduced not a title, but herself. Days passed without being counted. Era learned the rhythm of the place; the way the mornings arrived quietly, the way hunger returned, the way silence could be shared. She stayed because staying required no explanation. This silent promise between Zeno and ‘Era’ let Hera began to learn the language of earth. She was glad to feel the ‘humanity' in herself. At first, she asked Zeno why he was living in such a place like this? But later she noticed, her 'kingdom', her husband, being a goddess did not make her feel like at home. She stopped asking such questions like that anymore after thinking those because Zeno's house was a home, but her's in Olympus was not.
Zeno never asked, where did she come. Never wanted any money from her, nor questioned anything unless Hera herself told him. But one day he asked just one question: “Why do you always look at the sky with such anger, Era? As if it owes you something?”
Hera sighed. “Because those up there have everything without having any trouble.” She was aware that she herself was a goddess, too. She had made bad decisions before, she had killed some people. She made some of them happy, as well. But her heart always ached whenever she saw Zeus with other women. 'Zeus forgot me, so why would I still think about him?' Hera thought. She noticed Zeno was speaking but her mind was elsewhere. Her eyes followed Zeno's mouth.
He had a grin on his face. “It is we who are rich, Era. Because the gods never hunger, they cannot know the joy of being full. They never tire, they are strangers to the peace of rest. I treat every second as a masterpiece. Because I know I will die. Death is the point of life. Nothing without an end, can truly be lived.”
In his words, Hera found a truth greater than all the libraries of Olympus. She felt different, she felt things that she never had for Zeus. Her chest tightened, her breath caught in a way it never had for Zeus. Every word he spoke seemed to linger and warm. For the first time, her heart ached that way.
After a few weeks; one night, thunder rolled across the valley. Era woke with her heart racing, the old weight pressing against her chest. Olympus had not forgotten her. She sat up, unsure which world was calling her back. She knew that Olympus would not watch its queen’s ‘mortal’ happiness in silence. Zeus viewed Hera’s abandonment.
The following afternoon the clear sky of their ‘home’ suddenly darkened. When Zeus appeared, the earth shook beneath his feet, shadows crawling across the valley like living things. The wind carried a low, rolling roar. When he looked at Hera, every creature of the valley held its breath.
“Hera!” he thundered. “End this disgrace! How can you give up your honor for a nothing? Did you leave me for this disgusting mortal?”
Hera stood before Zeno, shielding him from Zeus. Her whole body were covered in dust, but she had never felt stronger. “Your glory only spreads fear, Zeus,” she said calmly.
“Zeno taught me how to love. You have everything, yet you possess nothing. Zeno has nothing, yet he possesses everything because he is rich enough to give his last drop of water to a stranger.”
"We have children, Hera! You love me. It is just a phase, I can kill the man and make you forget everything." Zeus made her screaming after these words.
"I do not love you anymore. You can go to your women and forget me, as well. I love Zeno." She shouted at him, holding Zeno like a feather that will fly from her hands.
Zeus’s pride shattered. “If you dare loving a man so fragile, then see him fall!”
Hurled his thunderbolt straight at Zeno. The ground shook beneath them, trees shivered, and the valley seemed to hold its breath. Hera sprang forward, raising a divine shield, but even her power could not rewrite the fate of a mortal struck by the hand of a god.
As the dust settled, Hera knelt, cradling Zeno’s broken body. He looked into her eyes and placed a hand on her cheek one last time. His eyes fluttered open one last time, meeting hers, and he placed a trembling hand on her cheek. “Don’t cry…” he whispered. “See? How real it was… How beautiful…”
Between Zeno’s lifeless fingers, Hera saw something gleaming. Something warm... He was holding it the whole time. It was a rose carved from wood, the piece he had been working on for days. Knowing that a real rose would wither, Zeno had carved his love into the heart of a tree. Hera pressed the rose to her chest and looked at Zeus with a hatred she had never felt before. In that moment, Zeus realized he had killed the man, but he had lost Hera forever.
When Hera returned to Olympus, she was no longer the same woman. She wore her crown and sat on her throne, but the look in her eyes changed, remaining forever fixed on a small grave from her ‘real home.’ In the most sacred corner of her room, beside her jewels, she placed that simple wooden rose. It was a simple thing but everyone knows it was from a mortal who teached Hera how to feel.
Every morning, she touched those wooden petals and remembered Zeno’s whisper. Zeus may rule the world, but Hera’s heart remains eternally sealed by that single “moment” she found in a mortal’s life.
His words haunted her, everytime she thinks about him. "Nothing without an end, can truly be lived."