The great halls of Olympus buzzed with the echoes of celebration. Yet deep within the core of its divine palace, a silent game had already begun. Hera—the Queen of the Gods, patron of empires, the matron of Olympus—wasn't someone easily fooled. She ruled not only with divinity, but with sharp wit, precise politics, and an innate ability to sense deceit.
For Jin, this manipulation had to be different. It wasn't about brute force. It wasn't about sympathy. It had to be played like a grand political chessboard.
The moonlight bled silver through the golden leaves of Hera's sacred trees. Jin stood outside the marble pavilion, cloaked in white robes embroidered with runes. He didn't knock—he knew Hera had already sensed him.
She stood with her back to him, her emerald gown flowing like a river of silk, shoulders firm, eyes fixed on the divine flame dancing in the basin before her.
"You've been quiet, Jin Shang," she said, voice calm but layered with suspicion. "Godhood doesn't suit silence."
Jin smiled softly, stepping closer. "Sometimes silence teaches more than celebration."
She turned, examining him. "You're not like the others. There's something… unpredictable in you."
"That's why I came to you." He bowed slightly. "To learn from Olympus' true mind."
A flicker of amusement danced in her eyes. "Flattery won't sway me."
"It's not flattery," he said gently. "It's a fact. Everyone knows Zeus rules Olympus. But everyone also knows who truly moves the pieces."
Hera's brow twitched ever so slightly. Jin knew he had pressed the right string.
She folded her arms. "Why are you really here?"
He let a beat of silence hang before answering. "To understand the heart of Olympus. To protect it… or perhaps, to prevent its collapse."
Now her eyes narrowed.
"Elaborate."
Jin stepped past the basin, placing his hand over the flickering flame. "You've seen the signs. Zeus grows paranoid. Poseidon's ambitions rise like the tide. Hades… hides too much in the dark. And you, Hera—you hold everything together. But for how long?"
"Are you threatening me?" she asked, voice steel-edged.
"No," he said calmly. "I'm offering insight."
He looked at her now—not as a goddess—but as a ruler. "Your empire stands on the verge of fragmentation. The divine tournament was never about victory. It was a test. Of loyalty. Of threat."
Hera's silence was dangerous.
Jin continued: "They think I'm a pawn. But pawns either get sacrificed… or reach the other side."
"…and become Queens," Hera finished.
Jin let the silence validate her.
She stepped forward, her tone sharp: "What do you want, Jin?"
"To help you," he replied.
She laughed bitterly. "Help me? Or manipulate me like the others?"
"Neither," he said. "I know what it feels like to be used by those who call themselves protectors. To be seen as a tool, not a person. They see you as a title—Queen. I see you as a strategist. A survivor."
She didn't respond—but her eyes no longer held suspicion, only guarded curiosity.
Jin moved to the edge of the pavilion, gazing over the divine city. "I've seen what's coming. A shift. A fracture. The gods are not prepared."
"You speak of rebellion," Hera said flatly.
"No," Jin replied. "I speak of evolution. Olympus must change—or be consumed by its own pride."
"And you think I can change it?"
"I think only you can."
He turned to her, and for the first time, let a sliver of his true emotion leak through.
"They all plot for power—Zeus, Gaia, Poseidon, Hades. They want to mold me into something I'm not. But I choose my own fate. And I choose to ally with the one who knows the cost of betrayal better than any."
Hera's gaze hardened. "You don't know what I've sacrificed."
"I do," he said quietly. "And I can give it meaning."
She studied him for a long moment. Then, she finally spoke: "You're dangerous, Jin Shang."
"I'm necessary," he whispered.
Hera sat alone, staring at a divine scroll etched with fate lines. She didn't trust Jin… but she understood him. For the first time in ages, she didn't feel alone in her awareness of the gods' decay.
She picked up the scroll—and crossed out one name.
Not Jin.
Not yet.
Meanwhile Jin who stood outside the halls, staring into the abyssal night, he smiled faintly.
"She took the bait," he whispered to himself. "Not a puppet… but a player. That's what I need her to believe."
Behind his eyes, plans unfolded. Threads connected. One god at a time.
And Hera—the Queen of Olympus—was now the most unpredictable piece on his board.