I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Zeus sat alone in his grand chamber, a place of both majesty and solitude. The air around him was heavy, filled with the faint scent of burnt ambrosia and the soft hum of divine energy that never ceased in Olympus. Yet, despite the splendor of his surroundings, his mind was elsewhere—preoccupied by the raging chaos of the Trojan War, a conflict that had begun mere months ago but already felt like an eternity.

The war was far more brutal than he had anticipated for a clash between mortals. The carnage and unrelenting fervor of the Greeks and Trojans alike mirrored battles waged among the gods themselves in ancient times. Once, such a spectacle would have filled him with a fiery excitement. His immortal blood would have boiled like the raging storm clouds he commanded, much like Ares’s blood burned now with bloodlust. But the centuries had tempered his spirit, and with the passage of ages, Zeus had come to appreciate the fragile beauty of peace.

That appreciation had deepened in the face of this relentless war. The violence, the cunning manipulations, and the human suffering on display were enough to exhaust even the King of the Gods. Yet, more than the devastation in the mortal realm, what truly unsettled him were the inevitable consequences for Olympus. The delicate balance among the gods was beginning to fracture, and the tension between certain deities was nearing a dangerous breaking point.

His wife, Hera, was ceaselessly clashing with Aphrodite and Artemis—two of the most passionate and headstrong goddesses in the pantheon. Meanwhile, Athena and Ares, his brilliant daughter and war-driven son, could barely contain their hatred for one another. Their venomous disputes were no longer whispered arguments in council but open confrontations that threatened to spill over into chaos.

And as if that were not enough, Poseidon, his older brother and Lord of the Seas, had taken the Greeks’ side in the war. It was an act of defiance that gnawed at Zeus’s authority. He had explicitly commanded that none of the gods interfere with the war, decreeing that such mortal affairs should remain untouched by divine hands. Yet, his warning had fallen on deaf ears. The gods were meddling regardless, skirting the edges of his decree without fully breaking it—an audacious game that dared him to act.

They thought their King was oblivious, that their actions went unnoticed. But Zeus saw everything. Every whispered influence, every covert blessing or curse sent to the battlefield—it all added to the growing storm of frustration within him. The weight of their defiance brought him constant headaches, and even the skies themselves seemed to mirror his turmoil, darkened with unsettled clouds.

Tonight, however, his thoughts were divided. A guest was expected, one he had not anticipated seeing for many years. Hera’s obsessive fixation on the war had worked in his favor, as she was preoccupied enough to be absent tonight. If she had known who was coming, her wrath would have been incandescent.

The visitor was none other than Thetis, the sea nymph and mother of Achilles.

A flicker of something unspoken passed through Zeus’s ancient heart at the thought of her. Long ago, there had been a story—one whispered softly in the tides of memory. Zeus had fallen deeply, hopelessly in love with Thetis. She was radiant, her beauty as boundless as the seas from which she came, her presence as soothing and powerful as the waves themselves. Yet their love had been cut short by a prophecy, a warning delivered to him in no uncertain terms. If he were to cross the line with Thetis, she would bear a son destined to dethrone him.

The fear of repeating the cycle of his father, Cronus, and his grandfather, Uranus, had stayed his hand. Though it pained him to sever their bond, he had turned away from Thetis, leaving their love buried in the sands of time. But even now, after so many years, he still held a soft spot for her. Despite all his power, she remained one of the few who could stir something fragile and human within the King of Olympus.

As Zeus waited in his chamber, the faint sound of footsteps echoed down the marble halls. His piercing eyes turned toward the door, his expression unreadable yet tinged with a quiet anticipation.

Soon enough, Thetis entered the chamber.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Zeus said, his gaze immediately locking onto the stunning goddess.

She was as breathtaking as ever, her beauty untouched by the passage of millennia. Time seemed powerless before her, her ageless perfection a testament to her divine essence. Yet, as Zeus admired her, a shadow of regret flickered across his expression. He dared not act on his desires, knowing the dire consequences. The fear of being dethroned loomed too large.

“You know why I’ve come,” Thetis said, her voice calm but purposeful as she approached. Without hesitation, she settled beside him.

“I do,” Zeus replied, his tone steady. He was no fool—far from it. Despite what many might assume, his mind was sharper than even his thunderbolts.

“But I must disappoint you,” Zeus continued, his words heavy with authority. “I cannot interfere in the war, nor heed your demand.” He was the King of Olympus, bound to set an example, even when it pained him to refuse.

Thetis’s eyes softened as she prepared to drop her revelation. “Khillea is pregnant.”

Zeus’s eyes widened, his composure momentarily faltering. This was news he hadn’t foreseen.

Though he was already aware of the truth that Achilles, known as Khillea among the gods, was in fact a woman, he hadn’t anticipated this twist. The prophecy about her destiny rang in his mind—a choice between an enduring legacy in the Trojan War or a life cut short, barren of children. He had always known which path she would take.

But this… this changed everything.

“How?” Zeus asked, genuine confusion creasing his brow.

“I don’t know either,” Thetis admitted, though her smile was radiant with joy. “It seems the Fates themselves have chosen to be lenient with my daughter.”

It was unusual, yet not entirely surprising. Khillea was an extraordinary woman, after all—a warrior who had earned even the gods’ admiration.

“I am glad for you,” Zeus said sincerely. He knew how deeply Thetis had worried since Khillea had chosen to march into the war, fully aware of the mortal peril awaiting her. This reprieve, however brief, must feel like a miracle.

“That’s why, Zeus, I am here to plead for your help,” Thetis continued, her tone now almost imploring. “My daughter will give birth in a matter of weeks.”

For mortals, such rapid progression might have been shocking, but among gods, it was far from unusual. Khillea’s divine heritage and Hera’s blessing as the goddess of childbirth had hastened the process. In just two months, Khillea had reached what mortals would consider eight months of pregnancy. Protected within Thetis’s divine sanctuary and accelerated by Hera’s intervention, Khillea’s condition had progressed with purpose.

It was clear to all—Hera had ensured this swift pregnancy so Khillea could return to the battlefield and fulfill her destiny: crushing the Trojans once and for all.

“But she’s decided to continue the war after giving birth…” Thetis said, her voice taut with frustration as her teeth clenched tightly. Her anger simmered beneath the surface, born from a mother’s love and helplessness.

That was her daughter, Khillea—unyielding, headstrong, and entirely consumed by the fire of her destiny. Having given birth to her child, Khillea no longer feared dying without leaving behind her legacy. The prophecy had foretold her greatness, and she was determined to fulfill it, even if it meant marching to her death on the blood-soaked fields of Troy.

Now, she waited, confident that Agamemnon and the other Greek leaders would come crawling back to her, begging her to return to the fight. Khillea knew her worth and the weight her presence carried on the battlefield. The Greeks were floundering without her, and she was certain they would soon swallow their pride and ask for her aid.

But Thetis could not accept this path, no matter how inevitable it seemed.

Khillea’s obsession with glory, with ensuring she would never be forgotten, blinded her to the sacrifices she was making. She was willing to leave her newborn child motherless, an orphan raised by others, just to etch her name into the annals of history. It was a cruel irony to Thetis. Her daughter’s relentless pursuit of immortality through legend would only sever her ties to the life that truly mattered.

“Please,” Thetis said at last, her voice breaking as she gazed at Zeus with pleading eyes. “Let the Trojans win this war.”

The plea hung heavy in the room, filled with a desperation only a mother could feel.

“If the Trojans are victorious,” she continued, her tone more measured but no less urgent, “Agamemnon will be defeated, and the Greeks will have no choice but to retreat. They will abandon their campaign and leave Trojan lands. Even Khillea will have no reason to fight. She would not sacrifice her child’s future to lead an army into a hopeless battle, not when the Greeks have already fallen. She would return home, Zeus. She would raise her child as any mother should.”

Her words were heartfelt, each syllable imbued with a yearning for a simpler, peaceful life for her daughter—a life Thetis herself had never truly known. But Zeus sighed deeply, his expression unreadable as his divine gaze shifted away from her.

The sound of his sigh grated against Thetis’s nerves, and she clenched her fists, her frustration boiling over.

“Hera, Poseidon, and Athena are openly breaking your decrees,” she snapped, her voice rising. “They are doing far more than you allow, helping the Greeks in ways you cannot deny. Why can’t you do the same for the Trojans? Or does your word only bind you, and not them?”

Zeus’s sharp eyes flicked back to her, his calm demeanor masking the storm brewing within. “Aphrodite, Artemis, and Ares are aiding the Trojans just as much,” he countered, his voice even.

“Not as much as Hera and Poseidon, and you know it,” Thetis shot back, her eyes blazing with defiance. “They flout your authority, Zeus. Your wife, your brother—they don’t care about your words or your decrees. They will break every rule you set until the Trojans are crushed, until Khillea is dead! Are you truly going to stand by and allow this to happen? Will you let them mock your rule while doing nothing?”

Zeus fell silent, her accusations striking a chord. Her words clawed at his pride, his authority, and his conscience all at once. He hated how accurate they were, how vulnerable they made him feel.

His fist clenched tightly on the armrest of his golden throne, his knuckles whitening. The room was filled with an almost oppressive silence as he mulled over her plea, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like the skies he once held. Thetis’s gaze remained fixed on him, unwavering in her determination.

Finally, Zeus exhaled slowly, opening his eyes. Lightning flickered faintly in their depths, a reflection of his divine power and resolve. “I will not allow the Trojans to win outright,” he said, his voice carrying the authority of Olympus itself. “But I will help them.”