Chapter 174: “The Monkey King. Sun Wukong.”
The throne hall of Olympus gleamed with silver fire.
The pillars rose like endless trees, carved with scenes of battles that had decided the fate of gods and mortals. Lightning arced faintly along their edges, traces of Zeus’s storm still woven into the stone. The high throne sat empty, but it did not make the hall less heavy. At its base, another seat stood, carved with equal reverence though smaller in form.
Metis sat there.
Her robe shimmered in pale threads of silver and deep blue, her hair pinned with a crown that was not forged of jewels but of starlight itself. Her gaze was calm, yet none of the gods before her mistook it for gentleness. She was the Queen of Queens—keeper of counsel, voice of Olympus when Zeus walked elsewhere.
The hall was not silent.
Gods from every pantheon crowded the marble floor. Some brought offerings—bowls of gold dust, rivers bottled in jars of crystal, weapons forged from rare metals. Others came not with gifts but with grievances, voices sharp with envy, fear, or pride. The war had ended, Zeus had claimed the seat above all, but peace was not the same as quiet.
Metis raised her hand. The murmurs ceased like water cut by stone.
"Speak in turn," she said. Her voice was soft, but it carried to every corner of the hall. "Olympus will hear you."
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The first to step forward was Sobek, his crocodile head gleaming under torchlight, scales glinting with river green. He knelt low, setting before Metis a chest bound with gold reeds.
"A gift," he rumbled, voice thick with the Nile’s weight. "From the waters of Egypt, still faithful even after Ra fell. May the rivers of my land flow into Olympus as tribute."
Metis inclined her head. "Accepted. Your loyalty is noted. See that your rivers remain clean, and they will not dry."
Sobek bowed lower, then withdrew.
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Next came Agni, the Hindu god of fire. Flames licked around his shoulders, yet none of it touched the marble. He placed before her a torch that never dimmed, its smoke curling into the shapes of prayers.
"My flame endures," he said. "It burns for Olympus now. But..." His voice lowered, tension in his tone. "Shiva’s fall still festers among my kin. Some whisper rebellion."
Metis’s eyes did not waver. "Let them whisper. Flames may rise, but storms put them out. Tell them: if they test Olympus again, there will be no second mercy."
Agni bowed stiffly and left the torch burning at her feet.
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One by one, more came. Inanna of Mesopotamia brought a veil woven of starlight. Quetzalcoatl of the New World set down feathers brighter than dawn, speaking of his people’s survival. Bastet brought cats crowned with gold collars, silent and watchful.
Each bowed. Each left their offering.
And each left their complaints. Borders disputed. Worship stolen. Mortals drifting from old ways into new. The gods, once kings in their own right, now circled Olympus like stars around a single sun.
Metis heard them all, her face calm, her words measured. She did not need thunder to rule. Her silence often weighed heavier than Zeus’s lightning.
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Then the hall shifted.
A figure cloaked in red silk stepped forward, her face veiled. Her voice was soft, carrying an accent none in Olympus mistook—the East. She lowered herself gracefully, yet her presence crackled with unease.
Metis studied her. "You are far from your mountains."
The veiled goddess bowed. "Guanyin sends her words, not her hands. I speak them."
Whispers rippled across the hall. The East had not yet bent fully to Olympus. They had watched, wary, quiet. For one of their voices to stand here meant something had shifted.
Metis nodded slightly. "Speak them, then."
The envoy hesitated only once. Then: "There is one in the East who does not bow. He mocks heaven itself, plays with divine law as though it were rope in his hands. Mortals chant his name with laughter. Spirits follow him freely. His staff breaks mountains. His shadow dances across the sky."
Her eyes lifted, dark under the veil. "The Monkey King. Sun Wukong."
The name fell like a stone in water.
Murmurs rose, sharp and restless. Even gods from far-off lands stirred uneasily, as though the name carried weight across realms.
Metis’s brow arched. "A trickster."
The envoy’s tone hardened. "Not merely. He challenges thrones. He calls himself ’Great Sage Equal to Heaven.’ If Olympus rules all, then this one tests that rule already. The East will not move against him. Too many cheer his defiance. They wait to see how Olympus answers."
The hall was restless now. Some gods muttered for Zeus to act. Others scoffed, dismissing a monkey born from stone. But all watched Metis, waiting for the Queen of Queens to answer.
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She did not rush. Her eyes lowered, gaze steady on the burning torch left by Agni. Flames danced, unbothered, though even fire bent when storm pressed.
Finally she spoke. "Olympus has seen countless who claimed to stand equal. Titans, primordials, even gods. None endured."
Her eyes lifted, sharp as cut glass. "If this Monkey King wishes to mock heaven, then Olympus will show him what heaven is."
The envoy bowed again, relief flickering in her voice. "I will carry your words. But know this—he will not hide. He will laugh when he hears them."
Metis’s lips curved faintly, a smile without warmth. "Let him laugh. Thunder is loudest after laughter."
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The envoy withdrew. The murmurs lingered, but none challenged her words. Metis raised her hand once more, and silence fell across the hall.
"Tributes are received. Complaints are heard. Olympus will act when Olympus must. For now, return to your realms. Keep your order. Do not mistake peace for weakness."
The hall stirred, gods bowing, some with reverence, others with reluctance. They left their offerings behind, treasures glowing against the marble floor. The great doors of the citadel opened and closed, their echoes carrying long into the night.
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At last, the hall was empty.
Metis sat still, her hands folded lightly in her lap, her gaze fixed on the empty throne above her. Zeus’s storm still lingered there, faint arcs of lightning crawling across the high seat. She reached out, brushing her fingers against the arm of her own seat, feeling its quiet weight.
Sun Wukong.
The name repeated in her mind. Not with fear, but with thought. Olympus had been challenged many times, but this was different. A mortal-born spirit who had clawed his way into legend, laughing at heaven itself. Such defiance spread faster than conquest.
Her eyes closed. "When you return, my king," she whispered, "you will have another fire to put out."
The storm above answered with a low rumble, as if Zeus himself heard her across the realms.
Metis straightened, her calm returning, her voice carrying only to the empty air. "Let the monkey dance for now. When the storm comes, it will not be play."
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Outside, Olympus shone, its rivers of light winding through endless sky. Mortals prayed in temples, gods walked among cities, the empire of Zeus stretched further than any before. Yet in the far East, on a mountain where stone cracked like egg-shells and laughter rang against the sky, a figure spun his staff and grinned at the heavens.
The storm would find him soon.
And he was waiting.