I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

The battlefield had fallen into a stunned silence.

Nobody could quite grasp what had just happened.

Moments ago, Khillea and Hector had been locked in a battle of legends—a clash worthy of the greatest epics. The outcome had seemed inevitable; Khillea had dominated the fight, pushing Hector to his limits, and in the final moments, she had brought him down. Victory was in her grasp.

But then—something struck her.

Something unseen, something terrifying.

Most of the mortals had seen nothing. To them, it was as if an invisible force had intervened, hurling Khillea away like a mere doll before a titan. Only the gods had perceived it—an icy aura, faster than the wind, had surged across the battlefield and struck Khillea with overwhelming force.

And then, an enormous wall of ice had erupted from the ground, severing the Greeks from their fallen foe. Hector and the mysterious presence behind the freezing mist had vanished beyond it.

The warriors on both sides could only stare, frozen in confusion and awe.

“What… just happened?” Athena’s voice broke the silence, her wide eyes locked onto the towering ice barrier.

The night had fallen, and with it, the battle came to an unceremonious end. The Trojans, still dazed by what had transpired, had already begun their retreat, marking the conclusion of today’s bloodshed.

But Athena was not satisfied. She turned sharply toward Hera, her golden gaze searching for answers. “Where is he?! Where are they? Hera, do you see them?”

But Hera didn’t respond immediately. She stood motionless, staring at the ice with an expression that sent a chill through Athena’s spine.

Then, in a whisper, she spoke.

“Do you feel it, Athena?”

Athena frowned. “Feel what?”

Hera’s fingers curled into a tight fist as she exhaled sharply. “Look closely at the ice. This… this is Khione’s ice.”

“Khione?” Athena’s brows furrowed. “Are you saying she’s responsible for this?”

Hera shook her head. “No. It wasn’t her.” Her voice wavered—an unfamiliar uncertainty creeping into it. She hesitated before speaking again, but when she did, her next words sent a jolt through Athena’s chest.

“I think… I saw Heiron.”

Athena’s body stiffened. Her head snapped toward Hera, disbelief flashing across her face. “What are you saying? Heiron is dead.”

“I know,” Hera murmured, her gaze still fixed on the ice as if trying to confirm her own words. “But I swear, for the briefest moment, I saw him… yet he looked different. He wasn’t the same. He looked like Khione. And… he was using her power.”

A tense silence passed between them.

Finally, Athena spoke, her voice laced with suspicion. “Khione disappeared a year ago. Do you think she has something to do with this?”

Hera’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t know.” She clenched her fists tighter, her divine aura crackling with barely contained fury. “But if Heiron has returned… then he must be sent back to the underworld where he belongs.”

Athena exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. “You’re imagining things, Hera. No mere mortal can return from death. Not even with Apollo and Aphrodite’s favor. Death is absolute.”

Hera’s glare darkened. “I don’t know what I saw,” she snapped. “But I intend to find out. And whoever is responsible for this… will be punished.”

With that, she vanished, her rage crackling in the air like a brewing storm.

Hector should have died.

Hector should have fallen, and with him, Troy would have crumbled within a week.

Yet once again—someone interfered.

Hera’s fury was boundless as she stormed into Olympus, the grand halls trembling beneath her divine wrath. “Zeus! What’s the meaning of this?!” she erupted, her voice shaking the heavens.

The last time she had dared to confront him, Zeus had rejected her so coldly, so violently, that she hadn’t even set foot in Olympus for fear of his wrath. But this time, her rage overpowered her caution.

Zeus sat upon his throne, watching her with an unreadable expression.

Hera’s eyes burned with accusation. “Don’t tell me you brought him back! Did you do it, Zeus?! Did you bring Heiron back to life?!”

Zeus’s expression did not change. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Zeus!” Hera’s voice cracked like thunder. “I know who it was! It was Heiron! You brought him back, didn’t you?!”

A soft chuckle echoed through the hall.

“Even Father wouldn’t have such power,” Hermes interjected smoothly, stepping forward with an easy smile as if to shield Zeus from the accusation. “Not even he can undo death’s decree, Mother Hera.”

Hera’s fists trembled with fury. “Then how did he return?! We saw him perish—his very body turned to ashes! This is a violation of the cosmic laws!”

For a moment, Zeus said nothing. Then, slowly, he rose from his throne, his presence suffocating.

“I need to speak with Hades.” His voice was cold, final. “Until I return, none of you will interfere.”

His piercing gaze met Hera’s, and in it, there was no mercy. “And Hera… if you disobey me again, I will kill you this time.”

Hera’s body stiffened. The weight of Zeus’s words was absolute, but she held her ground, her divine aura crackling in silent defiance.

Zeus did not wait for a response. He vanished in a flash of golden lightning.

A tense silence lingered in the throne room until Hermes turned his gaze downward, watching the Trojan battlefield with a smirk.

“You’ve surpassed all my expectations.”

A thrill ran through him as he watched the chaos below. Nathan—no, Heiron—had died. There was no question about it. And yet, he was back. Even Hermes, in all his cunning, had no idea how it had happened.

Hera clenched her fists so tightly that blood would have spilled had she been mortal. “That bitch Khione… I knew she was alive. She must have had something to do with this.” Her voice seethed with venom before she, too, vanished in a gust of divine fury.

A slow, amused laugh echoed from a nearby couch. Dionysus, reclining lazily with a goblet in hand, smirked at the unfolding drama. “Just when I thought this war was dull, it’s finally getting interesting.”

Hermes turned to his half-brother, a knowing glint in his eyes. “You’ve yet to take a side, Dionysus. Who do you think will win?”

Dionysus swirled the wine in his goblet, his smirk widening. “If that man is truly Heiron… then the Greeks are doomed. Anyone who defies even death itself does so for a reason.” He took a slow sip before chuckling. “And I can’t wait to see what that reason is.”

Hermes smiled, his gaze once more fixed upon the city of Troy.

°°°°°°

Inside the great halls of Troy, unease gripped the air like an unshakable curse.

“Hold on, Hector!” Aeneas gritted his teeth as he dragged Hector’s limp body across the marble floor of the throne hall, desperate to get him to safety.

Somehow, Hector had made it inside the walls of Troy. Yet the figure who had carried him—the one who had saved him—was nowhere to be seen. It was as if they had vanished into thin air.

Aeneas carefully laid Hector’s broken form upon the cold ground. The prince’s breath was shallow, his body slick with blood, but he was still alive. Barely.

The throne room was packed. King Priam, Queen Hecuba, Paris—every noble and warrior of significance had gathered, their eyes fixed on the dying champion of Troy.

Five healers knelt around him, their hands trembling as they worked feverishly to stem the bleeding. Their magic and herbs had come just in time; the worst of his wounds had been stabilized. But Hector remained pale, his body fighting against the pull of the underworld.

“H…Hector…” Andromache’s sobs shattered the tense silence. She clutched her husband’s hand, tears cascading down her face. She had truly believed she would lose him.

Beside her, Hecuba clung to Priam’s hand, her nails digging into his skin. Not Hector. Not her firstborn.

Across the room, Kassandra stood frozen, her mind caught between two warring emotions—relief and horror.

Relief, because her brother was alive. Horror, because he shouldn’t be.

She had seen it. The golden-armored woman had slain him—she had seen him die.

And yet, here he was.

The room buzzed with whispers.

“Who… who saved him?” Clytemnestra was the first to voice the question lingering in everyone’s mind.

What had carried Hector back?

What was it?

Her sharp gaze flickered toward Priam, searching for answers. Perhaps it had been some hidden trump card of Troy’s king?

But Priam slowly shook his head. “I do not know.” His voice was grave, heavy with the weight of uncertainty. “But whoever it was, they have saved not only my son… but the soul of Troy itself.”

“Saved?” Paris scoffed, his tone laced with suspicion. “What if this is a trick? What if this ‘savior’ is our enemy?”

A cold laugh rang through the air.

“At least they were more useful to Hector than you were.”

Every head turned toward Helen.

Paris stiffened, his lips parting in shock. “Helen—”

“Your brother fought to protect you, even as he lay dying.” Helen’s voice was sharp, cutting through him like a blade. “And you hid behind him.”

Tears still glistened on her cheeks—remnants of grief, of anger, of memories of her own brother, Castor, who had not been so lucky.

“I… I was going to save him!” Paris stammered, but his voice wavered.

Helen turned away, eyes filled with quiet contempt. She didn’t believe him.

Neither did anyone else.

A hush fell over the room.

Polyxena, standing at the edge of the gathering, whispered under her breath, “I wonder who he is…”

The moment she spoke, an unnatural chill seeped into the air.

The grand doors of the throne room, bolted shut, groaned under an unseen force. A breath of frost curled through the gaps, slithering into the chamber like living mist.

Aeneas was the first to react, his sword flashing as he leapt to his feet.

Every warrior followed suit, hands gripping hilts, eyes darting toward the disturbance.

The temperature plummeted. The torches flickered wildly before dimming, as though something had stolen their warmth.

Then—the frost moved.

It twisted, condensed, and began to take form.

A silhouette emerged, standing amidst the swirling ice.

A man.