Chapter 55: Helios—Phaethon (3)
Of course, kindness had nothing to do with what followed…
“Waaah! Let’s get out of here!”
Neighhh!
Just as Demeter had predicted, the divine horses and Phaethon completely lost their composure, unable even to think about finding the proper course again.
To be precise—the divine horses were trying their best to focus and follow the path Demeter was forcing open for them.
But Phaethon, overwhelmed by the sheer force of a goddess’s power, was utterly panicked.
The wild horses galloped madly, setting the world ablaze as they went, until at last they reached the edge of the sea.
The instant they did, the sea surged upward, and the blazing sun met the rising waters, releasing a hiss of scalding steam.
Sssshhhhhhh!
“Demeter! You send something like that into my domain?!”
Fortunately, Poseidon had received Demeter’s message in advance and had already taken measures to protect all sea creatures.
Even so, facing this sudden crisis was enough to make him want to tear his hair out.
“That accursed Helios—what have you done now?”
The massive sphere of the sun and the vast orb of the ocean collided with a thunderous crash.
Later, the gods would say that the impact was as great as the clash that had forged the world itself.
The shockwaves ravaged the underworld and the deep sea alike—a calamity to all below.
Power against power.
Thunder-like roars filled the heavens as the sphere of water transformed into a nine-headed dragon that lunged at the chariot.
In response, the divine horses—fierce in their loyalty—took on the blazing form of a lion of flame to protect Phaethon.
BOOOOM!
Meanwhile, Helios was being thoroughly cursed out by his sister Selene.
“You insane, sun-blinded fool! Fix this mess now! You absolute—!!!”
Her voice was so shrill it could have cracked marble.
The problem was—Helios had no way to fix it.
The Sun Chariot carried the very power of the Sun itself. The divine steeds were desperately trying to shield their master’s son.
Anyone could see that—Poseidon’s ocean beasts and the chariot’s fiery steeds were clashing in a battle of cosmic forces.
To stop that chariot by force would require a blow so great that no mortal—or even most gods—could possibly survive it.
Which meant… Helios would have to kill his own son with his own hands.
“What… what am I supposed to do…?”
Elsewhere, Zeus was even more unsettled than Helios.
“Moros, didn’t you say it would only spark a little impulsiveness?”
“Zeus,” Moros replied coolly, “emotions are not so simple. I only gave him a touch of impulse. It was he who fed it.”
“You—”
Zeus clenched his teeth.
His original plan had been simple: use Helios’s beloved son, Phaethon, to ruin the sun god’s divine reputation and weaken his influence.
But now… things had gone far beyond what he intended.
Still—Zeus decided to brazen it out.
Luckily, no more than two or three beings even knew about his scheme.
‘If I can keep Hera and Poseidon quiet, this will stay buried.’
Watching the chaos from afar—and how Poseidon’s efforts were keeping the damage somewhat contained—Zeus hardened his expression.
“At times like this, someone must act for the good of the world,” he said solemnly.
Moros gave him a dry, unimpressed look.
‘The King of the Gods… truly the master of hypocrisy.’
But Zeus didn’t notice.
Wearing the face of a noble savior, he rose into the heavens in a blaze of lightning.
Moros, bound by an oath to the River Styx, couldn’t betray his secret even if he wanted to—so Zeus had nothing to fear.
Meanwhile, the war between the Sun and the Sea only grew fiercer.
From Poseidon’s point of view, killing the boy in the chariot would have been easy—but he couldn’t.
Because Tethys herself had come to him, pleading.
“Poseidon, I know I ask too much of you. But please—do not kill the boy.
He is my daughter’s precious son, and it was my failure not to stop him when he took the chariot.
I will bear full responsibility for whatever happens in the sea once this is over. But I beg you…”
Recalling her tearful plea, Poseidon sighed deeply.
Whatever happened, this wouldn’t end cleanly.
For now, the ocean was protected—he, Eurynome, Amphitrite, and the mighty sea nymphs had raised barriers strong enough to hold.
But he couldn’t simply allow this chaos to rage unchecked either.
“Easy now, easy… I’m not trying to hurt your master.”
Neighhhhhh!
“Wait—you mean you can’t control it either?”
Snort, prrrrrhh!
“What do you mean, Phaethon’s panic has merged with the Sun’s essence? So what I’m seeing right now is the best you can manage?”
After a brief exchange with the divine steeds, Poseidon pressed his temples. His head throbbed from the stress.
“Then what do you propose? Should we send it back to the heavens?”
Whinny, snort!
“Oceanus could receive it, you say? That means it needs to turn back! Do you think the Sun’s essence will just let that happen?”
Prrhrrhh, huff!
“Ah… so you mean it has to rise again to loop back around. Very well. I’ll guide it upward.”
After settling their plan, Poseidon turned his gaze toward Phaethon—whose eyes now burned with the madness of the Sun itself—and sighed.
“You wished for more than your fate would allow…”
Then, raising his trident high, he summoned a colossal serpent of water.
The serpent coiled and twisted, carving a shining path through the sea toward the sky.
Behind it, a massive turtle rose from the depths and began pushing the chariot upward with its mighty shell.
“Go now. I’ll mark the way back to your rightful place.”
Neighhh!
Clatter, clatter!
The Sun’s divine energy roared in protest, thrashing in rage, but the steeds held firm—driven forward by Poseidon’s will and their duty to protect their master’s son.
While the divine horses galloped desperately skyward, racing toward the edge of Oceanus to return to their course, something else stirred above.
In the heavens, Zeus prepared his move in secret.
A thunderclap shook the clear sky.
Blue and golden lightning branched and spread across the firmament, weaving a storm of pure divinity.
The King of the Gods was gathering his full might.
The bolt that formed in his grasp blazed with a yellow brilliance that split the wounded sky apart, leaving cracks that burned like scars.
“…Sigh. A king must sometimes make cruel choices.”
Anyone who knew the truth of the situation—like Moros—would have been struck speechless by his hypocrisy.
Yet Zeus calmly took aim, feigning the face of solemn duty.
Below, Phaethon, his mind consumed entirely by the solar essence, wrestled with his own steeds, locked in a destructive struggle that tore the heavens and the sea alike.
Zeus hurled the bolt.
KA-BOOOOOOOM!
The world was drowned in white light.
The oceanic path Poseidon had forged vanished in an instant, boiled into mist.
The gods who watched could only stare, frozen, as if time itself had stopped.
The lightning pierced through Phaethon, shattering the Sun Chariot.
The sacred fire dispersed—and Phaethon’s body turned black, his flesh seared into charcoal.
Moments later, his limp form plummeted from the sky, his burned skin glowing faintly from residual heat.
Helios, riding on Selene’s moon-chariot in a desperate attempt to reach him, saw it happen.
“No—!!!”
His scream echoed across heaven and earth.
The shock was too great. The Sun God fainted where he stood, undone by the weight of his own failure—his own child, slain by his pride and negligence.
But fate showed a sliver of mercy.
As Phaethon fell, the nymphs of the Eridanos River rose from their waters and caught him gently.
“This is the foolish boy who scorched the lands, the forests, and the mountains alike…”
When they looked closer, they found that he was—barely—still breathing.
His body was broken and burned beyond recognition, his soul shattered by divine energy.
Having absorbed the Sun’s power and taken the full strike of Zeus’s bolt, his survival was uncertain.
Only the faint traces of Poseidon’s protective magic shielded him from death outright.
Now, whether he would live or die—only Chaos itself could know.
“Phaethon!”
From afar, Clymene came running with her daughters, the Heliades.
“Ah… I should have stopped him… I should have stopped him myself…”
As the gods above scrambled to repair the burned world, Clymene and her daughters worked frantically to save the boy.
“We will save him. No matter what it takes.”
They brewed every healing elixir known to the gods—
From sea-grown regeneration herbs and nymph corals to the luminous pearls of Calypso herself,
All gifts from Tethys, who wept for her grandson.
But tragedy breeds tragedy.
While Clymene poured her soul into reviving Phaethon, the Heliades began to feel the weight of divine punishment.
Their limbs grew heavy—then stiff—until their feet rooted into the earth.
The curse had begun.
“Ahh! My arms—!”
“Mother!!!”
“Please, help us!”
One by one, their cries echoed through the scorched world,
As their bodies turned into trees, and their tears—into drops of amber.
The Heliades, whose legs had already begun to turn into wood, finally let out one last scream before their bodies hardened completely into poplar trees.
And the tears they shed fell as golden drops — becoming amber that flowed down their bark.
In later ages, it was said that the amber tears of the Heliades possessed miraculous powers of healing and regeneration.
***
“Ah… even my daughters…”
From the heavens, the goddess Demeter watched the despairing figure of Clymene, who wept beneath her daughters’ roots.
“The sin of your son is too great,” Demeter murmured.
“Your family must bear his burden. The world he destroyed cannot simply return to happiness without consequence.”
Demeter, who had turned the Heliades into poplars, longed to strike down Phaethon as well — the boy who had caused this tragedy.
But she could not.
She could feel Helios’s gaze upon her.
If she went any further, if she dared to harm his son, then the Sun God—now in shock—might awaken in wrath and act.
***
“Demeter, don’t you think that’s too harsh? Those girls did nothing wrong,” said Hestia, gently.
“If we forgive every creature on earth,” Demeter replied coldly, “then what punishment could ever reach the guilty?”
“Phaethon — that foolish child — nearly destroyed everything under the sun. Ethiopia lies in ruins because of him.”
“But… Clymene… she’s Tethys’ kin — the daughter of Oceanus himself!”
“……”
Demeter fell silent at that.
Even so — even if they were of divine blood — this was unforgivable.
Everything that had happened was born from Phaethon’s own arrogance.
***
When Helios awoke from his faint and saw his daughters turned to trees before his very eyes, his heart was crushed.
Clymene, broken by despair, refused to eat or speak.
She tended only to Phaethon’s still body, keeping vigil beside the trees her daughters had become.
And Helios could do nothing for them.
No prayer, no light, no divine word could ease their suffering.
“Since the dawn of creation, I have borne the burden of the Sun without rest,” he whispered.
“And this… this is my reward?
You gods dare to treat my children so?
Then let one of you drive the chariot!
Let you try to command the Sun’s fury, to tame its sacred horses.
Then you’ll understand what judgment you’ve passed upon my family.”
With that, Helios sealed the gates of his palace and withdrew.
It was both an act of rebellion and self-destruction —
A threat that could shake the heavens, yet one that cost him his honor.
But Helios no longer cared.
***
Soon, the world was plunged into darkness.
No ray of sunlight touched the earth.
The wounds that had just begun to heal reopened, festering once more.
The air grew cold, the land froze, and the spirits of the dead began to rise —
The armies of Hades walking freely upon the mortal realm.
Rivers and fields turned to ice;
Mortals starved and froze where they stood.
Those too weak to resist became prey to the roaming wraiths.
The gods quickly realized the enormity of what was happening.
Their punishment of Phaethon had unleashed a catastrophe beyond imagining.
***
“Things have become dire,” said one god gravely.
“Yes,” answered Hephaestus.
“Even my forge won’t burn hot enough anymore. No matter how I stoke the flames, they won’t rise.”
“The same for us,” said Artemis. “The beasts are frozen solid — my hunters have no prey left.”
Zeus listened in silence before turning to Demeter.
“Will you not forgive the Heliades?” he asked.
“Zeus,” she replied, “no matter what you say — they are guilty. Had they succeeded, all life on earth might have been lost. And now Helios dares to use his position to blackmail us with darkness. I cannot condone it.”
— “She’s right,” murmured one god.
“Even Helios has gone too far this time.”
— “But still… he has labored tirelessly since the dawn of time. That must count for something.”
— “A sin is a sin. Divine or mortal, punishment must be served.”
As the debate raged, Zeus maintained a calm expression — but inside, he felt conflicted, guilty, even a little ashamed.
He hadn’t meant for things to spiral like this.
All he had done was plant a small spark of impulsiveness into Phaethon’s heart.
How could he have known it would lead to this?
If Poseidon had been there, he might have pitied Zeus.
He would have reminded him that Phaethon was always destined to steal the chariot,
With or without divine meddling.
At that moment, Hera, who had been watching silently, sent a whisper directly into Zeus’s mind.
— Zeus. Did you have a hand in this?
— What?
— I have no proof yet, but the circumstances fit too neatly. You spoke to me about Phaethon before all this began… And Iris herself has confirmed that you met with Moros shortly before the boy acted.
— That’s…