The Tree of Golden Apples, also known as the Tree of the Hesperides, was a creation of both divine elegance and primordial power.
It stood at the edge of the world, where time twisted and the stars burned closer. Its roots stretched deep into the bones of Gaia herself, drawing nourishment not just from soil, but from the essence of the Earth's will. The bark was a dark, gleaming obsidian etched with glowing golden veins that pulsed like a heartbeat—living, ancient, and aware.
Its leaves shimmered between green and gold, rustling with a sound like whispered prophecy, each one infused with fragments of fate. The tree's branches reached high and wide, crowned with radiant, golden apples that glow with an ethereal light, each one perfect, untouched by decay or age.
The apples were divine artifacts. Each golden apple held immense power:
The ability to grant immortality or restore divine vitality.
A catalyst of chaos or enlightenment, depending on who eats it.
Some say even a single bite could rewrite destiny or awaken dormant godhood.
The air around the tree was thick with magic, a blend of serenity and warning. It drew in those who seek power, yet punished the unworthy with illusions, madness, or worse.
It was a guardian, a test, and a curse, created in harmony between Gaia and a forgotten force older than Olympus.
And at its base… always… the Hesperides.
The Hesperides stood vigil by the golden apple tree. It had been centuries since anything of true significance disturbed the peace of the garden. But when the shift came, when the cosmos whispered Azazel's name wrapped in chains and judgment, it reached them.
Erytheia clutched her golden blade, eyes wide with ancient recognition. "She's awake."
Khrysothemis, ever serene, whispered, "The Lady returns."
Aigle stepped forward, face pale and jaw clenched. "Do you feel it? The pulse. She is angry."
For they knew. More than any being save Gaia herself, how protective she could be of things she cared about. When someone or something erupts her wrath... nothing survives.
Because long ago, before the great war in Heaven, before Lucifer fell, there had been a guardian of this garden. Not a goddess. Not a nymph. But an angel—a being unlike anything Olympus had ever seen.
Her name had been Eveningstar.
And it was from her blood that they had been born.
~☆~
Long, long ago,
Long before Olympus was built, before Titans rose and fell, Gaia, the Primordial of Earth, felt a shift in the weave of fate. The Tree of Golden Apples—her divine creation, born from her very soul—held power too great for even the gods to fully understand. It was meant to be a gift to the world, a bridge between immortality and enlightenment. But Gaia saw what could come of it.
She saw jealousy, greed, and the ambition of gods.
She foresaw wars waged over a single fruit, civilizations rising and crumbling because of whispered promises the apples made.
And so, she sought someone outside of Fate.
Someone older than prophecy, unbound by Olympian politics, and powerful enough to scare even the reckless away.
She found Hespera.
A celestial anomaly. A being born from both divine light and ancient darkness.
Unwritten by history. Unseen by destiny. Forgotten by design.
Beneath the stillness of twilight, where the stars had not yet risen and the earth still held the sun's warmth, Gaia emerged from the folds of the land—her form ancient, boundless, yet impossibly gentle. She rose from the roots of the world like a breath from stone, clad in robes of bark, moss, and starlight.
And sitting atop a low marble column carved from moonstone, idly twirling a thread of darkness between her fingers, was Hespera Eveningstar.
She didn't even look up as Gaia stepped into the glade.
"So. The Mother of Earth herself deigns to visit little old me. I'm flattered."
Gaia's smile was serene, but tired. "You are not little, Eveningstar. And you know that."
Hespera smirked. "Still. I assume this isn't a social call. I haven't exactly been invited to Olympus' tea parties."
"No." Gaia's tone turned solemn. "This is… something else."
Hespera finally raised her gaze, her eyes gleaming with a flicker of interest. "Do tell."
Gaia exhaled, and the trees around them swayed in response—as if nature itself leaned in to listen.
"There is a Tree," Gaia said, her voice like wind through ancient leaves. "A sacred thing. Born of my breath and my blood. It grows on the edge of the world, in a place that bridges this realm with others. It bears fruit unlike any seen before—golden apples."
Hespera's brow lifted. "Oh? Immortality fruit? Sounds tempting."
"Too tempting," Gaia said quietly. "Even gods crave what lies on those branches. Already whispers have reached me—Zeus, Hera, the Titans, even whispers from foreign pantheons. All desire what is not meant for them."
"And you want me to do what exactly?"
"I want you to make it unapproachable."
Hespera blinked, leaning back slightly. "A bit dramatic, don't you think?"
"It is not," Gaia said. "Even you would struggle to match the desire this fruit will inspire. And I cannot protect it myself—I am too ancient, too rooted. I need someone who understands power. Who commands respect. Who walks between light and shadow."
Hespera's smirk faded, replaced by something quieter. "…You want a deterrent."
"I want a warning," Gaia said. "A living, breathing truth that some things are not meant to be taken."
The silence stretched for a moment. Birds didn't sing. Even the wind held its breath.
Finally, Hespera stood. "Fine."
Gaia's eyes narrowed slightly. "Just like that?"
Hespera shrugged. "I'm bored. And it sounds fun. Should there be any other reason?"
Then she paused, placing a hand lightly over her chest.
"But I won't do it alone."
From her palm, a drop of radiant blood shimmered—half creation, half Divinity.
She flicked it into the air.
"From my blood, I'll make daughters. Let them be beauty and death, sunset and flame, mirage and fury."
Gaia bowed her head. "Then they shall be named after you."
"The Hesperides," Hespera whispered, as the golden apples shimmered into being somewhere far beyond mortal reach.
"Let them be the song at twilight before the dark."
~☆~
In the garden where twilight never faded and golden apples shimmered like captured suns, the Hesperides stood together beneath the Tree.
The air was heavy with fragrance—sweet, nostalgic, and eternal. Yet it was not enough.
Not anymore.
Aigle, radiant and fierce, paced near the tree's roots, her golden eyes narrowed. "It has been eons," she said, her voice tinged with restlessness. "She promised she'd return."
Erytheia, the most solemn of the three, leaned against the marble pedestal where their mother once sat, watching the leaves shimmer in the half-light. "She didn't promise. She said, 'Eventually.'"
"Which is worse," Aigle snapped, stopping to glare at the horizon beyond the garden. "Eventually could mean never. And I'm tired of waiting. We were born of her—cut from her blood and flame. Are we not worthy of her presence?"
Khrysothemis, ever calm, brushed a hand along one of the low-hanging apples. It hummed at her touch. "Perhaps she remains away for our safety. The world is not as it was when Mother created us."
"But neither are we." Aigle's voice had risen, sharp and trembling. "We are daughters of nature and dusk. Born of her will, guardians of a treasure even gods covet. Yet we've never once stood by her side. Not truly."
Erytheia's voice softened. "Do you believe she would want us to leave? Abandon our purpose?"
"She would want us to live," Khrysothemis murmured, stepping between them. "To decide for ourselves. Isn't that what she always said? That we are more than fate?"
The garden fell silent then, the tree's golden leaves rustling like whispered approval.
A hundred eyes watched them from the shadows.
Ladon, the great hundred-headed dragon, coiled protectively around the tree's roots, all of his heads watching in still silence. Loyal. Eternal.
Erytheia stepped toward him. "Will you keep it safe, old friend?"
One of Ladon's golden heads nodded slowly. The others blinked, one by one, in solemn understanding.
Khrysothemis pressed a hand to the tree's bark, and the golden apples shimmered in response.
Aigle turned to the gate—an ancient arch grown from silver vines that shimmered with divine runes.
"So it's decided?"
Erytheia nodded. "We go. We find her."
Khrysothemis smiled, bittersweet. "And for once, we will not be the tools for any of the gods…"
"…We will belong to her. Just like it was always meant to be."
With that, the three sisters stepped beyond the garden.
The twilight faded behind them, but before them stretched a world waiting to remember who the Hesperides truly were.
~☆~
In a quiet grove where no mortal dared tread, the moon shone brighter than usual.
Diana stood beneath its gaze, her bow resting against a tree, her expression unreadable.
The whispers had reached even her. Lucifer Morningstar's twin had awakened. The daughter of the Biblical God. A being of angel, phoenix, and dragon.
Memories long buried clawed their way to the surface.
A long-forgotten affair.
Moonlight and rebellion. Whispers and wine. A passion forged in defiance of divine law.
She remembered his eyes—Lucifer's—filled with fire and sorrow.
Diana closed her eyes, breath catching. "Why...why did you leave. I thought you were happy with us."
Tears long buried in a cage of heartbreak finally broke free, trailing down her cheeks.
"...Why?"