Thus, Linoës returned home—dwelling within the body of a youth felled by mishap.
His wife, incredulous at first, only believed when Linoës recounted secrets their marriage had kept. "Asclepius resurrected me. I shall proclaim his glory and build a temple grand—so all may worship!"
Exultant, he caressed his taut, youthful skin, oblivious to Heracles's impatient wait for tidings.
Soon, villagers marveled at the tale. Shrines to Asclepius sprouted overnight.
But as the thrill of rebirth faded, Linoës noticed his wife's retreat. She wept in silence, avoiding his gaze.
"Why look at me so coldly, my love?" he pleaded. "My devotion has not waned. Tell me your sorrow."
She shrank back, her murky eyes meeting his radiant visage. "A god's gift it may be, but I endure torment! To others, we appear as mother and son—not spouses. Fearful you'll spurn me, a withered crone…"
Linoës faltered. He had reveled in adoration—praises, awe, even flirtations—but never considered the whispers she endured.
Worst of all, repulsion stirred within him at the thought of sharing her bed. The vigor in his renewed limbs clashed with her aged flesh. Desire tormented him nightly, a cruel irony.
Her departure shattered the silence.
She fled to their ancestral home, forsaking the life she had nurtured. Compassion stirred among womenfolk, who cursed Linoës.
"An orphan found and nurtured by my father, yet he betrayed his benefactor so!"
"A woman's lot is bitterest of all!" they lamented. "Unwed, we're scorned; married, we're chattels or tyrants' servants. Divorce shames us—we cannot cast off husbands who disgrace us. We must master them—or perish!"
Hestia, goddess of hearth and home, heard their grievances.
When she learned Linoës, a soul reborn, had abandoned marital bonds, she ascended Olympus.
Meanwhile, Thanatos sought retribution. But Linoës, having discarded the stolen body and wandered aimlessly, confronted his estranged wife's decision with a strange mix of heartbreak and relief.
Finding her safe in her parents' abandoned home, his guilt dissolved. Instead of repentance, a new craving emerged—ambition.
He donned his youthful guise, dazzling nobles in a nearby city. Many noblewomen coveted him. Linoës, drunk on flattery, overlooked the perils of his tale-telling—until soldiers seized him.
The king, intrigued by the secret to immortality, plied him with wine. Intoxicated, Linoës divulged everything—the Gorgon's blood, Asclepius's defiance.
"The gods themselves bleed eternity," he boasted.
Greed consumed the king. He ordered Linoës strung up, his throat slit, blood collected for quaffing.
But the king's greed killed him first. Treacherous courtiers seized the chance, slaying their monarch and discarding Linoës's now-useless corpse.
No god answered Linoës's screams. His soul plunged to Tartarus.
On Olympus, Asclepius faced judgment.
"You, a son of Apollo, dared usurp death's dominion," Zeus thundered. "By defiling sacred blood, you've dishonored the Pantheon."
Even Helios and Selene, ancient deities of sun and dawn, dared not meddle with life's mysteries—for fear of Olympian wrath.
Peleus's plea for immortality echoed hollowly against Zeus's decree. Only Tyche's intervention granted him celestial honors—not because he deserved them, but because the cosmos could not bear his ceaseless lamentations.
"Thus," Zeus declared, "does hubris beget ruin. Asclepius, you sought to eclipse gods—now you shall kneel eternal in the abyss."
And so, the physician became a cautionary shade.
"Asclepius, mortal Linoës's soul—was it stolen by your hand? Did you resurrect him with the Gorgon Medusa's blood?"
Zeus's thunderous voice shattered the heavens. His grandson Asclepius held little favor in his eyes. The boy's mother, Clymene—goddess of renown—had once been the wife of Iapetus, a rebel who had schemed against Zeus for the throne.
Though Clymene, an Oceanid, escaped retribution, Zeus begrudged her lineage. Yet, out of respect for his mother and grandparents, he tolerated her quiet existence. Even Atlas's rebellion had not dimmed her luster.
"Lord of Olympus, father of life!" Asclepius pleaded. "I sought only to glimpse the power of resurrection—not to usurp your dominion. Linoës's soul was mine to reclaim from Hades; his body, a mortal's long dead. I broke no laws."
"You stole a soul from the Underworld and bound it to another's flesh!" Zeus roared, hurling a thunderbolt forged by the Cyclopes. The weapon split Asclepius in twain.
Apollo sprang forward but was restrained by Artemis. "Foolish brother, would you defy our father? Look closely—your son lives."
Indeed, the halves of Asclepius writhed with vitality. Lightning coursed through his torn form, invigorating him. From the fragments emerged two goddesses.
The elder, bearing Asclepius's divine essence, radiated the power of healing. "Grandfather, I am Eirene—goddess of solace and health," she declared, kneeling. Zeus named her Ephione.
The younger, weaker but vibrant, embodied youth. "I am Hebe, goddess of primeval vigor," she said, bowing.
Apollo, now a father of daughters instead of a son, brooded. "At least they'll be safe from suitors," he mused bitterly.
Meanwhile, Heracles raged. When Linoës's bones crumbled to dust, he stormed Asclepius's temple, shattering altars. Apollo's curse struck—each outburst drove Heracles closer to madness.
In a fit of rage during a duel, he slew his friend Iphitus. Wracked with guilt, the hero fled, abandoning his throne. He sold himself into slavery to Queen Omphale of Lydia, seeking redemption.
Far away, Thetis—the sea nymph favored by all Olympians—was to wed King Peleus.
Peleus's bloodline rivaled Perseus's: grandson of Poseidon and Aegina, son of Aeacus and the nymph Psamathe. With divine ancestry and his parents' support, he ruled a thriving kingdom.
The Primordial Sea Gods, weakened after their feud with Pontus, slunk into obscurity. Resentful, they vented their ire on Electra, wife of Thaumas—a slight the latter avenged by clashing with Ceto. Only Nereus's mediation quelled the conflict.
Electra's departure further diminished the Primordials. As a member of the Danaides (goddesses of tranquility) alongside Leto and Hypnos, her absence left a void. Her kinship to Tyche and Zeus elevated her status—Athena spared them outright for this reason.
Electra's sisters, the Oceanids, petitioned Athena to avenge her. Though embroiled in her own war with Poseidon, Athena saw opportunity: diminishing the Primordials weakened Poseidon's claim to supremacy.
Nereus, sensing danger, submitted to Poseidon. The title King of the Deep gained newfound weight, bolstering the sea god's prestige.
Two titans clashed over a coastal city-state. Athena and Poseidon vied for its patronage, each wielding divine might. For Zeus and Hera, it was a matter of pride; for their followers, survival. Neither would relent.