Ares-
The golden spires of Olympus shimmered in the morning light like a mirage from another realm. The mortals gasped behind me as we rode through the gates—some dropping to their knees, others clutching their hearts or whispering prayers. Olympus had that effect on the small and weak.
Kamaria sat rigid in front of me on the horse, her spine a tense line of quiet dread. She hadn't spoken a word since dawn. Not even when we crossed into the cloud-veiled skies that shielded this place from mortal view. Her silence wasn't strength—it was terror wrapped in defiance. Like she was holding herself together by the thinnest thread.
Still, she didn't tremble.
Athena stood at the marble steps, flanked by silent guards and the statues of gods long dead or worshipped. Her silver eyes pierced through the morning haze.
"You took your time," she said coolly.
"I brought them intact, didn't I?" I muttered back.
Athena's gaze slid to Kamaria, still perched in the saddle. She studied her for a beat longer than necessary, eyes unreadable. Then she looked back at me, unimpressed.
"Zeus is waiting."
I dismounted. My boots hit the marble like war drums softened by distance. I turned to Kamaria. She blinked at me, uncertain whether to move or stay frozen. Before she could decide, I reached up and gripped her waist—firm, not rough—and lifted her down.
She was stiff in my arms, her limbs locked, but she didn't resist. When her feet touched the gleaming stone, she looked around for half a heartbeat—then lowered her gaze.
And then—almost hesitantly—she bowed.
It was a mortal's bow. Deep and awkward, the kind done from instinct rather than reverence. Too slow, too uncertain. It was fear wearing the costume of respect.
Athena said nothing and walked away
Kamaria didn't look up right away. When she finally did, her eyes flicked briefly to me, wide and unsure, then dropped again. She shifted, edging toward the cart that bore the boy—Ogunyemi.
I clenched my jaw.
"Take the villagers to the lower quarters," I said. "Keep them under watch. And bring her to me when I call."
The guards moved at once, barking orders and herding the mortals like cattle. Kamaria rushed toward the cart without waiting for permission, brushing past the glinting armor and spears.
And I…
I watched her go longer than I should have.
She knelt beside the boy, whispered something I couldn't hear. Her hand hovered protectively near his head. A girl who'd just bowed before a goddess—now standing defiant beside a sleeping boy like a guardian spirit carved from clay.
Then—she turned back.
Her eyes met mine, searching. Not angry. Not begging. Just… confused. And something else. Something too soft for war and too raw for worship.
I turned away before I could name it.
The scent of rosewater and ashes clung to me like a curse. I strode toward Zeus's hall without another word.
...
Kamaria-
The sky here didn't feel like home.
In Ife Ikoro, the clouds rolled like lullabies. The sun wore dust like jewelry. Here, everything gleamed like it had never tasted earth. Even the wind felt tight-lipped, as if it feared being overheard.
I held my breath without knowing I had.
Ares rode behind me like a storm that hadn't yet broken—his heat, his silence, the tension between us so loud it felt like thunder under my skin. I didn't dare speak. I barely moved. My body ached from the journey, but I held still.
Then I saw her.
A woman, tall as judgment, waiting at the top of marble steps. She glowed like moonlight carved into armor, with eyes like silver stone. I didn't know her name, but my body knew what she was. Not mortal. Not safe. Not meant to be stared at too long.
Ares dismounted.
I blinked fast, heart hammering. Should I follow? Should I wait? Would I be punished for moving?
Before I could choose, his hands circled my waist.
He lifted me gently, like I weighed nothing—but my heart sank like a stone. My feet hit the polished ground. I stood still, swaying slightly.
Then the stories came rushing back.
Of women who walked too proudly before gods and never walked again.
So I bowed.
Slowly. Clumsily. Like a child mimicking a dance she barely understood. My head bowed not from reverence—but from fear. Not of her, but of what I didn't know.
No one told me to rise.
No one told me anything.
When I lifted my head, the air felt too quiet. She said nothing and walked away. The guards said nothing. Only Ares spoke.
"Take the villagers to the lower quarters. Keep them under watch," he said. "Bring her to me when I call."
Her.
Not my name. Just her.
I turned toward the cart.
I rushed to my father's side, but my eyes found Ogunyemi first. He was still, too still, and something in my chest clenched. My legs moved before thought could catch up. I dropped to my knees beside him, searching his face, then pressed a hand gently to his chest—just to be sure. A rise. A fall. Still breathing.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
He was alive.
That was enough.
The warriors in gold barked orders, moving like lightning in armor, but I tuned them out. My focus narrowed. Just Baba. Just Ogunyemi. I reached a hand toward Ogunyemi's head, as if I could shield him with touch alone.
Then I felt it.
Something behind me, pulling my attention like a string tied to my ribs.
I looked over my shoulder.
Ares.
Watching.
Not cruel. Not cold. Just there. Seeing me.
And I didn't look away.
Not at first.
The gods say nothing without meaning. Do nothing without consequence. I didn't know what his eyes meant—but I felt them. The weight of his gaze. The memory of smoke, cedarwood, and something citrus-sweet still clinging to my skin.
Then he turned and left, walking toward a grand hall I didn't recognize. It gleamed too bright to look at for long. I guessed it was Zeus's.
I should have been more afraid.
Instead, I felt… awake.
Alive.
And that terrified me more than anything else.