Ares-
The doors of Zeus' hall swung open with a thunderous groan, echoing through the polished marble like a warning. My footsteps followed, heavy and deliberate. Behind me, a warrior bore a silver platter draped in crimson cloth—the stench of dried blood still clinging to it despite the perfume of Olympus. Ogun's head. My prize. My offering.
I approached the throne.
My Father, Zeus, sat tall, his form glowing faintly with divine power, lightning dancing at his fingertips even when he was at rest. His eyes—cold and ancient—met mine with something like satisfaction but Cold. Victory was his favorite taste, and I had delivered it to his table.
"My son," he said, voice booming. "You have done well. Ogun is dead, and his head rests where it belongs. You've brought power back to Olympus… and a fine collection of slaves."
I gave a curt nod, fists clenched at my sides. My chest rose and fell with pride I didn't fully feel. Not anymore.
"You may do what you will with them," he added. "They're yours."
I should've felt satisfaction. I had won. I had proven myself again. But before I could speak, Father's expression shifted, and a silence fell over the hall like a blade waiting to drop.
"There is… another matter," he said.
I had a feeling I knew.
I knew before he opened his mouth.
"We discovered your secret affair with Aphrodite. Did you truly think you could hide it forever? You're fortunate I chose mercy. But she's been banished."
I didn't move. But I felt it—a crack, a fracture deep within me I wasn't ready to name.
"She's been sent to Mount Eryx," Father said. "Far from here. Far from you."
Rage simmered beneath my skin—not because I was heartbroken over Aphrodite, but because I wasn't. And that confused me more than I cared to admit. My jaw locked. Every muscle in my body coiled tight, like I might tear apart from the inside. I didn't look at Athena. Or Hela. Or Apollo. I couldn't. But I knew I had to say something.
"You both defied Olympus," Father continued, his voice like frost. "Especially her. Let this be a warning."
My voice cut through the room—low, sharp. "If anyone lays a hand on her—"
"She's no longer your concern," Apollo snapped, silencing me.
Then Hera stood.
My mother. Regal, graceful, eyes sharp enough to cut through immortality. She stepped forward, her tone as smooth as silk draped over a sword.
"You will marry," she said.
I blinked. Slowly. Disbelieving.
"I've handpicked her myself," she continued. "Philia. Goddess of Desire and Devotion. She is everything Olympus needs by your side."
I wanted to laugh. Or scream. Or tear the throne apart and let Olympus crumble around me. But instead, I said nothing.
Why?
Because I felt nothing.
And that infuriated me more than anything else.
"You will be wed in five months."
Silence.
My thoughts didn't go to Philia. Or Aphrodite.
They went to Kamaria. To the scent of rosewater and honey. To the way she looked over her shoulder at me, not with fear—but with something else. Something that shouldn't matter.
But it did.
Zeus rose to his feet. "Dismissed."
I bowed.
Only because I had no choice.
As I turned to leave, my gaze dropped—just once—to the platter. The blood had dried, but it glistened like it still remembered being warm. Ogun's severed head sat beneath the cloth, unseen but heavy. I stared too long.
Then I walked away.
And the rage followed.
Kamaria-
The marble beneath my feet was cold—colder than the morning breeze had any right to be. It felt like walking on bones polished to shine. I kept my steps steady, even as my heart stumbled inside my chest.
A soldier walked ahead, another behind, carrying Ogunyemi gently but with a warrior's caution. My father stayed close, silent, his shoulders tense beneath the cloth he wore. I didn't reach for him, but I could feel his unease echoing mine.
Olympus was beautiful. That was the truth. Stark, unnaturally clean, and gleaming like something carved from starlight itself. Towers reached into the sky as though daring the heavens to fall, and statues of gods—so lifelike they might speak—lined the courtyards and halls. But everything about it made my skin crawl.
It was too perfect. Too still.
Like a trap you knew not to walk into, but had no choice but to enter.
We were led through high archways and down a quiet corridor carved from white stone. Murmurs echoed in the distance—gods, maybe, or servants. I couldn't tell. No one spoke to us. We were just... placed. Like things.
Finally, the path curved and opened into a wide chamber. Simple, by Olympus standards. Cushions were scattered across the floor, a basin of water stood in the corner, and the light filtered through a gold-mesh screen that painted lines across our skin.
"This is where you'll stay," the soldier said, voice clipped. His gaze lingered on me a beat too long before he turned to leave. "Until your roles are assigned."
Assigned. Like we were nothing but tools.
I went to Ogunyemi first, kneeling beside where they laid him. His skin was pale, lips cracked, but his chest still rose and fell. I pressed the back of my hand to his forehead, then began checking the poultices I'd packed in the rush. My fingers worked while my mind ran—trying not to think of Ares, of the way he looked at me like he was trying not to, of how his hands had lingered when he lifted me down from the horse.
I shouldn't have noticed. I shouldn't have cared.
But I did.
And that scared me.
Because beneath the confusion, there was guilt.
Guilt that I even remembered how he looked at me when Ogunyemi lay so still beside me. Guilt that something in me stirred at the memory.
I brushed it aside and sat back. My father had settled in one corner, eyes shut, murmuring prayers to a god who no longer had a head.
I swallowed hard.
Whatever came next, I would survive it.
Even here.
Even among gods.