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Chapter Text

A thick heavy tension diffused throughout the arena as the damage of what had been done, sunk in. Now all eyes wearily observed the figure lying still on the cold hard floor at the centre of the arena.

The figure was Athena to everyone’s disbelief. One would laugh at the possibility of the favorite child of Zeus being physically struck to ungodly extremes as delusional, however all of Olympus had seen what had happened in the last few seconds of the game.

Athena herself, through her semiconscious state, recalled the bleeding repercussions she had just faced of her fathers’ wrath. The stiff silence caused a deafening pain in Athena’s heart. She felt the urge to get up. A part of her mind begged her to stand, to fight till her student friend was free. The other part, wanted to bow down in shame and beg her father for a second chance at being loyal. She felt like she was walking on a tight rope between two pillars.

She felt humanity in her god-like being...

She avoided the first attack, swiftly dodging with the support of her spear. The next attack caused her to shield her slowly breaking heart with her aegis. Then she could no longer avoid his hatred. A huge personified blot lunged through her arm letting agonizing currents seep into her skin. She felt her bone lose its form and the energy of her essence get depleted.

It was dangling like a stick.

How demeaning.

Yet.

She did not falter.

She did not dare give up.

She had dug a hole far too deep to get out of. She was falling through quick sand.

Then two ferocious lightning bolts dissolved her armor and let her face the blinding radiation full on, as well as leaving some splotchy stabs of camouflaging ichor. The next bolt hit and she momentarily lost her consciousness. Feeling a dull ache in her eye, a screaming fire in her cheek. She felt as if more damage was done during the dark period as she floated in her consciousness.

She knew her father. She was the favorite after all. She knew him better than everybody (well except, perhaps, Hera).

She had known there would be consequences during this game, there always were when Zeus felt threatened.

But this.

This…

She felt lost, sick, and shattered.

She felt dead.

She might as well be.

The perfect tool, that obeyed till her insides turned sour. The perfect tool finally rusted without letting her siblings galvanize instead. Now just a little dot of rust and she was discarded. Just a 25 degree turn in the ‘wrong’ direction and she was thrown.

She was trash.

She was useless.

Was that all she was meant to be?

Her mind was floating in an abyss. She believed that her body was also actively being thrashed, shattering her glass walls. She could not visibly see anything…

Only the thought of Odysseus gave her a little ray of hope, in the bottom of her ‘Pandora’s box’.

She felt possessed as her vision returned to her. She wanted to believe that she had kept fighting, She was the Goddess of War...but her mind retreated again.

Vision to no vision. Vision to no vision.

Her mind was playing with her. Like a toy. She felt the cold ground stabbing some idle pieces of lighting further into her skin. She felt eyes onto her, not the jealous kind this time, but pity.

She felt lost? relieved? She did not know.

She heard whiffs of conversations.

“She will heal alone…-“ “…eave!”

“Ple…ase…le…me….eal…her….”

She heard soft sobs and gasps.

Then she floated again.

O0O0O0O0O0

It was only at the sound of a whooshing water did Athena finally wake up.

The floor was drenched, making it one of the few times it rained on Olympus.

Athena spat out ichor and shivered at the contact with the icy river. She felt the water burn her skin in agitation. Then without even thinking further, she pushed herself upright inviting a dizzy spell. She forced her body to cooperate, pushing her weight onto the spear, holding onto it like a lifeline. Despite the terrors and tremors, she turned around and walked.

In other words, she slowly dragged her feet, like a toddler learning its baby steps. After all, she was in water. Owls disliked water. She reassured herself.

'How is it like to fly?' smiled a nymph perched by the water.

'It gives me a moment of freedom. A moment I can control. I will strenghten it to benefit us in war.' she replied.

Quickly she was pulled in the water, yelping in surprise.

There was a tackle battle, half in water, half on land.

Finally the nymph held the goddess steady.

'You have so much to unlearn, Thena! If something gives you freedom you must cherish it, enjoy it. Not everything is a war weapon!' she lectured worriedly.

After some silence and the young Goddesses wise decision not to argue, she said,

'Pallas! How can I enjoy it if you've drenched my wings and made them all wet?'

They chuckled loudly in bursts of giggles.

She chuckled and then winced at the pain.

(image by dork_vio (aka me) on insta)

Her wings burned.

Her vision was covered by a clear liquid, it didn’t feel like a tear but it was cloudy. Her left eye fared better, slowly taking in the surroundings.

The arena was empty.

Not even the king himself lay on his throne.

But she could tell he was in a mood, for a drenched Olympus was horrendous. \

The floods and internal damage the following days would endure trying to sweep out the water would be infuriating. If she was not facing his wrath right then, than it would be her responsibility to order her siblings around.

She would be in charge. The favorite sibling.

She was always.

But this time it felt different. She would not be Zeus’ favorite anymore. She would not have a privilege, a leverage. She would be at the lowest totem pole. Pathetic.

She could see her own golden-yellow liquid merge with the water in every step.

Her hand throbbed as she noticed the lightning stabbing it. There were specks entangled in different parts of her body.

Seeing her own ichor in the water was ghastly…

'Where is everybody? Do they pity me that much? Do they not care at all?'

She thought at least Apollo who casually checked in with her, once in a while, would be there. If not, then maybe at least Hestia.

Perhaps she was being foolish. Why would they care? She was used to being a subject of envy but she expected at least a little bit of compassion… But perhaps she was always a cold sister, undeserving of affection. She despised Aphrodite’s domain, nevertheless.

She continued to drag her feet down the slippery pebbled steps to the ragged stone steps until she was finally outside. It felt like a whole millennia had passed when she reached her place.

She had passed by Hera and Artemis’ place and heard nothing. Were they all so disgusted that they evacuated the palace?

Or maybe they had work, that’s right, Athena was not the main character. She was not meant to be so self-centered.

She only got hit by her Father (albeit extreme lightning bolts), everyone else had faced her father’s abuse before.

She was not special.

Currents snapped her out of her head. Her feet were electrocuting, the lightning had come in complete contact with water and was now charging her body with excruciating pain. Still, she walked ahead. She had to.

As tears bubbled in her eyes and her sight blurred even further, she still walked further.

She was still going to be useful.

Ares had gotten himself injured so often!

His arrogance was another matter, but he still had not lost his place in Olympus. If he could do that, then surely she could redeem her role as the favorite child. She had to stop her pessimism!

With that ray of optimism, she carried forth.

How foolish, when did she fall so low that she was relying on optimism?

The last step was the most destructive one. Being so close to relief yet so far away.

She forced all her energy, pushing happy thoughts forward. All she could think about was her failure.

But she made it.

She had lost complete track of time, but despite that, the moment she reached her tidy (unused looking) room she plonked on the bed and faded into a blessed yet painful slumber.

A break from the unbecoming reminder of her position. Her purpose. Her role.

She, at that moment, was just a child requiring a much-needed break. An abused child wanting a well-needed escape. Of course, she wouldn’t believe it.

'You deserve to be happy too Thena! I'm gonna teach you all the pranks you can do!'

The voice of the past rung by her ear, almost as if the woman herself was present.
Athena, however, had lulled into sleep. Hoping to stay asleep.

Despite her newfound optimism, she knew she was no longer needed on Olympus.

She was no longer worthy in her father’s eyes.

"Goddess and man, bestest of friends!

She only had one place left to go.

Only one remaining responsibility, before her existence was deemed meaningless.

However, the pressing purpose of finding Odysseus would have to wait until tomorrow...

Chapter Text

The bed had never felt warmer than this moment, as her ichor slowly bled onto the sheets.

Athena disliked sleeping to the core, and was probably on Hypnos’ enemy list. She even went to the degree of training in the night to avoid his domain. Not that she wasn't always looking for an excuse to be productive. "You needn't waste your time on crafts Athena, be useful to me. Make me proud,"

She believed sleep was only good for the nightmares it brought…Pallas...it pained her that the nymph haunted her in slumber which she did not have time for.

Hence, the unused bed brought her an unfamiliar ease as she dwelled into a soundless sleep.

At a level she felt the restless need to get out in the woods, the chirping of the crickets and the hoots of the owls always lulled her to sleep.

Despite the comfort, she felt unsafe. Lost

What was she doing with her life?

She felt like a lost cub, with nothing to hold onto. She just drowned in sleep, in a dreamless sleep.

The first time she got her domain, Quick Thought, she had realized the similarities between it and slumber. The two realms had various features alike, only separating in the terms of use:

Quick thought was used to supervise memories in real time and allow a barrier between time and the real world. The dream domain tended to build real world matters into a more wafty sense. Both were calming to a degree but overutilizing either would only bring drawbacks.

In other words, dreams just reflected her core worries, it just brought up the past. She would die a thousand deaths, then wander aimlessly in the past.

Her existance was a repercussion of her mistakes. She was a mistake and she knew it.

She would never sleep, willingly.

Yet, as Athena finally awoke to the piercing pain of her swollen wounds, she decided overusing Quick thought would be a wise escape.

Coward, You don't care for the results of your actions. Coward.

She landed on the long, endless tiles of the hourglass. The starry sky twinkled on top of her.

This was the solace she needed. Her heart finally rested into a normal rhythm. She had not realised that her heart rate was so bad earlier. Why wasn't she calm? This was normal. It was okay. It;s not like she died

Before she could count on the peace, however, all heart stopped.

The scene changed immediately causing waves of shock attacking her.

Her hands where tied and she gave out screams of agony.

She looked up for anything, anyone.

But worse than anything, was the fact that there was nobody there.

She was all alone, lightning bolts attacking her.

Current numbing her.

She was gagging, her wounds reopened. She felt her heart break and felt like barfing her soul free.

She thrashed out her hands, pulling against the rope but it just became tighter.

She was dying alive.

Then suddenly, to her relief, the lightning stopped blasting her. Her numbed heart gained hope again.

She could breathe

But she couldn't even count on that.

She coundn't count on that one sliver of hope. She couldn't count on anything!

She stood like a possessed soul, haunted in every move. She was cornered by her psyche.

Then the next torment arose as all the memories of the arena repeated on loop.

All the levels.

On loop.

Apollo and his minor argument about the sirens.

Hephaestus and his unnerving argument about trust. As if anybody could trust him.

Aphrodite and her seductive attempt to one-up Athena constantly.

Ares and his brutal words.

Hera and her condescending gaze Zeus…

Father and his wrath.

These events repeated and reiterated into a never-ending spell. Athena had warned her students not to overthink about situations, for the mind tended to alter true sight. The mind could bend reality into a weapon of lies. But she did not heed her own warning.

Hypocrite.

As the memories played back, she saw different situations. Truer realities.

Apollo pitied her. He gave her a small argument because he prioritizes peace.

Hephaestus eyed her with malicious intent. The same eyes as that day…They had talked soon after, to work together on various other projects, but his eyes were forever changed from the young ambitious boy she used to know. His eyes were unveiling her. She was vulnerable. So, he pitied her as he entered her space.

Aphrodite looked down upon Athena. Athena’s inability to love people romantically. Her inability to get close to people platonically. Her inability to have a life. Athena herself knew she was unusual, she herself desired what she lacked at times.

So, naturally, she worked herself to death; to avoid being ridiculed. If she was compared, it would be in a good light.

Still, she knew she was lacking every time she encountered Aphrodite.

Still, she was buried with jealousy.

Ares hates everybody (except maybe Aphrodite). Ares hated Athena, too. She was fine with that, for despite his pig-headedness, she had respect for their shared domain. She would respect him even as he pierced her heart with bullet-like words. She would fight him on the arena even as she knew all he saw was an enemy.

Hera always disliked Athena as all of Zeus’ affair children. But Athena was not an affair child so she got better treatment: ignorance. How lovely. Hera loved toying with people. She even toyed with herself into emotional manipulation. She was good at that, a mad woman with repressed hate.

Athena saw her future in Hera, she thought she would crack one day to be exactly like her. She was afraid of the unpredictable. So, as Hera teased her step-child on the arena, Athena was sure there was venom behind it. Hera wanted the girl to mess up. Athena would not look at it as fondness.

Lastly Zeus. Father of the century. She could bring herself to ashes by how she felt about him. She always loved him, even then. But there was a numbness of uncertainty she felt. A wavering resolution.

She had to see Odysseus. She had to protect him from the terrors her father was capable of

Finally. Escaping hell. She exited Quick Thought, waking up again to a dress her wounds.

She could not believe how horrid they looked: Her scabs were burning, as if she was dipped into lava. The sight was a purple blue stocked with golden. It was so bad that large amounts of ichor deep inside her body evacuated lightly, mixing with the palette of her skin. They were soaking her sheets.

She felt like puking, she had never seen so much. It was dizzying. She had a legacy of not injuring herself beyond a scratch. Even that was healed with Apollo’s finer remedies.

Look how far she has fallen.

Pathetic.

Just what father thought she would end up being without him.

She tried to get up but her body felt numb. She immediately tripped. Her body pulsed in pain.

Then as if that wasn't enough, she felt several chills pass through her body, like she was six feet underground covered in a blanket of ice. The numbness was grievous and the cold ground wasn't helping.

She dragged herself to her work table, like a tortoise, by latching onto different objects and pulling herself. This just made her feel worse and nauseous. She felt a skin rub against the tiles and agitate.

She was certain this was a result of her skin coming in contact with the bacteria in that rainwater.

She should've treated it right after reaching home. Why was she so stupid?

Finally, she sat upright with great force and found a first aid kit. Apollo had given some materials to her and Ares for their constant sparring matches and his busy schedule.

Father would laugh at how worthless she looked as she struggled to open the small latch of the box. Her fingers throbbed badly as she finally succeeded.

She examined the material in the box and only recognized a few objects. She would stick to them. She did not yearn for more pain.

Using eye drops on a severed tendon would not be on her list of embarrassments. The flute was embarrassing enough

She took a cloth, soaked it in alcohol and gently pressed it to her skin trying to mimic how Apollo used to treat her. Then she repeated it for each and every hurt on her scaring body. There was a lot. She knew there was lighting stuck in some areas inside too, but she decided to keep it as a reminder for her inefficiencies. Father would be proud of that.

She wondered why Apollo wasn't there. He was one of the few people she got along with, and even if he did not share the sentiment, he always tried to help as many people as possible.

Was she really that much of a sight?

The alcohol eradicated the numbness as her whole body reverberated in havoc. Maybe the numbness wasn't so bad…

When she finished the final wound on her face, she, at last, realized that she had seemingly lost most of her vision from her eye. The other eye was seemingly fine.

She did not know what to make of this.

She had too much to think about, too much she had lost recently...her family, her student, her eye, her fathers’ love, her dignity, her strength…

She sat there in silence.

In fact, other than a few whimpers and groans, she hadn't really said anything since the incident. She didn't really talk to herself, in spite of her favoring knowledgeable speeches.

What could she say to herself? Yell at herself for messing up?

She would become a madwoman

She wondered if Odysseus had been freed. She wouldn't be allowed to visit Ogygia and her safest option were the waters running beside it. Then again, she and Poseidon weren't exactly best buddies.

She hoped he was free.

She would've prayed, but goddesses didn't generally need to pray. She didn't have high hopes, father was always unjust when he was angry.

But she hoped him scarring her for decades was the only punishment. She didn't know what she would do if all of this was for nothing.

She wished she could find out now, but the treatment of impairments was draining enough.

Before she knew it, her pupils constricted into a deep slumber.

This time she slept angular on the ground, dead to the world, as her wounds lightly hummed.

Chapter Text

It felt like a good year of bandaging, treating and sleeping before she could finally stand, outside of Quick thought. She had not used Quick Thought thoroughly after last time.

Only briefly moving to her domain, fixing the tiles of the cracked hourglass and leaving.

One would think tilework would take a few hours, but all Quick Thought required was her imagination.

Not that she had the energy to do anything else

Believe her, she had tried to escape the encompass of her home multiple times and failed in humiliation.

Standing itself, was quite the feat. Her body was heaving and shivering as numbing pain raced the repercussions for the lightning pieces still stuck in her skin.

She would leave that for Apollo, she decided. Not that he was there anywhere to contact.

Not that there was anybody that dared visit her.

She did not think of the isolation she was facing.

She was usually very isolated, spending most of her time training herself or others.

Why had she bothered to think someone had cared? Why was she wasting her potential and mindspace thinking about the usual?

She never belonged with the others.

It was only until Odysseus that she had finally bothered to form a proper social relationship. And even in that, it was Odysseus at the steering wheel.

She suddenly snapped back to her thoughts, that's right...how could she forget?

She had to find Odysseus.

She quickly pushed herself out of the bed, for once not collapsing into a flopped pile on the floor.

Painfully walking towards the window, she hastily measured time with her stick-like hands and barely functioning eye.

She had spent three days in this weakened state.

She looked so scrawny. 'You better gain some strength by the time I call you back, Athena. Do not lounge by the shore, no one needs to see the scrawny daughter of mine'

She had spent three days in this precarious position.

Three days!

Why was she even surprised? She did not have Apollo's remedies, nor Zeus' love. She did not have nobody. Even the human she sacraficed all of this would reject her back into his life...she was sure.

She had to snap out of these thoughts. What kind of Goddess of Wisdom moped around

Three days was more than she would’ve liked.

She had gone soft. 'Whenever I fail at my lessons, my dad always teaches me a trick. Failure is part of life Thena. I'm not mad at you for dropping me'

She was used to fighting giants and still being able to train in the evening! What a mess! 'You must rest Athena. I do not want to send you back to Zeus, miserable.'

She had fallen so low… 'Goddess and man, Bestest of friends!'

She released her breath. She did not like to remember her nymph friend for the grief it brought. But these thoughts were happy.

She imagined Zeus' eyes watching her, mocking her.

But she had to carry on. She had to prevent Odysseus from suffering the same fate.

The decomposed body in the arena. The bloodied spear in her heart.

She shuddered the thought away. So much for happy thoughts.

She tried and tried again, flying was something she could once to with ease, but her mind had become penatrable to unecessary thoughts.

What good could she do in such a beat up appearence and such a run down mentality?

She fluttered her wings for a couple of rounds before deciding to fly. They were scarred and bloody and hurt more than the lightning swimming in her eye. Lifting herself was the biggest challenge. She knew she could do more.

'WOOOOOO THENA! THIS IS THE BEST, I'M SOARINGGG!' she exclaimed.

'Tecnically, I'm soaring since I'm carrying you.'

'WHATEVER IT BE. THIS IS SO COOOLLL'

She shook her head.

She had to focus.

Happy memories always turned dark. That was the way of life. She would not get caught up in that.

She stood, perched at the window. She waited ready for the wind to pause.

How many times had she succeeded in flying? a rational part of her asked. But she hardly had time.

It was now or never.

She jumped out of her window, falling down the clowds away from Olympus.

Down. Down. Down.

Her wings were frozen in place.

Molten ichor started flowing everywhere, from the strain.

She heaved, which land did she want to bless? She had to land.

She forgot she was not at her usual capacity! Like a baby bird, she lightly screeched and wailed her arms in a panic.

The adrenaline of smooth air on her skin and prickling sunlight. The tormenting pain of her senses and her one-eyed owl vision. Eventually, down was all she went. She was not steering herself.

This was bad.

She had reached deep below the clouds when she finally decided to transform into a full owl form. How had she forgotten? If any humans saw her falling, she would get another lashing from father!

There would be tales and myths passed on for great generations. The fiasco and fall of the Goddess that once was

Between the transformations, the enraging visual focus with her one burning eye; the oscillating gashes. Her thrumming headache.

She wasn’t flying, she was barely surviving.

Her owl form fell into the trees, wings and feathers got cut and further bruised.

Athena had always held herself with pride, much to Odysseus words.

‘‘Selfish, prideful and vain’’.

She was not a fool, though. She knew her strengths and weaknesses. She knew envy and insecurity was also a constant in her life. And she also had her ways of dealing with these situations. She would work harder. She would learn. She would try again. She would get up even after her father struck her.

But most importantly, she would cleverly mask it so that nobody saw through her vulnerabilities. Yes. That was wise. She laughed pitiably. She would be the joke of the century, otherwise. More than “Daddy’s Little Pet”.

But Odysseus…he had managed to see through her.

He knew she was not as perfect as she wanted everybody to see her as.

For how long? How did he not give up on her when he found out? Was it just humanity?

He knew her as everything but wise.

“Since, you claim you’re so much wiser, why’s your life spent all alone?”

She would want to gain clarity, but she was cold. Stiff.

That’s right, her body completely stiffened as she fell like a bullet, and banged right onto the ground. She was in Quick Thought, unable to see her surroundings.

Was she so lost in thought that she bashed into the middle of nowhere?

She did not even know which soil she was lying on. Her head reeled.

Senses begun muting leaving only her one-eyed vision.

There was a structure besides her half-dead bird form.

A quail?

She did not prey on animals.

A few minutes of darkness passed. She and the quail made eye contact even though she was laying defeated.

She had always encouraged her students to fight even at the brink of death. Was it due to her lack of understanding?

She couldn't be a hypocrite, nevertheless.

She got back on her zygodactyl. Lightly perching in a weird manner, as if to intimidate a bird she could not even see.

Then she hopped and walked slowly to the face of the quail, finally seeing the silver glow of it. It blinded her half working eye.

She could barely stand in defence.

Immediately she was fine. As fine as she was before the flight.

She was in her godly form.

She quickly turned backinto her battered owl form and scanned.

Nobody, no bird, stood around.

If she wasn't a goddess herself, she would've lost her memories. Maybe even gone comatose.

But that was not the intention of the goddess that saved her.

She had been given another chance at survival. At reaching the castle that was very close to view.

This time, she did not dare fly into trouble. A saving grace was not easy to earn, especially at the disgrace she made of herself.

She would hatch a plan. She would observe the situation in the castle.

If Zeus had released her friend, seh would have few days to prepare the little wolf for what she feared was to come.

If When she made it back alive and well, and reclaim her purpose, she would repay the hunting goddess for her generosity.

...........

Artemis stood, invisible, on the light branch. Watching the grey owl practice flying.

She wondered why Athena had been so reckless. They both shared the love of planning.

It was Ares that did not bother with the art, and failed. (She had wondered how people with such a shared role, differed so greatly.)

Despite this, she did get along with her ‘family’ sometimes. After all, for thousands of years, they were forced to get along and aid each other with their endless needs.

Athena had helped Artemis train when she was old enough to, which was within two weeks…

They had gone through weapons other than her signature bow and arrow, to deal with any situation. That lesson was very beneficial at times when long range combat was impossible. However, that and the shared role as virgin goddesses were all they ever communicated in. Their relationship was sparse compared to the rest which was saying a lot since Artemis did not pride herself in communication.

She had thoughts about Athena, though; Favorite child, cold and distant from the rest, potential superiority complex, lacking a sense of humor. Perfect.

One would find her dull. However, these were also things Artemis had in her character description. She was certainly the more favored of Zeus’ children. She disliked talking to the rest. She felt the others beneath her, despite herself. She also did not tolerate teasing, much to Hermes’ disappointment.

This caused a sense of empathy that Artemis felt with Athena despite never communicating. A secret connection. So finding out that this very woman, her so-similar soulmate, a strong and independent one at that, was struck by Zeus…

Athena was strategic, so why would she fight for a mortal? Artemis did not understand this. Humans would die anyways, they would whither from their short lifespan. She had faced her own loses. Humans. But she would never fight for them to this degree! Such a sacrifice.

Why would a goddess risk her life for a weed like him? It was only one mortal…and a man at that.

The moon goddess would fight to a degree for her huntresses but knowing the consequences one would receive from fighting Zeus...

Why? She just did not get it. This made her frustrated.

Her anger was definitely not calmer when she saw the same sister falling from the sky, in her owl form, before slowly transforming into a bashed goddess on the ground. Gaia. What she was told, was not as bad as what was in front of her. Athena’s bruised wing had turned purple. Golden ichor smeared under her feathers, slowly seeping outside.

Athena was a completely different color, as if she was exposed to the dead for a few centuries (she had only seen this color on an overworked Hades and sometimes the Queen of the dead during her six-month honeymoon.) She could tell the beads of sweat would leave her completely dehydrated soon enough.

Based on her prior knowledge, Artemis was certain Athena’s blood circulation was a mess. Athena would soon be breathless, maybe even get a bad fever or…never mind…

The point was, her sister was definitely not treating her wounds properly. She wouldn’t expect much more, though. After all, with the current situation on Olympus there was not much anybody could do. Zeus’ wrath was affecting everybody. They all had to help themselves first before saving her.

They could not accept the fact that they were banned from aiding her. 'If she wishes to rebel, she will do so alone. NOBODY will aid her and survive.'

She was alive. She had taken a risk just like the no longer perfect sister of hers.

She could see her future in front of her. Lightning struck.

If The War Godess wished to continue her path then she had to tread lightly.

Nobody else would help her against Zeus' new game.

Chapter Text

Two quiet days passed, as she wandered in her owl form. The suitors were yet to begin their fight, and Odysseus was yet to return.

Athena frequently found herself watching the water, eyeing the still, tranquil basin for any movement.

Oftentimes, she'd find herself resting against a treetop just watching the horizon, thoughtless.

She did not know what to think. Unexpected for the Goddess of Wisdom but perhaps things were changing.

Watching the orange-red sky turn dark and another night begin. Till it started over and over and over.

She was inspired by the simplicity of the day and night. Viewing the complex interactions of the several dieties as humans made everything seem much more profound and philososphical.

She felt like a human.

She felt like a survivor of a tribe, just looking for a reason to exist after her family had been masscaered.

But it was more like abandonement that made her look for spiritualism.

When had she really ever been alone?

Without Zeus' judgemental eyes watching her every move degrading her every task. Or siblings looking to investigate some of her rare imperfections.

She wished really they'd talk to her. She wished someone would talk to her.

They could've seen that she was just like them.

Now it was too late, she could live perfectly without anybody's gaze. She did not need anybody to interact with her.

She did not need an Apollo to an Artemis or a Prometheus to a Hestia, she did not even need a Hermes for everybody.

She was alive and she would live in solitude.

After the second evening, she tried to fly further to the castle.

Deceive others by her illusions, hide in the darkness and watch for any unrest between the suitors.

She knew the formation in which they were to attack. She knew the biggest of them would try to rape the queen. She knew she had to be watchful for the mindless dogs dictating the servents.

She disfavored visiting her newest pupil.

How would she prepare him for the upcoming fight? How could she train him when she couldn't even lift her spear.

She had spend the past two days, resting, eating (yes, actually eating!), and building endurance through the activities she once taught her students.

By the end of it she was no better than a teenager at fighting.

But at least she had some muscle back on her arm rather than the toned, weak, pile of bones it had previously become.

Still, she was bloody, bandaged and aching all over.

It had been nearly a week since her father's game. That meant Odysseus would return in about three days.

If he was to return. If he survived Poseidon's storm.

She had only two days to help Telemachus. How would she manage? He did not know the danger yet to come, he did not know how to defend himself with anything bigger than a knife.

She wouldn't let him die, but how would he live?

She had spent too long away for him and yet she did not feel guilt or remorse.

She felt cold, numb to everything taking place.

She remebered her siblings whispers.

"Why is she trying to be all artistic with that flute, she looks like a fish playing it, and of course she can't feel anything she blows"

"How heartless can you be, huh? Daddy's little pet! Grow a spine one day!"

"The only thing that sets you apart from your siblings, is your heart. You have none."

She had a heart, she just didn't have the space to display it.

She only had the permission to fight.

She was not wisdom nor war, she was the fight to survival.

Somehow, her heart had vanished when her need to survive did.

Her flame had whithered.

She was free to do whatever she wanted, she realised.

She had no obligations, no structure, and that made her feel at ease.

She was just an owl, a bruised one at that, but a bird that could finally use it's wings.

She was finally out of the cage free to fly!

It pained her to feel so unbothered for her humans.

Well, she did want them to live and reunite. But her bigger relief was the lack of judgement.

The animals didn't care for her. She had elimanated her divine aura, animals only uproached her now if they desired to. Some just wandered away with her.

She had never been in this form for so long.

She wondered if she'd be able to turn back.

Maybe it would be better if she couldn't.

Why it did bother her that Odysseus hated her, she was foolish for most of her life. She destroyed the good in everything.

She should've been used to people hating her.

She felt numb. Or maybe she was avoiding feeling

Like a corpse.

She did not want to help them. She wanted to decay in a lost pit somewhere and disintegrate.

She wanted to find her light. Her purpose on her own. She wanted to be free without anybody controlling her.

She wanted the chance to find herself without playing miss perfect.

But she knew she was being selfish. Her duty was to her humans.

When the fire would reignight in her ichor, she would regret not performing her duty.

So she finally flew to the castle, after hopes of avoidance.

She flew past the tall windows, letting the light of the moon guide her path.

She flew and flew till she reached Odysseus' old room, now belonging to Telemachus.

Then she entered the sursprisingly hald-open window and flew up to him.

He was not asleep.

He was lying on his bed with a knife under his pillow and a his back towards her face.

How bad had it become for him, to sleep in such a peculier manner?

He would not realise his own death if he moved back an inch...

Despite her clumsy flapping, he had not noticed the animal in the room. But he was awake, Athena had remmebered how Odysseus used to pretend to be fast asleep in their early morning sessions.

Perhaps his son inhereted something other than his wit and kindness.

Hoot hoot

Telemachus jumped upright and held his knife with a death-grip.

He scanned around.

She realised just then that she was still invisible.

She concentrated all her energy into her human-godly form. Still remaining invisible.

She could not let this child drown in worry over her wounded appearance.

He would have a lot to worry about, nonetheless, with the upcoming attack.

Finally, with as much silence as she could keep with the agonising transformation, she finally transfered into her butchered godly form.

She was in 10 times the pain. Just standing was hard.

While the few miliseconds of nerve ending tranformation passed, Telemachus busied himself in scanning the windows.

He no longer had a knife in his hand and his gaze appeared hopeful.

He was waiting for her, she realised.

She felt something after that realisation but she could not pinpoint the feeling.

She decided maybe a visible Goddess would be beneficial to this boy. Maybe an embrace...?

Gods what had gotten into her! She hated hugs!

"Telemachus."

He squeaked and turned around, hopeful.

Then he blinked, confused.

She had formed a mental link with him for the first time.

She still dreaded the idea of him seeing her in this battered way. She was supposed to be someone he looked up to.

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" he said, dissapointed.

There was something in the way he said it that made her feel he had dreamt so before.

"I'm very much here Little Wolf, but if you'd rather sleep..."

She made sure her voice was a whisper. She had not used it for days. This would just worry him.

Why was she so worried about worrying him?

"Can you show yourself if you're really there?"

"Show yourself, I know your watching me.

He was being careful, any deity could mess with him. Any mortal could be part of a gods game.

She was proud by his caution but it was unfortunate for her.

"Very well, Little Wolf. Let's have it your way.

She manifested her cloak and quickly covered her bandaged self and ichor-dripping chiton.

She also wore her helmet despite the burning sensation in her eye.

Telemachus tensely watched, gripping the knife again. His face was pale.

She had taken a few minutes to cover herself.

She walked behind him and turned visible.

"If you are to defeat your enemy, you must be prepared in all directions."

She shoved him on the ground.

"ATHENA!" He jumped back up like a dog excited to play fetch, and then squeezed her heart out in the tightest embrace.

"Telemachus..." She started, wanting to scold him for his informality.

But she couldn't bring herself to.

She hugged the boy back, holding him lightly.

Then she teleported to his bedside.

He fell onto the window sill and sat there excited to hear his friend.

"I'm so glad you're back, Athena! How was your friend? Did you manage to help him?" he asked eagerly.

"Yes, I did. Thank you." she breathed out, "But we have other matters to deal with."

She walked towards him and then sat next to him, exhaustion seeping in her body.

"The suitors are planning on making a move in 3 days, I will prepare you to defend yourself. You will not fight them, you will only defend yourself and your mother." She said lightly.

Telemachus wanted to argue.

He wanted to fight.

He felt strong for the first time when he and the Goddess last interacted.

He wanted to feel that again, to be there for his mom.

But he knew his skills, he knew he wouldn't last.

He could barely manage attacking Antinous.

He had to follow what Athena said. He had to make sure his mom was safe.

He was overjoyed when he heard her voice in his head. She was more than a friend to him, she was what made his room home.

She was safety from the suitors.

She made mistakes and she was ready to fix them.

He would do all he could to find a better future with the both of them side by side.

"I'll train as hard as I can Thena!" He smiled brightly, optimistic now that he was no longer alone.

He raised his hand for a high-five. His palm was met with a cold wet feeling. almost like blood

Only then did he realise, out of his sleepy gaze, that his friend was covered all over.

He couldn't see her face, not her armor. Only a shadow of a smile on her face and her yellowish grey fingers.

He smiled brightly at her.

He would figure this out some other time.

He let hope alight him for the night as they both stared into the stars.

She would let him be happy, she would help him reunite with his father.

And then she would leave.

Chapter Text

It was a helplessly sunny day.

One of the worst days to be completely cloaked.

Athena braced herself for the attack, while discreetely wiping away the sweat on her face.

Telemachus lunged, full-force. His sword pressing against her spear. It blew away from the impact.

Then he huffed and ran back to retrieve it.

The day's training session was not going well, she felt her heart pounding after each strike. Not to mention the heat! She knew what Apollo would say to this state.

'You must take better care of yourself, I would've put you on medication for a month at the least!'

She sighed. This would not cut it. It was her luck the boy was incompetent at this, but she could see potential and it wasn't much longer that her disguise would last.

She was also completely cloaked up in her Aegis. She was sick of fighting when she could hardly see. Medusa's eyes hardly helped her mobility, only aiding in reminding her of another helpless person she put down.

"Hey, I'm back...sorry about that, I'm not that great huh?" The boy panted, his hands on his knees.

"Maybe you should take a break, little wolf. I could hardly blame you for being imperfect at such an early stage. The weather appears gruesome too", she whispered.

"No, if you're right and the suitors are coming, then I can't leave mom in danger because of my weakness! I can't let the weather affect me either. Let's do another round." He exclaimed.

She could see his choice was dependent on his emotions, he did not actually want to carry on with this training.

He was trembling, like a worn-out puppy. He had been pushed all his life, forced onto everything unnecessary for a child.

She could see the hardened expression on his face. He seemed infant to his adulthood.

She also knew her training regimes could be perilous to the human body. After all, her capabilities had been reduced to that of a mortal.

She wondered how long she had been differentiating between the two entities.

She helped create humans, had she not? Then why was she carrying forth with this lack of judgement.

She had to change her patterns, she had to evolve from Odysseus.

"No child. I won't let you train any more. If you are to protect the Queen of Ithaca from such perpetrators then you must do so refreshed. My training practices will exhaust you without breaks." She sighed, firmly.

She hated to mother him, but this child had never practiced such training before.

Silence persisted. She worried she had crossed the line.

'You crossed the line...consider this is my goodbye!'

Odysseus had crossed the line when he claimed she was alone.

He had no idea how true that was, how much grief she solely had to carry for years.

But he was right and nothing could change that.

Telemachus sighed, breaking her out of her thoughts.

Then he walked towards the pedestal at his parents statue and sat by it.

Athena followed this action and sat next to him.

He was seated at his mother's side of the statue. She could see his fear of his father. He was practically cocooned at his mothers feet, at the furthest distance from his father.

She did not understand his fear.

Was it because he had never seen his father? Or maybe he was simply sticking by what he had known so long.

"I'm scared." he said, affirming her former thoughts, "I fear the suitors, I fear they will attack my mom without me being able to do anything...and I worry that I will never be able to pass on his legacy."

"There is nothi-There is plenty to be scared of but you are prepared. Knowing what is to come always gives you the upper hand." She reassured him.

But she could see her words weren't enough.

Then she did what she never would've done before.

"Your father was a silly man, he was scared quite often."

Telemachus perked up and stared at her gawkingly.

"You knew my father? He was scared? When? Why? Wh-"

"Calm down, little wolf," she chuckled, "He was afraid of going to war, but more of leaving you and your mother. I recall him staying up most nights, whispering your names with prayers upon prayers. Even upon finishing the war he only prayed further at the years he missed as a husband and father...He has a big heart and that's something you both will always share. Don't cower now in fear of that heart, It gave him the courage to pass all the challenges incapable of man."

She leaned at patted his hair.

"And it will help you too."

Silence remained steady, it was no longer awkward nor melancholic but hopeful.

Telemachus stared, uplifted, at the statue of his father.

Athena stood up, "What do you think about simply talking for a while, I can see that energy radiating off of you."

Telemachus jumped off the pedestal, beamed at her, walking forwards.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Far away from the abandoned backyard, the two sat by a lake in the forest.

They had passed the morning chatting about hobbies, funny memories and disasters.

Athena did not have much to add other than their shared love for wood-carving.

After Telemachus concluded his baking disaster at the age of 10, his expression changed.

She could see him restless and she knew he wanted to ask more about his father.

He had not asked much about Odysseus after their initial discussion, much to the wisdom goddess' surprise.

She wondered how long it would be till this bubble of curiosity, popped.

After some more silence, the goddess gave in.

She started, "Is there anything you would like to ask, child?"

He turned red as if he was caught at a crime scene.

Then he started stuttering and asked for a moment to collect his thoughts.

This was all a bit strange for her to see. How nervous had he been about this topic? It was a little sweet.

Before she could think more however, she felt her insides explode.

Ichor started bursting through her roughly-patched bandages and it took everything in her to not scream out.

She could barely move, she felt a metallic taste at her throat and forced the taste in.

She could not traumatize the boy, but she was lightheaded now, a migraine pounding in her head.

The Volcano of every possible wound erupted in that millisecond.

She had to leave.

"Athena, I'd like to ask you about...Athena?" paused Telemachus, his face appeared worried.

But she could hardly pay attention, she was suffocating.

"...be back..." her voice strained.

She transformed into her bloody owl form and flapped her wings. But she only elevated a bit. She flapped harder flapping the ichor all around.

Her form was flickering.

"Athena no! You're hurt."

Telemachus bit his tongue, he had know she was hurt. But, he was too focused on preventing the future uprising.

'Big heart'

Tears welled up in his eyes, he had no big heart. How would he, when he was so self-centred.

She coughed out the solid ichor as she turned back into her godly-human form.

Then she fainted right onto his arms.

Telemachus' horrified face was the last thing she saw before she lost consciousness.

She coughed out what sounded like an apology as he saw her bruised face behind the aegis.

Above, at a suitable distance stood a messenger god. Arrows were pierced by his leg as he watched the whole fiasco.

Chapter Text

Telemachus spent the rest of the day patching Athena with herbs and remedies.

They were still in the forest, for that was the only place they could safely be without the suitors control.

He was still in shock.

Everything was going well, they were bonding... and he was going to learn more about his dad!

Then she fainted revealing wounds and infections, scarring nearly every part of what he could see.

Each breath caused an echo of whispers, he shivered not knowing what to make of it.

Why was she so injured?

Golden ichor was meant to be remedial, but she was leaking a waterfall of it.

Its glowing flow seeped into the grass she was on, it immediately grew and flourished.

It was not as if she wanted to bless Ithaca by her downfall.

He wanted her to be fine and alive and with him.

He needed her

She was actually opening up to him...

When he communicated with her the previous night, she let him embrace her.

So why did this have to happen?

He would've assumed the gods were cursing him and his family with the suitors uprising and all.

But Athena was a Goddess.

And she was in this miserable state.

Every wound was untreated. Her face was just shredded with lines of deep, wet scars. Every wound had been reopened at least once.

And all of them had been intertwined with muck and mud.

She was not even trying to take care of herself.

Thorns of lightning bolts poked out of her skin...

He had a rough idea where it came from but he did not want to imagine how a father could do that to his child...

His favorite child.

The God of the skies was known for his intelligent mind, his skill to find loopholes, his humor and personality, and of course his bravery and strength.

But there was more to him than it seemed.

He was a bad father.

He wondered if Odysseus wasn't as fantastic as the tales.

Was his father a bad father?

Was he being hopeful for someone he didn't know?

There were countless times when he imagined his father praising him, saving him from the suitors.

From playing games to learning diplomatic studies, he had imagined his father's whole character.

He imagined a fake to help him cope with the loss.

With the loneliness.

He always awaited his fathers return, but what if it sucked.

What if his father did not know what to do with an adult child.

He didn't even get a chance to try and be a father...

I recall him staying up most nights, whispering your names with prayers upon prayers. Even upon finishing the war he only prayed further at the years he missed as a husband and father'

No, His dad was a good man...He was thinking of his family even during war. He would come back and be a great dad!

But what were thoughts to actions?

It had been 10 years since the war's end, what if he was no longer of that mentality?

He shook his head, he could not be so pessimistic.

He would ask Athena more about his father when she was better.

But now he had to focus on helping her heal.

His father was missing all his life. But he had his mom. And he had Athena.

He wondered why she hid her predicament from him. He had thought there was a level of trust built between them.

Was he wrong?

In spite of that, wasn't she a goddess of war...she was bound to get hurt.

Her wounds looked contaminated and infected.

Most of the scabs were reopened, outlined by a layer of infection. Some wounds were leaking pus into a pool of rocks and granules.

He felt her skin, and she winced even in her unconscious state.

The raggedy surface outside the pool was disastrously tender.

He knew he had to clean the mud, or leave the wound open but there was too much ichor still leaking.

He applied some valve in the raggedy areas as Athena moaned in pain.

Then he bandaged her lightly.

Her temperature was very high too. Like literally, touching her skin lightly shocked him.

He couldn't imagine the agony she was going through.

She had gone to help her friend. But why did her father (he assumed) attack her?

Or maybe he was getting it all wrong?

He hoped he was getting it all wrong and this was a mishap.

She was already touch avasive and distant, where these qualities also due to neglect and abuse?

He was thinking too much. This was probably the impact of training. She must've decided to skip healing it!

(He avoided thinking about how absurd his reasoning sounded)

However, Athena had been with him all day. When they had first met, she had stayed with him for one hour (including the Quick Thought).

Not that he was complaining, but as the Goddess of Wisdom and War and Crafts, she seemed to have a lot of work to do.

Why wasn't she on Olympus?

Why was she spending so much time on him?

Was she sensing some danger?

Was her wisdom able to sense the future? What was she not telling him?

He trusted her with his life. She saved him from the worst Antinous, and she was here to save him again.

But what was so bad that would happen? The suitors had already tried for an uprising and failed before.

His mom had handled it with her genius idea of weaving.

But what had he done? He was useless as the prince, and once the suitors would attack he would likely be executed.

He did not know anything, he realised.

He was the pampered prince of Ithaca, who failed to save the queen because of his failed skills as a warrior.

Athena had fainted, the uprising would be soon.

He had to help her heal, for the tumultuous event was into motion.

So he carried on with the healing process; removing muddy bandages, cleaning the wound with alcohol, applying valve and bandaging.

He would continue to do so till the dead of night, till she was awake, as that was his duty now.

His duty was to the Goddess that saved him. That gave him hope.

His duty was to his family and she was in it.

The young prince did not once notice the presence of the two men spying on him.

Virtue and Vice glaring at his every move.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Hermes, the messenger god, as well as travelers, merchants, thieves, athletes, language, and commerce, watched the young boy at work.

He had the choice to act. In fact, he felt the winds pushing him closer.

It was too subconscious for it to be Aeolus' prank nor the Anemoi.

Aeolus wouldn't act now that his wind bad was with Odysseus...

He hardly had a choice despite what the gentle breeze offered.

All gods were banned from helping Athena.

The punishment would be too severe, Zeus had been wrathful for days.

He recalled Artemis finding a loophole.

"I don't have to help her heal, reverting the wounds would suffice" she claimed haughtily.

"As proud as you may seem, reverting the wounds will only help her for the time being. Her wounds will explode if she doesn't take care of it." Apollo warned.

"She's the wise one isn't she dawling? She'll know what to do."

He bit his lip, He certainly regretted his words.

This was bad.

Her injuries were worse than they predicted.

She had not taken care of them.

He watched as his great-great grandson bandage his sister. At least she had someone who was taking care of her.

He was relieved.

At least, this gave her some time.

Hermes recounted his trial.

Zeus' rampage...

"That bastard's punishing us all for her stand! He plans to make us all pay. Be prepared, don't let it be like mine."

"What did he do to you Ares, dear." questioned Hestia.

"Reliving everything you dread." Apollo shuddered having just passed the trial.

Both the men looked pale. Apollo was mentally numb most of the time. He appeared as though he had lost his reason to live...He hardly said anything, his music and poetry died within his tongue.

Ares was physically destroyed...but his own weapon was trapped in his ribs. He spat out blood with every step and a crying Aphrodite tried to heal the hurt.

Always eager Apollo did not even rush to help...

Now with his own wounds, arrows struck by his feet, stabbing every inch of mobility, he was no longer surprised.

'You think you can run away from all the havoc you cause?!' stab. He hated thinking that Zeus nearly killed the messenger.

He had faced agony.

In hopes of warning Athena, he saw her half-dead...with his great grandson aiding her rather than her siblings.

He tried to move away, or maybe move towards them, but he could hardly put up the face.

He went through hell.

She was barely surviving her attack. How would she manage to survive what was to come?

He knew Zeus always saved the best and the most destructive outcome for last.

He knew she would go through hell again.

Hermes had to tell her what father did to him. She had to understand what was coming after her.

Or she may even die.

Chapter Text

The Goddess of Wisdom had finally woken up.

Well, not really, considering she was awake the whole time. Just in her subconscious. She reflected at it.

She had spent whatever number of hours underwater.

The cold waves hitting her body and her wings were getting soggy and heavy. What a familiar feeling.

She was lying down watching the skies where she once used to soar.

The creamy clouds gouached into the changing hues of the sky, the view was almost paint-worthy.

Birds hurled out of tree tops and flew together forming a dotted blanket in the sky.

Sunlight flickering in her eyes in every motion. Dots were dancing in her face and forming shining ripples in paradise.

It was calming. Just laying in the waterbody, not doing anything.

The other gods had mentioned how Athena always had to be preoccupied with something. She could never sit still and do nothing. Helping heroes or mentoring her students, forming war strategies or sparring with Ares. She also weaved but she never really found time for it in recent decades.

But really, she had no problem sitting still, she just needed the right environment.

The truth was, she was never really given a break to just do anything. She was the Goddess Of Wisdom and she had to spend her time in a wise way.

"Hey Athena!".

A figure silhouetted above her.

Pallas.

Athena felt her heart rejoice, she felt anguish and grief too, but mostly she felt relief. Athena memorised every inch of Pallas, she knew she wouldn't see this face again

Then the green-scaled nymph jumped into the water and sent splashes all over the goddess giggling out of her mind. She used to do that so much before, her pranks were her trademark.

Athena quickly turned in a loop but got submerged deep into the water, she stared at the glowing green kingdom below her.

Each structure was like a glowing pearl, miniature at such a distance. She couldn't yet believe she could call this place her home. She did not think about how a few years from then, she would be banned from Triton's palace.

"Beautiful, isn't it?", asked the nymph now watching beside her.

She could only nod as she watched the star-like neon lights spark some fondness in her heart.

She was mesmerised.

"Y'know, you really are getting the hang of this, Thena." Pallas chimed.

"At what?" Athena finally spoke.

"At living."

There was a philosophical pause. The Goddess of Wisdom had not realised she could simply just be, simply just live.

She had lost this quaint feeling in future years. She had forgotten it. She had forgotton this memory too. She had forgotton Pallas was not only optimistic and mischievous but also wise were Athena wasn't.

"You have time now, time to be again. Don't look back into the past Thena. Wake up and look to the future."

"But then I'll have to lose you...", Athena whispered, "I already lost you back then...How can I let it happen again?" She remembered the lifeless body in her hands, bloody everywhere...The distant screams as the nymph stopped breathing. Her last words...

Pallas lightly wiped the tears, Athena did not realise were falling.

"You will never lose me, but you may lose him...so go."

She was pushed back into the familiar sunlight in the woods.

Her thoughts were running slow, she was still stuck in that scene that just took place.

She had forgotten how her dear Pallas looked...

"you may lose him...so go."

She looked around, Telemachus was gone.

By the gods!

She hoped she was just hallucinating and Pallas did not mean him.

She gently got up, sniffing and hearing for anybody's presence.

Her eyes were officially mute to the surroundings but her smell spotted two figures other than Telemachus' citrusy smell.

There was a faint waft of Holy Moly...Hermes was here. That couldn't be right...

She knew there was someone else she couldn't quite place.

What if the Suitors caught the little wolf.

But then, in that case, they would've seen an injured goddess.

Was that why Hermes was here? Could father have realised that she was here because of the rumors?

Rumors could be spread quickly amongst mortals. She did not think about how Zeus would react if that happened.

She would be called back to Olympus. She punished again for being in such a despicable state, in view to all beings.

She had failed.

She had failed to be a proper Goddess, a perfect child and now she had failed as a mentor...

Did Hermes take Telemachus? Or maybe the Suitors...

You can Breathe underwater Thena, trust yourself.

She paused. She had to think.

Whatever the case, Telemachus was in danger...

She could not let any other divine intervention take place in this family. Hermes wouldn't let his great grandson be in trouble.

Then it must've been the suitors.

She quickly turned into her owl form and flew to where she knew the suitors were. Their infestation lay in the west side of the place till the kitchen.

The worst of them was always troubling the servants.

Telemachus must be there.

SHe flew faster than ever, noticing her rejuvenated limbs.

She took a mental note to thank Telemachus, but she had to make sure he stayed alive first.

Finally, after the not so fast flapping of her wings she reached the window sill near the kitchen.

She had always told her children students to understand the situation before blindly going in for an attack.

And despite the dire situation, she had to make sure this went correctly.

She saw the little wolf tied tightly to a chair, anger boiled in her veins.

Next she saw the suitor attacking the boy, Antinous' assistant.

That was strange, Antinous was nowhere to be seen.

Was there a political change in the hierarchy of the Suitors? That would change some plans, considering Odysseus would return this evening if he was released.

She shook her head. She could focus on that later.

She has to listen.

"Why are you doing this? I keep telling you, I did not do it." Telemachus said in a distressed voice.

"STOP lying. I saw you in the woods, boy. I know you did it."screamed the suitor Athena believed was Eurymachus.

"I was simply feeding the ducks in the lake, I don't know anything about weapons...How could you assume I was training?, he sighed breathlessly, "You suitors can say whatever you want but you yourselves prevented any access to the weapon room. Are you doubting your abilities?"

The bulky suitor then hit the boy brutally. Athena wanted to kill that man.

Then, the suitor pulled Telemachus' hair and inched his face near him.

"Don't insult us, you useless boy. If I see you disrupting us in ANY way, you are dead. Got it?" He growled.

"...Yes". Telemachus resigned as the suitors left.

This was bad.

She waited for a few seconds ensuring the dogs had left.

Then, Athena quickly flew close to the boy and undid his rope.

She searched his face for injuries. He was bruised, but it would be manageable. He had probably been hit thrice.

Then she chirped at the door outside and he followed her back into the empty backyard. His eyes were dead and watery, whatever torment they had made him go through was emotionally bad.

He collapsed on the bench and sighed.

"What happened there, Little Wolf?" She sat beside him now in her physical form.

Silence.

"You don't have to tell me what happened...Are you okay?"

"No...Athena...I'm tired of always failing!...", he whispered not sharing eye contact, "Eurymachus, he- he saw me apply valve and thought...he thought I was making weapons. You had turned invisible somehow and then he came behind me and dragged me to the kitchen."

She had turned invisible? More importantly, How did the man see Telemachus and her? Athena had made sure to enchant the place...

He cried lightly as she patted his back as reassuringly as she could. She was new to this but she had to think of how he was feeling rather than herself.

"It's alright Telemachus, It's alright, you're okay now." She whispered into his ear as her mom used to...

"I couldn't fight back Thena!", he then wailed and cried loudly.

She embraced him as lightly as she could so that she wouldn't hurt him.

"You can, little child and you will. You are doing it so well, Odysseus would be proud of you. I am proud of you.."

"But dad is brav-"

"No buts Telemachus. You can only succeed if you have faith in yourself...look at me, I'm in this state because I did not have faith in myself, but I do have faith in you."

He finally made eye contact with her.

"Thena why are you helping me, Is it because you knew my dad or am I that pitiable?"

Athena paused. She had not thought of why this child had come so close to her heart. She did not like how negatively this child was thinking either...she had to find the right words.

She lightly wiped his tears, as Pallas had just done for her.

"You, young wolf, have a larger heart than all those men combined. I'm helping you for the heart and compassion you helped me find peace that day. I'm helping you because I see your passion and know how much the world will change when you finally get the freedom and space to live. And most importantly, I'm helping you because you are my friend, Telemachus...You are braver than even your father was at your age, trust me on that, he used to fall off trees..."

Then they both smiled and chuckled and they laughed amicably as the sunrise turned brighter.

"So, when are you gonna tell me how that happened?," he nudged her looking at her wounds.

She smiled and then said, "Why don't I tell you a little story about my student, Odysseus."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

'So, I was right. He is talking to somebody. It's a woman, a cloaked one but I know it's a woman. But that aura.'

A butchered-up man watched from the forest.

'He isn't forging a weapon, he's talking to a Goddess...That bloody Eurymachus, thinking he can throw me out and become the leader. I'll show him. I will kill the kid in cold blood the second the Goddess leaves.'

'I will enter the Queen's chambers tonight!'

Chapter Text

There was tense air in the practice session. An almost suffocating sense.

Maybe it was just Athena and her fear of vulnerability or maybe it was the little wolf after his well-needed breakdown.

She watched his tense posture as he attacked her, he seemed more withdrawn, mind still reeling from the previous hours.

She wished he told her everything.

She knew he was hiding some thoughts from her, but she could hardly blame him.

He was forced to grow up into the role of a prince, yet he's still a child in terms of the years he missed.

She wondered how his life would be if he had Odysseus 10 years before.

The suitors would be nonexistent, the Queen of Ithaca would not be forced to weave all day and night, she would laugh and love her husband and son, while being more oriented to what she liked to do...and the little wolf could live happily, his father was all he wanted.

Even if Odysseus did return, how could everything be fixed in this family?

Prometheus and Athena designed humans so that their lives would be short, so that they experience every second as their own and create meaning in the short breaths of existence.

More importantly, so that Zeus would not be assume that the mortals would aim to overthrow him.

Now she regretted their short life span.

On average, he would survive 10 more years, that was what they destined the lifeline to be.

She couldn't tempt the fates. She couldn't reverse time either.

She just had to face the repercussions of being late.

Late to realisation. Late to action.

She should have never left him for her pride.

These ten years felt like a cold breath. She simply performed her duty as a daughter and as a Goddess. Trying to ignore her failures and find another mortal likely to be the Warrior Of The Mind.

Mortals were a play piece for most gods. Athena felt that to a level she may have formed this mindset too.

She and Hermes did love helping humans but how much of that aid came from genuine intent?

Telemachus swerved to the right as Athena jutted the sword angularly.

"Your defences are getting better, a little more practice in the aiming and you're all set" she chimed proudly.

There was still a lot for him to learn, but he did not have the time that she had to learn it.

Athena decided she would not enforce her practices onto her student.

If there was anything she learnt after getting struck was how different the gods were to the humans.

She helped create them and yet treated them like immortals. She supposed to a level her 'hardcore' (as Odysseus put it) training sessions could be torturous.

Telemachus replied after a short pause, "Athena, How can I deal with the suitors through violence and not become like them...?"

Athena faced him in surprise.

She had to remind herself that she had chosen to train an intellectual, mature and empathetic human being.

"A man does not turn into a monster by slaying it, it becomes one through practicing its deeds. Your worry about this shows how self-aware you are. You won't become like them if you hold your values close." she explained.

Telemachus blinks as if just realising that.

"But what if I do become as bad as them...I know we will have to resort to killing them." He pauses, "But not all of them are that bad, some of them are willing to change...How can we fight violence with violence" he repeats.

She considers this.

"Telemachus, I understand your woes. It is natural to avoid the cycle of killing. But, the ones that are dangerous must be restrained. They all will fight you without mercy, how will you survive if you don't intend to kill?"

"I don't know, Athena! It just seems so...I just wish I did not have to do this." he sighs.

"That you are. By protecting your family you are protecting Ithaca from its ruin.". she watched him try to find another argument and fail.

"Little wolf, I know how much you like to fight, you like the power and the sense of self worth in you. Fighting gives you that. Fight for yourself."

She saw his face change to something unreadable.

She, for once, did not want him to kill.

This child was bigger than the turmoil placed on him.

He cared for the suitors despite how much grief he had gone through.

He was destined to change the world through his ideals, his heart and vision.

She wished she did not introduce him to this doom.

Telling him about the suitors was divine intervention, but she supposed, he would be better adept to surviving.

She imagined Zeus watching her from Olympus, ruining the few redeeming arcs about her future as his daughter.

"Thena, let's train some more, I think I'm ready to give this a try." said Telemachus, a little more confidently.

"Very well." she says, satisfied with the fire in his eyes.

They sparred for a while, and Telemachus studied Athena's movements hoping to learn more.

She was happy with his receptivity.

Telemachus huffed, face soaked with sweat hands and clothes scratched with mud.

"I think I can do this. After all, I will have your guidance with me" he exclaimed.

"Yes, you will." She promised.

She would prepare this child like how she should've prepared Odysseus.

With compassion.

Then the shrill scream interrupted the peace.

It was by far, one of the coldest screams she heard of utter destruction.

It changed the air, it was a wave of despair.

It was the start of war.

She eyed Telemachus and they nodded moving in different directions.

His face turned ghastly pale as he sped towards his mother's chambers.

Athena turned into an owl watching for destruction below.

Fires and bloodshed, servants running, children screaming.

She noticed the changed formation.

Suitors that were broad and bulky were put on lookout and the ideators were fighting.

This was not Antinous' doing.

This was a use of deception.

The man in charge, she assumed Eurymachus, was trying to use the best resources to reach at a higher vantage point.

He did not intend to save any other suitors. This was a suicide mission at both ends.

She flew further inside the castle, hiding by the windows.

Could there be another plan in action? Surely, an enemy of buffoons could not cause such an agonizing cry for help.

Better question, where were the leaders of this uprising?

Where was Antinous?

Could this be a distraction?

Her student was headed towards the castle anyways, checking around it wouldn't take too much time.

She had to make sure nobody was in extreme danger.

O0O0O0O0O0O0

Telemachus rushed past the bloodshed, his mind was only focused on his mom.

He had to make sure she was okay.

It was eerily quiet with blood splattered across the ground, but no corpses lay by them.

Telemachus did not think about the implication, he just ran forth till he reached the throne room.

The suitors were collected there with sharpened blades arched at the throat of some civilians.

Some children.

He hid behind the pillar eyeing for his mother in a crowd of suitors.

Back in the distance stood his mother, Penelope of Ithaca.

Safe.

His heart filled with relief, until he heard her words.

"Whoever passes this challenge shall claim the throne".

The suitors roared but Telemachus stood frozen.

His mind froze as he heard his mother begin the explanation. His thoughts running as fast as his heartbeat. She was forming an agreement with the suitors.

That could only mean...

His father was dead.

Chapter Text

It was cold, air moist enough to feel submerged in a tidal wave. It was not raining, though. It was simply the cold shivers one got at a crime scene, the engulfing sadness of a forgotten dream. It was subtle yet present in every corner of Olympus.

Hermes knew it well, he had ventured all across Olympus and felt peace sending souls to the underworld.

He had not attempted a single prank or bad joke. Legendary.

His reputation as the trickster depended on this. He couldn't have Ate or Eris take his place!

But, the first week of the trials was the worst.

He couldn't move after the adamantine arrows pierced his legs. He felt lethargic, wanting to just lay on his puffy bed and sleep.

He was forced to work with the arrows still in his ankle.

When he tried to joke with the other gods all he got was silence and fear at their potential doom.

But, for the first time, he understood the seriousness of the situation.

Zeus was ready to go to any extent to not be overthrown.

He had begun this sudden attack in the middle of the night, Ares, the worst child, was the first to face his fears.

Hermes wondered what the big buff would fear but whatever it was it would be repeated and reiterated in such thick spells that it would drive one mad.

Hermes figured, being tied to chaos would be easier.

He shuddered the thoughts away focusing on the image far below on the ground.

His great-whatever grandson seemed to have reunited with his father.

There also seemed to have been a killing spree, no wonder the war god was sitting with a bowl of popcorn, not weeping for the first time.

Hermes coughed up ichor and then wiped it on his chiton unconsciously.

He then moved closer deciding that some entertainment was due. He had not yet decided if he wanted to make an appearance.

"My son...Is it really you?"

"Dad...
I've been reading your tales and the monsters you've fought,
I've drawn pictures and sculptures and started wielding a sword.
In hopes that one day you would return
and I could still be the son you love..."

"Telemachus...my boy I am so proud. I fought wars and cyclops, gods and monsters yet your face frees all my burdens alive. I imagined the child you would grow up to be and my son you are everything I ever dreamed. My son...My perfect son...I'm finally home!"

The semi-naked bloody men hugged his scarred son. The embrace was prolonged as if providing peace for all the years they spent apart.

Finally their intertwined embrace unlaced and they watched each other, full of hope.

Dead bodies lay around them, the uprising had been ghastly.

Hermes recalled the split second where they all contested for the throne and then they tried to kill the prince and rape his wife.

The ugly one, Anti- Antoy- Anthony- Antinous! yes! He was brutally murdered as he tried to undress the queen of Ithaca. Hermes was in a mind to jinx him before of course his devoted grandson performed his duty.

Servants and children; some lay dead on the floor, holding utensils as weapons. Others survived through the prince's assistance and the king’s massacre.

Hermes chuckled lightly almost as a whisper.

He recalled how badly Poseidon was disarmed with stabs still being healed. Similar bodies lay scattered like dead fish on the surface of the sea.

He watched Odysseus walk towards his wife's chambers and knock. Telemachus looked blissful and then confused.

Now was his chance.

"HAHaHahhahahaha"

"Huh?" The little man turned.

"Hehehehe!!!"

The man turned again more alarmed at the sound. Then he bowed realising it could be a deity.

Hermes appeared looking towards the still boy.

"They don't call me the trickster just so you could respect me y'know." he complained, half-amused.

"Hermes, I-I mean Lord Hermes? What brings you here?" Telemarketing stuttered helplessly.

"Hermes is the name, kiddo. Learn to have a little funnnnn." he moved above him and then pirouetted behind him, "So how was The Great Reunion?" he emoted dramatically.

"...Uhm...It was...nice lo-Hermes. Uhm, do you know my dad or mom maybe, oh, maybe you're here for Athena? I don't know where she is but I can try to search with yo-"

"Hush hush hush, I don't need to hear all this bleh bleh bleh, my purpose to be here is as simple as I just mentioned! Why do you doubt me, hmmm?" he teased.

"No sir, I mean Hermes, It went well I promise. Father saved me from all the suitors and killed them."

"Kid, your father nearly killed you. You do remember that right?" he said trying to add some fuel to the spark.

"He didn't know I was his son, It's not like someone held a placard over my head saying I'm Telema. But if you saw that then you must've seen our interaction now too and know that he is a great person." he said firmly.

"Why do you defend someone you don't even know? Don't you consider how your precious little mother didn't even inform you of her plan?"

"By all due respect, we've been having a hard time all these years. It's not always so easy to communicate but it all worked out. Now I should really be checking on my mo- parents."

"Why are you checking on them? Do you fear that all your daddy dearest knows is to kill. He did kill all of these men quite gruesomely, no?" he bluffed.

"I trust my fathe-"

"You shouldn't, when you find out he sacrificed all his men just so he could return here, how would you feel? He's not all that simple, boy" said Hermes.

"What- he, he made his choice, he had to come home and-" the boy tried to desperately defend his father.

"And what, let 600 families suffer, just for this one to reunite?"

Silence stood between them and Hermes laughed once again.

"Hermes."

"Hm?"

"Please leave us alone."

After he left he had a good thought, just as Dio said 'the magic of introspection and wine'.

He needn't have said all that but, but it was all part of the fun.

'Don't forget this day HERMES'. he shuddered at the memory of his trial.

What he did just now was exactly what Zeus' trial was proving.

He watched then as Telemachus turned to his room and hopped over the dead bodies forgetting the path to his parents’ room.

Why was he wasting his time here?

Watching a tale that should be complete.

Maybe he was just hoping to avoid hearing Athena's screams once again.

That evening haunted Hermes.

The sister he loved to trouble for her subtle reactions was his favorite. She lay motionless on the arena as everybody left including the perpetrator.

Then of course, his trial.

Being suddenly pulled into Lightning Edifice while meaninglessly talking to Triton, the mischief god was left disoriented. His ears rang with a thunderous silence, the kind that drowns out thought, leaving only panic in its place.

'Hermes.'

A stern alarmingly loud voice erupted in his eardrums. All the mischief exited his body leaving him soulless. The presence of fear choked him pressuring him to keep his head down and remain still.

Other than the white marble floor of the domain there seemed to be nothing around him other than the foggy sky.

'Father. What can I do for you' he bowed, knowing Zeus was in one of his moods. His legs were unfeeling, numb to the touch, being pushed to the ground by sheer instinct.

Lightning Edifice seemed more psychologically excruciating than its usual appearance. It was violent through its hazing horizon. He was sure if he walked far away, he would lose himself and all he had ever done. Erased as simply as if he never existed. He wondered if that's where the other unwanted beings ended up and wondered if that was his destiny.

'Stand up son. Do I have your loyalty?' he asked, voice slightly brittle. The force of the voice however was like a thousand thunderclouds, a light warning hidden in them to comply.

'Yes father, you had it then as I stole Apollo's cows, now as I stand before you and in the centuries to come' he said as best as he could. Sincerity being destroyed by desperation and fear. His hollow bones were aching, begging for a chance.

'Let's see then'.

And that's where it started. The endless nightmare.

Father gave him a letter heavier than the greatest of burdens. He had the task of passing it onto the Queen of Olympus. Simple enough?

'Read it first'

It was a letter stating divorce. Whatever confidence Hermes had gained evaporated immediately along with his self-awareness.

He walked robotically towards her chambers, bile and copper entering his throat.

He gave it to her and rushed away in hopes to avoid the expected attack. Yet her dangerous look of fury caught up to him and sent after him a burst of flying wings.

Peacocks snatched and thrashed after him, plucking his own wings out. He did not look behind despite his greatest strength being stolen.

The burst of ichor followed by his burst of speed avoiding the bullets of crows clawing his hair.

After a while he realised he was no longer running away from danger. Just before relief washed onto him he dived straight down realising just then that his wings were gone...eaten by birds in a burst of pain.

Falling and falling from the tip of the sky onto galaxies. The ground was gone, the sky was gone, and he tumbled through the void.

He tried moving like a turtle, shifting his limbs back and forth but the unimaginable pain of his missing wings forced him to fall, unable to latch onto anything in plain air.

Lightning attacked him, stabbing through him mid-fall. He screamed but no sound came out, only a gurgling cough of ichor that burned his throat.

He struck like a meteor onto the fields of Demeter. There his battered body received yet another letter dedicated to Persephone.

He choked his ichor and jumped back up, attempting to walk to the underworld.

'Deliver it across Styx.'

He heard the impossible command and blinked back the tears in his eyes.

The river seethed before him, black venom rolling like boiling tar. He stepped in. There he was tormented into seizures and paralysed limbs. The water crawled into him, poisoning his lungs, twisting his veins. By the time he dragged himself onto the far bank, he was less man than ruin. He felt like a burned page, torn from the middle and burned from the edges.

The letter appeared in perfect condition, glowing, unlike him.

After getting out of the poisonous water, he passed letters repeatedly.

Letter after letter. Each one worse.

He became the scapegoat of Olympus, a mule of humiliation.

Deliveries to gods laced with insult, mockery, betrayal.

He watched as every divine face turned against him, each message branding him as the betrayer.

Arrows sank into his flesh. Daggers slashed at his arms. He was hexed, blinded, cursed, until his once-proud body became a patchwork of torment.

It was too much for him, too much for him to manage.

Yet Zeus reminded him of his destiny worse than this enduring torment.

He no longer remained in high spirits as he once was, his laughter changed, deformed. As if he could no longer hide the damage to his identity.

He coughed blood as his trial passed.

'Son, you have failed. You passed letters of insults to everybody. You got punished rightfully so, it was all your fault. Do you understand?'

Zeus' chilly voice asked.

Hermes, trembling in the ruin of his body, blood and ichor dripping from every wound. He remembered Athena's body and said:

'Yes, I understand now father'.

It was always the messengers who bore the guilt, even when the crime was never his. That was the way of life.

The wind howled him back into reality.

He wondered if that was his trial, what was Athena going through now?

Chapter Text

Pallas stood listless by the fields of flowers, Elysium gave her the sanctuary of peace but she yet felt a tug upon her half-dead soul.

She felt as if she were being summoned, summoned by her one and only love.

The other half of her heart.

Athena.

She felt the chills pass upon her and then vanish.

It had been the first time she had been called from the world of the skies.

Drowning in the embers of solicited sadness, despite the golden ambiance of the sky, Pallas simply stood readily in her past.

Her father, her soul, her sisters, her kingdom.

After years of urging the telepathic connection she was trying to forge with the beings eternally alive, this was by far the only time she felt a response.

Her heart felt the feathery softness of the fur of a glazing owl, blue-grey flowy eyes, and the presence she finally found.

It lasted for a second, light as the speed of feathery beauty.

But the feelings that came within it were formed through insecurity.

Why was her heart calling upon her, why with such mellow feels?

The last memory of the faceless goddess was the laughter at flying as Pallas floated between.

Holding hands in the subdivisions of the earth and the sky. Swam the nymph Pallas and flew the goddess up in a flutter.

She tried for ages to remember the faces of her father, her sisters, her love.

But only the emotions pronounced themselves from the laughter to sadness unfurled.

She had asked the Lord of the Dead to bless her with the gift of Lethe. Ready to be reborn after centuries all alone, she wanted to find an identity of herself other than the one hardly carved. In her 400 years of life, she blossomed in the ones spent with the goddess.

Now the scheduled reincarnation that was yet to take place felt like a thorn in her bleeding heart.

She had to get to the skies, out of the blessing Elysium daunted her with.

Her heart was tarnished and dying, for the other in the world of the living was withering.

——

She did not know when exactly this situation arose.

Athena was merely attempting to strike the heart of Antinous, the gruesome suitor, as he climbed upon the brick wall towards the Queen of Ithaca’s chambers.

Divine intervention was necessary when a man disrespected a god.

And when he asked for her aid in making the queen fall for him, he disrespected not only her position as a warrior goddess but also suggested that she may play a card in helping him assault a woman.

She thought of Hephaestus’s attempt.

She knew that deformed man would fail, but the atrocity of the fact that he attempted was enough to strike a nerve.

How dare some puny man decide his right over a woman’s body?

She despised men in every aspect.

But that occurrence made her outlook on men change completely.

They were all dogs.

Wild dogs, to be fair.

Barking and pouncing and messily biting their way into the field of love and making it a game of war.

She despised when her realm of strategies was mixed with the violence of Ares or worse, the love of Aphrodite.

What even was love?

Something that was always taken away from her.

Her mom was absorbed. Eaten up with only her decayed body left to look after the goddess of wisdom inside the body of a man.

Her heart and soul were stabbed by her own spear. A spear she casually carried but could never wield the same.

Love was, in respect to that jealous goddess that constantly mocked crafts, something to be earned.

Not wasted upon a dog ready to pounce for it.

She felt her soul deplete as her mother slowly vanished and got digested amongst the crevices of her father.

“You must get out of this precarious man’s head and see the world Thea, don’t fall into the traps they leave. You are wise, you have my heart.”

She felt her soul vanish as she sobbed and begged for the nymph in her arms to not face Thanatos, for she was needed in her heart.

“It’s not your fault. Either I or you would’ve lost.”

Lies.

Goddesses can’t die.

Athena knew that very well, for her heart died for the second time that night.

Athena knew that even better when she cut her veins, night after night.

But she was still alive.

Why was death delivered to mortals as a crime? Why did Thanatos not visit the doors of those who truly wanted to die?

Athena wanted to die the day she was born.

Athena knew she was odd and different when her siblings came to the throne.

She knew very well she was laughed at and mocked for her ‘perfection’ or her ‘cold heart’.

She was a slave to the master of Olympus.

A tool.

That was all of her worth.

She turned Arachne helpless out of pride.

For to live on Olympus, all had to lose their heart. Their ego was the vice they were written by.

Imprinted on their souls.

She knew very well that she was prideful. But she did not regard herself higher than a tool.

‘Selfish and Prideful and Vain’

She knew she certainly wasn’t selfish, for she had given the rest of her being to Olympus. Night and day she worked valueless lives.

She was looking for a general she could mark on her résumé.

She certainly never imagined caring for the boy that she claimed nor for his son.

What else was she given birth for if not to be Vain?

If not to climb the ladder to Zeus’ mind, and intellectually clean the dirt that he produced.

She didn’t get to die even when she begged Hades anytime she met him. So she lived as the sharpest tool of Zeus.

To be wielded by him and thrown into doom.

But.

But finally she thought maybe this time she would lose her heart, maybe to fall is to learn one way, maybe it’s all gonna turn out great.

Maybe he’d be fine, maybe her heart reform.

Maybe the little helpless, quick-witted wolf could be her new home.

Until, of course, even that was destroyed.

She should’ve expected this.

Zeus could summon anyone. And that truly meant anyone.

She knew soon enough he would have a face-off with her, put her in her place. Hopefully out of her misery in Elysium. More like Tartarus to rot.

“Athena.”

He said shrilly.

She could sense the stone-cold murderous rage behind a well-refined statement.

She felt as if her name wasn’t her name. She couldn’t identify as Athena, nor the goddess of wisdom or any goddess for that matter.

She simply wanted to sink under the marble floor, hoping for a gateway towards the realm of the dead.

She felt herself dissociate from her body as it automatically responded by bowing (near begging) in her father’s presence.

Zeus had not been her father for a while.

He was a man.

All men were monsters, she decided.

“Yes father.” She waited, kneeling down for his next words.

They were always harsh punishments of atonement when she skewed away from her purpose as a tool.

Some nights she was forced to bleed precious ichor by his throne.

Other nights he scouted her to spy upon the other Olympians and indirectly punish them forth.

She would bleed and burn through Hestia’s hearth, or face giants and beasts to reclaim her worth.

But in the end it was all pointless, because Zeus would always ‘love’ his favorite daughter so as to disrupt the peace and justice between Olympus.

But this time was different.

She would not be let go.

She was rogue. Wild. Uncontrolled.

She was a deformity in the shape of a goddess.

“Rise.”

And so she did. She did not face him, not even his feet. Her eye met only the edge of his shadow, back straightened but the rest of her was already in defeat.

“You realise what you have done?”

He spoke in the same honey-combed manner.

“Yes father, I have disrespected you to the greatest heights. I repent for my sins. As the goddess of wisdom I was unwise. A failure I have become.” She said monotone, truly believing each and every word.

“Are you stating that I trained you to failure? Are you stating that I created an unruly, worthless being, undeserving of life?” He asked in a way that made her tremble.

“No, of course not. It is I who have ignored your teachings and been misplacing my priorities.”

“Look at me.”

She hastily met his eyes, despite hating the eye contact of any being she forced herself to look into that glum face and those icy-blue orbs.

She remembered the first time she saw them.

A faint memory of the world outside his head.

She remembered as he quickly discarded her into Triton’s palace.

While she was ever so fascinated by the world outside, those cold eyes put her in her place.

Like a timer that started, like a candle slowly dissipating as the fire in it heats it from inside and swallows it up whole.

It was unlike the kind eyes of Triton. It was enough to make her run away and curl up into an isolated cave.

But now the watchful eyes reminded her of the predator that always lurks around the prey.

She stared. Waited for what felt like centuries in seconds. Waited for a command. A cause or a purpose.

She did not ever feel the safety of her mother’s arms, as her armor lay on Olympus as the only living memory of her.

Athena was not the daughter of Metis but the son of Zeus.

“Do you recall why I swallowed your mother?” Zeus began, eyes warmer.

Burning every inch of her body despite the distance she kept from him.

“So that no man would ever even consider taking your rightful throne.” She claimed matter-of-factly.

She did not know why he dug the best that was well covered, blanketed in rough iron rods.

‘Do not even dare think of happiness. You are a tool under my command.’

She recalled his eyes say that as she conversed with Artemis, growing faster by the day.

Soon enough she stopped her conversations with any of her siblings.

She did not have the passage of happiness. It died the day she left her mother.

Not even Pallas’ arms could take over the realisation of the ticking time bomb.

She knew very well that one day the bomb would erupt.

The day she killed her last ounce of joy.

She knew very well that it was her father’s intervention, for if his daughter was lost to a nymph, it would threaten all he stood for.

He slapped her the day she sobbed after her heart died once more.

He pierced lead into her arms and stuck her to a pillar in his domain, until all her emotions died out and her grey eyes matched the air of death.

She was a soulless doll ever since.

“Do you know what your brothers and sisters suffered after you left Olympus for that measly mortal?”

She had imagined such.

She briefly saw the shadow of Hermes, arrows stuck to his leg like another body part.

His cunning aura vanished, only his grim face seemed stuck in her eyes.

“The trials of Zeus,” she said in unison with the thought of the message that Hermes passed upon her.

She was saved for last.

Whether it was so that her wounds would heal to reopen to incoming torment or so that she would face the worst of them all, she didn’t know.

Athena hadn’t known what anything was anymore.

“Correct as always. Now tell me, why did I save you from punishment when Hera dared to overthrow me?” he asked, grinning.

That smirk brought shivers upon her spine.

Was her trial a test? A questionnaire until she got an answer wrong?

“So that I may know the consequences if I ever decide to disobey your righteousness.” She said slowly.

She recalled the punishments the others received.

Especially Hera’s interaction with the destruction of Chaos.

She knew that day was a warning. That if she ever fell short, he would implement the darkest forces upon her.

It was also to create a firmer bridge between her and the rest of the Olympians.

She was superior. They were minorities.

They would never realise that superiority was the biggest lie. She would receive the worst since she was the highest on the totem pole.

Ares’s daily bursts of recoil were nothing to the torture she would receive by her father’s hand.

“Good, you know what to answer. If you’re wondering if this is your trial it isn’t.”

What?

She couldn’t mask her face from looking astounded.

She wasn’t getting punished for what reason?

No.

The punishment would be a surprise attack.

There wouldn’t be any situation in any other world in which she wouldn’t get punished for an atrocity like this.

“I’m serious Athena,” he said rather lovingly as he moved closer.

But her feet seemed stuck to the ground to back away.

“Remove your armor. It is not needed. Hephaestus will forge a stronger one for you.”

She did as he said, still glued to the ground in confusion.

Could it be that Zeus was intending to change his ways?

How could that be it though?

Why now?

“You’re my daughter Athena. The prophecy said you wouldn’t overthrow me and I believe it.” He said as she undid her armor and headgear, only leaving her chiton and scarred face.

She knew that prophecy all too well.

Her mother was tricked into shapeshifting into a droplet and swallowed while being pregnant with her.

‘If the baby is a boy, he will overthrow you as you did for Kronos;
However, if the baby is a girl, you will gain wisdom that you will never know.’

She was the Goddess of Wisdom the moment she was born; she gained her other titles after.

For Wisdom was the reason she was alive. It was a chip in her brain she would never run out of.

So why did all her attempts to end her life go in vain?

Every scar in her hand was every night’s attempt to end it.

It was the one thing that would never heal by any of Apollo’s remedies. That and these lightning scars, of course.

It would take centuries she would rather spend in the underworld.

“Come forth.” He said as he merrily walked towards her.

Her legs attempted to move but she felt engulfed in his shadow and fell to her knees right below him.

She faced his feet mercilessly.

What would be the punishment for failing at something as simple as walking?

She prepared her mind, scrunching her face, ready for the attack of lightning.

But no.

Zeus kneeled down beside her, as if to soothe her.

The gentility that he provided in his embrace was everlasting.

She felt the centuries of torture heal a little, she saw hope in living the next day.

She felt her heart reform as tears met her eyes.

Was this truly happening?

Was she finally free from the curse of destruction?

He lightly rubbed her back from her collarbone till the edge of her spine in repeated motions…

She finally felt relief as she exhaled all the torture she ever received.

He held her for seconds and hours.

This was the comfort of a mother’s embrace.

She finally felt herself heal.

Chapter Text

The softest petals of her father’s embrace quickly withered into dust.

His hold upon her chiton became violent as he clawed her.

She shrieked in surprise, tears of regret now mixing with dried tears of relief.

She tried to push away, immediately realising that she was in the cage of her predator. She had fallen easily into this trap, no longer the goddess of wisdom for such foolishness, not war without weapons or a strategy at her command.

She was a defenceless damsel in distress.

“Why try to let go…son?”

Son?

She was too puzzled to react as he tore apart her chiton. The violent scrapes of nudity relighted her healing wounds.

She was still mostly clothed. But fear clumped in her mouth, her only functioning eye teared up with a waterfall of emotions.

Her breath quickened and her heart rate throbbed for freedom.

“I-Father I beg for your forgiveness- I don’t under- I’m your daughter, no son…” she stuttered, as her mind got further clouded by raw emotions.

Her newly rekindled heart ruptured.

She pushed back as a frail animal with no control, like a fish desperate for any ounce of water.

She wished she could crawl back into her mother’s arms.

She wished she could laugh again with her dearest friend.

She wished deeply that she could save her student from the mutiny escalating in his home.

But what she wished most was for freedom.

For a breath of fresh air that delighted Prometheus as he helped the humans he created.

The starry constellation of Callisto, that Artemis often looked at as she felt a hollow ache.

The blood and dirt from a dull and intriguing combat with Ares.

None of that was free, but they were moments to cherish. Each part of its own tragedy.

She felt her flesh and bones tear up as if she were submerged in Styx. She might as well be.

The underworld of gruelling spirits and the darkest forces seemed more welcoming than a bright sunny morning on Olympus.

“You are deceptive, son. You made me believe you were a daughter for all these years but you try to overthrow me! You disguised yourself as the traitorous son of mine as an act of retribution to free your mother’s soul!” Zeus exclaimed loudly as Athena impulsively kicked his crotch so as to free herself out of his hold.

She ran far enough still in his domain.

She didn’t have the concentration nor the energy to manifest her domain. Her refuge.

Her feet ran on autopilot, wings unable to function other than the random flap of wind, she felt as though she would collapse at any instant.

Zeus changed his domain into a whirlpool. A stagnant one as she tripped and got glued into its walls.

Then he came in front of her as she pleaded and cried for mercy, knowing that Zeus’ temper would rage on through cries of pain.

She tried repeatedly to find a way to get out of her imprisonment. Push and push and push. Yet against her luck she stood like a bird, arrow pinning her into the wall through every crevice of her visible skin.

She was grateful that she was still clothed.

But she knew that would hardly last.

She should’ve known better than to be the sacrificial pawn under the king’s command.

“Father, please hear my defence.” She whimpered helplessly.

“Go on.” He commanded as he jumped in front of her.

His enormous shadow covered the entirety of her. The claustrophobic powerlessness made her crystallise in place in shock. Almost frozen.

Silence overtook the council between him and her. She needed to fight her emotional devastation and defend her stance.

How was she so easily fooled by a simple act of love?

“I know you would like to see for yourself that I’m a girl or boy. But…I have supported and ideated your council for centuries, please consider that. Even now I am helpless. A tool at your disposal. I should have never taken the ‘wrong’ side during the Trojan war. But I do not regret supporting the student I left, for it was under my jurisdiction that he committed the illegal duties of disrespecting the gods. I had to free him for it was my mistake as a mentor that impacted his performance as a warrior. For that I am guilty and I repent!” She explained, filling every ounce of logic she could. For once mentally begging the goddess Galene to help keep her thoughts clear and her mind calm.

Zeus snorted.

“You truly believe a bunch of well-put words is going to prevent me from unclothing you. If you are a shapeshifter as your mother then change shape at once! Or perish to my wrath.” He claimed boldly.

She began trembling.

Each particle he passed as he wafted closer and her scream got louder.

What started as a cathartic blow of emotions turned into the only way she would get out.

She screamed and yelled and screeched, louder blow by blow.

She would do so till she lacked her voice and would remain a defenceless sack on the floor.

She first called for her mother crying for those crimson-grey eyes to comfort her.

Then her significant other, her partner in practice for refuge.

Each cry turned Zeus’ face redder with rage. Almost foreshadowing the potential torment he would make her endure.

Finally she could do no more.

Her voice dried in her throat.

With a gulp, salivating the last potential scream she yelled loud enough for the whole world to hear her.

“ARES”

————————————————————————

Ares was in a disastrous mood, he was butchered and beat up so badly that his doing was covered up in lumps of purple and gold.

His trial, he considered, the worst.

Sure Apollo lost his voice, and Hermes lost his mischievous spark.

But he was suffering underneath the quicksand of his morality at why he still had the ability to fight.

Ares yearned to be left defenceless like the rest of the Olympian children.

He remembered Artemis’ expression as she survived her trial. She did not dare return to her hunters, the warriors she stood for. Rather he saw her defeatedly sit on the ground moping, healing herself as Apollo and his assistant Asclepius no longer dared heal anybody other than wounded animals.

Why had everybody, including his covered up Aphrodite, lost what made them them?

Why was he the only one left with that nuisance of a temper and the ability to wield all of the weapons he once could, nearly to the exact durability.

It was annoying. He was always the hated one. So why was he spared this sympathy? To appear golden?

To change the hierarchy?

He didn’t even want to pick up an axe anymore, he waddled his time away in a more peaceful interest unlikely for the God of War.

Baking.

He battered the dough as he added more milk to even the solution. Adding various ounces of nutmeg, dry fruits and of course cocoa powder.

Then he watched as it satisfyingly flowed into the mould, ready for cooling.

This activity was shamefully the only thing that gave Ares the pleasure of living.

With his Goddess of Love no longer talking to him, needing space. To all the unsettling changes taking over Olympus. Ares needed a break.

And of course, he remembered the worst part about the day…

His sister Athena was the one undertaking the trial at the moment.

Athena had been reckless by saving that mortal. Ares did not understand why a mortal must be saved, but he saw the same pride in Poseidon as he fought for his useless Cyclops son.

Maybe Athena considered that insolent mortal prestigious enough to be her son?

He knew, no matter, that her trial would be the worst.

He felt guilt. He was supposed to be the reckless idiot of the family. She was the wise one, the always right one.

Now he was spared from Zeus’ wild torrent of rage…

And for the first time he did not dare envy Athena for being special.

He felt pain. Anguish at being excluded, being used as a mere plaything so as to create disruption between the rest.

Athena, he realised, was never given favoritism. Rather, she was given daily doses of the worst psychological torment through poisonous games of politics.

For once, he was concerned at the outcome of her trial.

He was worried for his life during the ‘God Games’ as Hermes put it.

He really thought that the motionless corpse on the floor would decay into death.

He really thought he would never get to apologize for his mere hateful remarks on her, he was worried that they would never spar again.

He was worried that he would be the only God of War, other than Enyo but he didn’t like them.

Not like he liked his sibling bond with Athena. Yes, he understood, he had always liked the safe space of being understood. He had hated his sister as much as he understood her unshared pain.

And he knew she felt the same. So how could he stand the idea of losing the person he took for granted. Without any proper conversation of the heart. Aphrodite said it was crucial to every relationship and yet he had faced this with everybody but her.

The sister he admired.

The sister that opposed his every whim and will.

His opposite parallel.

His best friend.

He waited for hours impatiently, wandering through the fridge to bake something else and pour his heart out with each of the following ingredients.

Yet with each broken eggshell, he felt worse off. A failure of a warrior.

Then. It happened.

The waves of agonizing screams belonging to the only one he could think of.

Waves of tsunamis of screams, ringing through shrilling pulls throughout the hallways of Olympus.

He knew every being in the sky was able to hear the anguish behind the incoherent words.

Then he stopped in his place.

As he heard his name.

ARES

She needed his help

Chapter Text

When Ares arrived across all the domains, breaking forth every possible challenge in the dynamite of a second.

It had already happened.

Zeus looked at him and then walked away, breaking the crusts of his demeanor.

Shock shone in his eyes, muddled with satisfaction.

Ares did not know what had happened. He saw her sitting in a puddle of ichor more lifeless than any corpse befitting in the underworld.

Her chiton was lightly torn by her torso and burnt at its ends.

Her armor and breastplate lay scattered across the forage.

He did not dare look at her back.

He came towards her and carried her by one arm.

However, she was so light. Too light for any type of goddess.

He always carried Aphrodite, as light as a feather.

But Athena appeared as deflated as a balloon. Almost as if her core lay shattered.

She did not flinch nor even register his presence in her catastrophically dull eyes.

Where was he to take her?

Apollo maybe?

Was she allowed on Olympus?

Apollo could hardly even speak any longer. He doubted he would manage to fix her wounds or fix that dead gaze that she held as he constantly carried her forth.

He walked, barefoot, through the dunes of his domain.

He walked until Helios’ sun stopped shining and Selene began her marathon.

Then he took her to the only place he could think of.

The only thing he ever saw her fight for.

Her true family in Ithaca.

”No.”

”We are her family, Ares. Get her to us.”

Shit.

What would he tell them.

Her wings.

Never did he notice the presence behind him. Lightly transparent, almost as a soul.

He would never realize the damaging impact that had occurred in his sister’s psyche so as to teleport a soul from the fields of the dead.

In fact, neither noticed the dead nymph following them, acting as a supposed guardian angel.

For this girl was wrapped around the pedestal of a person that Athena was.

——

What was this dull sensation she was feeling?

Where was she?

What happened?

She didn’t remember anything.

She knew something gruesome had occurred.

But she did not know what.

She could only feel the plasters of absent hands on her skin. She could only feel the burns of her wounds, seeing light ichor pooling out.

She closed her eyes again. She did not want to see the world outside her father’s head.

She did not want to see the world outside her mother’s embrace.

She did not desire a world beyond her solitude. Her fire of excitement and youthfulness had extinguished.

She did not desire anything.

As Tiresias once put, “Death is the only liberation.”

She yearned for that liberation so desperately.

She wanted to be considered dead in the brutality of life.

She did not dare raise her defenses.

Wherever she was, she was officially deceased.

She would no longer be a player of the gods’ game.

She was as dead as the familiar corpse pulling her to the light.

She was as dead as a child sinking into the pool of Styx.

Burning in the devouring waters, no longer alive. A plain survivor.

No longer her.

——

Why even bother picking up the pieces of wasted years.

Athena saw Ares’s face as he pulled her up.

She felt the missing sting at her back, the price she paid to prove her loyalty.

She also felt the familiar presence behind her, but why would she bother trusting one more of Zeus’s tricks.

She was better off dead, decayed.

Why was she saved?

She wanted to be the one repeatedly stabbed by Poseidon’s trident.

She heard the gods outside whisper and murmur of pathetic solutions to aid her while suffering through their own post-traumatic stress.

Why bother?

She would never be saved.

Every time she expected anything good in her life, it vanished.

Her mom vanished.

Her Pallas vanished.

And of course, without her aid in that mutiny, her student Telemachus vanished.

Maybe he survived, maybe he reunited with his father.

Why should she go there and ruin something sweet once more?

Everything she ruined was scattered on the ground of Zeus’s domain.

She was a flightless bird, cutting her feathers off in one swift move. Not even hesitating.

Her eyes were dull.

One eye blurry with its lack of vision and the other eye dead.

She closed her eyes.

She was better off dead.

She felt the bandages. The treated wounds.

Her pain was calmer, more eased.

That shouldn’t be it.

She deserved the pain.

She was lying on her stomach. She assumed Apollo had made his attempts at regrowing her wings with whatever few primal feathers she had left behind.

She was happy it failed.

Flight was when she ran away from her fate.

Flew with glee along with her dearest nymph.

The light was not in her pathway of life.

She was meant to die.

She had no life left in her.

She quickly got up accepting the nausea of the sudden migraine.

Anemia.

She had seen it in soldiers, after blood loss. In her case, ichor.

She lifted the scalpel that Apollo had used for the surgery. She supposed based on her burning limbs.

She assumed he had not seen the scars by her veins.

Hence he left this tool readily beside her.

Maybe as a means of self-defense.

Good.

Thank Styx for his naivety.

She picked the tool up with trembling fingers and positioned it right near her wrist.

Her blue veins glimmered seductively, wanting Thanatos to take her soul away.

Till death did them part.

Death was the only way she would be at peace.

Maybe not.

Maybe at the fields of atonement.

So what?

Suffering for an eternity sounded just about like her current life.

She knew she wouldn’t die.

She knew the outcome despite the little hope that formed.

Then she cut deeply, slowly.

Enjoying the stab.

Enjoying the flow of ichor down her chiton.

She smiled, face glowing.

She was sure if somebody saw her without context, they would assume she was crafting or sparring or anything that would bring her ultimate joy.

She never told her father that she adored his punishments.

Whether it was burning on fire or the destruction chaos provided.

She was ready for more.

Once the waterfall hastened.

She stabbed it once more, deeper.

This was the most gratifying activity.

One would assume she had lost it. Gone mad. Insane even.

Maybe.

But she did not care no more.

If death did not dare meet her, she would call upon it.

She stabbed repeatedly, enjoying every stride of pain.

Ichor splattered and splashed and destroyed everything around her with its fluorescent light.

She’d been blessed.

She felt a force prevent her.

Hold her fingers behind.

A similar hand.

But she broke free.

She was a caged bird.

A bird that would break through the iron pillars and stab herself.

She was willing to trade places with Prometheus.

She chuckled, which came out as a whisper.

She couldn’t let the others know of her actions.

They would stop her.

She should take the weapon and leave.

To where?

Oh, to anywhere that would give her the pleasure of death!

She tried to get up.

Tried to follow the plan to the afterlife.

But her body didn’t move.

It was stuck to the extreme pain she was recovering from.

She stabbed and the wound healed.

Stabbed again and the same.

Oh yes, she was a god.

How she yearned to be a mortal.

Poseidon. Apollo. They sure got to get that gift.

Maybe Zeus knew that the first thing she would do was jump.

Or tie a rope, put her neck within it and hang.

Put her spear through her nonexistent heart.

Or maybe get killed by others.

She didn’t care if she were killed by herself or murdered.

Either way, her soul was already dead.

She took a breath and then repeated the action.

Bending forward to cause a greater impact.

Ichor splashed on her face.

Then she felt light-headed and fainted.

Feeling the agony of her disfigured wings and her head on a pillow.

Well, fuck.

She couldn’t get up and she felt the scalpel by her hand.

What a terrible outcome.

The others were sure to notice the gruesome injuries on her veins.

But she didn’t care.

She always found ways to cut. She would again.

She just enjoyed the throbbing of her heart. And then how her heart stopped each time before relighting back to life.

Her pillow felt cold.

Her body felt cold.

She was freezing, shivering through the rising fever.

Then she lost consciousness with a lopsided, nearly a smirk, of a smile carved on her face.

‘Athena, you summon me. Free me from the underworld only to see you harm yourself.’

Cried the spirit overseeing the exchange of ichor.

She clutched her wavering heart.

‘Oh, how I wish you were happy. It’s a shame we were both dead in this ordeal.’

She whispered.

Pallas flew above the resting girl.

Tears resting by her eyes, unwilling to fall.

‘I hope they watch over you. I hope you feel the love that you deserve. And I hope, more than anything, that you don’t betray your life for the death that you desire.’

She then picked up the scalpel from her dearest’s hand.

Cleaned the ichor using a swabbing cloth.

She patched up her wrist with whatever first aid skills she knew.

And then she flipped the woman onto her back.

‘Even if you despise yourself, I’m on your side. I will show you the love I have for you. Hades, give me a chance to help this girl…’

She begged as she looked at the ground.

Hands intertwined.

She stayed there for what felt like hours.

Not caring about the sunlight, or the world she thought she would never see again.

Not even wondering about her father.

The spirit just pitifully begged that she had more time to help the other.

Stance focused and stable. Filled with will and hope.

She only disappeared when the footsteps of Athena’s god family walked towards the door.

——

Apollo entered after a futile conversation with the others.

Not exactly a conversation, since he had not spoken since his trial.

Artemis often got overstimulated and became non-verbal.

So the Olympians created a system. A language of signs.

He supposed, through prophecy of course, that it would become a common language for all.

But they had developed very little.

Merely small talk. Or emergency signs like:

“leave.“

“stop.“

“it hurts.“

Stuff like that.

That was hardly enough to help him communicate.

He couldn’t bear the impact on his singing voice.

But it was too much.

He teared up, a common occurrence.

‘Ugh’.

‘Why did it all come to this.’

He thought out loud. Like a transmission of his thoughts in his domain.

He supposed that’s how Athena recruited her ‘warriors of the mind’.

He wished that pleasure weren’t taken from her.

When she asked for this ‘hobby’ as Zeus put it, she truly seemed overjoyed despite her lack of expressions.

He had known her for long enough to realize the twinkle of happiness that she probably didn’t realize she displayed.

She was hard to read because she was extremely detached.

He knew the pain.

The pain of being a favorite child.

The responsibilities.

The sacrifices.

The loneliness.

The judgment.

Of course, she faced it worse.

She had issues, they all did, but her issues were bottled for too long.

He yearned for Hyacinthus, out of all his lovers, every night.

But he had his twin sister to talk to.

Athena had nobody.

And now this happened.

He hoped to give her mental relief.

He had invited Dionysus, but the drunkard had not responded.

Artemis, Dionysus, and Hestia.

Those three had been absent on the fateful day that she was struck.

His sister and aunt felt the deepest guilt.

He wondered if the drunkard did too. That man was too difficult to read.

And he and Athena weren’t good to each other either.

There wasn’t much he could expect.

‘Free therapy for your enemy,’ he imagined the scoff on Dio’s face.

Ugh. He kept getting distracted.

Or maybe it was intentional.

He hated the gruesome sight he had to see.

Her prized and proper wings.

Her prime owl feature.

With soundless brush-like feathers allowing her to carefully execute her duty.

Her freedom, in a metaphorical sense.

He could tell she did it to herself.

The rest assumed this was Zeus’s doing.

But he knew self-harm when he saw it.

Hera’s nod of approval just further proved him.

Unfortunately.

Then he glanced at her patched-up wrist.

He mentally cursed.

He left the scalpel out!

Then he routinely performed his healing procedure.

Guilt filling his lungs as tears shed.

Emotions were never this raw to him.

Catharsis took place in the form of art for him.

Everything had been robbed off of him.

But she had it worse.

She never had anything to begin with.

He cried harder as droplets fell onto her ichor.

Then he rhythmically cleaned it up and patched it.

He soundlessly whimpered.

Then prayed that she got everything she wanted.

Prayed for a world where they got everything they wanted.

Rather than being confined to a game.

A failure of an escape room…

He recalled the previous conversation still roaming in the stiff air.

“What do we do now?” Artemis asked as she explained the mental agony of her trial.

Losing all of her hunters, meanwhile Apollo simply lost his lovers and watched that scene on repeat till he lost his voice through estuaries of tears.

He knew he shouldn’t have compared. But still.

The others faced so much more.

And they could speak!

They could move forward.

Apollo was worried if maybe it was him that was the cause of all this.

If he had simply stopped speaking would things be fixed?

No, how foolish.

He opened the bandage on Athena’s hand.

Then he saw it.

The scars of wounds. Recent and old.

From her wrist of stabs which appeared to be still healing.

And old dune-like scars spreading till the tip of her shoulder.

He physically recoiled.

To get scars on a god, the wound either had to be extremely deep.

Or, repeatedly wounded at the same spot.

Both options brought an unbearable pain to any god.

He had seen Ares secretly cry after wounds after that.

But this was so clearly personally done.

How could she have done this to herself.

The veins.

They were so brutally cut off.

In repeated slashes.

The heart stops after each cut. He knew that much, through research.

He also knew the gruesome detonation the body undergoes after that heart stops.

How it breaks apart the roots of metabolism. The neurons. The other organs. Everything.

And then restarts as a switch of electricity only to be cut off again.

She should have been in a seizure.

He couldn’t believe how many times she would have done it to gain such tolerance.

He calmed his heart that he only then realized was beating outside his chest.

Hestia had said to him after the rest left, “I know it’s hard, but we’re going to be a real family now. Call me for anything, hun, I’m here.”

He exhaled.

Maybe it was time.

Truly, time to be a real family.

He just hoped she would be mentally alive till then.

Chapter Text

It was cold. Crippling anxiety swallowed the figure. Black, gooey liquid. All around.

A scene from a nightmare.

The liquid-solid structure stretched onto her like hands capturing the woman. Trapping her for a livelihood of misery.

It was nearly appearing to be the demonic Scylla. But not.

The deadly sting it gave the woman, ichor passing into the nothingness below. Scylla couldn’t do that.

To capture a goddess and keep her trapped into the veils of death. The wrinkles on the woman were a clear time-bomb.

The woman had been there, helpless, for the better part of a century. Or more.

But she didn’t move.

She didn’t wail or yell.

She didn’t descend back into the puddle of nothingness either.

No, she stayed where she was. Eyes open. Ghastly. Entranced into the light she saw above.

One day she would reach there, she affirmed.

Her dull chestnut eyes watched it as if she truly saw a future that.

With the hope that anybody else would’ve lost. With purpose.

But till then she would be where she was, accumulating the strength to get out of the structure she was trapped into.

‘Find me and maybe you can save her, Wisdom child.’

‘Find me and save them all.’

————

Athena flew awake.

Soaked in sweat she breathed and gasped for air.

She could not even see the presence of her brother at the back.

In fact, her heart was beating a thousand times faster, she couldn’t contain what she had seen.

A dream.

Dreams were rare for the gods. They held prophecies.

The sisters of fate held their red thread of life in their own respective way. But Gods didn’t have a red one that could be cut.

Only two sisters looked after the Gods fate, with them being immortal. So the bored and exasperated third sister cooked up a spell, every so often. A spell to charm or destroy the person embodying the golden string. To distract them into demolition and make the lives of the other two sisters more precarious.

She calmed her breathing. Into slow inhalations as she regained herself.

Pallas had taught her that stating that anxiety was a common conundrum. Following this procedure so instinctively, she almost believed the nymph were beside her.

However the comfort of that supposedly freeing thought did not last more than a second.

Athena knew better than anyone, that a prophecy such as this dream can only be the doings of either Apollo, The Oracle of Delphi or a strong force; a force much stronger than the goddess on the receiving end.

She knew the third sister of fate wasn’t capable of such a trick that required the specialty of a free mind.
The sisters had plenty of threads to wind, weave or cut into their own choice of a future story. The gods only truly had limited satisfaction in interrupting that course. The others may not have realised but they were all useless in comparison to the fates in charge of this game.

Nevertheless, Even the fate sisters couldn’t prevent the currents of the tide that had full right to change the direction of life.

They couldn’t possibly keep Odysseus alive nor prevent the cyclops or the angry tidal god.

They were helpless for the truly fearsome ones. Both, the gods and the sisters depended on one another to survive. It was simply the flow of life.

In the end life was truly out of anyone’s grasps. Nobody could recreate the same life. Nobody could bring them back from the dead.

And even if they had eaten the Golden Apple, Athena doubted immortality or mortality was a choice by the ethics that drew these islands apart.

She could not choose to be mortal nor enforce her late son, Erichthonius, an immortal life just for her sake.

Life was like the water that she feared would get her feathers soggy. It was an embodiment of ripples. That influx of ripples were like patterns repeating themselves. She often stood at awe at the creation.

As mad as the man was that ruled over it. It was divine. A matrix purer than anything she had ever seen.
She learnt as much as she could of it from her nymph, who to her credit, was extremely talkative.

Appalled at how the centre reflected the sky, at how it was duller but brighter at every second. Changing as though it was a being of its own - alive. It often showed Athena strength. It gave her hope that she could change her life as she sought it.

But the true bearer of hope was long gone, she had nobody to have insightful conversations with.

She was alone.

She and a puzzling prophecy; alone to do the fixing.

Alone to whatever tides that dragged her to the shores of a mystery mission.

“You aren’t alone, y’know.”

She startled out of thought.

Though she could barely see, even from her functioning eye…she could tell the deeper almost misrecorded voice of her brother.

“Hermes. Why do you sound like a note played wrong?” She asked, asserting vigour in hopes to tend to his debilitated strength. She left the thought unsaid as to how her brother knew what she was thinking.

“Ha-ha. Naw dawling, you don’t get to say that after your appearance!” He teased, worry tainting his tone.

She supposed he was right. She must’ve appeared a sight after all that.

“Very well…what are you doing here?” she asked turning her head away from where she thought he was.

The dulling ache in her ears…Owls tended to hear even the minutest of whispers in the air.

She often had means of dulling down the flurry of noise his vibrant personality provided. However, she assumed, she had to suck it up and accept the involuntary headache that was present. Stifling the urge to rub her temples showing her discomfort, she couldn’t lose the only sense of company she had gotten in days.

She had no right to complain. She was just meat sitting helplessly on a bed, unable to do anything. Unable to see anything. Unable to walk. Or even…fly.

“It’s my turn to look out and make sure you don’t jump outside the window and fall all the way to Ithaca. Y’know how crazy Apollo would go?” He giggled, though it appeared forced and futile.

For the thought was still in the air, she didn’t have wings to fly anymore.

But she couldn’t complain. She was the one that cut them. The deep scars overlapping her back pronounced at that memory.

Silence stroked the conversation.

Athena wondered how many were forced to look after her miserable state.

She wondered how many were, miserable too, all caused by her.

She had not expected this at the slightest.

‘Predicting the future, forethought, is not built by statistics. My friend, it is uncontrollable and sudden leaving us all to react in accordance.’ She recalled this statement. She recalled Prometheus emphasising it again and again as she complained at how the cycles of humans washed away in the flood. Leaving only few of their creations alive to walk the earth.

She wondered if he had predicted his fate. Eagles eating his organs.

Despite being forbidden, Athena visited the man once. She sat beside him, unable to do anything but watch.

She tried talking about the civilisations that his fire helped build, but his eyes were dead. Hope was gone.

The repetition of days, followed him. Destroyed his jovial heart.

She couldn’t bring herself to see him again.

“Thena, what are you doing?” Hermes questioned as she realised she was making attempts at getting up.

Standing.

She couldn’t see anything, her eyes were trapped shut. Maybe she was fearful of what she would see.

“…Could you take me…” she groaned. Realising the depth of her injuries as her bones refused to follow her.

Hermes watched her. Her stance. Her shivering body at the lack of support her limbs gave her.

“I love pranking Pollo, I really do. But you don’t know what is going on here Thena. It’s all destroyed. There is nowhere to take you.” He said, sighing. His voice deepened enough to show his helplessness.

Then he plonked beside her, uplifting her like a seesaw. Had she become that light?

“Touch it.” She snapped her neck towards him, bewildered.

“My legs are stabbed with arrows but touch my wings…” he repeated.

She shivered, imagining gruesome thoughts at what outcome he had faced.

Then her hands twitched and leaned forward.

He directed her hands into his wings.

She finally opened her eyes. Seeing nothing but devastation evident on her face.

“Your wings. He…” she muttered, shocked apologetic, she didn’t know.

“Yes, he burned them.”

Hermes looked at the blind goddess.

“We both can’t fly, we both are trapped. But we always knew that. We never had the power to live life as we pleased. Now we just have the deformed physicality of proof” she said, her mouth voicing her thoughts.

Realisation bashed every ichor cell in her heart.

Hermes saw her make the most defeated expression before regaining her composure and fading into neutrality.

They both, once again, sat in silence. Nearly sedated.

Then Athena forced herself up, touching objects all around to walk and not dash into anything. Flailing her arms like mad before recalling a brief image of how the room looked like.

She was grateful for her interception of detail. For that was her only internal eye guiding her.

Hermes, unbeknown to her, remained seated. Surprised. Confused. But seated.

He knew he couldn’t control her, he knew his sister was intelligent and he decided to trust her.

She sat on her knees, and opened various drawers. The effort it took to find the knob of the drawer and pull it was definitive proof of how weak she was.

She wouldn’t be able to wield her spear or defend herself. Realisation gnawed in. She would be dependant on others for the rest of eternity. Until, one fateful day she finally died or got swallowed, organs eaten. Maybe then her life would have meaning. But she knew, even then she stood for nothing.

She was a failure of a teacher. A failure of a daughter. A sibling. A person.

She wanted to fix that before she died. She wanted to die so badly, she nearly went hysterical. But she had to. She had to fix it.

Or she would face a death worse than life.

She touched the tip of all the vials, she remembered the burning ache of each of Apollo’s medicines. She removed one that seemed hot. Then she removed cotton from another and a pair of scissors from the third.

She did not bother to close the drawers, her bones decaying her movement.

She crawled towards Hermes, who was realising what she was doing.

“Athena you don’t have to-“

“I do.” She said so boldly she was shocked she had it in her.

That clarity which she had lost on that fateful day returned to her.

She would welcome Thanatos with open arms, but first she would pick up the pieces that she shattered.

She rhythmically hummed a tune. Similar to the calming tune Apollo used to sing, a tune similar to the lullaby of her mother.

It was calming enough to leave Hermes speechless, either out of surprise or fondness.

He had been told to look after her and here she was cutting the rims of the arrows and applying burning medicine on him.

He did not dare flinch at the pain. Nor laugh. Nor tease. Nor joke.

For once, he eased into relaxation as she bandaged up his leg.

Maybe things could be fine. Maybe he would still be fine if he couldn’t fly or run away as fast as he could.

Maybe it was okay not to joke during tense situations or distract others.

Maybe it was okay to be taken care of and not be a chaotic riot of a baby.

He watched in silence, fond silence as she bandaged up the rest of his wounds (messily but still effectively).

When she finally finished the process, he helped her onto the bed and watched her doze away. He sat on the carpet, she had woven for one of Apollo’s birthdays and sat on it, admiring each thread.

Then he leaned against the wooden bunk of the bed and snored away, seated on the floor.

Both fast asleep, never noticed the Queen of Olympus entering amusedly at the frame of innocence in front of her.