The Last Ballad of Olympus: The Waltz of the Vulture and Owl

The Fall from Grace

How many tears had she shed? How many colors drained out from her spirit? How many more times does she have to go through this sorrow? The poor little goddess was left in ruins, crying every passing second while tightly holding on to her father's bloodied robes.

Zeus never acted like some endearing father. He was never even called father—he was just Zeus, the king of the pantheon, the master of all creations. But why were her once-shelled emotions mounting up high as Gaia raged outside, screeching for everyone's death to come in celerity?

Fire and water had swept every nook and cranny of the great Hellas. The winds were not even favoring any kindness as they yowled the death of the nymphs that once praised and rejoiced their fondles.

As Athena hindered her wails, she looked out and about the whole ballroom and finally realized the totality of the destruction. Appalled, she concluded that what happened to everyone was beyond the boundaries of any creature's comprehension. Crimson was colored all over, staining every fresco on the walls and floors, even painted on the golden plates and utensils scattered everywhere.

There were no bodies, none to be mourned for. There were no parts, not even a strand of hair left. All those glitters were a puzzlement, beautifully gliding in the air like twinkling stars that carried death and agony for those left behind.

White hands reached forth to some phantom before her. No light, no warmth, just a distant chill, and bellowing silence as she whispered every name of those who had fallen. One by one, she uttered their names, carrying a tone of love and farewell.

"See you—soon." She breathed, still reaching out to the unknown.

While her mind wandered off like a busy firefly, her body sensed frailness and a surge of change she could not understand.

"Who—who am I?" She suddenly questioned as she pulled her hand back and childishly gazed above and to her sides, slowly losing her wits. "Where—where am I?"

But as she glared beyond the darkness, a shadow appeared—seemingly coming for her with open arms. Athena could only stare at it, mumbling uncertainties as her hearing began to mute.

She knew he was calling, but words were grievously entwined that she could only hear the voice but not the message the figure wanted to relay.

"What?" Athena questioned.

Once the figure was a foot away from her, her silver eyes started to see shadows—blurring in and out until the only sense left was touch. And there, as goosebumps tingled her skin, a hand gently touched her face—lulling her into some downy predicament that would pull her guard down.

Athena became soft—juvenile in thought and eyes like a lost puppy despite seeing only a haze of grays and blues. The hand became more quizzical, caressing every length of face and neck until the other one joined as if massaging her to ease her distress.

She could not say a word about what was happening. It was confusing. It was something out of color. However, feeling sinful, the touch that nestled her to ecstasy felt so right yet so wrong at the same time.

While the suavity between her and the unknown went on, a sense of danger slowly scratched the soles of her feet, telling her to run. But sadly, it was clear that her body refused. Her ears became ticklish, gradually hearing a voice that continued to call her—questioning her something in a tone of concern and bewilderment.

The poor silver-eyed lady could only frown from the muffled sounds that echoed all around. There were words, a distinct voice, but the message was so muddled that she poorly nodded sideways as the strong hands cupped her face.

Her eyes were completely clouded. Dreary and moody, seeing only forlorn hues and black from the shadow before her.

The once goddess of wisdom was now an epitome of loss and despair—a naïve lady who bore yesteryear's glory. Athena was now just a shadow of the past's golden years as she slumped into the stranger, conveying defeat and reliance on someone's vigor.

"Where am I? Who—who am I?" She repeated in a low voice that was unlike her.

The stranger replied. But again, it was swathed along with the other noises that hovered all over.

"What?" She repeated with a look that sadly painted ache.

More words came out from the specter, but as she reached where she thought its face was, a sudden pain panged on her right back that brought tremors throughout her body—spewing out what was left of her strength.

A scream then trailed, ringing in her ears like a trumpet before Athena faded into the darkness.

Was this the end?

Was the glory of Olympus no more but a figment of the ancient's memory?

Who knows?

Underneath the wings of the winds was the knowledge of the last bleating howl of Gaia before all of Hellas fell, crumbling like a frail mountain. Enemies from the far seas welcomed themselves, destroying more of the land—looting what was left and burning everything until ash and dark smoke manifested.

No more did the sphinxes and sirens protect the whole sanctity of the place. No more did the gods bless the weary with mercy.

The land was no more but a land of ruins and a dead pantheon.

Athens waved its right arm, bidding farewell to its sunshine. Flowers wilted, and trees bent down, receiving death with no choice. Those who had escaped the wrath could only cry from where they were as they stared at the chaos that enveloped their homeland.

The gods were dead, and their prayers were no more but equaled a dead man's sonnet.

Tears left to roll down, shining like a pearl on a coarsy shore.

Seven suns and seven moons ended only in vain. For four days of euphoric orgies and merry-making, little did their minds know of the impending deaths that would occur to them. The smiles, the laughter, and all the rejoicing now became a residual noise that only those keened ears could hear.

It was sad.

It was understandably tragic.

All eyes now darted to the skyline when they saw a blinding flash, followed by a loud rumble that caused more fires and fumes.

The heavenly abode started to crumble. Pillars began to lose their purpose, letting all walls fall like individual bricks smashing onto the floor. The marvelous décor tore down and rotted immediately as the trembling of the earth started again. Gold turned to rust, and jewels became dust.

Farewell to the golden era.

Farewell to the gods,

Farewell to the once glory days that brought immense wealth and prosperity to the whole land.