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

One Deity's Ache

A mysterious song came humming in the air. It clawed through the thick walls and made itself a home on every corner of the megaron. None spared by its enchantment that even the god of war's private room was wrecked with its haunting tunes—making itself comparable to an unannounced rain pouring its tears with dread and loneliness.

Loneliness was the perfect sentiment to describe the whole ambiance.

As the night birds tweeted their closing sonnet, the anonymous song was twined with more farewells, filling the sighs of the evening tide with gloom and anxiety.

When the door was closed, and the fire of the last lighted torch waned, the old right-hand man was left in awe—to the point that everything crucial dwindled, leaving only the surprising declaration of his lord that how he wished for his long-time foe to be his queen.

"The god of war is indeed unpredictable," Pantelis muttered as his feet dragged him to comfort.

However, despite now being in his abode with his dear old wife, Anemone, sleeping peacefully on their bed, the former general could not easily erase those raging eyes of Ares that softened too quickly when he mentioned Athena's name.

He sensed the shift.

He could tell and understood the blossoming light inside the god's soul.

"I never knew that at this day and age, I would witness this kind of spectacle to a known chaotic deity." He lastly uttered before surrendering to his downy bed and being one with the rhythm of dreams with his beloved.

On the same deep dark hours when Hypnos's spirit gained the upper hand, reserving everyone's worries for the coming daylight, Ares sank into his chair and contemplated what he had just told his loyal subject.

The god was uneasy, fidgeting with his fingers while pushing his hair back as he exhaled ferally. His head was heavy, though inside was only composed of a pit of never-ending darkness—a blank canvas ready to be stained with wet paint.

"What in Olympus's name did I just blabber?" Gritting between teeth, he wailed like a child in a fit of pique. He leaned back, aggressively covering his face with his hands, and screamed as his shame painted his skin red, tailed with rage and anger towards himself. "Why am I saying those things? Athena, the new Hera? Argh! Now you have turned the table yourself, Ares!

I should not have said those sentiments! I should have thought everything before I let this mouth of mine ransacked the whole atmosphere. Oh, Athena, what have you done to me?"

Once he opened his eyes, the dimly lit room greeted him with a daunting silence—allowing him more freedom to drown his thoughts with weariness and let his soul be in trepidation as his emotion was fighting a new war even though there was no certainty he could win.

"Eyes as silver as the stars placed on the heavens. Skin white as the clouds and silky as the snow on mountain tops. Her hair was the darkest gold when night hovered—deep gold turned into the lightest bronze. She was the strongest of all my opponents but had the softest heart, for she even forgave those who did her the worst. Oh, Athena, you are indeed some kind of a marvel—one to be hated and, at the same time, adored.

I saw the brilliance behind your quiet gaze. The burning fury behind that disciplined poise was remarkably hypnotizing—easily defeating your enemy down to his knees.

I loath you with all my heart.

I despised your presence. Every breath you take is a beat I wanted to vanquish. But now—I do not know what you are to me." His burbling madness sighed in defeat. He raised his hands towards the ceiling, pointing a blame in the air as if Athena was floating—listening to his monologue.