CHAPTER 89: "MAKING MORE OF YOUR LITTLE OFFSPRINGS."

Morning.

The golden light of Olympus streamed gently through the high windows, soft and warm like it didn’t want to wake anyone. The air still smelled of heat and sweat, of lavender and wine. The bed was a mess of tangled limbs, silk sheets kicked halfway to the floor. Breathing soft. Bodies glowing with that post-divine glow.

Zeus sat up slowly.

His hair was loose and wild, a few strands sticking to his face. His body still hummed, not just with power—but with memory. Last night was carved into him now. Every moan. Every kiss. Every flicker of eye contact. It hadn’t been just lust. It had been something... heavier. Something older.

He glanced around the bed.

Metis was curled beside him, one hand still resting against his chest. Leto lay on her stomach, hair draped over her back like a river. Maia clung to a pillow, lips parted, drooling a little. Mnemosyne had one leg thrown over Themis, who somehow still looked regal even half-naked and asleep.

He let out a soft chuckle.

"Gods," he muttered.

Careful not to wake them, Zeus slid off the bed and stood. His back cracked softly. His muscles ached in the best way. He grabbed a black tunic from the polished stand nearby, tugged it over his frame, then wrapped a silver-trimmed sash across his waist. No need for armor. Not today.

His bare feet made almost no sound as he crossed the marbled floor and pushed the golden doors open.

Olympus greeted him like an old friend. The sky was clear, the air fresh, the scent of blooming ambrosia trees drifting on the breeze. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the clash of weapons.

He smiled.

They were already there.

—

The training ground was a wide terrace built into the side of Olympus, surrounded by statues of old heroes and fallen Titans. The floor was smooth marble, reinforced with divine wards to withstand even the roughest beatdowns. Sunlight painted the space in warm gold.

Athena stood at the center, armored lightly, her silver shield strapped to her back and her spear twirling easily in one hand. Her golden eyes were sharp even in youth—focused, calculating. Ares stood across from her, shirtless, sweat glistening off his chest. He wasn’t armored. Just fists wrapped in bandages and a wild grin on his face.

"You’re late," Athena said without turning.

Zeus raised a brow. "I’m early. You’re just... freaks."

Ares grinned. "Damn right."

Zeus stepped down onto the field, arms crossed. "Alright. Show me what you’ve learned."

Athena didn’t hesitate. She surged forward, footwork precise, spear slicing toward Ares’s ribs. He ducked, rolled, came up with a rising punch—only to have his wrist smacked away by the butt of her spear.

"You’re too predictable," she said.

"Shut up," he grunted, trying again with a fake-out left. This time, she took the bait—but barely. Their weapons clashed. Sparks flew.

Zeus watched them for a moment. Then stepped in between.

"Enough."

They froze.

Athena took two steps back. Ares just stayed put, breathing hard, eyes still burning with adrenaline.

"You’re both strong," Zeus said, looking from one to the other. "But strength alone doesn’t make a god."

Athena tilted her head. "Then what does?"

"Control."

He stepped up to Ares first.

"You fight like a wildfire," he said. "Fast. Brutal. Loud. You want to crush your enemy before they move."

Ares shrugged. "It works."

Zeus smirked. "It also gets you impaled."

He turned to Athena.

"And you... you’re the opposite. Sharp. Clean. But sometimes too clean. You try to fight like you’re already won."

Athena nodded slowly. "Then what’s the answer?"

Zeus pulled his lightning bolt from the sky.

"Watch."

He tossed it forward—slow at first—and it hovered in the air.

Then split.

Half the bolt shot at Ares. The other at Athena.

Both moved at once. Athena brought up her shield, deflecting with a perfect pivot. Ares didn’t bother dodging—he punched the energy head-on, letting it explode across his forearm with a grunt.

Smoke cleared.

Both still standing.

Zeus called the lightning back to his hand, eyes sparking.

"You’re the gods of war. Together."

He looked at them both.

"You’re not meant to fight alone."

They stayed quiet.

Then Athena stepped closer to Ares.

"I’ll cover you next time."

Ares looked at her sideways. "Took you long enough."

Zeus nodded. "Good. Now spar. Together. Same side. Against me."

Ares’s grin widened. "Now we’re talking."

Athena’s eyes gleamed.

And then it began.

They came at him fast. Ares flanked left, fists flying, raw force behind every punch. Athena circled, precise strikes aimed at weak points. Zeus moved with them—dodging, parrying, testing. He let them push him. Let them find rhythm.

Left—Athena stabbed high.

Right—Ares swept low.

Zeus ducked, lightning sparking from his palm as he blocked. "Better."

Athena lunged.

Zeus vanished.

Reappeared behind Ares.

Crack—palm to spine.

Ares stumbled, but Athena caught him, spun, counterattacked.

Zeus caught her spear midair and twisted.

"You’re learning."

He let go.

She stepped back, panting. Ares wiped blood from his lip.

They both looked up at him.

Zeus smiled.

"This is Olympus," he said, stepping back, letting the sun hit his back. "And you two are my future."

The wind blew past them, kicking up dust and leaves.

Athena nodded. "Then teach us everything."

Ares cracked his knuckles. "And let us teach you how to hit harder."

Zeus laughed.

For a moment, it felt simple.

Or so he thought—until the quiet broke.

He heard the heels first.

Then her voice, sharp and smooth like a blade dragged through honey.

"Thought you’d still be busy," Hera said, stepping into the training ground, her eyes flicking across the space. "Making more of your little offsprings."

Zeus turned slowly.

"Hera," he said, voice low.

Ares’s eyes lit up. "Mother!"

He ran to her without hesitation, arms wide, grin boyish and bright.

She softened—just a little—as she knelt to hug him, one hand sliding through his hair.

But her eyes never left Zeus.

A/N

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