CHAPTER 96: "IT BEGINS."

The next day passed like any other on Olympus.

Blue skies. Silver halls. Gods laughing, arguing, whispering about mortal offerings.

But Hera watched it all like a spider watching a web. Quiet. Still. Patient.

Ares trained harder than usual. He broke a dozen spears, bruised his own fists, and even snapped at Deimos when he didn’t block fast enough. His mind wasn’t on the fight anymore. Not really. His strikes were heavy, wild—just like the dreams that were starting to claw at him again. Fire. Screams. Wings that weren’t wings.

He hadn’t told anyone.

Especially not his father.

Zeus hadn’t even noticed.

But Hera did.

—

That evening, while Ares bathed in the courtyard pool—rinsing blood from his chest—Aphrodite passed by.

Just a glance. A flicker of perfume. Her hips swayed like the tide, and for a second, Ares forgot how to breathe.

He looked away.

She didn’t.

He caught her reflection in the water. Smiling. Eyes dancing with something dangerous.

And just like that, the flame started to burn again in his chest. Not passion. Not lust.

Something darker.

Possessive. Twisted.

He clenched his jaw and sank into the water.

—

Meanwhile, in Hera’s private chambers, the pieces kept moving.

She stood over a basin filled with mist. Not water. Something older. Something sacred. It showed her flashes of what was coming.

Ares’s soul—twisting, heating, warping. Aphrodite—curious, amused, half-willing. And Zeus?

Zeus was distracted. As always. Busy speaking with foreign gods about the boundaries between realms. As if Olympus wasn’t already crumbling under its own pride.

Hera whispered something into the mist. A spell. Not strong. Not invasive.

Just a suggestion.

A pull.

It floated from the mist like smoke, vanishing through the cracks of Olympus.

Toward Ares.

—

That night, Ares woke with a jolt.

The dream again. Chains wrapping around his arms. Fire boiling beneath his skin. And a voice—deep, ancient, inhuman.

"You were born for more."

He rubbed his face and stood, walking through the hall in silence. The moonlight painted the floors in silver. He didn’t know where he was going—until he did.

The garden.

Zeus’s private garden. No guards. No barriers. Just silence.

And Aphrodite.

She was sitting by the pool, dipping her fingers in. Her dress was light. Almost sheer. Her back was to him.

"You shouldn’t be here," Ares said.

She didn’t turn. "Neither should you."

He stepped closer. "Why are you here?"

"Because I was told not to be." She turned then, slowly, eyes glowing under the moon. "And I don’t like being told what to do."

Ares swallowed.

He hated how her presence messed with his head. How she smelled like sin and starlight. How she looked at him like she knew every part of him—especially the broken parts.

"You’re playing a dangerous game," he said.

"And you’re still pretending not to care."

He looked away.

"I’m with Hephaestus now," she added, soft but sharp. "You know that."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because he doesn’t look at me like you do."

Ares’s fists clenched.

"I could burn this garden down," he muttered.

She leaned in closer. "Then why haven’t you?"

He didn’t answer.

She stood slowly, her body brushing his. Not touching. Just close enough to feel the heat.

"If you want me," she whispered, "take me."

He closed his eyes.

But instead of giving in... he stepped back.

"Not like this."

And he left.

Aphrodite watched him go, eyes narrowing.

She whispered to the air. "It’s almost time."

—

The next day, Ares didn’t show up to training. He didn’t eat. He didn’t speak to anyone. He stayed in his chamber, staring at his hands.

Hephaestus came to visit once. Knocked. Waited.

No reply.

He left quietly.

But the whispers started.

That night, Hera met with Aphrodite again in the Hall of Veils. A secret place beneath Olympus, where words didn’t echo and walls didn’t listen.

"He’s slipping," Aphrodite said. "But he didn’t touch me."

"He doesn’t need to," Hera replied. "His pride is already cracking. Now we break it."

"How?"

Hera’s eyes glinted.

"Zeus will meet you tonight. In the east balcony. You’ll be there. Alone. Just long enough for Ares to see."

Aphrodite’s brows lifted. "You want him to see?"

"I want him to explode."

Aphrodite crossed her arms. "If this backfires..."

"It won’t," Hera said coldly. "He’s his mother’s son. The rage is there. Tartarus is already whispering to him again. All he needs is the lie."

—

Night fell.

The east balcony shimmered under moonlight. Zeus stood with one hand resting on the marble rail, looking out at the mortal world below. He didn’t know Aphrodite would be there. Hera had sent the message from an anonymous source. "A gift awaits."

When Aphrodite arrived, Zeus turned, confused but amused.

"My dear. I didn’t call for you."

"I know," she said. "But you looked lonely."

He smiled. "You’ve never been subtle."

And she stepped closer, trailing her fingers along his arm.

Nothing happened. No kiss. No touch. Just closeness. A whisper of something forbidden.

Enough.

Because Ares had seen.

He stood at the corner of the hallway, breath sharp, teeth clenched. He didn’t hear the guards. Didn’t feel the wind.

He just saw her.

With him.

The crack was complete.

Something inside him snapped. Not loudly. Quietly.

A shift.

A flicker.

And the scream of chains echoed in his mind again.

Ares turned and walked away—slow, deadly, focused. The ground beneath his feet hissed. His aura grew thicker, black veins pulsing beneath his skin.

He walked past the Hall of Veils.

Past his training grounds.

Into the Forge.

The heart of Olympus.

Where weapons of war were born.

And he picked up a blade.

A blade meant only for gods.

—

In her chambers, Hera stood at the window again, watching the stars.

She didn’t smile.

She didn’t gloat.

She simply said:

"It begins."

Far below, Tartarus stirred.

And the sky over Olympus... darkened.

A/N

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