Olympus — Years Later
Training Grounds of the High Plateau
The sky above Olympus was bright that morning. Not loud. Not roaring. Just bright. Clear. The kind of light that made everything feel honest.
Zeus stood in the center of the plateau, arms folded as his eyes followed the two young figures circling each other. Not mortals. Not boys and girls.
Ares and Athena.
His children.
But different as flame and steel.
Ares was all movement—fists clenched, brow furrowed, breath sharp. His red tunic hung open at the chest, golden greaves wrapped around his legs, his aura already sparking with raw force. When he moved, the ground pulsed. He wasn't just angry—he was born to fight.
Athena, on the other hand, didn't move much. She just watched. Calculated. A long silver spear in hand, her expression calm, detached, focused. Her white and gold robes barely shifted in the breeze. Her eyes—sharp and precise—followed Ares like a strategist breaking down a battlefield in real-time.
