The palace of war was not like the others of Olympus.
Where Apollo's halls were lined with light and song, and Poseidon's chambers glittered with salt-stone and pearl, Ares's domain stood like a fortress carved from iron and fire. Spears jutted from its walls. Shields, blackened by countless battles, hung as trophies. The air itself carried the stench of smoke and blood, as though war had seeped into the stone.
Within, the god of war sat slouched across a massive chair of bronze, his spear resting beside him, his armor half-fastened as if he had no patience for ceremony. The glow of his eyes was dim, but his jaw twitched with restrained fury.
The great doors slammed open.
Athena stormed inside, her cloak whipping behind her like a blade through smoke. The guards braced their spears, but she cut them aside with a glare. Her gray eyes burned, fixed straight on Ares.
He did not rise. He only smirked faintly, though his brow arched. "Sister. To what do I owe this storm?"
