Sparta - The King's Chambers
A man paced back and forth, his waist draped in a thin veil that did little to hide the monstrosity of his frame. He was built like a war machine; his muscles were so refined they appeared forged from steel, and the scars scattered across his skin screamed of a thousand battles. He was more than a man; he was a warrior who had earned the respect of the gods themselves. Indeed, he had been invited to Olympus and offered wine meant only for the divine. He was a man who had laid with goddesses a man who transcended mortality. Regality was his very stature. This was Leonidas, King of Sparta.
His wife, the Queen, lay upon the bed beneath a sheet of exotic animal hide. She stretched, turning to pluck grapes from a nearby stool; it was a private scene so sacred that any common eyes caught witnessing it would surely be plucked out. She gazed at her husband and teased, "The Great King of Sparta, worried like a young boy?"
Leonidas looked out the window to where his men were sparring in the courtyard. He sighed. "What could possibly make Olympus come to us?"
"You speak as if the entire pantheon is descending," his wife replied. "It is merely a lesser god coming for an inspection nothing of utmost significance. Besides, during the last gathering, a friend in Athens mentioned that a check was performed there as well. It should be nothing."
Her husband's face remained etched with concern. "Nothing involving the gods is ever 'nothing.' At least, not in my experience."
His wife stood, her linen garment trailing gracefully as she moved to embrace him from behind. As she pressed against him, she whispered, "Let the gods care for the gods, but let us mortals care for ourselves. The evening is young, and I have stamina enough to last until tomorrow. Besides, the women of Athens taught me a few new things."
Her fingers slipped somewhere very much forbidden.
Leonidas sucked in a sharp breath, then laughed.
"You've grown bold," he said, turning as he scooped her up effortlessly.
What happened next is not for our eyes to see.
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Olympus
Laughter echoed across the marble halls.
"Careful, Ares," Apollo said dryly. "You'll rupture my precious eardrums."
The God of War siting on a marble throne laughed loudly withought regard. He loomed over the space, a massive silhouette of sheer, overwhelming scale. His physique was a testament to absolute power shoulders broad as a mountain pass and a chest like a slab of iron, his presence casting a long, suffocating shadow that made the air feel thin and hot. But it was his eyes that carried the true horror of his nature; they were pits of raw, pulsing bloodlust, swirling with the dark smoke of inevitable destruction.
His brother Apollo could only sigh dryly.
Apollo. The Solar Perfection, unlike the raw bulk of a warrior, his muscles were long and fluid, possessing the effortless grace of an archer and the refined elegance of a performer. His skin seemed to hold the sun itself, glowing with a faint, golden luminescence that made the air around him shimmer with a restless, dry heat.
His hair was a tumble of spun gold, bright enough to ache the eyes, framing features so symmetrical they felt predatory. He carried himself with a casual, devastating arrogance,
A sun doesn't lose it glow it only burned brighter.
His expression was one of bored indifference, as if the lives of mortals were merely songs he had heard a thousand times and found lacking.
Ares laughter stopped abruptly .
"Why though?" he thought out loud. "Being sent down to check on mortals?"
Apollo smirked. "Someone has to do it. And Father thought it fitting."
Ares rolled his shoulders, already annoyed.
"Sparta," he muttered. "Of all places."
Apollo's smile widened slightly.
"Yes," he said. "That's exactly why."
Ares clicked his tongue and stood up, feets striking marble as he paced.
"Sparta isn't like Athens," he said. "Those people don't bow. They don't beg. They don't even pray properly."
Apollo leaned back against a pillar, arms folded lazily, teasing "And yet, you love them."
"I respect them," Ares corrected. "There's a difference." "besides I need scapegoats once in a while"
Apollo chuckled. "Keep telling yourself that."
Ares shot him a glare. "You know why this is a bad idea. Leonidas isn't some trembling king hiding behind walls. He's shared wine with us. Bled for his land. The guy even slipped into some godesses"
"Hmm," Apollo agreed. "That's exactly what makes him interesting."
Ares stopped pacing.
"You're enjoying this too much."
Apollo slumped lazily on the pillar.
Ares scoffed and turned away, arms crossed.
"So who did Father send?" he asked. "One of the Muses? Hermes' messengers? Don't tell me it's you."
Apollo raised an eyebrow. "Relax. I'm not going anywhere near Sparta."
Ares stopped.
"Then who?"
Apollo tilted his head toward the far end of the hall, where a much smaller figure lingered near the columns quiet, unassuming, trying very hard not to draw attention.
A minor god.
One of the countless lesser divinities Olympus barely remembered existed unless needed for errands.
Ares stared.
"…You're joking."
Apollo smiled faintly. "Hardly."
"They send that?" Ares barked a laugh. "To Sparta?"
Apollo shrugged. "Mortals are mortals. Whatever's happening down there, Father doesn't believe it warrants real attention."
Ares' jaw tightened.
"That place bleeds war," he said. "You don't send a lamb into a battlefield and expect answers."
Apollo's expression turned to amusement, just slightly. "You care more than you pretend."
"Don't mistake concern for interest," Ares snapped. "I just don't like being blindsided."
Apollo pushed off the pillar and walked closer. "The order was simple. Observe. Record. Leave. No interference."
Ares let out a breath through his nose. "And if something goes wrong?"
Apollo's gaze flicked briefly toward the mortal world.
"Then it goes wrong," he said. "Mortals have never lacked for tragedies."
Ares said nothing.
The minor god approached hesitantly, bowing low.
"I… I will depart immediately," he said, voice thin.
Ares looked down at him.
"Sparta isn't gentle," he said flatly. "Keep your head down."
The lesser god nodded quickly. "Of course, Lord Ares."
With that, the clouds parted once more.
The minor god descended alone.
Ares watched until the figure vanished from sight.
"…I hope this brings some fun, Its been quite a while I broke something," he muttered.
Apollo didn't answer.
High above the mortal world, the gods turned their attention elsewhere.
After all,
Mortals were mortals.