Frankie was back in the only place in the city that ever felt honest.
The back room above the shuttered shop smelled faintly of dust, old wood, and whatever Yara had cooked two nights ago that no one had been brave enough to throw out. The ceiling slanted low enough that Tomas always forgot and hit his head at least once a visit. The single window looked into the alley instead of the street — which was why they used it. The street lied. The alley warned.
She sat on the edge of the table, one boot hooked on a chair rung, watching the others pretend the world hadn't changed.
Tomas shuffled a bent deck of cards with exaggerated concentration while Yara leaned across from him, already winning and not bothering to hide it. Marco stood near the wall beside Frankie, quiet as always, posture loose but never relaxed. Luca sat opposite them, slowly running a whetstone along the borrowed spearhead in steady strokes.
No one mentioned the angels.
So of course Sofia did.
"They were just floating?" she asked, standing in the middle of the room like she was conducting an interrogation.
Yara didn't look up. "Floating."
"Not flapping?"
"No flapping."
Sofia frowned deeply. "That's cheating."
Tomas snorted. "They're angels, kid. They don't follow rules."
"That means they're cowards," she declared.
Luca glanced up briefly, the corner of his mouth almost lifting. "You've never met one."
"They came to the city," Sofia said stubbornly. "So they can come back."
The room quieted without anyone agreeing to it.
Frankie watched Luca's hands instead of answering. He'd cleaned the sand from under his nails three times since sitting down. He didn't notice he was doing it.
None of them believed today was over.
Then the knock came.
Everyone froze.
Not loud.
Not aggressive.
Three firm strikes.
Tomas swept the cards off the table into his sleeve. Yara vanished behind the hanging cloth partition. Marco moved without a sound into the darker corner near the stairs. Even Sofia stepped behind Frankie automatically.
The second knock came.
Frankie didn't move yet.
The third knock carried authority.
"Luca Valen," a voice called through the wood. "By order of Lord Ares."
No one breathed.
Luca looked at Frankie.
She gave the smallest nod.
He stood, set the spear aside, then picked it back up after half a second's thought and walked to the door.
He opened it.
Two armored temple guards stood in the hall. Red crests etched into their pauldrons.
"The God of War requests your presence," the taller one said.
Not asks.
Requests.
Luca glanced back once. Frankie's face gave nothing away. Marco hadn't shifted an inch but every part of him was ready to move.
Luca stepped out.
"I'll return," he said simply.
The guards escorted him downstairs.
Frankie moved to the window and watched them cross the street below. The city was quieter than it should have been. People pretended normalcy but left space around the guards as they passed.
Gods changed how crowds moved.
She didn't like which direction they were heading.
The training courtyard near the outer barracks stood empty except for one figure.
Ares waited in the sand.
No ceremony. No witnesses. No priests.
He stood bareheaded beneath the evening sky, massive arms folded, red cloak hanging unmoving in the still air.
Luca stopped several paces away.
"My lord."
Ares snorted. "If I wanted worship I'd visit a temple."
He stepped forward and tossed something.
A spear shaft landed point-down in the sand between them.
Not Luca's borrowed weapon.
This one was darker metal, the tip etched with faint lines that seemed to shift when not looked at directly.
"Pick it up," Ares said.
Luca did.
It felt balanced before he adjusted his grip. Like it already understood how it wanted to be held.
Ares grabbed a training spear from the rack and spun it once lazily.
"Show me."
No more explanation.
Luca attacked first.
Ares blocked without moving his feet.
The impact jolted up Luca's arms. Not painful — immovable. Like striking a wall that allowed the hit because it was curious.
He adjusted. Faster thrust. Low feint. Turned step.
Ares parried all of it one-handed.
"Better than most," the god said. "You watch before you move."
Luca didn't answer. He circled instead.
Ares attacked.
The sand exploded beneath his step.
Luca barely deflected the strike, the force throwing him backward two paces. He caught balance and returned immediately, redirecting instead of stopping the next blow.
Minutes passed.
The difference in strength was absolute. But Ares wasn't testing power.
He was testing thought.
Each time Luca adapted, the god's grin widened.
Finally Ares struck hard enough to knock the spear from Luca's hands and stop the match.
Silence fell over the courtyard.
Ares studied him.
"You did not chase victory."
Luca said nothing.
"You protected openings instead of creating them."
The god nodded once.
"Your strength is acceptable. Your heart is stubborn. But your mind…" Ares pointed the spear toward him.
"That is why you lived today."
He planted the weapon in front of Luca.
"Take it."
Luca hesitated. "My lord—"
Ares' eyes sharpened.
"Take it."
He did.
The moment his hand closed around the grip, heat ran through his arms into his chest — not burning, not painful. Heavy. Solid. Anchoring.
Ares placed a hand against Luca's shoulder.
Power pressed downward like gravity.
"I grant you my blessing."
The air tightened.
"You impressed me, mortal. Your strength. Your heart. But importantly — your brain."
The pressure lifted.
"Keep it. Grow it. I hope my blessing helps you achieve greatness."
Luca exhaled slowly, steadying himself.
When he looked up, Ares was already turning away.
"Do not waste what I invest," the god said without looking back.
Then he was gone.
When Luca returned, the room looked empty.
He shut the door.
Immediately Tomas fell out of the wardrobe.
Yara emerged from the partition. Marco stepped forward from shadow. Sofia ran straight to him.
"What happened?"
Luca looked at Frankie first.
Then he held up the spear.
The room went silent.
Frankie studied the weapon — then his posture.
He stood straighter.
Not proud.
Certain.
"Blessed," she said quietly.
Luca nodded once.
Marco stared at the spear with something unreadable in his eyes.
Tomas whispered, "We are in trouble."
Yara elbowed him. "We were always in trouble."
Frankie finally allowed a faint smile.
Outside, the city held its breath.
And inside the room, for the first time since the sky filled with angels —
They had gained something back.