Ares's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Ares drove his bloodstained spear into the sand of the golden arena, breath ragged, knuckles white. He had built this place for one reason: to burn the fury out of himself before it could burn anything else. If he could master it, even for a day, Olympus might name him its protector. He drilled until his arms shook, hurling the bronze tip through stone pillars he raised and shattered, again and again. The vulture watched from a high arch, gold wings folded, red eyes patient. It only stirred when his rage stirred. Today it had not moved once. Ares took that as a good sign. He was wrong. A shadow crossed the sand. His mother stepped through the gate, gown trailing, lotus staff in hand. "Your father took another last night," Hera said. "A mortal girl. He did not even hide it." The coal in his chest split open before he heard himself roar. The spear was already moving. It tore through three pillars and buried itself in the far wall before he knew his arm had thrown it. The vulture shrieked and launched into the air. Ares stared at his empty hand, shaking. He had not felt it rise. He never did. Hera did not flinch. She looked at the ruined wall, then at her son. "You cannot guard Olympus," she said, "if you cannot guard yourself." She turned and left him in the wreckage. Ares sank to his knees in the sand. The coal was still hot. He still could not put it down.