Ares's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

The summons came while Ares was alone, which meant Zeus knew exactly when to call. No witnesses. No one to see the god of war answer like a hound to his master's whistle. Ares climbed the white marble steps to the palace, each one carved with eagle wings and laurel wreaths. The doors stood open. Empty. The other Olympians had scattered like prey before a storm, leaving their usual seats cold. Only Zeus remained, seated on his golden throne, backlit by the glow of celestial fire. He didn't rise. Didn't speak. He simply lifted a helmet from the arm of his throne and held it out. The Helm gleamed black and gold, falcon wings spreading from its crest like a challenge. Ares knew what it meant. A war no one else would touch. A mission they'd all refused. Zeus wasn't asking. He was marking Ares with the one thing the god of war had spent centuries fighting for: a chance to prove himself. But the empty hall whispered the truth. This wasn't honor. This was disposal. Ares took the helmet. The weight settled in his hands, solid and real. Zeus's eyes never wavered, never softened. No explanation. No strategy. Just the helm and the silent command it carried. Ares turned and walked back through the vacant palace, past the abandoned seats, past the silence that screamed what none of them would say aloud. If he wanted their respect, he'd have to win it in a war designed to destroy him. The doors closed behind him with a sound like a tomb sealing shut.