Ares-
I should've been consumed by thoughts of Aphrodite. Her scent, her laughter, the warmth of her touch, all the things that once haunted me like a prayer I couldn't forget. But the harder I tried to summon her, the more she slipped through my fingers, like smoke dissipating in the wind, leaving me grasping at nothing.
Instead, I kept thinking of her.
The healer.
She barely spoke, yet her presence lingered with me, clinging like blood that refuses to wash off. I saw her again, kneeling by the boy, her hands glowing faintly as they hovered over his wounds. Her face wasn't one of power or pride, but something quieter—a deep, desperate need to mend what had been broken. It should've disgusted me. I had just torn her people apart, crushed her god, and yet, there she was, healing.
What kind of fool stays behind to repair what I've shattered?
I let out a sharp breath, the tension building in my chest, like an itch I couldn't scratch. No, I couldn't let her linger in my mind. I needed to see her again. Not out of curiosity, but to rid myself of this strange obsession.
I summoned one of my warriors. "Bring the healer," I said, my voice cold, as if I were commanding the wind. "The woman who mended the boy."
He nodded and left, leaving me in the center of the hut they'd prepared for me. It was a humble thing, hardly fit for a god, but it was enough for one night.
Then, she entered.
The air shifted as soon as she walked in. I froze, the world narrowing to just her. Her skin, a rich brown like polished earth, gleamed under the dim light, glowing almost as if the sun itself had caught her in its grasp. Her eyes, dark and framed with a faint golden ring, locked with mine, and for a moment, the chaos of the world outside vanished. The war. The blood. The cries of the fallen. Gone. It was just her and me.
Her coily hair fell untamed, thick and long, tumbling past her shoulders, a wildness about her that suited her more than any carefully arranged style.
She didn't bow. She didn't scream. She didn't flee.
"What is your name?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, despite the strange fluttering in my chest.
She hesitated for only a moment before answering, "Kamaria."
Kamaria.
I let it roll off my tongue in my mind. It was a name unlike any I'd heard. Softer than the others I'd crushed beneath my feet, quieter, like a breeze before a storm.
I studied her for a long moment. In her eyes, I saw it all: fear, sorrow, wariness. Yet, despite it all, she remained unbroken. She was standing before the god who had destroyed her people's protector, yet she didn't cower. No defiance, no challenge—just an overwhelming sense of loss, and yet, she was still here.
I should have sent her away. But instead, I found myself asking, "Why?"
She didn't answer, not with words, but with the weight of her gaze. She had stayed, even after the destruction I'd wrought. I had broken her world, her faith, and yet she didn't leave.
"Leave," I growled, more harshly than I'd intended.
She didn't say a word. She turned and walked out of the hut, her movements as quiet as a shadow slipping into the night.
But gods, she stayed.
Even after the door closed. Even as the silence pressed in around me like fog. Kamaria.
Why the hell couldn't I shake her from my mind?
I'd buried kings. Slaughtered tribes. I'd shared the bed of goddesses who made the sun itself blush. Yet none of it stayed with me the way she did. Her name. Her eyes. The way she had looked at me, unflinching, in the midst of all I had destroyed.
I growled under my breath and lay back, trying to push her out of my mind. But no matter how much I tried, she lingered—like a bitter taste I couldn't spit out.
Sleep came, but it was restless, and I was plagued with dreams of a figure standing in the shadows. Kamaria's face, fading in and out of focus, like a memory I couldn't hold on to.
I woke to the sound of soft weeping.
At first, it was distant, barely audible, like a child crying in the forest far from where I lay. I dismissed it, thinking it was the wind or some figment of my half-awake mind.
But then it grew louder.
The sobs were raw and wet, full of desperation, dragging themselves through the stillness of the night. My heart picked up pace, my instincts kicking in, a knot forming in my chest.
I listened, straining to hear the source. The air had changed, thick and heavy with something I couldn't identify. My hand instinctively reached for the hilt of my sword.
And then I saw it.
In the corner of the hut, just outside the circle of dim light cast by the fire, a small figure crouched low to the ground. Its limbs twisted unnaturally, like a creature that had been bent out of shape.
My heart stuttered.
At first, I thought it was a person—one of the warriors, perhaps. But the way it moved, jerky and unnatural, made me hesitate. It wasn't human.
Its eyes—no, not eyes—glowed with an eerie, pale light. Empty, hollow, and fixed on mine, its gaze unblinking.
I froze, a cold chill running down my spine. My mind scrambled to make sense of what I was seeing. It moved closer, each step slow and deliberate, its limbs twitching in ways they shouldn't. The weeping grew louder, now almost deafening, as if it were coming from the very air itself.
Without thinking, I lunged forward, my sword cutting through the air in a wild arc, but the creature was gone before I could make contact.
I stumbled, crashing to my knees, my sword sinking deep into the dirt. The room was empty. Silent.
I stood there for a long moment, chest heaving, my sword still clenched tightly in my hands. My mind raced. Was it a trick of the light? A nightmare, maybe? My heart thundered in my chest, but everything around me remained still.
I blinked, shaking my head, trying to clear the fog clouding my thoughts.
It was just a dream. Just my mind playing tricks on me.
But as I scanned the room once more, the uneasy feeling didn't dissipate. My heart still raced. I still felt eyes on me.
And I knew, deep down, that I hadn't imagined it. Something was watching me.