Ares-
Dawn crept in slowly, its first light pale and weak through the cracks of the hut. I could feel the weight of the night lifting, but the unease was still thick in the air, clinging to my skin like the lingering echo of a bad dream. My heart hadn't stopped racing since I saw it—the creature, or whatever it was. The thing with the glowing eyes that had haunted the shadows of my mind.
I wasn't going to sleep again. Not now. Not after what I'd seen. My senses were sharp, every sound, every shift in the air felt like it was pressing in on me. I couldn't afford to relax, not with whatever that thing was lingering in the dark, waiting for me to let my guard down.
The sun had barely risen, but I knew it was time. I couldn't stand lying there anymore, trapped in the stillness, alone with my thoughts. The nightmare from the night before hadn't just come from my mind. It was real. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach, a gnawing certainty that whatever was out there wasn't just some trick of the night.
I forced myself up, muscles sore and stiff, but my mind clear. I had to move.
I left the hut in silence, stepping into the early morning chill. The village lay in a quiet, eerie stillness, its buildings barely touched by the sunlight filtering through the trees. The air was thick, the weight of the past night's battle still hanging heavy in the atmosphere. The bodies of the fallen lay scattered outside, a grim reminder of the bloodshed.
I walked toward the water, needing to wash off the sweat, the blood—my weariness. The river was cold, its surface rippling gently, but even as I stepped into the water, the strange feeling lingered. My skin crawled, every part of me alert, but I forced myself to focus on the task at hand.
The water felt refreshing against my skin, a brief moment of calm before the storm. But as soon as I was done, the unease returned with full force. I couldn't shake the feeling that the villagers, even Kamaria, were all watching me, waiting for me to make the next move.
I finished quickly, stepping back onto the shore, and I ordered my warriors to gather everyone. Time to leave.
"Prepare yourselves. We are leaving for Olympus soon," I told them, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
I could feel the tension in the air, but there was no time for doubt or hesitation. Olympus was waiting, and so was the next conquest.
Kamaria's
The morning light did little to warm the chill inside me. Even as it spilled through the trees and over the broken village, it couldn't touch the weight pressing down on my chest. My hands moved instinctively—gathering herbs, mixing poultices, checking Ogunyemi's pulse. He stirred slightly beneath the cloth we laid over him, face pale and drawn. His breathing was still uneven. Weak.
"Easy," Baba whispered, placing a calming hand on my shoulder as I adjusted the bandages around Ogunyemi's ribs. "He's holding on."
But for how long?
My eyes lingered on the bruises marring his chest, the blood still dark on his temple. I swallowed hard, the image of Ares driving his thumbs into Ogun's eyes flashing in my mind. The sound of his skull cracking still rang in my ears. The god of war had destroyed more than a warrior. He had broken a legacy.
And yet—Ogunyemi was alive.
Barely.
"I should've stopped him," I muttered. "I should've said something. Done something."
"You did what you could," Baba said, though his voice was heavy. "You saved him, Kamaria. You've been saving all of us, quietly. That's what your gift is."
But I didn't feel like a savior. Not anymore. Not after watching Amari—fall lifeless in the dust, her head severed from her body while the others screamed. And I could still feel the heat of Ares' stare on me last night, those sharp eyes searching me like I was something to figure out. I hadn't even told him my name until he asked. I should've kept it from him.
Yet when I said it—Kamaria—his gaze lingered. Not with lust, not exactly. But something I didn't understand. Curiosity. Possession. Power.
He didn't know I was the one bringing back the dead soldiers. I was sure of that. For now. But if he did…
I looked down at Ogunyemi again, brushing a damp curl from his forehead. He flinched at the touch, eyes fluttering beneath his lids. My heart clenched.
"You're going to be okay," I whispered, more for myself than him. "You have to be."
Baba was silent, watching me. I could feel his worry. Not just for Ogunyemi—but for me. For what would happen if Ares found out the truth. That I was the reason he had lost so many men before realizing how to kill them properly. That I had given Ife-Ikoro's warriors a second chance—even if it hadn't been enough.
The gods were monsters.
And I feared this one more than all the others.
As I continued pressing the damp cloth against Ogunyemi's forehead that's when I heard soft footsteps. A young girl—Adaeze—peeked into the small hut, her eyes wide and uncertain.
"Kamaria," she said quietly, almost afraid to speak. "They said… the god said we are leaving."
I blinked, my hand stilling. "Leaving?"
She nodded. "To Olympus."
My breath caught.
I looked at Baba beside me, who had been helping grind herbs. His hands paused mid-motion, eyes lifting to meet mine. The weight of that single word sat heavy in the room.
Olympus.
"Did he say when?" I asked gently, brushing Ogunyemi's hair back.
"Soon. The warriors are calling people together. They said everyone must come." Her small voice wavered. "Even the children."
I stood slowly, careful not to startle her. "Thank you, Adaeze. Go back to your family, alright?"
She nodded and slipped away.
I looked back at Ogunyemi. His face was pale, his breaths shallow. Baba placed a hand on my shoulder.
"We'll go with them," he said, voice low. "We have no choice."
I nodded slowly, though my heart ached. I didn't understand the ways of the gods—why they brought so much pain with their power. Ares terrified me. His rage, his cruelty… and the way he looked at me yesterday—it unsettled something deep inside.
I didn't want to go.
But I would.
If it meant staying by Baba's side… if it meant tending to Ogunyemi until he could stand again… if it meant protecting the little ones like Adaeze, even if all I could offer was a soft hand and warm smile…
Then I would go.
Even to Olympus.
I dipped the cloth into the bowl again and returned it to Ogunyemi's brow, blinking back the tears forming in the corners of my eyes.
Please, I prayed silently, to any god still listening—don't let us suffer more than this.