Ares-
I handed Ogun's severed head to one of my warriors. The fool hesitated before taking it, as if holding the remnants of the so-called champion would curse him. I said nothing—just watched the villagers. The way they stared at me like I was death itself.
Their silence was irritating.
"Stop the crying," I barked. "Arrange them faster."
My men obeyed. They pulled the villagers into lines like sacks of grain, tying hands, shoving the stubborn to their knees. Still, some of them sobbed. Children clung to their mothers. Weakness.
Then I saw her.
Kamaria.
Her braids were tighter today. Neat. Pulled back from her face. That same sheer blue cloth still wrapped around her like silk on clay—simple, not lavish like the women of Olympus, but something about the way it fell on her frame... It caught the eye.
I stepped closer.
That's when I smelled her.
Rosewater… and something else. Sweet. My senses halted. Everything felt a little too quiet. My thoughts, the noise, the movement around us—it all faded for a heartbeat. Then she turned, and I saw the boy again. The one she healed. Still alive. Still breathing.
"You can't bring that boy," I said, voice like steel.
Her eyes met mine. Wide. Afraid. "Please, my Lord. He's only weak. Not dead. Please don't leave him, I can't leave him."
I didn't move.
"He wouldn't survive on his own," she said, stepping closer. "He's harmless. I beg you, please don't let me leave him."
I said nothing. Her voice softened.
"I'll do anything–anything you ask."
Still nothing.
Then she dropped to her knees.
"Please," she whispered. "Let him come. I'll tend to your wounds. And your warriors'. Just… don't leave him behind, Don't let me leave him behind I beg of you."
There it was again. That softness. That pleading. It clawed at something I didn't want to name.
I looked down at her for a long moment before answering.
"If you agree to tend to my wounds and do anything I ask no questions—he comes."
Her hesitation was brief, but I saw it. Then she nodded.
"Yes. I will."
I turned to one of the warriors. "Put the boy in a cart. Treat him like he's ours."
Then I stepped forward, grabbed her wrist. She tensed, but didn't pull back. I lifted her onto the horse, slid in behind her, and without another word, we rode forward.
Let Olympus prepare.
I was coming home—with spoils.
Third Person-
When they stopped to rest, it was near a shallow stream tucked between jagged stones and dry trees. The heat had started to lift, but the dust clung to skin and breath alike. Ares slid down from his horse, his movements stiff—wounded but too proud to limp.
Kamaria moved to dismount, but his large hand caught her waist, helping her down before she could protest. She said nothing, eyes lowered, heart thudding from the strange sensation of his touch.
"Come with me," he said gruffly.
He didn't wait for her response—just walked, knowing she would follow. And she did, carefully stepping over pebbles and dry grass, casting a last glance at her father and Ogunyemi resting by the carts.
They stopped beneath a tree, away from the others but within view if anyone dared look. Ares sank onto a large rock, undoing the strap of his armor with his good arm. Kamaria remained standing, unsure.
"You said you'd tend to my wounds," he reminded.
She nodded, quietly stepping closer. "Yes, my Lord."
She knelt beside him, reaching into the small satchel she'd carried on the horse. Her fingers worked quickly, mixing powdered herbs with salve. She could feel his eyes on her as she dipped her fingers into the paste.
"Lean forward slightly," she said.
Ares obeyed. Her hands were gentle, steady as she peeled back the cloth over the gash near his ribs. The scent of myrrh, crushed leaves, and rosewood rose between them. As did her own scent—sweet and soft, something ancient and wild.
He inhaled sharply.
Kamaria didn't notice. Or maybe she did. But her hands never faltered as she pressed the paste onto his skin. His muscles jumped under her touch. Not from pain.
She was close now—close enough for him to notice how her braids brushed against her cheek, how the fabric of her sheer blue wrap clung softly to her shoulders, like a whisper of Olympus.
He didn't speak. Neither did she.
But something pulsed between them.
"I have to wrap it tightly," she said, finally.
"Do what you must."
When she finished, she stepped back and dipped her hands into the water she'd brought with her, rubbing them together to clean off the paste.
"You didn't ask me if it hurt," he said, watching her.
Kamaria glanced at him, a little surprised. "You said you weren't afraid of pain."
Ares gave a short, dry laugh. "I did."
He stood then, towering over her. "Get back to your people."
She dipped her head. "Yes, my Lord."
He watched her walk away, her braid swaying with each step, her scent lingering on the air.
He'd had many women ride behind him. None of them haunted his senses like this.
Kamaria.
He whispered her name in his mind like a curse.
And a prayer.