Chapter 178: The Truth
The storm that had followed Zeus back to Olympus still curled faintly around the great hall.
The throne room glowed with its own light—pillars etched with the battles of gods, braziers burning blue flame that never dimmed. The throne itself was carved from storm, veins of lightning whispering across its surface, alive but tamed. Zeus sat upon it, one hand resting heavy on the armrest, the other lifted in command.
The air shimmered.
Ares appeared in a crackle of red fire, bronze armor catching the glow, his great spear leaning casually against his shoulder. His face carried the same smirk it always did—the smirk of a warrior who had never feared consequence.
"You called, Father," he said, voice dripping with mockery. "Does this concern the Spartan again? He screams my name louder than he screams for his gods."
Zeus’s electric-blue gaze fixed on him, cold and unyielding. "Sit."
Ares laughed. "I stand."
The silence that followed was heavy. The storm flickered above, and even the braziers bent faintly toward Zeus’s will. Ares’s smirk faltered just enough. He did not sit, but he straightened, his grip tightening on the spear.
Zeus’s voice rumbled low, steady, each word striking like a hammer. "I know you can kill Kratos."
Ares arched a brow, the smirk threatening to return. "Then why don’t you let me? He is nothing but a mortal with my chains. A dog that forgot its master."
Zeus’s eyes flared brighter, cutting through the hall like blades. "Because he is your brother."
The words struck sharper than any spear.
Ares froze, his mouth parting, the smirk gone. "What?"
Zeus leaned forward, the storm sparking at his shoulders. "You heard me. The Spartan is of my blood. Not by Olympus’s law, but by mine. He carries in him what you carry. He is no pawn. He is kin."
Ares’s jaw tightened. For the first time in an age, he was silent. Then, slowly, the anger crept back into his voice. "You mean to tell me the dog who curses me in the streets, the butcher who ruined Athens, the mortal who blames me for his weakness—he is my brother?"
"Yes." Zeus’s tone did not rise. It cut. "And you will not fight him with all your strength."
Ares barked a laugh, bitter and sharp. "You expect me to kneel to him? To let him believe he can match me?"
Zeus’s stare did not waver. "If he comes for you—and he will—you will not destroy him. If possible, give him only a clone. Let his fury burn against a shadow. And when the moment comes, you will face him not with cruelty, but with restraint. You will apologize."
The laugh died. Ares’s hand gripped his spear so tight the bronze groaned. "Apologize?" His voice cracked with disbelief. "To a mortal?"
"To your brother," Zeus said, the thunder in his tone undeniable. "Yes."
Ares stepped forward, his armor scraping as his chest rose. "You ask me to shame myself. To bend before one who should bend before me."
Zeus stood.
The throne room shook as his presence filled it, the storm coiling like a serpent unchained. Sparks ran down the pillars, the flames bent sideways, and the air itself seemed to kneel.
"Enough," Zeus said, his voice breaking like lightning. "This is not shame. This is necessity. You think yourself war? Then learn what war means. It is not endless slaughter. It is not torment for pleasure. It is balance. It is weight. And the Spartan is part of that weight now."
Ares’s face twisted, pride and fury warring across it. But he did not speak.
Zeus stepped closer, his eyes boring into his son. "You created this monster when you toyed with his desperation. You bound him with your chains, used him as your sword, then mocked him when the sword cut too deep. Now you will face the consequence. But you will not face it as an executioner. You will face it as a brother."
The silence was thick. The only sound was the faint hiss of the storm.
Finally, Ares growled, his voice low, venomous. "If I give him a clone, he will know. He will taste the weakness. He will think Olympus a coward."
"Let him think it," Zeus answered. "What matters is not what he believes now. What matters is that he lives long enough to see the truth. To see what he was meant to become."
Ares stared at him, red fire burning in his eyes, but behind it there was doubt. A crack.
"You coddle him," he spat, but the edge of defiance had dulled.
Zeus turned back to his throne, sparks trailing from his steps. He lowered himself into it, the storm quieting around him. His gaze remained on Ares. "I guide him. As I should have guided you."
Those words struck harder than thunder.
Ares stiffened, his hand loosening from the spear. For a breath, the god of war looked not like the eternal warrior but like a son, caught in the shadow of his father’s storm.
Then he turned away sharply, fire curling around him. "So be it," he muttered. "I will give him his clone. I will hold back. But do not ask me to forgive him. And do not ask me to forgive you."
With that, he vanished in a crack of flame, leaving the hall silent but for the hum of Zeus’s storm.
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Zeus sat still.
His blue eyes dimmed slightly, his hand resting heavy on the arm of the throne. The hall seemed larger in the silence, the shadows deeper. He exhaled, the sound low, weary.
He had seen too many sons fall to pride. Too many brothers tear each other apart. This time, he would not let Olympus drown in the same cycle.
Kratos had to walk his path. Ares had to yield ground. And between them, perhaps a balance would form.
But Zeus knew well: storms did not end with calm. They ended with ruin.
He closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of choice pressing like stone. Then he opened them again, the storm flashing faintly.
"Spartan," he murmured to the empty hall. "You will learn the truth soon enough."
Outside, Olympus gleamed in the night, but the clouds above it churned restless.
A storm was coming still.
And Zeus had only delayed its first strike.