Chapter 180: Angry Athena
Days passed.
Olympus did not sleep, not even after the storm of Zeus’s command. The throne hall was never empty. Messengers crossed its marble floors with scrolls from foreign pantheons, heralds carried offerings into storerooms, scribes knelt at the foot of the dais, waiting for judgment. The air itself was heavy with the hum of power—the storm’s echo lingering around Zeus, and the calm weight of Metis, who sat at his side.
She spoke softly, steady, her voice cutting through the bustle without needing to rise. "The Mesopotamians argue still. Inanna swears she will not share shrines with Ishtar’s priests. If we do not settle it soon, they’ll turn knives against one another."
Zeus leaned against the carved arm of his throne, his eyes sharp, his tone simple. "Give them land apart. A field can hold more than one harvest. Let them divide."
Metis nodded. "And the tribute from the East? Guanyin’s envoy waits for an answer."
Zeus exhaled, sparks sliding faintly across his knuckles. "Tell her Olympus listens. That is enough, for now."
Metis’s eyes flicked toward him, catching the weight behind his words. She did not press.
–––
The great doors opened.
Athena entered, her stride clean, her cloak brushing the floor in gray folds. She carried no spear, no shield, but she did not need them. Her presence alone was sharp as a blade. The guards bowed, but she did not glance their way. Her eyes—storm-colored like her father’s, but colder—were fixed on Zeus.
Metis noticed first. Her gaze softened, but she said nothing.
Zeus’s blue eyes lifted from the scroll in his hand. They met Athena’s without flinching.
"Daughter." His voice was even, unshaken. "You return from Athens."
"I return from ashes," Athena answered, her words clipped. She stopped at the base of the dais, the silence of the hall thickening. "Ashes burned by the Spartan you let roam free."
Metis folded her hands in her lap. The scribes lowered their eyes and hurried out, leaving the hall hollow but for the storm that seemed to stir between father and daughter.
Zeus leaned back, one hand curling loosely against his throne. "Athens lives still. You saw to that."
Athena’s jaw tightened. "Athens should not have needed saving. You watched. You stood on the cliffs and let him tear my city apart."
Her voice did not rise, but the steel in it cut sharper than any shout.
Zeus’s blue gaze glowed faintly, lightning stirring deep inside. "You speak as if I abandoned it."
"You did." Athena stepped closer, her gray eyes burning. "I felt your storm above me as I healed their wounds. I felt you watching while their homes fell, while mothers carried dead children in their arms. You did nothing."
Metis shifted slightly, but Zeus lifted his hand—calm, firm. "Enough."
But Athena did not yield. "Why?" Her voice broke through the quiet like an arrow. "Why let him live, let him destroy, let him curse the gods without strike or answer? He is mortal, bound to Ares’s chains. You could end him with a thought. Why hold back?"
Zeus rose from his throne. The storm stirred harder now, sparks crawling up the pillars, the braziers bending under the pressure. His cloak dragged like thunder across the steps as he descended, each footfall heavy, deliberate.
He stopped before her, his frame towering, his eyes burning electric blue. "Because he is not just mortal."
Athena’s breath caught. For a heartbeat, her composure faltered. "You cannot mean—"
"I do," Zeus cut in, his voice low but thunderous. "The Spartan is of my blood."
The hall trembled faintly with the weight of it. Even Metis’s calm eyes lingered on Zeus now, her silence carrying its own depth.
Athena’s face hardened, but her voice came quiet, sharp as glass. "So it is true. You have sown seeds in the dirt of mortals again. And now Olympus bears the fruit of your weakness."
Zeus’s jaw tightened, but he did not step back. "He is my son. And your brother."
Athena laughed once, bitter, humorless. "Brother? That butcher who painted Athens red with his grief? That is no brother of mine."
Zeus’s eyes narrowed, the glow in them brighter. "He has lost what no god should suffer to lose. His wife. His child. That pain drives him now. It is not weakness. It is fire. Fire I will shape."
Athena’s voice broke, raw despite her control. "And how many must burn while you test your hand at shaping him? My people? My city?"
"Your city will rebuild," Zeus said, softer but no less firm. "You will rebuild it. You are its heart. And when you do, it will stand stronger, because it survived."
Athena’s lips pressed thin, her fists trembling at her sides. "You would gamble Athens for your experiment?"
Zeus exhaled, his shoulders heavy, his voice steady as stone. "Not gamble. Guide. He will fight Ares. He must. And when he does, he will need to know he is more than chains and rage. He will need to know he is not alone."
Athena stepped closer, gray eyes piercing his. "And if he turns on us all the same?"
Zeus’s gaze did not waver. "Then I will bear it."
The silence that followed was suffocating. The braziers hissed, the storm cracked faintly overhead.
Athena’s chest rose and fell, her voice breaking softer now, but no less fierce. "You speak of bearing storms, Father. But it is always others who bleed under them."
She turned sharply, her cloak snapping as she strode back toward the doors. Her voice lingered in the hall, colder than marble. "I will not forgive this."
The doors shut behind her with a deep echo.
–––
Zeus stood still, his fists clenched at his sides, sparks crawling faintly across his skin. His eyes softened only when he looked back to the throne, where Metis waited in silence.
Her expression was calm, but her voice carried the weight Athena had left unsaid. "She is not wrong."
Zeus closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, the storm dimming slightly. "No. She is not."
Metis tilted her head, her crown of starlight catching faint fire. "And yet you will not change your course."
His answer came low, certain. "No."
Metis studied him, then leaned back, her tone neither approval nor blame—only truth. "Then prepare yourself. For storms born of grief are harder to tame than any Titan."
Zeus lowered himself back onto his throne, the storm curling once more around its carved edges. His gaze lingered on the empty space where Athena had stood, his voice a murmur only the storm could hear.
"Then let it come."
–––
Far below Olympus, Kratos walked alone, the Blades of Chaos dragging behind him, their chains whispering across stone. His breath was fire, his eyes still red with grief.
And in the silence of the mortal world, the storm’s patience waited.