Chapter 31

I had once believed that the next generation of gods would be a blessing, that they would carry on the legacy of Olympus with grace and wisdom. I had looked forward to being an uncle, maybe even a father one day.

Then Ares was born, and I quickly realized I had been a fool.

Before Ares, Hera and Aeolus had their first child—a daughter, Eileithyia. She was the very embodiment of warmth and kindness, a stark contrast to the storm that would follow her birth. She was a gentle soul, adored by all who met her, from the gods to the lowliest of nymphs. Even I, the ruler of the Underworld, found her presence oddly comforting. She would often visit, her small hands reaching out to pull my robes when she wanted my attention, her laughter ringing through the dark halls like a melody of life itself.

A year after her birth, she ascended to her divine role, becoming the goddess of childbirth. It suited her, for she was a nurturer by nature, always looking after others, her heart vast and patient. Hera was immensely proud, and Aeolus had been convinced that they had birthed the perfect child.

She had a special bond with nearly everyone she met. Poseidon would carry her on his shoulders as he walked the shores, letting her giggle at the waves as they crashed against his feet. Demeter taught her about the cycles of life, and Eileithyia, ever curious, would follow her through the fields, asking endless questions about birth and renewal. I could not help but be fond of her. She would often sit by my side in the Underworld when I worked, sometimes braiding flowers into Hecate's hair and telling me of whatever she had done that day. 

Her parents doted on her endlessly. Hera, known for her sharp tongue and unyielding will, softened in her daughter's presence. Aeolus, lord of the winds, would weave breezes around her as she laughed, lifting her into the sky so she could dance among the clouds. They marveled at her kindness, her patience, and the way she could ease the pain of mortals and gods alike.

For a time, it seemed that their family had been blessed beyond measure. Eileithyia was the perfect daughter—graceful, kind, and wise beyond her years. She was proof that Olympus could produce divinity untainted by ambition or wrath. And then, two years after her birth, Ares came into the world.

Where Eileithyia was warm, Ares was fire. Where she was peaceful, he was violence. The peace their family had known was shattered the moment he arrived, fists clenched, wailing like a battle cry. Their perfect child now had a brother—a brother who shook Olympus to its very core.

The moment he was born Hera had held him with both adoration and exhaustion. While her husband Aeolus, the mighty god of winds, cradled a fresh black eye—his first gift from his new son. 

By the time Ares could walk, he was already fighting. He threw punches before he formed proper sentences. The other godlings and spirits learned quickly to clear a path when he came barreling through, lest they become his next sparring partner. He had inherited his mother's fire and his father's unpredictability, a combination that made him as volatile as a brewing storm.

At three, he shattered an entire wing of Hera's palace over a denied second serving of ambrosia. At five, he challenged a god twice his size to a duel—and nearly won. By seven, he had taken to sneaking off Olympus, wandering the mortal world in search of beasts and monsters to battle. He had no fear, no restraint, and no regard for the destruction he left in his wake.

It was a couple years later when I was hanging out with my brothers did we finally find a way to... tame the beast.

<--------------------->

The heat of the bath was suffocating in its own strange way, the steam billowing around us like fog over the depths of Tartarus. It was one of those rare moments where the weight of the world outside seemed distant—like the eternal struggle between gods and mortals paused just long enough to allow us some respite.

I reclined against the stone, my body sinking further into the warmth, and let my thoughts drift as the sounds of water splashing against the smooth, obsidian tiles filled the air. Aeolus was beside me, a frown creasing his brow, his fingers idly tracing the surface of the water. Poseidon, ever the restless one, was pacing by the edge, a subtle glint of frustration in his eyes.

Aeolus sighed dramatically, a sound so exaggerated it almost made me laugh.

"Can you believe that boy?" Aeolus muttered, his voice thick with frustration. "Ares, I mean. He's relentless. I'm this close," he held his fingers barely an inch apart, "to just... banishing him to the mortal realm for a while."

I couldn't help but chuckle softly. Aeolus, the mighty wind god, was usually the picture of calm, but when it came to his son, the tempest that had no regard for rules or boundaries, his patience had long since worn thin.

"You've been saying that for centuries, brother," Poseidon chimed in, his voice a little more amused, though the irritation was still evident. "I remember when you first had him. Thought he was going to be your pride and joy, didn't you? Now look at him. A brute. Just like his uncle."

Aeolus shot him a withering glare. "Don't even compare him to that brute."

I leaned back further, enjoying the banter between them. There was something oddly comforting in the way they could argue and still remain... family. Aeolus, Poseidon, and I—three brothers who had been through so much together that we rarely had to speak to understand one another's thoughts.

"That brat," Poseidon continued, shaking his head, "he's got more fire in him than the whole of the ocean. But it's the kind of fire that burns everything in its path. I thought maybe... just maybe... he'd take after his older sister."

Aeolus stiffened at the mention of Eileithyia, his firstborn. I could see the sadness flicker across his face for a moment before he quickly masked it, though Poseidon was quick to press on.

"I remember how delightful she was," Poseidon continued, his voice softening as he spoke. "Eileithyia was always such a joy to have around. She had this... light about her. Everyone loved being in her presence. Ares could've learned so much from her—how to be patient, how to listen, how to enjoy the simple things. But instead..." Poseidon trailed off with a shake of his head, his expression turning somber for a moment.

Aeolus' jaw tightened, but there was an undeniable pride in his eyes as he spoke of his daughter. "She had a rare gift," he said quietly. "The way she made everyone feel at ease... so effortless. So full of life. I never once saw her lose control—always calm, always graceful." He paused, eyes distant as if recalling her with a fondness that was almost painful. "Ares could have learned from her, if only he'd listened."

"Maybe," Poseidon muttered, his voice tinged with a strange sadness, "if Ares had taken after her more, things would have been different. I don't know what happened. But this?" He gestured vaguely, as if Ares himself were the embodiment of chaos. "This isn't what I expected."

I leaned back, letting the warmth of the bath surround me as I let out a small, quiet chuckle. "You've forgotten how it is, Poseidon," I said softly, my eyes narrowing slightly. "We all have our burdens. Ares is no different. He's wild, yes—but there's potential in him. If only he learns to control it."

Aeolus looked at me, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "You really think he can be tempered? You think he has that kind of potential?"

I nodded slowly, though I could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on me. "He can be tempered—but it won't be easy. If you want him to learn discipline, I have an idea."

Poseidon raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "An idea? This should be good."

I leaned forward slightly, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Send him to train with Briareus and Cottereus."

Poseidon's eyes widened, and Aeolus froze beside me, his face draining of color. "Briareus?" Aeolus asked, incredulous. "You can't be serious."

"I am," I said, my expression unwavering. "Briareus and Cottereus are ruthless, yes—but they'll break Ares down to build him back up. They'll teach him control. They'll teach him how to temper his rage, how to use his fire with purpose, not destruction."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Aeolus shook his head, clearly reluctant to entertain the idea. "But... but it's too extreme. You know how they are. They'll break him. They'll make him suffer."

"We suffered," Poseidon chimed in, a slight shudder running through him as he crossed his arms. "Remember when they had us train with them? You nearly killed me with that damn mace, Hades."

I chuckled darkly. "I think we all remember that," I said, leaning back against the stone once more. "Briareus and Cottereus are merciless. But sometimes, that's exactly what Ares needs. We all know he's too proud, too... unrelenting. He needs something to remind him of his limits."

Poseidon rubbed his temples, clearly worn down by the idea. "I can't believe you're actually considering this. Sending him to those two?" He shuddered again, remembering all too well the pain he'd endured under their tutelage. "I'm telling you, it was like being thrown into the depths of hell."

I smirked. "It was the best training of our lives."

Aeolus, though clearly unsure, glanced at me and then at Poseidon. "You really think this is the only way?" he asked, his voice tinged with desperation.

I met his gaze, my expression hardening with resolve. "It is. Ares will learn more in a week with them than he would in a century of your usual methods. If you want him to grow, to learn discipline, you must trust me. This is the only way."

Poseidon shook his head, still not convinced. "Well, if you're going to go through with it, you're going to have to deal with the aftermath. I'm not stepping in to save that brat when he inevitably breaks under their methods."

Aeolus sighed, looking torn. But after a long moment, he exhaled sharply. "Fine," he said, his voice thick with resignation. "I'll send him. In a few days. But if he comes back more broken than he already is, you'll have to answer to me."

I smiled softly, though there was a hint of dark amusement in my eyes. "I'll take full responsibility, brother. But I doubt Ares will return the same. He'll learn, one way or another."

<-------------------->

I was buried in my work when Oizys entered my chambers, her expression as unreadable as ever. The goddess of misery rarely interrupted me unless something was of great importance—or, more likely, some disaster had befallen one of my kin.

"Lord Hades," she said, her voice as smooth as running water. "Cain and young Lord Ares are here to see you."

I sighed, setting down my quill. "Let them in."

The doors creaked open, and in walked Cain, his ever-brooding presence marred by fresh bruises. At his side, Ares limped forward, his training armor in tatters, his face smeared with blood and dirt. A fresh wound ran down the left side of his face, three jagged claw marks just barely missing his eye. The boy looked defiant, though I could see the exhaustion in his stance.

I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms. "Tell me what happened."

Cain exhaled sharply, clearly irritated. "Your nephew decided it was a good idea to take on Zephrex, King of the Dragons."

I stiffened. "Excuse me?"

"Fortunately, he didn't make it that far," Cain continued. "Instead, he ran into one of the lesser dragons—though 'lesser' is a relative term when it comes to those beasts. If I hadn't arrived when I did, the boy would've been reduced to ash."

I turned my gaze to Ares, who still stood tall despite his injuries. "Is this true?"

Ares hesitated before giving a curt nod. "Yes."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Ares, do you have any idea how reckless that was? Zephryx would have torn you apart. Even the weaker dragons are nothing to trifle with. Why do you insist on throwing yourself into these suicidal battles?"

For a moment, he said nothing. His fingers clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening. Finally, he muttered, "I want to prove myself."

I arched my brow. "To whom?"

Again, silence. Then, at last, he admitted, "To everyone. To you. To my parents. To Olympus."

I regarded him carefully. "And why do you feel you need to prove yourself?"

He looked down, shifting on his feet like a scolded child. "Because everyone else is strong. Stronger than me. They've fought in wars, battled titans, faced enemies I can't even imagine. And what have I done? I'm just the unruly child that everyone looks down on. I want to be strong too. I want to be worthy."

His words carried the weight of deep frustration, but beneath that, I could hear something else—pain. The gnawing ache of self-doubt. For all his bravado, he still saw himself as lesser.

I sighed, rubbing my temples before meeting his gaze. "Ares, do you know why we are strong? Why is Cain strong? Why am I strong?"

He shook his head slightly.

"Because we had no choice," I said simply. "We were thrust into war, forced to fight before we even had time to understand what we were fighting for. We had to grow up faster than we should have. You, however, do not have that burden. You have time."

His amber eyes flickered with uncertainty. "But—"

"Do not be so eager to grow up, boy." I leaned forward, my tone firm yet calm. "Your time will come. One day, you will be the god of war. One day, you will be a force to be reckoned with. But that day is not today. If you rush into battles beyond your reach, you will not live long enough to see your true potential realized."

Ares stared at me, struggling to find words. I could see the warring emotions in his face—the frustration of being told to wait, the longing to be something greater, and, perhaps, the first flickers of understanding.

Cain clapped a heavy hand on the boy's shoulder. "Listen to him, kid. I've been where you are. Strength isn't just about swinging a sword the hardest. It's about knowing when to fight and when to hold back. And right now? You need to learn."

Ares exhaled, tension draining from his shoulders. He looked up at me once more. "Do you really think I'll be strong one day?"

I nodded. "Without a doubt. But strength isn't just about power—it's about wisdom, restraint, and knowing what battles are worth fighting. Grow into your strength, Ares. Don't chase it blindly."

For the first time since he entered the room, Ares looked... calm. Not entirely convinced, not completely satisfied, but calmer.

I sat back in my chair. "Now, get those wounds treated. And for the love of the gods, stop trying to fight creatures you have no business challenging."

Cain smirked. "Come on, kid. Let's get you cleaned up before you get any more ideas."

As they turned to leave, I watched them go, a small smile ghosting my lips. Ares was impulsive, reckless, and desperate to prove himself. But beneath all that, he had the heart of a warrior. And one day, when the time was right, the world would come to know it too.