The Witch

The sky screamed around them.

Aphrodite clung to Kassus, her arms wrapped tight around his body as the wind howled louder than the war the couple participated in. Olympus became a blur, then a memory, then nothing at all, fortunately. They were shooting across the heavens like falling stars, but they were two defiant lovers hurled by Titan blood and desperation. The clouds tore at them. Lightning cracked far too close, signalizing that Zeus was trying to chase them down, but the wind was too strong and fast. Kassus' hand slipped once as he looked down, his eyes widening with horror at seeing how high up they were in the sky and how dark it was without the presence of a sun. Aphrodite pulled him tighter, wrapping herself around him like a shield, trying to provide comfort. 

"Can you not cast your chariot?" Kassus asked, voice trembling yet loud enough to be heard amidst the storm that was pushing them away.

"It doesn't work like that!" Aphrodite replied, offering him the sweetest and cockiest of smiles. "Zeus will follow my chariot because I left it in Olympus!"

Kassus sighed, and he closed his eyes, hoping they would arrive somewhere soon. Until he remembered that he was human, and since they were too high up in the sky, he would die as soon as they hit something. He quickly tried to reach for his ankle, for the wind bag tied around it, and Aphrodite noticed his movements as he twisted like a snail on the beach.

"By the gods, what on Gaia are you doing?!" Aphrodite's voice was, somehow, louder than the thunderstorm behind them.

Kassus continued to slowly reach for the bag, until he finally held in his hands. The winds were being released with a strength a normal man would not handle. But Kassus knew he was above the average greek. He started to slowly close the wind bag, grunting out of effort, and hoping Aphrodite was holding him right.

"If I close it slowly, we will land safely!" Kassus finally managed to say, as he kept closing the bag.

Then came the sea.

The moment stretched; then shattered as they slammed into the ocean, the waves swallowing them whole. When they washed ashore, it was to the jagged coast of a lonely, whispering island. The sand was black. The air carried old spells. Aphrodite coughed seawater, dragging herself free from the tide. Her golden hair clung to her soaked skin, her limbs shaking as she turned, searching—

"Kassus?" Her voice broke.

"Kassus!"

She saw him, just up the shore, limp like a discarded statue. He had struck the rocks hard— too hard even if he closed the bag right on time. Blood painted the sand near his shoulder, and one of his legs twisted at a painful angle. And the worst part was that he did not respond to the goddess' call.

She scrambled to him, eyes wide, hands trembling as she pressed her fingers to his neck, hopefully, there was still a pulse. Faint, but there.

"Kassus, please." she whispered, brushing soaked hair from his brow. "Please, don't leave me now."

He did not speak, did not move. The waves rolled in and out. And from the cliffs above, golden eyes watched silently— eyes that had seen many heroes wash up broken on this shore before. Aphrodite could sense something observing, witnessing the goddess being a mess again, but did not intervene. She knew where they had washed ashore, but she refused to ask for help. Instead, she grabbed Kassus by his cloak, and began to drag his heavy body deep into the island's jungle.

The jungle whispered as Aphrodite stumbled through it, Kassus' weight dragging heavy against her hands. Every step sank her deeper into the mossy earth, her silk dress torn and stained with seawater and blood. She did not care. Not when his breath was growing shallower. Somewhere above, the birds stopped singing.

The silence filled with footsteps, steps that were light, bare, and many. A group of something. Aphrodite did not look up at first, but she felt them. The eyes. Dozens of them. Pale figures slipping through the trees like ghosts: nymphs, soft and glowing, curious but not unkind. They said nothing. Just watched.

And still, Aphrodite walked.

When she finally reached the edge of a statue that was right in front of a palace, she collapsed beside a pool. Kassus' head fell into her lap, and she ran trembling fingers across his face. The nymphs stood in a loose circle now, not touching, just observing. One of them reached for Kassus' leg. Aphrodite swatted her hand away without looking.

"I said no."

From behind the vines, a familiar voice called out, calm and honey-sweet.

"Well..." said Circe, stepping barefoot onto the stones, her long black hair swaying like a curtain of night. "if it isn't the goddess of love herself. Dragging dinner into my forest like some kind of tragic heroine. How charming."

She smiled.

Aphrodite gave Circe a death glare. "Don't you dare."

Circe lifted a brow, amused. "Relax. I wouldn't touch him unless he squealed. Which... he might, soon enough."

"I swear on the River Styx, Circe, if you turn him into anything—"

The witch tilted her head. "Then why bring him here, darling? It's not like I specialize in healing." She leaned in, eyes glittering. "Unless, of course... you're desperate."

Aphrodite's voice dropped to something raw. "I am."

Circe paused just to raise an eyebrow, gesturing at Aphrodite with her hand to explain herself.

Aphrodite's hands tightened around Kassus' chest. "You owe me. Remember that sailor? the one who cried over Scylla every night, the one you couldn't have? I gave him a dream. I made him feel love again, after you turned the poor woman into a beast. You begged me for the sailor to feel love."

Circe's face went still. The vines around her seemed to shift, remembering.

"And now," Aphrodite said, her voice trembling. "I want him. This mortal. This man. I love him. Help me."

The air was thick with silence. Circe looked down at Kassus, at the blood, the battered limbs, the labored rise and fall of his chest. The witch reluctantly sighed.

"Fine." she muttered. "But if he starts grunting and rolling in mud, I'm not stopping it."

She snapped her fingers, and the nymphs rushed forward— this time not to feast, but to carry.

"Take him to the pool house." Circe commanded. "Bring the elixir. The real one, not the pig-bath."

As they vanished into the trees with Kassus' body floating between them, Circe lingered beside Aphrodite.

"You're lucky my father melts for you." she murmured.

Aphrodite did not answer. She just stood there, shaking, watching the jungle swallow the man she loved.

The marble halls of the palace shimmered with golden enchantment, vine-laced arches twisting upward into a ceiling that glowed with an artificial night sky, even if it was completely dark outside. It smelled of lavender, ash, and sea salt, and they all seemed soft but charged with magic.

Kassus laid unconscious on a velvet-lined couch in the center of the chamber, his chest wrapped in thin bandages that barely covered the brutal scars trailing down his torso, as well as his ankle. His sword, set aside and pulsing faintly, was guarded by a wary satyr. Around him, a dozen of Circe's nymphs hovered like curious birds.

"Gods..." one whispered, eyes wide. "Look at those arms."

"Do you see that face?" another gasped. "He looks like he's the representation of manhood!"

"I think it's beautiful." murmured a third, running a gentle finger just over his scarred brow. "In a tragic, dangerous way..."

Aphrodite stood nearby, arms crossed, jaw tighter than Kassus' bandages.

"Enough." she said sharply. "He's not a specimen."

"Then maybe you shouldn't drag dying warriors into a nymph sanctuary." Circe's voice echoed from across the hall as she descended a curved staircase, robes dragging like shadowed vines behind her.

Aphrodite straightened. "We didn't plan to land here. Helios— he opened a wind bag, and it sent us off course."

Circe gave a long, bored sigh and poured herself a glass of dark wine from a decanter shaped like a crow's skull. 

"Of course he did. That old fool always overshoots." she took a sip, studying Aphrodite over the rim of the cup. "So. What did you do this time?"

Aphrodite tilted her head, lips curling in practiced innocence. "Is this really how you speak to your father's favorite?"

Circe gave her a flat look.

"Yes. It is." She pointed the cup at her. "My father is obsessed with you, and it's insufferable."

Aphrodite smiled sweetly. "Not my fault."

"Maybe not." Circe shrugged, sauntering toward Kassus' resting form. "But now you've brought chaos into my sanctuary and a bleeding, mortal god-killer into my home." She leaned in, peering at his face. "I should've turned him into a pig and eaten him."

"He's not a god-killer!" Aphrodite said quickly, but then paused, biting her lip. "Okay, well... not officially."

Circe gave her a slow, delighted smirk. "Ohhh. He's the one who killed Hephaestus, isn't he?"

Aphrodite bristled. "It's more complicated than that."

"I'm sure it was." Circe said, turning away with a toss of her hair. "You always did have a taste for mortals with tragic eyes and violent hearts."

"He's different."

Circe stopped. "They always are."

The nymphs went quiet, sneaking glances between the two goddesses.

Then a soft groan. Kassus shifted faintly, his head rolling to the side, brows twitching. Aphrodite was instantly at his side, brushing hair from his forehead and planting a kiss over it, hoping she could somehow heal him like she did last time.

Circe watched her for a beat.

"Fine." she muttered. "He can stay. For now. But if he starts bleeding on my mosaics, you're cleaning it."

Aphrodite smiled through her worry, pressing another kiss to Kassus' temple.

"Thank you, Circe."

"Don't thank me yet." the witch said, sipping her wine again. "Let's see if he's still yours when he wakes up."

A couple hours later, the palace was quiet, save for the gentle rustling of vines swaying in the breeze and the occasional hoot of an enchanted owl. Circe and Aphrodite sat on a stone bench in the moonlit garden, the stars above dimmed slightly by magical wards. Kassus remained inside, resting. The nymphs had been dismissed. Circe sipped from the same glass of wine, now half-drained, while Aphrodite clutched a silk shawl tighter around her shoulders. The wind from the sea brushed against them, cool and unbothered by the weight of the conversation.

"You really do fall for them hard, eh?" Circe asked softly, not looking at her. "Mortals."

Aphrodite said nothing at first. Her eyes stayed on the horizon.

"I'm not judging," Circe continued. "Just... fascinated. For someone who could have any god in Olympus and probably has, let's be honest. You always run back to the dying, fragile ones."

Aphrodite's voice was quiet. "Because they feel."

Circe finally looked at her, intrigued.

Aphrodite continued, "The gods... they covet, they take, they possess. But mortals— they ache. They rage, they weep, they hope. And when they love you, it's not out of pride or power or alliance. It's because something in them burns for you. Like they only have so much time, and they're willing to give it to you."

Circe tilted her head. "You mean like Paris?"

Aphrodite's jaw clenched. "That's different."

"Is it?" Circe asked with a wry smile. "You protected him so fiercely that you pulled the strings of fate. You tore down cities. Started wars for an apple and your pride."

"That war would've happened either way."

"But you made sure he survived. Over and over." Circe said. "Even when it meant thousands more died in his place."

Aphrodite's fingers tightened around the shawl. "He believed in me. When no one else did. He chose me."

Circe gave her a sidelong look. "So did Kassus."

Aphrodite did not respond immediately. The sound of distant waves filled the silence between them.

Circe's voice softened, losing its usual bite. "You're scared. Not of the gods. Not even of Zeus. You're scared he'll change. That he'll see what you've done, what you've caused... And he won't look at you the same."

Aphrodite's eyes shimmered. "He already knows. He's seen the worst of it. And still... he smiles at me like I'm worth saving."

Circe leaned back, swirling the wine in her cup. "Maybe you are."

They sat in stillness again, the wind curling through Circe's garden like a whispered truth neither of them wanted to say aloud.

Then Circe added. "Just be careful this time, cousin. You burn bright, but mortals burn out. And when they do, they don't come back."

Aphrodite nodded faintly, eyes still locked on the sea. "Then I'll burn with him."

The room was dim, lit only by the low orange glow of a single enchanted brazier in the corner. Shadows danced along the walls in slow, sleepy arcs. Kassus lay on a stone bed softened with fine silk and wild moss, his body finally still, breathing slow and steady, but lined with fading bruises and half-healed scars. Aphrodite sat beside him on the edge of the bed, knees drawn close, her long hair draped like a curtain over her shoulder. She was not crying. Just thinking. Quietly. So deeply it almost hurt.

She stared at his hand —calloused, worn, scarred like the rest of him— resting inches from hers. And she whispered:

"I don't understand."

The room did not respond. She looked up, her gaze drifting across the chamber, like maybe the air itself could answer her.

"I've known love in every form. The hunger. The lust. The worship. The fleeting sweetness before it curdles into power games or expectations. I've had mortals build temples to me just to say they loved me."

Her eyes fell back to him.

"But you never said it. Not once."

She reached out, brushing her fingers gently along the back of his hand.

"And yet... seven days with you and it feels like I finally met it. Not the symbol. Not the myth. But the ache. The hope. The risk."

She took a breath. "Why you? Why now? Why do I feel like I've never known my own domain until the moment I saw you dance like a fool and offer me a piece of bread while watching the sunset?"

Her voice broke slightly. "Why would I burn Olympus to the ground for a man who doesn't pray to me, who never even wanted me to stay?"

A pause. Her fingers curled around his hand now, trembling.

"I was supposed to be the goddess of love. And I had no idea what love was."

Silence invaded the room, until it was interrupted by a male voice.

"That sounds too dramatic for a man who did want you to stay." came a gravelly voice, weak but steady.

Aphrodite gasped and turned sharply. Kassus was awake, but barely. His lips cracked, his eyes half-lidded, but that stubborn little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"You're awake." she breathed, eyes wide.

"Hard not to be." he rasped. "You talk like poetry and thunder had a baby."

A laugh choked its way through her tears.

"You idiot." she whispered, leaning over him, brushing her thumb across his cheek. "You were dying."

"Mortals do that sometimes." He winced, adjusting himself a little. "Usually gets better."

She pressed her forehead to his, eyes closed, the moment raw and too full of feeling.

Kassus whispered, "I did not pray to you, Aphrodite. Because I did not think I deserved you."

"You don't." she said, smiling through her tears. "But I don't care anymore."

———————————————————————

Meanwhile, in Olympus.

The once blinding court was now cast in a dull twilight. The sun had not returned to the sky, and the gods grew uneasy. The wind whispered of shame. Of failure. In the center of the ruinous amphitheater, where divine ichor still stained the marble, Helios stirred. He groaned as he sat up slowly, fingers curling over the jagged scorch mark seared across his golden chest— a reminder of Zeus' fury. His light dimmed. His body trembled. But his eyes burned still, defiant and raw.

"You should have died." came a voice from the throne above.

Zeus.

"You disobeyed me. You fought beside them. For what?" The King of the Gods leaned forward, his eyes like storm clouds ready to burst. "For love?"

Helios' jaw clenched, but he said nothing. Zeus descended the steps slowly, each footfall echoing like falling boulders. He circled Helios like a vulture circling an injured lion.

"I understand it, you know." Zeus murmured. "She's beautiful. Irresistible. So many of us have tried. But that's the thing, Sun God..."

He paused, smiling cruelly.

"Even if you love her, she will never be yours."

Helios did not flinch.

Zeus crouched beside him, voice turning softer and more dangerous.

"You've lived a long life, Helios. Watching. Illuminating the world. But always from afar. From above. Always the light but never the warmth. Never the touch."

Helios' eyes darkened, like an eclipse creeping in.

"You've watched her love Ares, Adonis, Hephaestus... And now him. A mortal. Another man casting a shadow over you. And you brilliant, mighty Helios, you hid behind them all."

A breath.

"To be light, you've always lived behind the shadow of every man she's ever loved."

The silence was crushing.

Helios lowered his head, the faint crackle of burned flesh still stinging along his pectorals. His hands tightened into fists.

"You risked your life for her." Zeus continued, rising once more. "And she fled with him."

He turned away, voice cold as marble. "She does not need you, Helios. Not truly. She never has. You have the power and the strength to claim back what rightfully belongs here, with you."

Helios said nothing. But the sun inside him —dimmed, scarred, silenced— began to churn. And somewhere in the distance, the sky remained dark.

Around a couple hours later, Helios sat alone beneath the withered laurels, where sunlight once poured like honey but now only cast pale, uncertain beams. His fingers ran along the fading scar at his chest, thunder still humming beneath his golden skin. He was peacefully reflecting his choices, his sacrifices, until something interrupted his thoughts. Footsteps. Heavy, armored.

Ares appeared first, tossing aside a broken helmet from some fallen demigod, still stained in battle. He leaned against a pillar with casual cruelty in his posture.

"So," Ares began, smirking. "the mighty sun god turned into a bonfire, all for love." He scoffed. "Honestly? She loves almost everyone. Mortals, smiths, idiots like me— sometimes even animals. But you? Never you."

Helios' eyes narrowed. "You don't know what she feels."

"I do." Ares pushed off the pillar, approaching slowly. "She likes your company. Because you're warm, Helios. Because you don't burn her. You're a walking hearth. A living carpet she can lie on, or step on, depending on her mood."

Helios stood. Not angrily. Just... wounded.

"I helped her." he said quietly. "I protected them. I did what was right."

A melodic voice slithered into the space like smoke. "And look what goodness has done to you."

Hera. She walked in from the shadows, her gown flowing like spilled wine. No crown today. Just her cold eyes and colder wisdom.

"You bled for her. Fought for her. Obeyed your heart. And now?" She gently touched the thunder scar on his chest. "You're scarred. Dimmed. Alone."

Helios looked away, but Hera pressed on.

"She didn't even look back when you fell, did she?" Her voice was honey-laced poison. "She didn't scream your name. She let you burn, then vanished with her mortal boy-toy. That is the love you almost died for. Killed our kind for."

Ares chuckled lowly, like distant war drums. "Face it, sun god. You're just a torch she carried through the dark, until she found her way."

Helios clenched his fists. "You're twisting things."

"Are we?" Hera whispered. "Or are we simply telling you what you already know?"

The silence that followed was not empty, it was full of something blooming. Something dark. And in that silence, the faintest crack formed in Helios' light.

The stars were fading. The sky, bruised with the first hints of morning, should have been blazing with gold by now. But the sun never rose. Helios sat slouched on the stone ledge, his body still trembling from the last strike of Zeus' wrath, the scent of scorched ichor lingering in the air. His usual radiance was dulled, his skin was now cracked faintly with lightning scars, his golden hair tangled and dimmed like withering wheat. Below, the clouds twisted uneasily, waiting.

A soft tap of sandals on marble. Zeus arrived in silence.

"Apollo is already preparing the chariot." Zeus said, his voice calm— too calm. "He will take the sun across the sky today."

Helios did not answer. Zeus tilted his head, considering the Titan.

"You're very replaceable, you know."

The words were gentle. They did not need to be sharp because Zeus knew poison worked best when it was sugarcoated.

"But unlike Prometheus, I don't want to replace you. Not yet." He stepped closer. "I see the potential inside you, Helios. That quiet storm behind your kindness. All that power. Wasted. You have been too kind to foes, but a monster to your kind."

Helios finally looked at him, his eyes hollow with a storm not yet unleashed.

"Why did you help her?" Zeus continued, circling him again. "Was it because you love her? Do you think love is enough in this house of war and betrayal?"

"I believed in something better." Helios said, barely above a whisper.

Zeus chuckled, kneeling beside him. "You believed in her. And she left you broken."

Helios' heart skipped a beat.

"You're a god of light. But you've lived too long in others' shadows. Apollo. Kassus. Even Ares. When will you burn for yourself?"

Helios shut his eyes. Zeus leaned in, close enough to make the air around them tremble.

"You disobeyed me." he murmured. "And rebellion has a price."

Before Helios could react, Zeus gripped his jaw tightly, tilting his head up like he was inspecting a wounded beast.

"You think you've felt pain?" Zeus hissed. "You haven't even begun."

Clouds shuddered. The winds retreated. And from the marble halls of Olympus, echoing like thunder down the sacred mountains...

Helios screams. Not like a warrior in battle. Not like a god resisting fate, but like a soul being tortured, light peeled from bone. His cries lasted hours, until Apollo finally left in Helios' chariot, the sun showing up after a long night that only showed the pain inside of the Sun's soul.