I Am Zeus-Chapter 82: Athena And Ares

Olympus — Years Later

Training Grounds of the High Plateau

The sky above Olympus was bright that morning. Not loud. Not roaring. Just bright. Clear. The kind of light that made everything feel honest.

Zeus stood in the center of the plateau, arms folded as his eyes followed the two young figures circling each other. Not mortals. Not boys and girls.

Ares and Athena.

His children.

But different as flame and steel.

Ares was all movement—fists clenched, brow furrowed, breath sharp. His red tunic hung open at the chest, golden greaves wrapped around his legs, his aura already sparking with raw force. When he moved, the ground pulsed. He wasn’t just angry—he was born to fight.

Athena, on the other hand, didn’t move much. She just watched. Calculated. A long silver spear in hand, her expression calm, detached, focused. Her white and gold robes barely shifted in the breeze. Her eyes—sharp and precise—followed Ares like a strategist breaking down a battlefield in real-time.

"You’re hesitating again!" Ares barked, charging forward.

Athena sidestepped. Not dramatically. Just one step. Clean. Exact.

He missed. Again.

"You’re too emotional," she said, not even out of breath.

"And you’re too damn slow!"

Zeus let the clash continue. They’d been at it for an hour. Not with real weapons. Not yet. Just practice. Control. Movement.

But it wasn’t just training. It was teaching.

He stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tension like thunder without volume.

"Enough."

Both froze.

Zeus walked between them, his presence enough to make the wind pause. He turned to Ares first.

"You’re strong. Faster than most gods I’ve seen. But if you don’t slow your thoughts... you’ll lose to someone like her every time."

Ares clenched his jaw but didn’t speak.

Zeus turned to Athena.

"And you. You’re brilliant. But war’s not just chess pieces and angles. It’s blood. Fire. Rage. You need to move like it matters."

Athena frowned slightly. "I’m not like him."

"I know. That’s why I’m making you fight together."

Both looked up.

"What?" they said in sync.

Zeus smirked.

"You’re gods of war. Two sides of it. Rage and strategy. Destruction and order. You don’t get to choose which half wins. You fight as one."

They stared at him.

"Starting tomorrow," he added. "Real sparring. Together. Against me."

Ares blinked. "Both of us? Against you?"

Zeus raised a brow. "You scared?"

"Tch. No."

Athena nodded once. "Accepted."

He walked off, leaving the two in a stunned silence, already arguing as the wind picked up again.

He didn’t look back.

—

Later That Evening

Sanctum Gardens

The air smelled like wine and herbs. Soft flute music came from somewhere in the distance.

Zeus sat under a fig tree, arms resting behind him, eyes half-lidded as the stars peeked out from above.

He wasn’t alone.

Leto sat beside him, legs folded, pouring wine into two cups. "You’re getting better with them."

He took the cup without looking. "They’re stubborn. They’ll learn."

Metis appeared moments later, holding Athena’s small training helmet. "I told you she’d hate the color."

"You chose silver," Zeus said, sipping his drink. "That’s literally her color."

"Not that shade," Metis muttered, sitting on his other side.

A silence passed. Warm. Strange.

Then Maia strolled in barefoot, carrying bread wrapped in cloth. "I brought snacks. Again."

"You always bring snacks," Metis teased.

"Because you people never eat," Maia replied, handing some to Zeus. "You live on air and thunder."

Themis showed up next, quietly taking a seat on a low marble bench. She said nothing, just observed. Watching them like a judge at peace.

Mnemosyne was last. No announcement. Just presence. Her golden eyes looked directly at Zeus before she sat by the tree trunk, brushing a leaf from his shoulder.

He looked around. The five women.

Each one with their own rhythm. Their own power. Their own pull.

And somehow, they were all here.

With him.

He hadn’t done anything. No grand speeches. No seduction.

They just... came.

They laughed. Argued. Teased each other. Leto teased Metis about pretending not to be jealous. Maia made fun of Zeus’s sparring form. Mnemosyne recalled a moment from days ago none of them remembered. Themis said something about fate that confused everyone.

But it worked.

It felt real.

At some point, Athena wandered in with messy hair and a scroll under her arm. She didn’t say much, just curled up beside Metis and read.

Ares showed up not long after, bruised but proud, and flopped beside Maia to steal bread.

Zeus watched them all.

His children. His... people.

No throne. No declarations. Just a moment that felt like something lasting.

And for once... he didn’t feel like the storm.

He felt like the sky after.

—

Next Morning

Training Plateau

They came at him hard.

Ares was a blur of fists and flame, striking with wild, untamed power.

Athena moved like lightning in a pattern—perfect form, fast counters, eyes locked on every detail.

Together?

They were brutal.

Zeus blocked Ares with one hand, dodged Athena’s spear with a twist. The ground cracked under their divine pressure. Trees bent in the distance.

"Faster!" he barked.

They came again. Together this time.

Ares charged. Athena flanked.

Zeus grinned. This was it.

The goddess of war. The god of war.

Not rivals. Not siblings. Not pieces of Olympus.

But a storm and a blade, dancing together.

When they finally knocked him back a step—just one step—he raised a hand.

"Enough."

Both froze, panting.

"You learned."

Athena nodded.

Ares smirked. "Told you we’d get him."

Zeus laughed under his breath.

They stood tall together. Side by side.

He looked at them. Then at the sky.

And he smiled.

Olympus wasn’t just rising anymore.

It was living.

Beneath the World.

In the heart of the sea.

The throne room of Poseidon wasn’t quiet. It breathed. Moved. Lived.

The walls pulsed like the inside of some ancient leviathan, glowing faintly with bioluminescence. Schools of lightfish drifted across the massive windows, their scales catching the green-blue glow of the abyss. Coral spires curved toward the ceiling like frozen waves, and at the center of it all, Poseidon sat.

Alone.

His trident rested beside the throne. Not held. Not used. Just... there. Forgotten for now.

His fingers tapped the armrest. Slow. Rhythmic. His eyes were closed, but his thoughts weren’t resting. Not even close.

The sea was calm.

Too calm.

And it annoyed him.

Poseidon opened his eyes.

A deep blue—darker than the trenches below him, brighter than the surface above.

He leaned back and let the silence stretch before finally exhaling through his nose.

"This again," he muttered.

It wasn’t the first time it hit him. That quiet weight behind his chest. It wasn’t hunger. Not thirst. Not rage.

It was Olympus.

Always Olympus.

He remembered the war. The fights. The brothers-in-arms moment. The oaths. The promises.

They were supposed to rule together. Three thrones. Three domains. Equal.

But only one throne reached the sky.

Only one brother had their names in every mouth, every prayer, every temple.

And it wasn’t him.

Poseidon’s jaw flexed.

He had the sea. The great ocean. The endless realm below.

But the sea was lonely.

No one looked up to the sea. They feared it. Respected it, sure. But they didn’t kneel for it. Not like they did for Zeus.

Zeus stood on Olympus like a king from a dream. Lightning in his eyes. Legends on his lips. The women adored him. The mortals worshipped him. Even the Titans came to see what he would do next.

And Poseidon?

He ruled shadows. Silence. Depth.

Sometimes he wondered if they gave him the ocean just to keep him down there.

A cage with pearls.

He rose from the throne, heavy cloak of kelp and silk falling around his feet. The water shifted around him, sensing his unrest.

He moved toward the great glass arch that looked out over the kingdom. Whales sang in the far distance. Krakens stirred in the ruins. His realm... was massive. Alive.

But still not enough.

His hand curled into a fist.

"I built this," he muttered. "I bled for this world too."

His reflection in the glass looked older than he remembered.

He touched it with his fingers.

Then whispered—

"If he can rule from above... then I will rise from below."

A small crack bloomed across the glass.

Not enough to break it.

But enough to start something.

Poseidon turned from the window, eyes sharp now.

He didn’t need Olympus.

But if it kept calling to him like this...

He just might answer.