I Am Zeus
Chapter 66: Athena and Ares.

Chapter 66: Athena and Ares.

Hera’s Private Court

The doors slammed open.

Kratos burst in, blood on his shoulder where the lightning had grazed him. His steps were uneven, but his face... still defiant. Behind him, torchlight trembled from the wind that chased his entrance, as if Olympus itself refused to stay calm.

Hera was seated by the high arched window, her back straight, robe draped loosely over her shoulders, hair undone and cascading like wine-stained silk down her spine. She didn’t turn.

"I felt the sky crack," she said. "So. He came."

Kratos fell to one knee. The sound echoed off the marble.

"It wasn’t just a warning this time. He struck us down. All of us."

Hera slowly turned her head, green eyes locking onto him. There was a moment of silence between them—long and sharp like the pull of a bowstring.

"And yet... you crawled back to me," she said.

Kratos gritted his teeth, the shame clinging to his breath. "I tried to hold my ground."

"Did you?" Her voice wasn’t raised, but it cut all the same.

"Icelus is gone," Kratos continued. "Banished. Phobos is crippled. Bia... she might never wake."

Hera finally stood. Her movements were slow, elegant, and sharp all at once, like a blade sliding free from silk. She stepped past the mirror, past the flickering braziers, until she stood directly in front of him.

She didn’t look angry. Not fully. But the tightness in her jaw, the flicker behind her lashes—it wasn’t panic.

It was something else.

Control.

"You misjudged him," Kratos said lowly. "We all did. He’s not just a storm anymore. He’s something colder."

Hera narrowed her gaze.

"I didn’t misjudge," she murmured. "I just miscalculated the timing."

Kratos blinked. "What?"

Hera stepped past him, toward the heart of her private chambers. Her bare feet whispered over marble as she reached for a simple silver pitcher. She poured herself a drink slowly. The wine didn’t splash. It simply coiled inside the cup like dark ink, rich and patient.

"He chose Metis," Hera said, staring into the cup. "Openly. Boldly. And now, he’s begun to act like a king."

Kratos slowly pushed himself up, muscles stiff.

"So what now?" he asked. "Do we retaliate? Strike again?"

Hera sipped from her cup, eyes still on the horizon.

"No," she said softly.

Kratos frowned. "No?"

Hera finally looked at him, then reached up and rested a hand on her stomach. The gesture was so small... but deliberate.

Kratos’s eyes widened.

"You’re with child?"

She didn’t answer right away. Just moved her fingers slowly, gently across her belly. The robe shifted, and the firelight caught her skin, bathing her in a faint, divine warmth.

"He doesn’t know," she said finally. "And I don’t plan to tell him. Not yet."

Kratos’s voice dropped to a whisper. "Is it his?"

Hera’s lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile. "Of course it is."

She walked over to the map carved into the wall—an ancient, living design of realms and mountains, shifting faintly with the breath of Olympus itself. Her fingers hovered over the mortal world, its outline glowing with soft, pale light.

"I need time. I need distance. And I need you to vanish," she said.

Kratos straightened. "To the mortal world?"

She nodded. "Take what’s left of your strength. Disappear into their lands. Wait. Watch. When the time comes, I’ll summon you again."

Kratos bowed, fist to chest. "As you command."

But as he turned to leave, he hesitated at the doorway.

"And the child?" he asked, his voice softer now.

Hera didn’t look at him. She simply turned back toward the open window, staring into the rising sun as the wind stirred her robe.

"This child will change Olympus," she whispered. "Not with whispers in dark halls... but with fire. With rage. With war in his blood."

Her hand pressed lightly against her belly again, and this time there was something in her eyes—something ancient and feral and proud.

"He will be everything Zeus fears... and everything Olympus needs."

Kratos lowered his head, then vanished into the shadows beyond the chamber, his steps fading into silence.

Hera stood alone.

The breeze moved through the curtains like breath over coals.

And deep within her... the spark of a future god stirred.

The child moved.

She felt it.

And she smiled.

Not with joy.

But with purpose.

"Ares," she said quietly. "That will be your name."

Below, Olympus carried on.

Priests chanted.

Gods whispered.

But above them all, in the quiet halls where schemes were carved and destinies shaped, a mother laid her plans. Not for revenge.

For dominance.

And this time... it wouldn’t be through seduction, nor shadow, nor poison slipped into goblets.

It would be through legacy.

Through war.

Through blood.

Just as Hera began weaving her quiet rebellion in the shadows of Olympus, far above her—within the marble halls of the throne chamber—Zeus sat alone. The air was heavy with stillness, but his mind wasn’t.

He had felt something.

Not from Hera. From Metis.

She had been sleeping lighter lately, holding her stomach more often. Her eyes carried something deeper than wisdom now. Something maternal.

Zeus stood, walked toward the sacred pool behind the throned steps, and extended his hand. His power flowed through the water, whispering across time—softly reaching into fate’s threads.

He needed to see.

The surface rippled, blurred... then cleared.

A vision took form—two figures. A girl, armored in silver and light, rising from the mind of war itself. Her steps sharp. Her presence radiant. Then, another... a boy cloaked in fury and smoke, dragging fire behind every footfall.

The two clashed. Not once. Not as enemies. Not as rivals. But as something deeper. Equals. Opposites.

Athena and Ares.

Zeus blinked slowly.

They were the same age.

Which meant... Hera was also pregnant.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

Only the flicker of power in his eyes gave anything away. A single thought echoed in his head like thunder trapped in a bell:

Two gods. Two mothers. One war to come.

The future had already begun weaving itself.

He looked toward the corridor Metis often walked through, her presence still lingering like soft perfume.

She was carrying Athena. He saw it clearly now. A child born of thought and power, not violence. One who would become a goddess of strategy, intellect, and silent judgment.

But if Athena and Ares were to be born around the same time... it meant Hera had kept her secret well.

Zeus exhaled slowly, his fingers curling at his side.

"Clever woman," he muttered, a faint smirk touching his lips.

This wasn’t a surprise born of love.

This was war... in its first quiet step.

But he wouldn’t stop it.

Not yet.

Let them both grow.

Let them both rise.

Let Olympus see what kind of children gods could bear... when love, hate, and legacy were tangled too tightly to pull apart.