The academy breathed again.
After the charm was broken, Dreadspire slowly returned to something resembling normal. Conversations resumed. Laughter returned, though softer at first, like the halls themselves were testing whether it was safe.
And then, as if to force life back into place—
Apollo decided to host a party.
—
It was impossible to ignore.
Music echoed through one of the larger halls, lights flickering with controlled magic, tables lined with food and drink pulled from somewhere only Apollo seemed to have access to. Students gathered in clusters, some hesitant, others eager to forget the tension of the past days.
Apollo stood at the center of it all, effortless as always—golden hair catching the light, fire magic dancing lazily at his fingertips as he laughed with a group of students.
"Come on," Aphrodite said, gently pulling at Ares' sleeve. "It's good for everyone. Even you."
Ignis scoffed from behind them. "He looks like he'd rather be back in a battlefield."
Ares didn't argue.
But he followed.
—
The night passed strangely.
Ares did not drink. Did not dance. He stood at the edges, watching, listening. The sounds of music and conversation layered over the distant echoes in his mind—the ever-present hum of war that never truly left him.
Yet here, it was quieter.
Muted.
Different.
Students approached him cautiously at first. A few spoke. Some asked about the arena fight. Others simply wanted to see him up close, to confirm the rumors for themselves.
He answered little.
But he didn't leave.
Across the room, Hercules laughed loudly at something Apollo said, his earlier intensity replaced with something more grounded. Ignis found herself dragged into a conversation she claimed she didn't care about. Aphrodite moved easily between people, her presence softening the room wherever she went.
For a moment—
It felt almost normal.
—
Later, when the crowd had thinned and the music softened, Ares stepped away.
The noise faded behind him as he moved through the quieter corridors of the academy. The stillness returned, familiar and welcome.
That was when he heard it.
Aphrodite's voice.
Soft.
Distant.
He stopped.
She stood alone in a nearby chamber, a faint glow forming in front of her—a magical mirror, its surface rippling with light.
A figure appeared within it.
A man.
Older. Calm. Watching.
Her father.
"…I'm safe," Aphrodite was saying. "You don't need to worry so much."
The man's expression didn't soften. "That's not what concerns me."
A pause.
"Tell me," he continued, voice steady, "have you learned to control it yet?"
Ares' gaze sharpened slightly.
Aphrodite hesitated. "Father—"
"The monster," he said plainly. "The one you brought with you. Have you learned to control him?"
Silence.
Ares didn't stay to hear more.
He turned.
And left.
—
The academy walls gave way to open land quickly.
Ares didn't slow as he moved beyond them, the night air cool against his skin. The moon hung high—full, bright, casting the world in silver.
The sounds in his mind grew louder again.
Clearer.
Calling.
He answered.
—
By the time Aphrodite realized he was gone, the unease had already settled in her chest.
She didn't think.
She followed.
—
She found him in a field beyond the forest's edge.
Goblins lay scattered across the ground—bodies cut clean, precise, efficient. More emerged from the shadows, drawn by the scent of blood, by the presence of something they did not understand.
Ares moved through them.
Graceful.
Controlled.
Each strike exact, each motion deliberate. Swords formed and vanished in his hands, cutting through flesh and bone with quiet finality.
It wasn't rage.
It wasn't frenzy.
It was something colder.
A rhythm.
Aphrodite stepped forward. "Ares—"
He stopped.
The last goblin fell.
Silence returned.
Slowly, he turned to face her.
The moonlight caught his expression—calm, but distant.
"You heard it," he said.
Not a question.
Aphrodite's breath caught. "Ares, I—"
"The monster," he continued. "That's what I am to you."
The words were even.
Flat.
But something beneath them was not.
Aphrodite shook her head immediately. "No. That's not—"
He moved his hand.
Weapons formed in the air around him—blades hovering, their edges catching the moonlight.
"They are not wrong," Ares said. "I understand what I am."
The blades shifted.
Then launched.
Aphrodite didn't move.
She didn't flinch.
The swords stopped just short of her.
Close enough that she could feel them.
Her voice didn't shake. "Then look at me and say that again."
Ares' gaze held hers.
The weapons hovered.
Unmoving.
"…you should step back," he said quietly.
Aphrodite took a step forward instead.
Into the blades.
They parted around her, dissolving as she moved through them, vanishing before they could touch her.
She closed the distance between them.
"You're not a monster to me," she said. "You never were."
Ares didn't respond.
For the first time—
He didn't have an answer.
Aphrodite reached him.
Close enough now that there was no space left between them.
"I don't care what you are," she continued, softer now. "Or where you came from. I care about who you choose to be."
Ares' expression shifted—slightly. Almost imperceptibly.
The noise in his mind—the distant war, the endless echo—
Faded.
Just for a moment.
Aphrodite didn't give him time to step away.
She leaned forward—
And kissed him.
It wasn't hesitant.
It wasn't uncertain.
It was deliberate.
Grounding.
For a moment, Ares stood completely still.
Then—
Slowly—
He responded.
The field remained silent around them.
The moonlight steady.
The war in his mind quiet.
And for the first time—
Ares did not feel like something meant only for battle.