Misty winds blew in gentle swirls. The evening tide was a tranquil song with calming fog that danced amidst the humble village's busy pavements.
And on that night, little did the hard-working merchant know that upon entering his borrowed home, his fate was sealed with good luck once he faced the ethereal being lingering with his family.
After he closed the door, his children came to bestow his sweet kisses and wrapped him in their warm embrace. After the reception, the father of the house looked up, saw his wife entering from the cooking area, and gaped in utter surprise when he saw the silver-eyed lady—a familiar face and beamed a sun-lit smile while walking beside his sweetheart.
"By the hand of Zeus!" The merchant exclaimed as he gradually moved forward towards the women. "I do not know what I had done to gain such a blessing. Oh, dear virtuous one, the divine feminine, the wisdom of all wisdom—why, of all the household that revered your name, have come to us?"
Athena was speechless—grateful for his praise and amazed by how accurate he was even if she had not uttered a single word about herself.
"My gift has not failed me. You are indeed a kind man, having both brain and talent. Never fret, for I have not come to give you a piece of advice for some quest—I have come under your roof for no longer I was the Athena you all knew." The fair maiden gracefully said, hoping to make the father understand her misfortune hidden behind the playful note.
The merchant father paused in his tracks, trying to decipher what Athena meant.
"I am quite confused, Your Grace." He honestly said.
Nimble and mild, heart stepped in along with Vivinna's intention to explain to him what happened to their beloved goddess of wisdom. "Paeon, darling—" She called him softly, "Lady Athena had been through a lot. We will discuss it with you later, but for now, lady Athena no longer possesses her divinity."
Aghast, Paeon stood still while holding on to his wife's endearing hand. He gazed at Athena once more and realized the crippling despair behind her beautiful face and hopeful smile. Paeon felt like a father in pain as he looked at her more deeply. There was frailness behind the disciplined poised—a sense of loss behind her display of valor. Drawing closer to the silver-eyed beauty, he now truly understood what she meant.
"Say it is not true that our beloved Pallas Athena, Etruria's Minerva, lost her status." He uttered in sadness.
Despite turning red from the flattery, Athena was calm and collected as she smiled at him—radiating with positivity that gestured to let the sorrows leave slowly and surely.
And during their hearty dinner, Athena repeated everything she shared with his wife and children.
Revelation after revelation, the gracious maiden's words were like withered follies slowly climbing onto a scroll with detailed tales inked on it. It was like listening to a gnarly plague that ate its victim to its bones.
It was a pity what happened to her. A sad chapter of knowing the gods were no more, and heaven was as empty as the jar of the consumed drink. However, despite the tragedies Athena faced, Paeon noticed the good humor and how the lady managed to be in better spirits and thinking. A goddess no more, but Lady Athena still managed to capture her devotees' hearts with charm, elegance, and intact wits.
Later that evening, when crickets sang and fireflies danced on top of bushes and shrubs, Phoebus, Helena, and their little brother Bion went into their room and slept as the day was about to conclude. And when the children slumbered, Paeon and Vivinna offered their quaint room to her so that she could rest easy.
"Goodness me!" Athena exclaimed as she stood from her seat. "That would not be necessary. I fancy sleeping there in your little goat house. It may be small, but it best fits me."
The couple were understandably surprised and fearful—thinking it would be blasphemous if they approved such an agreement. But with more persuasion from Athena, they complied and compensated her with comfortable pillows and bedding.
During the leisure moments, when the atmosphere went calm—and the fire on her oil lamp danced in tranquility—Athena found comfort and rested with the two goats beside her.
The fair maiden gazed at the hole in the ceiling, which revealed the sparkling stars—somehow singing to her a new lullaby about hope.
As if Pandora's spirit came to her, whispering to her ears a plentiful of sweet nothings and a sonnet washed out from the forgotten eon's unceasing rains that caused the great flood. The heavens were plain but enchanting. It was a moment of new solitude—a moment worthwhile as the world continues to turn.
And as the fire of her lamp flickered to its end, Athena closed her eyes and hoped to dream of bliss to forget all the anguish.
***
"Have you found her yet?" Though rigid, Ares's voice was calm as he sat down and read something from a scroll.
"No, Your Grace." Pantelis honestly answered. "Not a sign from Lady Athena."
The god of war said nothing for a while as he tried to pull his drifting thoughts back onto the ground.
He could not understand why he was feeling desperate—feeling needy over the presence of his longtime foe.
Her smell remained with him, her dreamy eyes as she gazed up at him, testing him of his wits though logic at that time ceased to exist. Ares now admitted Athena was charming—more so perhaps compared even to Aphrodite.
"She was indeed like a peony—bashful yet imperial." He chuckled as his head remembered those bright eyes.
Witnessing such a sunny expression from his known stiff lord, the old right-hand man wondered, "I see that smile, Your Grace. Why, do tell me, who had caused that grin?"
Ares faced him, giving him a crafty stare, knowing he hated being in a susceptible state.
"What is with this personal curiosity, my good general?" Ares asked back.
Old Pantelis laughed. "Well, Your Grace, I can see the change in your spirit. Not wanting to pry, though you are still the same feared and honored god of the battlefields, there is this change that I could not precisely tell you."
The god only nodded in bewilderment, figuring out whether to be mean or graceful with what the retired general told him.
Nevertheless, he laughed—grinning even more at his sly inquisitiveness.
"I just remembered something. But right now, my goal is to bring Athena back here. She is an asset."
The right-hand man agreed, only to segue back to his wonderment over his master's brighter side. "I understand, Your Grace. I understand the importance of Lady Athena—is that why your smile appeared?" He teased just like how a father would do to his adolescent son.
Thick brows knotted in annoyance, matched with a glare that could petrify one's soul even to the courageous. Yet Pantelis knew this side of Ares as well, only to laugh even more and tease just to break him into some kind of a confession—if something was behind that malevolent façade.
"Quit with that suggestion, old man." Ares snarked. "What are you suggesting?"
"I know my head is on the line for this, but this old man was so familiar with such an expression. I also smile when remembering fond memories, especially of my wife." One brow raised—retorting with a jest flickering on his face.
"So, are you suggesting of an ardor?" The god pondered.
The corner of Pantelis's mouth curved upward. "Suggesting of an ardor? Why—Your Grace, I was only sharing why I smile."
Not wanting more of the mind game his trusted man imposed on him, Ares finally said, "Well, more than worrying about her taken under either Eris or Enyo's wing, I already have plans for Athena. She may no longer be divine, but her wisdom and resilience remained intact. With that, she is beyond the prowess of the goddesses who were with me. I have failed to subside that aspect of her, and for that—I have decided what shall I do with her."
"If I say so myself, Lady Athena would be perfect in your army or be one of your artisans. However, what would be of her, Your Grace?"
"I will create an era of double prosperity, a wide range of influence, and leaders were direct. The new pantheon would be more noble. I am the new Zeus, and with Lady Athena—she is the perfect new Hera."
Surprising yet inevitable, the suite suddenly felt light—lifted off of its heavy veil that previously concealed the true intention. Ares smiled unceasingly, portraying inner greed as his confession, at last, managed to strike his dear old general.