Returning to the forest he had called home for fifteen years, Suren found no trace of Cynthia. He wasn't surprised—after all, Cynthia was a goddess, and staying put in one place forever was hardly her style.
It had been three years since he'd last been here. Her absence felt almost natural.
Entering his old cave, Suren found everything just as he'd left it, unchanged, as if those three years hadn't happened at all.
With Cynthia gone and his recent offerings to Artemis still fresh, Suren decided on another offering. He went out, searched for a piece of high-quality marble, and after some effort, crafted a statue of Athena herself.
After all, who said one needed a grand temple to honor a god?
Once he had set up the statue, he offered no sacrifices but instead prayed sincerely, "O Goddess Athena, your faithful Suren is here. The trial you entrusted me with has been completed."
"My dear Suren…"
The response came with comforting immediacy, as if Athena herself had been awaiting his prayer. Before he could blink, her divine presence filled the small cave.
Her aura, vast and all-encompassing, transformed the humble space with a holy radiance. Suren narrowed his eyes briefly, quickly acclimating to Athena's might.
Despite possessing one of the mightiest auras among the Twelve Olympians, Athena frequently descended in her true form to answer Suren's prayers. Her appearances had grown so frequent that Suren had naturally adjusted to her overwhelming presence. Only the overwhelming might of Zeus himself could make him uneasy now.
Athena looked upon him with pride, speaking with no small amount of satisfaction, "Suren, you truly possess the potential to become Greece's greatest hero. You will be my most perfect disciple."
"But—"
Athena drew out her words, and Suren, understanding the cue, prompted eagerly, "Lady Athena, but what?"
"Suren, when you wished for true love, I promised that you would find it amidst your adventures."
Athena's voice was laced with significance. "That is our promise; I have not forgotten."
Suren, feeling a bit lost, waited quietly, uncertain where this was headed. Athena continued, "In Arcadia, there is the daughter of King Iasus, the princess Atalanta. Do you know her?"
"...Atalanta?" Suren was a bit thrown by Athena's sudden shift in conversation, but he answered truthfully, "Of course I do! We met during the hunt for the Calydonian Boar, and I even visited her home."
"Very well…" Athena nodded approvingly. "And, Suren, do you dislike her?"
"Not at all. She's honest and direct—though a princess, Atalanta has a wildness to her and is quite down-to-earth."
Suren smiled as he reflected on Atalanta. "She's the kind of person you can easily befriend, comfortable to be around. I certainly don't dislike her."
Listening to his praise, Athena's mind wandered back to the rumors of Atalanta's infamous "Three Strikes to Her Father," an incident where she had punched Iasus thrice in the face in front of the people of Arcadia, disdainfully calling him "mere flesh and blood."
The act was a grave offense that should have drawn Zeus's wrathful thunder, but Zeus had pretended not to notice…
Yes, she certainly was honest and direct.
And then, when King Iasus spread news of her beauty, suitors flocked to court her, only for Atalanta to demand that they bet their very lives for the chance to win her hand…
Wild, indeed. Almost friendly, really.
Thinking of the blood-soaked racetrack lined with the bodies of rejected suitors in Arcadia, Athena couldn't deny that Atalanta had a wild and bold spirit.
"Quite right, Suren."
Nodding in agreement, Athena praised him with a warm smile. "You certainly have an eye for character, accurately capturing someone's essence after only a single meeting!"
"Well then, your friend finds herself in a bit of a predicament…"
Athena's smile turned sharp. "The hero Hippomenes, grandson of Poseidon, has been enchanted by Atalanta's beauty. Lacking the confidence to best her in a race, he sought help from Aphrodite, who bestowed upon him golden apples that no woman can resist."
"Golden apples?"
Suren raised an eyebrow. While he wasn't steeped in Greek myth, he knew well of the infamous golden apples. Known to captivate women's hearts, their allure was undeniable—even goddesses couldn't resist their charm.
Poseidon's descendants included many monstrous beings, with few true heroes among them.
But whether human or beast, all were demi-gods, bearing a god's blood in their veins.
The fact that Atalanta could only be subdued with a divine gift highlighted her remarkable strength. Even demigods had to resort to trickery to best her.
Atalanta could wrestle Zeus's grandson to the ground and run circles around Poseidon's descendants…
In Greece, both running and wrestling were essential to any hero's training—the Greek national sports.
Any true hero was required to master both.
Even in Greece's Age of Gods, Atalanta's prowess stood out above most.
As far as mortal women went, none compared to Atalanta. Her wild spirit and strength made her Athena's prime candidate—the one she'd chosen for Suren's "true love."
Only the most powerful of women was worthy of Greece's finest man.
And Athena hadn't forgotten her promise to Apollo.
After all, Suren's spirit had been made eternal by the Divine Fire Ritual, while Atalanta remained mortal.
In time, all things would decay, and eventually, Suren would come to understand who his eternal companion was meant to be.
Athena's voice softened, "With Aphrodite's blessing and the power of the golden apples, Hippomenes will no doubt win the race and force your friend to wed this base man."
In truth, Athena found no fault in Hippomenes' tactics; achieving victory by any means was only logical.
But she knew Suren would despise such a dishonorable scheme, and as the Goddess of Wisdom, Athena would always choose the path Suren valued.
A frown crept across Suren's face as he remembered Atalanta's fated troubles with this Hippomenes—who, terrified of losing his life, would go to any lengths to win over a beautiful bride…
A man who couldn't keep himself in check, so consumed by lust that he'd forgotten even to thank the goddess who helped him, earning Aphrodite's wrath and a curse for both him and Atalanta.
"Looks like I'm the only one who can save her."
He muttered to himself, then turned to Athena with a determined expression. "Thank you, Goddess Athena, for your guidance… Atalanta is truly my friend, and I cannot let her suffer such a fate."
Athena's eyes narrowed slightly. "Lovely Suren, think carefully—Hippomenes has Aphrodite's blessing and favor. If you intervene, you'll be opposing her."
"Yes, but this is clearly a wicked act. Since I know of it, I must interfere."
Suren's smile was calm but resolute. "Any decent person would condemn Hippomenes' actions. Using divine gifts to cloud a woman's judgment—is it not tantamount to rape?"
Suren sought to live simply, yet any man of good character would be repulsed by Hippomenes' behavior.
If he couldn't stomach it, he had to act!
"If today, I avoid getting involved out of fear of offending Aphrodite, tomorrow I might retreat from some other duty at the behest of another god."
Suren's gaze was steady. "I was born into this world with no need for a place in human history. All I desire is peace within myself."
Yes, peace was all Suren sought.
His desires were few, though he craved great things, making him indifferent to lesser vices.
Power, beauty, wealth, honor, fame, status—Suren cared little for such things. But he would always fight for humanity's ideals of kindness, peace, morality, and integrity.
A warm expression softened Athena's features. She tenderly touched Suren's earnest face and said, "Every hero in Greece fears Aphrodite, for as the goddess of love and beauty, to cross her means a lifetime alone…"
"But you, Suren, have nothing to fear from any god!"
"Know this: by your side is the ever-faithful goddess of victory, Athena!"
With that, Athena took out her Aegis and placed it in Suren's hands. "Go forth, my chosen hero. Seize the sweet fruits of victory for your goddess, and let her be pleased by your triumph!"
The Aegis—also known as the Goat-Skin Shield—was one of only two in all of Greece.
One resided with Zeus, representing the heavens. When he withdrew his Aegis, no rain would fall on Greece.
It offered near-impenetrable defense; even Zeus' thunderbolts could not pierce it.
The other belonged to Athena, symbolizing absolute victory. To bear it was to hold unassailable triumph in one's grasp, marking it as Athena's most treasured artifact and a symbol of her identity.
In simpler terms, it represented Athena's presence.
While Hippomenes had three golden apples from Aphrodite, Suren now held Athena's Aegis. The degree of divine backing was simply in another league.
Suren once again took to the skies on Aurum Altissimum, guided by Athena's blessings, soaring toward Arcadia like a shooting star.
---
At that moment, it wasn't just Poseidon's descendant Hippomenes who appeared at the fateful race track littered with the bodies of previous challengers. Calydon's Prince Meleager also arrived, intent on winning Atalanta's hand.
Although Meleager had clashed with his uncles, he hadn't actually killed them. His mother, Althaea, had rebuked him for his foolishness but hadn't gone as far as burning the life-log that represented his destiny.
Yet Meleager was still terrified. He knew that lying before Artemis had angered her, and, in his desperation, he had confessed his deceit to the entire city, promising to restore all honors to Suren and vowing that future generations of Calydon would offer him whatever he wished.
Meleager's only saving grace was his mention of Suren—this managed to appease Artemis.
Without it? Well, Artemis would've brought ten wild boars to terrorize the city as punishment.
Thanks to Suren, Meleager and the people of Calydon were spared.
As to why Suren had chosen to intervene?
The answer was simple—Suren was a person, a decent human being.
Had he not been there, he would've let it pass. But since he was already present and could prevent a bloodbath with a small gesture, there was no way he'd idly watch as relatives slaughtered one another over petty grievances.
Suren had the power to enact his own sense of justice now, and anything he found distasteful? He would act upon it.
Hippomenes' eyes flared with a wild passion as he stared at Atalanta's sharp gaze and ethereal beauty. He called out loudly, "Atalanta! I am Hippomenes, son of Megareus, grandson of Poseidon!"
"Why do you race against the weak and the helpless? Will you run against me? If fate grants me victory, I will be worthy of you; I shall not demean you."
"But if I lose, your glory shall only grow... for you will have conquered Hippomenes."
One might almost think he was a bold hero had they not known of his plea to the gods and the golden apples he'd begged for to rig this race.
Such grand words indeed won him a glimmer of respect from Atalanta—but only a glimmer. She looked at him coolly, her face a blend of pride and disdain. "Glory? Foolish man, I, Atalanta, care not for the cast-off glories of others."
"Anyone may race against me."
"But if you lose, and Poseidon does not intervene on your behalf, I shall claim your life. Savor each breath, for it may be your last!"
Standing nearby, Meleager gazed at Atalanta in adoration, muttering, "Atalanta, my love... I'd give up anything for you."
But Atalanta didn't even spare him a glance, turning away to stand at the starting line.
Hippomenes reached into his robes to touch the golden apples hidden there, casting a lustful gaze at Atalanta. All thoughts of Aphrodite fled his mind as he mused, Such a beautiful, spirited woman... Soon, she'll be mine. This will be my first step to fame across Greece.
His so-called feelings for Atalanta were nothing but lust, possession, and pride, tainted with jealousy—hardly the gleaming passion of true love. Even Meleager, lovesick fool that he was, at least would have fought his uncles for her.
To Hippomenes, Atalanta was merely an exquisite trophy and a path to renown. Never a true wife.
"Looks like I arrived just in time…"
A streak of golden light arced across the sky as Suren appeared, standing on Aurum Altissimum. Flashing a smile at Atalanta, he called out, "Since the race hasn't started, why not let me join?"
For the first time, Atalanta's cold demeanor softened, a genuine smile flashing across her face, even if just briefly. "You're here, Suren."
"If you're joining, then you're welcome."
Anyone observant enough would have noticed that when Atalanta spoke to others, her tone was formal and refined—a practiced, stilted language meant for the upper classes.
But with Suren, her words flowed naturally, relaxed and unguarded.
Yet none of the Greek heroes here were particularly observant. And as for Suren, well, he was too close to the action to notice it himself.
Hippomenes, however, couldn't contain his jealousy of Suren's godlike features. As the great-grandson of Poseidon, he was considered handsome by Greek standards, yet next to Suren, he felt utterly inadequate.
This… this was true beauty!
Unable to resist, Hippomenes sneered at Suren, "Boy, do you know that in racing Atalanta, you're wagering your life? The penalty for losing is death."
"No!" Atalanta shook her head firmly. "Suren is different—even if he loses, I will not kill him."
"?"
Stunned, Hippomenes spluttered, "Atalanta, how can you disregard your own rules? Will you mock all of Greece's noble men for one boy?"
"First, there is no 'rule.' I never swore an oath to any god or person."
Atalanta's voice was cool. "I simply said that those who race me would die if they lost, but I reserve the right to show mercy. I simply haven't chosen to do so before."
"As for you… if you lose, your life will remain here on this track."
Privilege is privilege; it serves those whom it favors.
Suren smirked, feeling rather pleased with Atalanta's open favoritism. "You're too good to me, Atalanta! Worth the flight from Athens just to save you."
"Save me?" Atalanta raised an eyebrow, confused. "Why would I need saving?"
"We'll get to that later—you'll see soon enough."
Suren gave her a cryptic smile, refusing to elaborate.
Atalanta, intrigued but willing to wait, returned to the starting line.
Suren slung the massive Aurum Altissimum across his back and tightened Athena's Aegis at his waist.
Noticing this, Atalanta couldn't help but caution him, "Suren, racing requires lightness. Carrying all that weight will make you slower!"
"No worries. I just want it to be fair."
Suren's eyes held a sardonic glint as he glanced at Hippomenes and Meleager, two men whose moral fibers were questionable at best. His voice was calm, yet it exuded unshakable confidence. "If I don't weigh myself down, this race will hardly be a competition."
"So, Atalanta, watch out—I might just pass you!"
"Hmph!" Atalanta handed her bow to her attendant. "The moment my arrow touches the ground, the race begins. If anyone jumps the start, they forfeit. Agreed?"
As heroes of the divine era, their vision was sharp; there was no risk of anyone missing her arrow's descent. Any premature start was deliberate—grounds for immediate disqualification, or even death.
Hippomenes nodded dismissively, sparing a glance at Suren, sneering inwardly at his arrogance. He could've been a worthy competitor, but he's far too cocky. Underestimating me will be his biggest mistake!
His hand rested over the three golden apples hidden in his robes. One for Atalanta, one for Meleager, and now, one for this new rival.
But Hippomenes never questioned why Aphrodite had given him three apples.
He assumed just one would let him outpace Atalanta, leaving him with two to trick his other challengers.
In truth, all three were needed for Atalanta alone. The gap between them was so vast that three apples were the bare minimum to split her attention and offer him a slight chance of winning.
The bowstring twanged, and the arrow arced through the air, landing just beyond the starting line.
With that, the racers sprang forward.
Atalanta's foot hit the ground with explosive force, leaving a shallow crater in the compacted earth.
Hippomenes tried to keep pace, but even from the start, he lagged behind. With every step, Atalanta stretched the gap further.
For the first few kilometers, he managed to maintain a distant glimpse of her back, but exhaustion soon wore him down. Teeth gritted, Hippomenes muttered, "I guess I'll have to use the apple. Aphrodite, goddess of love, grant me your blessing!"
"If I win her heart, I will honor you with a grand festival!"
Hippomenes tossed the first golden apple.
The apple fell directly in Atalanta's path, its allure impossible to ignore. Though she willed herself to run, her legs refused to move, as if mesmerized by the golden glow.
She bent down, almost involuntarily, ready to pick it up.
Shhk—
An arrow sliced through the air. Atalanta, an archer herself, instantly understood where it would land—the tempting apple at her feet.
The arrow struck true, shattering the apple into golden fragments, its enchantment instantly broken. Thanks to Suren's quick action, Atalanta's pace remained unbroken, and Hippomenes' trick fell flat.
"What are you doing?!" Hippomenes, enraged at seeing his ploy destroyed, snapped, "This is a gift from Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty! Do you dare defy her?"
"I have little respect for gods who disregard fairness."
Suren answered coolly, accepting the accusation without hesitation. "If Aphrodite aids a man as wretched as you, it reflects poorly on her nature."
Suren's words held a grain of misunderstanding. Aphrodite was the goddess of love and beauty, embodying the romantic desires and passions of mortals.
Her duty was to respond to love's call, no matter how sordid the plea. It was the divine role of all gods to answer humankind.
In the following laps, Hippomenes tried the same trick twice more, even hurling one apple directly at Suren.
The result remained unchanged—each time, Suren shot the apples with his perfect aim, shattering them.
Without the golden apples, Hippomenes was no match for Atalanta. Her speed and endurance were among the finest in all of Greece.
Running alongside Hippomenes, Suren leisurely kept pace. Once it was clear the man was out of options, Suren slowed to a walk, watching as Atalanta surged across the finish line.
Stretching, he called out, "Atalanta, congratulations on another victory. You've overcome destiny itself and thwarted the gods' games."
Hippomenes, on his knees, his spirit shattered, screamed out, "Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty… you promised me true love, yet you failed me!"
"Goddess Aphrodite, you've betrayed me, Hippomenes!"
"Hippomenes, are you blaspheming a god?"
Astounded by his insolence, Aphrodite herself descended. Instantly, an atmosphere of longing and tension filled the air, as the full force of her divine presence manifested.
It was an aura none could resist.
"Wasn't it you who made the promise…"
Hippomenes clutched his head, muttering, "You said no one could resist the golden apples... yet I lost. I couldn't beat Atalanta. I'm as good as dead."
Aphrodite spared Hippomenes no further glance, her eyes, which held all the beauty of the Age of Gods, shifting instead to Suren.
One had to admit, Aphrodite's reputation as the goddess of beauty was well deserved. Her form, as she descended into the mortal realm, radiated an undeniable allure, every feature a masterstroke of feminine grace, her beauty utterly without flaw.
Yet, there was one exception. Suren.
In him, Aphrodite found a face that even gods could admire—a beauty to rival her own.
If she embodied the pinnacle of feminine allure, then Suren embodied the essence of male elegance.
"What a beautiful youth!" Aphrodite exclaimed, though she quickly feigned offense, arching an eyebrow. "Lovely as you are, how dare you interfere with the gifts of the goddess of love and beauty?"
"And I don't recall ever being so insulted, boy—you don't even bother to call me 'Lady Love' or anything of the sort!"
On the other side of the scene, Atalanta had already drawn her sword, piercing Hippomenes through the heart. She was swift in her kill. After all, she'd made her terms clear from the start—only Poseidon himself could have spared Hippomenes from the consequences of his loss. With no appearance from the god of the sea, her sword sealed his fate.
Perhaps, in this moment, Poseidon was occupied on some distant isle, watching the [Loli Idol] trio perform one of their songs.
Atalanta wasn't oblivious. From the brief exchange between Aphrodite and Suren, she pieced together that this wretch, Hippomenes, had solicited a divine boon to outwit her—the irresistible golden apple.
If not for Suren…
A chill swept through Atalanta's heart. She shivered at the thought but warmed as her gaze fell on Suren.
What a good man he was, Suren.
Aphrodite, meanwhile, paid no mind to the fallen Hippomenes. Her alluring gaze turned instead to Atalanta. "Princess of Arcadia, you've slain every competitor who failed to outrun you. So, why spare him?"
Meleager, shielded by his prophetic charm, had managed to avoid attention at crucial moments as usual. Though technically another failed suitor, everyone's focus was now riveted on Suren.
They were eager to see if, under Aphrodite's compulsion, Atalanta would strike down this beautiful young man.
Atalanta met the golden, imposing gaze of Aphrodite and, with unwavering resolve, shook her head. "For no other reason than that Suren is different. I won't kill him."
"Good friend!" Suren gave Atalanta a thumbs-up, treating the matter of his life and death with an easy, indifferent air.
"Hmph, at least you're loyal," Aphrodite scoffed, eyeing Suren with mild approval. "Boy, you did well to come to her aid, helping her escape her fated end."
"But… fate is not so easily evaded."
Aphrodite's words took on a foreboding tone, as she turned her eyes back to Atalanta, her voice again brimming with the capricious authority of a goddess. "Today was supposed to be the day you lost your race. If you win, what does that say about me?"
"Suren," she continued, pointing at him. "Run another race with Atalanta, this time giving it your all. Amuse me, and I'll forgive you."
"And if you try to cheat me, I'll take back your beauty and turn you into an ugly wretch!"
"Uh…" Suren blinked. "You can do that?"
"Of course I can! I am the goddess of love and beauty!"
Aphrodite turned to Atalanta, her arms crossed, taunting, "Suren only lost on purpose out of consideration for you. Did you really think you could outrun him?"
"You two! Race again. Let me witness a true competition!"
This time, there was no room to hold back.
While Suren doubted Aphrodite could truly "take back" his beauty, he wasn't eager to test the goddess's patience.
Atalanta, meanwhile, found herself irked by Aphrodite's remark. Her pride in outrunning Suren, an archer whose prowess surpassed hers in every way, had become a cherished achievement. In a world where he eclipsed her in nearly all aspects, to win against him in this one arena felt like a true honor.
And yet, here was Aphrodite, dismissing her victory and revealing that Suren hadn't even tried.
"Then let's race again!" Atalanta declared, her voice carrying a fierce conviction. "Suren, give it your all! If you lose, I'll kill you myself, for you'll have made a mockery of me."
"If that's what you ask."
Suren met her eyes, nodded solemnly, and said, "Then I'll give it everything."
In truth, he hadn't exerted his full strength in their previous race. He'd seen no reason to. He knew Atalanta wouldn't kill him, so he'd simply let her have the victory, sparing her the trouble that would have come otherwise.
Who cared for such an inconsequential "honor"?
In Suren's eyes, making his friend happy was far more worthwhile than glory.
Knowing how much this race meant to her, he had no desire to steal her spotlight. However, now that Aphrodite had exposed his ploy, and with Atalanta herself demanding his best, Suren was out of options.
So, with Aphrodite as referee, they once more took their places at the starting line. With a single word—"begin"—the goddess signaled the start, and both racers burst forward, each unleashing their full strength.
It was no contest.
Despite Atalanta's divine blessing from Artemis, the natural limits of her speed and power could never quite match Suren's own potential when he committed fully to the race. In this decisive bout, Suren crossed the finish line a full five seconds ahead—an eternity in the realm of running.
"An excellent race!" Aphrodite clapped, directing a sly look at Atalanta. Her message was clear: You've lost. What will you do about it?
"Is that enough?" Suren gave the goddess an irritated glance, preparing to leave. "Are you satisfied now, Aphrodite?"
But Atalanta stepped in front of him, her expression resolute. "Suren, you've beaten me. You've conquered the princess of Arcadia and the huntress of Artemis. As promised, I offer myself to you in marriage."
"That's unnecessary, Atalanta."
Suren's face was calm as he replied, "This was only a race. It's hardly a matter that should dictate a life decision."
"Sure, I won, but that doesn't mean you have to marry me."
"We've barely met—three times at most. Deciding something so important in haste… it's only natural you'd regret it later on!"
Suren's lengthy response did nothing to sway her. Atalanta simply looked back at him, steadfast. "You've defeated me, so you have the right to take me as your wife. It's my choice. I'll have no regrets, no matter what."
"True love endures!" Suren shook his head, looking back at her. "But I don't believe that true love can blossom between two people who know nothing of each other, besides their names."
"Atalanta, don't underestimate yourself."
He paused, regarding her thoughtfully. "As we part ways, there's something I want to share with you. It was the motto of a remarkable woman, something she told her students."
Suren looked at her and recited:
"I was born to be a mountain, not a stream; I shall stand atop the peaks, not grovel in the trenches."
"I was born to be a person of worth, not chaff; I shall stand on the shoulders of giants, not tremble before cowards."
Raising his voice, Suren said, "A woman's worth does not begin and end with marriage to a powerful man. You are a free-spirited mountain cat of the wild, Atalanta—not some songbird meant to waste away in a gilded cage!"
In an era bound by tradition, where even heroes like Atalanta softened when it came to marriage and duty, Suren's views were as extraordinary as they were incompatible with classical Greece.
Human society molds the mind, binding the spirit to its unseen constraints.
Suren could almost picture Atalanta's fearless, unfettered spirit—the same warrior who thrived in the forest—gradually being caged by societal expectations, a noble heart reduced to mere ornamentation.
"..."
As Atalanta watched Suren's receding figure, his form reflected in her emerald eyes, Aphrodite whispered slyly, "I sense the spark of love."
"Atalanta, your heart has been stirred."
Could any woman, truly, remain unmoved by Suren?
The allure of his godlike features aside, his principles, his unshakable ideals, and his compassionate spirit made him as beautiful as his appearance.
"If you wish to seek my help," Aphrodite offered sweetly, "perhaps the goddess of love can fulfill your desire…"
"..."
—
No one knew what Atalanta said next, as Suren had already departed.
Instinctively, he didn't care for prolonged interaction with gods he barely knew.
For one simple reason—
Gods were entirely unpredictable.
They acted on whims and rarely restrained themselves; being around them was tenfold as hazardous as serving a mortal king.
Kings could kill only the flesh, but gods could twist a soul.
"I'm back, Lady Athena!" Suren finally returned to Athens, praying at the goddess's temple.
"My beautiful Suren, you finally return!" Athena beamed at him, her smile fading as she looked behind him. "Wait… where is Atalanta? Did you not… succeed?"
"Oh, I won."
Suren wasted no time recounting his story in full. Perhaps Athena had already known, but hearing the tale from him personally had its own effect.
When he finished, Athena sighed, "So not even Greece's greatest heroine could capture your heart, Suren…"
The goddess eyed him with a mischievous glint. "Could it be, my Suren, that your true love is a goddess?"
---
T/N: Sutalanta shippp WATER OPSTURE FBCEIJ
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