Serenity Under the Charioteer

As usual, even after hours, the feast continued. Music still roamed in all spaces. There were unceasing servings of food and wine, and tales from friendly companions were never-ending.

Yet despite the invitations for good conversations, Athena retired and went towards her chamber. But before she could do so, the goddess stood by a balcony to once more stare at the constellation, which was just an hour old.

"Good to see you again, my son." She greeted him with a sweet smile. Her joy was immense during that period. Indeed, her positive light overflowed that she could spare even for an upcoming rainy day.

"You seemed to be in a better spirit."

Athena was startled. She turned around to see the newcomer and realized it was only Ares—the deity who had taken the veil off from her façade.

"Oh," She lightly gasped, "It is only you."

Ares sniggered as he brushed his dark hair. "How does it feel to be the star of the night?"

"Star? Oh, no—not me. My son is the star." She gazed back to the heaven where the charioteer twinkled upon them. "See how lovely he glimmered at us?"

Ares followed, looking at the constellation that was truly a marvel.

He never really cared about those ornaments that wandered in the sky. He knew of their purpose, yet he paid no heed. However, now that he had caught sight of the new cluster, he finally understood its beauty. "A spectacular light." He concluded.

"So," She sighed, looking back at him. "Do you have something to tell me?"

The god paused, not responding to her innocent wondering. After admiring the constellation, Ares promptly invited, "Love to have some wine?"

One brow raised, perplexed. Ares's character on that day was a circus. In the morning, he was the usual thorn and nuisance. But during the evening feast, he suddenly became friendly—even showing a slight toothy grin at her that she never thought could happen. "Did you just? Well, I am going to bed now." Athena disclaimed, feeling reluctant to his invitation.

"Come one now. Just a sip."

"You are persuasive."

"Indeed. I just need someone to talk to."

"How about your paramour?"

"Who?" Ares smoldered.

"Oh, do not play games with me, Ares. I want a deep slumber. If you want some conversation, you can have it in the ballroom. Everyone is in good time and open to converse with you."

"You know that they all despised me."

"And you think that I did not?" Athena pouted. "Do not be silly."

He laughed, giving off a positive aura instead of quarreling with her. "Ha! Ha! I know. You need not to remind me. So, will you accept my lowly request?"

The third offer. Athena realized that he had been opening his hands to her and could not tell if this was some scheme or just being honest.

But, the more Ares persuaded, Athena finally said yes.

"Oh, alright." Exasperated, the goddess placed her hand on his.

"Thank you, benevolent goddess." Ares teased before taking her to his little lair.

***

The place was not what she expected—the air was calm, the room was clear, and the whole aesthetic was far out from the Ares she painted in her mind. "Goodness!" She expressed, as her thoughts about him turned in topsy-turvy.

"Love what you see?" The god understood her shock.

"I never knew you have some kind of interest in the arts?"

"There were things you do not know about me, Athena."

Athena curved her lips, agreeing to his notion. "Indeed. There might be things I do not know about you, Ares. I was not interested. But looking at your little dwelling, you seemed to dote on the arts."

There were trinkets of the past, vases, and scrolls on a cabinet—the god of war had successfully hidden his adoration to a lighthearted recreation from everyone. This side of him was a fascination. As she continued exploring, the goddess noticed a familiar work displayed discreetly on a table beside a flower vase.

"Wait, is this—"

"So, you found it," Ares said as he took out the broken sculpture and handed it to Athena.

Her silver eyes lit upon seeing and touching the trimmed work. It was one of her rejected art that she remembered throwing out of her window because of her rage from the emerging murmurs about her being antagonized in Medusa's tale. "Oh, dear—I remember this one. This was supposed to be a gift for one of my priests. I got angry upon hearing the slander I gained from the gorgon. Mind if I ask—why did you have this?"

Ares studied her, ceasing the second to observe those red eyes and cherry nose that certainly had come from battling sadness. When senses caught him, he chuckled and recollected how he found the object in a garden bush while being preyed on by the birds and crawling critters that wanted to claim it.

"It is lovely, Athena. You should have finished it." He added.

"My mind did not permit me to do it." She explained while giving the artwork back to him. "Anyways, how can we waste the time?"

"Sit here," He offered a chair that was across his. "Like I said, I kept so many wines to share."

"Really? Why me?" Athena jibed while fixing her skirt as she sat down.

"Have you been feeling light since we danced?" Upfront and not even caring for her reaction, Ares questioned her. "I mean, I feel eased."

"I settle that dancing with the enemy is quite a joyous experience. I forgot to thank you, by the way—I have no explanation whether you were being decisive, mad, or just innocent—but the moment you revealed Erichthonius's crown, it led me to receive a gift that is a marvel of all marvels."

Ares playfully bowed as he took his seat. "Honored by such grace, my darling and beautiful Athena. And happy for such a marvelous gift. Though I am not surprised—Zeus favored you."

"Jealous?" She raised a brow, probing her midnight date to annoyance.

"Oh, yes. Very much, Athena. Wine?" He offered.

"Yes, please."

The first night of the charioteer was bliss. Peaceful. Two complete opposites were spending the wee hours in optimistic conversation that ended in overturning all those tales, those odes about their hatred for each other.

In silver goblets filled with wine, the talk unconsciously made Ares and Athena open their closed books wide.

***

Her room turned into an abyss.

Her once abode of solitude became a gloomy darkness.

Nocturna was nowhere to be found, and her bed was in a dissolute state, far from how she had left it in an orderly fashion.

"Nocturna? Nocturna!" Athena called as she opened the door to her balcony. "Where are you, my dear little flutter!"

No answer. Not a soul in sight, nor other birds soaring in the air. The whole Olympus was quiet—too quiet for her liking. It was like all left, and everything abandoned. Eerie for her taste, Athena returned to her room, closed the door, and shook her head from the uncannily haunting silence of the moment.

"Odd. Where could my owl be? Why was there no merry music now?" Athena wondered.

Deep in her thoughts while trying to find the answer, she sat on her bed in solemn—until…

The door violently swung open, then followed the familiar dark figure that stole her kiss from her nightmare. Wide eyes stared upon the unwelcomed stranger—this was no longer a hazy dream. He was there by her door, in a proud stance staring back at her. There were no features—like how she first gazed at him, but his malevolent aura was overpowering.

"You!" Athena scolded, darting him with her sharp eyes and an unapproving look.

He did not utter. Instead, the dark figure moved closer—inch by inch and slowly, building up the tautness.

"Stay there! You are not allowed to come near." She ordered fiercely. But the stranger showed more resistance and did not comply with her.

"I said—"

"Hush—" He rushed like a hare on the march. He sped up at that second and immediately placed a finger to her lips as he whispered, "Not a word, my goddess. Don't fret."

Athena was suddenly petrified while staring at the abysmal hallow on his face. Fear rapidly poisoned her bloodstream—an emotion that never happened before except for the second night she encountered him.

She could feel him intently looking at her, though he had no eyes to confirm it. She could feel his breath. It was warm, with a hint of solid smoke that tingled her nose. Something about his mysterious study on her that felt like she was on the edge, waiting for some unpredictable predicament that might happen.

Her eyes grew like a naïve child who just had seen the outside world. She was losing her senses.

With her state all in convoluted thinking, and before she could say knife—the shadowy figure kissed her. However, this time, and unorthodox, Athena did not resist.

The goddess forgot who she was at that time. She lost herself as the kiss deepened. There was no puzzlement nor anger. The goddess of conventional disposition had gradually morphed into a protagonist known well by the heart of poets of love. Athena, the little peony bud, had bloomed unknowingly under the heathen night.

His touch was gentle. His caresses were pure. At first, Athena did not understand all those endearments as she twitched from those fingers gliding on her skin. But no sooner, the surge of contentment won in wrapping her psyche, hidden from her logical senses.