I Am Zeus

The training grounds of Olympus stretched wide, carved into the mountainside with polished stone floors and ringed by towering columns. The sky above was clear, the kind of blue that seemed endless, broken only by drifting clouds. A faint wind moved through, carrying the scent of iron from the racks of weapons that lined the edges.

Athena stood at the center, her spear balanced loosely in her right hand. Her stance was precise, every angle deliberate. Across from her, Ares rolled his shoulders, the edge of his grin sharp as he spun his blade in a slow circle.

"You're tense," Ares said, lowering his sword into a ready stance. "You always were when you thought too much."

Athena's eyes narrowed. "And you've always mistaken confidence for carelessness."

She moved first, quick as a hawk striking. Her spear darted forward, a blur of bronze aimed at his chest. Ares twisted, catching the shaft against the flat of his blade with a sharp clang that echoed off the pillars. He shoved, she shifted, and they broke apart only to clash again in the next heartbeat.

Sparks flared as metal struck metal. Ares pressed forward with brute strength, each swing heavy enough to split stone, but Athena met every strike with calculated precision, her spear redirecting his blade just enough to turn killing blows into wasted effort.

"Still hiding behind strategy," Ares taunted, driving a kick toward her midsection.

Athena slid aside, the edge of his heel grazing her armor. "Still charging in like a beast."

They circled, breathing steady, eyes locked. It was a rhythm they both knew well. For all their differences, their bodies remembered the countless times Zeus had stood above them, demanding they push harder, faster, sharper.

"Do you remember?" Athena said suddenly between strikes, her voice calm even as her spear flicked toward his throat. "Father throwing mountains at us when we were young?"

Ares barked a laugh, knocking her spear wide with a heavy slash. "I remember him yelling every time you corrected his form mid-lesson. You were unbearable even then."

Athena smirked faintly, stepping in close to drive the butt of her spear into his ribs. He grunted, stumbling back a pace. "Unbearable," she echoed, "or better?"

Before Ares could answer, a shadow swept across the ground. Both of them looked up just as a massive boulder—twice their size—hurtled down from the cliffs above.

"Duck!" Athena snapped.

They moved in perfect unison without a thought. Ares raised his blade, Athena leveled her spear, and together they slashed upward. Lightning sparked from her weapon, raw force exploded from his, and the boulder shattered mid-air into harmless shards that rained down around them.

A roar of laughter followed from the ridge. Hermes leaned lazily against a pillar, golden sandals gleaming, while Apollo stood beside him, bow slung casually over his shoulder.

"Still sharp, sister, brother," Apollo called, voice warm with mischief. "Father would be proud."

"Or furious," Hermes added, tossing a smaller stone up and catching it. "Depends on how much of the courtyard you break this time."

Ares growled, pointing his sword toward them. "Throw another and I'll ram it down your throat."

Hermes only grinned wider. "Promise?"

Athena shook her head but didn't hide the faint smile tugging at her lips. She turned back to Ares, twirling her spear once. "They're doing us a favor. Distractions make for stronger focus."

"You always did like pretending chaos was a lesson," Ares muttered. But he didn't complain when another boulder whistled down.

This one was bigger, tumbling end over end, casting a long shadow across the floor. Ares snarled, charging forward, blade flashing. He split the rock down the center with one mighty strike, fragments exploding outward like a storm.

Athena was already moving, her spear lashing out to scatter the shards before they could hit the nearby racks of weapons. Lightning rippled along the stone, disintegrating the smaller pieces into dust.

When the dust cleared, both stood unharmed, weapons raised.

Hermes whistled. "Elegant."

Apollo clapped once, slow and mocking. "Almost as good as Father used to do."

That drew silence for a moment. Even Ares's grin dimmed. The memory of Zeus's training—his booming voice, the sheer weight of his presence—still lived in all of them. He had made gods out of children, and the lessons had been written into their bones.

Athena lowered her spear slightly, her gaze drifting. "He taught us to fight together. Not just against each other."

Ares snorted, though his tone softened. "And yet, here we are. Still at each other's throats."

"That's because you mistake violence for purpose," Athena said, steady as ever. "War isn't just blood. It's strategy. Discipline. Victory isn't won by the loudest roar—it's won by the sharpest mind."

"And yet without my blade, your plans crumble," Ares shot back.

Their words cut, but there was no true malice in them. It was the same argument they'd had since childhood, each convinced their path was the truer one.

Another boulder came—this time flaming, Apollo's handiwork. It streaked like a meteor toward the ground. Athena and Ares didn't speak. They just moved.

Ares launched upward, blade swinging with raw fury, cleaving through the fireball in a brilliant arc. Athena followed immediately, her spear lancing through the heart of the broken mass, lightning consuming the flames until nothing but smoke remained.

They landed together, back to back, the ground trembling beneath their feet.

For a moment, there was quiet. Then Hermes clapped. "Beautiful. Truly. Should I fetch Father so he can see the happy reunion?"

Athena glanced at Ares over her shoulder. His smirk had returned, sharp but tinged with respect. "Not bad," he admitted.

"Not bad yourself," she replied.

The sparring resumed, lighter now, less like enemies and more like siblings who understood each other's rhythms. Blades clashed, spear struck, but their movements carried a strange harmony—as though they weren't just training, but remembering what it meant to be gods forged in the same storm.

And above, on the highest balcony, Zeus watched. Silent. His eyes followed every strike, every block, every shared moment. Lightning flickered faintly in the clouds below, but he didn't move, didn't call out.

He simply watched his children fight like the warriors he had shaped them to be—together, even in rivalry.