The Last Ballad of Olympus: The Waltz of the Vulture and Owl

The Serpent's Admonition

The private suite was brightly lit by roaring torches, the hearth's flame renewed, and spicy-smelling incense lingered in all corners. Walls were in color like the sand, painted with scenes from the great past before the golden age. Depicted were painted figures of men fishing and of women dancing along with the sea tides—much like the ones in King Minos's palace in Caphtor.

And unlike the gloomy atmosphere that haunted the other parts of the megaron, Enyo's side of the dwelling was cheerier.

Courtesans danced and performed acts from a play written by some old playwright. Wine flowed like a river, filling every gold cup as laughter resonated. There was music—strummed lyres, blown flutes, and percussions making a rhythm that could send the soul into euphoria. Performers carried masks, showcasing a sweet or sour expression depending on how their characters felt in a scene.

The whole space was crowded with smiling faces of women. And amongst the sea of joy that filled the dauntless void of misery was Enyo herself. She laughed with her ladies, admiring the show the performers blessed her. She clapped, praising every act that gave her bliss, and scorned a scene that infuriated her.

As if there were no errands to do outside the thick walls of her haven, the merriment was too wild for quaint pessimism that both wine and food fogged their senses, leaving only the side of ecstatic happiness.

Everyone, including the lowly servants, enjoyed every second of the small feast—although they knew not what they were celebrating for.

But no sooner, feeling like time slowly passed, the goddess of battle laid on her fancy throne tailored with the finest fabric and jewels, hoping to pass the day as dullness began to hover over her. As she went on observing the performance, her eyes slowly fluttered into sleep as her mind traversed into the memory when Ares called for her on that one midnight.

She reminisced the tears that flowed down from those furious eyes when he learned of Aphrodite's steadfast admiration towards the mortal Adonis. She remembered his hands trembling, understanding the brewing anger that ate every bit of his being. Oh, how broken and vulnerable the god of war looked like, and despite her bearing of being equally callous and vicious, she pitied him. She could feel her spirit splintered when he began to thrash and throw anything that was in his way. And on the spur of the moment, Ares suddenly grabbed her—harassed her lips with his needy ones and growled, demanding for her to surrender under him like she was his prisoner. However, beyond his awareness, the goddess was more than happy to be his victim even when the ardor he was feeling was not of sincere affection.

Once he took her to his bed, his madness ferally ravaged all of her—mumbling bitter words against Aphrodite and her beloved paramour, Adonis. Despite the pain from the forceful sex, Enyo endured and rejoiced—for it had been a long time since she had longed to be his. And that night when she gave in to him, she had it in mind he was already hers.

The goddess kept this moment etched deep into the tiniest cell of her soul even when she knew that Ares was having another secret rendezvous to release his anger against the goddess of love. She still thought of him as hers, and nothing could make her change her mind.

Red came fuming on her cheeks when her mind reverted to that memory. She was feeling every moment of it, savoring the feel of his skin and the kiss that caused blood to seep through her skin.

Enyo's eyes finally closed, bidding a brief conclusion to the feast and other merriment.

The music seemed looping, the play turned arid, and even the dancing ladies no longer gave excitement. Yet despite the growing blandness, guests still relished the celebration—devouring every drop of the drink and every piece of the food on the table. The laughs and singing did not dwindle along with the recess,