Chapter 173: Chapter 18
The air of Athena’s temple was heavy with incense and quiet devotion.
The great owl-eyed statue of the goddess loomed above, bathed in golden light that filtered through the high stone windows.
At its base, a girl knelt, her delicate hands clasped tightly in prayer.
She was strikingly beautiful, though her beauty bore none of the immortal radiance of a goddess—hers was the fragile loveliness of flesh and bone.
Her name was Medusa, daughter of the primordial deities Ceto and Phorcys.
By blood, she should have been revered.
As a child of ancient powers who ruled the seas before even the Olympians rose, she should have commanded respect and awe.
Yet here she was, kneeling as a simple priestess, her voice trembling in humble prayer.
The reason was cruel, yet simple.
Unlike her immortal sisters, Medusa had been born a defect. Mortal. Fragile. Vulnerable.
A flickering flame in the endless night of her family’s immortal line.
She was abandoned by her parents, and bullied by her siblings.
Especially her older sisters. They teased her relentlessly, mocking her frailty, laughing at how easily she tired, how her flesh could be bruised or cut.
And yet... beneath that cruelty was love.
Twisted, overbearing, and difficult to bear, but love nonetheless. For though they mocked her, the moment another dared insult Medusa, the sisters would bare their fangs, ready to drag the offender screaming into the abyss of Tartarus itself.
Medusa knew this, and so she endured their games with patience. She knew she was cherished, even if the world itself refused to see her worth.
And Athena... Athena had been different.
The gray-eyed goddess had accepted her, not as a primordial’s child, not as a defect, but as herself.
That was why Medusa knelt here now, draped in the white robes of a priestess, her dark hair falling around her shoulders like a veil.
She was alone in abandoned, and it was Athena who found her and took her in, caring for her as she grew up. And Medusa has chosen to be her priestess out of gratitude and awe.
Her lips whispered a prayer of thanks and devotion. Not for power, not for vengeance, but for purpose.
For in serving Athena, Medusa had found a place where she was no longer a defect.
She was simply Medusa.
Priestess of Athena.
*
*
*
The sea roared faintly in the distance as Poseidon rode the waves back toward his domain, his trident gleaming in hand, his face twisted in fury.
Once again, that wretched Athena had stolen victory from him.
Another city, another potential believers, had chosen her wisdom over his power.
It had become a cycle.
A cruel game, it seemed, where mortals continuously spurned the god of the sea in favor of the gray-eyed goddess.
The insult of Athens still burned in his chest, the memory of olive trees sprouting from bare rock, and the cheers of the Athenians as they crowned Athena their patron.
"Olives," Poseidon sneered to himself. "They chose olives over me."
The thought made him grind his teeth, his pride bleeding.
Just then, as he he crossed the coastline, his eyes fell upon one of Athena’s temples, its marble walls standing tall and radiant under the sunlight.
The sight alone stoked his rage anew. How easy it would be to shatter it, to drown it beneath a tide and watch her precious mortals weep.
He raised his trident, ready to unleash his wrath...
...but then he paused.
Inside the temple, a lone figure knelt. A woman draped in white, light purple hair spilling across her shoulders, her voice soft in prayer.
Her beauty was undeniable, mortal though she was. The delicate curve of her face, the devotion in her eyes, the purity of her form—it stirred something inside Poseidon, but it was not reverence.
It was hunger.
However, although she appeared mortal, Poseidon felt a primordial blood flowing through her.
A contradictory existence.
A mortal, yet possessed the blood of Primordials.
It was then he remembered.
There had been whispers. Rumors carried even to the depths of his kingdom.
A child of the Primordials, Ceto and Phorcys—a daughter born mortal, unlike her immortal sisters.
She was cast aside, pitied, yet somehow blessed with beauty so radiant that even the gods themselves spoke of it.
Some said she was as fair as Aphrodite, a living jewel among mortals.
She was supposedly taken in by Athena and became her priestess.
And here she was. That very mortal. Kneeling, praying, pure and untouched.
Poseidon’s lips curled into a cruel smirk.
"So... this is the mortal they whisper about."
He lowered his trident, not with mercy, but with malice.
If he destroyed this temple, Athena would fume, yes. But if he defiled the very priestess who served her, if he laid claim to what was hers... oh, the goddess of wisdom would burn with fury.
"Yes... this will wound her pride far deeper than a broken temple ever could."
The god of the sea stepped forward, his presence darkening the sanctum, the air heavy with the salt of the ocean and the crushing weight of divinity.
His eyes locked on the girl praying, unaware of the predator that loomed over her.
And Poseidon smirked wider.
"Let us see how your precious Athena protects you now."
*
*
*
The faint light of dawn streamed through the open columns of Athena’s temple, painting the marble floors with gold.
Medusa knelt before the statue of her goddess, her hands folded, her lips whispering prayers that had become her daily devotion.
But then, she felt it.
A presence. Heavy, vast, pressing down on her mortal frame.
It was unlike anything she had ever felt before, so suffocating that her breath hitched.
She froze mid-prayer, her instincts whispering danger.
Still, she forced her voice to remain steady.
"...forgive me, stranger." she said softly, eyes still lowered. "The temple will not open for another hour. You must wait—"
Her words died in her throat as she lifted her gaze.
A tall figure stood in the shadow of the columns, trident in hand, eyes gleaming like the deep sea in a storm.
The moment her mortal eyes met his divine presence, Medusa’s body trembled. She did not know his name, but she knew.
He was a god.
She bowed her head in respect, her voice careful.
"Greetings, divine lord. Forgive me for being blunt, but this is Lady Athena’s temple. It is not proper for another god to trespass here uninvited."
The stranger’s lips curved into a smirk. He stepped forward, the sound of his footfalls echoing through the hollow chamber.
"You stand before Poseidon," he declared, his voice low, commanding, dripping with arrogance. "Consider yourself fortunate, little mortal. For today, I grant you an honor few could even dream of."
Her heart tightened, but she forced herself to meet his eyes. "...Lord Poseidon, I am a priestess of the Goddess of Wisdom."
"Don’t refuse yet, this is a rare honor. You should be proud." Poseidon’s smirk widened. "Mortal, offer me your purity. And pleasure this god with your body."
Medusa’s blood ran cold. For a heartbeat, she could not breathe.
But then, with trembling hands pressed against her chest, she spoke, her voice hardening despite her fear.
"As Athena’s priestess, my body and my chastity belong only to her. I will not betray my goddess."
The sea god chuckled, amused by her defiance. "Stubborn words from such fragile lips. You mortals are amusing."
He reached out, his massive hand descending toward her face—
—but before he could touch her, a surge of power erupted between them.
A radiant barrier of divine light, sharp and unyielding, sprang into existence. His hand struck it with a hiss, the air crackling as divinity clashed against divinity.
Medusa staggered back, clutching her chest, her breath sharp.
The barrier pulsed with Athena’s power, protecting her. She shivered from the closeness of his touch, her body wracked with fear, but still, she stood her ground, glaring at him.
Poseidon stared at the shimmering wall of light for a moment, then scoffed. His disdain was clear, his lips curling into a snarl.
But soon, it twisted into something worse, an eager grin.
"So... my dear niece places her little mortals under her wing, hm?" His voice was venomously amused. "Very well. That makes this far more entertaining."
His eyes narrowed, hungry and cruel, fixed on Medusa like a predator who had decided not merely to hunt, but to break.
*
*
*
The newly acquired city of Athena was alive with music, dance, and incense.
Mortals crowded the steps of the acropolis, their chants of praise echoing through the marble streets.
Athena stood above them in divine splendor, basking in the adoration of her chosen people.
Their cheers were sweeter than any hymn; their devotion was proof that once again, she had beaten her arrogant uncle.
Her lips curved into a rare, satisfied smile.
She thought of Poseidon, of the way his eyes had burned with impotent fury when she had won yet another city.
She savored the memory, the way he clenched his trident but could not strike her, bound by the laws of Olympus. He was so easy to taunt, so easy to defeat.
"Yes..." she murmured, brushing dust from her bronze spear as she prepared to depart. "Another city, another story. Now, let us find a hero worthy of my hand to shape his fate."
Just as she was prepared to leave, she froze.
She felt a tremor. A pull. The faintest hum of power across the tapestry of her wards.
Athena’s sharp gray eyes widened.
Her protection... had been invoked.
Her heart lurched as she turned her senses toward a temple she had left behind.
Through the stone eyes of her statue, she saw.
A mortal girl, kneeling.
Her priestess, Medusa.
And before her stood Poseidon. His hand outstretched, his lust thick in the air, his smirk gleaming like a shark ready to devour.
The divine barrier shuddered, already straining under the force of his will.
Rage swallowed Athena whole.
Her blood roared like thunder in her ears, her divine essence boiling with unrestrained wrath.
How dare he. Not merely defy her priestess—but in her own temple?! Is he not putting her in his eyes!?
The heavens shook. The seas trembled. Clouds swirled violently above the city as her fury surged unchecked.
Her voice tore through the sky, splitting earth and firmament alike.
"POSEIDON!"