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The gymnasium of Olympus shimmered with marble dust, the whole place thrumming with the sound of clashing metal, the rhythm of battle carried a distinct cadence.
Columns of white veined marble encircled the arena floor like silent sentinels, each etched with centuries of battle marks, the ghosts of duels carved into their surfaces. The open dome above let the sun pour over the place, not mortal sunlight but a divine and ancient radiance that glinted off every sword swung, every bead of sweat and blood shed.
From her high vantage point on the balcony, Artemis could see every subtle shift of motion below, light footsteps of Percy whispering across slick stone, heavy boots of Ares grinding sparks from the ground, the shimmering mirage like distortion that heat wove across the arena as the combat deepened.
Artemis rested her elbows on the cool marble rail, the stone carrying the faint chill of moonlight even in the brightness of day, her auburn curls danced through the wind. She watched Percy move with a focus that was neither stern nor indulgent but quietly, fiercely attentive. The sun caught in the droplets gathering on his temple, sliding down the sharp line of his jaw before dropping to the floor in tiny, gleaming starbursts. His dark locks clung damply to his forehead, darkened with sweat, his breath came hard and rhythmic, fogging the wind in short bursts that dispersed quickly in the heat.
He wasn’t beautiful in the polished, sculpted way of gods, but in the fluid and wild, alive way of something uniquely him. Every shift of his body was instinct, a language as old as Olympus itself, he moved like the sea learning to walk on land, mighty and restless, unpredictable and undeniable.
On her left, a soft, musical hum broke her concentration, sliding through the heated wind like a ribbon of perfume, “You’re staring,” Aphrodite remarked, voice honey sweet, dripping with amusement as though she savored the observation as much as the battle below.
Artemis did not turn, she kept her gaze forward, sharp as the point of an arrow on the sightline, “I’m just observing.”
“Whatever you say,” Aphrodite lounged against a pillar with effortless grace, her rose gold silk gown clinging to her in a way that made the fabric look alive, undulating as though breathing in time with her, her hair spilled in shimmering waves down her back, catching light with every small motion she made, “Though, when you observe Ares, it’s merely annoyance,” Aphrodite looked entirely at home within this place of violence, perhaps more at home than any of the war deities did, her laughter sparkling faintly beneath the roar of clashing metal, “And when you observe your dear Perseus, it’s affection and devotion.”
Artemis allowed the comment to pass without reaction, the way one allowed a breeze to pass through a forest without disturbing its branches, she said instead, her voice even, “He strikes sharper today.”
Aphrodite clicked her tongue lightly against her teeth, “So diplomatic, so dry,” she tapped a manicured nail on the railing, the small sound oddly delicate amidst the reverberations below, “His form is better, though, Ares absolutely despises it.”
And indeed, Ares fought like a storm contained by too small borders, each movement explosive and heavy, each swing broadcasting its ferocity like thunder announcing lightning. Sparks rained down every time swords met each other, Ares lunged with a force that made the arena floor tremble, his warlike presence flaring so intensely it bent the wind around him. Percy staggered under the impact, his boots sliding across stone for a moment, yet he kept his grip, tightened his stance, and drove forward with a sudden, surging strength that surprised even the god.
Aphrodite smiled, bright and feline, when she saw Ares falter half a step, she rested her chin on her hand with lazy satisfaction, “Your precious Perseus has gotten even stronger,” she said, her tone equal parts admiration and mischief, “Your influence, without a doubt.”
Artemis allowed herself a small smile, a subtle, almost imperceptible softening, “He trains well.”
“Oh, he trains wonderfully,” Aphrodite purred, flicking her fingers toward the arena as if to showcase him, “But that boy’s strength? That’s what happens only when a man wishes to impress his lover. Trust me, I’ve had the millennia to study this.”
After that, her gaze flicked to the goddess beside her, “Your own lover is also sparring below us.”
Aphrodite waved a dismissive hand, bracelets tinkling, “Yes, yes, I adore him. He’s perfect. He’s also losing right now.”
Artemis suppressed the laugh threatening her composure, below them, Percy shifted into a stance that didn’t resembled any traditional forms. His style was fluid, hips swiveling, feet gliding, shoulders rolling in a way that seemed almost evasive until the moment he struck. Divine waves fluttered in faint, translucent ripples around him, visible only to divine sight, a shimmer of potential surrounding each swing of his sword, each twist of his torso. Ares lounged with another heavy blow that cracked the wind like a whip, but Percy let the force slide past, redirected it with a twist of his wrist, and stepped lightly aside, the god stumbled, just slightly, and the arena seemed to hold its breath.
Artemis smiled.
Aphrodite sighed dramatically, as though wrapped in the pleasure of the spectacle, “He’s pretty, your lover.”
“Eyes to yourself.”
“Oh, enough of that now, your beloved Perseus is both charming and admirable, and the sooner you learn to accept compliments on his behalf, the easier our afternoons will be,” silence answered for Artemis, but it was not cold, it was the silence of someone allowing truth to settle without acknowledging it out loud.
Her heart betrayed her regardless, every time Percy looked at the balcony, not lingering, not distracting, just a heartbeat long recognition, Artemis felt it, a brief spark, a small shift in the gravitational pull between them. He returned to the fight instantly, but those glances were enough to kindle warmth deep beneath her breastbone, he fought Ares, but he was aware of her, that mattered more than she would ever admit to the goddess beside her.
Her voice softened, the playful teasing lilt slipping away as though she had set it aside deliberately, “So,” Aphrodite murmured, eyes drifting back toward the arena below, “Has he accepted?”
It made Artemis tightened her fingers on the railing in response, the marble groaning faintly beneath her grip, a quiet protest against divine strength held too long in restraint, her gaze remained focused on the figures clashing below, “Not yet.”
“Hm,” Aphrodite leaned forward gracefully, posture calm, observant, watching the exchange beneath them with patience of a scholar, “But he will?”
“He promised.”
“A promise of immortality certainly isn’t small thing,” Aphrodite lifted a brow at that, lips pursing thoughtfully, her expression shifting from idle amusement to genuine consideration, “Especially for someone such as your lover.”
“And I shall not pressure him for it,” Artemis said steadily, her voice firm but not cold, “I told him the choice was his. His timing. His path.”
“I admire your patience,” Aphrodite studied her for a long moment, the teasing warmth within her eyes giving way to something gentler, almost reverent, “Yet doubt our king shares it.”
Artemis sighed, slow and controlled, the sound barely audible over the distant clang of bronze, “Oh, he shall survive the disappointment.”
“Zeus tends to throw lightnings when he’s disappointed,” Aphrodite replied lightly, though the edge beneath her tone betrayed the seriousness of the thought, “He wishes to see him take his rightful place at Olympus.”
It was not a threat, yet the mere implication of harm brushing against the idea of her lover made Artemis clench her fists, “Perseus declined the offers, for now, he said he would only choose divinity when he felt his mortal ties had had their time, and under his own terms.”
Aphrodite smiled with genuine appreciation rather than mockery, “And you, how do you feel about that?”
Artemis did not answer at once, instead, she let her attention fall completely back to the arena below, to the movement unfolding there.
Ares swung high, a brutal strike meant to overwhelm through sheer force alone, Percy dropped low, rolled beneath the arc of the blade as it tore through the wind above him, then rose with a burst of speed that startled even the god. His blade, Riptide, humming faintly with the presence of the sea itself, flickered like lightning in his hands as he closed the distance, he slipped inside guard of the god and wounded Ares just under the ribs, light but unmistakable.
Ares limped.
Percy smirked.
“Oh, he’s going to be insufferable about that later,” Aphrodite clapped once, delighted as a child, sarcasm dripping from her tone, “Such a joy!”
Artemis felt her lips curved despite herself, pride blooming quietly in her expression, something soft threading through the iron steadiness of her composure, Aphrodite turned toward her again, “You didn’t answer my question.”
Artemis kept her eyes on the gymnasium, on the marble scarred by millennia of battles, and on the mortal that stood unbowed at its center without being shaken even once, “He walks with me. He sleeps beside me. He fights alongside me. That’s enough, and I shall support him, regardless of his decision.”
For a moment, features of Aphrodite softened with genuine fondness, something quite scarce, her gaze lingering on Artemis longer than usual, “You really do love him.”
“I do,” Artemis said it simply, without flourish, without hesitation, “And he has never once wavered when the time came to choose me.”
“He certainly shall not waver in immortality, either. Mortals that love gods always long for more time,” Aphrodite mused, eyes drifting downward once more, a beat passed, “Though in his case, it’s less longing and more like stubborn refusal to abandon the people he still protects and loves, especially you.”
“He promised, when he’s ready, he will choose eternity, and I will not rush him,” Artemis nodded faintly, her voice softening further, “I will not take his mortality from him before he’s done enjoying it.”
Aphrodite placed a hand dramatically over her heart, “You surprise me sometimes. And that’s really difficult to do.”
Below them, Ares roared with fresh, irritated fury and charged, his divine presence flaring crimson as it spilled outward like wildfire, the floor cracked beneath his sprint, marble fracturing under the force of his advance. Percy met him head on, bracing with both arms, and in a blur of movement that was half combat, half instinct, Percy pivoted, seized wrist of the god, and slammed him into the marble floor with enough force to rattle dust from the rafters.
The entire gymnasium shook.
Artemis blinked once, and though her face remained composed, something fierce and bright surged through her chest, sharp with pride and affection.
Ares lay stunned for a full heartbeat before groaning out a grudging, “Good strike.”
Percy stepped back, chest heaving, lungs laboring, water dripping from his curls as he wiped sweat from his brow. When he lifted his gaze, just for that brief second, Artemis felt the world narrow to the invisible line drawn between them.
Aphrodite placed her hand on the railing dramatically, “You know,” she said with a grin, “I’ve seen a countless gods spar in that arena. Ares was never truly humbled, ever.”
Artemis arched a brow, “He is humbled often by you.”
“Yes, but that’s emotional devastation. This was physical. Entirely different,” Aphrodite leaned over the balcony, eyes bright, “He looked beautiful doing it, your lover,” she shot her a look so sharp it could have been a hunting knife, Aphrodite smirked. “Oh, don’t glare at me. Admiration is not seduction. Though I understand why you’re so enamored.”
Her gaze softened despite herself, “He’s mine.”
“Hm, certainly, and he’s very good at being yours,” she looked down once more, and this time she allowed herself to truly see him, Percy pouring water over his head, droplets cascading down the curve of his throat, tracing paths over warm skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest still labored from combat, the flush of victory coloring his cheeks, there was something profoundly grounding about the sight of him, weary and unbroken, fierce and soft in the same breath.
Beautiful.
But to Artemis, beauty was too shallow a word.
Percy was something older than beauty, more sacred than admiration, her chosen equal, the person she met not in worship but in companionship. He was her love, not the consuming, dramatic flames Aphrodite presided over, but something uniquely him, and for that reason alone, she adored him.
Aphrodite sighed dreamily, “Well, one thing’s just certain.”
Artemis lifted a brow, “And what’s that?”
With a grin full of wicked delight, Aphrodite declared, “He just made Ares really grouchy, and I find that attractive on both of them.”
Artemis let out an elegant, quiet groan, burying her face briefly in one hand. Aphrodite laughed, a bright, ringing sound that echoed across the open halls like wind chimes stirred by a warm breeze, spreading warmth across the marble.
Below them, Percy glanced up once more, water still dripping from his hair.
And Artemis felt her heart lift, soft and full, beneath the sunlit sky of Olympus.