EoM Bk 1: The Gift of Fire
Copyright© 2026 by Carlos Santiago
Chapter 7: Quiet Changes
“It is your duty to change the world ... if you can.”
— Mark Thackeray (as portrayed by Sidney Poitier), To Sir, with Love (1967). Written for the screen and directed by James Clavell, based on the novel To Sir, with Love (1959) by E. R. Braithwaite. © 1967 Columbia Pictures Corporation. All rights reserved.
The wheat swayed and bent as was its want to do when someone made themselves appear out of nowhere.
Ares walked through the mortal fields without his usual armor or helm.
Apollo’s words had stuck in his head against the Ares’ better judgment. He was the only rightful son of Hera and Zeus. From an early age, he understood that the union of his parents was a diplomatic arrangement.
Zeus had been madly in love with Metis since before his marriage to Hera. Furthermore, as Ares understood the matter, Hera had loved Hades since the Great War. Life had not allowed for them to be with the person of their choosing. In fact, how Ares understood marriage on Olympus for the royal line, the unions were usually arranged.
Gaia and Ouranos were brought together by Chaos. Rhea and Cronos were married by Gaia. Zeus and Hera were brought together by Rhea and Gaia, or so Ares thought.
By that simple logic, romance and ardor had very little to do with uniting two people in matrimony. What mattered far more was the fact that the other person brought something to the table of nuptials.
Ares was the only son between Zeus and Hera. He was a powerful god. He was built for conflict and battle, but there were no great battles to fight. He was strong in flesh, and he had destructive powers unmatched by most on Olympus.
The simplest paths toward a union with a goddess were twofold: Athena and Aphrodite.
Athena was well-liked, formidable, intelligent, built for battle as well as him, and she was the child of Metis. A bonding with her made strategic sense ... if the dumb bitch didn’t get on his nerves every other fucking second.
She was the perfect daughter. Zeus loved her so much that even when she turned on him, she had gotten away from consequences completely without incident simply because their Father loved her mommy.
If there was any such thing as a golden child, it would be her. The only worse outcome would be a son having as much ability or favoritism as her.
Zeus was the king; Hera was the queen.
Ares believed that he should be the child his father looked to.
That was not the case.
As such, those sorts of feelings welled up a rivalry within him towards Athena.
While he had heard rumors that she, much like Artemis, did not favor sexual intercourse or romantic attachment with a man, that did not matter much. A marriage did not need to be a love match, only one that worked.
Then there was Aphrodite.
She had too much love to give. The comments of his brothers were true. She had slept with nearly every god and goddess on Olympus. He had even heard that Hermes and Apollo were no exception to the rule.
Strangely enough, he had not heard about Hephaestus sleeping with her. That brought a smile to Ares’ face. That broken brother of his was a mistake by Hera.
Thinking of mistakes, he understood that while fucking Aphrodite was fine, marrying her would do no good.
Some gods might view a relationship between her and him as ideal as they were both Olympians, but ares was also aware that there would be some that looked at a legal link between the two of them as the crown prince marrying someone that was nicknamed ‘The Slut of Olympus’.
That would never do for Ares.
That was when he had considered what Apollo had said about this supposed daughter of Demeter. If she were a child of Demeter in that she was respectable and had a dislike of the male half of divinity, this would mean she was a virgin.
Nobody would be foolish enough to insult Ares for marrying someone who had never been intimate with anyone.
She would be the daughter of an Olympian. Surely, there could be no loss of prestige there.
The consideration had festered until it had seemed like a good idea to him.
And so, he had dawned a red cloak and dusty brown sandals.
The fields were lovely and clearly of the make of Demeter and her nymphs. Surely, there was labor and hard work, but he suspected that magic was used more than anything else.
As he looked out towards Demeter’s palace, he saw her before she saw him.
Persephone.
She stood amid the wheat like a misplaced season.
Her auburn hair caught the light even as her hands brushed over the grain. She wore a gown of lovely purple and green with golden trim.
As she walked, he noticed that there was no practice posture about her as was with most on Olympus. She hummed softly, but he noticed that she was ever-so-slightly off-key. Music was not one of Ares’ talents, but he had heard Apollo sing like one of the Muses a thousand times. Those musicians’ cadences and pitches were perfect, so he recognized when something was off.
Ares smiled despite himself at the display.
There was no sign of Aphrodite’s polish nor even Athena’s mettle. There was a gentler grace that was unarmored.
In that wild simplicity, there was more elegance than in all of Olympus. For the span of a half of a second, there was the smallest doubt before Ares believed all that Apollo had said about this maiden.
Through this all, he could not afford for the moment to pass.
He stepped into view openly.
“You walk as someone who thinks pain is an accident,” he said softly.
His voice was warm and carried easily enough. As a prince (as well as a son of Hera), he had long since learned to cultivate a diplomatic voice even if he did not use it often.
Persephone jumped in a start, then laughed at herself.
“You frightened me, Stranger,” she said, then frowned.
She looked down at her hands as if criticizing herself.
“No. That is not correct. I suppose you surprised me. I should know the difference.”
“I suppose you should,” Ares agreed. “I am curious though. You seem surprised but you did not run?”
“Well, after Apollo came down, I assumed either he or another god from Olympus would come down.”
“An astute observation,” Ares said, flashing a grin.
She studied him for a moment before sighing.
“Given he introduced himself, and you have not, I cannot guess which god you’re supposed to be. Who are you?”
“Ares, son of Zeus and Hera, crown prince of Olympus, and,” he added with a snappy smile, “the god of war. What of you?”
She hesitated for a half-second. There was a smile of her own on her face.
“Persephone. I am the daughter of Demeter.”
“How lovely,” he said
Color rose to her cheeks.
“I suppose my name could be lovely if I were to flatter easily.”
The comeback was intriguing. Ares had not expected the counter, but that could be good. Flirtation would be ideal in a wife. She was certainly attractive.
He had analysed her hair to be an auburn tint of red, but upon closer inspection, he realized that it was a closer shade of copper red. Like spring into summer, there might have been a change in this young maid’s hair. Perhaps it was blonde in her youth or even black.
He could not say, but she was an intriguing subject, he realized. Beyond her past, he wondered if her hair would make a fine blood-red.
“I flatter accurately regardless if it is easily accepted or not,” he replied.
She laughed at his words.
This was a good sign for the god of war. It might take time, but she seemed to find him acceptable.
“Might we have a walk?” Ares wondered.
“My mother would definitely not approve,” Persephone remarked kindly.
“Then either I shall have to ask her permission, or...”
“Or?”
“We will simply not have to tell her,” Ares remarked.
“I do not think that would be wise.”
“Recall how I said you walk as though pain is an accident?”
She nodded.
“It is not. It is a lesson. Sometimes, it can be a lesson to be brave or take chances,” Ares said.
With that nugget given to her, he vanished in a flash of light.
Hades found himself walking above the Underworld.
Normally, he would not leave his Realm, but Nyx’s words left him with much to think about. He had not often known what he had wanted. Asking that question was far more difficult than he had anticipated.
As such, he could not be in the Underworld anymore. A toll was being exacted for wanting that emotional connection with the Primordial.
The entirety of the Lower Realm reminded him of Nyx.
He could not be down there even if he was the Ruler. The upside to this circumstance was that Hades finally got the breath of fresh air that he most certainly needed. Underworld matters were well in hand.
There was no reason to not walk the mortal paths without concern, crown, or helm of invisibility. Nothing could harm him after all, so this was the place where he could think without the distraction.
Unfortunately for him, cruelty stole him away from his problems.
There was a laughter that held the qualities of sharp brittleness overwhelmed his ears. There was a scraping quality to the cackling that reminded him of glass being rubbed together.
When he surveyed his surroundings, he found a ring of nymphs standing beneath a tree. They stood in a circle, pushing a single red and green colored nymph in a circle.
“I bet she thinks she’s better because she is her own plant!” one nymph exclaimed.
“She’s a freak,” said another.
“What even are you?”
The nymph being shoved and harassed fell to the ground. She said nothing to their provocation, and her silence enraged them. The others seemed ready to push him all over again or even try to strike her.
The Lord of the Dead would not stand for such harassment. He manifested his bident and allowed his powerful aura to announce his presence. The pressure of that power had them all stop what they were doing and look at the Chthonic King.
“Go,” Hades said.
At first the did not recognize this individual; however, once they saw his weapon (which he had made famous during the Great War), they each took a single step back while looking at one another. There was only one conclusion acceptable to this circumstance, and so they fled.
The grove had gained a quietude of death save for the shallow breathing of the one left behind.
Hades approached slowly. He wondered if this little being was okay, and so, he knelt to examine her more closely. She looked as though she had been hurt only superficially by the others.
“You are safe,” he said.
While he was certain she could only conclude that he meant she was safe momentarily, he was hoping to convey that he meant more than this single instance.
She looked up at him when the words had landed within her. A smile did not form on her face, but she allowed him to help her feet.
By the standards of a goddess, she was small. If Hades had to take her measure, he would say she was perhaps five and a half feet in height. She was slender in limb and frame with a delicate chest and hips that curved gently into long, graceful legs. Around her body she wore a living green plant of some kind like a dress that breathed with her.
Hades tilted his head sideways in his evaluation of her form. He very rarely met a living nymph. There were a few rare instances where he had met a dead nymph whose tree had been cut down or even a water nymph who had their river foiled or even just tried fighting gods of greater might.
Beyond the matter of the dead, he did not walk the lands of the living often. The simple truth of the matter was that he was just too busy. He almost scoffed at the notion.
Busy was a strong word doing some heavy lifting in truth. He had not needed to lift his finger in centuries. Most of the work being done to expand and profit the Underworld had all but been completed by the spirits of the dead.
Zeus’ little humanity plan had paid dividends to the Underworld. There were more gems, diamonds, and gold consolidated in his Realm than anywhere else. Olympus had its fineries sure, but the Realm of the Dead would have wealth unimaginable.
Returning to the matter of this plant or maybe tree nymph ... He could not be sure ... he noticed her hair fell in long strands of red threaded through with deep violet. Her eyes were a startling green, but there was a sharpness that warned him that she was a fighter. Maybe, she would not be a warrior like he had once been, but she could certainly stand up for herself with whatever she had at her disposal.
He could see that much of the matter in her, and for this, he would ensure that he did not present himself as her enemy.
“I know I am,” she said with some stubbornness.
“Why were they assaulting you?” Hades inquired.
“I do not see how that is any of your business,” she snapped back.
When she saw the bident in his hand, she flinched back. Upon seeing her distress, he made the weapon vanish.
“I am not your enemy,” Hades said. “I merely wanted to know why those others would harm you when they are your kind.”
She did not answer him right away. Rather, she appeared to consider his words before replying.
“Everyone is the same; they don’t like anyone who is different.”
“And how are you different?”
“Most tree nymphs have their life force tied to a tree, so they die when their tree is destroyed. Most plant nymphs are the same,” she said softly, touching the leaves at her shoulder. “If my plant remains rooted ... someone could destroy it. And then I would be gone.”
Hades studied her outfit anew with this knowledge in mind.
“So you carry your plant on your person?” he said. “That takes courage.”
“That keeps me safe,” she countered.
Hades could not help but flash a soft smile to her.
She hesitated but then seemed to realize that his kindness was genuine.
“My name is Minthe.”
“Hades.”
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