~Mount Olympus ~
Ares-
I stood at the front of my army, the weight of my armor pressing down on my chest, but it was nothing compared to the pressure building in my heart. The warriors gathered before me were eager, but I could see the hesitation in their eyes—fear of the unknown, of facing an enemy like Ogun and his forces. I couldn't afford hesitation. Not now. Not in front of them.
I let the silence linger for a moment, feeling the weight of the gods' expectations pressing down on me like a mountain. The time had come for us to prove ourselves—not just to the mortals, but to the gods themselves.
"Warriors of Olympus!" I bellowed, my voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. "The time has come! The time for us to show the world—and the heavens—that no one dares defy the gods! Not Ogun. Not his pitiful rebels. No one!"
I stepped forward, the ground seeming to tremble beneath my feet. "They think they can hide behind their lands, behind their rivers, thinking they can defy us. But what they fail to understand is that they're facing me. Ares. The God of War. And no one defies me."
I clenched my fist, my voice rising, carrying the fury and ambition that burned inside me. "We will not stop until they bow before us. We will show them the true power of Olympus. Every warrior who falls will be a reminder that there is no future for those who defy the gods. We will take their homes, their pride, and we will make it our own."
I saw the warriors' eyes shine, their fear replaced by something else—determination. "You are not just warriors, my friends. You are the future of Olympus. This is your time to rise. To prove that we are the rightful rulers of this world, and that no one—not even Ogun—can stand in our way. This battle will echo through the ages. When it's over, they will remember our names. They will remember my name."
I paused, feeling the weight of my words settle into the air. "Now, go forth, warriors. Fight for Olympus. Fight for me. Fight for Zeus."
~Ife Ikoro~
Kamaria-
I stood at the edge of the gathering, feeling the weight of the air press down on me. The warriors were gathered in front of Ogun, their faces serious and focused, each one readying themselves for what was to come. Ogun stood tall at the front, his presence as imposing as the mountains surrounding our city, and his words carried the gravity of a man who had seen war before.
I could hear the murmur of voices around me, but they faded as I watched him, focused entirely on the man I had known for years—the leader of our people. The father of my friend Ogunyemi. His voice, deep and steady, cut through the tension hanging in the air.
"We stand on the edge of history," Ogun said, his gaze sweeping over the crowd of warriors. "Ares and his warriors think they can take what's ours. They think they can trample our pride and take the very soul of our people. But we will show them otherwise."
There was a fire in his eyes as he spoke, a fire that set the hearts of the warriors ablaze. My own chest tightened, a cold knot of fear settling in my stomach. This wasn't just any battle. This was war—a war between gods and mortals, between the divine and the human. I didn't belong here, not with these warriors who lived and breathed for the fight.
I wanted to close my eyes, to block out the sound of his voice, but I couldn't. I was rooted to the spot, unable to tear my gaze away.
"We fight for survival," Ogun continued, his voice unwavering. "We fight for our land, for our children, for our ancestors. We fight because we must. And we will not be defeated. Our pride, our strength, and our unity will carry us through this storm."
The warriors roared in response, their voices filling the air with a deafening cheer. But all I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat, loud in my ears. I wasn't one of them. I wasn't a warrior, and the violence of this war repulsed me.
"War isn't the answer," I whispered to myself, my fingers tightening around the stone hanging from my neck. I had been raised to heal, to soothe, to mend the broken and the wounded. Not to break, not to kill.
But Ogun's next words pierced through my thoughts. "Our ancestors did not fight so we could turn away when the time came. They fought so we could stand strong in the face of those who would crush us. And we will not let them down."
I squeezed my eyes shut, the weight of his words pressing down on me. The warriors were ready, eager even, for the fight ahead. I knew their bloodlust, their hunger for victory. But it felt wrong—so wrong. How could I stand here, knowing what was about to happen, and simply accept it?
It was then that I felt a presence beside me. I didn't have to look to know who it was. Amari, my friend, the warrior who had trained beside me for years, stood silently at my side. I could feel her gaze on me, her concern almost palpable.
She didn't speak immediately, giving me the space I needed to collect my thoughts. I appreciated that, but the silence between us was suffocating. Finally, she broke it.
"You don't agree with this, do you?" she asked softly.
I shook my head, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know if I can... I don't know if I can be part of this. All of this violence—it feels like a betrayal. My father taught me to heal, to bring peace, not to stand here and watch them destroy each other."
Amari's eyes softened, and she took a step closer, her tone gentle but firm. "I get it. I really do. It's hard. The idea of war, the bloodshed, the loss—it's a lot to carry." She paused, her eyes searching mine. "But sometimes, Kamaria, we don't have a choice. This fight—it's not just about the blood. It's about what we protect. What we defend."
I shook my head again, the turmoil inside me deepening. "I don't know if I can be a part of that kind of violence. What's the point of saving a life if it's just going to be taken again? What's the point of fighting for survival when we lose so much in the process?"
Amari was quiet for a long moment. She knew me well enough to know this wasn't just fear—it was confusion, a deep struggle between what I had been taught and what I was now being asked to do.
She finally spoke, her voice low and steady. "I can't promise you that war will be easy. I can't promise you there won't be loss. But what I can promise you is that we fight for more than just the battle. We fight for those who can't fight for themselves. We fight to keep what's ours. To keep our people safe."
Her words settled into my chest, like a weight I hadn't been able to lift. I wanted to believe her, wanted to believe that this fight meant something more than the destruction it would bring. But I couldn't quite let go of the piece of me that still wanted peace, still wanted to heal.
"I'm not a warrior, Amari," I whispered. "I can't be. I can't fight."
"You don't have to fight with a sword, Kamaria," she said, her voice soft but filled with conviction. "But you have to fight with your heart. You have the power to heal, to save, to protect. You're not standing by the warriors as just a witness. You're standing with us because we need you. Your strength, your compassion, it matters. It's you we need"
Her words lingered in the air, and I felt a flicker of something inside me—a hesitation, but also a spark of resolve. Maybe I couldn't fight with a sword. Maybe I couldn't fight in the same way as the others. But I could fight in my own way. I could heal, I could help, I could do what I could to protect those who survived.
The battle was coming. And I had to face it, even if it wasn't the way I had ever imagined.