The Underworld did not have an accurate account of time. We had no sun, nor moon, nor stars to tell us it was nearing noon or edging dawn. Elysium fields and the Isles of the Blessed had an eternal morning upon them. The rest of my dominion though was under a combined layer of dim gray and raven black. Their mornings were dictated by the time I wake up. Their eventides followed the moments the closing doors of my castle signaling the end of day.

Considering all technicalities aforementioned, I did not have the means to tell how much time I spent on my morning toilette nor could I have the precise number of minutes that it took me to walk from the Lord's chamber to the breakfast parlor. I did know however, that there were some things misplaced in the castle's morning schedule. Instead of being met by rows of servants bustling and walking in the halls of my castle, most of my corridors were uninhibited. I heard no one's footsteps but my own, and knowing that I had two dozen house helpers employed under my order made silence bothersome.

The twin doors to my breakfast parlor were open. I was foolish enough to suppose Hecate—my aged housekeeper—was patiently waiting for me together with a few servants for my morning meal.

The sight of Ares sprawled awkwardly in my divan surrounded by the concerned expressions of the majority of my maids was something I was not prepared for.

They sprinted on and about—unsure where to go and where to place themselves at my presence. The male souls reluctantly left the scene to follow the orders of a stressed Hecate who had now took the role of an apothecary. The females who knew better waited on the bruised body of a familiar master. They listened attentively to the faint exhausted breaths which his battered body continually relied on for strength.

I walked slowly towards Ares. The deep gashes and bloody wounds surely wouldn't leave his body without a mark. My expression must've been all too readable. I was about an arm's length away from him when I felt another skin touch mine. A hand—a wrinkled and old one—stopped me from advancing. Mildly surprised, I saw that it was Leone.

"Milord, perhaps this is not the best time for you to approach Master Ares."

"Leone, he's my nephew—"

"And that is why we are sure, he'll pull through." I felt his hold on me tightened. I looked at him still with the intention of going up to the god of war. He whispered. "You are trembling, milord."

And true enough, I felt myself shaking. I took in a breath—a deep exhausted inhale of the awfully blood-scented airs of the breakfast parlor. I found myself completely indisposed. My eyesight seemed to fail me. I found myself blinking too quick—my pupils were trying to adjust themselves to the already dimmed room—which I was sure was worrying Leone.

"Milord, Hecate and I will take care of Master Ares. Perhaps, it's best if you stayed with Mistress Athena." He whispered again. Hecate who had easily guessed the nature of our discussion flashed me a weak encouraging smile. I knew from her face that it would not be easy but it would—in her silent assurance—ultimately end well. I closed my eyes.

Athena was here in the underworld. She would explain everything. She would tell me all of what I needed to know.

I breathed again—deeply and slowly—to calm myself. "Everything is going to be alright, milord." I weakly nodded to Leone knowing that he was right. Ares was a god. He was born of immortal flesh and eternal blood. I gave Leone a short grateful glance for his discretion. I gave a curt nod to Hecate wishing her the best of luck.

I needed to talk with Athena.

When I was ushered in one of the Manor's guest rooms, I was both relieved and bothered to see Athena—though having her own share of blood stains—was completely unharmed. I was glad to know she was well yet I knew better than to rejoice. She was silent as I came in. She uttered nothing as I sat across the vacant chair parallel to her position on the bed. The fact that she was without a single scratch while her brother was bloody and bruised must had been feeding her guilt. I reached out to her and took her hand into mine.

"You are not at fault." She looked at me. Her eyes were red, sore and exhausted. "Do not blame yourself."

"I could have prevented it, Uncle." Her tears were starting to form. Her voice was cracked and tired. "I could've stopped all of this from happening. Ares, I could've saved—"

"Ares will be fine. He is an immortal, remember? He is a god. Death is nothing to him."

"He'll be scarred, uncle. He would have all those ugly traces in his body, all because his sister had been too foolish to stop him."

I quivered a brow. "Stop him?" She nodded at me meekly, taking back her hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Athena, what happened, exactly?"

"Ares," she wept. "He had an affair with Queen Helen of Sparta."