The doors to the Underworld's Manor were closed. If time had been relevant here—as it was to the world above—one would find that it had been for the last four hours or so. It was a generally shared assumption that because the home had retired, its master must also be left to his slumber. That evening—and for the two previous nights that had come and gone—I found myself restlessly awake unable to find it in myself to drowse myself to sleep. The sight of Ares' prostate body staining the carpets of my breakfast parlor with the discomfiting coldness and rustic scent of his immortal blood still haunted me, yet as I laid alone in the Lord's chamber—wide awake but barely moving—the idea that all of what had occurred was no more but a nightmare was very tempting to believe in.

"He had an affair with Queen Helen of Sparta."

I did not react the way I perceived myself inside the recesses of my mind. I didn't feel a single muscle contort as I heard that my favorite nephew—the boy whom I raised from puberty to adulthood—had nurtured an illicit affair. I was simply rendered speechless. Whether it was in disbelief or disappointment, I wasn't sure. Athena wasn't doing any better than me as she recounted the exploits of her brother with a married woman.

"She didn't even know he was a god." I looked at her but she averted her gaze away from me. "He disguised himself as a human and—everything was hideous, Uncle."

To hear it directly from Athena, one who—I knew—would not exaggerate or undervalue the essence of a subject that needed to be discussed, disturbed me. I knew there was only blankness in my expression. I was aware that I did not necessarily show the interest she expected from me. I was only hoping that keeping my expression as it was, would help alleviate her feeling of self-blame.

"They were seeing each other. Ares wouldn't listen to me. He was convinced that I was—" she gulped nervously. "I was…standing in the way of his happiness."

It was my turn to avert my gaze from her. I cared not where. Athena was sobbing heavily now and had I known a way to calm her, to give her peace, to assure her that she was not at fault, I would've gladly done it.

"King Menelaus found out that his wife was going against his back with a man who seemed to be a very good fighter. He didn't want to take any chances. He sent a whole battalion for Ares." She shook her head and wiped the forming sweat drops that had framed her face. "When I saw what was happening, I truly did want to help him. But—"

"You swore your loyalty to the Greeks," I said in a almost whisper-like voice.

She nodded before quickly correcting her posture. "He wasn't in the right, Uncle. I couldn't…though I wanted to…"

I told her that she had done righteously.

"I didn't understand why Ares tolerated it," she said this in confused contempt as if she didn't understand where to put her anger."Instead of fighting back—he didn't do anything. It was as if he planned for things to go the way they'd gone."

And indeed, here I was, wide awake, contemplating on the same thing Athena had every right to be distressed of. That interview had been hours ago. Sure enough, Athena was in solemn slumber, exhausted and lulled by the tears and worries of a concerned sister.

I couldn't help but ask myself in the dead of the night: Why, indeed, did Ares lead himself to such a fate?