Restraint at the Root of Silence

The gate seals behind Ares with a final, metallic groan. Corinth lies frozen around him, shutters open, hawkers mid-breath, a servant still swaying near the spring.

Ahead, the palace thrums with a dull, rhythmic pulse. It feels wrong, like a heartbeat borrowed from something that should already be dead.

The words are almost swallowed by the still air. The servant’s gaze stays fixed, caught between fear and relief, as if waiting for mercy that cannot arrive.

Hades sets a steady hand against Ares’s shoulder, then points toward the palace. The path is clear now, but every step forward means choosing what kind of god Ares will be when he reaches the source.