Chapter 618: Promise for Athena

"When the time comes for you to fulfill your end of our bargain," she continued, "I will call upon you. Until then, consider yourself under my patronage in this matter. Your home will be built, Nathan. That much is certain."

Nathan smiled with genuine satisfaction as he reached out and clasped Eurynome’s extended hand firmly.

That was one major concern addressed, one crucial step forward in building the future he envisioned for his scattered family. And not just addressed carelessly or provisionally, but genuinely, thoroughly resolved. He would have a home built by a goddess.

The weight that had been pressing on his chest for months, the constant anxiety about his children’s separation and vulnerability, eased fractionally. Not gone entirely—it would never be gone until they were all safely gathered together—but lighter now, more manageable, transformed from crushing dread into something closer to hopeful anticipation.

"What are you both talking about with such serious expressions?" Demeter’s voice interrupted the moment, as she approached with Athena at her side.

"A secret," Eurynome replied immediately, her grin taking on a mischievous quality that made her seem suddenly younger, more playful—almost impish despite her divine majesty. She brought one finger to her lips in an exaggerated gesture of silence that only emphasized how much she was enjoying withholding information.

Demeter raised a single elegant eyebrow, amusement coloring her features even as curiosity clearly gnawed at her. S

Athena, however, reacted differently. Her brow knitted slightly, her sharp blue eyes shifting from Eurynome to Nathan with an intensity that suggested she was already trying to piece together the mystery through pure deductive reasoning. She fixed Nathan with a look that very clearly expected him to immediately clarify what had just transpired.

Nathan met her gaze steadily but didn’t immediately elaborate, allowing the moment to stretch just long enough to make his point—that he was entitled to his own negotiations, his own plans that didn’t require her approval or oversight—before shifting the conversation.

"Shall we talk?" he said, his tone taking on a more serious quality that cut through the lighter atmosphere. "I don’t think we’ll have many occasions to meet anymore, at least not in the immediate future. This might be our last chance for a proper conversation for quite some time."

Now that Rome was secured—its government stabilized, its threats neutralized, its future trajectory set on a course that wouldn’t require his constant intervention—there simply wasn’t much reason for them to maintain regular contact. Their alliance had been forged in response to specific crises, strengthened through shared battles and mutual respect. But with those crises resolved, their paths would naturally diverge. She was an important goddess with countless responsibilities spanning the entire Olympus pantheon and beyond. He was a wanderer with his own missions that would take him far from territories where her influence held primary sway.

The reality of it settled between them, not bitter but undeniably melancholic.

Athena studied his face for a long moment before nodding slowly, understanding and perhaps even appreciating the directness with which he’d addressed the inevitable. "Very well. Let us walk and speak while we can."

They moved away from Demeter and Eurynome with unspoken agreement, beginning to stroll through the magnificent garden at an unhurried pace. Nathan walked beside Athena, neither leading nor following, their steps falling into an easy synchronization.

"Have you completed your farewells to Rome?" Athena asked after they’d walked in comfortable silence for a minute. "Said everything that needed saying to those you’re leaving behind?"

"I have," Nathan confirmed with a slight nod. "I made my rounds, spoke with everyone who mattered, ensured they understood this wasn’t abandonment but simply... necessary departure."

"You will return sometimes, I presume, if circumstances require it or if you simply wish to see them again," Athena said. It wasn’t quite a question—more an assumption based on her understanding of his character.

"Yes, I will return," Nathan agreed readily. "Servilia appears to be pregnant with my child, and I absolutely will not miss her delivery. I’ve already broken that promise too many times with other children, missed too many births because of conflicts or emergencies that demanded my attention elsewhere. I won’t do it again. Not this time."

He paused, considering how much to explain, then decided honesty served better than vague reassurances.

"Unless there’s genuine urgency—something catastrophic that only I can address—I don’t plan to treat Rome like a vacation destination I visit on holidays," he continued. "My focus needs to remain on the matters immediately at hand, on the threats that still require confronting. I need to sacrifice time with my women now, painful as that is, so that eventually we can all be together properly. That’s the reality I’m choosing to accept."

"Pregnant with your child?" Athena repeated, surprise evident in her tone as she turned to look at him directly. Her steps faltered momentarily before she resumed walking, though now with visible distraction as she processed this new information.

She hadn’t been particularly aware of the full scope of Nathan’s romantic entanglements during his time in Rome. She’d known he had connections there—that much was obvious from his emotional investment in the city’s fate—but she hadn’t inquired into details, respecting boundaries between alliance and intrusion.

"From what you showed me in those memories you shared," Athena said slowly, her brilliant mind clearly racing to assemble a more complete picture, "I did see evidence that you had other women and children scattered across various locations."

She hadn’t seen everything, of course. Nathan had been careful about which memories he’d allowed her to access back then. Khione’s involvement with him remained concealed—that particular relationship was too complicated, too potentially problematic if certain parties discovered it. But Athena had definitely glimpsed Amelia and Aisha, both clearly pregnant when last he’d seen them. By now, those children had almost certainly been born, adding to his ever-growing list of offspring he needed to protect and provide for.

And she’d caught impressions of others as well—Courtney, Azariah, Medea, Scylla, Charybdis, and likely more whose names hadn’t registered clearly in the fragmentary images she’d absorbed.

Her expression shifted as the full scope of it began crystallizing in her mind, her eyes widening fractionally as understanding dawned. "Exactly how many women are we discussing here, Nathan? How large has your... family... actually become?"

There was no judgment in the question, only genuine curiosity tinged with something that might have been amusement or might have been concern about the logistical complexity he was managing.

"I do have several women, yes," Nathan acknowledged without embarrassment or defensiveness, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "And I suppose that number will likely continue increasing over the coming years. I’m not going to pretend otherwise or make excuses for it."

He met her gaze directly, refusing to look away or display shame about choices he’d made consciously and without regret.

"I know how it sounds," he continued. "I know it’s not conventional by any standard, mortal or divine. But every connection I’ve formed has been genuine, every relationship built on honest emotion rather than casual conquest. These aren’t conquests or trophies—they’re people I care about deeply, people who have chosen to tie their fates to mine despite knowing exactly how complicated that makes their lives."

"I am not especially judging you or anything," Athena replied with remarkable calmness. "My own father has accumulated a number of lovers numbering in the thousands, perhaps tens of thousands over the countless millennia of his existence. I stopped attempting to count them altogether centuries ago—it became an exercise in futility and frustration."

She paused, her expression darkening slightly as ancient grievances surfaced in her memory.

"What I do disagree with—what I will always disapprove of and condemn—are the women he hunted down against their will, the ones he pursued with deception and coercion rather than genuine courtship. Those actions were inexcusable regardless of his divine status or the cultural norms of various eras. Power should never excuse predation."

"Thousands of women..." Nathan repeated slowly, trying and failing to wrap his mind around the sheer scope of Zeus’s romantic history. "Zeus is really something else entirely, isn’t he?"

The logistical complexity alone seemed overwhelming, never mind the emotional investment such relationships should require.

"Indeed," Athena chuckled, though the sound carried bitter undertones beneath its surface amusement. "My father’s capacity for compartmentalization borders on the supernatural—which I suppose it literally is, given his nature. Thankfully, he has stopped his more egregious behaviors in recent centuries. It took long enough, far longer than it should have, but he did eventually mature somewhat and now primarily seeks peace rather than conquest in his personal life."

Her expression grew more somber, shadows passing across her features like clouds obscuring sunlight.

"Though what he did during those earlier millennia destroyed countless lives—shattered families, ruined reputations, created children who were never properly acknowledged or cared for. Hera especially suffered tremendously from his infidelities. She completely lost herself to the pain and betrayal, transforming from who she once was into something twisted and spiteful. Now she lashes out at everything and everyone, unable to distinguish between appropriate targets for her rage and innocent parties caught in circumstances beyond their control."

"Hera?" Nathan’s attention sharpened immediately at the mention of that particular goddess, his entire focus narrowing to laser-like intensity.

She was currently in his custody after all, imprisoned within one of his secure locations following her multiple attempts on his life. The subject of Hera was far from academic for him—it was deeply, dangerously personal.

Athena caught the shift in his demeanor and nodded with understanding. "I know you don’t have a favorable image of her, and given your history, that’s entirely justified. But she hadn’t always been the vengeful, bitter creature you’ve encountered. There was a time when Hera embodied different qualities—dignity, protective devotion to family, fierce loyalty to those under her care. Zeus’s repeated betrayals eroded those qualities over centuries until almost nothing remained except the anger."

She met his gaze directly, acknowledging uncomfortable truths.

"She tried to kill you numerous times during the Trojan War, orchestrating assassination attempts and manipulating events to engineer your death. I’m not defending those actions—they were wrong regardless of her motivations. But I should note that I also worked against you during that conflict, albeit for different reasons and through different methods."

"I don’t put you and Hera in the same category for even a moment," Nathan replied immediately, his voice carrying absolute conviction that left no room for false equivalence. "Your situations were completely different, your motivations incomparable."

Athena had been attempting to prevent a catastrophic prophecy from manifesting, trying to take control of Troy through strategic manipulation to avert a future war that would devastate entire civilizations. Her actions, while sometimes opposed to his interests, had been driven by genuine concern for humanity’s welfare and a desire to minimize suffering on a cosmic scale.

Hera, by contrast, had been operating purely from spite and wounded pride—seeking vengeance because Paris had humiliated her in the Judgment, choosing Aphrodite’s offered bribe over Hera’s during that fateful beauty contest. Her attacks on Nathan had nothing to do with preventing catastrophe or protecting innocents. They were simply the lashing out of someone consumed by bitterness, punishing anyone associated with those who had wronged her.

The distinction was fundamental, and Nathan refused to pretend otherwise.

Athena’s expression softened at his immediate defense, genuine warmth entering her eyes along with something that might have been gratitude. "I appreciate that you think so highly of my intentions, that you’re willing to distinguish between different forms of opposition based on underlying motivations rather than simply lumping all enemies together. But I should be honest with you, Nathan—I am not as perfect or pure as some may think or claim."

Her voice carried notes of self-awareness that suggested she had spent considerable time examining her own choices and finding them wanting in various ways.

"No one is perfect, not mortals and certainly not gods despite what our worshippers might believe," Nathan replied seriously, holding her gaze with unwavering intensity. "But as I’ve said before and I’ll say again now—you are the closest embodiment of what a deity should actually be that I have ever encountered. You think of humanity first, consistently and genuinely. You don’t use your divine power as an excuse for cruelty or casual indifference. You actually care about consequences beyond your immediate desires."

She was someone who placed the welfare of mortals above her own ambitions, who exercised her considerable power with restraint and wisdom rather than caprice. That alone distinguished her from the vast majority of divine beings Nathan had encountered across multiple pantheons and timelines.

Athena’s cheeks flushed with visible color at his words—a surprisingly mortal reaction from an ancient goddess, betraying how deeply the compliment had affected her. She looked simultaneously pleased and embarrassed, clearly unused to such direct and sincere praise even after millennia of receiving worship and accolades.

"If you truly think that highly of me," she said after collecting herself, her voice taking on a more formal tone that suggested she was about to do something significant, "then accept this."

She stopped walking abruptly, turning to face him fully as she raised one hand and summoned something from whatever divine space she stored her possessions. Golden light coalesced in the air before her, solidifying into a familiar form that made Nathan’s breath catch slightly.

The shield.

The same magnificent shield she had commissioned Eurynome to craft specifically for him—that masterwork of divine artistry he had seen once before and immediately recognized as something extraordinary. The very shield he had returned to her, insisting that it had been made for Septimius rather than his true self, that he didn’t deserve such a gift when he had been operating under false pretenses.

Nathan’s eyes traced the shield’s elegant lines, drinking in details he hadn’t properly appreciated during their first encounter. The golden surface seemed to shift and shimmer with internal light, patterns moving across its face like liquid metal frozen mid-flow. Intricate engravings covered every inch—scenes of battle and triumph, symbols of protection and strength, geometric designs that probably held magical significance beyond mere decoration. The craftsmanship was absolutely flawless, the kind of perfection that only immortal artisans working with divine materials could possibly achieve.

"This is for what you have accomplished for Rome," Athena said, extending the shield toward him with both hands in a gesture that carried ceremonial weight. "A reward and recognition for services rendered to a city under my protection."

"I didn’t do what I did for Rome," Nathan replied immediately, needing her to understand his motivations correctly even as he appreciated the gesture. "I don’t want you to misunderstand my intentions or give me credit for altruism I don’t deserve."

He had helped Rome because of personal connections—because of Servilia and Fulvia and the others who mattered to him, because securing that particular point in history served his larger purposes. The welfare of Rome as an abstract concept hadn’t been his primary motivation.

But Athena simply smiled at his objection, clearly unsurprised by his honesty.

"I know your true motivations," she assured him gently. "I understand you acted primarily for personal reasons rather than civic duty or devotion to Roman ideals. But regardless of why you did it, what you accomplished has genuinely helped Rome. The city is more stable now, its government more functional, its future trajectory significantly brighter than it would have been without your intervention. I didn’t have to involve myself as deeply as I’d feared I might need to, precisely because you handled so many complications that could have spiraled into catastrophe."

Her expression grew more serious, her eyes holding his with quiet intensity.

"So please—accept this present. Not as payment for services, because your actions are worth far more than any physical object. But as a token of genuine appreciation from someone who values what you’ve done and who you’ve proven yourself to be."

Nathan looked at her serious expression, at the shield being offered with such sincerity, and found he couldn’t refuse. This clearly meant something significant to Athena beyond the material value of the gift itself. Refusing again would be insulting her judgment and dismissing the importance she placed on acknowledging his contributions.

He nodded slowly and reached out, his fingers brushing the shield’s impossibly smooth surface. The moment his skin made contact, the entire object vanished in a flash of golden light, transported instantly into his spatial storage where it would remain until needed.

"Thank you," he said simply.

Athena nodded with visible satisfaction, pleased that he had finally accepted what she’d been trying to give him. She seemed ready to resume their walk through the garden, to continue their conversation for whatever time remained before inevitable departure.

But Nathan’s hand shot out and gently caught her wrist before she could turn away, his fingers wrapping around her arm with careful pressure—firm enough to stop her movement but gentle enough to make clear this was request rather than demand.

"I will be leaving now," he said quietly, the statement carrying finality that couldn’t be ignored or postponed.

"It is time, I suppose," Athena acknowledged, though something unmistakably sad flickered in her blue eyes—an emotion she couldn’t quite conceal despite her divine composure.

Nathan stared at her intently, studying the subtle play of emotions across her ageless features. Then he spoke words that had clearly been building inside him for some time.

"I don’t know the specifics of whatever prophecy you were told about—the one that drove you to such extreme measures during the Trojan War, that made you willing to manipulate to prevent some future catastrophe," he said, his voice low and serious. "You’ve kept those details to yourself, and I respect your reasons for that secrecy. But I want you to know this with absolute certainty: I promise you that I will be there if you need my help. When that prophesied threat finally manifests, when whatever you’ve been dreading comes to pass, you don’t have to face it alone."

He paused, making sure she was truly hearing him.

"Obviously, if the Achaean Continent and Troy face existential danger, I won’t have much choice but to intervene—I have too many connections there, too many people I care about who would suffer. But this promise goes beyond mere obligation or enlightened self-interest. I’m telling you that I trust you, Athena. I trust your judgment even when I don’t fully understand your reasoning. And I will cooperate with you, work alongside you rather than against you. If you need me to use my influence in Troy to push certain decisions or prevent specific actions, I’ll do it. I’ve become enough of a hero there that my voice carries weight now."

Athena stared up at him, her blue eyes—normally so controlled, so carefully neutral—widening with something that looked almost like wonder. His golden demonic eyes held hers with unwavering intensity, the seriousness of his promise written in every line of his face.

She seemed almost entranced by his gaze, caught between the divinity she embodied and the very mortal reaction of being truly seen and valued by someone whose opinion mattered to her.

Then Nathan began leaning toward her, closing the distance between them with slow deliberation.

Athena froze completely, her usual quick reactions and tactical genius abandoning her in the face of what was happening. She stood utterly still, staring up at his approaching face with an expression that cycled rapidly through surprise, confusion, and something warmer she couldn’t quite name or acknowledge.

His lips pressed against hers—gentle, warm and surprisingly soft. The kiss lasted only a handful of heartbeats, chaste by most standards but carrying profound weight precisely because of who was giving it and who was receiving it.

Athena, virgin goddess of wisdom and warfare, who had maintained that status for millennia despite countless attempts by gods and mortals to win her affection, simply stood frozen in absolute shock. Her mind—that brilliant, tactical mind that could process information faster than mortal thought—went completely blank, overwhelmed by sensation and emotion she had no framework for processing.

"You can count on me, Athena," Nathan said softly as he pulled back just enough to speak, his words a promise and a farewell wrapped together. "Always."

Then, before she could respond or react or even fully process what had just happened, he activated Demeter’s key.

Golden light erupted around him, his solid form beginning to dissolve into luminous particles that drifted upward like reverse rain. His figure became translucent, then ethereal, then simply gone.

Athena remained exactly where she stood, one hand unconsciously rising to touch her lips as though confirming the kiss had actually happened rather than being some strange waking dream. Her eyes were wide, her expression caught somewhere between shock and something far more complex.