Chapter Text
Ichor drips from the split in Athena's head, but she couldn't care less as she holds a squirming red infant. A tiny infant, easily fitting into the palm of her hand. Even without the featherless wings twitching against her talons, she instantly knew that this was her kid. Her domains sing as they run over her owlet, brushing against the first scroll in their mind before weaving around their fingers.
The goddess feels her feathers puff up as she brings her child closer, watching as their chest rises and falls. Thoughts fill her mind, running between shelves and curling onto parchment. A demigod, her demigod child, that isn't theoretically possible, let alone exist in the first place. A breeze filled with vague interest brushes against her child, making the newborn shudder from the feeling. Her wings curled around them both, shielding them from whoever took notice. Athena knows that she shouldn't feel overprotective already, but something about their shuddering breaths makes her curl closer.
How did this even happen in the first place? She didn't break her vow, but here she stands with a child in her hands. Vaguely, she remembers the mortal philosopher that entertained her for a conversation before the splitting headache took place. She'd given birth through her head and mind, just like how she was born from Zeus. Endless possibilities trip over each other as her domain runs wild.
A warble brings her attention out of her mind, the infant beginning to kick up a fuss in her talons. The responding coo slipped out of her mouth with barely a thought spared to the action. That seemed to bring a rise out of her child as peeps and trills bombard the goddess. She's able to take a closer look at her owlet, a daughter she notes, before trying to figure out what the calls are for.
Hunger? Sleep? Irritation? The cries of a baby are not ones she's familiar with, not when she hasn't heard any since Telemachus. Reasonably it should be hunger, newborns feed off of the mother but she has no idea how it translates to her situation. Her main domain itches at the unknown spot in her knowledge, but her wailing child takes priority.
Warm milk should suffice at this stage of development. Feathers ruffle as an owl leaps off one of the nearby olive trees in search of the drink. In the meantime, she should soothe her daughter and name her. The brief thought of handing her over to who is her presumably mortal other parent crosses her mind before she quickly dissipates it. No, an unknown child someone has no recollection of procreating would not be received well without notice. Her child will not know abandonment or scorn.
Tucking her owlet closer than feasibly possible for a mortal, she takes a second to mimic a breath. "You shall be known as Agalmatis derived from ἄγαλμα meaning honor, glory, pride, delight." The babe giggles as she brushes a feather down her cheek, "For you are all of that to me and more." Athena nuzzles the newly named Agalmatis, preening at each babble she draws out.
Tiny eyelids part to reflect back the exact same shade of gray that had earned her the moniker of Grey-Eyed goddess. An adoring croon rumbles the air as she curls closer, her pupils expanding until only a thin ring of her own gray irises remain. A hoot is the only thing that stopped her from smothering the owlet in affection. Refusing to look away from her fragile baby, a second head peels off from the mass of feathers surrounding them. The owl Athena sent off earlier returned successfully, holding a small pail of milk with a cheese cloth. She warbles an approximation of a thank you as a third clawed hand reaches out to take the items.
As she brings the milk closer to the center of her shifting form, her owlet perks up before making more insistent babbling noises. Any worries about it not working fades as she easily takes to the milk soaked cloth. Agalmatis drinks as the goddess pulls them both through space, bringing them to a small house she's taken to caring for.
Athena reforms to a more uniform body, cradling the baby in her arms, "Welcome home Agalmatis."
Small feet run on flattened stone, delighted laughter falling from a child's lips. Athena merely sweeps a wing out, making way for a small body to collide into her. Two more tinier children toddle over to grasp at her chiton, each of them having a shade of gray for eyes. Her oldest, her darling little owlet, Agalmatis, had just turned 13 around two months ago. While her younger children have only been in her care for a year so far.
A few years beforehand, after the horrid Olympus meeting about how she had a child, she decided to figure out what triggered the birth of a demigod. It took a while until she figured out a shared conversation showcasing intellect with a mortal could birth a demigod from their shared thoughts. More interestingly, she's able to control their age—within a limit of half a year— and godly traits they inherit from her. None of the other gods report being able to choose their age, but control over godly traits is something they all share. Similar to her feathered half brothers, her children usually sport feathered ears, sharpened nails, and the occasional wings. Few inherit her night vision and others can completely twist their heads in a full circle.
Currently only one of her children holds all of her traits, her firstborn where she had no chance for any tampering, not like she would do any. Her owlet hasn't set foot outside of the little clearing Athena claimed yet. But if the yearning in her eyes when she tells tales of the Odyssey were any indicator, Agalmatis wants to spread her wings. She'd never say this out loud, but she understands Poseidon's hatred towards Odysseus after Polyphemus.
Nowadays her children are known in the mortal world —although none have made a name for themselves yet— as she offers to give them to their mortal collaborators before taking them in. As a demigod child is a high honor, few have denied her offer. Other than her owlet who wasn't allowed to leave, only two of her younger children were denied.
A gentle tug on her arm brings her out of thought, bringing her attention to the trio of children around her. Lifting up her youngest, her wings peel off her back to surround the others. A smaller pair of dark brown owl wings flutter from behind her eldest daughter, a scroll waving around in her blunt talons, "Mother! Welcome home! I found a tale you haven't read for us yet. I've finished all my reading early too, and we did all our chores, so could you read this to us?" The goddess freezes for a split second as she takes in the eight legged insect drawn onto the parchment.
That particular tale doesn't show her in the best light, if anything it was more of a cautionary bedtime story warning of a god's wrath. But if her owlet wants to see the world… She should be warned about gods' punishment of hubris. A common fatal flaw her children share, one she wishes couldn't be drawn back to her. But wisdom is not avoidant, nor is it blind.
"Okay dear as long as," she looks over to her other children, "did both of you really finish your chores?" Two chirps of affirmation brings a warm feeling in her fake heart. Athena engulfs her children in a flurry of feathers as she teleports to the nest. Expensive clothes line the bottom of the floors, beautiful rugs and tapestries hung from the wall. A few noticeably shabbier works of weaving are scattered throughout, lovingly placed front and center across the doorway. As she settles into a more humanoid form, her kids hurry to curl in their preferred spot. Although Agalmatis hangs back to scurry into her lap once she sits down, preening as she opens the scroll. The illustration of a familiar woman brings out dust covered scrolls of memory in her library, ones she specifically sectioned further back.
It wasn't hard to spin the tale of a prideful woman, one who believed she could best the gods. The goddess wove the descriptions of a weaver known throughout the lands, twisting words to form images of people lining up to see her work. But within a click of her talons, her words begin to contort as she whispers about claims of being better than the goddess of weaving herself.
Athena lets the story continue to spill out of her, not mentioning her name no matter how obvious it was, "The words were overheard by an owl who brings back the blasphemous words back to their lady. Soon a contest was formed, the pride of a god versus the pride of a mortal. The goddess wove a tapestry of an Olympus council meeting, depicting multiple godly beings deciding how to help mortals. In contrast —drunk off her own hubris— the mortal woman wove scenes of godly foolishness. mocking them.
Although the scene was displeasing, the beauty of the weave couldn't be denied, even against a god's tapestry. Judgment varied and opinions were thrown out, however the end of the contest wasn't from a clear winner but rather a goddess's anger. She cursed the weaver, turning into her namesake of spider. Now Arachne roamed the land looking for a way to punish the goddess who believed herself to be untouchable. The opportunity of revenge arrived easily, as the Romans stole a statue inlaid with the goddess's divinity. Soon, tales of her guarding the statue hidden in Rome spread across the land."
Athena could see the rapid thoughts spilling out of her oldest, it was clear that Agalmatis knew she was the goddess. She gave her a minute to sort out her thoughts as she tucked in her dozing children. A quiet anticipation sat in a mirrored form of her eyes before settling down into a curious pool of gray. Folding her claws into her lap, she braces herself for the questions, "Yes, I was the goddess in that tale, and yes everything was true."
Her daughter wasn't surprised, "Why would you curse her? You both agreed upon the contest, there was no need to pass judgment so quickly even with the divided opinions."
"Pride, nothing more, nothing less. To a god, even entertaining the idea that a mortal was better than them would be grounds for smiting. But to claim to be better than them in their domain? Its one of the highest insults to a god, to do so would be claiming they were undeserving of that domain, the very essence of themselves. No god could stand such an insult." Even now, rage stirs deep in her mind when she recalls the judgment over her domain. She still feels phantom pains on how her craft domain rebelled and twisted around her talons to the point of strangulation. The goddess breathes out, lightly tapping her owlet's wing to ask it to stretch.
The gray speckled wing spreads out, allowing her to focus on cleaning up slightly ruffled feathers instead of dwelling on the past. Agalmatis relaxes with the feeling of preening but continues her interrogation, "To question a god is a crime? Belief in one's ability to do best is a slight?"
Feathers straightened out as she thought about how to turn the conversation into a warning. It's wise to prepare a plan of action, even for a lesson, "Pride is acceptable, to not have pride is to devalue yourself after all. But to believe yourself better than a god is where pride becomes hubris, a common fatal flaw heroes and monsters alike have. Unless you earn the favor of another, I will be the only god to ever allow you to question them."
Sharpened nails soundlessly rap against the clothed floor, taking in the knowledge given to her. For a minute, the only sounds within the room are the soft snores of her other children. Her daughter begins to map her thoughts out loud, allowing her to follow them, "To believe to be better than a god is hubris, a flaw large enough to kill men and monsters. This scroll was a lesson and a warning about hubris and a god's wrath at being questioned. Which would be irrelevant to my education, unless… My fatal flaw is hubris?"
An affirmative chirp is enough to keep her speaking, "You kept to this story instead of switching to any other story about hubris —which certainly exists if this flaw is as common as you said— to remind me that wisdom can fall to it too. Would be more susceptible to it, in fact, as believing to know all comes easier."
"Completely correct dear, hubris is nearly shared among all my mortal children, a flaw that can be traced back to my pridefulness. Wisdom is not blind, and neither am I. It's clear that you want to leave the cage I've constructed around you," the surprised twitch from the wing underneath her hand is telling, "knowing your fatal flaw will help you, an advantage on most mortals and monsters."
"Does this mean I'm allowed out now? I'm thankful for the care and knowledge you give me, but I haven't been able to have practical experience outside of a controlled environment."
A tinge of her own arrogance flares up, Athena could provide the practical experience she craves. For there are few things a goddess like her cannot give. But she knows better than to keep a bird bound forever. Better to let Agalmatis go now before tying her to eternity, and it would be easier to prove to the counsel she deserves immortality if she completes a few quests. At least this way she can prepare her instead of coming back to a note and an empty nest.
Switching to her daughter's second wing, she lets her preplanned words roll of her tongue, "I will let you go as long as you wear my symbol for passage throughout the lands. You may explore the lands and complete the occasional quest."
The wing under her talon moves as their owner turns. Her owlet throws herself onto the goddess's lap. Happily warbling as she curls up, not unlike how she used to do when she was younger. The two sit there, trading owl noises like they were words. The goddess traces the marks her domains' left, marking Agalmatis as her favored. Sliver tinged nails, calluses over her palm, and an invisible laurel made of olive leaves rested over her head. 3 blessings for each of her 3 main domains. Odysseus would've loved her, bonding over war strategies and his tales. Penelope would've woven her first blanket and Telemachus would've taught her how to fight.
Being lost in memories made her miss the curious look coming over her daughter. Although it doesn't go unnoticed for long as a question quickly brings the goddess to attention, "If I'm gonna go on quests, then will I be the one to retrieve your statue? You haven't said that it was returned to you."
"Don't worry about the statue. Yes, I have not seen it since it was stolen, but it is not your quest to bear."
By the downturn of her ear feathers, it was clear Athena accidentally hit a sore spot, "Am I not the most brilliant of your children? Do you not think I'm capable of retrieving your statue?"
"Daughter, do not imply I would ever think of you as helpless. However, you've admitted that you lack experience, and you're only 13 years old. Even if you were the prophesied daughter, I would wait until you were ready."
"There's a prophecy? One specifically about your daughter?"
"Wisdom's daughter" is the specific phrasing. I do confess that the prophecy makes more sense after I figured out how to have demigods. I could scarcely think of anything else that would fulfill it."
"Then would it not make sense if it was me? Your firstborn? A daughter of yours?"
The idea of her owlet facing down Arachne out of all her enemies scares her more than she's willing to admit. She's not deaf to the prayers of her children facing down the symbol she turned her into. A few are brave enough to kill themselves on the barrier layering over her home as well. Moreover, if it still in Minerva's territory, she wouldn't be able to help, not while fighting for control over her own mind. These worries pushed Athena to lessen her hold over her form, her wings becoming a flurry of steel feathers weaving together like a blanket around her daughter.
She gently cradles Agalmatis's face with a clawed hand, feeling her eyes constrict to the bright yellow iris and round pupils of her sacred animal, "We just discussed about the fallacy of hubris. Although you are indeed the brightest of my children, I will not risk you. At most, I would risk it as an ascension quest, when you're in your most powerful mortal form. Only if my hand is forced, and I couldn't assign it after you've ascended."
Her daughter is not shocked by the mentions of her ascension, after all, she made it clear she's not letting go of her firstborn. However, the oppression of a god, her mother no less, is enough for her to drop it. Not fully, not when the determination flickered over her face. An expression that reminded the goddess of Odysseus's younger years. For now, her daughter will let go of this prophecy in favor of teasing her, "Yes, because my Mother is so wise and so brilliant, who could never be wrong even once!"
"I can make mistakes, and I'm not all knowing. Where did you get the impression that there is no wisdom in learning?"
"The perfect, gracious, and wise Grey-Eyed goddess! O' Pallas Athena!"
"I'm making a mistake right now by letting you do this."
Athena's owl form is easily hidden behind leaves on the tree she's perched upon. From here, she can see Agalmatis's camping site, where she’s currently having dinner. One of her more subtle sacred animals curls around her daughter's arm, a snake with grayish brown scales and black stripes. Fitting for this quest, one of which her earlier heroes completed, slaying Medusa who has finally reformed after centuries.
While her daughter's last few 'quests' were simply fetching items lost by the gods, designed for learning rather than combat, this was a full on quest with a named monster at the end. Including the entire experience of tracking, examining, and executing the gorgon.
However, the experience is not the reason why she gave the quest. That could be gained from any quest, but this particular one would be easier than others. She knows her daughter read everything in her library, insatiable for any bit of knowledge to supplement her yearning. Perseus was one of her myths she kept there, a story that'll lay out a path in front of her owlet. More importantly, petrification is easily reversible using Gordon blood. While it might not seem safe, it was probably the safest the goddess could send her on. She was already well on her way to Medusa, following rumors —or the occasional nudge by snake— and unknown stone statues.
Now technically, she doesn't need to be here yet, not until Agalmatis enters Medusa's territory, but she can feel the thrumming of the Hunt nearby. Artemis's hunters were close, and they'll try to keep her owlet if she doesn't deter them off. The sound of paws and feet rumbles distantly like an approaching army.
An unnaturally dark colored doe trots to the roots of the tree she's hiding in, its bright sliver eyes shining like moonlight. Athena drops down a few branches to stare Artemis down from her perch. It doesn't do anything except make the other goddess's expression look more amused, "This is your owl?"
"Yes, and I have no intention of handing her over to your Hunt."
The faint sound of nocking an arrow registers at the back of her mind as a human laugh falls from the deer's mouth. Her feathers bristle uncomfortably as the feeling of a predator's eyes settles over her. Even if it's been a few decades from the last time she met her half sister, the hunt domain still sets her on edge. Vaguely, in the background, Athena could hear war drums as her secondary domain reacts to her discomfort. The deer's eyes seemed to form crescents as they flicker over Agalmatis's map with her tracking notes, "Shame, she would've been a good hunter. Although, I would need to turn her if I took her in, I can't have a bird among wolves after all."
"Lead your hunt away from my daughter Artemis. You can see if any of my other children are fit for your hunt, but I have plans for this one." The end of her sentences is punctuated with the flaring of her wings, wide and imposing. A challenge, similar to a swordsman placing their hand to the hilt of their blade.
The deer snarls with unnaturally formed fangs at the challenge, but acquiesces to the request, "We'll see, although, pride does not fit well with the pack." She gives no remark as she watches the other goddess turn away to leap off into the woods.
Wind dances around Athena's twitching talons, light and playful. More importantly, it was the same kind of wind that saw the birth of her firstborn. "Hermes," she greets halfheartedly, "I heard there's a package for me?"
"Aw, are you still mad at me for revealing your kids? Really, it wasn't my fault that I happened to stumble into prime Olympus gossip!" None of his six wings stopped twitching as he leisurely circled her, "I mean, a virgin goddess having a child? I made millions of drachmas from that! Apollo was so jealous that I got to it first."
She holds out a single hand, "My package Hermes. Although, it has been a decade and a half since that happened, and Olympus has long since moved on to Father's newest affair. It would be petty to continue to hold a grudge."
Amber snake eyes narrow at her from the shadow cast by his hat, "I don't believe that for a second sister! Last time you said you forgave someone, they were cursed with stupidity for a decade."
"They shouldn't have touched my employees."
"Your 'employees' are literally owls, how was it a crime for a hungry man to catch and eat one?"
"I'm giving you a moment to think about your next action because it will decide your future."
In a swift motion, a hefty lump covered in cloth dropped into her outstretched hand. She carefully brings the gray colored bundle closer, taking extra care not to crease it. The whisper of traveling footsteps fades away as Hermes appears at the entrance of her temple, "You're no fun 'Thena!"
The goddess simply rolls her eyes before dismissing the messenger. She vaguely registers a flurry of feathers disappearing as she uncovers the present from her daughter. She's sure that it has something to do with the fact that the anniversary of the Odyssey's end passed a month ago. It would explain why Agalmatis was so insistent on sailing for her next quest. A soft smile appears on her face as a sharp ivory tooth easily slices through the cloth. Somehow, her owlet had gotten her hands on a tooth from Charybdis.
Even her talons couldn't crack this easily, the smooth grain barely shifting under the pressure. The flutter of papers interrupts her musing, a mental scroll of hers revealing a very interesting idea. Her daughter's sixteenth birthday was coming up, there's enough time to turn this tooth into a gift.
If she adds some of her last hunt's spoils, particularly drakon bone, it would make the tooth light enough to wield it. "It would make a nice short sword," Athena considers out loud before flashing away to get started.
The whistle of a spear slices through the air. It ends with a screech as Athena violently descends into a flower garden. There's the drag of a blade on stone as she marches through the elaborate garden decor, "Aphrodite! Why would you curse my child!?"
A dove flutters off a delicate hand, bringing the noise of sea foam crashing on a beach. The love goddess's movements were languid, relaxed even, as she turned to face her. But nothing could conceal the deep seeded amusement in her iridescent eyes, "Come on now Wisdom, everyone on Olympus knows you'll be keeping your firstborn! And if you think I'll be stuck with another one of you without complaint, well, you can see how I reacted. Besides, it wasn't even that bad! Just a little love sickness, it'll pass soon enough."
Her talon comes up to pinch between her eyes in irritation, "Yes, but a son of Poseidon? You couldn't have gone with anyone else?"
"Your daughter was sailing in the seas, and forbidden love has always been a favorite of mine. Can you blame me for taking the opportunity? If it's any condolence, their relationship would be similar to your dead champion and his flower."
Soft rounded dove feathers fan out as Aphrodite stretches, uncaring at the threatening flare of her own wings. The sickening sweet smell of roses grates on Athena's nerves as much as they soften the edge of her anger. She gives herself a second to relight the flame of her rage against the soothing waves of sea foam, "Undo it, now."
"Or what?"
Her domains twist as they form her spear. The singular ribbon tied to it whips in nonexistent winds as she levels it to the love goddess's face, "Or I'll stab you."
The slam of a sword against a shield rips through the garden. A flash of red overtaking the pink undertones as Ares crashes her spear to the side. Her feathers ripple silently as they take her a flap away from the couple. Forcing her to calm the overflowing irritation in her mind. Even so, it slips out in her voice as Athena yells, "Ares! You boarish fool!"
There's a snort of a hog at the insult, cutting through the noise of a charging army. A similar spear to her own aims at her general direction, a move she matches as she summons hers back to her side. Irritatingly enough, Aphrodite still has no intention of reverting her curse, not with the other war god on her side, "Dear, welcome back, how was the battle at the Roman Empire's borders?"
Even as her boar of a brother answers, his glowing red eyes refuses to budge from Athena, "It was fine love, but I wish Mars would shut up and not have blessed the Roman's side. Warriors should fight their own battles or they'll grow weak."
"Then what are you doing now boar?"
"You could shut up too, snake."
"Now, now you two, no need to make a mess out of my garden. Athena here does have some reasonable concerns about her daughter, even if she threatened me. Ares, my love, is here because you threatened me, so you have no reason to dismiss him. But Athena, I'll vow to never mess with your little owl's love life from now on if it'll make you feel better."
"And you'll remove the curse?"
A delighted laugh echoes through the tension filled garden, "Absolutely not! I wouldn't be getting any entertainment if I were to do that! The best I'll offer you is no further action, whatever happens as a result of that lovesickness is not my fault. It should be easy enough to break out of, after all."
She couldn't hold back the hiss that slips through her beak, her human form breaking around the edges. Two armies clash in the background as their shared domain bounces off the soft greens of the garden. The mirage of war split into two: red banners on the left and blue armor trims on the right. Gaia, she should've known it wouldn't be as easy as she hoped. The goddess can't fight her brother now, if he really did just come back from a battle then he'll have traces of the power surge still left in him. Then even if she did win, is attacking Aphrodite worth it for a bit of lovesickness?
The swell of bloodlust rushes against nothing as she dismisses her domain. It was a little comedic hearing a boar overshooting his target, tumbling past her without regard. Her wings fold back to her side as she speaks, "Fine, I'll take your deal if you swear on it."
The love goddess's mocking smirk nearly makes Athena throw it all to Tartarus and throttle her anyway, "I, Aphrodite, swear on the River of Styx to never intervene in the love life of Wisdom's firstborn."
"Thank you." Only the most delicate leaves swayed from the goddess's departure.
Dark brown feathers with white edges slowly slip back into place as her talons nudge them. It's been awhile since she's last preened her owlet's wings, especially after their argument over Poseidon's spawn.
Agalmatis runs a rag down her short sword, the one made from Charybdis's tooth, polishing it while thinking. The snake scale necklace around her neck shaking with each pass. Her daughter is inching into her third decade from when she first spilled from a goddess's head.
Over a decade and a half of questing, and now is the perfect time to bring up immortality. She has already gotten permission from the council with minimal effort, two domains already handpicked and set aside for her owlet. Better yet, it would solve her relationship with that pesky sea spawn. Athena knows nothing serious has happened since her daughter joined his ship, but she's not blind to lingering of lovesickness.
Even after four years, Aphrodite's curse still clings on to her owlet, flaring whenever she nears Poseidon's son. The love goddess is still smug about it to this day. At least she's not the only one in this predicament, but neither demigods will listen to their parents. This short parting from the sea is only temporary despite her very vocal wishes. If she loved her daughter any less, she would've forbid them from ever laying eyes on each other. Sadly, an immortal's grudge lasts centuries and she doesn't want to take that risk, not if she'll never see her owlet look at her without bitterness.
As Athena finishes preening the first wing, she finally stops putting off the topic she's been dancing around ever since she first held her daughter in her hands, "Agalmatis, my pride, my greatest creation. I wish to offer you a place to stand beside me forever."
The rag on her short sword pauses, her daughter's thoughts coming to an abrupt stop with it. She can't see the swirl of emotions in gray eyes, eyes that exactly mirror her own, but knows it's there all the same. The feathers framing her ears twitched, almost like they couldn't believe what they heard. Her words come out stilted, disbelief hanging on to each one, "Forever? You're offering me immortality?"
"Not just immortality, I'm offering you to become a god. I've already picked out two domains for you, exploration and logic. You'll be able to discover more of the world, see the sights you so dearly wish to map. Have the ability to reason off more than experience."
Her daughter gently places her sword down, tucking in her wings as she shifts to face Athena. There's something firm in her eyes that makes the goddess nervous, she has made a misplay and she doesn't know where. Her nervousness only gets worse as Agalmatis's eyes sparkle with a wanting for something more, "And if I say no?"
"You would say no? Deny immortality? For what, or for who." Her wings flare at the possibility of being denied her owlet. More than that, she's being denied over a child of Poseidon, a spawn of her worst godly enemy.
Smaller gray dappled wings shake lightly in denial, "No, not for Tarache. But for you."
All of her posturing drops as she tilts her head in confusion, "For me?"
"Your statue Mother. Out of all the quests I've done over the years, you've yet to give me the one to restore your honor from the Romans. The one held by the monster that terrorizes your children."
"You want to find the Athena Parthenos."
"For my final quest, once I complete it then I'll willingly become a god. You have denied me this quest before I even stepped out of the nest, that I understand. But I've completed multiple quests, enough to gain the Olympus's council approval for ascension. You said that you'll only risk if you had to, so I refuse to stand by you until I either complete the quest or die," Agalmatis anxiously grips her chiton, but stands proud against a goddess's fury.
A rattle rips out of Athena's throat, part shock and part rage, at the sheer audacity. Her wings flared out once more, growing along with her size until she was towering over the young adult. The marching of soldiers circle them, slamming spears against the ground in sync. But her daughter doesn't stand down, opening her wings in response to Wisdom's challenge.
The goddess holds out for a second, watching for any sign of weakness, of hesitation. She finds none. For that alone, she drops the challenge, "Do you really wish to take on this quest? To put off your final reward after all these years for one more quest?"
Frustration sparks in gray eyes, still a perfect match to hers even after all these years, her owlet sighs and shakes her head, "You still don't get it."
"What have I missed? Where did I misstep?"
"I am your pride yet all I've done is repeat history. Perseus, Odysseus, Jason, became a well respected scholar in your patron city, and even refrained from romance just like you. But I've yet to have a myth of my own. Every quest I took had to be approved by you. I can't rely on you forever, that's just unrealistic."
"But that quest? It doesn't fit your desire to escape my shadow."
"You're my mother, I could never escape you. Better to make it my own than try to fight my own blood. Besides, I'd be escaping your control and that's worse for you isn't it?" Clever eyes peer up at her, the laurel representing her blessing of wisdom has never shone so brightly before.
The goddess shrinks back down, staying taller than her daughter but not towering over her. This time, she's the one who takes a second to think. There's no weakness she can exploit, if anything her owlet has the advantage. Agalmatis wasn't one to want immortality, she rather leave behind a story than be the one to tell it. In this one instance, she wishes her daughter was more greedy. But for now she can do nothing but concede and admit she lost, "Fine. I'll give you the prophecy."
Her owlet doesn't move, merely raising an eyebrow, "And? You always have at least one condition."
Athena makes an annoyed click at the back of her throat, "You know me too well. But you are correct, take this token." A silver coin stamped with her signature animal and plant, along with the abbreviation for 'of the Athenians'. In contrast to her serious expression, it's pressed gently into her daughter's palm. "It'll let you travel unhindered through Rome. Even if the Romans dislike Greeks, the promise of going against any god's full might would deter them."
The unspoken weight of the coin hits Agalmatis full force, wonder breaking through determination, "This is— You're giving me your entire backing?"
"Everything. I pledge my favor, power, reputation, and a promised retribution to those who harm you. This coin will stay with you forevermore if you wish. I cannot interfere or directly help with your quest but I can promise to fulfill your debts. Whether aid or harm, I will do tenfold. That should take you safely to the Weaver."
Even as she trails off, her daughter hasn't taken her eyes off of the coin. It was one thing to be labeled as a god's favorite, but to have a physical proof was different. Gods are fickle beings, their favor changing as quickly as the winds. To have a physical representation for their favor was a promise to cherish them forever, an honor that's only a myth to most.
A choked trill cuts itself off as her owlet brings the coin closer, lightly rubbing it with her thumb, "I swear I'll make you proud."
The goddess shifts to press a gentle kiss to the top of her forehead, "Your existence already makes me proud, now go make yourself proud."
The sound of scrolls rolling off desks marks Athena's irritation. Wisdom curls over her head, twisting and thrashing around her feathers. Her usual general cape is translucent, fraying at the edges. A vague feeling urges her westward, to fly away from her hiding spot. Minerva scratches at her mind, whispering to go to her temples. To ignore the girl's her daughter's journey for the Athena Parthenos.
Truthfully the only reason she's still in control, despite being deep within Roman territory, is the silver coin in her owlet's hands. A physical condensation of her Greek power, tethering her to Greece rather than Rome.
It's a little annoying keeping to its sphere of power without letting her catch sight of her owl form, but there's no way she's letting her firstborn out of her sight in Rome. Even if every Roman who's seen the coin calls her the wrong name, which results in a fight between her and her other form. Pulling herself together once more, she ducks under the canopy as her daughter takes off for the final stretch of her journey.
Her flight path dips as they near a roman temple for wisdom, the control slipping enough for Minerva to swerve the side. The feeling of strings slipping through her fingers is unmistakable as it slides off her talons.
Leaves scatter as she plummets to the forest floor. Her domains splintered down the middle. Except for war, which clings faintly around her shoulders. For a few seconds they are nothing but a mass collection of intelligence sharpened by the weave of the Fates. Athena manages to pull away first, trying to soothe the shattered edges of her mind.
There's a good reason why none of them venture far into Rome, and she's staring it down right now. Minerva collects herself with a form that's softer around the edges, no armor even, and an olive leaf laurel —instead of a helm— settled on her head like a crown. As if she was a ruler and not a general.
A rattle tumbles out of their? her throat into the burned remains of the forest, seared away by a god's true form, low and dangerous. She can feel her feathers rising in discomfort, trying to make her look larger.
Wisdom and weaving lay heavy in the new clearing, refusing to attack either of their owners. Here, in the heart of Rome, their forms are able to split. For the Roman parts of them to become more than just parts. Two gods of the same concepts stare each other down, one Greek and one Roman. Athena wishes she could ditch Minerva to chase her daughter, but they're tied together. Two minds but one essence, even as two physical manifestations they cannot separate.
The Greek goddess sighs before running up and grabbing the arm of the other, "Come on. Our daughter is getting away."
She scoffs, tearing her arm from the tight hold, "Our? No, she's fully yours. The others may accept your version's kids as their own, but I will not. In Rome, we take maidenhood much more seriously."
Irritation ruffles her feathers, the distant echoes of war drums shake the ashes on the ground. Normally, she'd pick a fight, verbal or physical, but there's no time for that. Not when her owlet's energy signature sinks down into caves, "I haven't broken my oath. But fine, whatever. Can you just wait until my daughter is finished? I'll give you control after the quest."
Flint gray eyes settle on her ruffled form, and something like cruelty shines through them, "No, I don't think you understand. Romans take maidenhood extremely seriously. Do you not know what we do to Vestal virgins who broke their vows?"
The scrape of hooves from anxious war horses comes to a stop. Even the noises of nature drift off into silence as wide owl eyes stare into snake slits. Dread creeps up her spine, she hasn't learned Roman culture, not when she felt Greek was superior, "What do you do to oath breakers."
"We bury them alive and sacrifice the child."
It's been a long time since Athena last felt like this. As if she's been wrenched from the sky to drown in the deepest depths of the ocean. Last time it was sinking her spear into Pallas her sister in all but blood. The look in Triton's eyes was enough to keep her from ever diving under the ocean again, Poseidon's curse was just extra insurance. It was the feeling of something slipping through fingers, of losing something that should never have been lost. All of this cumulates into a massive explosion of something more. The sheer essence of a concept shoots through the air. The picture perfect image of a full drawn arrow slicing through the skies.
It comes to an abrupt stop, crashing down once more. She doesn't give up though, switching into an owl mid fall. Curving towards the sky once more, the goddess stretches the ashen gray string lying between her and the Roman debasement of her. It goes taut again, forcing another sudden halt. She dives back down into the clearing, the domains around them swelling with her anger.
Minerva is stock still, the only difference was the grim satisfaction swirling in her eyes. A hiss builds at the back of her throat before she attempts to grab her. The drag of a cornu clashes with the rising stampede of an army. Normally it would fit right in but it was the ceremonial tune that separated it. War lashes out at practical Wisdom, attempting to cage it once more.
The crown-like laurel barely moved in the tussle, dancing gently in the wind as the calmer half speaks, "As the 'Princess' of the Capitoline Triad I must hold my vows, even as you."
"This is over our vows!?" Athena takes a second to breathe and calm down, "Once again, my children are created from thought not the body. If I promise to never form more kids, will you let this go?"
"The fact any of them exist is a disgrace."
"I'll sacrifice all but Agalmatis. I'll even do it according to Roman rituals and swear on the river Styx if you need it."
"Having favorites aren't you? But if that's the only child that matters to you then she'll be the only one immortalized into myths. Effecting me," the Roman smoothed down her chiton, uncaring of the bristling of feathers.
The feeling of exhaustion from a scholar's late night studying weighs on her shoulder. But a soldier's adrenaline staves off the tiredness. The nuances of their domains become more prominent the longer they stay separated. Wisdom splits into strategy and scholarship, while weaving separates into threads and the arts. Unless she somehow pulls Minerva along, neither of them can leave this clearing with her standing there.
Edges of the splintered domains swirl around them, slicing through trees and gouging the earth. The larger fragments reveal subcategories of domains, from the ruling of kings to the strategies of generals. Minerva may be considered as godly royalty but Athena is a war general through and through. So instead of creating a defensive castle like her Roman version, she arms herself with her spear and summons the rest of her armor.
Mortal siege warfare may rely on numbers to overwhelm a castle, but gods merely need their own domains. So she draws upon her shattered remains of Wisdom: cunningness, philosophy, and strategy. Sharpening them into blades to follow the threads that latched onto castle walls made from the concept of crafts itself.
Noises of repetitive clashes resemble an orchestra made of battle rams. It was almost musical in how war slices through crafts. Although, even faced with the futility of her rebellion, the Roman laughs bright and loud in the safety of handcrafted stone walls, "For a god with strategic warfare as her domain, you lose sight of your goal easily when angry. I guess even your favorite daughter doesn't matter when faced with your emotions?"
Her eyebrows furrow as she tries to parse out the meaning of the taunt. Continuing to bombard the castle, her eyes drift to where she last felt her daughter. Only to find a barely flickering light. She immediately abandons the strategy of winning on attrition.
Instead, she starts gathering up the entirety of war in a final desperate attack. The blade of energy forms from captains fighting against the seas, soldiers fighting for a cause, generals choosing who dies, and the mothers waiting for their sons to come back.
Hands of countless craftsmen form on the walls of the castle, bracing for the moment a blade chips and crumbles. The ground shakes with the clash, cracks branching off from the castle. Hands split and meld into the blade, trying to soften the energy. But war is made from the blood of men. So no matter how many hands reach out, the blade still cleaves the handmade bricks in half. As the Roman dissipates, the callous glint in her eyes remains the same. Athena feels her domain start to coalesce once more. But it would need time to settle, time she does not have. So she sweeps up the still cracked domains into her being before taking off.
A sharp downward turn sends her plummeting into the underground, deeper and deeper until she can sense the cruelty of Tartarus tainting the air. Her daughter's soul has dimmed. Mimicking the low embers after a feast instead of the blazing flame of a hero's return. No matter how hard she flaps her wings, she cannot move forward. She cannot save her child.
Her statue is near the depths of the cruelest place in Greek mythos. More importantly, that means Agalmatis is near it. If she strains, she can hear the grinding of broken bones. The sound of helpless flapping followed by the drag of a limp wing. The click of chitin on stone, drawing nearer and nearer to her grounded owlet.
The goddess pulls desperately at the cracked edges of wisdom, of war, of weaving. Trying to think of any strategic tactic to fling herself just a little bit closer. But Tartarus wants the statue, for its fate given purpose far into the future. And she may be a god, but she is not strong enough to pull her owlet into her arms. To pull her back into safety.
Athena's wings pin themselves straight back, trying to make her dive faster. A fruitless effort as it would not help her here. Not when speed wasn't her enemy, instead it was one of the strongest beings that exists: a primordial god.
In the back of her mind, where there's nothing but hardwired logic, she knows this is a futile effort. There is nothing she can do, nothing except be there for her. To give her death a witness that wasn't her murderer.
She is a prideful goddess, one who has worked for everything she scrapped together. She is not one to beg. Yet pleads tumble out her mouth like a waterfall.
Oppressive darkness wraps around her being, pushing in the jagged edges of her domains into her skin. Ichor trickles from cuts, dripping down into the blackened cavern below her. Not up as if she was falling faster than them, but downwards because she's trapped. There's a trill, from her or her daughter, she doesn't know, as the clicking of spider legs comes to a stop.
She croons, reaching out to her owlet. Hearing the terrified responding chirp echo from below, and the snapping of mandibles. There's a cruel crackle before the sound of tearing flesh crawls out of the cavern. Screeches bounce off rocky walls, and she can feel words slip out of her mouth. Athena can barely register the story she's screaming into the void.
Sea of Monsters, a king, and the vicious whims of gods. The pieces of her mind that weren't scrambling for a way to teleport recognized it as the Odyssey. Agalmatis's favorite story, the one she read nearly every night during her daughter's childhood. A final comfort. Hopelessness and helplessness winds around her limbs, binding her wings and embedding the shards of domains down to her bones.
She doesn't know how long she's been there, the wet slicing of flesh and owl calls stopped long ago. Still she recounts the tale of her dead student to her dead daughter. Even Minerva's ever persistent presence is silent in her mind.
There's no one but her now, her and the clinging sickness that whisper promises of revival.
Eventually she makes it to the end of the tale, recounting the long awaited return of Odysseus. A happy end of a journey, completely different to this one. Because her daughter was a hero and heroes never got happy endings. The goddess stays suspended midair, lost her own mind. Some time later, whether seconds or years she doesn't know, she hears the galloping of thousands of horses and the strum of a lyre. Light breaks through the all encompassing darkness surrounding her. A calloused hand grabs the back of her armor, hauling her up like a misbehaving pet.
She doesn't fight it. Not just because she recognizes Ares's and Apollo's essence, but also because she's lost her will to fight. Noises then words slide through one ear and then out the other. Athena doesn't want to listen. A light shines directly into her eyes before she catches the word shock being thrown around. She doesn't care, letting her eyes close and hiding in blissful unconsciousness.
Athena draws her wings over her head, listless even with the itching between her feathers. A sliver brazier sits in the corner of her room, ashes coat the inside of it. Ashes from the shroud she burned, a shroud representing her daughter.
The coo of a dove calls from outside her door. More sounds muffled by the dense wood bounce around her room. The slamming of a sword against a shield, the stringing of two bows, the crackling of a low fire, and steps of a quick thief.
If she strains hard enough, she can even catch the beginnings of a storm. She doesn't care for her family's worry though, only curling tighter around a mass of tapestries. Running a hand down a misshapen yarn square with uneven stitches, she mourns the time of her owlet's first weave. Agalmatis Her daughter came a long way since then, but she'll no longer be pleasantly surprised by a weaving on her doorstep.
Sunlight streams through the bottom crack of her door, the only warning before Apollo appears. He holds a box in his hands, filled with nectar, ambrosia, and medical tools. The goddess remains curled, letting the sounds of weapons falling to the floor greet him.
Worry is very apparent in his face, he knows that even now she prefers him to be frank with his assessment. His raven wings shift nervously behind him as he sees the state she's in. A glass of nectar is set before her, quiet whispers encouraging her to at least take a sip fills the silence. She obeys if only because she'll be dragged away from here if her condition requires it.
Sun brushes her face, asking if he can let in Aphrodite to help him. The hoot of an owl gets returned by a croon from a morning dove and a caw of a raven. Talons start to run through her wings, cleaning off grime and straightening feathers. A boar snorts from outside, Athena rolls her eyes but allows Ares to come in.
He immediately beelines to her pile of armor in the corner, grabbing a piece and polishing it before repeating. She hasn't touched it since her journey into the underworld. Her daughter had reached Elysium. That means not even the king of the Underworld could do anything about her owlet's death. No outside force can affect the home of the heroes. So unless her daughter chooses to leave herself, there's nothing to be done. Even if she does, it has to be through rebirth. Which would scrap her daughter of everything that makes her Agalmatis.
Reasonably she knows she's going through the stages of grief, but logic is not helping with her emotional issues. Two taps on her right wing tells her to shake out loose debris. Admittedly, she does feel better now with preened wings. Of course, that means something has to ruin it.
Panicked knocking raps on the door, harsh and fast. The twin hisses of snakes signals Hermes's entrance, a spider silk package in his hands. Athena's feathers raise instinctively at the sight, memories of shouting into a dark cavern blooming in her mind.
The bundle was lumpy, easily shifting weight every time Hermes did so much as turn. It was soft and malleable, with a mysterious red blob on one side. There's a sinking feeling in her chest. One so similar to Tartarus, she nearly throws up the minuscular amount of nectar she drank.
Messenger drops the package by the side of her nest like it was made of Greek fire, "I found this just outside the barrier. No note or anyone nearby."
Then he zips away as if he doesn't want to see her reaction. And by the stiffening of the others, neither do they. To be fair, she doesn't want to know her reaction either, not when it was so clearly revenge. She raises a trembling talon, cutting through silk with a jagged tear.
Feathers. Bloodied owl feathers. Dark brown feathers with white edges, and most damningly, her children's signature solid gray feathers are scattered throughout the wings. But the package doesn't hold a body.
Instead, Athena is holding the war trophy Arachne took from her owlet: her wings.