The divine gateway sealed shut behind them, and the god of war's boots scraped against the polished white marble of the gods' realm as he was half-dragged, half-walked through the long corridor.
His once-proud shoulders slumped, his armor cracked and scorched from the battle, and his eyes burned—not from pain, but from shame.
"I could have won. You should have let me fight. At least dying by his hand would have meant I lost in battle, not like this—like a coward pulled from the field."
He muttered for the third time, glaring sideways at the goddess beside him.
Lucia didn't respond.
His voice rose, bitterness slipping into every word.
"I am the god of war. I have fought endless battles, crushed realms, shattered nations! I will not be remembered as a defeated relic who had to be saved like a mortal child!"
Still, Lucia didn't look at him. Her eyes were ahead, fixed on the glowing doors at the end of the corridor.
"Are you listening to me?!"
He snapped.
