Thyrios hated this.
The moment he tore through the clouds and felt mortal air wrap around him, irritation crept up his spine. It was heavier down here. Dirtier. Everything felt slow, dull, temporary.
Sparta came into view beneath him stone and dust, men clashing like animals below. The constant ringing of bronze irritated his ears.
"Of all places…" he muttered.
Athens would've been tolerable. Corinth, maybe. Even Thebes.
But Sparta?
A city that worshiped strength like a crude idol and called it virtue.
Thyrios descended openly. No need for subtlety. Mortals needed to see gods to remember their place.
The air split with a sharp crack as his feet touched the ground just beyond the palace courtyard. Stone fractured outward in thin lines, dust lifting into the air.
Soldiers froze.
Spears lowered instinctively. Shields snapped into position.
Thyrios glanced at them, unimpressed.
"So this is Sparta," he said aloud. "I expected more."
The pressure of his presence settled over the courtyard like a weight. Some soldiers staggered. Others clenched their teeth and held their ground.
That, at least, earned a flicker of interest.
Then he felt it.
An annoying gaze.
Thyrios turned.
Leonidas stood at the edge of the training ground, arms bare, scars catching the sun. He wasn't armored. He wasn't armed. He looked like a man pulled away from something more important.
Which irritated Thyrios even more.
"So," Leonidas said, voice carrying easily, "you're the god they sent."
Thyrios raised an eyebrow.
"You speak boldly," he replied. "Kneel."
Leonidas didn't move.
Some of the soldiers glanced between them nervously.
"I asked a question," Leonidas said. "Are you the god?"
Thyrios smiled thinly. The veins in his heads becoming visible.
"I am Thyrios," he said, spreading his arms slightly. "A god of Olympus. And you will show proper—"
"Good," Leonidas cut in. "Then you can leave."
Silence fell.
Thyrios blinked once.
"…What?"
"You heard me," Leonidas said calmly. "Whatever business you think you have here finish it quickly, then leave."
Thyrios stared at him.
For a moment, he genuinely wondered if the man in front of him understood what he was saying.
Then irritation flared.
"A mortal does not dismiss a god," Thyrios said, his voice sharpening. "You exist at my indulgence."
Leonidas finally smiled.
Not wide. Not amused.
The kind of smile men gave before blood was spilled.
"You came into my city without announcement," Leonidas said. "You cracked my stone, frightened my men, and insulted my land."
He took a step forward.
"And now you tell me what I am allowed to do?"
Thyrios felt it then.
Not fear.
Resistance.
The air around Leonidas didn't bow. It didn't bend the way mortals usually did in the presence of divinity. It pushed back—subtle, stubborn, like the ground refusing to give beneath a boot.
A flash of killing intent briefly flared in Thyrios's eyes.
"You rule mud and bone," Thyrios said dismissively. "Do not mistake the tolerance of Olympus for equality."
Leonidas glanced around at his soldiers.
"Lower your weapons," he said.
They hesitated—then obeyed instantly.
Thyrios scoffed. "You think that gesture impresses me?"
"No," Leonidas replied. "It's for you."
He stepped closer again.
"You gods like to talk," Leonidas continued. "You like to posture. But you don't fight like men."
Thyrios laughed.
A sharp, condescending sound.
"You think you understand battle?" he said. "I was born from the will of a primordial. War is older than your kind."
Leonidas nodded once. "Then you should know when one is about to start."
The temperature dropped.
Thyrios felt it clearly now, something off. A divine presence.
Just… wrong.
He pushed the thought aside immediately.
Paranoia, he told himself. The Fates had sensed something faint. That was all. A residue. A ripple.
Certainly nothing worth concern.
Certainly nothing worth listening to a mortal over.
"You will answer my questions," Thyrios said, letting divine pressure leak into his voice. "Then I will leave."
Leonidas crossed his arms.
"Ask."
Thyrios' gaze swept the courtyard, the soldiers, the city beyond.
"There was a disturbance," he said. "Something passed through this realm. Brief. Foreign."
Leonidas' expression didn't change.
"And?"
"And you will tell me if anything… unusual has occurred here."
Leonidas tilted his head slightly.
"You gods are strange," he said. "You don't notice us unless something inconveniences you."
Thyrios bristled. "Choose your words carefully."
Leonidas ignored the warning.
"Children are born every day," he continued. "Some live. Some die. Some grow strong. Some don't."
He met Thyrios' gaze directly.
"You'll have to be more specific."
Thyrios searched Leonidas' face.
Nothing.
No flicker. No hesitation. No fear.
Just a king standing his ground.
This irritated him immeasurably.
"Stop playing games," Thyrios said. "Do not test my patience."
Leonidas sighed.
"You come here asking about fate," he said. "But you don't even know what you're looking for."
Thyrios stiffened.
"How would you—"
"Because if you did," Leonidas interrupted, "you wouldn't be standing here talking to me."
The words landed heavier than they should have.
Thyrios frowned.
"What does that mean?"
Leonidas didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he turned slightly, glancing toward the outskirts of the city. Toward the fields. Toward a small, weathered cottage barely visible in the distance.
Thyrios followed his gaze.
Nothing.
Just land. Stone. Goats.
Fool, Thyrios thought. Trying to misdirect me.
"I will not repeat myself," Thyrios said coldly.
Leonidas looked back at him.
The air trembled.
Tensions rose
Then immediately, Thyrios' senses felt something slip the moment he reached for it.
His irritation flared into anger.
"You speak as though you understand forces beyond you," Thyrios snapped.
Leonidas' eyes hardened.
"I understand gods," he said. "They arrive uninvited. They make demands. And they leave messes behind."
Thyrios stepped forward.
Divine pressure surged outward.
Stone groaned. Soldiers staggered back despite themselves.
Leonidas did not move.
Thyrios' smile vanished completely.
"You should be on your knees," Thyrios said quietly.
Leonidas took one more step forward.
"So should you," he replied, "for entering Sparta without respect."
The courtyard held its breath.
Thyrios felt it now clearly.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a ptch black crow flying away. It felt thin, slippery, and entirely unfamiliar. Every creature of this realm was meant to have an insignia, a mark of some kind sensed by the gods and born from the Primordial Mother, Gaea.
This presence brushed against his awareness and vanished before he could grasp it. His jaw tightened.
Nothing, he told himself again. Just residue. Just noise.
"I will forgive this insolence," Thyrios said, voice edged with restraint. "Because I am generous."
Leonidas shook his head.
"No," he said. "You won't."
Thyrios' eyes flashed.
"And why is that?"
"Because you didn't come here to forgive," Leonidas replied. "You came here to remind us who you think you are."
He straightened fully now, every inch the king.
"And Sparta does not kneel to reminders."
The wind picked up.
Dust spiraled slowly around them.
Thyrios felt divine energy coil instinctively within him.
Very close, Very dangerously close to snapping.
Somewhere far beyond the city, unseen and unnoticed, a crow landed on the shoulder of a humanoid figure. Another crow stood perched upon his right.
And Thyrios blinded by pride never once realized that the very thing he was sent to find had already slipped past him… and was watching.