Eron watched Steve Trevor as they walked through the ruins on the outskirts of the city. Every time the soldier stumbled or cast a fleeting glance at Diana's legs or the curve of her shoulders, Eron felt a dark satisfaction. It wasn't the hot anger of an insecure lover; it was the cold pleasure of a predator watching a prey covet meat it could never taste.
They took refuge in an abandoned building, its roof torn off by shelling, leaving only the wooden beams behind like the ribs of a stone corpse. The sun had already set, and the chill of the French night began to bite.
Steve tried to light a small fire with debris, his hands trembling slightly. He looked at Diana, who was cleaning her blade with a scrap of cloth, the firelight reflecting in her determined eyes.
— You... aren't you cold? — Steve asked, his voice heavy with a desperate tenderness. He took off his own military coat, worn and dirty, and made a move to offer it to her. — Please, take it. The winter here is merciless.
Eron, who was in the shadows of a dark corner, let out a low, guttural laugh that made the hair on the back of Steve's neck stand up. The demigod stepped into the circle of light. He felt no cold; the blood of Zeus kept his skin perpetually warm, almost feverish.
— Keep your rag, mortal — Eron said, his voice full of silent mockery.
He stepped behind Diana and deliberately slid his large, warm hands over her shoulders, moving down her arms until he wrapped them around the princess's waist. Diana tilted her head back, resting it against Heron's chest with a naturalness that hit Steve like a punch to the gut.
— She has the fire of the gods running through her veins — Eron continued, locking his eyes onto Steve's. — Your warmth would be nothing more than an insult to her.
Steve's face fell. The desolation in his eyes was absolute. He pulled back the coat, feeling small, insignificant, and above all, pathetic. He saw the intimacy between the "siblings," a connection that radiated an electricity he would never understand. The covetousness in Steve's heart transformed into a sharp pang of inadequacy. He knew, in that moment, that he was just a disposable guide in a world of giants.
Eron savored that silence. He squeezed Diana a little tighter, catching her scent of flowers and steel, as he watched Steve Trevor wither in the face of his superiority. The soldier's despair was the best entertainment he'd had since leaving the island.
— It will be dawn in a few hours — Diana said, ignoring Steve's evident suffering, focused only on the mission. — Eron, do you feel it? The smell of metal and poison coming from the east?
— I feel it — Eron replied, his voice returning to a contained rumble of thunder, while his fingers traced invisible symbols on Diana's skin. — I smell something that begs to be destroyed. Steve, sleep if you can. Tomorrow, you will see what happens when the sky decides that the earth has sinned enough.