I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

While the Heroes of Amun Ra reeled in shock and despair over the gruesome death of their classmate, Nathan found himself in a place that seemed entirely detached from their turmoil. He sat inside the usual house, in the quiet garden of Demeter, where time moved more slowly. The air was fragrant with wild herbs and blossoms, and the faint trickle of a nearby fountain softened the silence.

Across from him, Pandora lifted her teacup with elegant grace, her pale fingers curled around the porcelain as though she held something infinitely fragile. Her eyes, always shifting between warmth and danger, rested on him with a peculiar intensity.

“Tomorrow marks the beginning of the duel round, does it not?” she asked softly, her voice lilting like music. “Tell me, will you be fighting?”

Nathan exhaled, setting his own cup down with deliberate calm. “Most likely. Caesar enjoys spectacle. He’ll either push me into the opening duel or save me for some grand moment to keep the crowd enthralled.”

A smile curved across Pandora’s lips, sharp yet strangely affectionate. “That is excellent. And do you think you stand a chance of passing through it?”

“I don’t believe chance is the right word,” Nathan replied without hesitation. “No one in this tournament has the strength to defeat me.”

Pandora let out a light laugh, the sound sweet but tinged with something dangerous. “Confidence suits you, Septimius. When others speak with such arrogance, it is laughable. But when it is you, it feels… justified.”

Nathan didn’t smile. Instead, his expression shifted, the sharp glint of curiosity replacing his calm demeanor. He leaned forward slightly. “There is something I want to know.”

Her head tilted, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “And what might that be?”

“The Box. It resides within you, doesn’t it? You can control it?”

For the first time, Pandora’s laughter vanished. Her gaze dropped to her tea, her voice turning quiet but honest. “I do. But not entirely. Sometimes… it controls me.”

Nathan absorbed her words, his eyes narrowing. “So—loss of control.” He leaned back, fingers tapping once against the wooden table. It was a puzzle piece falling neatly into place. Caesar and Aaron weren’t merely intrigued by Pandora—they wanted to exploit that instability, twist it into their advantage.

But before he could press further, Pandora’s gaze returned to him, and she smiled again—this time softer, but with an edge that unsettled him. “Are you frightened by that? Do not be. As long as you are with me, nothing will happen to you.”

The sweetness of her tone did little to mask the subtle warning beneath it. The possessiveness.

Nathan studied her carefully, wondering how it had taken so little time for Pandora to tether herself so tightly to him. It was dangerous—beautifully so—but dangerous nonetheless.

When their conversation finally ended, Pandora rose gracefully, excusing herself. Almost as if by design, Athena entered as Pandora’s shadow slipped away.

The goddess carried herself with composure, yet Nathan immediately noticed the subtle furrow in her brow, the tension in the way her hand rested on her lance. She regarded him with a mixture of surprise and something else—perhaps unease.

“You are truly remarkable,” she said at last. “To converse with Pandora as you do. I have never seen her so calm, so restrained with her emotions. With anyone else, she is… volatile.”

“She seems quite possessive of me,” Nathan replied evenly.

Athena’s lips pressed together in a faint line. “She is indeed.” She did not attempt to deny it.

Nathan’s gaze lingered on her, reading the quiet storm hidden in her expression. “Something troubles you. What is it?”

Athena exhaled slowly, her eyes falling toward the fountain. “It seems I cannot hide much from you. Yes… there is something.” Her voice dipped into rare vulnerability. “My Pope. I asked him to retrieve his Key of Rome. But my last contact with him was a day ago. Since then… nothing.”

“If he sought Caesar directly,” Nathan said, his tone grim, “there is a chance—”

“That Caesar killed him,” Athena finished for him, her grip tightening around her lance until her knuckles whitened. Pain flickered across her face, quickly reined in by divine composure. Whoever this Pope was, he was more than just a subordinate.

“I should confront Caesar myself,” she declared. “Demand answers face to face.”

“No,” Nathan countered immediately, his voice cutting through her resolve. “Even if you ask him, he’ll never give you the truth. The swift solution would be to kill him… but can you?”

Athena’s silence was answer enough. She shook her head, her gaze lowering with frustration. “Caesar’s influence in the mortal world is vast. His death would ripple across Rome. For me to act, an audience of the Gods would have to convene. Only then could we pass judgment—only then could Caesar face divine punishment.”

Nathan leaned back in his chair, his lips pressing into a thin line. The endless laws and restrictions of the divine realm—always binding, always choking action with ceremony. To him, it was maddening. One man with too much power could walk unchecked, while gods themselves hesitated, shackled by their own rules.

It was all so very… inefficient.

“I will try to pry answers from Caesar myself,” Nathan said calmly, as though the prospect of walking into the lion’s den were little more than a casual errand.

Athena’s eyes sharpened. “That is dangerous,” she warned, her tone heavier than usual. “If you suddenly begin asking questions about my Pope, Caesar will find it suspicious. He is no fool, Septimius.”

But Nathan only gave a light shrug, unbothered. His composure was maddeningly steady. “Caesar already asked me to spy on you,” he said plainly. “So, I’ll tell him this much: that the Goddess Athena expressed concern over her Pope and that I was merely trying to learn what I could through him.”

It was so simple the way he said it—like balancing knives on the edge of a blade was second nature. He wasn’t simply dismissing the danger. He was embracing it. A double agent, dancing between two titans.

Athena’s lips pressed into a tight line. Her pride resisted the idea, but in the end she could not argue with the practicality of it. She gave a reluctant nod. “You are shouldering too much for my sake. Already I asked you to keep Pandora in check, and that alone is a heavy burden. Yet now… this.”

Her voice faltered with rare emotion. Guilt clung to her words, staining them with worry.

Nathan shook his head. “There is nothing wrong with relying on others, Goddess Athena.” His voice grew heavier, deeper, carrying a sincerity that cut through her defenses. “In the Trojan War, you bore the mantle of an ’evil goddess’—you allowed the world to paint you black, because you alone saw the greater catastrophe that might have come if you had stayed your hand. You chose humanity over your pride. That was no selfish trick. That was kindness.”

His gaze locked with hers, unflinching. “But you carried it alone. You hid your true self behind masks and schemes, burying your emotions for the sake of others. Perhaps that is your duty as a goddess, yes. But at the very least… you can rely on me.”

The conviction in his voice left her momentarily breathless.

Athena stared at him, words forming on her tongue only to die unspoken. His eyes were steady, his tone utterly serious—so unlike the mortals who usually groveled at her feet, showering her with hollow flattery. Nathan wasn’t worshiping her. He was speaking to her as an equal, as someone who understood.

“I am no god,” Nathan went on, his voice lowering, softer now but no less resolute. “My resources are not endless, and my influence is not divine. But what I can give, I will. Just as I am giving now.”

For Nathan, the truth was clear: Athena sought peace. And so did he. That made them allies in a way no title or oath could.

Athena’s heart stirred painfully at his words. It was rare—almost unthinkable—that a mortal’s sincerity could reach her like this. She did not know how to respond, so she simply stood there, her hands tightening around her lance as though it might anchor her.

Perhaps sensing her turmoil, Nathan rose from his seat. He stepped closer, his movements unhurried, deliberate. Then—before Athena could stop him—he gently wrapped his arms around her.

It was not a crushing embrace, nor a bold one. It was soft, almost tentative, as though he were afraid of breaking something fragile.

Athena stiffened instantly, her entire body going rigid. “S..Septimius…” she tried to muster her usual sharpness, tried to lace her voice with defense, but the words came out weaker than she intended, her strength caught in the storm of her emotions.

Nathan held her carefully, his chest warm against her shoulders. His words were quiet, almost a whisper meant only for her ears. “Everything will turn out fine. After the Rome is safe… tell me about the vision you received from Gaia. Perhaps I can help with that as well.”

Her heartbeat betrayed her. It pounded furiously against her ribs, so loud she swore he must hear it. Her cheeks burned, color flooding her face against her will. Athena—the goddess who had faced endless wars, who had never been perturbed by the presence of kings or heroes—found herself speechless in the arms of a mortal.

She parted her lips to respond, to summon words befitting her station, but none came. Her mind, usually sharp and steady as a honed blade, was in disarray. She had never felt this way before. Never.

And that terrified her more than Caesar ever could.