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Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Cost of Survival  

Rain poured against the windows, loud and steady, as Gabrielle and Eve sat near the fire, its glow casting shadows across the room. Gabrielle held one of her scrolls open as she read out loud. Eve leaned closer, listening, her arms resting on her knees. Her eyes creased slightly as she tried to absorb the words, excited to hear about the adventures of their travels.   

In the corner, Xena sharpened her sword, the steady scrape of metal filling the spaces between Gabrielle’s words. She kept her focus on the blade while her mind raced. After all this time, convincing Livia that she was Eve, her daughter, should have felt like a victory. But it didn’t. Xena knew the gods would come for them—it was only a matter of time. She knew they wouldn’t stop until Eve was dead.   

So far, only Ares knew that Livia was Eve. Twenty-five years. Twenty-five years had gone by since the day she gave birth to Eve, and she was still fighting the gods to protect her. Her jaw clenched. Livia, or Eve—whatever name she chose—had done horrible things, left scars across the world that no one could erase in her time as Rome’s Champion.   

And yet, Xena’s love for her was unshakable. She would do anything to protect her, anything. Except dying. She knew better than to trust the gods, no matter what they promised. If she died for Eve, they wouldn’t stop hunting her daughter. They’d come at her harder, more relentlessly, until there was nothing left of her. That was a price Xena couldn’t pay.  

No. She had to stay alive. After being asleep for 25 years, missing her chance to raise her daughter, she refused to leave again. Her grip tightened on the hilt of her sword. She’d fight. She’d bleed. But she wouldn’t leave. Not again. Her fingers tightened on the sword as her thoughts changed, dragging her back to the past.   

Rome. Xena hated Rome with every fiber of her being. And the thought of her daughter, her daughter , marrying Octavius, a Roman, had been more than she could stomach. Over her dead body. She knew then what had to be done. To stop that marriage, she had to expose Livia’s darkest secret: her love for Ares.   

She frowned, the memory of Ares creeping into her mind like an unwelcome guest. His name alone made her grip tighten on the hilt of her blade. That selfish bastard , she thought, her jaw tightening. How dare he awaken the darkness within Eve and then claim he didn’t know? Liar. He always knew. There was no way Ares couldn’t feel the connection, couldn’t sense her somewhere deep down. He just enjoyed the game too much to admit it. Always scheming, always manipulating.  

The memory made Xena’s stomach churn. It had been bad enough to know Ares had manipulated Livia into loving him, but watching him with her—seeing his tongue down Livia’s throat—had been more than Xena could bear. Her lips pressed into a thin line. She meant every word when she told Ares that if he were mortal, she would cut out his heart. He had the audacity to tell her he loved her, then turned around and tangled himself up with her daughter.   

And the bacchanalia… Xena snorted softly to herself, her hand stilling briefly on the whetstone. The whole night had been a performance. She hadn’t just needed to stop Octavius from marrying her daughter—no, that would’ve been too simple. She also needed to remind Livia, in front of everyone, exactly who Ares’ favorite really was. Xena smirked at the memory.   

The way she exposed Livia to Octavius had been brutal, yes, but necessary. The Roman had to see Livia for who she truly was, a pawn for Ares and a killer for Rome. There was no way Xena would let her daughter marry into that cesspool of politics and war. But what satisfied her most was showing Livia— and Ares —the truth. She was the one Ares would always come back to. Not Livia, not anyone else. Xena. She knew it, and she made sure they both knew it too.   

Her smirk faded as she thought about what came after. That night had been the beginning of the end for Livia as Rome’s Champion and the first step in her path back to being Eve. It had also been a reminder of how deeply Ares could manipulate and twist even those she loved most. She hated him for it. Hated him for everything he did to her daughter.  

Still, even he had a way of surprising her when she least expected it. She thought back to when Athena had taken Amphipolis under siege. She almost went through with his ridiculous deal then. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips twitched into a faint, humorless smile. Lying there on top of him, her body draped in nothing but that fur blanket, she felt herself slipping. If that temple wall hadn’t exploded, if the battle hadn’t interrupted them, she might’ve done it. She would’ve given in to him right there. The thought burned in her chest—not anger, but something more complicated, something she didn’t want to name.  

Her mind then thought about the look he gave her. That look when he had grabbed baby Eve from the tree where she had tied her, back when Xena had been fighting off three armies sent by Apollo, Athena, and Poseidon. The nerve of him, judging her as if she were a bad mother for choosing to fight rather than agree to his selfish deal. Being with him? Giving him a child? Tuh . She scoffed at the memory. Did he think saying he loved her over and over would make her forget who he was?  

Above all, there was that moment, the one she couldn’t push away no matter how hard she tried. When he stopped Athena from killing that doll he thought was Eve. That line he said: “Blood runs harder when love is involved.” She had no idea why those words had hit her so deeply.   

Maybe it was the way he said them, so raw, so unguarded. He stood there, completely vulnerable, professing his love for her out loud as if he didn’t care who heard. She was so quick to throw it back at him, telling him she felt nothing in that temple room when they’d been so close. But the truth was, he set her heart ablaze in that room.  

She had faced death more times than she could count, but some moments stayed with her, lingering like an old wound. One of them was the day she looked death in the eye—literally. She let out a slow breath. That moment… it wasn’t the plan she had wanted, but it had been necessary.   

She remembered standing there, the vial of death’s tears in her hand, ready to make the gods believe that she was ready end it all. Out of nowhere, he appeared. The god of war, with his arrogance and his smirk that barely hid what was brewing underneath. Ready to ruin everything, as usual. Except this time, it wasn’t his smugness that stayed with her—it was the look in his eyes.  

Hurt. Fear. Raw and unguarded in a way she rarely saw from him. He had truly believed she was going to die in that moment. She could see it, plain as day. His walls had cracked, and for once, the real Ares had been standing in front of her.  

It had taken her breath away. Not the tears. Not the plan falling apart. Him . The way his voice had broken when he called her name, the way he looked at her like he couldn’t imagine a world where she didn’t exist. She shook her head, trying to push him away. It hadn’t stopped him from interfering—he still managed to make her plan backfire. But this time, it wasn’t his fault.  

What stayed with her wasn’t the frustration of that day but the tenderness he showed after. She hadn’t expected that. When she woke up to find herself encased in ice, she was furious at first. But then she saw it—the flowers. Her sword. Her chakram. He put them there with her, like a tribute, a promise, a declaration all at once. It wasn’t much, but it had spoken volumes. Ares hadn’t entombed her out of conquest or arrogance. He had done it out of love.  

That realization had shaken her. Ares, who seemed incapable of true vulnerability, had given her something no one else ever had. A gesture so simple, yet so profound. It had left her questioning everything she thought she knew about him. And it still did, even now.  

Her hand stilled on the blade, and she closed her eyes for a moment. She didn’t want to admit how much that memory affected her. How deeply it still pulled at her heart. But she couldn’t ignore it, no matter how hard she tried. The god of war, the bane of her existence, had done something selfless. For her. And that… that was something she would never forget.  

But now, 25 years later, sitting here sharpening her sword, she let the thought creep in. If she had taken that deal back then, would she be sitting here now, wondering when the gods were going to attack them again? Or would they have found peace? Would she have been able to raise her daughter instead of waking up to find she had grown into a stranger?  

A rush of sadness swept over her, and her hand stilled on the whetstone. She felt the sting of a tear, but she brushed it away before it could fall. There was no use crying over the past. Regret didn’t change anything. She had Eve now. And no matter what, she must protect her. She glanced at Eve, her jaw tightening. At least her daughter was a warrior who could hold her own. Even with her vowing to no longer fight, she knew, she had to fight against the gods. They needed all the help they could get.   

Her grip on the sword tightened as her instincts tingled. The storm masked the usual sounds of the forest, but her instincts whispered danger. Something was off. Xena stood, sliding her weapon into its sheath.  

“I’ll be back,” she said, her voice firm but quiet. Gabrielle looked up from the scroll.  

“What’s wrong?” Xena grabbed her cloak and pulled it over her shoulders.  

“Nothing yet. I just need to check the perimeter.” She glanced at Eve, who was watching her closely.   

“Stay inside, both of you.”  

“Be careful.” Eve looked up as well, giving her a small nod.  

Outside, the storm hit her like a wall. Rain soaked through her cloak, but she barely noticed. Her eyes scanned the treeline. The night felt wrong, like it was holding its breath. The cold bite of the storm was nothing compared to the nagging unease clawing at her gut. Then she felt it—a familiar presence that sent a chill down her spine. She turned, and there he was. Ares. He stood in the downpour with a blank expression.  

“What do you want?” she snapped. Ares tilted his head, raindrops sliding down his face as he studied her.   

“You’re on edge,” he said, his voice calm. “You should be. They’re coming.” Xena’s heart clenched, though her expression remained blank.   

“Who?”  

“The others,” Ares replied, his voice dropping. “Athena, Apollo, Hephaestus, Hades, Artemis—they know about Eve. They’ve known for a while. I’ve done what I can to hold them off, but I’m not their keeper.” Xena’s hand tightened on the hilt of her sword.   

“How long?” Ares shrugged.   

“Minutes, maybe less. You need to be ready.” Xena’s eyes burned with fury.  

“You waited until now to tell me?” Ares stepped even closer.   

“I didn’t wait. I bought you time, Xena. I’ve been stalling them for days, but they won’t listen to reason. You know how this ends.” Her jaw tightened, and she turned sharply, heading back towards the farmhouse. Ares caught her arm, stopping her in her tracks. She spun, her eyes flashing with anger.  

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed.  

“You’ll need me for this.” Xena yanked her arm free, her glare cutting through him.   

“I don’t need you. Ever.” Ares watched her storm away, his jaw clenching. The gods were coming, and Xena’s stubbornness was going to get her killed.  

Back inside, Xena burst through the door, startling Gabrielle and Eve.  

“They’re coming,” she said, her voice sharp. “Athena, Apollo, Hephaestus,—all of them.” Gabrielle’s face paled as she stood quickly. Eve immediately reached for her sword.  

“What do we do?” Gabrielle asked, already moving to gather her things.  

“We fight,” Xena said, her voice steady.   

“Barricade the doors and windows. Gabrielle, get to higher ground. Eve, stay with me. We hold them off as long as we can.”  

The farmhouse erupted into a flurry of movement as they prepared for battle.  Xena felt the weight of what was coming, but she forced it down. Survival was all that mattered now.  

The first strike came without warning. The front door exploded inward, sending shards of wood flying as a bright flash of light illuminated the room. Athena stepped inside, her armor gleaming, her eyes cold and devious.  

“You should have stayed hidden,” Athena said, her voice sharp. “This ends now.”  

The battle had begun.  

Xena barely had time to react before Athena lunged, her sword igniting into blazing fire as it sliced through the air. Xena blocked the blow, the heat searing the edges of her blade as the impact shook her arm. Eve sprang forward, her sword blocking Artemis’ arrow mid-flight before clashing with the goddess herself. Artemis spun gracefully, shooting another arrow at point-blank range, forcing Eve to block awkwardly. The deafening clash of steel and cries of battle filled the room.  

Gabrielle darted between them, her sais intercepting a pair of spinning chains hurled by Hephaestus. The blacksmith god roared with fury, his massive arms swinging another chain with deadly force. The impact against the floor sent cracks spidering through the wooden planks and nearly knocked Gabrielle off her feet.  

Apollo shot a glowing arrow, its golden tip igniting into flames mid-air. Xena barely dodged, the heat scorching her side and burning her leathers. She rolled to her feet, her sword flashing as she swung at Athena. The goddess blocked effortlessly, the fiery blade’s force driving Xena back a step.  

Eve fought fiercely, her movements deadly as she closed the gap between herself and Artemis. But Artemis was relentless. Her supply of arrows seemed endless as she fired shot after shot, forcing Eve into a defensive position. The goddess ducked under Eve’s guard and kicked her in the stomach. Eve stumbled back, gasping for air, only for Artemis to follow with a hard blow from her bow, slamming it against Eve’s head. The force sent Eve crashing to the ground, unconscious.  

“Eve!” Xena screamed, her heart pounding as she saw her daughter fall. She moved to protect her, but Apollo fired another flaming arrow, forcing Xena to roll away at the last second. Gabrielle moved to help, only to be struck by Hephaestus’ spinning chains. The force sent her flying through the wooden railing of the upstairs loft. She crashed through the floorboards, landing in a pile on the ground below, motionless.  

“Gabrielle!” Xena’s voice cracked as she saw her friend lying still. Panic clawed at her, but she couldn’t afford to freeze. She had to protect them both.  

Xena threw herself toward her daughter, grabbing her unconscious body and dragging her behind a broken table. Her muscles screamed in protest, her side aching from a deep gash. She shoved Eve into a corner, using what little cover she could find.   

“Stay safe,” she whispered, even though Eve couldn’t hear her.  

Athena and Artemis advanced, their weapons glowing menacingly. Athena’s flaming sword blazed dangerously, while Artemis prepared another arrow. Xena stepped forward, battered and bleeding, but still gripping her sword. Her arms felt impossibly heavy, and every breath burned, but she refused to back down.  

Athena struck first, her sword grazing Xena’s shoulder with a fiery arc. Xena retaliated, her blade catching Athena off guard and nicking her arm. Before she could recover, Artemis lunged, her arrow already loaded and ready to fire. Xena raised her sword in a desperate block, the impact sending pain shooting through her bruised arms.  

“You can’t win this,” Athena said coldly, her flaming sword pointed directly at Xena’s heart. “You’re only delaying the inevitable.  

Xena didn’t answer. She swung again, her movements slower now, her strength fading. Blood dripped from a cut on her forehead, stinging her eyes, but she didn’t stop.   

She couldn’t.  

A sudden wave of exhaustion hit her, and she stumbled. Artemis seized the opportunity, slashing across Xena’s side. The pain was blinding, but Xena gritted her teeth and swung wildly, forcing Artemis to retreat for a moment.  

She glanced back at Eve and Gabrielle, both lying motionless. The gods weren’t tiring, but she was. Her legs trembled, her vision blurred, and her sword felt heavier with each passing second.   

She had no choice.  

Xena staggered backwards, retreating into the back of the house. She leaned against the wall, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. Blood soaked her leathers, but she ignored it. Her fingers tightened around her sword before she released it, letting the blade clatter to the floor.  

“Ares!” she called out, her voice hoarse.  

The god of war appeared instantly, his expression dark as he took in her battered form. She turned to him, her face streaked with blood and tears, but her eyes were hard.  

“I’ll do it,” she said, her voice shaking.   

“I’ll make the deal. Just save them.” Ares stepped closer, his usual smirk replaced by something more serious.   

“Say it, Xena,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Say the words.” She swallowed hard, her fists clenching at her sides.   

“I don’t have time for your games! I’m yours. I’ll give you what you want. Just save them.” Ares nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before he turned toward the chaos in the other room.   

“You’re mine now, Xena. Completely. Stay here. This is going to get messy.” Xena slid to the floor, her body too broken to follow. All she could do now was trust him—and hope she hadn’t just damned them all.  

Athena mocked Xena, telling her that she couldn’t hide and be a good little mortal and give them her daughter. Suddenly, a golden barrier materialized around Gabrielle and Eve, shielding them from further harm. The gods froze and their eyes narrowed as Ares materialized in front of them.  

“Well, well,” Athena sneered, her lip curling in disgust. “Not surprised to see you here. And, of course, on the wrong side.” Ares smirked, his gaze sweeping over the gods before landing on Athena.   

“Wrong side? Depends on how you look at it.” He gestured casually toward the unconscious Gabrielle and Eve.   

“I’m just here to clean up your mess.”  

Athena’s eyes burned with fury, but before she could respond, Artemis moved. Her bow flashed in the smoky light, an arrow shot with deadly precision aimed straight at Ares’ chest. The attack was so sudden that even Xena flinched. But Ares didn’t move—his hand shot up, catching the arrow mid-flight as if it were nothing more than a stray twig.  

“Really, Artemis?” he said, his voice calm, almost bored.   

“You should know better.” Without hesitation, he flung the arrow back with enough force that sent Artemis crashing into the far wall. She slumped to the ground, unconscious. The room fell silent, the other gods staring at Ares. Some had anger on their faces, others shock. But Athena, her face was blank while she stared as Ares. Ares turned to face them fully, his smirk fading into something colder, sharper.   

“Now that I have your attention, let’s talk.”  

Xena leaned heavily against the wall, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her eyes met Ares’, and for a moment, she saw something in his expression—a touch of concern, of reassurance. He turned away, addressing the gods.  

“You all really don’t get it, do you?” he said, his voice carrying easily over the crackling flames and falling rubble.   

“Xena isn’t just another mortal. She’s a god-killer. You’ve seen it yourselves. And now, with me at her side, she’s unstoppable. Attack her, and you’re not just risking your pride—you’re risking extinction.” Apollo’s hands clenched into fists, his golden glow brightening as if to challenge Ares. But Athena raised a hand, stopping him. Her gaze was locked on Ares. Ares continued, stepping forward.   

“You keep pushing her, keep coming after her daughter, and you’re the ones guaranteeing the Twilight of the Gods. She doesn’t want it, but she’ll bring it if you force her hand.” He gestured toward Artemis, still slumped on the ground.  

“Case in point. That was one arrow. Imagine what happens when I decide to make this personal.” Athena’s jaw tightened.   

“You think she’ll just go along with your little plan? That she won’t turn on you the first chance she gets?” Ares smirked again.   

“That’s where you’re wrong. Xena and I? We’re a team now. She’s under my protection, which means her daughter is too. Leave them alone, and we all walk away. But keep coming after them, and I promise you, none of you will survive what happens next.” The gods exchanged glances. Athena’s face was full of fury, but she said nothing. Ares waited, letting the silence linger before speaking again.  

“Your choice. But make the wrong one, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.”  

Without another word, the gods began to retreat, their forms disappearing one by one. Athena was the last to leave, her glare burning into Ares before she vanished.  

As the room settled into an uneasy quiet, Ares turned back to Xena. She was still leaning against the wall, her sword hanging limply at her side. He walked to her and offered her a hand.  

“Told you it’d get messy,” he said, his voice lighter now. Xena hesitated before taking his hand.   

“Messy doesn’t even begin to cover it.” Their eyes met, and for a moment, the air between them felt heavy with everything unsaid. Ares pulled her to her feet, his hand lingering just a second longer than necessary.  

“We’re not done yet,” Xena said, her voice low but steady.  

“No,” Ares agreed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But for now, they know who they’re dealing with.” Xena nodded, but the weight of what had just happened pressed heavily on her. The gods were gone—for now. But she knew they’d be back.  

Blinding light forced her to shield her eyes. When she opened them, she was in another location. The room was quiet except for the faint crackle of a fireplace. Xena stood in the center, her sword still in hand, though her body ached from head to toe. She had no idea where she was—one moment, she was surrounded by the wreckage of the farmhouse, and now she was here. The house was lavish, almost too much. Plush furniture filled the room, and the faint scent of fresh flowers hung in the air. A marble bath sat in the corner, steaming as if prepared just for them.  

Before she could even form a question, Ares appeared. He leaned casually against the doorway. His desire filled eyes scanned her, and he smiled faintly.  

“Heal,” he said softly. “When it’s time to seal our deal, I’ll call for you.” Xena’s jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing. Ares stepped closer, his voice dropping as he raised a hand to her face.   

“You’ve earned this. Rest while you can.” Xena yanked her head away, glaring.  

“Don’t touch me.” Ares sighed, shaking his head like she was a child refusing to see reason.   

“You’ll thank me later.” With that, he vanished, leaving her standing alone. Xena stared at the empty space where he stood, her frown deepening.  

“Bastard,” she muttered under her breath.  

A soft moan broke her thoughts. Her head snapped around, and she saw Eve stirring in the bed that hadn’t been there moments ago. Ares had already placed both Gabrielle and Eve in separate beds, tucked neatly into the comfort of silk sheets.  

“Eve!” Xena rushed to her daughter’s side, sliding onto the bed and pulling her into her arms.   

“Eve, honey, are you okay?” Her voice softened, the tension in her tone replaced with motherly concern as she stroked Eve’s face. Eve’s eyelids fluttered open, and she gave a weak nod.   

“I think so,” she whispered. Xena leaned over and grabbed a glass of water from the bedside table. She gently held it to Eve’s lips.   

“Here, drink.”  

Eve sipped the water, her breathing slowing as her strength began to return. Xena placed the empty glass aside, brushing Eve’s hair back from her damp forehead.   

“Rest now,” she murmured. “You’re safe.”  

Her attention turned to the other bed, where Gabrielle remained still. Xena moved quickly, grabbing a bucket of warm water and a clean cloth. She pulled a chair beside Gabrielle and began dabbing at the wounds on her friend’s face and arms. The steady rhythm of her movements was interrupted when Gabrielle stirred, letting out a faint groan.  

“Gabrielle,” Xena said softly, rubbing the side of her friend’s face. “How are you feeling?” Gabrielle’s eyes opened slowly, and a small smile curved her lips.   

“I’m alive,” she said, her voice hoarse. “That’s something, right?” Xena smiled faintly.   

“It’s everything.” Gabrielle’s eyes scanned the room, her brows creasing as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings.   

“Where are we?” Xena’s gaze dropped to the floor with a blank expression. She couldn’t meet Gabrielle’s eyes.  

“Xena,” Gabrielle pressed, her voice firmer now. “Where are we, and how did we get here?” Xena let out a slow breath before answering.   

“Ares brought us here.”  

The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp. Gabrielle’s lips parted in shock as she sat up slightly. She exchanged a confused glance with Eve, who was now watching closely from her bed.  

“Why would he bring us here?” Gabrielle asked, her tone cautious. Xena’s head lowered again, guilt washing over her face. Gabrielle’s eyes widened in realization. She covered her mouth with her hand.   

“Xena… please tell me you didn’t go through with the deal.”  Xena shook her head quickly.   

“No, I didn’t… not yet.” But even as she spoke, her mind raced with everything she wasn’t saying. She felt the load of the truth pressing down on her, but she couldn’t bring herself to reveal it—not now. They didn’t know. They didn’t know that agreeing to give Ares a child wasn’t the whole deal. That the other part meant being with him.  

Her stomach churned as she replayed his words from the temple. “You’re mine now, Xena. Completely.” The memory made her throat tighten. She had agreed, hadn’t she? And no matter how much she tried to convince herself it was only to save Gabrielle and Eve, part of her knew that wasn’t the whole truth.  

Gabrielle let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, relief flashing across her face. But before she could respond, Xena continued.   

“I did agree to it, though.”  The room fell silent. Eve sat up straight, her eyes wide.   

“No,” she said sharply, her voice trembling. “Mother, no. You can’t do this.” Xena turned to Eve. A single tear slipped down her cheek as she gave her daughter a bittersweet smile.   

“It’s too late. Ares already helped us. He saved you both. The gods are off our backs… for now.” Gabrielle shook her head in disbelief.   

“Xena, we’ll figure something out. You don’t have to go through with this. Please.” Eve reached out, grabbing her mother’s arm.   

“You don’t owe him anything. We’ll fight, we’ll find another way—anything but this.” Xena placed her hand over Eve’s and squeezed gently.   

“You don’t understand. He’ll call for me soon, and when he does…” Her voice faltered for a moment before she continued. “This isn’t about what I want. This is about keeping you both alive.” Gabrielle’s eyes filled with tears.   

“And what about you, Xena? What does this cost you?” Xena didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Instead, she pulled Eve into a tight embrace and pressed her forehead against her daughter’s.   

“Rest, both of you,” she said softly, her voice trembling.   

“We’re safe for now. That’s all that matters.”  

Gabrielle and Eve exchanged a look. They wouldn’t give up on Xena—not now, not ever. But deep down, Xena knew the truth. Ares would come for her soon, and no amount of arguing would change that.  

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Terms of Surrender  

The morning air was heavy with unspoken words as Xena finished securing Argo’s reins. The gravity of the moment hung over them all, pressing down like an unseen force. Gabrielle and Eve stood nearby, their faces pale with worry, their eyes glistening with unshed tears. Silence lingered, tense and suffocating, until Gabrielle finally stepped forward.  

“You don’t have to do this,” Gabrielle said, her hands clutching Xena’s. “I know what you think, but there’s another way. There has to be.” Xena met her friend’s gaze, her expression unreadable but her jaw tight.   

“There isn’t,” she said quietly. “Not this time.” Gabrielle’s lips trembled as she shook her head.   

“Xena, this deal—it’s going to destroy you. Not your body, but… you. Your soul. I can see it already.” She squeezed Xena’s hands tighter. “Please. Don’t let him take that from you.”  

For a moment, something flickered in Xena’s eyes, a flash of pain that she quickly masked.   

“This isn’t about me,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. “This is about keeping you and Eve safe. That’s all that matters.”  

Gabrielle’s tears finally broke free, sliding silently down her cheeks.   

“You matter too, Xena. You always have. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known, but even you—” Her voice cracked, and she struggled to finish the sentence. “Even you can’t carry this forever.” Xena reached up and gently wiped a tear from Gabrielle’s cheek. Her touch was soft.   

“Look after Eve for me. She’ll need you.”  

Gabrielle nodded reluctantly, her shoulders shaking as she stepped back, unable to say more. Eve took her place, hesitating before throwing her arms around her mother in a tight embrace.  

“I don’t want you to go,” Eve said, her voice muffled against Xena’s shoulder. “I don’t want you to do this.” Xena wrapped her arms around her daughter, holding her close. She rested her chin on Eve’s head, closing her eyes for a moment before responding.   

“I have to, Eve. You know that.” Eve pulled back just enough to look up at her mother.  

“He’s a god. He doesn’t play fair. He’s going to twist this into something worse than you can imagine.” Xena stroked her daughter’s hair.   

“I know who he is, Eve. And I know what I’m walking into. But I’m your mother. And I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you.” Eve’s lip quivered as fresh tears ran down her face.   

“You shouldn’t have to sacrifice yourself for me.” Xena shook her head gently.  

 “That’s what being a mother means, Eve. You’ll understand one day.” Eve’s arms tightened around her one last time before stepping back.  

“I love you,” she whispered.  

“I love you too.” She placed a hand on Eve’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze before turning to Argo. With one final glance at Gabrielle and Eve, Xena mounted her horse. She could feel their eyes on her as she turned Argo toward the road. Her heart ached, but she buried it deep. She couldn’t afford to let her emotions show—not now, not when so much was at stake. Gabrielle’s voice broke through the silence, faint but desperate.   

“Don’t let him take who you are, Xena. Please. Come back to us.” Xena didn’t look back.   

She couldn’t.  

Xena urged Argo forward, the path ahead feeling colder and more uncertain with every step. But she had made her choice. And she would face whatever waited for her at the temple, no matter the cost.   

She dismounted Argo, the air cold against her skin as she tightened her cloak against the chill. The temple stood ahead, dark and sinister. Its massive stone columns were etched with crude carvings of battles and skulls. Flames from towering torches illuminated the carved images of battles and warriors on the walls, their expressions twisted in eternal fury. She ran a hand down Argo’s mane.  

“Stay here, girl. This won’t take long.”  

But even as the words left her lips, she knew they were a lie. This wasn’t going to be quick. This wasn’t going to be painless. It was going to scar her in ways she hadn’t yet begun to imagine.  

Her boots crunched against the gravel as she approached the temple steps. Each step felt heavier, as if the air itself was weighing her down. She tried to keep her thoughts sharp, focused, but they refused to cooperate. Instead, memories clawed at her—the soft, vulnerable words Gabrielle had spoken before she’d left, the way Eve had held her tightly as if trying to stop her from walking out the door.  

Xena forced herself to push those memories aside, even though they clung to her like a second skin. Her family was the reason she was doing this. They were alive because of Ares, because of the deal. And now she had to honor it. That was all this was—a duty, a necessity.   

Nothing more.  

But deep down, a darker thought formed. How could Ares ask this of her? How could he reduce her to this? She felt like a god’s whore.  

He was selfish. She always knew that. Manipulative, cunning, always playing the long game. She’d seen through him a hundred times before, and yet… part of her had expected better of him. This wasn’t just about securing her loyalty or her presence. He wanted her to carry his child. His legacy. A selfish ploy for power.  

However, another truth burned quietly within, one she didn’t dare confront. She hated that he made her feel this way—angry, alive, and utterly unsettled. Some nights, when sleep wouldn’t come, she would think of him, and the images would linger too long. In her dreams, Ares was different, softer, his touch electric in ways she couldn’t escape. In those moments, she could allow herself to feel, because dreams couldn’t hurt her.  

But now… now it wasn’t a dream. Now it was real, and she was standing at the edge of a cliff, staring into the unknown. She clenched her fists as she stepped into the temple, her boots echoing off the cold stone. It reminded her of walking the gauntlet. But she survived that and she would survive this.  

And there he was.  

Ares lounged on his throne at the far end of the hall, his vest gleaming even in the dim light. His smirk widened as he rose to his feet, descending the steps with a predatory grace that set her on edge.  

“Right on time,” he said smoothly. “I knew you’d come.” Xena kept her face neutral, though her heart was pounding in her chest.   

“You made sure of that,” she said coldly, walking to the center of the room. Her hands moved quickly as she unfastened her armor, letting each piece fall to the ground with a clang that echoed through the space. Her breastplate. Her arm guards. Her sword and chakram. She stood in front of him in her leathers, stripped of the armor that had always made her feel invincible.  

“Let’s get this over with,” she said flatly. Ares raised an eyebrow, tilting his head as he studied her.   

“Oh, Xena. We’re not doing this your way.” Her eyes narrowed.   

“What are you talking about? This was your idea. I’m here. So do what you have to do.” Xena walked toward the altar, her boots striking the stone floor in steady steps. Her gaze locked on the dark slab in front of her, her jaw clenched tightly. She stopped when she reached it, pausing only for a brief moment before climbing on top. She laid down stiffly, her arms resting at her sides, her body tense.  

The chill of the stone seeped through her, and she forced her eyes shut, trying to remain focused. But it was impossible to ignore the memories that crept into her mind. She hadn’t always approached this altar with such dread. There was a time—years ago—when she would lie across it willingly, waiting for Ares to come to her. Back then, she was his commander, his chosen warrior, and this place had felt like home.  

Her chest tightened as the images replayed through her mind. His hands on her skin, his voice murmuring promises of power and passion. She had given herself to him freely. In those moments, it hadn’t been about gods or war—it had been about the fire he sparked within her.  

Now, that fire was gone. All that remained was the cold hardness of the stone beneath her and the bitter knowledge of why she was here. This wasn’t a choice—it was an obligation. The woman who had once embraced this altar with pride and passion was gone, replaced by someone who fought for the people she loved, even at the cost of herself.  

Her stomach churned as the reality of her situation settled over her. She stared up at the ceiling. This wasn’t the same altar it had once been. It was no longer a place of fire and heat—it was a reminder of everything she had lost. She swallowed hard, pushing the memories aside and focusing on the moment. She turned her head slightly.  

“Well? Are we doing this or not?” His voice filled the atmosphere as he laughed at her.  

“You think this is just about me getting what I want? You really don’t know me at all, do you?” Xena’s fists tightened at her sides, and her voice cut through the air like a blade.   

“I know enough,” she snapped. “I know you’ve spent years manipulating me, pulling strings, trying to bend me to your will. And now you’ve finally found a way to trap me. Congratulations.” His smirk faded slightly, his expression darkening as he took a step closer.   

“Trap you? Is that what you think this is?”  

“What else would it be?” she shot back, her eyes blazing with fury. “It’s always about power with you, isn’t it? Control. You don’t know how to love. You only know how to own. And now, you want a child—your legacy—because that’s all that matters to you. This isn’t about me. It never was.”  

Her words struck him like a blow. Ares’ jaw tightened, and for the first time, his usual confidence shattered. His eyes flashed with something she couldn’t quite place—hurt, maybe, or something deeper. He looked away briefly, his shoulders tense as if bracing himself.  

“You really think so little of me,” he said quietly, his voice lacking its usual edge. Xena’s chest rose and fell sharply as she struggled to contain the storm inside her.   

“What else am I supposed to think, Ares? You’ve lied, manipulated, and played games with me from the start. Why should this be any different? Why should you be any different?” Ares’ gaze snapped back to her, sharper now, a spark of frustration breaking through his calm exterior.   

“Because I am different. I gave up everything for you, Xena. Everything. Do you think the gods will just forgive me for siding with you? Do you think I won’t have to pay a price?” Xena scoffed, her laugh bitter and cold.   

“You expect me to feel sorry for you? You’re a god. You’ve never paid for anything in your life. Not really.” He stepped closer.   

“You don’t know what it’s cost me,” he said, his tone sharp. “You think this is just about power, about some grand plan to ‘trap’ you? I could have left you to the gods, Xena. I could have let you and your daughter burn.”  

“Then why didn’t you?” she demanded, her voice rising. “Why go through all of this? Why drag me into this sick little game?”  

“Because I love you!” The words burst out of him, raw and unfiltered, and for a moment, the air seemed to still. His chest rose and fell as he met her gaze.   

“I’ve always loved you, Xena. Even when you hated me. Even when you fought me. Even when you turned your back on everything we built together.”  

Xena froze as she caught her breath. For a moment, the anger in her eyes faded, replaced by something more uncertain.   

“Love?” she repeated, her voice laced with disbelief. “That’s what you call this? Forcing me into a deal? Demanding I give you a child? You don’t love me, Ares. You just want to own me.”  

The words cut deeper than she intended, and she saw it in his face—the way his jaw clenched, the way his shoulders stiffened. He took a step back, his hand dragging through his dark hair as he turned away from her.  

“You’re wrong,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But I can’t make you see it. I can’t make you believe it.”  

For a moment, neither one of them spoke. Xena’s heart pounded in her chest, her anger still simmering but mingled now with something she couldn’t quite name. She hated that his words had struck a bell, that some part of her wanted to believe him. When he turned back to face her, his expression was guarded, but traces of vulnerability still lingered in his eyes.   

“You can leave,” he said, his tone softer. “If that’s what you really think—if you really believe this is just about power—then leave. I won’t stop you.” She blinked, caught off guard.   

“What?”  

“You heard me,” he said, gesturing toward the door. “You can leave, Xena. Walk out that door, get back on your horse, and pretend this deal didn’t come about. I won’t stop you.” Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak.   

“You’re saying… I don’t have to go through with this?”  

“I’m saying I’m not going to take you like this. Not when all I see in your eyes is hate.”  

Xena’s lips parted as if she was going to respond, but no words came out. Her mind raced, trying to process what he just said. This wasn’t Ares—not the Ares she knew. He was bold, brash, unrelenting in his pursuit of what he wanted. He didn’t back down, didn’t give her options. And yet, here he was, standing before her, offering her a way out. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms.   

“So, what? You’re suddenly some kind of saint now? You’re just going to let me walk away after everything you’ve done to get me here?” His shoulders slumped slightly as he turned and walked back toward his throne, sitting down heavily. For the first time, he looked less like the God of War and more like a man—a man who had carried more than he was willing to admit. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his head bowed slightly.   

“I thought maybe… maybe you’d feel something too.”  

Xena stared at him, her fists opening as the anger in her chest twisted into something else. She watched him for a moment, the usual strength in his posture was gone, replaced by something raw and unguarded. Her heart pounded as she took a hesitant step towards him, then another.  

“Ares,” she said softly.  

He looked up, his eyes filled with a pain she couldn’t bear to see. The flickering torchlight reflected in them, but it couldn’t hide the vulnerability there.   

“I’m sorry you hate me so much,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper.  

Her chest tightened, and she forced herself to close the remaining distance between them. Standing in front of him, she searched his face, her anger dissolving into something far more complicated. She sighed.  

“I don’t hate you,” she said, her voice trembling. “You drive me crazy, but I don’t hate you.”  

He blinked, his expression changing as if he wasn’t sure he heard her correctly. His eyes locked onto hers, searching for any sign of deceit, but he didn’t find any. Slowly, she moved closer, her knees brushing against his as she climbed into his lap. Her movements were hesitant at first, her body stiff, but when his hands rested carefully on her waist, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she allowed herself to relax slightly, her gaze never leaving his.  

“I don’t hate you,” she repeated, her voice softer now, as if the words were meant to reassure both of them.   

“I never did.” Ares exhaled shakily, his hands tightening slightly on her waist, but not enough to hold her there if she chose to move.   

“Xena—” he began, but his voice failed. He reached up and brushed his fingers against her cheek. She felt a tremor in his hand.   

“I never wanted this to be about power. Not with you. It’s never been about that with you.”  

Her breath caught, the raw honesty in his voice cutting through her defenses. The anger that had raged moments ago had faded, replaced by a lingering ache she couldn’t push away. She raised a hand slowly, her fingers sliding through his dark hair as she spoke, her voice steady yet gentle.   

“I know. I know it hasn’t.”  

He leaned into her touch slightly, his eyes closing briefly as though he was savoring the moment. When he opened them again, they were filled with an emotion so raw that it made her chest tighten all over again.   

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against her jawline. For a moment, the space between them felt charged with something she couldn’t quite name. And then, without thinking, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.  

The kiss was cautious at first, his lips brushing against hers gently, as though he was afraid of pushing too far. It was the kind of tenderness she never would have expected from him, and it left her momentarily stunned. For a few heartbeats, she didn’t respond, caught off guard by the vulnerability in his touch.  

But then something changed. She felt the warmth of his hand on her cheek, the slight tremble in his fingertips, and the burden of everything unsaid between them. Slowly, her lips began to move against his, soft at first, then with more certainty. Her fingers tangled deeper into his hair, and she felt the faint hitch in his breath as the kiss deepened. Ares pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers as he caught his breath. His hands moved up to cradle her face, his thumbs brushing gently against her skin.   

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, his voice so quiet she almost didn’t hear it. Xena swallowed hard, her own breath shaky as she met his gaze.   

“This doesn’t change anything,” she said softly, though her voice lacked the conviction she wanted it to carry.  

“Maybe not,” he replied, his lips curving into a faint, bittersweet smile. “But maybe it changes everything.”  

For a moment, they stayed like that with their foreheads touching. And then, as if drawn together by some invisible force, their lips met again. This kiss was different, slower and deeper, a result of years of tension and unspoken emotions.  

Xena felt the pressure of his hands on her waist, anchoring her as her own hands slipped from his hair to rest against his chest. The sound of her heartbeat thundered in her ears, but she didn’t pull away. She didn’t want to.  

When they finally pulled away, their breaths mingling in the space between them, Xena’s voice trembled as she whispered,   

“You set my world on fire, Ares. Always have.” His thumb brushed against her lips, his expression soft but serious.   

“Then let it burn, Xena.”  

So she did.  

Ares’ hands slid from her waist to her lower back, pulling her closer. His lips trailed from hers to her jawline, each press of his mouth igniting a fire that sent warmth radiating through her. Xena’s breath quickened as she felt his touch change—gentler, more careful than she had expected, as though he was still afraid she might pull away at any moment.  

His hands roamed up her back, his fingers tracing the lines of her shoulders, sending a shiver down her spine. His lips found the hollow of her neck, lingering there as if savoring her scent, the warmth of her skin.   

“Xena,” he murmured against her, his voice low and rough. “I’ve wanted this… for so long.”  

Her fingers gripped his curls again, holding him there for a moment as her chest rose and fell with deep, uneven breaths.   

“Ares…” she whispered, her voice trembling. She didn’t finish the sentence—she wasn’t even sure what she wanted to say.  

He pulled back slightly and met her gaze. His eyes searched her face, and she could see the conflict there—desire mixed with something deeper, something he wasn’t sure she would accept.   

“I want you to know,” he said, his voice soft but steady, “that this isn’t just about the deal. It’s not about the child, or power, or control. It’s about you. It’s always been about you.”  

Her chest tightened at his words, a lump forming in her throat that she struggled to swallow. For all the times she cursed him, for all the ways he had infuriated her, she had never doubted his feelings. He had shown them to her time and again, though she had refused to acknowledge them. And now, as she looked into his eyes, there was no denying the truth in his words.  

But that truth terrified her.  

Xena’s hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, resting there as though trying to steady herself.   

“You don’t make this easy, you know.” His lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile.  

“Since when has anything about us ever been easy?”  

Before she could respond, he leaned in again, his lips finding hers with renewed intensity. His hands moved down her sides, exploring the curve of her waist, the strength of her body. She felt the change in his movements, the way he began to guide her closer, as though preparing to cross the invisible line between them.  

Her pulse quickened as the realization settled over her. He wasn’t just kissing her now—he was showing her what came next, silently asking for her permission even as his actions spoke of his restraint. Ares wasn’t forcing anything; he was waiting for her to choose.  

Xena’s breath caught, and for a moment, she froze, torn between hesitation and the fire coursing through her veins. But when his lips trailed down to her collarbone, lingering there as though he couldn’t bear to pull away, something inside her gave way. She tilted her head back slightly, allowing him access the space he sought, her hands gripping his shoulders as though anchoring herself. Ares paused, his lips brushing against her skin as he whispered,   

“Tell me to stop, Xena. If you want me to, tell me now.”  

Her heart pounded as she met his gaze. The vulnerability in his expression, the way his eyes searched hers for permission—it was almost too much. She exhaled unsteadily, her hands resting on his shoulders, feeling the tightness in his body as if he were restraining himself with all his strength.  

“I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered, her voice trembling. The words seemed to undo him. His lips met hers again, this time with more certainty, and she responded, sliding her hands up to tangle in his hair. The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as the fire they had spent years suppressing finally ignited.  

As the kiss deepened, Xena’s hands moved to his belt buckle, her fingers working quickly to unfasten it. The clink of metal hitting the ground echoed in the throne room, mingling with the sound of their ragged breaths. Ares’ hands slid up her back, pulling her closer as the tension between them reached a breaking point.  

In a flash of blue light, the cold stone of the temple was replaced by the warmth of Ares’ bedchamber. The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and something distinctly him, a scent that Xena had come to associate with power and danger but now felt different—softer, almost comforting.  

The firelight bathed them in a soft glow, its heat matching the fire that burned between them. Ares held her waist loosely, watching her as if she might vanish if he let go. He had changed into a pair of simple black pants. Xena stood still in his grasp, her heart pounding, her gaze darting between his eyes and the muscular chest in front of her. The vulnerability in the air was almost too much to bear, but neither moved to break it. She hesitated for a moment, her gaze meeting his. She saw no trace of manipulation in his eyes—only love.  

“This is your choice,” Ares said quietly, his hands resting gently on her waist. “It always has been.” Her lips curved into the faintest smile, and she leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper.   

“Then stop talking.”  

Ares kissed her, slow and consuming, as if the entire world had stopped around them. Xena responded, her lips parting as his tongue slid against hers, the heat between them building with every moment. His hands moved to her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left between their bodies. She could feel the strength in his grip, but it wasn’t rough—it was steady, grounding her as if he knew she needed it.  

As the kiss deepened, Ares’ fingers found the ties of her leathers. He worked them loose with surprising care, his knuckles brushing against her skin with every movement. Xena’s breathing grew shallow as her dress slipped from her shoulders, falling to the floor with a soft thud. Ares pulled back to look at her, his eyes dark with something she couldn’t name.  

“You’re beautiful.”  

Xena’s lips pulled into a faint smile. She reached for the waistband of his pants, her fingers slipping under the fabric, feeling his arousal. He hissed softly at the contact, his hands tightening on her waist as she pushed them down.   

They fell, leaving him naked in front of her, the firelight dancing across his skin. He knelt down in front of her and kissed her stomach. For a moment, his eyes traced every inch of her, his breath warm against her stomach. When he finally stood, he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over her cheekbones as if memorizing her.  

“Xena,” he murmured, her name a prayer on his lips. She leaned into his touch, her walls crumbling with every passing second.   

“Ares,” she whispered back, her voice cracking.  

He kissed her again, lifting her into his arms and carrying her to the bed. The fur-lined sheets were cool against her skin as he laid her down gently, his body hovering over hers. His lips found her neck, trailing down to her collarbone and lower, leaving a path of heat. Xena arched into him, her fingers tangling in his hair as soft moans escaped her lips.  

Ares moved slowly, savoring every inch of her as if he was discovering her for the first time. His hands roamed her body, sliding down her sides, gripping her hips, and trailing back up to cup her breasts. He took his time, his mouth and hands working in unison to worship her, to show her what words couldn’t.  

“Fuck, Xena,” he groaned against her skin, his voice thick with need. “You’re perfect.”  

Her body burned under his touch, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he worked his way down her stomach, his tongue flicking against her skin. When he reached her thighs, she shivered, her legs parting instinctively.   

Ares paused, his eyes meeting hers as he leaned down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin between her legs. Xena cried out, her hands gripping the sheets as pleasure coursed through her. He didn’t stop, his tongue and fingers working her until her moans turned into cries, her body trembling with release.  

When he moved back up her body, his lips found hers again, capturing her gasps as he positioned himself between her legs. He entered her slowly, his hands framing her face as he watched her expression. Xena closed her eyes. The way his hands framed her face, the heat of his palms grounding her while his eyes bore into hers—it felt like he was unraveling her, peeling back every layer she had worked so hard to build. She couldn’t bear to keep looking at him. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she felt exposed, like he was seeing her in a way no one ever had. Her lips parted as a soft moan escaped. He paused, letting her adjust, before he began to move.  

Her heart pounded against her ribs, each beat louder than the last. She had been in battles that shook the earth, faced warriors and gods alike, but this was different. This was terrifying in its intimacy. His gaze didn’t just touch her body—it reached her soul, tugging at emotions she didn’t know how to name. Her defenses were crumbling under the force of it.  

As his body moved against hers, slow and careful, she felt every ounce of him—physically, yes, but emotionally too. It wasn’t just the physical connection that overwhelmed her. He was here, inside her, holding her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.  She hated it and loved it all at once. She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go—not from him, not from herself.  

Their rhythm began unhurried, each deep thrust sending waves of pleasure through Xena that made her breath catch. She clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders, her body responding to every movement as if it had been waiting for this moment forever. The firelight danced across their skin, highlighting the sheen of sweat that formed between them as their connection grew deeper.  

Ares leaned down, his lips brushing against the curve of her ear. She could feel his warm breath, the vibrations of his voice as he murmured,   

“You’re everything, Xena. You always have been.” His tongue licked along the edge of her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. He groaned softly, his voice thick with emotion.   

“I love you,” he said, his words almost a moan as he buried himself deeper inside her. His hands slid down her back, pulling her closer, needing her as much as he needed to breathe.  

Xena’s chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, her lips parting as she tried to steady herself against the onslaught of sensations. She felt the impact of his words pressing against her heart, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she bit her bottom lip, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh.  

Ares shifted his body slightly, his lips finding hers in a sudden, intense kiss that left no space between them. His tongue slid against hers, their breaths mingling as his pace quickened. The kiss was desperate, messy, his teeth grazing her lower lip as if he wanted to devour her completely. Xena moaned into his mouth, her hands gripping the back of his neck as she pulled him even closer.  

“Fuck, Xena,” Ares groaned against her lips, his voice hoarse and raw with need. “You feel so damn good. You’re driving me insane.”  

She didn’t reply, couldn’t reply, too lost in the way his mouth moved against hers, the way his body claimed her with every thrust. He kissed her again, harder this time, his hand sliding up to tangle in her hair as he tilted her head back. His lips trailed down her jawline, his tongue flicking against her skin before he sucked gently, leaving a mark that made her gasp.  

“You’re mine,” he murmured into her neck, his voice low and possessive. “Say it.”  

Xena’s nails raked down his back, her lips parting as his words sent a wave of heat through her. She didn’t answer, her defiance a silent challenge, and Ares growled softly, his teeth grazing her collarbone before he soothed the spot with his tongue.  

“You’re so stubborn,” he whispered. “It just makes me want you more.”  

His lips traveled lower, kissing a heated path down her chest until he took her breast into his mouth. Xena gasped, her body arching into him as his tongue circled her nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before he sucked harder. She felt the tension building inside her, each movement of his hips sending her closer to the edge.  

“Ares,” she moaned softly, her voice barely above a whisper as her head pressed harder against the pillows. He grinned against her skin, his hands gripping her waist as he drove deeper, his pace becoming relentless.   

“That’s it,” he groaned, his breath hot against her chest. “Let me hear you.”  

Xena’s moans grew louder, her body trembling beneath him as he brought her closer and closer to the brink. His lips found hers again, silencing her cries with a kiss that was just as wild and consuming as the rest of him. She bit his lip lightly, and he groaned in response, his hips snapping harder against hers.  

“Damn,” he muttered, his forehead pressing against hers as he fought to hold himself back. “I’ll never get enough of you.”  

Xena’s hands slid down his back, her nails digging into his skin as the tension inside her coiled tighter. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper, and his control finally snapped. His movements became desperate, his moans mixing with hers as they both reached their peak together, the room filled with the sound of their release.  

Ares didn’t stop. His lips found hers again, slower this time, savoring the taste of her as he guided them both through the aftershocks. Xena trembled beneath him, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. He kissed her deeply, his hand sliding to cradle her face as if he couldn’t bear to let her go. When they finally broke apart, Ares rested his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her lips.   

“I love you. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Xena,” he said, his voice a raw confession.   

“And I’d give up everything just to have this with you.” He kissed her once more, slower this time, his lips lingering on hers before moving to her jaw, her neck, and back to her mouth.  

Xena closed her eyes, biting her lip as tears formed in the corners. Ares noticed but said nothing, his hands gripping hers as he held her close. He kissed her softly, his mind racing with questions he didn’t dare ask. Did she regret this? Did she hate him for saying those words? Or was she simply overwhelmed, like he was?  

For now, he stayed quiet, choosing to show her through his touch what he couldn’t put into words.  

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Living in the Moment  

The room was quiet, the fire casting dancing shadows across the walls. Ares laid back against the pillows, his hand massaging over Xena’s waist. She stared at the ceiling, her body stiff despite the warmth of his skin against hers. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. She broke it with a sharp, biting comment.   

“Well, there you have it,” she said dryly, her voice cutting through the stillness. “Transaction complete.”  

Ares froze, his hand stilling on her side. He propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at her.   

“Excuse me?”  

“You heard me,” she said, turning her head to meet his gaze. “You got what you wanted. The deal’s sealed.” His expression darkened, and he sat up fully, running a hand through his hair.   

“Is that what you think this was?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “A transaction?” Xena shrugged, her lips curling into a bitter smile.   

“What else could it be? You named the terms, I agreed. This was just part of the deal.”   Ares’ jaw clenched, his frustration rising. He turned toward her, his gaze locking onto hers.

“Don’t do that, Xena. Don’t cheapen this.”  

“Cheap?” she repeated with a scoff, sitting up to face him. “What do you expect me to say, Ares? That this was some grand, romantic moment? That I wanted this? That I felt something?”  

“Yes,” he shot back, his voice rising. “Because you did feel something and you wanted this just as much as I did. Don’t lie to me—and don’t lie to yourself.” Her eyes flashed with anger as she leaned closer.   

“You don’t know what I felt.”  

“I know exactly what you felt,” he countered, his voice steady but laced with heat. “I felt it too. You think you can just pretend it wasn’t real? That you didn’t want this as much as I did?” She laughed bitterly, shaking her head.   

“You’re unbelievable. You’ll say anything to make yourself feel better, won’t you? Let me make it easy for you: I felt nothing.” Ares stared at her, his expression hardening as her words cut deep. For a moment, he said nothing, his jaw working as he tried to control his temper. Then, with a deadly slowness, he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.  

“You’re lying.” Xena’s breath hitched, and she hated the way her body betrayed her, the way her pulse quickened at his nearness.   

“You don’t know what I’m feeling,” she said, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to keep it steady.  

“I do,” he said firmly, his hand reaching out to brush against her cheek. “I know you, Xena. Better than anyone. And I know that you’re scared to admit the truth.” She pulled back, her eyes narrowing.   

“The truth?” she repeated. “What truth?”  

“That you wanted this,” he said simply. “That you wanted me.”  

“Well, let me tell you the truth you’re so desperate to hear,” Xena spat, her voice like steel. Her eyes burned into his, her body rigid with fury. “You disgust me! I will never get your stench off of me, no matter how long I soak in a bath.”  

Ares straightened, his smirk faltering, but she wasn’t done.  

“You don’t love me,” she continued, her tone rising with every word. “You don’t give a damn about me! All I’ve ever been to you is a piece of ass. Free ass at that!”  

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his silence feeding her rage.  

“You know why, Ares?” she pressed, stepping closer. “Because you finally found my weakness. My family. My daughter. And what did you do? You used it to your advantage, just like you always do, you selfish bastard!”  

Ares took a step closer, his face hardening as he pointed at her. “You’re wrong, Xena. You don’t get to stand there and tell me how I feel. I love you. I always have.”  

She let out a sharp, bitter laugh, rolling her eyes as she turned her back on him. “Love? You’re the god of war, Ares. You don’t know the first thing about love.”  

His hand twitched at his side, the frustration simmering in his voice as he responded. “You think this is easy for me? You think I’d go through all of this for someone I don’t love?”  

She spun back to face him, her arms crossing over her chest. “Oh, please. You didn’t go through anything, Ares. You struck a deal. That’s not love. That’s business.”  

“It wasn’t business to me,” he said firmly, his voice cracking slightly. “Do you think I’ve chased you all these years because I was bored? Because I had nothing better to do? You’re not just some mortal I toy with, Xena. You’re the only one who’s ever mattered.”  

She scoffed again, shaking her head as she looked at him like he was a fool. “You don’t love me, Ares. You love the idea of me. The warrior. The challenge. You love that you can’t control me, and that drives you crazy. That’s what this is about. Not me.”  

“No!” he barked, his voice rising as he took another step forward. “This isn’t about control. It’s never been about control with you. I love you, not because of the challenge, not because of the warrior, but because of who you are.”  

“And who am I, Ares?” she asked, her tone mocking. “Go ahead, tell me. Enlighten me.”  

“You’re the only person who’s ever made me want more than war,” he said, his voice quieter now, more earnest. “You’re strong, fierce, stubborn as hell, and you make me insane half the time, but I’d burn the whole world down if it meant keeping you safe.”  

Her expression flickered for a moment, something almost unreadable passing through her eyes, but she quickly hid it, shaking her head again. “You’re good, Ares. I’ll give you that. You almost sound convincing.”  

His hands clenched into fists, his frustration rising. “This isn’t a game, Xena. This is me standing here, telling you the truth. And you’re too damn scared to believe it.”  

“I’m not scared,” she snapped, her voice sharp. “I’m realistic. And the truth is, you don’t know how to love anyone but yourself.”  

Ares’ face hardened, the sharpness in her tone slicing through him. He stepped closer, his voice low but filled with anger. “That’s not true, and you know it. I’ve done everything for you, Xena. Everything. And you still stand there and act like I’m the villain.”  

She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “Because you are, Ares. You’ve always been the villain. Don’t stand there pretending you’re some kind of hero because you helped me this one time.”  

“I didn’t just help you,” he countered, his eyes narrowing. “I saved you, Gabrielle, and Eve. I gave you everything you needed, and all you can do is spit in my face?”  

“Save me?” she scoffed, her lip curling in disdain. “You didn’t save me, Ares. You sent me straight to Tartarus.” Her words hit like a hammer, the weight of them silencing him for a brief moment. His lips parted as if to respond, but she wasn’t done.  

 “You want to talk about what I feel? Fine. Every thrust you took in me made my stomach churn. I had to fight the bile rising in my throat just to get through it.”  

Ares flinched, but she pressed on, her voice rising. “Every kiss you planted on my skin made me want to peel it off. Do you have any idea what it’s like to feel that disgusted with yourself? To hate every second of what you’re doing because you know you’re only doing it to save the people you love?”  

“I’ll give you your damn child because I agreed to this stupid deal. But that’s where it ends, Ares. You’ll never see that baby. You’ll never be part of its life. I will make sure of it.” His jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides.  

“You can’t mean that.”  

“Oh, I mean every word,” she hissed, her eyes blazing. “You wanted a legacy? Fine. But you’ll get it without ever laying eyes on your precious heir.”  

“That’s not how this works,” he said, his voice rising as he stepped closer to her. “You don’t get to cut me out, Xena. I’m the father.”  

“You’re nothing,” she spat, her voice trembling with rage. “You don’t get to be a father, Ares. Not to my child.” His frustration boiled over, his hand shooting out to grab her arm.  

“You can’t just take this away from me!” She ripped her arm free, her glare sharp enough to draw blood.  

“Watch me.”  

He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off, her words hitting like a whip. “You think I felt something for you? You think I wanted this? No, Ares. I endured it. I endured you. You’re a parasite, feeding off people’s desperation, twisting them until they have nothing left. And do you want to know the worst part? It’s not even you I hate the most. It’s me. Because for a moment, a tiny, stupid moment, I almost believed you. I almost let myself think you cared.”  

Ares’ face hardened, his jaw clenched as her words sliced through him. “Xena—”  

“No,” she snapped, her voice shaking. “You don’t get to talk. Not after what you’ve done. You don’t love me, Ares. You love power, and you love winning. That’s all this ever was to you—a win. And I’m just the fool who fell for it.”  

Ares moved towards her, his expression darkening. “You can’t blame me for everything, Xena. You came to me. You made the deal.”  

She didn’t even glance at him as she yanked her armor on, her movements sharp and angry. “And it’s the worst decision I’ve ever made. Because now, I have to live with the fact that I let you win.” His jaw tightened as his frustration rose.  

“I didn’t win, Xena. This isn’t a game.” She spun around, her glare cutting through him. “Oh, but it is, Ares. Everything with you is a game. And the prize? Me. You got me, didn’t you? I hope it was worth it.”  

He tried to pull her into his arms but she pulled away, grabbing her sword and strapping it to her back. Her movements were stiff, her fury boiling over as she turned towards the door.   Without waiting for his response, she walked out of the room and into the cool night. The air hit her face, sharp and biting, but she welcomed it. She untied Argo from the post, mounting the horse easily. Her body moved automatically but her mind was a mess.  

The steady rhythm of Argo’s hooves did nothing to calm the chaos in her mind. The heat from the temple still lingered on her skin, a reminder of what had just happened that she couldn’t shake.  

Her grip on the reins tightened, her knuckles pale as her breathing quickened. What have I done? The question echoed in her mind over and over, leaving no space for anything else.  

Her jaw tightened as guilt settled heavily in her chest. She had promised herself she wouldn’t let Ares win. She had walked into that temple determined to keep her distance, to honor the deal but keep her soul intact. And yet… she had failed. Worse than failed—she had let herself fall into his hands, let herself feel something.  

The thought made her stomach turn. Had it been real? Had any of it been real? Or had he manipulated her, twisted her emotions like he always did? Ares was a master at playing games, weaving webs of lies and half-truths to get what he wanted. She had spent years outsmarting him, resisting him. So why had she given in now?  

Her chest heaved as her mind replayed the details of their lustful night, the memories too vivid to ignore. The way his hands had held her—not with dominance, but with care. The way his eyes had softened, dark and full of something she didn’t dare name. She had seen him as she never had before, not just a god, but something… human.  

And that was the worst part. It had felt real. Too real.  

Her fingers tightened on the reins, her teeth grinding together as anger surged through her. “Damn you, Ares,” she hissed under her breath. He had no right to make her feel this way. No right to confuse her, to make her question herself. She was supposed to be in control, but with him, control always slipped through her fingers like sand.  

She hated that she couldn’t stop thinking about how he had looked at her. That look—it was burned into her mind, haunting her. Vulnerable. Open. Like she was the only thing that mattered in the world to him. And for a brief moment, she had believed it. She had let herself believe it. She scoffed.  

Her cheeks burned as she thought of another memory. The way her body had responded to his touch, the way she had surrendered to him so completely. Not because she had to, not because of the deal, but because in that moment, she had wanted to. Her heart raced, a sharp pang of shame cutting through her as she fought against the truth.  

No. She shook her head, her hair whipping in the wind. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. This was Ares. He always had an angle, always a plan. He had manipulated her emotions, played on her vulnerabilities. That was the only explanation.  

But… a small, unwelcomed voice whispered in the back of her mind, What if it wasn’t a game?  

Her jaw tightened.  She didn’t have time for this, didn’t have time to unravel the mess of emotions that he had stirred in her. Gabrielle and Eve were waiting for her. They needed her strong, focused. She couldn’t let Ares poison her mind any more than he already had.  

But no matter how hard she tried to push him out, he lingered, his presence as persistent as the wind against her face. His voice echoed in her ears, low and rough, full of emotion she never thought he was capable of. "I never wanted this to be about power. Not with you. It’s never been about that with you."  

Her chest tightened, and she leaned forward in the saddle, urging Argo to go faster. The cool night air stung her eyes, but she welcomed it. She needed to feel something other than this chaos, this confusion. She needed to escape him, even if he wasn’t there.  

The farmhouse came into view, its warm glow piercing the darkened landscape. Xena reined in Argo, dismounting stiffly. Her body moved on instinct, her muscles aching from the ride, but her mind was far from here. The weight of what she’d done—what she’d allowed—pressed down on her like a stone.  

She led Argo to the post by the side of the house and tied her off.  For a moment, she lingered, her fingers gripping the reins tightly as if they were her lifeline. The familiar sight of the farmhouse should have brought her relief, but instead, it only deepened the knot in her chest.  

The sound of the door creaking open broke through her thoughts. Gabrielle stepped outside and her face lit up the moment she saw her. “Xena!” she called out as she rushed to her. Behind her, Eve emerged from inside. Her expression was calmer, but her eyes carefully scanned Xena for any sign of injury.  

Gabrielle threw her arms around her, holding her tightly. “You’re back. Thank the gods.”  

Xena stiffened. Her body grew tense while her arms slowly came up to return the hug. The contact felt too close, too warm, and her chest tightened. “I said I’d be,” she muttered, her voice low and rough.  

Gabrielle pulled back, her hands lingering on Xena’s arms as she searched her face. “Are you okay? What happened?”  

Xena pulled out of her grip, stepping past her and into the house. “It’s done,” she said bluntly. “That’s all that matters.”  

Gabrielle frowned, her brow creasing as she followed. “What does that mean? Did he—did Ares—?”  

“Drop it, Gabrielle,” Xena snapped, cutting her off. She winced inwardly as the words came out, harsher than she intended. She glanced briefly at Gabrielle’s hurt expression but didn’t offer any reassurance. She couldn’t. Not now.  

Eve walked to her. “Mother, we’re glad you’re safe.”  

Xena gave her a small nod, avoiding her gaze. “Thanks,” she muttered, moving towards the hearth to take off her weapons and armor.  

Gabrielle and Eve exchanged a glance, their relief tempered by the tension radiating off her.  

Gabrielle watched Xena carefully, her brows creased in concern as the warrior began removing her weapons. The sword hit the table with a thud, followed by her gauntlets. Xena’s jaw tightened while she unbuckled the straps of her armor. Her shoulders remained stiff with tension.  

“You must be starving,” Gabrielle said, her voice bright, as though trying to cut through the heavy air in the room. “I can heat something up for you. We still have bread and stew left.”  

“I’m fine,” Xena said shortly, not looking up.  

Gabrielle paced by the table, wringing her hands as she glanced at Eve. “Maybe just some water, then. Or—”  

“Gabrielle.” Xena’s voice cut through the room. She placed her breastplate on the table with unnecessary force. Her hands gripped the edges for a moment before she stood back up.  

“I said I’m fine.” Gabrielle flinched at the sharpness of her tone but quickly hid it with a nod. “Okay,” she said softly, stepping back. “I’ll stop fussing.”  

Eve stepped closer to Xena. “Mother,” she said quietly, her gaze steady. “You should rest. You’ve been through a lot.” Xena exhaled sharply, her fingers twitching as she flexed her hands.  

“I don’t need rest,” she muttered, though Eve could hear how tired she was. She grabbed the cup of water Gabrielle had set on the table and downed it all in one go. Gabrielle watched her closely, her lips pressed together with worry.  

“If you change your mind—”  

“I won’t,” Xena interrupted, her tone short. She turned towards the hearth and crouched to adjust the logs. The warmth of the fire brushed against her skin, but it felt distant, like it belonged to someone else’s home. Eve placed a hand on Gabrielle’s shoulder, giving her a small shake of the head as if to say, Let her be.  

Gabrielle hesitated but nodded, stepping back into the kitchen. The room was silent, except for the crackling of the fire and the faint rustle of Xena’s movements. She sat on the edge of the chair near the hearth, her shoulders slumping slightly as the weight she’d been carrying all evening began to press harder.  

Eve lingered for a moment before walking to her mother. “I’ll bring some blankets down for you,” she said gently.  

“I’m not sleeping down here.” Xena replied. Eve nodded, not pressing further, and disappeared up the stairs. Gabrielle busied herself in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes breaking the quietness. Xena stared into the flames, her expression unreadable as her thoughts churned.  

The farmhouse had gone quiet. The fire burned low now. Xena stood by the window with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The cool night air seeped through the wooden frame, brushing against her skin, but it did little to calm the storm inside her.  

Her reflection in the glass stared back at her, unflinching. She looked the same—every muscle, every scar—but the woman she saw felt like a stranger. What have I done? The question gnawed at her, over and over, refusing to let her go.  

Gabrielle appeared in the doorway. She paused before crossing the room and moved carefully, as if she didn’t want to startle her.   

“You couldn’t sleep?” she asked, her voice gentle. Xena didn’t turn to look at her, her gaze fixed outside.  

“No,” she said shortly. Gabrielle lingered for a moment, her fingers toying with the edge of her sleeve.  

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked carefully.  

“No,” Xena said again, her tone hard. Gabrielle frowned but didn’t back away.  

“Xena… what happened in that temple? What did he do to you?” Xena’s body stiffened, her grip on her arms tightening. Gabrielle’s words sliced through her, pulling her back to the firelight of the temple, the heat of Ares’ hands, his voice— rough and unguarded as he whispered while their bodies melted together, “I love you, Xena. I’ve always loved you.”  

Her stomach twisted, and her breathing grew shallow as the memories clawed their way to the surface. She could still feel the way he had felt inside her—how every movement seemed to claim her, leaving her breathless and wanting, as though she was the only one who could ever satisfy him. It was too much. The guilt, the anger, the confusion. It was too much.  

“I can’t,” Xena said finally, her voice low and trembling. She shook her head, refusing to meet Gabrielle’s gaze. “I can’t talk about it.”  

Gabrielle stepped closer, her concern burned into every line of her face. “Xena, I’m not asking to pry. I’m asking because I care. Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”  

Xena turned sharply, her eyes flashing. “You think you can fix this?” she snapped, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. “You think if I just say it out loud, it’ll go away? You don’t want to know, Gabrielle.”  

Gabrielle flinched but didn’t back down. Her voice softened. “Maybe I don’t,” she admitted. “But I want to help.”  

“You can’t,” Xena said, her voice quieter now, though no less pained. She turned back to the window, her jaw tightening as she forced the memories down again. “I can’t even help myself.” A single tear ran down her cheek.  

The room fell into silence, the tension thick and suffocating. Gabrielle stood there for a moment, worried, but she finally nodded. “Okay,” she said softly. “Okay, Xena. I won’t push.”  

Xena didn’t look at her. Her shoulders slumped slightly as she stared out into the night, the fire in the hearth burning lower and lower. “Thanks,” she muttered, though the word felt hollow in her chest. Gabrielle walked away, leaving Xena alone with her thoughts.  

The temple was quiet now, the previously burning fire reduced to embers. Ares sat on the edge of his throne, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers resting under his chin. He stared into the dying flames, his jaw tight, his mind a mess.  

She felt nothing.  

Her words echoed in his head, sharp and irritating. Just like in that damn temple, she wanted to lie AGAIN! He exhaled slowly, his breath shuddering as he leaned back, running a hand through his hair. Xena had always known how to cut deep, but this… this had been something else.  

She knew what they had done. She knew it hadn’t been meaningless. Every look, every touch, every kiss—they had all been real, raw, unguarded. She couldn’t deny that. And yet, she had.  

“She felt nothing,” he muttered bitterly, his fingers curling into fists. “Damn her.”  

He stood abruptly, pacing the length of the room. The weight of her words pressed against his chest. She was lying—he knew it, felt it. He’d seen it in her eyes, in the way her body had responded to his, in the way she had let herself fall into him. But Xena was nothing if not stubborn. She would rather choke on her pride than admit the truth.  

“She always twists my words,” he said to no one, his voice low and bitter. “Always finds a way to turn them against me, to make me the villain. Even when we both know…”  

He stopped, his shoulders tense as he clenched his jaw. Even when we both know this wasn’t about the deal. It hadn’t been about power, or strategy, or legacy. Not for him. Not this time. It had been about her. About them. About something he had never been willing to admit, not fully, until now.  

“I love you, Xena.” The words had come so easily in the moment, and he’d meant every one of them. For decades, he’d whispered them in his mind, in the quiet corners of his heart, but saying them out loud—he’d thought it would change something. He thought she’d see him, truly see him, for who he was.  

Instead, she’d walked away.   

Again.  

Ares blew out a breath, shaking his head as a bitter laugh escaped him. “Of course she did. That’s what she does.”  

He turned back to the fire, his eyes narrowing. Xena had always infuriated him, always pushed him to the edge of his patience, but this time… this time was different. This time, she hadn’t just denied him—she’d denied herself. She felt something. He knew she had. But instead of facing it, she’d run, hiding behind the same walls she always built to keep him out.  

“Fine,” he said, his voice hardening as he straightened. “If she wants to act like this is just a deal, then so be it.”  

The flames in the hearth flickered, casting long shadows across the room as he clenched his fists. She had made her choice, but so had he. The deal wasn’t just about one night—it was about them. She was his now, whether she wanted to admit it or not.  

“She wants to play games?” he muttered, his eyes flashing. “Let’s see how long she can keep pretending.”  

With a slow breath, Ares rolled his shoulders, his determination solidifying like steel. She was his, and he wasn’t going to let her slip away again. Not this time. Not ever. The other part of their deal was just beginning, and he intended to claim what was his. A sharp laugh escaped his lips. The sheer absurdity of it—Xena thinking she could keep his child away from him—was almost amusing. Almost.  

“She really thinks she can shut me out,” he muttered, shaking his head. His smirk faded, replaced by a flicker of something darker. “My child. The God of War’s child. And she thinks I won’t be part of its life?” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, staring into the fire.  

“She can fight me all she wants. Pretend I don’t matter. But she knows. Deep down, she knows.” Standing to his full height, Ares’ expression grew cold, determined.  

“You wanted this, Xena,” he said quietly, the firelight reflecting in his dark eyes. “And now you’re going to have it. You and that child are mine. And I’ll be damned if I let you forget it.” With a flick of his wrist, the flames in the hearth roared to life, brighter than ever. In the next instant, he was gone.  

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: The Fine Print  

Xena laid on her side and stared into the flames while her thoughts raced. She had been bracing herself for something—anything. She knew Ares well enough to know he wouldn’t leave things alone for long. He never did.  

When the faint disturbance of air filled the room, she didn’t even flinch. She turned her head slightly, already knowing who it was.  

“What now, Ares?” she muttered, her voice low and flat.  

He was leaning casually against the doorframe with his arms crossed and a smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “What, no ‘hello’? Not even a ‘thank you’ for the lovely visit?”  

Xena sat up slowly, her eyes narrowing. “If you’re here to rehash the temple, save it. I’m not in the mood.”  

Ares laughed, stepping further into the room. “Oh, I’m not here to talk about what happened,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “As much as I’d love to remind you of a few... highlights.”  

Her jaw tightened, but she refused to rise to the bait. “Then what do you want?”  

He stopped a few paces from her bed, his eyes locking onto hers. The teasing smile faded, replaced by something sharper, more commanding. “I’m here to remind you of the rest of the deal.”  

Xena’s brows creased, her confusion clear as she crossed her arms. “What are you talking about?”  

Ares tilted his head slightly, his smirk returning. “The deal, Xena. You remember—be with me, give me a child, and all your little god problems disappear. Ring a bell?”  

Her lips curled into a mocking smile as she stepped closer. “Be with you?” she repeated, her tone sharp. “That’s done. CHECK,” she added, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She glanced down at her stomach, then back at him with a smug look. “And the child? Too early to tell.”  

Ares laughed, low and rich, but the sound lacked humor. “Oh, Xena,” he said, shaking his head. “You really think that’s all it meant? One night? A one-time deal? You agreed to be with me— my partner. Not just for a night, but always.”  

Her body stiffened and her expression hardened as his words sunk in. “Always?” she snapped. “You’re twisting this into something it’s not.”  

“Am I?” he countered smoothly, stepping closer. His voice dropped, the teasing edge replaced by something darker. “You knew exactly what this meant. You knew it wasn’t just about one night or even just a child. You’re mine, Xena. That’s what you agreed to.”  

Her fists clenched at her sides, her anger bubbling to the surface. “I agreed to one night with you and a possible child, if it happened after that one night. That’s it. Don’t try to spin this into something more.”  

He smirked. “You can pretend all you want, but deep down, you know I’m right. You agreed to be mine, Xena. And that doesn’t come with an expiration date.”  

Xena stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she met his gaze. “You’re delusional if you think I’ll ever belong to you. I did what I had to do, Ares. Nothing more.”  

He leaned in, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down her spine. “You can fight it all you want, but we both know the truth. This isn’t over. It’s only just beginning.”  

Her jaw tightened, and she took a sharp breath as she stood her ground. “Get out,” she hissed, her voice trembling with anger.  

Ares studied her for a moment, his smirk softening into something unreadable. Then, with a faint shrug, he straightened. “I’ll give you time to process it. But don’t take too long, Xena. You and I both know you can’t outrun this.”  

And with a flick of his hand, he disappeared, leaving Xena alone, her fists clenched and her mind racing. Xena sat back on the edge of the bed, gripping the blanket tightly as her chest rose and fell. She had expected vulnerability, expected him to try to break her down with softness. But this—this was worse. Because it was exactly what she’d feared. 

He was never going to let her go.   

The grand hall of Olympus was dimly lit, the golden torches casting flickering shadows across the room. Athena stood at the head of the table, her expression cold and calculating. Around her, the gods gathered—Apollo, Artemis, Hephaestus, and Hades, their expressions a mix of discontent and tension.  

“Ares has crossed the line,” Athena began, her voice sharp and steady. “His betrayal is no longer a matter of speculation. It’s a fact.”  

Apollo leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “And what do you propose we do about it? Confront him? Punish him? Ares has always danced to his own tune. This is just... more of the same.”  

Athena’s eyes narrowed as she fixed her gaze on him. “This isn’t just Ares being Ares, Apollo. He’s sided with Xena—a mortal—and helped her destroy our brethren. He’s undermined us, disrespected our laws, and now he’s forging alliances against Olympus. Do you really think we can let that stand?”  

Artemis, seated beside Apollo, frowned. “You’re assuming he’s truly committed to Xena. Ares is nothing if not self-serving. He may simply be using her for his own ends.”  

“Perhaps,” Athena replied , her tone icy. “But we can’t ignore the possibility that he’s serious. He’s protected her and her child. He’s defied us openly. If this alliance is real, then he’s a threat to all of us.”  

Hephaestus adjusted in his seat, the soft sound of his armor breaking the silence. “And if it’s not? If he’s just toying with her, as he does with everyone else?”  

Hades’ deep voice cut through the conversation. “If Ares has chosen Xena over Olympus, then he’s a traitor. And traitors must be dealt with.”  

A tense silence filled the hall as Athena spoke up, her gaze sweeping across the table. “So, the question is this: do we act now, or do we wait and see where his loyalty truly lies? Do we risk giving him more time to strengthen his bond with Xena?”  

Apollo tapped his fingers on the table with a thoughtful expression. “If we move too soon, we risk driving him further into her arms. If we wait too long, we risk giving him more power.”  

Artemis tilted her head, her voice quieter but no less firm. “Do we even believe Ares would go so far as to die for Xena? That he would truly stand against us to his end?”  

Athena’s jaw tightened, her voice hard. “Ares has always been unpredictable. But this... this feels different. He’s made sacrifices for her. He’s chosen her over us, time and again. If he’s willing to gamble everything for her, we cannot afford to underestimate him.”  

Hephaestus grunted. “And if we decide to punish him, how? Ares isn’t one to take kindly to being... disciplined.”  

Athena’s lips curled into a cold smile. “He’s not invincible. And his weakness lies with her. If we want to punish him, we start with Xena.”  

The gods exchanged uneasy glances. Apollo leaned forward, his voice filled with doubt. “You’d risk provoking her? She has the power to kill us. If we push too hard—”  

“She’ll retaliate,” Artemis finished.  

Athena’s eyes burned with determination. “Then we must be strategic. Ares’ betrayal cannot go unanswered, but neither can Xena’s defiance. If we play this right, we can bring them both to their knees.”  

The room fell silent once more, the gods lost in their thoughts. Finally, Hades spoke, his voice calm but firm. “If we’re going to act, we need to act soon. The longer we wait, the stronger they become.”  

Athena nodded with a firm gaze. “Then it’s decided. We will punish Ares—but carefully. And we will make Xena regret ever aligning with him.”  

The tension in the room grew heavier as Apollo glanced around, his brows pulling together. “Where’s Aphrodite?” he asked, his voice sharp with suspicion.  

Artemis leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “She’s conveniently missing,” she said.  

“I could have sworn I felt her presence earlier,” Apollo said, narrowing his eyes.  

Athena’s brow creased. “If she was here, I didn’t pick up on her. Did anyone else sense her?”  

The other gods exchanged glances, their expressions ranging from confusion to skepticism. Hades shook his head. “No. If she was here, she didn’t make herself known.”  

“It makes you wonder where her loyalty really is.”  

Hephaestus sat upright, placing both hands on the table with a slow firmness. His voice was steady but carried a warning. “Aphrodite isn’t a traitor. She may avoid war, but she’s not siding with Ares or Xena.”  

Artemis looked at him with a doubtful expression. “Are you sure? Ares is her brother. Family bonds can cloud judgment.”  

Hephaestus’ jaw tightened as his eyes darkened. His voice dropped to a colder tone. “I know my wife. Don’t accuse her without proof.”  

Athena looked between them with an unreadable expression. “Loyal or not, her absence sends a message. If she’s not here, she’s not helping us.”  

The room fell silent. Hephaestus leaned forward slightly, his focus unwavering. “Aphrodite keeps her distance from conflicts like this. Don’t drag her into it unless you have a reason.”  

Athena gave a short nod, though her attention lingered on Hephaestus. “For now, we deal with the traitor we know. Ares is the priority.”  

Aphrodite stood in front of her golden mirror, holding up a flowing pink gown against her body. She frowned and tossed it aside before rummaging through a pile of shimmering fabrics. “No, not enough sparkle. Maybe the darker pink?” she mused, pulling another gown from the pile.  

She draped it over herself and struck a pose. “Perfect.” Just as she reached for a set of jeweled bangles, the sun caught her eye. “Oh, no!” she gasped, realizing she was late for the council meeting.  

With a snap of her fingers, she disappeared, leaving her chaotic wardrobe behind.  

She reappeared just outside the hall, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. She paused as the voices of her fellow gods carried through the open doorway. “Ares has crossed the line,” Athena’s voice rang out sharply.  

Aphrodite froze, her heart skipping a beat. She stepped closer to the doorway, her breath catching as she realized the topic of discussion.  

“His betrayal is no longer speculation,” Athena continued, her tone cold. “It’s fact.”  

Aphrodite’s stomach twisted, the weight of the words settling heavily on her. Ares—her brother, her blood—was their target. She felt the pull of loyalty to Olympus, to the gods she had shared eternity with, but it went against her instinct to protect Ares. He may have been reckless, but she loved him.  

Her fingers grazed the edge of the doorframe, her heart torn. If she stepped inside, she would be expected to side with them, to condemn Ares. If she stayed silent, she could warn him, give him a chance to prepare for whatever punishment the council might decide.  

She took a step back, her decision hovering on a knife’s edge. Ares could be infuriating, arrogant, and impossible—but he was still family. And family came first.  

Before she could let herself second-guess her choice, she disappeared again, leaving only the faintest trace of perfume in the air as she went to find her brother.  

Xena laid motionless on the bed, staring at the fire’s flickering glow. His scent lingered on her, faint yet unmistakable. She inhaled sharply and rolled onto her side, burying her face into the crook of her arm. The warmth of the fire did little to chase away the chill that crept into her chest.  

Her fingers brushed over her arm and the familiar scent hit her again. It made her stomach churn. She hated how it clung to her, a reminder of everything that had happened. Her mind drifted unwillingly to the way his lips had touched her skin. The thought ignited a surge of anger, burning hotter than the firelight in front of her.  

Suddenly, the image slipped into her mind — her leaning in, her lips finding his. She could almost feel the warmth of his mouth again, the way his breath mingled with hers as if they were sharing more than just a kiss. Her tongue licked her lips, the faintest taste of him seeming to linger.   

Her chest rose sharply, her breaths quickening as the vividness of the memory pulled her under. She remembered the way her fingers had curled into his hair, tugging slightly, the way his hands had gripped her waist as though she might disappear if he let go. And the taste—gods, the way he tasted, something that had burned itself into her senses.  

Without realizing it, her hand pressed against her stomach, her body reacting in ways she wished it wouldn’t. Her skin felt hot, her pulse quickening. Even now, alone in the silence of the farmhouse, her body remembered him, responding to the memory as though it was happening all over again.  

She gripped the blanket tightly as another fragment surfaced. Hearing the way he whispered her name, rough and low, as though it was the only word that mattered. The firelight catching the hunger in his eyes. The way his lips had brushed against the curve of her neck, leaving a trail of heat. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the images only grew stronger, sharper.  

Her hand moved to her collarbone, tracing the spot where his mouth had lingered the longest. A slight shiver ran through her, and warmth spread up her neck, her body reacting in ways she couldn’t control.  

And then it hit her.  

She scoffed sharply, the sound breaking through the haze of her thoughts. She rolled onto her side, yanking the blanket higher over her shoulder as if she could block out the fire, the scent, the memories—him.  

“What is wrong with me?” she muttered, her voice bitter. Her jaw tightened as she forced the thoughts away. This wasn’t who she was. Not anymore.  

Then, she thought about that stupid deal. He had claimed her, declaring she was his. But how could she be his? How could she even begin to consider such a thing when she fought against what he stood for? Scumbags like him, his chaos, the destruction he seemed to thrive on. She was no longer the Xena who had once followed his every command, who had struck down anyone who dared to defy her.  

No, she couldn’t go back to that life. She wouldn’t. Not for him, not for anyone. Her hand moved to her stomach. If a child came from this deal, what kind of life could she offer them? What kind of mother could she be, knowing who the father was? She pushed the thought away, her hands tightening around the blanket as she closed her eyes.  

A soft knock at the door broke through her thoughts.  

“Come in.”  

Eve stepped inside with light steps and a cautious expression. “Mother?”  

Xena turned her head slightly. “You should be resting,” she said, her voice flat.  

“I could say the same to you,” Eve replied, moving closer. She stopped when she reached the bed. The air was heavy with the familiar scent. Her nose twitched, and her stomach turned. She had been around Ares enough to know his scent—the distinct, intoxicating scent of leather, steel, and something else she couldn’t name. And it was all over her mother.  

Her eyes darted to Xena, and a question burned at the tip of her tongue. What really happened between them? She knew the deal, or at least the part Xena had shared. But Ares’ scent was too strong for what little her mother had admitted to. No, there was more—something her mother wasn’t saying.  

Eve hesitated before sitting on the edge of the bed. “You’ve been quiet since you got back,” she said softly.  

Xena’s gaze moved back to the fire. “Just tired.”  

Eve frowned, her voice cautious but steady. “Is it... him? Ares?”  

Xena’s jaw tightened. “Eve, don’t.”  

“Don’t what?” Eve pressed. “Don’t worry about you? Don’t ask questions I deserve answers to?”  

Xena sat up, pulling away from the blanket. “I told you, I’m fine.”  

Eve leaned forward with concern clear on her face. “You don’t have to do this alone, Mother. Whatever you’re feeling, whatever this... deal has done to you, we’re here. Gabrielle and I, we want to help.”  

Xena’s throat tightened. The words she wanted to say stayed lodged in her chest, caught between anger and something deeper, something she didn’t want to name. “I don’t need help,” she said finally. “I made the choice. I’ll handle the consequences.”  

Eve studied her, searching for any cracks in her mother’s iron determination. “You always say that. You always carry everything on your own. But this is different, isn’t it?” Her gaze flicked to Xena’s hand, now resting against her stomach. “He’s in your head. I can see it.”  

Xena flinched but quickly hid it. “Go to bed, Eve.”  

Eve hesitated, but the hard edge in her mother’s tone left no room for argument. “Goodnight, Mother,” she said quietly, standing to leave. She paused at the door, glancing back once more before slipping out into the hallway.  

As the door closed, Xena leaned back against the pillows, the weight of Eve’s words pressing on her. She stared at the ceiling, her hand brushing absently over her arm where his scent still lingered. Her jaw clenched. She whispered to herself, “Get it together, Xena.”  

Aphrodite appeared in Ares’ temple in a swirl of shimmering light and rose petals. She landed gracefully, her hands on her hips as she scanned the room. Ares was leaning casually against his throne, a goblet in hand, his armor gleaming in the dim light of the torches lining the walls.  

“You know, brother,” she began with a tone full of irritation, “for someone who’s supposedly playing it cool, you’re causing quite the uproar.”  

Ares raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip from his goblet. “Good to see you too, Dite. What’s got your corset in a twist this time?”  

She rolled her eyes, crossing the room toward him. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that all of Olympus is ready to throw you into Tartarus for your ‘betrayal.’” She used air quotes as she emphasized the last word, her tone dripping with sarcasm.  

Ares smirked, setting the goblet down on the arm of his throne. “Let them try.”  

Aphrodite let out a huff, her hands dropping to her sides. “You’re impossible, you know that? They’re furious, Ares. Athena, Artemis, even Hephie—they’re all talking about how to deal with you. I heard it myself. You’ve officially made yourself the enemy of the gods.”  

“And?” Ares replied, his expression remaining infuriatingly nonchalant. “What else is new?”  

She stepped closer, her voice lowering as her frustration rose. “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t just about Xena anymore. They think you’ve completely abandoned Olympus. They think you’re a liability.”  

“Let them think what they want,” Ares replied smoothly, his tone filled with amusement. “They’ve underestimated me before.”  

Aphrodite threw her hands up, pacing in front of his throne. “Do you even care about what they’ll do to you? To her?” She stopped, turning to face him. “Because if you think for one second that they’ll leave her out of this, you’re delusional.”  

Ares stood, his towering presence filling the space between them. “You think I haven’t thought about that?” he snapped, his tone sharp. “You think I don’t know what they’re planning?”  

She stared at him, momentarily taken back by the heat in his voice. “Then why are you acting like this doesn’t matter?” she asked, her voice softer now.  

Ares stepped closer, his gaze locking onto hers. “Because it doesn’t,” he said firmly. “Not in the way you think. Let them come. Let them try. I’m not afraid of Athena or her little council.”  

Aphrodite shook her head, her frustration turning into exasperation. “You’re hopeless.”  

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug, turning back to his throne. “But I’m also right.”  

She watched him for a moment longer, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she muttered before disappearing in a swirl of rose petals.  

Ares sank back into his throne, his smirk fading as he stared into the distance. Despite his bravado, the weight of Aphrodite’s words lingered. But if the gods thought they could scare him, they were wrong. He’d made his choice, and he wasn’t about to back down now.  

Xena tried with all her might to go to sleep. But her mind refused to quiet, the stillness of the farmhouse doing nothing to drown out the storm in her head. She turned onto her back and brushed her hand over the blanket, but the motion only sparked a new wave of frustration.  

The scent was still there, faint but maddeningly persistent. She clenched her jaw, her thoughts returning to the temple despite her best efforts to push them away. The firelight on his face, the way his hands had moved over her, the sound of his voice saying her name. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to make the images go away, but they only grew stronger.  

She turned onto her side again, the mattress creaking under her as her fist gripped the blanket. Her skin felt hot, her body restless, and her mind continued to torture her. She could hear his laugh, feel the roughness of his stubble against her skin, the press of his lips on hers. Her chest tightened, her breath quickening as she remembered how her hands had moved on their own, pulling him closer, wanting more.  

“No,” she muttered aloud, the word sharp and angry in the silence. She sat up abruptly, her hands raking through her hair as she tried to calm herself. The cool night air that seeped into the room did little to help. Her skin still burned, her mind still racing.  

Her gaze moved to the basin of water on the table, and an idea sparked. A bath. Maybe if she could wash the remnants of him off her skin, if she could feel clean again, she’d be able to find some peace. Her jaw tightened as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, standing quickly and grabbing her towel.  

She moved quietly through the farmhouse, not wanting to wake Gabrielle or Eve. The door creaked slightly as she stepped outside, the chill of the night air biting at her exposed skin. She walked toward the bathhouse with quick and purposeful steps. The stars above offered faint light, their cold brilliance in sharp contrast to the heat still simmering under her skin.  

When she entered the small bathhouse, the familiar scent of wood and steam hit her. She set her towel down, her movements brisk as she prepared the bath. As the water filled the tub, the sound was almost soothing, and she focused on it, trying to drown out the relentless memories clawing at her mind.  

Stripping off her leathers, she tossed them onto a bench with more force than necessary. Her reflection in the water caught her attention, and she paused, her lips pressing into a thin line. Get it together, Xena, she thought. This isn’t who you are anymore.  

She stepped into the tub, sinking down until the water covered her shoulders. The heat wrapped around her like a cocoon, but it wasn’t enough to ease the tension in her chest. She leaned back, her arms resting on the edges of the tub, her eyes closing as she tried to let the water carry her away from the chaos.  

But even in the silence, his voice lingered, a low, maddening echo that she couldn’t escape. What is wrong with me? she thought, her jaw tightening as she rested her arms on the edge of the tub. Her mind turned against her, pulling her back to moments she wished she could forget. The way his warm body felt on top of hers. The way he had whispered her name, not in command but with something almost like admiration. Her chest tightened as a frustrated growl slipped from her lips.  

He’s in your head, Xena, she told herself. That’s what he does. Twists things, makes you question yourself. But no matter how much she tried to dismiss it, the memories wouldn’t leave. Her body burned in a way that had nothing to do with the water.  

She splashed her face, trying to calm the storm inside her, when a soft light filled the room. Xena’s eyes snapped open, and her hands darted for her chakram and sword lying beside the tub. She stood halfway, water sloshing over the edges as she aimed the chakram at the figure in front of her.  

“Aphrodite,” she hissed.  

The goddess raised her hands, palms out in a gesture of peace. “Whoa, warrior babe! I’m not here to fight.”  

“Then why are you here?” Xena’s grip didn’t loosen. “I’m not exactly in the mood for a visit.”  

Aphrodite’s expression softened, her usual air of playful mischief replaced with something more sincere. “I just wanted to say... no matter what happens, Xena, you’ll always be my friend.”  

Xena blinked, lowering the chakram slightly but not dropping her guard. “Friend?” she repeated suspiciously.  

Aphrodite nodded, her gaze steady. “I know things are... complicated right now.”  

Before Xena could respond, the light around Aphrodite grew brighter. With a small, almost sad smile, the goddess disappeared, leaving only the faintest shimmer of gold in the air.  

Xena stared at the empty space, her grip tightening on the chakram as she sank back into the tub. Her brow creased as she processed the unexpected visit that left her thoughts spinning. What was that supposed to mean?  

She leaned back against the tub, the water now lukewarm against her skin. Aphrodite’s words lingered, just as confusing as the rest of her life seemed to be. For once, she didn’t know whether to feel comforted or more on edge.   

The smell of bread and eggs filled the kitchen as Gabrielle moved quietly, rolling up her sleeves. Morning light came through the windows, adding a soft glow to the room. Eve sat at the table, peeling an apple. Her eyes occasionally shifted toward the door, as if waiting.  

When Xena finally entered, her steps were slower than usual, but her face was calmer than it was the night before. Gabrielle looked up from the stove and smiled gently. “Morning, Xena,” she said in a soft voice.  

Eve looked up too. “Did you sleep okay?” she asked.  

Xena shrugged as she sat down at the table. “I’m here. That’s something,” she said, her tone dry but not mean.  

Gabrielle laughed lightly and brought over a plate of food. “I’ll take it,” she said, setting the plate in front of Xena. “Eat. It’ll help.”  

Xena looked at the plate for a moment, then picked up a piece of bread. Eve slid the bowl of apple slices closer to her mother, her actions quiet and careful. The room felt lighter, the tension from the night before replaced by a sense of peace. Gabrielle took her seat across from Xena, picking at her own plate. “You seem a little better this morning,” she said after a moment.  

Xena took a bite of the bread, chewing slowly before she spoke. “Trying,” she said simply.  

Eve smiled faintly. “That’s good,” she said, focusing back on her apple slices.  

For a while, they ate in silence. The sound of forks and knives against plates was the only noise in the room, a soothing rhythm that matched the warmth of the morning.  

And then—  

“Good morning, baby!”  

Ares appeared out of nowhere, dropping into the empty seat next to Xena with a grin as wide as the sea. Gabrielle’s cup of tea slipped from her hands, clattering onto the table, while Eve choked on her piece of apple.  

“What in Tartarus—” Gabrielle started, her eyes wide as she stared at the God of War lounging casually in their kitchen.  

Ares leaned back in the chair, his grin wide and unapologetic. “What? Don’t all families have breakfast together?”  

Xena glared at him, her jaw tightening. “What are you doing here?”  

“Eating breakfast with my lovely warrior princess,” Ares said casually, reaching for a piece of bread. “You didn’t save me a plate? I’m hurt.”  

Gabrielle’s eyes narrowed as she looked between Xena and Ares. “Why is he here, Xena? I thought the deal was over.”  

Xena’s fists clenched against the table. “So did I.”  

Ares leaned closer, throwing a smug arm around Xena’s waist. “Oh, come on now. Don’t act so cold, sweetheart. I told you—this isn’t just a one-night arrangement.”  

Gabrielle and Eve exchanged a stunned look. “What does he mean, ‘not just a one-night arrangement’?” Gabrielle asked.  

Xena threw off Ares’ arm, standing abruptly. “Ares, don’t—”  

“Don’t what?” he interrupted, his grin widening as he leaned back in his chair. “Don’t remind them of the full terms of our little agreement? The part where you agreed to be with me?”  

Gabrielle’s face drained of color. “Be with you?” she echoed. “What does that even mean?”  

Xena’s breathing quickened, her fists tightening at her sides as Ares continued, unfazed by her tension. “Oh, come on, Gabrielle,” he said smoothly. “Surely you didn’t think the deal was just about one baby? Xena agreed to be mine. Completely. And that means we’re going to be spending a lot of quality time together.”  

Eve stood abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. “You can’t be serious,” she said, her voice sharp and disbelieving.  

Xena’s voice was low, filled with frustration. “Eve, listen—”  

“No, I won’t listen!” Eve snapped, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “You told me you made this deal to protect us. But this?” She gestured toward Ares, her eyes blazing. “This is something else entirely.”  

Ares leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his expression still smug. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. Your mother and I are just... fulfilling the terms of our arrangement.”  

Eve’s gaze turned back to Xena, her voice trembling with anger. “How could you?”  

“Eve—”  

“I can’t do this,” Eve said, her voice cracking as she turned and stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind her.  

Gabrielle stared at Xena, her mouth slightly open in shock. “You agreed to this?” she whispered. “Xena, what were you thinking?”  

Ares chuckled, breaking the tension as he leaned back in his chair. “She was thinking about saving you two, obviously. And maybe a little about me.” He winked at Xena, but her glare only deepened.  

“Get out, Ares,” Xena said, her voice low and dangerous.  

“Oh, come on,” he said, spreading his arms in surrender. “Don’t be like that. I’m just living in the moment. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?”  

“Ares,” she said through clenched teeth, stepping closer to him. “Out.”  

He stood, adjusting his leather cuffs as he smirked at her. “Fine, I’ll leave. For now. But don’t get too comfortable—I’m not going far.”  

And with that, he disappeared, leaving the kitchen in silence.  

Gabrielle sank back into her chair, her hand running over her face. “Xena,” she said finally, her voice tired and tinged with disbelief, “what in the gods’ name have you gotten us into?”  

Xena didn’t answer. She stared at the empty chair where Ares had sat, her jaw tight as the weight of his words—and the deal—pressed heavier than ever.  

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Between Love and War  

Eve stood at the edge of the woods, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as the crisp air chilled her skin. Her breath came in shallow bursts, her mind a storm of emotions she couldn’t name, let alone tame. The towering trees around her felt suffocating, their branches like claws reaching for her, pulling her back to memories she’d buried long ago.  

Ares.  

The name itself felt like a wound, jagged and unhealed. She pressed her palms to her temples, trying to block out the images that came rushing back. His voice, smooth and commanding, promising her the world if only she’d kneel. The way he had looked at her— as Livia, his warrior, his protégé, his... plaything.  

She shuddered, her stomach churning. Back then, she had thought it was love. She had believed his lies, let herself be molded into the perfect instrument of his chaos. Ares had fed her ambition, stoked her fire, and made her feel invincible. But it wasn’t love. It was control. Manipulation. He had used her for his own ends, just as he was using her mother now.  

The thought made her chest tighten, her fists clenching at her sides. How could her mother let this happen? How could she, of all people, make a deal with him?  Ares had already taken so much from their family. He had taken Livia’s innocence, her choices, twisted her into something unrecognizable.  

She sank to her knees, the damp earth soaking into her pants as she struggled to catch her breath. The memories pressed harder, sharper, refusing to be silenced. She could still feel his hands on her, the way he would guide her sword with a touch that sent chills down her spine. She had wanted his approval back then, craved it like a drug. And now, the same man who had broken her was tying himself to her mother.  

Her stomach turned, and she doubled over, clutching the grass beneath her. “Curse you, Ares,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “You ruin everything.”  

But it wasn’t just him. It was her mother too. The woman she had fought so hard to forgive, to love, to follow. Her mother had promised to protect her, to fight for her, and now... now she had made a deal with the devil himself. Eve couldn’t decide if she was more furious with Ares for pulling them into his web or with her mother for walking into it willingly.  

Her jaw tightened as the anger swirled into something darker. Was this what Ares wanted? To pit them against each other? To tear apart what little peace they had found as a family? He had done it before, and he would do it again. And her mother—fierce, stubborn as ever—was letting him.  

Eve pushed herself to her feet, her legs trembling as she stared back toward the farmhouse. Her chest heaved as she fought against the tide of emotions threatening to pull her under. She couldn’t let Ares win. She wouldn’t.  

But what could she do? She had given up the sword, sworn an oath to walk a path of peace. Yet every fiber of her being screamed at her to fight. To fight for her mother, for Gabrielle, for herself. But how do you fight a god?  

The question hung in the air, heavy and unanswerable. Eve took a shaky step toward the house, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn’t fix this—not today. But she had to try. For her mother, for their family. Because if she didn’t, Ares would destroy them all.  

She stopped abruptly, staring into the shadows of the trees, her mind drifting back to that moment in the arena—when everything had changed. A sharp whistling sound cut through the air. Both their heads snapped toward the source, but it was too late. A chakram sliced cleanly between them, embedding itself into a nearby pillar. Livia’s breath caught as she turned to see the figure stepping out of the shadows.  

Her heart stopped. Ares’ reaction was instant. He lowered his sword, his body going completely still. Livia glanced at him, expecting irritation or anger, but what she saw shook her to her core.  

He was mesmerized.  

That smug grin that was plastered on his face moments ago was gone, replaced by an expression she had never seen before—raw, almost vulnerable. His eyes locked onto Xena, wide with disbelief, as if he was seeing a ghost.  

Livia stood there frozen, her sword hanging limply at her side as she watched Ares take a slow step forward, then another. He was moving as though he was in a trance, his gaze never leaving Xena.  

Livia’s chest tightened as she realized what was happening. Ares, the God of War, who had spent years training her, elevating her to heights she never thought was possible, had forgotten she existed.  

And it wasn’t just the way he looked at Xena—it was the way he walked toward her, as though nothing else mattered. Not the sparring, not the arena, not her. Livia’s hand tightened on the hilt of her sword, her knuckles white as anger and humiliation surged through her.  

Eve scoffed, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. The memory burned as hotly as it had that day. She had been furious, humiliated. And later, at the Bacchanalia, when Xena and Ares kissed in front of everyone, it was like a dagger to the chest.  

She clenched her jaw with bitter thoughts. No matter how much her mother denied it, she was addicted to Ares just as much as he was to her. She could tell by the look in her eye. And that was the scariest part. They were drawn to each other like flames to dry wood, each feeding the other in a way that threatened to consume them both.  

Eve swallowed hard, her arms crossing over her chest. She wasn’t stupid. Ares had been drawn to her because she was powerful, because she was ruthless. But he had never needed her the way he needed Xena. With her mother, it wasn’t just about power—it was something else. Something deeper.  

Her chest tightened as tears pricked her eyes. Her mother had gone against everything she stood for—all for her. Tears slid silently down Eve’s cheeks as she sank to her knees again. She couldn’t imagine sacrificing herself the way her mother had, all out of love.  

She glanced back at the farmhouse, her vision blurred. If only she had grown up with her mother and Gabrielle. Maybe she could have understood Xena’s darkness better, how she had fought it. Maybe she could have helped. But it didn’t matter now. What mattered was keeping her mother away from Ares. Forget that deal. Forget all of it.  

Eve stood, her determination hardening like steel. If her mother could sacrifice herself to save her, then she could do the same to save her mother. She tilted her head back, her voice strong and clear as it cut through the breeze.  

“Ares!”  

The air around her stilled, and a moment later, he appeared in a flash of light, his usual smug grin firmly in place. “Well, well,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned casually against a tree. “What’s on your mind, Evie?”  

Eve scowled, her arms crossing tightly. “Don’t call me that.”  

Ares smirked, tilting his head. “What? It suits you. I figured since your mother and I are so close now, we should keep things in the family.”  

Eve’s jaw tightened as she glared at him. “Call off the deal,” she said, her voice steady but filled with anger.  

Ares chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, sweetheart, you don’t just ‘call off’ a deal with me. Your mother knew what she was doing.”  

“She did it to protect me,” Eve snapped. “And now I’m telling you to undo it. Take me to Olympus. I’ll turn myself over to them. Whatever it takes, just leave my mother out of this.”  

Ares arched a brow, finally pushing off the tree as he took a slow step toward her. “You really think I’m going to give up Xena? Just like that?” He let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “Not a chance.”  

Eve stepped forward too, refusing to be intimidated. “You’re going to destroy her! Can’t you see that? This deal is going to kill her, and for what? Your obsession?”  

Ares’ grin dropped slightly, his eyes narrowing. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”  

“I know enough,” Eve shot back. “I know you don’t love her. You just want to own her, to keep her tied to you forever.”  

Ares’ expression hardened, his voice dropping into something quieter, more dangerous. “You think you know me? You don’t have a clue. I’ve loved your mother longer than you’ve been alive. No deals.”  

Eve’s stomach twisted, but she held her ground. “Then love her enough to let her go. Love her enough to stop this.”  

Ares scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s where you’re wrong, kid. Letting her go isn’t love. Fighting for her is.” He leaned in slightly. “And you? You don’t get to rewrite the terms of our deal.”  

Eve’s hands balled into fists at her sides. “You’re a selfish bastard, you know that?”  

He smirked, the tension in the air crackling. “I’ve been called worse.”  

Eve exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “You’re going to regret this,” she said, her voice trembling with both anger and desperation.  

Ares studied her for a moment, then chuckled. “No, Eve. The only thing I’d regret is letting your mother slip away. And that’s not going to happen.” Before she could reply, he vanished in a flash of light, leaving Eve alone in the forest, her pulse pounding in her ears.  

Gabrielle sat back in her chair, watching Xena carefully. The tension from earlier still lingered in the air, but the kitchen felt quieter now, almost fragile. Xena hadn’t spoken since Ares left, her expression locked in something unreadable.  

Gabrielle hesitated before speaking, choosing her words carefully. “I know last night wasn’t easy,” she said slowly, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. “And I don’t want to push you, but... we have to talk about this.”  

Xena didn’t look at her. “What’s there to talk about?”  

Gabrielle sighed. “You know what.”  

Xena finally turned her head, her eyes sharp. “I did what I had to do, Gabrielle. End of story.”  

Gabrielle shook her head. “No. That might be where you want to end it, but that’s not where it actually ends.”  

Xena’s jaw tightened.  

Gabrielle leaned forward slightly, keeping her voice steady, careful. “I get why you made the deal. I do. And I don’t blame you for it.” She paused. “But Ares—he knew exactly what he was doing. He waited until you had no other choice. He played you, Xena.”  

Xena scoffed. “You think I don’t know that?”  

“I think you’re pretending it doesn’t matter.”  

Xena exhaled sharply, pushing her plate away. “What do you want me to say, Gabrielle? That I regret it? That I feel sick knowing he got exactly what he wanted?” Her voice lowered, tight with something Gabrielle couldn’t quite place. “Because I do.”  

Gabrielle’s chest ached at the admission, but she kept her voice calm. “Then what now? Ares isn’t going to let this go. We both know that.”  

Xena ran a hand over her face, exhaustion creeping into her posture. “He’ll get bored eventually.”  

Gabrielle frowned. “You don’t believe that.”  

No, she didn’t. Ares had waited years—decades even—to have her. He wasn’t going anywhere.  

Gabrielle hesitated before speaking again. “How do you think Eve feels about all of this?”  

Xena flinched, just slightly, but Gabrielle caught it.  

“She stormed out of here because she couldn’t handle what she heard,” Gabrielle continued, her voice softer now. “She’s angry, confused, maybe even scared for you. And I can’t say I blame her.”  

Xena’s expression flickered, just for a moment, before she pushed back from the table and stood. “Where is she?”  

Gabrielle stood too. “I was just about to go find her.”  

Xena nodded once, crossing her arms. “Good. Because if anyone can get through to her right now, it’s you.”  

Gabrielle studied her, searching for something beneath the hardened exterior. “Xena—”  

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Xena interrupted.  

Gabrielle exhaled, nodding slowly. “Alright.” She reached for her cloak. “I’ll find Eve.”  

Xena stayed silent as Gabrielle walked out, the door clicking shut behind her.  

Gabrielle found Eve sitting on a fallen log, her back to the farmhouse. The tension in her shoulders was clear even from a distance. Gabrielle took a slow breath, reminding herself to approach carefully. Eve was still upset, and pushing too hard would only make her shut down.  

She stepped closer, her voice gentle. “You okay?”  

Eve didn’t turn around. “Do I look okay?”  

Gabrielle sat beside her, leaving enough space so Eve wouldn’t feel crowded. “No,” she admitted. “You look like someone who has too much on her mind.”  

Eve let out a bitter chuckle. “That’s one way to put it.”  

Silence settled between them, the sounds of the forest filling the space. Gabrielle waited, giving Eve time to speak first, but when she didn’t, Gabrielle took the chance to ease into the conversation.  

“I know you’re angry about the deal,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “And I know you blame Ares.”  

Eve’s jaw clenched. “Of course, I blame him. He manipulated her. He took advantage of her when she was vulnerable.” She shook her head, her fingers digging into her palms. “She spent years fighting against everything he stood for, and now she’s... his.”  

Gabrielle sighed. “I hate it too, Eve. But Xena wouldn’t have done this unless she thought it was the only way.”  

“That doesn’t make it right,” Eve snapped.  

“No,” Gabrielle agreed. “But it’s done. And we have to figure out how to deal with it.”  

Eve scoffed. “You sound like you’re accepting this.”  

Gabrielle’s expression hardened. “I’ll never accept Ares being in Xena’s life. But I also know how she is. If we attack this the wrong way, she’ll shut us out completely.”  

Eve exhaled sharply, rubbing her hands over her face. “I just don’t understand how this happened.”  

Gabrielle hesitated, then placed a hand on Eve’s shoulder. “Maybe it’s time you heard the full truth.”  

Eve turned her head slightly, curiosity flickering in her eyes.  

Gabrielle nodded. “You already know the basics from my scrolls, but I don’t think you understand how deep this really goes. Ares didn’t just appear in Xena’s life one day and turn her dark. She had already become someone dangerous. She had already lost so much before she ever met him. Her brother, Solan, Borias...she was grieving, and she didn’t know how to handle it. He just gave her a purpose, a way to focus all that pain and anger.”  

Eve’s brows drew together. “So you’re saying he didn’t create the darkness in her?”  

Gabrielle shook her head. “No. It was already there. But he fed it. Encouraged it.” She sighed. “And in return—”  

Eve swallowed, her voice quieter now. “She became his chosen.”  

Gabrielle nodded. “She pledged herself to him completely. And in that, they were lovers, Eve.”  

Eve stiffened. “You’re sure?”  

Gabrielle gave a small, humorless laugh. “Xena would never admit it, but I know it.”  

Eve crossed her arms. “So what? They had sex. That doesn’t mean she was his .”  

Gabrielle met her eyes, her voice steady. “No, Eve. She was his. And very willingly.” She exhaled, glancing away for a moment. “They share a bond, still even now. Have you ever wondered why all the gods know Xena?”  

Eve frowned slightly but before she could answer, Gabrielle continued. “Because they all know her from when she was Ares’. In every way of the word. Ares taught Xena more than how to fight, I can tell you that.”  

Gabrielle let out a bitter laugh at the thought that just replayed in her mind, shaking her head. “When we took you to visit your grandmother, Xena had pretended to agree that she would go along with the deal back then. Now, I don’t know what happened in his temple, but Xena admitted that she felt something. I saw the way she licked her lips—she loved it. She teased and said she nearly ran out of foreplay.” Gabrielle scoffed. “At first, I thought she was just joking, but now? Now I’m not so sure. And I did find out... she was naked.”  

She turned back to Eve, her voice quieter but firm. “He’s her weakness, Eve. Even now.”  

Eve’s stomach twisted. She looked away, her jaw tightening. “And that’s what makes him so dangerous.”  

“I have no idea how long they were together though. Only she and Ares know.” She glanced at Eve. “You know, she won’t even tell me everything about him.”  

Eve was quiet for a moment, then said, “Maybe she feels if she talks about it, she might start to miss it.”  

Gabrielle’s chest tightened. That was something she had never considered. She exhaled slowly. “Maybe.”  

They sat in silence again before Gabrielle continued. “Something happened between them. Something that made Xena walk away from him. But Ares never got over her. The more she pushed him away, the harder he chased her. Even after she had you, he was still there, interfering whenever the gods came after us. And when she was ready to die to protect you, I know deep down Ares wanted to stop her. He just didn’t have the courage to admit it.”  

Eve’s hands curled into fists. “I think he wants her to believe that he loves her.”  

Gabrielle scoffed. “Yeah, right.”  

Eve hesitated. She wanted to tell Gabrielle what Ares had told her earlier, that he had loved Xena longer than she had been alive. But something stopped her.  

Instead, Gabrielle shook her head. “But it doesn’t matter what Ares thinks or what he wants. What matters is Xena. And right now, she’s stuck in a deal that we don’t know how to get her out of.”  

Eve swallowed hard. “There has to be a way.”  

A beat of silence passed between them before Eve turned back to Gabrielle, her voice careful but direct. “If push came to shove... do you think she would kill him?”  

Gabrielle hesitated, her lips pressing together as if sorting through every memory, every moment she had witnessed between Xena and Ares. Finally, she exhaled and shook her head. “No. I don’t think she could.”  

Eve frowned. “You don’t think so?”  

Gabrielle nodded slowly. “She had the opportunity once, after Ares killed Eli. She was furious at him—with me too. She found the Hind’s dagger just to put it to his throat. You should have seen the way her eyes watered.” Gabrielle’s voice softened. “And of course, she didn’t use it.”  

Gabrielle exhaled, her gaze distant as she recalled the moment. “And Ares, in turn, grabbed the knife and turned it on her throat.” She shook her head, a humorless smirk forming. “But of course, he didn’t use it either.”  

Eve’s brows creased. “Why not?”  

Gabrielle scoffed. “Now that I think about it, I think it was all for show. There was a crowd watching. Ares may have wanted to prove a point, but he was never going to hurt her.” She sighed, glancing at Eve. “Even back then, when she was at her angriest, when she had every reason to kill him, she didn’t. And neither did he.”  

Eve’s jaw tightened as she processed Gabrielle’s words. “So what happens when the gods come after her again? Do you really think he’ll protect her?”  

Gabrielle frowned. “That’s the thing, Eve. I don’t think —I know he will.”  

Gabrielle hesitated, then finally asked the question that had been weighing on her since last night. “How do you think Xena feels about all of this? About being with Ares?”  

Eve frowned. “She hates him.”  

Gabrielle sighed, shaking her head. “No. I think she wants to hate him. But deep down?” She hesitated, her voice softer now. “I don’t know if she does. What I do know is that she hates herself. And that’s what we have to protect her from.”  

Eve scoffed bitterly. “You really think she’ll let him in? That she’ll actually be with him?”  

Gabrielle hesitated, but then shook her head. “No. Xena is too stubborn. Too angry to give him what he wants that easily. But...” she trailed off, frowning.  

Eve frowned too. “But what?”  

Gabrielle sighed. “You saw how he acted this morning. He’s not backing down. He plays the long game. He’s patient when he needs to be. And worst of all, he knows Xena. He knows how to get under her skin, how to wear her down.”  

Eve’s stomach twisted, her fingers digging into her arms. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”  

Eve’s arms tightened around herself, her gaze dropping. “She never should have had to make this deal in the first place.”  

“No,” Gabrielle agreed. “But this isn’t just about him being around. She agreed to give him a child.”  

Eve exhaled sharply. “I don’t think she’s letting herself process that part yet.”  

Eve exhaled, shaking her head. “I won’t let this happen.”  

Gabrielle looked at her. “What do you mean?”  

Eve’s jaw tightened. “I mean, forget the deal. Forget whatever twisted hold Ares thinks he has on her. I will find a way to stop him.”  

Gabrielle sat up straighter. “Eve...”  

“No,” Eve cut in, her voice firm. “She gave up everything for me. If she was willing to sacrifice herself to save me, then I’ll do the same for her. I owe her that.”  

Gabrielle’s chest tightened at the determination in Eve’s voice. She knew that kind of conviction—she had felt it herself so many times when it came to Xena. But she also knew how dangerous it could be.  

“Eve,” Gabrielle said carefully, “Ares isn’t someone you can just stop . He’s a god.”  

Eve met her gaze, fire burning in her eyes. “So what?”   

Gabrielle reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind Eve’s ear. “We need to keep her grounded, Eve. No matter what happens. We can’t let Ares drag her back into the darkness.”  

“I don’t care what it takes. I will not let Ares consume her. Not again.” Gabrielle squeezed her shoulder. “Then we’re in this together.”  

For the first time after breakfast, Eve felt like she could breathe.  

Ione crouched low behind the thick brush, her breathing steady as she kept her eyes locked on the two women sitting beneath the trees. She had followed them from the farmhouse, keeping her distance, waiting for the right moment. Athena had sent her to watch Xena, to gather anything of value, but she had never expected to uncover something this big. Gabrielle’s voice carried in the quiet morning.  

“You’re old enough to hear the truth, Eve.”  

Ione edged closer, careful not to snap a twig beneath her foot. She didn’t dare risk being seen. If Xena found out she had been lurking, she would be dead before she could blink.  

She listened closely as Gabrielle spoke of Ares and Xena’s past, their history, their bond . Her stomach twisted at the idea. Then she heard it—the real revelation.  

“She agreed to give him a child.” Ione’s eyes widened. Her breath caught in her throat.  

The rest of their conversation barely registered as her mind raced. Xena had made a deal with Ares. A child . This changed everything. She had to get back to Athena. Now.   

Slipping away as silently as she had come, Ione moved swiftly through the sunlight, every step taking her closer to her goddess.  

By the time she reached Athena’s temple, her chest was heaving from the urgency of her journey. She entered the grand hall, falling to one knee before the towering statue that loomed at the altar.  

“My goddess,” she called, her voice steady despite the pounding in her chest. “I bring news that will please you.” A shimmer of golden light filled the chamber, and Athena appeared, her piercing gaze settling on Ione.  

“Speak,” Athena commanded.  

Ione bowed her head before rising to her feet. “It’s about Xena.”  

Athena’s expression remained unreadable, but Ione could feel the shift in the air, the way the goddess seemed to focus even more closely. Ione straightened her shoulders. “I overheard her companions speaking. Xena has made a deal with Ares. She agreed to bear his child.”  

For the first time, Athena’s carefully controlled mask shook, the faintest flicker of surprise crossing her face. Ione pressed on. “What will you have me do, my goddess?”  

Athena’s silence stretched, the weight of the revelation settling between them. Then, finally, she spoke.  

“This is... unexpected.” Her gaze darkened. “But not unaccounted for.”  

Ione stood still, awaiting her command. Athena’s lips pressed together as she considered. Then, with a tilt of her chin, she said, “You’ve done well, Ione. I will decide our next move soon.”  

Ione bowed deeply. “Thank you, my goddess.” As she stepped back, disappearing into the shadows of the temple, she couldn’t help but wonder—had she just sealed Xena’s fate?  

Xena paced the farmhouse, her fingers twitching at her sides. She had already sharpened her sword—twice. Organized her armor. Checked the horses. By the gods, she had even folded blankets.  

And yet, the itch under her skin wouldn’t go away.  

She leaned against the doorway, exhaling sharply as she looked outside. The morning air was crisp, the trees still, but her mind was anything but.  

Gabrielle and Eve had been gone for a while now, and despite knowing they were safe, Xena felt like a caged animal waiting for something to happen.  

She turned back inside, eyeing the empty space before rolling her shoulders. “Maybe I should take up knitting,” she muttered under her breath. “Or embroidery. Something nice and calm.”  

She snorted at the thought, shaking her head as she walked toward the table. Her fingers drummed against the wood before she grabbed an apple from a bowl, tossing it up and catching it repeatedly.  

A moment later, the door creaked open, and Gabrielle and Eve stepped inside.  

Xena straightened immediately, her eyes scanning Eve’s face. She expected tension, anger—anything that showed Eve was still upset. But to her surprise, Eve looked... steady. Almost peaceful.  

Xena took a step forward, opening her mouth to speak, but Eve held up a hand, stopping her.  

“I don’t want to hear it,” Eve said firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. Xena’s brows raised slightly, caught off guard by the change.  

Eve met her gaze, her expression unreadable. “I already know what you’re going to say. But it doesn’t matter.” Her arms crossed over her chest. “Because I’ve already decided—I’m protecting you now.” Xena’s lips parted slightly, but no words came. She hadn’t expected that.  

Gabrielle gave Xena a small, knowing look before stepping past them toward the kitchen. “I’m going to make some tea. You two have... whatever this is.”  

Xena’s eyes flicked back to Eve, her jaw tightening slightly. “Protect me?” she repeated, arching a brow.  

Eve nodded once. “That’s right.”  

Xena let out a breath, shaking her head with something between exasperation and amusement. “Great. Now I’ve got two mother hens.”  

Eve didn’t back down. “Someone has to keep you from making reckless decisions.”  

Xena smirked. “Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you.”  

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, Xena’s smirk faded slightly as she studied her daughter’s face. There was something different in Eve’s eyes—something determined.  

Xena sighed, tossing the apple into the air one last time before catching it and taking a bite. “Fine,” she said around her mouthful. “But don’t get in my way.”  

Eve simply stared at her, “Same goes for you.”  

Xena chewed thoughtfully, then gave a small shrug. “We’ll see.”  

Gabrielle cleared her throat from the kitchen. “Tea’s ready.”  

Xena exhaled through her nose, rubbing the back of her neck as she walked toward the door. “Good. Maybe it’ll stop everyone from hovering over me.”  

Gabrielle smirked. “Doubt it. And where do you think you’re going?”  

Xena barely glanced up from where she stood near the doorway. “I don’t want tea. I was just about to—”  

Gabrielle didn’t let her finish. She grabbed Xena’s wrist and pulled her toward the table with surprising force. “No, you weren’t. Sit.”  

Xena huffed. “Really?”  

Eve smirked as she settled into her own seat. “Really.”  

Gabrielle placed the tea in front of Xena and gave her a sharp look. “Drink.”  

Xena raised an eyebrow. “I don’t remember agreeing to this little tea party.”  

Eve took a sip from her cup. “You didn’t. We dragged you into it.”  

Xena exhaled sharply but dropped into the chair, arms crossed as she eyed the tea with suspicion. “Alright,” she muttered. “So what now? A heartfelt discussion about my life choices?”  

Gabrielle smirked, taking a sip of her own tea. “Oh no, we’ve already accepted that you make terrible life decisions. Now we just drink and pretend you’ll actually listen to our advice.”  

Xena rolled her eyes but took a sip anyway, the heat spreading down her throat. The moment of peace didn’t last. Gabrielle took a sip of her tea, glancing at Xena over the rim of her cup. “So... how long do you think Ares will keep this up?”  

Xena frowned. “Keep what up?”  

Eve rested her elbows on the table. “The whole ‘showing up uninvited’ thing. Acting like he belongs here.”  

Xena scoffed, gripping her cup tighter. “As long as he wants.”  

Gabrielle raised an eyebrow. “And you’re just... okay with that?”  

Xena exhaled sharply, setting her cup down. “I didn’t say that.”  

Eve tilted her head. “Then what are you saying?”  

Xena’s fingers drummed against the table, her irritation growing. “I’m saying that Ares does what Ares does. The gods may hate him, but he’s still one of them. He can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants.”  

Gabrielle leaned forward. “But he’s not just showing up anywhere, Xena. He’s showing up here . Around you . Around us .”  

Eve nodded. “Because he thinks he owns you now.”  

Xena’s jaw tightened, her grip on the cup going white-knuckled. “He doesn’t own me.”  

Gabrielle studied her. “Does he know that?”  

Xena met her gaze, her expression unreadable. “He should.”  

Gabrielle smirked. “Because you sure didn’t look like you were willing to stop anything. You looked quite happy if you ask me.” Xena abruptly pushed back from the table, the force knocking her chair over. She nearly tripped over it but caught herself, her movements stiff with frustration.  

Eve tilted her head. “Where are you going?”  

Xena waved them off, her voice short. “Somewhere that doesn’t involve this ridiculous conversation.”  

Gabrielle raised an eyebrow. “That’s funny, because no matter where you go, your thoughts go with you.”  

Xena shot her a glare over her shoulder. “Not if I knock myself unconscious.” Gabrielle and Eve exchanged a playful glance, holding in their laughs, before taking another sip of tea, watching as Xena stalked out of the room.  

Xena stepped outside, inhaling deeply as the cool air hit her skin. She needed to move. To do something—anything—to get her mind off Ares, off this deal, off the words she refused to let sink in.  

Her scowl deepened. She stretched her arms before moving toward the clearing. Fine. If her thoughts wouldn’t quiet down, she’d drown them out the best way she knew how.  

Training.  

She worked through forms, her movements sharp and precise. Her sword cut through the air, muscles burning as she pushed herself harder, faster. One form. Another. Again. Again.  

Minutes passed. Then hours.  

When she finally stopped, her chest heaved, sweat dripping down her back. But her mind was just as loud as before. Frustrated, she tossed her sword aside and ran a hand through her damp hair.  

“Not enough,” she muttered. She needed more.  

Singing.  

A ridiculous old drinking song from her warlord days—one that used to drive Borias insane. It worked for about three verses before she trailed off, arms crossing as she exhaled sharply. Still there. The thoughts. The memories. Her lips tingled and she cursed under her breath. She needed something more physical.  

Chopping wood.  

She grabbed an axe, setting a log in place before swinging down with enough force to split it in one go.  

Then another.  

Then another.  

She lost track of time, arms aching, body screaming for rest. But she kept going until the sun dipped lower in the sky. Gabrielle’s voice interrupted her rhythm. “You’re gonna cut down an entire forest at this rate.”  

Xena wiped the sweat from her forehead. “Good. More firewood for winter.”  

Gabrielle leaned against the doorway, watching her. “You can do all the chopping, training, and singing you want. It won’t change anything.”  

Xena’s grip on the axe tightened. “Not everything has to change.”  

Gabrielle sighed but didn’t push. Instead, she motioned toward the house. “Dinner’s ready.” Xena hesitated before nodding, setting the axe down. She followed Gabrielle inside, ignoring the knowing look Eve gave her from the table.  

The meal was quiet, tension heavy in the air. She felt suffocated. By the time the sun fully set, she couldn’t take it anymore. She pushed away from the table, rolling her shoulders. “We need to move.”  

Gabrielle frowned. “Move?”  

Xena nodded. “Sitting here isn’t doing us any good. The gods aren’t coming for us. Not yet, anyway.” She stood, pacing slightly. “They know I’m working with Ares now. They wouldn’t jump into a reckless attack without a plan.”  

Eve glanced at Gabrielle before looking back at Xena. “And where exactly do you plan on going?”  

“Anywhere but here.”  

Gabrielle sighed. “Xena, running from this isn’t going to—”  

“I’m not running,” Xena cut in sharply. “I just—I need to move.”  

Gabrielle studied her for a long moment before nodding. “Alright. We leave in the morning.”  

Xena gave a nod before heading toward her room, her steps quick as if movement alone could push away the unease settling inside her. The moment she stepped in, the air felt heavier, the silence pressing against her. She went straight to her weapons, adjusting them on the table, anything to keep herself busy. But something caught her eye. Her reflection.  

She frowned, turning fully toward the mirror. At first, everything seemed normal—just her own face staring back. Then, her breath caught. The woman in the mirror wasn’t the one she had come to accept. It was her . The old Xena. Cold. Smirking. Eyes dark with something hungry, something untamed. A chill crawled down her spine as she took an uneasy step closer.  

Her stomach twisted, and she blinked hard. When she looked again, it was just her own reflection. Her heart pounded, and she exhaled slowly, stepping back from the mirror. It was nothing. Just exhaustion. Shaking her head, she turned away, shoving the image from her mind.   

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: Drowning 

Xena sat on the edge of the bed, adjusting the straps of her bracers with steady movements. Her thoughts weren’t on the task, nor were they on the strange moment she had experienced earlier with her reflection. She hadn’t given it a second thought. What occupied her mind now was something far more important—the gods. They wouldn’t sit back for long. Not after Ares had declared himself on her side. Not after she had openly accepted his help. They’d wait, regroup, and when they were ready, they’d strike again. 

Her jaw tightened as she switched hands, continuing the rhythmic motion. She needed a plan. Staying at the farmhouse was already making her restless, and the idea of waiting for an attack instead of meeting it head-on didn’t sit well with her. She had to stay ahead of them. But how? 

A sudden gust of wind swept through the room, extinguishing the candle on the table. Xena’s eyes snapped up, her body tensing as she reached for her weapons—only for her sword and chakram to suddenly fly from the table, yanked by an unseen force. They shot across the room and landed near the doorway. Before she could react, a voice filled the space, smooth and composed. 

“Those won’t be necessary.” 

Xena turned sharply to see Athena standing near the window, draped in her usual battle armor, her golden helmet tucked under one arm. Her expression was calm, unreadable, but her presence alone set Xena on edge. 

Xena rose to her feet, her stance adjusting, even without her weapons. “If you think taking my sword will stop me from protecting my family, you’re dumber than I thought.” 

Athena didn’t react. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, almost as if she were studying Xena. “I didn’t come to fight you, Xena. I came to talk.” 

Xena’s lip curled. “I’m in no mood for talking.” 

Athena smirked. “Then you’ll listen.” She took a step forward, folding her arms. “You’ve sided with the most untrustworthy god on all of Olympus. Tell me, do you truly believe Ares will protect you against his own family?” 

Xena just stared at her. 

Athena’s smirk grew. “And yet, you made a deal with him. A deal that benefits only him.” Xena’s fingers twitched at her sides, but she said nothing. 

Athena’s eyes suddenly turned white, glowing as she focused on Xena. A strange energy filled the room, an almost invisible pressure that made Xena’s skin prickle. Then, just as suddenly, Athena’s eyes returned to normal. She exhaled, tilting her head slightly. 

“Is it true?” Athena asked, her voice softer now, almost curious. “Did you promise him a child?” Xena’s shoulders stiffened. She remained silent. 

Athena let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “So it’s true.” She turned slightly, as if mulling over the thought. “I must say, I fail to see how giving Ares a child will protect anyone. But I’m sure he found a way to convince you otherwise.”  

Athena let out a sigh, shaking her head. “I knew you were reckless, Xena, but I thought—just maybe—you had some intelligence. Your brain is only mortal, I understand, but even for a mortal, this is stupidity at its finest.”  

She took a slow step closer, lowering her voice to something more taunting. “Ares will say whatever he needs to say to get what he wants. That’s all this was. That’s all you are. You really think he cares? That he ever has?” A sharp, hollow feeling pressed against Xena’s ribs, but she swallowed it down. 

Athena tilted her head, her smirk widening. “Do you even know how long Ares has been alive? How many women he’s fucked?” 

Xena’s throat tightened. The words meant nothing—just another weapon meant to cut her down—but the image it painted made her stomach turn. Athena stepped closer, watching her like a hawk. “What did he say, hmm?” she asked, her tone almost sweet. “Please, tell me.” She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping into something smooth, cutting. “Did he try to convince you that he loves you?” 

Something inside Xena shifted—too small to name, but enough to sting. She forced her expression to remain cold, distant, like Athena’s words had no weight. 

Then Athena threw her head back and laughed, the sound echoing off the walls. “Ares loves no one but himself!” she declared. “You think you’re special? Xena, I’ve seen Ares fuck more women than there are lost souls wandering Tartarus. He’s a god, Xena. We don’t care about mortals. Especially a war god.” 

Xena exhaled slowly through her nose. Athena’s eyes glinted cruelly as she studied Xena’s face. “Ares is nothing but a lustful, pathetic pussy-chaser. That’s all he’s ever been. That’s all he ever will be. He doesn’t care what it is as long as he can fit his cock into it.” 

A deep ache settled behind Xena’s ribs, but she locked it down, buried it beneath steel and silence. 

Athena let out a scoff. “And yet, you—Xena, the great Warrior Princess—actually believed him.” She shook her head in disappointment. Athena circled Xena like a predator savoring its wounded prey. “Tell me, when he was inside you, whispering those sweet nothings, did you actually believe it?  

Xena didn’t move, didn’t even adjust her weight. The air felt thick, suffocating, but she refused to give Athena the pleasure of seeing her struggle to breathe. 

Athena laughed, shaking her head. “Ares has been playing this game since time began. He’ll say whatever it takes to get what he wants. And what he wanted, Xena, was a free fuck.” 

Xena focused on a crack in the floor, feeling the stone beneath her boot. It was real. Tangible. Unlike the hollow words spilling from Athena’s mouth. 

“Let me guess—he told you that you’re different. That you mean more to him than all the others?” Athena’s smirk deepened. “I wonder, did he say that before or after he had you writhing under him?”  

Xena’s stomach twisted, an ugly, unfamiliar weight settling there, but she shoved it aside. It didn’t matter. 

Athena let out another cruel chuckle. “You’re nothing to him now. You served your purpose. And don’t think for a second that he’ll stick around once you start showing. The moment you become less fun, less thrilling, he’ll be off, chasing after the next conquest.” 

Xena’s chest felt tight, but she forced a slow breath. She had no room for weakness. 

Athena’s voice dropped lower, dripping with sympathy. “And what will you do then? When he’s not there? When the gods still come for you, for your family? Will you still cling to the fantasy that Ares—of all gods—will be your savior?” 

Xena clenched her jaw because the thought struck something raw. Something she couldn’t afford to acknowledge. Her breathing was steady, but Athena could see the tension in her jaw. She was getting to her. 

“You’re smarter than this, Xena,” Athena went on, her voice turning sharp. “At least, I thought you were. But now? Now, I see you for what you really are—desperate. You sold yourself to a man who has never belonged to anyone, least of all you. And you did it for what? Protection?” She scoffed. “You could’ve come to me. We could’ve worked something out.” 

She took a step closer, her voice soft but laced with venom. “But instead, you spread your legs for a man who would fuck a corpse if it were still warm.” Xena’s jaw remained locked, her expression unreadable, but Athena didn’t miss the way her shoulders stiffened.  

“He thinks with his cock, Xena. Nothing else. And as many times as he’s lied to you, as many times as he’s betrayed you, you still freely ride his cock. You must squeeze him just right.” Athena tilted her head, a cruel smirk tugging at her lips. “That’s the only thing that explains why he keeps coming back.” 

"You must feel so proud.” Xena’s chest rose and fell steadily, her expression carved from stone, but inside, a fire burned. 

Athena gave a shrug. “Then again, maybe this is exactly what you wanted. Maybe, deep down, you like being owned. You like being his.”  

Athena raised her finger in the air, shaking it lightly. “That’s right,” she purred, stepping closer. “He screwed your daughter too, didn’t he?” Xena’s breath caught for half a second before she forced herself to keep still. 

Athena let out a low, taunting laugh. “Oh, Xena, if only you could have seen them together.” She circled Xena like a predator toying with its prey. “Ares devoted himself to Livia. He brought her to Olympus like she belonged there. Showed her off like a prize. Trained her. Worshipped her.” Her smirk deepened. “And in return, she adored him.” 

The world around Xena seemed to press in. The air felt too thick, the room too small. But she didn’t move. Athena leaned in, her voice dropping into a whisper. “She would have done anything for him.” Xena’s heart gave a hard, painful thud against her ribs. She locked her arms at her sides, nails pressing into her skin. 

Athena tilted her head, her grin widening. “And she did do everything for him. She followed his every command, hung on his every word. And when he took her to bed? She screamed his name like a pledge.”  

Something inside Xena cracked—sharp, violent, nearly unbearable. But no one would see it. Not even Athena. Athena let out a sharp, delighted laugh. “All night long. Again and again and he never got tired of her.” 

Xena’s fingers twitched toward the hilt of her sword before she remembered it wasn’t there. 

Athena was merciless. “You should have seen him with her. The way he looked at her. Like she was the most perfect thing he had ever touched. She was everything he wanted—young, ruthless, eager to please .” Athena’s smirk turned vicious. “I wonder... Did he ever look at you that way?” 

Xena’s jaw tightened, her nails biting into her palms. 

Athena let out a soft, fake sigh, placing a hand over her heart. “It’s tragic, really.” Her smirk widened. “You and your daughter, sharing the same cock. I wonder... when Ares is deep inside you, does he think about being inside of her instead?” 

The crack inside Xena’s chest split wide open. Her breath caught, a fraction too sharp, but she exhaled slowly, refusing to let the pain take shape. 

Athena smirked, tilting her head as if studying something pitiful. “You know what the worst part is?” she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Even if Ares did care for you in some twisted way, it still wouldn’t matter. Because at the end of the day, you’re mortal . You’ll age, you’ll wither, and you’ll die. And Ares? He’ll still be here, fucking his way through eternity, while whatever little love you think he has for you turns to dust.” 

“I almost feel sorry for you,” Athena sneered. “You’ve always been strong, but this? This is pathetic. You’ve let a man—a god—break you in the most humiliating way possible. And the saddest part? You’ll still defend him. Still convince yourself you mean something to him.” 

Her laughter grew as she met Xena’s gaze. “You’ve been played, Xena. And you don’t even see it.” Satisfied, she smirked. “Good luck, Chosen .” Athena burst into an uncontrollable laughter.  

Xena clenched her jaw, her fists tightening, but before she could respond, Athena’s laughter suddenly cut off. Her expression changed, her eyes widening slightly as a quiet gasp left her lips. 

She shook her head, a whisper escaping her. “No... he wouldn’t.” 

Xena’s brow creased.  

Athena met her gaze once more, this time with something unreadable flickering in her eyes. Then, without another word, she disappeared, leaving Xena standing alone in the darkened room. 

The goddess had left nothing behind except her venomous words, but that was enough. The air felt heavier, thick with something she couldn’t shake, something that clung to her like a second skin. 

She had expected Athena to come for her eventually—expected her to threaten, to posture, to scheme. That was what the gods did. But she hadn’t expected this. No blades, no divine force, no grand displays of power. Just words. 

Athena had known exactly where to strike, had torn into the deepest parts of her, the parts Xena had spent years locking away. The attack had been methodical, like a surgeon slicing with perfect precision, exposing every raw nerve and then pressing, pressing, pressing. 

And Xena just stood there, taking the blows, absorbing them like armor dulling an enemy’s strike. She had refused to react, refused to let Athena see even a crack. Because that was how you won against gods. You didn’t let them see where it hurt. 

Her breath was slow. Too slow. Controlled in a way that wasn’t natural, because if she let herself exhale too hard, it might turn into something else. Athena’s voice still rang in her head. 

"You spread your legs for a man who would fuck a corpse if it were still warm."  

Xena’s stomach twisted, but she refused to let the nausea take hold. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. She wouldn’t let it be. Her fingers twitched at her sides—a small, almost insignificant movement, but she felt it. 

Athena had called her desperate, painted her as a fool, stripped her naked with nothing but words. And the worst part? 

She had stayed silent. 

For the first time in her life, Xena had been at a loss for words. Not because she agreed with Athena, not because she had any shame in what she had done. But because she didn’t know what to say. 

Because the words had struck places she had buried deep—places she didn’t want to touch. Places she had ignored for years. 

She had told herself she knew what this was with Ares. 

But had she? 

"Did he try to convince you that he loves you? "

Xena’s breath caught, just slightly. So quick, so sharp that if someone had been watching her, they wouldn’t have noticed. 

But she noticed. 

Athena called it a lie. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. That uncertainty was what made her feel sick. 

Her jaw clenched, fingers curling as tension coiled through her body. It shouldn’t matter. 

Ares was a war god, a master manipulator who had twisted words before, drawing her into his games, making her believe things she never should have. She knew how he worked, yet her throat tightened, and a faint tremor ran through her arms, a tension that refused to fade. 

She turned abruptly, walking toward the basin of water near the window. The faint glow of the moon barely illuminated the room but she didn’t reach for a candle. She didn’t need to see . She needed to feel something else—something real, something that wasn’t the echo of Athena’s voice circling her mind. 

She gripped the edges of the basin, her arms stiff as she leaned forward, her eyes fixed on her reflection in the darkened water. For a moment, she saw nothing—just shifting shadows. But as her vision adjusted, the shape of her own face took form, barely visible against the black surface. 

She looked like herself, but she didn’t feel it. Athena’s voice slipped back into her mind. 

"Ares loves no one but himself. "

She knew Ares better than anyone. She knew his arrogance, his greed, his unrelenting hunger for control. He had spent years trying to own her, to mold her, to claim her as his. She had always fought him, had always pushed back, but now... 

Now, she had given him exactly what he wanted. Xena swallowed hard, the realization sinking deeper than she wanted to admit. She had done this. 

She had walked into his temple, had given him her body, had given him everything, and in return, what had she expected? Her fingers curled tighter against the basin. 

A slow, deep breath left her lungs, but it did nothing to ease the weight pressing against her chest. She closed her eyes, forcing the thoughts away, forcing herself to be stronger than this. 

But then—she felt it. The warmth trailing down her cheek. Her eyes snapped open. Her grip on the basin slipped, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached up and touched the side of her face. 

Wetness? Xena inhaled sharply, her fingers hovering over her cheek as if denying the proof of what had just happened. 

A single tear slipped down her cheek, burning like molten iron against her skin. She didn’t cry—not over him, not over this—but the proof was there, undeniable. Her jaw clenched so tightly she thought her teeth might crack, yet the tear still fell, silent as a dagger slicing through air, vanishing before it could ever leave a trace. 

And then—nothing. She shut it down, swallowed it whole, forcing every trace of it into the void where it would never see the light again. 

You will not break. Her fingers released the basin as her arms fell to her sides, but she didn’t move right away. Her body felt stiff, her muscles still coiled tight with something she couldn’t shake. 

She had never belonged to Ares. 

And she never would. 

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and with one last steady breath, she turned from the basin, walking away from the reflection she refused to look at again. 

She dragged herself onto the bed, exhaustion weighing her down, but sleep never came. She stared at the ceiling, breathing slowly, forcing herself to relax. But the moment her eyes shut, the images came. 

The halls of war stretched before her, endless and dark, lit by the glow of unsteady torches. She saw Ares walking through them, his usual confident stride, his lips curved in a smirk. But he wasn’t alone. 

Livia was beside him. 

Xena’s jaw clenched in the darkness as the vision played out in perfect, merciless detail. Livia walked with the same arrogant grace Xena had once carried, her armor gleaming, her hand brushing against Ares’ arm in a way that was far too familiar. They moved together, side by side, like they belonged. 

The scene changed. Livia was against the stone wall now, her head tilting back as Ares claimed her lips. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him as their bodies pressed together, no space left between them. Livia moaned into his mouth, her hands tangling in his hair, and Ares groaned in response, his voice low, filled with something Xena didn’t want to name. 

Her stomach turned, but it didn’t stop. The images kept coming. 

Livia on his bed, her naked skin against his, her back arching beneath him. His lips moving along her throat, his name falling from her mouth like a plea. The way he moved, the way he buried himself inside her, the deep, broken moan he let out. 

And then, his voice cut through the darkness carrying the words that made her stomach turn. 

"You feel better than your mother."  

Xena shot up, her breath sharp and uneven, her hands trembling as she braced herself against the mattress. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might break her ribs. Her stomach twisted violently, a sickening nausea rising too fast for her to fight it. She barely had time to lurch forward before she grabbed the bucket near her bedside, vomiting into it, her entire body shaking.

Her fingers clenched around the rim, knuckles white as another wave hit her, her breath ragged between heaves. The taste burned, bitter and acidic, but she didn’t care. She just wanted it out—out of her stomach, out of her head, out of her life.

When the nausea finally eased, she sat back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her breathing was uneven, her body tense, her skin damp with sweat. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the images were still there, burned into her mind.

She had to leave.

Now.

Throwing the blanket off her legs, she pushed herself off the bed, already moving before her mind fully caught up. She grabbed her boots, barely lacing them before reaching for her weapons.  

She stormed down the hall, her hands already tightening into fists as she shoved open the door to Gabrielle’s room. 

"Get up." Gabrielle jolted awake as she blinked against the dim light. 

"Xena—?" 

"We’re leaving. Now." 

Gabrielle sat up, frowning. "It’s the middle of the night—" 

"I don’t care," Xena snapped, her tone sharper than intended. She exhaled, trying to steady herself, but her hands were still clenched at her sides. "Pack whatever you can carry. We’re not waiting until morning." 

Gabrielle studied her face, her brows creasing together. She could see the tension in Xena’s body, the way her chest rose and fell too fast, the way her jaw stayed locked tight. "What happened?" 

"Just do it," Xena said, her voice low and strained. 

Gabrielle didn’t argue. She swung her legs over the bed, already reaching for her things. Whatever had happened, whatever had shaken Xena this badly—she’d get answers later. Right now, they needed to move. 

Xena turned quickly, moving down the hall with fast, tense steps. She reached Eve’s door, hesitating for only a moment before pushing it open. 

Moonlight came through the small window, casting soft shadows over Eve as she slept. She was curled up, her breathing slow and steady, lost in whatever peace she could still find. But as Xena stood there, something else took over—something cruel, something she didn’t want to see. 

The vision hit her without warning. 

Ares was over Eve, his body pressed against hers, his breath hot on her skin. She saw the way he touched her, the way he kissed her, the way his fingers tangled in her hair. Then, she heard his voice—smooth, arrogant, full of pleasure. 

"Who's my girl?"  

Xena’s stomach twisted, her breath catching in her throat as a sick feeling crawled through her again. Her hands curled into fists, her vision jumping between reality and the image Athena had forced into her head. 

Before she even realized what she was doing, she grabbed Eve’s arm and yanked her out of bed with more force than she meant to. 

Eve hit the floor with a startled gasp and jerked awake, scrambling against the wooden boards. "Mother—?" Her voice was thick with sleep, confusion all over her face as she tried to figure out what had just happened. 

Xena froze. She had just thrown her daughter onto the floor. Guilt hit her like a punch to the chest. Her hands twitched, and she dropped to one knee, reaching out with a softer touch. "Evie." 

Eve pushed herself up, wincing as she rubbed her arm where Xena had grabbed her. Her eyes searched Xena’s face, and whatever she saw made her stop. "What’s going on?" 

Xena swallowed hard. Her jaw clenched, aching from the tension, her fingers shaking slightly as she placed a hand on Eve’s shoulder, steadier now. "We’re leaving," she said, her voice lower, more controlled. "Now." 

Eve studied her, seeing the storm Xena wasn’t putting into words. But she didn’t ask questions. Instead, she gave a small nod and got up. 

The air was crisp with the lingering chill of night as they set out, the farmhouse shrinking behind them. Xena led the way, her pace brisk, moving fast enough that Gabrielle and Eve had to work to keep up. 

Gabrielle adjusted her cloak, glancing at Eve before looking ahead at Xena’s stiff posture. She could see the tension in the way Xena moved, the sharpness in every step, like she was forcing herself forward just to keep from stopping. 

“Xena,” Gabrielle called, her voice careful, testing the waters. “Where exactly are we heading?” 

Xena didn’t answer. Gabrielle exchanged another look with Eve before trying again. “Are we going towards the coast?” 

Still nothing. 

Eve let out a slow breath, adjusting her grip on her horse’s reins. “Mother,” she said, her voice firm, “what’s the plan?” 

Xena didn’t slow down. “We keep moving.” 

Gabrielle frowned. “Okay, but moving where? If the gods—” 

“We’ll deal with them when we have to,” Xena cut in, her voice short. 

Gabrielle pressed her lips together, her frustration growing. “So we don’t have a plan?” 

Xena exhaled sharply, her hands tightening on her horse’s reins as she kept walking. “The plan is to not stand around waiting to be attacked,” she snapped. “That good enough for you?” 

Gabrielle inhaled slowly, trying to stay patient. She could hear the bite in Xena’s words, the way it coiled around every syllable like a warning. Pushing too hard wouldn’t help, but letting it go wasn’t an option either. 

Eve wasn’t about to drop it. “That’s not a plan,” she said, her horse stepping closer. “Are we going to the Amazons? Are we heading for allies? What’s the point of running if we don’t even know where we’re going?” 

Xena’s jaw clenched, her movements turning even more rigid. “The point,” she said, her voice low, “is to keep moving. And if you two can’t keep up—” 

She stopped abruptly, turning in one sharp motion. Her expression was hard, her eyes cold as she looked at them. “Then I’ll go ahead.” Before either of them could respond, she turned, grabbed the reins, and swung onto her horse in one quick movement. 

Gabrielle frowned. “Xena—” 

But Xena didn’t wait. With a sharp nudge, her horse took off, galloping down the road, leaving them behind in a cloud of dust. 

Gabrielle sighed, rubbing a hand down her face. “Well,” she muttered, glancing at Eve, “that went well.” 

Eve shook her head, watching Xena disappear in the distance. “She’s getting worse.” 

Gabrielle nodded, adjusting the strap of her bag before climbing onto her horse. “Come on. She’ll have to stop eventually.” Eve mounted up, her eyes still on the road ahead. Xena could outrun them for now, but not forever. 

Xena had ridden hard for most of the night, only slowing when she finally admitted—even to herself—that pushing her horse any further wouldn’t do any good. She pulled the reins, bringing her horse to a stop, near a place with enough cover from the trees to keep them hidden but open enough for a fire. 

Gabrielle and Eve caught up not long after, their expressions a mix of frustration and exhaustion. Gabrielle slid off her horse, her body stiff from the long ride, while Eve dismounted with a frown. 

Gabrielle wiped her forehead and took in the surroundings. “So, this is where we’re stopping?” 

Xena barely glanced at her as she pulled supplies from her saddlebag. “For now.” 

Eve exhaled slowly, brushing her horse’s mane before securing it to a nearby tree. “Are you going to tell us what’s going on now?” 

Xena didn’t answer, busying herself with gathering dry branches for the fire. She struck flint against steel, watching as the spark caught.  

Gabrielle crossed her arms, watching her. “You can’t avoid this forever, Xena.” 

Xena’s jaw tightened. “I’m not avoiding anything.” 

Eve scoffed. “Right. That’s why you tore us out of bed in the middle of the night, pushed ahead like you were running from something, and now refuse to look either of us in the eye.” 

Xena’s fingers twitched slightly as she set her sword down beside her. She inhaled slowly through her nose before reaching for her whetstone. The sound of metal against stone filled the silence. 

Gabrielle sat down near the fire, glancing at Eve before trying a different approach. “Look, whatever happened, we’re not going anywhere. But you have to talk to us, Xena.” Xena didn’t respond, keeping her focus on her weapon, sharpening slow, steady strokes. 

Eve sighed, rubbing her temples. “Fine. Be like that.” 

The tension stretched between them, unspoken but thick in the air. Gabrielle and Eve eventually turned their attention to preparing a quick meal, talking quietly between themselves. 

Xena kept her distance. She didn’t need to eat. She didn’t need to talk. She needed control. She dragged the whetstone along her sword again, letting the rhythmic motion ground her.  

But then, she saw it—her reflection in the blade, but not as she was now. It was her younger self, staring back at her, the coin headgear still resting against her head. A wink—quick and sharp, there one moment and gone the next. 

Xena flung the sword to the ground, the metal striking the dirt with a sharp clang as the whetstone tumbled from her grip, landing beside it with a dull thud. 

Eve glanced up just in time to see Xena staring at her sword before the stone fell. She frowned slightly. Then, without another word, Xena stood and walked away from the fire. 

Gabrielle’s head snapped up. “Where are you going?” 

Xena didn’t stop. “To a ball. Thought I’d dress up first,” she shot back flatly, her tone dripping with sarcasm. Gabrielle froze, caught off guard. 

Xena kept walking disappearing into the darkness. She reached an opening and stopped, her legs locking beneath her, her body refusing to move any further. She wasn’t sure what had brought her here—only that she needed to be anywhere but that camp. Anywhere but trapped inside her own head, drowning in thoughts that wouldn’t quiet. 

Her fingers curled against the bark of the tree, holding on as though she could anchor herself, as though it might stop the way her chest felt like it was caving in. But it didn’t. It only made the shaking in her arms more noticeable, the pressure in her ribs more suffocating. 

She exhaled, slow, deliberate, but it didn’t help. The weight of it all was still pressing down on her. 

Had any of it been worth it? 

She had spent years trying to be better, had thrown herself into redemption with the desperation of a woman who believed—who hoped —that maybe, just maybe, she could balance the scales. That maybe, if she fought hard enough, if she saved enough people, if she suffered enough, she could make up for what she had done. 

But she was starting to think it had all been a lie. 

No matter how much good she did, life had never repaid her with peace. Every victory was met with loss. Every moment of happiness was ripped away before she could even hold onto it.  

She had been poisoned, crucified, forced to give up her own child, and left to mourn him when he was taken from her. She had fought against gods, warlords, and fate itself, only to lose more than she could ever keep. Over and over again, she had clawed her way back from the edge, only to be knocked down harder. And for what? 

So she could be reminded, again and again, that no matter how much she fought , no matter how much she sacrificed , the world would never let her win? Her nails scraped against the bark, her breath shuddering as her vision blurred. A tear slipped down her cheek, and she barely noticed. 

What was the point? 

What was the damn point of it all? 

She had spent her whole life trying to outrun the monster she used to be. She had bled for redemption. She had lost friends, buried loved ones, and suffered betrayals that cut deeper than any blade. No matter how many times she fought for the greater good, it was never enough. No matter how much she sacrificed, suffering always found her, like it was the only thing she was ever meant to know. 

It was as if the universe had been laughing at her this entire time, watching her struggle, watching her fight, only to remind her, at every turn, that she would never escape it. That no matter how much she changed, no matter how much she clawed her way toward the light, she would always be the woman who once burned villages to the ground. 

Maybe happiness had never been meant for her. Maybe all she was ever meant to do was suffer. Maybe she was never supposed to live at all." 

Her breath caught, her shoulders trembling as she pressed her forehead against the tree, her body curling inward. Another tear slipped free. Then another. She could count on one hand the number of times she had let herself break like this, but tonight, she didn’t have the strength to fight it. 

She was tired. 

Tired of running. 

Tired of fighting. 

Tired of trying . 

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. If she opened her mouth, she wasn’t sure if she’d sob or scream, so she stayed silent, her chest rising and falling with short, uneven breaths. 

Her stomach twisted, nausea creeping up her throat. She was so tired. And for the first time in a long time, she wondered if she would ever be anything other than exhausted. 

Xena barely had time to register the change in the air before strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against a solid chest. The warmth of his body was instant, a contrast to the cold emptiness she had just been drowning in. She stiffened, her breath catching, but she didn’t pull away. 

Ares’ voice was smooth, deep, almost teasing, but there was something else beneath it—something careful. “ Didn’t take you for the hugging type, Xena .”  

Xena’s fingers dug into the bark, her knuckles white. “Let go.” 

He didn’t. Instead, his grip tightened, not forceful, but firm, like he was keeping her grounded, like he knew if he let go, she might fall apart. His breath was warm against the side of her neck, his chin resting just near her shoulder. “Not until you stop looking like you’d rather be dead.” 

Her jaw clenched, a sharp breath flaring through her nostrils. “I said—” 

“I know what you said.” His voice dropped lower, losing the playful edge. “But that doesn’t mean I’m listening.” She hated that he touched her like he had a right to. Hated that he thought she belonged to him. 

She ripped herself free of his grasp, stepping forward with a sharp jerk of her body. “Don’t touch me.” 

Xena turned on him, her breathing sharp, her chest rising and falling too fast. The anger boiled under her skin, burning hotter than before, because Athena’s voice wouldn’t leave her mind. The words clawed at her, sinking deeper, carving into wounds that had never healed. 

Ares has been playing this game since time began.  

You’re nothing to him now.  

You and your daughter, sharing the same cock.  

Her breathing caught. Ares was watching her, his expression unreadable now. That smirk was gone but it didn’t matter. She didn’t care what he thought, didn’t care about the way his eyes traced over her face, like he was searching for something. 

She didn’t care.  

She struck first, her fist aiming for his jaw. He dodged, catching her wrist in a firm grip before twisting her arm behind her back. She gritted her teeth and wrenched free, spinning to strike again, this time leading with her elbow. Ares blocked it with his forearm, his muscles tensing against the impact. He hissed through his teeth, shaking his arm out slightly. 

She smirked. 

He could feel pain now—but only from her, ever since she gained the ability to kill gods. That was why this wasn’t just a game to him anymore. He narrowed his eyes, reading her next move before she made it. “That’s how we’re playing, huh?” 

Xena launched at him again. 

He countered. A swift step back, a block, a sharp twist of his body as she swung. He wasn’t letting her land another clean hit—not without making her work for it. He shoved her back, his strength enough to send her stumbling, but she caught herself, dropping low before springing forward again. 

Fists connected. Blocks changed into counterattacks. Every hit that landed was met with another, the tension between them crackling hotter with every exchange. Xena could feel the sting of Ares' grip as he caught her arm, twisting her with enough force to throw her off balance. 

But she was faster. She rolled with it, slipping under his hold and driving her knee toward his ribs. Ares grunted, absorbing the blow, but his reaction was instant.  

His hands grabbed her waist, flipping her momentum against her before slamming her back against a tree. The impact sent a sharp jolt through her spine, but she refused to wince, refused to give him that satisfaction. She shoved against his chest, trying to break free, but his grip tightened, pinning her in place. 

"Enough," he growled, his voice low and rough. 

Xena glared up at him, her breath sharp, her body still thrumming with the need to fight. "Let me go." 

Ares' fingers curled tighter around her wrists, pressing them against the rough bark. His chest rose and fell with hard breaths, his eyes locked on hers. "Not until you tell me what the hell this is." 

She struggled, her jaw clenching as she pushed against him, but he held her firm. "You. It’s always you." 

Ares let out a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah? That why you’re hitting me instead of thanking me?" 

Xena scoffed, her pulse pounding in her ears. "You think I should thank you for ruining my life? For dragging me into this—" 

"Dragging you?" Ares cut in, his grip tightening just slightly. "You came to me, remember? You made the deal, Xena. No one forced you." Her stomach twisted, because he was right. That was the worst part. No one had put a blade to her throat. She had done this. She had walked into that temple. 

And now, she had to live with it. 

Ares leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into something softer, something that slithered under her skin. "You’re acting like some helpless victim. Since when has that ever been you?" 

Her breathing caught. 

Ares’ eyes flickered, watching the change in her expression. "You’ve spent years trying to be something you’re not. Pretending you could walk away from the fire in your blood. But you can’t, can you?" His lips barely moved as he spoke. "That’s not who you are." 

Xena swallowed hard, the words wrapping around her like a slow, smothering heat. 

"You’re a warrior," he murmured, his grip adjusting just enough to slide against her skin. "A conqueror. A woman who takes what she wants, who fights, who burns through anything that gets in her way." His lips twitched into something close to a smirk. "That’s the Xena I know." 

Xena’s breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding harder at his words. But just as quickly as the heat threatened to pull her under, something else surged through her—rage. Disgust. At him. At herself. 

Her jaw clenched, and she twisted her arms free from his grip, yanking herself back. “No,” she said, her voice sharp, shaking. “That’s not who I am.” 

Ares tilted his head, watching her carefully, but she was already stepping away, shaking her head. “You think you know me? You think you can just whisper a few sweet words, remind me of who I used to be, and I’ll fall back into your arms?” She let out a short, bitter laugh. “You don’t know a damn thing.” 

Ares smirked, his voice low and certain. “I know you feel it.” 

Xena’s stomach twisted, her chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths. She looked at him, disgust tightening her features, then turned and walked away, her steps quick and unrelenting as she made her way back to camp. 

Ares didn’t stop her. 

But she could feel his eyes on her the whole way. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: Lost in Desire  

Xena walked back into the glow of the campfire, her expression unreadable. Gabrielle and Eve sat nearby, their conversation stopping the moment they noticed her return. Xena didn’t say anything while she grabbed her sharpening stone, already moving to sit down.  

Gabrielle got up and walked towards her, a bowl in her hands. "I made stew," she said, holding it out. "Figured you’d be hungry."  

Xena took one look at the bowl and frowned. "You couldn’t pick out a better meal?"  

Gabrielle’s brows creased. "When did you stop liking rabbit stew?"  

Xena took the bowl, muttering, "I don’t remember starting."  

Gabrielle huffed but didn’t argue. She sat back down, stirring her own stew while Eve adjusted uncomfortably at the growing tension. Trying to break it, she cleared her throat. "Where did you go off to?"  

Xena’s grip on the bowl tightened slightly. "Can’t I have a moment to myself without being questioned like a criminal?" Eve looked down, the warmth in her expression fading. Gabrielle shot Xena a look but didn’t press, instead returning to her food.  

The silence stretched, only broken by the quiet sounds of eating. But to Xena, it was anything but quiet. The way Gabrielle chewed, the soft scrape of Eve’s spoon against the bowl—it all grated on her nerves. The fire crackled too loud, the crickets’ chirping drilled into her skull like an unbearable screech. Every little sound felt amplified, pressing against her like a weight she couldn’t shake.  

She couldn’t take it.  

Without a word, Xena set her bowl down and stood, grabbing her bedroll and moving away from the fire. Gabrielle and Eve exchanged a glance but didn’t try to stop her.  

Xena found a spot further from camp, where the shadows stretched long and the firelight couldn’t reach. She dropped her bedroll and laid down, turning away from the others as she stared into the darkness.  

She had planned to stay awake, to let her mind settle, maybe even trace the stars for a while. But the moment her head touched the bedroll, the weight of exhaustion hit her all at once, dragging her under before she had the chance.  

Before her mind realized she was actually asleep, she was standing in the heart of Ares’ temple, its grand columns stretching high into the darkness. The torches burned low, casting flickering golden light against the smooth marble. The air was thick—heavy with something intoxicating. The scent of leather and fire lingered, wrapping around her like an embrace.  

And she wasn’t fighting him. Instead, she was in his arms.  

Her fingers tangled in his thick curls, her body flush against his, every inch of her molding to his familiar strength. His hands, strong yet impossibly smooth against her skin, slid down her back in a slow, unhurried caress, leaving a trail of fire behind them. She shivered, but it had nothing to do with fear. She wanted this. She wanted him .  

Ares’ breath was warm as he brushed his lips along her jawline, down the curve of her throat. She exhaled a soft, shuddering breath, tilting her head back, exposing more of herself to him. He took his time, his mouth lingering over her pulse, teasing her with slow, open-mouthed kisses.  

Her own voice betrayed her, whispering his name like a prayer. She kissed him, deep and full, pouring herself into it as though she had done it a hundred times before. It felt natural, familiar—right. Her lips moved against juicy lips, knowing his rhythm, savoring his taste. Her body reacted before she could think, pressing into him, drawn to his warmth.  

Ares was inside her, his body pressing against hers, his breath hot against her skin. Every touch sent a slow burn through her, pulling her deeper into him, into this moment. His hands gripped her hips, holding her against him as he moved, slow at first, then with the kind of urgency she had always craved.  

His voice came low, rough—too familiar. The same words she had heard before. “I love you.”  

Xena’s fingers dug into his back, her legs tightening around him, pulling him closer. She had heard those words before, but this time they weren’t just part of the game they played. They felt real, steady, unshaken.  

“I love you too,” she breathed, the words leaving her without thought, without hesitation. She meant it. She had always meant it.  

Suddenly, Xena shot up, her breath sharp and ragged, heart slamming against her ribs.  

"Yuck," she muttered under her breath, running her hand down her face.  

She forced herself to steady her breathing and looked towards the camp. Gabrielle and Eve were asleep now, their bodies barely visible in the soft glow of the fire.  

She pushed herself up and moved quickly, heading towards the nearby river. Stripping down to her shift, she waded into the water and dove beneath the surface. The cold should have jolted her back, should have erased the heat still clinging to her skin.  

But it didn’t.  

Instead, her mind pulled her back—the way his hands moved over her skin, the deep rumble of his voice, the way she had wanted him without hesitation.  

Her body reacted before she could stop it. Her breath caught as her fingers trailed lower, her eyes closing while the images in her mind played again. She saw Ares above her, inside her, his hands gripping her hips, his mouth against her throat.  

A quiet moan slipped from her lips as her fingers circled between her thighs. The river’s cold bite did nothing to cool the heat building inside her. She bit down on her lip, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. The pleasure coiled tight in her stomach, her body trembling as she chased the sensation. Her lips parted, and before she could stop herself, his name slipped out—so soft, so faint, it never made a sound.  

Then—another touch. A strong, warm hand settled over hers, steady and unyielding as it guided her movements, heat radiating from his skin.  

Her eyes flew open, her entire body locking up as she felt his hand covering hers, pressing against her center, his fingers moving in sync with her own. She froze, the pleasure snapping into something else entirely—panic, shock, fury.  

Ares’ breath was at her ear, his chest pressed lightly against her back. His fingers curled around hers, stilling her movements as his voice hummed low and teasing.  

"Now, now," he murmured. "Don’t stop on my account." She spun around, her heart slamming against her ribs as she met his gaze. Ares stood there, his expression smug, his eyes dark with something lustful.  

Xena shot out of the water so fast she nearly stumbled onto the riverbank. "Stay the hell away from me," she snapped, her breath still uneven, her body ignoring the rage she was forcing back.  

But Ares just smirked, stepping closer. "That’s not what your body was saying a second ago." She backed away, grass brushing against her legs as she moved further from the water. Ares followed.  

"Don't," she warned, pointing a finger at him, her hand trembling slightly as she shook her head. But he didn’t stop. He kept walking, slow and steady, closing the distance between them.   

Xena stepped back, her feet sinking into the soft grass, water dripping from her skin as she put more distance between them—until she stumbled. She fell onto her back, the damp earth pressing against her skin.  

The earth was cool against her back, but the heat rolling off him was all she could feel. Ares stood over her, towering, his eyes locked onto hers, dark with something she knew too well. He didn’t just look at her with hunger—he looked at her like he had already claimed her, like there was nowhere to run.  

Her gaze dropped, drawn to the way his lips parted just slightly, begging to be kissed. Then, lower—between his legs, where his arousal was thick and heavy beneath the fabric, impossible to ignore.  

He started at her feet, moving with purpose, his hands pressing into the grass as he crawled up her body inch by inch. His gaze never left hers, dark and unreadable. His approach was achingly slow—like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.  

"You’re running, Xena," he said, voice quiet but firm. Xena swallowed hard, every muscle in her body wound tight. Ares leaned in just slightly, a smirk touching his lips. "But we both know... you’ll never outrun this."  

Xena’s breath came in short, uneven bursts, her heart pounding against her ribs as she laid beneath Ares, the damp grass cool against her overheated skin. She could still feel the water dripping from her body, her thin shift clinging to her curves, leaving nothing to the imagination.  

His hands moved with ease, unbuckling his belt. The leather slid free, falling to the grass with a quiet thud . His fingers worked next at the clasps of his armor, his eyes never leaving hers as each piece was discarded.  

Xena’s body tensed. "Ares—"  

He gripped the edges of his vest and pulled it open in one slow motion, the worn leather parting to reveal the powerful, chiseled body beneath. Broad shoulders, sculpted muscle, skin kissed by war and fire—every inch of him was built for battle, for domination. He shrugged the vest off and let it drop beside them, his gaze never leaving hers as he lowered himself closer.  

His naked chest hovered just above hers, heat radiating between them, his skin inches from hers but not touching. Every movement of his body sent a ripple through his muscles, raw strength caged beneath his control. He lingered there, close enough for her to feel his breath, waiting for the moment she would break first.  

His hands tickled up her thighs, pushing beneath her shift, teasing his way higher. Xena’s breath caught as her body responded, her muscles clenching, her skin burning under his touch. She wanted to fight him. She should fight him. But her body—her traitorous body—was already giving in.  

"Stop," she whispered, but there was no force behind it. Her hands moved to his shoulders, but instead of pushing him away, she gripped him, her fingers flexing against his skin.  

Ares leaned in, his mouth grazing her ear, his breath hot against her damp skin. "You don’t want me to stop," he murmured. His lips trailed lower, kissing along her jawline, down the column of her throat.  

Xena let out a soft moan, her body arching against him. "Ares... don’t do this," she tried again, but even as she spoke, her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.  

He lifted his head, staring down at her, his eyes dark and searching. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was their heavy breathing, the weight of unspoken desires pressing between them. Then, Xena’s resolve shattered. She leaned up, capturing his lips in a desperate, hungry kiss.  

Ares groaned against her mouth, his body pressing flush against hers as the kiss deepened. His hands slid up her sides, pushing her wet shift higher, exposing more of her to the cool night air. His touch was slow, teasing, dragging out every sensation.  

Xena’s nails raked down his back as he rolled his hips against her, a deep moan escaping her lips. He took his time, savoring every inch of her, every sound she made. His lips moved down her neck, over her collarbone, trailing down until he reached the soft swell of her breasts. His tongue flicked out, tasting the water droplets still clinging to her skin.  

She squirmed beneath him, her legs parting instinctively to welcome him closer. Ares smirked against her skin, sensing her surrender.  

"You feel it too," he whispered, his voice thick with need. Xena didn’t answer, but the way she arched into him, the way her moans spilled freely from her lips, said enough.  

Ares slid her shift over her head, tossing it aside. His hands roamed over her, slow and purposeful, exploring her curves with a hunger that made her tremble. He kissed his way down her stomach, his fingers following, leaving a trail of fire.  

She gasped, her hands gripping his biceps as he settled between her thighs, his touch sending waves of pleasure through her. "Ares..." she moaned, her voice breathless. He groaned in response, his lips finding hers again as he pressed closer, his body molding against hers with slow, measured movements.  

His hands moved between them, and with one sharp motion, he snapped his pants off, the leather disappearing as if it had never been there. Ares pressed against her, thick and heavy, his arousal leaving no space between them. Heat pulsed where they touched, the hard length of him resting at her entrance, waiting, welcoming.  

His gaze locked onto hers, dark and unshaken, as he pushed forward, slow and steady, stretching her inch by inch until there was nothing left between them. A ragged gasp slipped from her lips, her body arching into him, taking him deeper, holding him there.  

Xena cried out, her nails digging into his back as he filled her completely. They moved together, their rhythm unhurried, savoring every moment, every thrust, every breath.  

Ares whispered her name between kisses, his lips never leaving her skin. His moans were low, rough, each one sending a new rush of heat through her. Xena clung to him, her body burning, her head spinning, lost in the overwhelming pleasure of it all.  

Their pace quickened, their moans growing louder as they pushed each other higher. Xena’s body tightened around him, her climax building fast, too fast. She gasped his name, her head tilting back as waves of pleasure crashed over her.  

Ares wasn’t far behind. His thrusts became erratic, his grip on her tightening as he groaned into her neck, finding his own release. His body tensed, then relaxed against hers, both of them spent, their bodies slick with sweat and the cool night air wrapping around them.  

Ares stayed on top of her, his forehead resting against hers as their breathing slowed. Xena stared up at him, her fingers still tangled in his hair. Something flickered in his expression—something raw, something real. But she didn’t let herself think about it.  

Without a word, Ares adjusted himself, one arm slipping beneath her as he materialized a thick, plush blanket beneath them, the softness molding to her body. Another appeared above them, heavy and warm, draping over their tangled limbs like a shield against the night.  

Xena turned her head, her eyes already growing heavy. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the lingering heat between them, the comfort of his body against hers—it pulled her under before she had the chance to fight it.  

Sleep took her, wrapped in his warmth.  

Laughter echoed through the grand hall, rolling off the marble walls as the gods lounged around the massive table, their usual air of superiority mixed with something far more entertaining—mockery.  

“I bet she turned red ,” Apollo chuckled, leaning back lazily in his seat. “You know how proud she is—probably sat there, all stiff and brooding, trying not to let it show.”  

“Please,” Hermes scoffed, smirking. “She probably clenched her jaw so hard, her teeth cracked.” That got a round of laughter.  

“I would have loved to see her face when Athena spelled it out for her,” another god chimed in. “The moment it hit —when she realized just how stupid she’s been.”  

Hades grinned, propping an elbow on the table. “If Athena did her job right, Xena’s probably halfway to running her sword through Ares right now.” That earned another wave of amusement, the gods relishing the image of Ares finally paying the price for his obsession.  

Through it all, Aphrodite sat among them, offering fake smiles and light chuckles where expected. But she wasn’t really laughing. Her fingers tapped idly against the arm of her chair, her gaze looking around the room. She could feel it—how much they wanted this. How much they hoped Athena had destroyed Xena’s faith in Ares because it meant one less problem for them .  

The laughter died down as Athena entered the hall, her steps even, her expression unreadable. She barely glanced at the others before locking eyes with Aphrodite. Her voice was calm, cool, and blunt .  

“It’s nice of you to finally join us.”  

Aphrodite stilled, her smile barely holding. But she said nothing. Athena didn’t wait for a response. Hades leaned forward, still grinning, amusement dripping from his voice. “Well?” he asked, eager for confirmation. “How did it go?”  

Apollo eyed her suspiciously. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”  

Athena exhaled sharply, her fingers pressing against the table as she met their gazes. “It’s worse than I thought,” she said, her voice firm but cold. “And none of you are ready for what’s coming.” The gods exchanged glances, confusion flickering between them.  

Artemis furrowed her brow. “What are you talking about?”  

Athena didn’t hesitate. “Xena has agreed to give Ares a child.” The room fell silent.  

Apollo scoffed, shaking his head. “Ares has made half mortal offspring before. What makes this any different?”  

Athena turned to him, her gaze sharp. “Because this isn’t just any child,” she said. “This is hers. ”  

Confusion flickered across their faces. Hers? Xena was mortal. Bound to time, to death. She wasn’t like them—she wasn’t a force that lasted. How could a child of Ares belong to her in any way that mattered?  

Apollo’s jaw tightened. “You mean...”  

Athena nodded. “Xena’s ability to kill gods—it isn’t just a skill. It’s something deeper. Something in her very blood. And now, she’s going to pass that curse down.”  

Artemis’ expression darkened. “A god-killer,” she murmured. “Born, not made.”  

Athena’s voice was grim. “And if they have one, they can have more.” Her gaze swept across the table, making sure every god present understood the gravity of what she was saying. “Think about it. Ares isn’t just securing a child. He’s securing a lineage. If they wanted to, they could keep having children, each one stronger than the last, until there are enough of them to replace us entirely.”  

The gods stirred, discomfort flashing in their eyes.  

“This isn’t about one child,” Athena continued. “It’s about a future where we don’t exist. Where we’re nothing but forgotten relics of the past, wiped out by a new pantheon born from a mortal woman.” Her voice lowered. “This isn’t just another battle. This is the true Twilight.”  

She paused, her fingers pressing into the table as her gaze darkened. “Zeus was a fool,” she said, her voice sharp. “He went after her child when the real threat was right there, helpless in his face. He let her live. And now, she’s set in motion a cycle that could end us all.”  

Apollo exhaled slowly, running his hand through his golden hair. “So what do we do?”  

Athena’s expression hardened. “The only thing we can do. We need to kill Xena. And everything that comes out of her.” A heavy silence followed.  

Artemis leaned back, considering. “Easier said than done. Ares won’t let her out of his sight.”  

Apollo nodded. “And Xena is dangerous even without his protection. Once she becomes pregnant, she’ll be even more ruthless to defend what’s hers.”  

Hades’ voice was calm, but there was an edge of unease beneath it. “And Ares?”  

Athena’s lips pressed together. “Ares is a problem, yes. But he’s no longer the biggest threat.” She exhaled, steadying herself. “We can’t let her live long enough to carry his child. If we do, then it’s already too late.”  

The gods exchanged wary glances. They all knew it wouldn’t be easy. But for the first time in their immortal lives they felt fear. Athena straightened, her expression cold and determined. “It’s time to pay Ares a visit.”  

The morning air was crisp, the sky painted in soft shades of blue and gold as Eve and Gabrielle walked through the tall grass, following the faint trail that led away from camp. They hadn’t seen Xena when they woke up, but after everything lately, neither of them wanted to get on her bad side.  

Gabrielle spotted the fur blanket first, its dark folds stretched over the ground. And there was Xena, still asleep, curled into its warmth, her body half-hidden beneath it.  

Eve hesitated before stepping closer. “Mother?” she called gently. Xena didn’t stir.  

Gabrielle crouched down beside her, exchanging a quick glance with Eve before reaching out. “Xena,” she said softly, placing a careful hand on her shoulder.  

Xena jolted awake. Her breath caught in her chest as she sat up fast. Her eyes darted around, searching. But there was nothing. Ares was gone. The warmth of his body, the weight of him beside her—gone. The only thing left were the blankets and his lingering, intoxicating smell, and the soreness between her legs.  

Eve watched her closely. “Why’d you come so far out to sleep?” she asked, her voice careful, light.  

Xena ran her hand through her hair, exhaling as she shook her head. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice calmer than they expected. “Guess I just needed the space.”  

Neither Gabrielle nor Eve pushed for more. Gabrielle smiled, warmth in her eyes as she gestured towards the path back to camp. “Well, we packed everything up. Breakfast is hot and waiting for you.”  

Xena looked at her, surprised for a moment, but then something in her softened. She nodded, pushing the blanket aside as she stood. “That sounds perfect.” Gabrielle and Eve both smiled, relieved that—for once—Xena wasn’t snapping at them. They headed back together, letting the morning freshness wash over them, leaving the blanket and everything it meant behind.  

Xena sat by the fire, tearing into the fresh bread Gabrielle had handed her. The warmth of the meal settled in her stomach, giving her something to focus on other than the lingering ache outside her body. She didn’t say much as she ate, and for once, neither Gabrielle nor Eve seemed to mind.  

Abruptly, Eve’s eyes narrowed slightly as she rested her chin on her hand, studying Xena a little closer. Something felt... off. Her gaze drifted down, and that’s when she saw it.  

Her head jerked back slightly. “Mother... what is that on your neck?”  

Gabrielle, mid-sip of tea, frowned at Eve’s tone before glancing over. But the moment her eyes landed on Xena’s throat, she nearly choked. Her stomach twisted as she took in the dark bruises on both sides of Xena’s neck, deep and unmistakable. Hickeys. Not just one—several, scattered across her skin.  

Gabrielle’s mouth fell open slightly. “Xena,” she said slowly, eyes wide. “What... what happened?”  

Xena stiffened. The question lingered, pressing in on her, waiting for an answer she wasn’t willing to give. Her grip tightened around the bread in her hands, her heartbeat suddenly too loud.  

Ares. His mouth on her skin, his teeth scraping along her pulse, the way he had groaned against her throat as he buried himself deep inside her. His hands gripping her hips, pulling her down to meet every slow, hard thrust—  

Xena shoved the memory away so fast it left her breathless. She clenched her jaw, focusing on her plate, but Gabrielle wasn’t done. "Xena," she said, still staring, still trying to piece it together. "Where did you go last night?"  

Xena slammed her bread down onto the plate so hard Gabrielle flinched. "I don’t owe you an explanation," she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut.  

Eve's face paled, her eyes flicking between Xena’s bruises and the way she was gripping the cup in her hands like she wanted to shatter it. "Mother," she tried, her voice careful. "Did—did Ares do this to you?"  

Gabrielle's stomach dropped, horror flashing across her face. "Xena," she breathed, her hands trembling as she reached across the small space between them. "Did he—?"  

Xena's throat tightened. Gabrielle's eyes filled with sorrow, her fingers brushing against Xena’s arm. "Gods, Xena, I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I should have—"  

Eve moved without thinking, sliding onto her knees beside her mother, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. Xena tensed instantly, but Eve only hugged her tighter. "We’re here," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "Whatever happened, you don’t have to go through it alone."  

Gabrielle was already out of her seat, crouching beside Xena, her hands pressing over Eve’s as they both held her. "We’ll fix this," she swore. "You’re not alone."  

Xena’s hands balled into fists at her sides, her breath locked in her throat as their warmth surrounded her. Their sympathy, their sorrow—none of it was right.   

She didn’t need their comfort, nor did she need their pity. The way they held her, the way they whispered reassurances, it all felt misplaced. They thought she had been violated, that Ares had taken something from her against her will. They saw the bruises on her skin and assumed the worst, their sorrow wrapping around her like a suffocating weight.  

But they were wrong. So completely, devastatingly wrong. Xena closed her eyes, swallowing back the heat rising in her chest, the tightness curling in her gut. They thought they understood, that they were offering her the comfort she needed, but they couldn’t have been further from the truth.  

Her fingers twitched against her leg before she forced them to still. Her jaw clenched, breath steady as she exhaled through her nose. She didn’t pull away. She let them hold her, let them whisper reassurances she didn’t ask for, let them believe what they wanted.  

Because the truth?  

The truth was worse. Eve pulled back just enough to meet Xena’s eyes, her expression set with determination. “We’re going to figure this out,” she said, her hands still on Xena’s arms. “We’ll find a way to get you out of this deal.”  

Xena didn’t respond. What was there to say? There was no way out. Ares had made sure of that.  

Gabrielle, sitting beside her, hesitated for only a second before reaching out, pressing a hand gently against Xena’s stomach. “And even if you are...” She trailed off, choosing her words carefully. “Even if you’re pregnant, that’s okay. We’ll love the baby, no matter what.”  

Xena’s eyes darkened for a moment, her jaw clenching. but she didn’t pull away. Gabrielle held her gaze, waiting, hoping to see some glimpse of the friend she had known for years. Some sign that Xena was still in there, beneath all the anger, the guarded walls, the things she wasn’t saying.  

Then, after a moment, Xena gave a single nod. It was barely anything. But Gabrielle took it. She exhaled, pulling her hand back before standing. “If we’re all done eating,” she said, glancing between them, “we should get going.”  

Eve stood up, brushing the dirt from her hands. Xena sat there for a moment longer, staring at her half eaten plate before finally rising to her feet. She didn’t say a word.  

Ares didn’t bother looking up when the blinding golden light lit up the temple. He was sprawled lazily across his throne, a cup of nectar in one hand, the other tangled in the hair of the priestess nestled in his lap. She trailed her lips along his jaw, her fingers sliding over his chest, teasing at the edge of his vest as she whispered sweet promises against his skin.  

Another priestess sat straddling his thigh, her hands smoothing over his shoulders, pressing soft kisses along the side of his neck. Ares let out a low hum, eyes half-closed, thoroughly enjoying himself as their eager hands worshiped him.  

They wanted to please him, to be claimed by him, to revel in the heat of his presence. And he let them, indulging in every touch, every brush of lips and fingers against his skin, his smirk lazy as he tipped his head back and took another sip of nectar. The priestess in his lap sighed against his neck, her lips barely brushing his skin before Athena’s voice cut through the room like a blade.  

“Ares.” She wasn’t asking for his attention. She was demanding it.  

Ares exhaled slowly, still lounging. “I know you’re there, Athena.” He spat the words and kept tracing patterns down the naked back of the woman straddling his thigh. “But I don’t remember inviting you.”  

Athena’s expression remained flat. “And yet, I’m here.”  

Ares finally moved his gaze towards her, his lips curving in amusement. “Well, aren’t I lucky?” Athena didn’t respond, didn’t move, didn’t so much as blink. The air between them thickened, the temperature of the room dipping.  

The women around Ares adjusted uncomfortably. One of them hesitated before pressing a lingering kiss just beneath his jaw, but Ares could already feel the moment slipping away.  

Annoyed, he sighed and leaned back against his throne. “Ladies,” he murmured, his voice smooth, but with an unmistakable finality. “Go.”  

The priestesses hesitated, reluctant to leave his warmth, but a single glance at Athena’s unyielding stare had them moving. One by one, they slid off his lap, trailing their fingers down his arms as they stepped away. The last one lingered the longest, pressing a final kiss against his chest before giving him a soft, wanting look.  

Ares smirked. “Later.”  

Satisfied, she turned and left with the others, the doors shutting softly behind them.  

“Came to gloat?” he said, his tone lazy, unimpressed. “Or are you here to beg for my mercy? Because you know how much I love hearing Olympians whine.”  

Athena’s steps were slow as she entered his space. “Neither,” she said coolly, eyes scanning the room before settling on him. “I came to see how much of a fool you really are.”  

Ares smirked, finally lifting his gaze to meet hers. “You already know the answer to that. And yet, you’re still standing here. Which means you either have a point to make... or you’re just desperate for attention.”  

Athena’s expression didn’t change. “You should be more concerned about who has your attention.”  

Ares leaned back against his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Let me guess—you’re still stewing over Xena. Gods, Athena, get a new hobby.”  

Her lips curved slightly, but there was no humor behind it. “Oh, I have,” she said. “It involves ensuring you don’t doom the rest of us with your pathetic infatuation.”  

Ares laughed, deep and mocking. “Infatuation? You say that like she hasn’t belonged to me for years.”  

Athena stepped closer. “ Belonged to you?” she repeated, her voice smooth but edged with steel. “And yet, when I spoke to her, she didn’t look like a woman who belonged to anyone. Least of all you.”  

Ares’ smirk didn’t waver, but something in his eyes darkened. “You think whatever games you played with her got through?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t know her like I do. Xena can’t be broken. She can’t be turned. ”  

Athena tilted her head slightly. “Are you so sure?”  

Ares said nothing.  

Athena took another step forward, her presence commanding the space. “You may have fucked her, but that doesn’t mean you have her,” she said, voice lowering. “You think you’ve won? You think tying yourself to her with a child makes her yours?” She exhaled a soft laugh. “How tragic.”  

"You actually believe she’s yours, don’t you?" she said, her voice smooth and taunting. "That after all the times she’s used you, played you, cut you down, she’s suddenly changed?"  

Ares didn’t respond, but his silence was enough. Her smirk widened, eyes sharp with pity. “You want her to love you but her heart? It’s never been yours to claim. It belongs to Gabrielle. Or are you too blind to see that? She’s the one Xena has chosen, over and over again. And when it comes down to it, she’ll choose her again.”  

Athena took a slow step closer, watching him carefully. “You’ve given her power, Ares, but Gabrielle? She’s given her something you never could. Something that makes her stay.”  

Ares smirked while he took another gulp of nectar. Athena circled him slowly, her tone turning almost amused. “Do you think that she’ll raise this child with you?" She scoffed, letting the words sink in.   

She stopped in front of him, tilting her head, her eyes gleaming with delight. "Tell me, War God—when she leaves, when she turns her back on you like she’s done a hundred times before... what will you do then?" Ares’ jaw clenched, his body taut like a bowstring, but still, he said nothing.  

Athena smirked. "That’s what I thought."  

Ares’ jaw tightened, but when he finally spoke, his voice was smooth, unbothered. “Say what you came to say, Athena.”  

He leaned back against the table, crossing his arms, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Or did you just come here to vent because no one else on Olympus cares to listen?”  

Her smirk widened. “You think you’ve secured a future with her,” Athena continued, stepping back, watching him closely. “But all you’ve done is plant the seed of our destruction.”  

Ares didn’t blink. “I’ll take my chances.”  

Athena scoffed. “Of course you will. Because you’re arrogant enough to believe that love will save you.” Her eyes gleamed. “Do you really think she loves you enough to spare you?”  

Ares smirked. “She hasn’t hurt me yet.”  

Athena laughed, slow and cruel. “Yet,” she repeated. “Because it’s not part of her plan yet. But once she grows tired of you, do you really think you’ll be safe? You’re betting everything on the idea that she wants you in her future, but what happens when she doesn’t need you anymore? Do you really think she won’t send out her little demon babies to wipe us all out—including you ?”  

Ares let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Demon babies? That’s what you’re afraid of?” He stood from his throne, stepping towards her with that same careless swagger he always carried. “I didn’t realize Olympus had gotten so soft.”  

Athena didn’t move, didn’t even blink. “Soft?” she echoed, tilting her head. “Or just smart enough to see what you refuse to?”  

Ares smirked. “Let me guess—you expect me to believe that Xena is secretly plotting my downfall? That once she has my child, she’ll wipe me out with the rest of you?” He scoffed. “If that’s the best you’ve got, I’m disappointed.”  

Athena exhaled sharply, her patience wearing thin. “Enlighten me, Ares—why did you demand a child from her? What was your plan?”  

Ares didn’t answer right away.  

Athena’s smirk widened. “Let me guess. You think having a child with her ties her to you. Makes you indispensable. Maybe even makes her love you.” She scoffed. “You really are pathetic.”  

Ares rolled his eyes. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?”  

Athena didn’t even flinch. “I know I do.” She crossed her arms, watching him closely. “You don’t trust her. You never have. And now, you’re grasping at anything that keeps her close, anything that makes her need you.”  

Ares' smirk didn’t waver, but she saw it—the flicker of something beneath the surface. Athena took a slow step closer. “You may have gotten what you wanted. But that doesn’t mean you’ve won.” Her voice lowered, sharp and cutting. “You think you’re in control, but you’re not. She is. And when the day comes that she doesn’t need you anymore, when she decides you’re in her way, will she even hesitate?”  

Ares held her gaze, his smirk still in place, but the silence between them stretched, thick and heavy.  

Athena let it settle before stepping back. “You should’ve known better.” She turned, heading toward the exit, her voice trailing behind her. “But then again, when it comes to Xena—you never do.”  

And with that, she was gone.  

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Dark Reunion  

A full month had passed since the gods made their threats, yet no attack had come. Not a single whisper from Olympus disturbed their travels. The three women had settled into a tavern in a distant village, far from familiar eyes and prying ears.  

Xena leaned against the rough wooden table, her head resting in her hands. "Why is everything always so loud?" she grumbled, pushing her plate away. She hadn't touched her food again.  

Gabrielle exchanged a cautious glance with Eve across the table. This was the third meal Xena had refused that week alone. Gabrielle drew in a careful breath, forcing a smile onto her face.  

"Maybe because we're in a crowded tavern?" she gently teased.  

Xena shot her a look, eyes narrowed. "Or maybe it's because you two won’t stop whispering like I’m deaf."  

Eve quickly reached out, lightly placing her hand on Gabrielle’s wrist as if to calm her. "Mother," she started softly, "maybe you should eat something. You haven’t had a real meal in days."  

Xena straightened in her chair, visibly irritated, pressing her fingers to her temples as if trying to ease the constant ache. "And maybe you two should stop worrying about me and mind your own business."  

Gabrielle bit back a sharp retort, exchanging another quick glance with Eve, who shook her head slightly. They both had learned, painfully, that challenging Xena lately was pointless.  

For the past few weeks, Xena's mood had swung from irritated to outright hostile with little warning. She snapped at the smallest things—complaining about tavern rooms, food, noise, smells, even the weather. The simplest questions seemed to set her off. It was slowly driving Gabrielle and Eve insane.  

"Fine," Gabrielle said lightly, trying to hide her frustration. "We’ll just... eat quietly."  

Xena let out a long sigh, pushing her chair back abruptly, the scraping of wood loud in the sudden quiet. "Forget it," she muttered. "I need air."  

Without waiting for a response, she stood and walked out, disappearing into the bustling tavern crowd.  

The tavern owner walked by, frowning at the half-eaten plate on the table. She paused and crossed her arms. “Was something wrong with the food?” she asked, irritation in her voice. “She barely touched it. Did I poison it without knowing?”  

Gabrielle gave a strained smile. “No, your cooking’s great. She’s just... hard to please.”  

The woman huffed and muttered something before walking away. Gabrielle slumped back, her forced smile fading into a worried frown. She leaned closer to Eve, keeping her voice low. “I'm not sure how much more I can take.”  

Eve nodded slowly, her own concern clear in her eyes. “I know.”  

Gabrielle rubbed her forehead, her frustration growing. “It’s been a month of this. She’s never been this bad before. Mood swings, not eating, constant irritation... Eve, there’s something going on, and she’s not telling us.”  

Eve hesitated for only a moment before meeting Gabrielle's gaze directly. “Gabrielle, you don't think she's...”  

Gabrielle let out a quiet sigh, nodding. “Pregnant? I don't think—I know.”  

Eve sat back, the idea sinking in. “Then why won’t she say anything?”  

Gabrielle shook her head, her eyes troubled. “Because it would mean admitting it. And if there's one thing we know about your mother, it's that she'd rather deny something exists until it’s impossible not to.”  

Eve exhaled heavily. “So we just... wait?”  

Gabrielle managed a weak smile, glancing toward the door Xena had stormed through. “We don’t really have a choice, do we?”  

Eve sighed softly. “No. We never do.”  

“I can't believe this is happening,” Eve murmured, her voice shaking slightly. “She’s pregnant—by him.”  

Gabrielle glanced back at Eve, seeing the panic clearly etched across the younger woman's face. “I know. I didn’t want to believe it either, but the signs...” She shook her head slowly, forcing herself to breathe steadily. “The mood swings, the sickness, her refusing to eat—everything points to it.”  

Eve’s eyes widened with sudden anxiety, her breath catching in her throat. She shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “Gabrielle, this is all my fault. If I hadn’t put her in that position, she never would’ve made that deal. She wouldn’t be pregnant with his child.”  

Gabrielle quickly grabbed Eve’s hand, squeezing it firmly, comforting her. “Eve, listen to me,” she said, steady and calm. “This isn’t on you. The gods fear Xena because she refuses to bow to them and now because she can kill them. But we need to focus on what comes next. And right now, we don’t have time to get lost in guilt. Xena needs us.”  

Eve swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. She inhaled shakily, nodding once, though uncertainty still clouded her eyes.  

Gabrielle’s grip on her hand tightened. “We stick together. No matter what happens, we figure this out.”  

They sat quietly for a moment, each absorbed in their thoughts, until Eve finally broke the silence, her voice a bit lighter, hesitant but hopeful. “You think we could ever get her to admit it before she starts showing?”  

Gabrielle tilted her head thoughtfully. “Maybe. But we’ll have to be careful. If we push her too much, she'll just snap again.”  

Eve smiled slightly, eyes brightening with mischief. “What if we didn't push? What if we teased her a little?”  

Gabrielle raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Teased?”  

“You know,” Eve said, her voice growing more confident. “Just gently. Maybe if we joke about cravings, morning sickness, mood swings... she might ease up. Realize we're not judging her.”  

Gabrielle laughed, nodding slowly as the idea settled in. “You know, Eve, that might actually work. If we treat this like it's no big deal, maybe she'll finally relax.”  

Eve’s smile widened, relieved by the shift from fear to a clear plan. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”  

Gabrielle smiled warmly, feeling a flicker of hope for the first time in weeks. “Good. At least now we have a plan.”  

Eve nodded, glancing toward the tavern door, determination replacing her earlier fear. “And gods help us if it doesn't work.”  

Gabrielle snorted softly, shaking her head. “If it doesn't work, Eve, we're running for cover.”  

Xena stepped outside the tavern, the noise immediately replaced by cool, fresh air. She inhaled deeply, but the relief lasted only seconds before nausea overwhelmed her again. Her stomach twisted painfully, forcing her to stumble towards the alley beside the building.  

She barely made it into the shadows before dropping to her knees, bracing one hand against the rough wooden wall while the other clenched tightly at her side. Her body shook as she threw up what little she'd managed to eat earlier that day. Her throat burned, her eyes watering from the strain, but she refused to give in completely, silently cursing her weakness.  

From the darkness, unseen and unheard, Ares watched carefully. He stood at a safe distance, arms folded, his brow slightly creased with curiosity. His head tilted slowly, his strong eyes narrowing as he observed Xena's trembling form. There was something deeply wrong—he could sense it. The usually powerful Warrior Princess seemed so vulnerable now, kneeling in the dirt, fighting something inside herself.  

Xena straightened slowly, her body still weak, her breath uneven. She wiped her mouth harshly on the back of her hand, frustration clear in her movements. She hated this feeling, hated what it implied, and hated that she couldn't control it.  

Ares felt a tug of something he refused to acknowledge as concern. He hesitated for only a moment, his fingers twitching slightly as if considering approaching her. But he knew better. If he moved even an inch closer, Xena would sense him immediately, and he wasn't ready for that conversation. Not yet.  

Without a word, without a sound, Ares stepped back into the darkness and disappeared, leaving Xena alone once again in the shadows. Xena steadied herself, taking another deep breath to regain control. She refused to acknowledge what this meant. Refused to give it a name. She pressed her back against the cold, rough wall of the tavern and slowly slid down to the ground, resting her head against the wooden planks.  

Her hand instinctively moved to her stomach, lingering there without her realizing it at first. The thought struck her suddenly—sharp, clear, and terrifying.  

Ares.  

Could it really be true? Could she truly be carrying his child? The possibility sent a strange ripple of emotions through her—something warm and hopeful tangled with immediate disgust and anger.  

She didn't want this. She didn't want anything that made her connected to him so completely, to be bound in a way she couldn't simply walk away from. The idea unsettled her deeply, yet she couldn't deny the fleeting sense of warmth, of something softer inside her that she quickly shoved away.  

"No," she muttered harshly under her breath, pulling her hand back sharply as though it burned. She refused to entertain the thought for even a moment. It was ridiculous—impossible. She wasn't pregnant. She couldn't be pregnant.  

Xena tightened her jaw, focusing on the most logical explanation. A virus. Yes, that was it! Something she'd picked up traveling from village to village. It made sense. Symptoms like nausea, dizziness, exhaustion—they could easily be explained. It wasn't unheard of. It had to be a virus. It was the only explanation she was willing to accept.  

With renewed determination, Xena pushed herself off the ground, burying any lingering fears deep down. She straightened, drawing in another steady breath, resolved to move forward without looking back. She wasn't pregnant. She wouldn't let herself be.  

Especially not by him.  

Xena returned to the table a short time later, her expression still stormy. She sank back into her chair, grabbing her untouched cup and glaring down into the cold tea as if it had personally offended her.  

Gabrielle watched her carefully, sharing a quick glance with Eve. Taking a careful breath, Gabrielle offered a gentle, teasing smile. "Feeling better?"  

Xena shot her a sharp glare. "I'm fine."  

"Sure," Eve said lightly, clearly trying to keep the mood light. "Because storming out of breakfast every morning is the definition of fine."  

Xena pressed her lips together tightly, clearly fighting the irritation bubbling beneath the surface. "I told you—it's just a stomach bug. It'll pass."  

Gabrielle leaned forward, her eyes playful but her voice was cautious. "Xena, a virus doesn’t last an entire month."  

Xena leaned back, crossing her arms stubbornly. "Then it's a very persistent virus."  

Gabrielle exchanged another look with Eve, who raised an eyebrow slightly in amusement. Gabrielle shrugged. "Well, if that's the case, maybe Eve and I should stock up on supplies."  

Xena frowned. "What are you talking about?"  

"Cravings," Gabrielle teased softly, unable to hide the hint of a smile. "Strange late-night snacks. Odd demands for weird combinations."  

Eve nodded seriously, playing along. "Yeah, we'll need pickles and honey—lots of it. Maybe some salted fish and grapes. I always wanted to be a big sister."  

Xena choked, nearly dropping her cup as she coughed into her fist. She set it down with more force than necessary, her eyes snapping to Eve. "What?" Eve shrugged, glancing at Gabrielle for backup.  

Gabrielle fought back a grin, clearing her throat. "Yeah, we figured we’d start early this time. You know, actually plan ahead. Baby shopping before the chaos starts."  

Xena's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Stop."  

Gabrielle chuckled, leaning forward. "Oh, and extra pillows. You know, for when your ankles swell up."  

"Enough!" Xena snapped, her voice harsher than intended, startling both women into silence. The tavern noise around them faded as a few nearby patrons glanced curiously their way.  

Eve quickly lowered her eyes, clearly regretting this idea now. Gabrielle softened her expression, instantly feeling guilty. "Xena, we're just teasing—"  

"Well, it's not funny," Xena snapped, standing sharply enough to shake the table. "I've told you both a hundred times, I'm fine. And if you can't accept that, then maybe I should find somewhere else to stay."  

Gabrielle's expression dropped instantly into genuine worry. "Xena—"  

"Forget it," Xena interrupted harshly. "I'm tired of this." She turned swiftly, storming towards the stairs and disappearing without another word. Gabrielle sighed heavily, rubbing her temple. Eve reached over, gently squeezing Gabrielle’s hand.  

"She’ll come around eventually," Eve said softly, though her tone lacked confidence.  

Gabrielle glanced toward the stairs Xena had disappeared up, her eyes troubled. "I hope you're right." Neither spoke again, the uncomfortable silence between them filled only by the tavern’s distant noise as they each privately wondered how much longer they could pretend everything was fine.  

Xena pushed open the door to her room, her movements sharp with lingering irritation from the conversation downstairs. She let the door swing shut behind her, exhaling through her nose as she rubbed a hand over her face.  

She took a step toward the washbasin, then hesitated. Her eyes landed on the mirror across the room. Slowing slightly, she stepped closer, her expression unreadable as she studied herself. The tension in her shoulders, the faint shadows under her eyes. The quiet weight that had settled over her without her permission.  

Her movements became almost subconscious as she turned to the side, her hand drifting down over her stomach. Her fingers traced along the fabric of her dress, brushing against the slight firmness there.  

For a second, she just stared.  

Then she scoffed, shaking her head as a quiet laugh escaped her lips. “Ridiculous,” she muttered, dragging her hand away like the thought had never existed.  

But the moment she stepped back, a sharp wave of nausea twisted through her stomach. Her body tensed, a curse slipping from her lips as she turned quickly, moving toward the basin in the corner of the room.  

The sickness hit fast, harder than before. Her hands braced against the wooden stand, her whole body shaking as she emptied her stomach. She barely had time to breathe before another violent wave followed.  

Then, warm fingers slid into her hair, pulling it back gently. Xena went rigid instantly. She didn't need to look to know who it was. Ares crouched beside her, his grip firm but careful, holding her hair back as she shuddered through the last of the sickness.  

For a moment, he said nothing. He just knelt there, quiet, patient, waiting for her breathing to even out. Then, his voice came smooth, steady. “You should rest. You’re not taking care of yourself.”  

Xena let out a rough breath, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before gripping the edge of the basin tighter. “I don’t need you,” she bit out, still catching her breath. But she didn’t push him away. Not yet.  

“You should get used to this,” Ares murmured. “Morning sickness, exhaustion, mood swings... all part of the deal, sweetheart.”  

“I don’t remember agreeing to any of that,” she muttered. Then, with a dry scoff, she added, “Or maybe it’s just the after effects of sleeping with scum. Didn’t think the filth would stick.”  

Ares smirked, tilting his head. “Scum, huh? Funny, considering how eagerly you rolled in it.” He let his gaze drag over her slowly, his voice dripping with amusement. “And from what I recall, you weren’t exactly complaining.”  

Xena’s nostrils flared, but before she could fire back, Ares chuckled, his fingers lazily tracing down a loose strand of her hair before finally letting it slip from his grasp. “You chose this. You chose me. And now, you’re carrying our child.”  

Her elbow shot back, striking him hard in the ribs. Ares grunted, the force knocking him back a step, but his smirk barely faded.  

Xena turned on him, her eyes burning with fury. “I’m not carrying anything of yours.”  

Ares straightened, rubbing the spot where she’d hit him, but the amusement never left his face. If anything, it deepened. “Deny it all you want,” he mused, tilting his head. “Your body knows the truth, even if you don’t want to.”  

Xena exhaled sharply through her nose, pushing herself upright. “Funny,” she said, her voice dripping with fake amusement. “You must have forgotten exactly what I told you the last time we spoke about this.”  

Ares smirked, but his eyes flickered with something sharp. “And what was that?”  

Xena turned to him fully now, her expression cold. “That you would never see this child.”  

His smirk dropped instantly.  

Faster than she could react, Ares grabbed her by the throat, forcing her back against the wall with a sharp thud. Xena didn’t flinch. She didn’t even blink. She met his eyes head-on, her own burning with pure defiance.  

His grip tightened slightly, just enough to remind her who he was. His voice was low, controlled, but seething beneath the surface. “You really think you can keep my own child from me?”  

Xena’s fingers curled into fists, but she didn’t fight him. She simply held his gaze, unyielding. “I don’t think, Ares. I know .”  

Then—Ares exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip loosening just enough before he finally stepped back. His smirk returned, but this time, it was forced, his amusement barely hiding his frustration.  

He tilted his head slightly, studying her, his voice dropping into something quieter, something darker. “You’re making a mistake, Xena.”  

Xena straightened, rubbing the side of her neck where his fingers had been. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”  

Ares scoffed, stepping back further. “You’ll come around.” Xena said nothing. Ares lingered for only a moment longer before finally vanishing, disappearing into nothing.  

As soon as he was gone, Xena let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She moved toward the bed, sinking down onto the edge of it, her hands resting on her thighs as her mind raced.  

She wasn’t shaken. But the truth was creeping in, no matter how hard she fought against it. Her hand twitched toward her stomach again, and this time, she didn’t pull it away immediately. She needed to see a healer.  

Now.  

Xena took a slow breath, rolling her shoulders back as she reached for the door handle. But the second she pulled the door open, she nearly collided with Gabrielle, who stood there with her fist raised, about to knock.  

Gabrielle blinked, caught off guard. “Oh—uh, I was just coming to check on you.”  

Xena studied her for a brief moment, then—without the usual irritation, without the sharp edge she had carried for weeks—she simply nodded. “Come with me.”  

Gabrielle hesitated, thrown by how calm she sounded. “Where are we going?”  

Xena sighed, glancing briefly down the hall before meeting Gabrielle’s eyes again. “To see the healer.”  

Gabrielle’s brows lifted with surprise. She had expected another argument, another sharp dismissal. Not this. But Xena just stood there, waiting. No tension in her stance. No bite in her tone. Just her—Xena, the one Gabrielle had been waiting to resurface.  

Gabrielle swallowed, nodding. “Of course.” She stepped forward, wrapping her arm around Xena’s waist like she had done countless times before. “Let’s go.” She let Gabrielle lead them both into the village.  

The healer’s hut was small, tucked at the far end of town, surrounded by herbs hanging in bundles and dried flowers tied in strings along the walls. The moment Xena and Gabrielle entered, an older woman with sharp eyes and a knowing expression glanced up from where she was grinding a mixture in a bowl.  

She wiped her hands on her apron, motioning them closer. “Well, well. Haven’t seen either of you before. What brings you here?”  

Xena exhaled through her nose, arms crossing over her chest. “I need a checkup.” The healer’s eyes moved between the two of them before settling on Xena, reading something neither of them had said. She gestured toward a small cot in the corner. “Sit.”  

Gabrielle stayed close, watching as Xena did as she was told. The healer didn’t waste time. She asked a few questions, felt Xena’s pulse, pressed along her stomach carefully.  

Then—she nodded.  

“Well,” she said simply, “you won’t be needing any herbs for that sickness of yours.” She met Xena’s gaze, her voice calm, certain. “You’re pregnant.” Xena’s jaw tightened slightly. She gave no reaction at first—no nod, no acknowledgment, no words.  

Gabrielle, however, did see something. It was in Xena’s eyes, the way they glistened just enough to catch the dim light in the room. Gabrielle stepped closer instantly, sitting beside her, her voice gentle but firm. “Hey,” she said softly, resting a hand on Xena’s arm. “This is okay.”  

Xena blinked once, her throat shifting as she swallowed hard. She wasn’t crying, but something was settling inside her—something she had been refusing to face for weeks.  

Gabrielle squeezed her arm lightly. “You’re going to be okay, Xena. This baby—” she paused, choosing her words carefully, “—is going to be loved. No matter what.” Xena let out a slow breath, her fingers tightening against the fabric of her dress.  

Gabrielle smiled softly, keeping her voice steady. “This baby will be good. Pure. Safe. And so will you.”  

Xena exhaled again, this time slower, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. She didn’t respond right away. Didn’t argue. Didn’t push Gabrielle away. And Gabrielle knew, right then, that something had changed. For the first time since this had started—Xena wasn’t denying it anymore.  

She was just silent. Taking it in. The healer gave them a moment before speaking again. “Would you like something to help with the nausea?” Xena nodded slowly, her tone softer than before.  

“Yeah.”  

Gabrielle gave her arm another squeeze before standing. “I’ll get it.” Whatever came next, Gabrielle knew one thing for certain—they weren’t going to let Xena carry this alone.  

Xena shut the door behind her and stood still, staring at nothing. The room was quiet, the candlelight soft, but her thoughts crashed in waves so loud they nearly drowned her.  

She was pregnant.  

Her breath came slow and deep as she moved toward the washbasin, unfastening her bracers and rolling her shoulders. This was real. She had tried to deny it, brush it off, but now there was no running from it. And for a moment—a single, brief moment—she was happy.  

Her hand slid to her stomach, pressing flat against the muscle there. She hadn’t been able to do this with Solan. Back then, she hadn’t cared about living, let alone what it meant to bring a child into the world. She had been too consumed by war, too lost in the bloodshed to even think about what motherhood should have been.  

With Eve, it had been different—but not better. She had wanted to believe it was a second chance, but deep down, she had never felt like she deserved to be a mother again. Not after everything she had done. Not after Solan.  

And now? Now she was carrying a child that wasn’t even created out of love. Her stomach tightened, her fingers pressing against it as if that would somehow change the truth. What kind of life would this child have?  

Maybe the third time really was the charm. Maybe this time, she could carry a child without the weight of war or the fear of losing them. Maybe this baby would be hers—not something stolen, not something she had to give up.  

Then, reality smacked her right in the face. Her fingers curled into a fist. It was Ares’ child. The warmth that had built in her chest turned ice cold. She let out a slow, sharp breath, her grip tightening against the basin. That bastard!  

She had fought gods, brought down armies, survived the impossible—and now her body had been turned into some divine reproductive tool. Her jaw clenched so tight it ached. She could already hear the gods sneering at her from Olympus. Poor Xena.  

Suddenly, the image struck her—sharp, vivid, and far too real. She and Ares stood together in a sunlit field, her fingers tangled with his like they had always belonged there. His other arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close. He looked down at her with a soft smile, not his usual smugness, but something tender. Warm. Loving. The kind of look people dreamed about.  

Xena’s head rested gently on his shoulder, her body leaning into his like it was the most natural thing in the world. And then—he dipped his head, brushing a kiss against her temple. Slow. Purposeful. She turned to him, their lips meeting in a soft, lingering kiss that made something flutter in her chest.  

When they pulled apart, he smiled again—down at the baby cradled in her arms. Their baby. His fingers traced over the child’s cheek with care, his body pressed against hers like they were a unit. A family. She was smiling too.  

That part made her stomach twist. Xena shuddered so hard she nearly knocked over the washbasin. “If this baby makes me start liking him, I’m throwing myself off a cliff."  

“Psst.”  

Xena’s breath caught for a second. She hesitated, her eyes narrowing. She was alone. She knew she was alone. She let out a slow breath, glancing at the mirror before turning away.  

Knock. Knock. Knock.  

Her back went rigid. The knock hadn’t come from the door. Not from the walls. It was sharper, closer—coming from right in front of her.  

The mirror.  

Her pulse stayed steady, but her fingers tensed against the wood. Slowly, she turned back to the mirror. Her reflection was staring at her. Watching. Waiting. The candlelight flickered, but her reflection remained perfectly clear. It was her—yet somehow, it wasn’t.  

Xena stepped closer, her brow creasing as she tilted her head, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. The reflection tilted its head. Then—she smiled. Not a normal smile. Too wide. Too knowing.   

Xena’s stomach tensed as she stared. The reflection’s lips moved. The words came soft but clear, slipping through the silence like a whisper only she could hear.  

“Let me out.”  

Xena took a slow breath, rolling her shoulders back, willing herself to ignore it. “Not real,” she muttered under her breath. “Just exhaustion.”  

She shut her eyes, counting to three. When she opened them—Her reflection was normal. Xena scoffed sharply, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah, definitely need sleep.” She turned away and walked toward the bed. But as she sat down, kicking off her boots, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—was still watching.  

A sharp knock rattled the door. Gabrielle stood outside, arms crossed, adjusting her weight from one foot to the other. “Xena,” she called. “You awake?”  

Silence.  

She exhaled, pressing her forehead against the door. She wasn’t sure what had woken her, but something felt wrong. Maybe it was the tension from dinner earlier, or maybe it was the feeling she couldn’t shake—the sense that Xena was pulling further away. She knocked again, firmer this time. “Xena.”  

The door creaked open.  

Xena stood there, looking exhausted, her eyes shadowed with something unreadable. She didn’t greet Gabrielle, didn’t speak at all. She was still, too still, like a storm had settled beneath her skin but refused to break.  

Gabrielle studied her carefully. “Are you okay?”  

Xena didn’t answer right away. Her gaze moved past Gabrielle towards the window at the end of the hall, eyes sharpening like she had heard something.  

Gabrielle turned, following her line of sight. The village was quiet, the torches outside flickering in the night breeze. Then, a sound—faint at first. A distant thud. A shuffle of hurried footsteps on dirt. Then—a scream.  

Xena’s expression hardened. Gabrielle didn’t hesitate. She turned sharply, reaching for the sais strapped to her boots. “That came from the square.” Xena grabbed her weapons, her grip firm, her stance changing into something instinctive. She was ready.  

But the moment they stepped outside, everything changed.  

The village was in chaos. Raiders tore through the streets, doors smashed open, flames consuming the wooden beams of homes. The scent of burning wood and blood filled the air, and the sound of steel clashing rang out through the night.  

Gabrielle bolted forward without hesitation, her sais flashing in the firelight as she intercepted a raider about to cut down an elderly man. She moved fast, disarming him, striking him across the jaw before sending him crashing to the ground. She spun, scanning the battlefield.  

“Xena!” she called. But Xena wasn’t beside her. She turned sharply, searching, and then froze . Xena was still standing near the tavern. She hadn’t moved. Her sword was in her hand, but she wasn’t using it. Gabrielle’s breath caught. This wasn’t hesitation. Xena was watching.  

Her gaze moved over the battle, taking in the destruction around her. She wasn’t bracing for a fight. She wasn’t preparing to strike. She was absorbing it, breathing it in. Her stance wasn’t tense, wasn’t waiting for the right moment to act—she looked calm.  

Gabrielle’s stomach twisted. “Xena!” she screamed. “What are you doing?!”  

Xena barely reacted. A man—no older than twenty—stumbled towards her. His tunic was slashed open, blood spilling down his chest. His breath came in ragged gasps as he reached for her.  

“Please,” he begged, his voice hoarse. “Help me.”  

Xena’s grip tightened around her sword. Every part of her was ready to move, ready to act. The villager was right in front of her, bleeding, desperate. She could save him. She should save him. But she didn’t.  

Her breath slowed, her body tensed, and something cold settled in her chest. She had moved to help—but then she stopped. Her fingers curled in on themselves, her jaw clenching as the moment passed. The battle raged around her, the weight of the sword was firm in her grip, but she didn’t lift it. She just stood there.  

The man was still reaching for her when the blade struck him from behind. The steel burst through his chest, forcing the breath from his lungs in a choked, strangled gasp. His mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but no words came. Only a desperate, soundless plea before his body went limp, crumpling to the ground in a growing pool of red.  

Gabrielle’s scream tore through the air.  

Xena had watched it happen. She had let it happen. Gabrielle’s body locked up, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her sais. It was like her mind couldn’t process what she had just seen. Xena had let that man die.   

From the shadows, Ares watched. He leaned against a crumbling stone wall, watching the battle unfold before him. His arms were folded, his stance relaxed, but his eyes never left Xena. He had seen it all. He had seen the hesitation, the choice, the moment she let go. His smirk deepened as he exhaled slowly, tilting his head slightly. He had felt the change stirring in her before, but now it was real. His gaze moved to Gabrielle, frozen in horror, then back to Xena, standing unbothered in the blood-soaked dirt.  

“Interesting.”  

The battle ended minutes later. The last of the raiders were either dead or retreating. The village lay in ruin, smoke curling into the sky, bodies scattered across the dirt roads. Cries of the wounded echoed through the streets.  

Gabrielle stood in the aftermath, her heart pounding. Xena had stepped away, standing near the tavern again, her face unreadable. Gabrielle turned to Eve, struggling to find her voice. “Did you see that?”  

Eve had seen everything. She had seen her mother’s face. She had seen her stillness. She had seen the way Xena’s breath had steadied instead of quickened. For the longest moment, she didn’t answer. Then, quietly, she nodded.  

Gabrielle swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the hilts of her sais. Her stomach twisted, unease settling deep in her bones. Xena had let that man die. And worse—she hadn’t even flinched.  

Gabrielle remained frozen, her breath still uneven. The blood on the ground darkened as it dried, but her focus stayed locked on Xena. She stood near the tavern, untouched by the chaos, firelight casting sharp shadows across her face. No remorse. No hesitation. Just silence.  

Eve stepped up beside Gabrielle, her expression tight with concern. She could still see the moment in her mind—her mother standing there, watching as the man bled out, making no move to help him. She had expected hesitation, maybe a second of delay, but not that. Not complete indifference.  

Gabrielle finally spoke, her voice sharp, disbelief and anger lacing her words. “What the hell was that, Xena?”  

Xena turned her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “What are you talking about?”  

Gabrielle let out a dry, humorless laugh. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You stood there. You watched him die.”  

Xena’s jaw tightened, her eyes flashing. “I didn’t ‘watch’ anything. I was in the middle of a fight.”  

Gabrielle stepped closer, pointing toward the bloodied ground. “No, you weren’t. You didn’t even try. I saw you, Xena. You could’ve saved him, but you didn’t.” Xena’s shoulders squared, changing her stance, but she didn’t respond.  

Eve’s voice was softer, more cautious, but the concern in her eyes was undeniable. “Mother... what’s happening to you?”  

Xena let out a sharp exhale, shaking her head. “Nothing is happening to me.”  

Gabrielle’s frustration boiled over. “Don’t do that. Don’t stand there and act like this is normal. Because it’s not. You’re not.” She searched Xena’s face for something—anything—that would tell her she was wrong, that this was all a mistake. But Xena’s expression remained unreadable, cold in a way that made Gabrielle’s stomach turn.  

Eve took a careful step forward, trying a different approach. “If something is wrong, you can talk to us. Whatever this is—”  

Xena’s head snapped toward her. “There is nothing to talk about.”  

Gabrielle scoffed, throwing up her hands. “So that’s it? You’re just going to pretend like none of this happened? That we didn’t just watch you let a man die when you could’ve saved him?”  

Xena’s patience finally snapped. Her voice came out sharp, cutting through the night air. “You’re twisting things. I didn’t ‘let’ anyone die.” Her eyes flickered with something unreadable, something defensive. “You’re overreacting.”  

Gabrielle’s lips parted in shock. “Overreacting?”  

Xena’s expression hardened. “Yes. You’re both acting like I stood there and laughed while he bled out.” She took a step back, shaking her head. “You’re wrong. You didn’t see what you think you saw.”  

Eve’s voice was quiet, but firm. “We did see it, Mother.”  

Xena’s chest rose and fell in a steady breath. “No, you didn’t.” Her voice was colder now, dismissive. “You’re both looking for something that isn’t there.”  

Gabrielle couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “So now we’re lying?”  

Xena’s fists clenched at her sides. “Yes.”  

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Gabrielle shook her head, barely able to contain the frustration in her voice. “You know what? Fine. You don’t want to talk? You don’t want to admit what’s happening? Then don’t. But don’t stand there and tell us we’re making this up.”  

Xena’s face remained unreadable, but there was a flicker of something behind her eyes—something quick, something dark, before she turned away. “I don’t have time for this.”  

She didn’t wait for a response. Without another word, she disappeared into the dark streets of the village, leaving Gabrielle and Eve standing in stunned silence.  

Gabrielle swallowed hard, looking over at Eve, whose face was lined with something Gabrielle recognized all too well.  

Fear.  

“She’s changing,” Eve’s voice was soft, barely more than a whisper.  

Gabrielle’s chest felt tight. But the worst part was, she didn’t know if they could stop it.  

Xena pushed through the tavern doors, barely acknowledging the few lingering patrons still nursing their drinks. The warmth inside did little to ease the tension coiled in her chest. Her boots scuffed against the wooden floor as she made her way towards the back, her shoulders still tight from the argument.  

She didn’t know why she was so damn irritated. Gabrielle and Eve wouldn’t let things go. Always watching. Always questioning. They whispered when they thought she wasn’t listening, picking apart her every move like she wasn’t standing right there. It was exhausting.  

She needed to clear her head. She stepped into her room, shutting the door behind her. The air inside felt heavy, thick with something unseen. She turned toward the mirror, dragging a hand down her face, exhaling slowly. But as she met her reflection, she froze.  

Her reflection was already watching her. Xena’s pulse steadied, but her muscles coiled tight. She took a step closer. The reflection did the same. But something was off. The movements were too fluid, too eager—like it had been waiting.  

Then, it moved first.  

The hand shot forward, pressing against the glass from the other side. Xena’s breath caught, her body locking in place. She lifted her hand slowly, pressing her palm against the mirror. The moment her skin met the cold surface—her reflection gripped her back.  

Flesh against flesh.  

Xena inhaled sharply, but she didn’t let go. Instead, she pulled. The glass didn’t shatter. It rippled, distorting around their hands like water. The reflection didn’t resist. It came to her willingly. With one sharp motion, she yanked it forward.  

A surge of heat tore through her chest, spreading fast. Her breath caught, her spine straightening as something dark, something powerful flooded her veins. It wasn’t just warmth—it was power. Her fingers curled, her body burning from the inside out.  

It rushed through her—familiar. Like it had always been there. The room spun, her vision flashing white for just a moment then, it was over. The mirror was empty.  

Xena stood in front of it, her breath slowing. She turned her hands over, looking at them. Still hers. Still real. But something had changed. She felt it—thick, seeping into her like ink spreading through water. A slow breath left her lips, but something inside curled with recognition. It was cold and hot all at once, a presence wrapping around her bones, threading through her veins. She didn’t question it. She didn’t fight it. It coiled beneath her skin, waiting.  

And she let it stay.  

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: I Didn’t Ask for This  

The mirror shattered without warning. A crack split the silence, then glass exploded outward with a sound like thunder, throwing shards across the room in every direction.  

Xena dropped down hard beside the bed, twisting away from the blast. Her body moved before her mind could catch up. There was no time to think, no time to plan. She crouched low, her arms shielding her head and chest, while glass tore through the space where she had been standing. Pieces sliced across her arms and shoulders, stinging as they cut into her skin. She didn’t move. She held that position tight, curled around her center, protecting what was hers.  

Every candle went out at once, extinguished by a sudden rush of air that tore through the room like something had passed straight through her. Darkness took over.  

Xena stayed still. Her breath slowed. One hand stayed flat against the floor. Her body stayed ready, waiting for movement, for sound, for anything to tell her she wasn’t alone. Her hand stayed against the floor while her eyes locked on the shattered mirror. It hadn’t broken by accident. That sound—that sudden rush of air—it hadn’t felt like a force of nature. It felt like intent. Like the gods had come for her. But nothing came. Only the dark.   

She pushed herself up, steady and deliberate. Her boots pressed into the broken glass as she stepped forward, the crunch beneath her feet distant and dull. The floor creaked as she moved across the room, but nothing else stirred. No wind. No voices. No sound rising from below. Everything remained still.  

She pulled the blanket and sat down, dragging it across her lap while her fingers stayed wrapped in it longer than they needed to. The stings along her arms were sharper now, but she didn’t check the cut.   

She reached for her stomach without thinking, her hand resting flat over it while her thoughts drifted. She didn’t know what she was supposed to feel. She had expected anger. Or fear. Or something harder. But there was just stillness.  

She pulled her legs up onto the bed, one at a time, while the blanket dragged over the mattress behind her. The pillow was thin and uneven, but she didn’t try to adjust it. She laid her head against it and stared at the ceiling she could barely see. One thing she knew for sure, something was off.  

She had felt something change, but she couldn’t name it, and she didn’t try. Not tonight. Whatever it was—whatever it meant—it could stay for now. So she turned onto her side and stayed that way, her hand still resting over the place that hadn’t started to show yet. The cuts on her arms still pulsed. And without a word, she let sleep take her, while something inside her stayed awake.  

The throne room of Olympus was anything but silent. Voices clashed against the marble walls, sharp and accusing, each god speaking over the other as frustration boiled into open fury. Apollo stood near the center, his hand curled into a tight fist, his golden armor catching the cold, flat light pouring down from above. His voice carried above the rest, thick with accusation.  

"You let her get pregnant!" he shouted, stabbing a finger towards Athena. "You knew what she was capable of, and you still stood there and did nothing!"  

Artemis leaned forward from where she sat on the long stone bench, her bow resting across her knees. Her silver eyes, usually calm, burned now with a rare, barely restrained anger. "You should have stopped this before it began. Before the child was even possible."  

Hermes, resting lazily on the arm of a chair, flicked a glance toward Athena but said nothing yet. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the hilt of his dagger, the only sign of his unease.  

Across the room, Aphrodite lounged on the steps near the reflecting pool, her chin resting lightly in her hand. She watched the argument unfold with boredom, twirling a rose between her fingers. She said nothing, offered no opinion, her face smooth and unreadable. It was safer that way.  

Athena stood at the head of the gathering. She wore no anger on her face, no defensiveness in her stance. Only the careful, cold patience she had been known for since the first stone of Olympus was laid.  

"You speak as if emotion, not reason, guided me," Athena said, her voice low but steady enough to silence the others. "You assume that action without thought would have spared you what you fear."  

Apollo scoffed under his breath, but he did not interrupt again. Athena lifted her gaze to meet his directly.  

"If we had attacked her before the pregnancy," she said, "we would have faced Ares' full wrath without restraint. He would have turned Olympus into a battlefield. You know what he becomes when he is cornered—and worse when he has nothing left to lose."  

Artemis narrowed her eyes. "And now? You would have us wait until the child is born? You would have us fight not one, but three?"  

Athena’s hand tightened around her spear, though her face remained calm. "No. I would have you understand that Ares has already been neutralized."  

A low murmur rippled through the hall. Hermes straightened slightly, frowning.  

Athena continued, each word cutting cleanly through the rising tension. "His heart is divided. His attention split. The moment Xena conceived, she became his weakness. His instincts to destroy were tempered by a new instinct—to protect."  

Apollo shook his head. "And what about Xena? She will not be tempered. She will fight harder."  

Athena inclined her head slightly. "Yes. But she fights for one now. Not for conquest. Not for pride. For survival. She is predictable when she is fighting for something she loves. And predictable enemies are easier to destroy."  

The silence that followed her words was heavy, dragging against the stone floor like a storm waiting to break.  

Aphrodite plucked a petal from her rose and let it fall into the pool beside her, still silent, still watching.  

Across the room, Hermes exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. Artemis, though still scowling, said nothing further. Even Apollo, for all his anger, offered no immediate rebuttal. They understood, whether they liked it or not.  

For a long moment, no one moved. The air inside the hall stayed thick, pressing down on their shoulders, each god weighing Athena’s words in the privacy of their own mind.  

Hermes shifted his dagger back into its sheath, the motion casual, but his eyes stayed sharp. "So what now?" he asked finally, his voice quieter than before. "Do we sit and wait for her to birth a weapon that will gut us all?"  

Apollo's jaw tightened, the muscles along his face twitching with the effort to keep his anger contained. "We have already waited too long. Every moment we hesitate, the child grows stronger. Xena grows stronger." His gaze flicked toward Athena again. "And Ares grows bolder."  

Athena tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "Ares has not moved against us. He will not. Not while the child is still inside her."  

Artemis rose from her seat, the long braid down her back brushing the curve of her armor. She crossed the floor with slow, deliberate steps, her bow resting lightly against her shoulder. Her voice, when it came, was even, but there was an edge of warning in it. "You gamble much on instinct, Athena. Ares is chaos. Even tied to her, he could lash out at any time."  

Athena said nothing, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make Artemis pause in her pacing.  

"The alternative," Athena said calmly, "was certain ruin. If we had struck before, Ares would have thrown the gates of Olympus open to blood and flame. You would be cursing me for a different failure now."  

Artemis stopped a few paces away, her hand tightening on the bowstring. "And if you are wrong?" she asked. "If the child is born and it becomes what we fear?"  

Athena’s gaze did not waver. "Then we act. But we act wisely. Not out of fear."  

The words settled into the hall like stones dropping into deep water.  

Apollo paced in a tight circle, the impatience burning off him in waves. He wanted action. Quick, decisive. Apollo’s laugh came sharp and humorless. He turned back to face her fully, the gold of his armor catching a harsh line of light.  

“And what exactly does that mean, Athena?” he snapped. “Wait until Xena’s in labor again and try to kill the baby then? If you think that’ll work, you’re as stupid as Zeus—and you’ll end up just like him!”  

A few of the gods turned toward him, the echo of his words still hanging in the air. Athena didn’t flinch nor did her tone falter.  

“Zeus’s mistake was arrogance. Mine is strategy. If you confuse the two, it is not I who risks his fate.”  

Aphrodite shifted slightly where she sat, smoothing the folds of her flowing gown with slow, idle movements. She offered no opinion, only a faint, distracted hum, as if the whole conversation bored her beyond words. If any of them noticed her detachment, they said nothing.  

Hermes broke the silence again, his voice careful. "And if Ares moves first? If he stops caring about consequences?"  

Athena’s hand relaxed around her spear, but her posture stayed firm. "Then we remind him that Olympus still holds power greater than sentiment."  

No one argued.  

The gods stood together in uneasy silence, the once unbreakable unity between them splintering at the edges. No decisions were made that day, no plans set into stone. Only the understanding that the world beneath their feet was changing, and none of them were ready for what was coming.  

Above them, the endless sky of Olympus darkened slightly, a sign that even the heavens sensed the shift none of them could stop.  

The door creaked open against the old wood, slow at first, then wider with a soft scrape. Gabrielle stepped through quietly, her eyes already scanning the floor.  

“Xena?”  

Glass crunched under her sandals. Eve followed her in, her hand brushing lightly against the wall as if steadying herself, though she hadn’t meant to. Glass was scattered across the floor in every direction. Long cracks stretched across the far wall where the mirror had once hung.  

The bed was still, buried in the aftermath—blankets tangled around Xena’s legs and one pillow stained dark with dried blood beneath her head. Xena laid curled near the edge of the mattress, one hand still resting over her stomach, the other tucked against her chest. Her arms were streaked with dried red lines. Small shards still clung to the skin near her elbow and wrist.  

Gabrielle rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside the bed. “Xena—what happened? Are you hurt?”  

Xena didn’t answer right away. Her eyes opened slow, as if the light pressed too hard against her skull. She blinked at the ceiling, her breath shallow, her expression unreadable.  

“I’m fine.”  

“You’re bleeding,” Gabrielle said. “There’s glass everywhere—there’s blood all over you—did any of it go into your stomach?” The question hung there a second too long. Xena moved, her body dragging against the sheets with a stiffness that made her wince.   

“No,” she said flatly. Gabrielle didn’t look convinced. Her eyes stayed on Xena’s arms, then dropped lower.  

“You don’t know that. We need to check. If something got in—”  

“I said no,” Xena said again, sharper this time.  

The room went quiet. Eve took another step forward, her attention fixed not just on the blood, but on Xena’s body—on the way she shifted her arms lower, the way her hand stayed near her abdomen like it belonged there. Something about it felt off. Protective. Eve looked at Gabrielle.  

“What’s going on?” Gabrielle hesitated. Xena’s eyes narrowed.  

“Don’t.”  

“She’s pregnant,” Gabrielle said, quieter this time, like saying it hurt.  

Eve blinked. Her mouth parted slightly, but no words came. Her eyes returned to Xena, the questions building behind them, clear and hard to ignore. 

“What?”   

Gabrielle glanced back at Xena, as if bracing for backlash, but the damage was already done. Eve’s breath caught. She stared at Xena—at her body, at the blood, at the broken glass—and something inside her turned. She felt her knees weaken and her fingers trembled. Suddenly the room darkened for her.  

She couldn’t speak or move, only watched, her body locked in place while everything inside her kept racing ahead. The vision didn’t start with sound. It started with heat.  

The sky was black and red, torn open by fire. Smoke clung to the ground like breath that wouldn’t leave. The battlefield stretched on forever. Corpses burned. Cities fell. And in the center, standing in the heart of the flames, was a child.  

And behind the child stood Xena—her hair wild, her armor streaked with blood, her eyes wrong. Smiling. Next to her, Ares. His hand rested on her back, both of them looking forward like this was what they’d built together. Their creation. Their legacy.  

Eve tried to move, tried to speak, but the world pulled tighter around her. Then the child turned its head and looked right at her. The gaze held for only a second—then the vision vanished like it had never been there at all.  

Eve gasped and stumbled back, her hand hitting the wall behind her hard enough to knock a loose board free. Her heart was hammering inside her ribs and her palms were damp, her chest too tight to lift without effort.  

Gabrielle turned towards her, her voice soft with concern. “Eve?”  

Xena shifted like she was about to rise, but Gabrielle reached out without thinking and stopped her with a gentle touch to her shoulder.  

“Are you okay?”  

Eve wiped her palms down the side of her top, nodding once, the motion too fast and too shallow to convince anyone.   

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, the words sharp and thin. “It was nothing. Just a wave of dizziness.”  

Gabrielle didn’t answer right away. Her eyes stayed on Eve a moment longer before drifting toward Xena. The blood along her arm had dried in jagged lines. Glass still glittered in the seams of the floor nearby, catching faint light in sharp, uneven slivers.  

“We should call the healer,” she said softly. “Just to be safe.”  

Xena let out a breath, slow and tired, her body still tense from holding herself too long in one place.  

“You don’t have to act like I’m dying,” she said, her voice flat and sharp all at once.  

Gabrielle froze for a moment, caught between compassion and instinct. “That’s not what I meant,” she said, lowering her voice again while she sat beside her. “You were bleeding. There’s glass everywhere. You scared us.”  

Xena didn’t answer right away. Her head tilted slightly, and her eyes moved between the two of them—Gabrielle sitting too close, Eve still standing near the door like she might walk out without another word. Her tone stayed level, but something beneath it pressed down, dry and distant.  

“Then stop gawking like something’s wrong with me.”  

Eve looked at her mother again. The Xena in front of her didn’t look monstrous. Didn’t sound like the one in the vision. But the heat of that dream still clung to her skin, and the image of the child standing in fire hadn’t faded. It had burned its way behind her eyes.  

She turned and stepped back through the doorway, her throat still tight, her thoughts twisting too fast to settle. She didn’t believe what she saw. She didn’t want to believe what it meant.  

But she couldn’t stop seeing the way that child had stood so still. Or the way Xena had looked at it like nothing else had ever mattered. Convinced—for now—that Xena was fine, Gabrielle turned her attention to Eve. She stood slowly and crossed the room, her sandals brushing over the glass-strewn floor as she reached for her.   

“What do you mean you were dizzy?” she asked, her voice quiet but firm as she took Eve gently by the arm and guided her towards the hallway.  

Eve didn’t resist, but her steps lagged slightly behind. She didn’t speak as they moved down the hall. Her breath stayed shallow, and her hands were still shaking, even after she tucked them into the sleeves of her top.  

Gabrielle pushed open the door to Eve’s room and led her inside, helping her sit on the edge of the narrow bed before settling beside her. The room was warm, quieter than the one they’d left behind, but the silence between them wasn’t comfortable. Eve hadn’t said a word.  

Gabrielle studied her face carefully. “Hey,” she said, reaching out to touch her arm. “What’s wrong?”  

Eve’s gaze stayed on the floor for a long moment. She drew in a breath but didn’t release it right away. Her chest stayed tense, caught between the urge to speak and the fear of what might happen if she did. That vision hadn’t felt like her imagination. It hadn’t faded the way dreams usually did. It had rooted itself in her mind—too sharp, too real. But she didn’t have the words for it yet. Not ones she trusted.  

She let the breath go slowly and shook her head. “It’s nothing. Just the heat. I haven’t eaten yet or much last night.”  

Gabrielle didn’t look convinced, but she let it go. Her hand slid back into her lap and her tone softened. “Well, if you throw up tomorrow, we’ll know you caught whatever Xena has.” She smiled, trying to lift the mood. “You’re not pregnant too, are you?”  

Eve blinked, startled by the joke. Her eyes widened. “Gods, no,” she said, the words slipping out with more force than she meant. Gabrielle laughed, and after a second, Eve did too—though hers came quieter, more strained.  

The hallway outside her door stayed quiet. Nothing stirred beyond the walls. Only the low sound of breathing filled the space, steady and unbroken. Xena hadn’t moved since they left.  

She sat at the edge of the bed, her shoulders drawn slightly forward, the blanket twisted near her thighs. Her skin itched where the dried blood had cracked. One hand rested against her knee, and the other still hovered near her abdomen, not protectively, but out of habit—like her body was remembering something before her mind had caught up to it.  

She didn’t feel sick. Not exactly. But something was wrong. Her balance was off. Her muscles didn’t respond the way they should. The cuts didn’t hurt, but they felt deeper than they were—heavy in a way she couldn’t explain.  

She exhaled and stood slowly, her legs steady but heavy, her steps dragging across the wood as she crossed the room towards the basin. Her hand reached for the pitcher. She poured water into the bowl, then dipped a cloth into it and began wiping her arms, not wincing when the open cuts stung.  

She pressed the cloth over a long cut near her shoulder and stayed there for a moment. Then she dropped the fabric into the basin and turned back towards the window. That’s when she noticed the flies.  

They moved slowly across the window ledge, their wings twitching as they crept along the edge of the frame. There weren’t many. Just enough to make the corner feel still in a strange way, like the room had been left alone too long.  

The window also looked wrong. The glass had taken on a dull, foggy haze. Xena stepped closer and pressed her hand to the glass. The surface felt smooth, but the haze stayed.  

Near the broken mirror, more flies had gathered. A few clung to the broken frame still lodged in the wall. One moved along the jagged edge where the glass had fractured.  

Xena stood still, watching the flies crawl along the window frame. One buzzed near her ear. Another drifted across her arm, drawn to the dried blood. Her brow creased and her jaw locked.  

“All these damn flies,” she muttered.  

She swatted at the air once, then stepped forward and unlatched the window. The wood resisted, swollen from age or weather, but she forced it open with both hands. The air outside hit her face.  

She grabbed the edge of the blanket off the bed and swung it hard through the room, snapping it once in the direction of the window. A few of the flies scattered. Most of them didn’t go far. Some circled back around her face and shoulders.  

She swung again, sharper this time, knocking one into the sill. Her jaw tightened. She crossed to the table, picked up the water jug, and slammed it down harder than she meant to. The sharp sound cracked through the quiet.  

By the time Gabrielle returned with warm water and clean cloths, the window was completely fogged. And the flies were gone. She glanced across the room and found Xena near the window, standing in partial light. Her body was turned slightly away, one hand braced on the window frame, the other hanging at her side. Her back was straight, but her posture didn’t feel strong. It felt... hollow.  

Gabrielle walked towards her, setting the bowl gently on the table as she passed. “I brought water,” she said, trying to keep her tone even. Xena stayed as she was, still and unbothered.  

Gabrielle hesitated beside her, then stepped closer. Her voice dropped lower. “Let me see your arms. Some of those cuts looked deep and you have fragments of broken glass there too.”  

“They’re fine,” Xena said.  

There was no irritation, no resistance—just a flatness that carried nothing. Gabrielle studied her profile and waited for a trace of emotion, a flicker of something familiar, but Xena’s face remained still.  

“This isn’t like you.”  

Xena finally turned her head, her eyes meeting Gabrielle’s, and something in her expression felt colder than it should have been.  

“Maybe this is me,” she said, calm and unapologetic.  

Gabrielle’s chest tightened. Her fingers hovered for a second before she reached out and touched Xena’s elbow, grounding herself more than anything.  

“I don’t know what you went through last night,” she said. “But I know who you are.”  

Xena looked out the window again. Gabrielle slowly let go and turned away, quiet now. “Sit down so I can clean the cuts.”  

Without protest, Xena moved back towards the bed and sat, her arm extended without effort, her gaze somewhere far away. Gabrielle followed and knelt beside her, dipping the cloth into the warm water and starting at the edge of a long dried streak of blood. She worked carefully, her grip gentle, her breath steady.  

Xena sat still while Gabrielle cleaned the blood from her skin. Her arm stayed extended without resistance, but not from trust—there was something mechanical in the way she held it. She watched the window instead of the hands tending to her. She didn’t lean away, but she didn’t lean into it either. The pain may have registered, but nothing in her face gave it away.  

Gabrielle moved gently, careful not to press too hard. The cloth passed over a shallow cut along Xena’s shoulder, then traced a longer line just below her elbow. Her gaze moved up every few seconds, searching for a reaction, but found none.  

Gabrielle rinsed the cloth again, then wrung it out between her hands. She pressed it lightly against the last cut near Xena’s wrist.  

“I’ll clean this up once we’re back,” she said quietly, her eyes drifting across the floor. “It’ll take a while.”  

Xena didn’t respond. Her arm stayed loose in Gabrielle’s hands, her eyes still fixed on the window.  

“She’s okay,” Gabrielle added after a moment. “Eve, I mean. She said she was lightheaded. I think she just needs to eat.”  

Xena blinked slowly, but didn’t turn her head. Gabrielle hesitated, then continued, her voice softer.  

“Breakfast is ready. If you’re up for it, we can go down together.” Another pause. Then Xena nodded once, her voice low and steady.  

“I’ll come.”  

Gabrielle set the cloth back in the bowl and stood. She reached for her boots and shook the dust from the soles, careful not to drag more debris with her.  

“I’ll wait downstairs,” she said, her voice even as she stepped towards the door.  

The tavern was quiet that morning. Plates had already been set out, and a few other patrons murmured softly across the room, but no one paid much attention to the three women at the table.  

They sat near the back wall, where the light didn’t reach as harshly. A wooden plate sat in front of Xena—cold eggs, half a strip of dried meat, untouched bread. She had barely looked at it. A soft buzzing brushed past her ear. She swatted it away without looking.  

A moment later, another one circled near her hand. Then another. Her jaw tightened. She waved them off again, sharper this time. The flies kept returning, hovering near her plate, tracing lazy circles through the air before landing on the edge of her cup. Xena’s palm slapped down suddenly against the table.  

“Why are there so many flies in here?” Gabrielle looked up from her food, her brow creased. She glanced around the table, then towards the floor, then back at Xena.  

“I haven’t seen a single one,” she said. Eve looked slowly to Gabrielle and then around the room.   

“There’s nothing by me either,” she said, her voice quiet.  

Xena didn’t answer. She pushed her chair back slightly and ran the back of her hand across her cheek, her face unreadable. The flies were already circling again.  

Eve pushed her food around with the edge of her fork but didn’t eat much either. She kept glancing towards her mother, waiting for some small sign that things were settling back to normal. But Xena sat stiffly in her chair, arms crossed, back too straight, her gaze moving across the tavern like she was expecting a fight instead of breakfast.  

Gabrielle tried to keep the conversation light. She asked the server about the local produce, made a joke about the tavern cat, and even nudged Eve at one point, hoping to draw a smile. But the silence at their table felt heavier than the one in Xena’s room had. It wasn’t tension—it was absence.  

“Are you going to eat anything?” Gabrielle asked finally, her voice low but careful.  

Xena didn’t look at her. “I’m not hungry.” Gabrielle waited, but nothing else followed.  

“You barely touched anything yesterday either,” she said.  

“I said I’m not hungry,” Xena repeated, sharper this time. Eve’s hand tightened around her fork, but she kept her voice even.   

“You need to eat. It’s not just about you anymore.”  

Xena looked up at her. “You two are starting to sound like a pair of hens,” she said. Her tone was flat. “Maybe you should eat and let me worry about myself.”  

Gabrielle froze for a second, her eyes narrowing just slightly. Eve set her fork down.  

Across the tavern, the innkeeper’s son passed by, his arms full of fresh wood for the stove. As he moved towards the hearth, he called over his shoulder, “If either of you are strong with tools, I could use help with the wagon out back—wheel’s cracked.”  

Xena moved in her chair, her gaze drifting towards the doorway where the boy’s voice had trailed off, and something in her posture changed. Gabrielle’s eyes moved towards her, and in that brief glance, something in Gabrielle’s stomach went cold.  

Eve noticed it too. Her hand tensed against the edge of the table while her body angled forward, uncertain whether to follow or stop what hadn’t yet begun.  

Then Xena stood, her chair scraping lightly across the floor. She didn’t look at either of them, and in the silence that followed, neither Gabrielle nor Eve asked where she was going. They already knew.  

They had only just stepped outside when Xena walked straight towards the wagon near the edge of the path. Her stride lengthened as she crossed the yard, each step steady and direct.  

Her gaze locked on the damaged wheel. She squatted beside it without hesitation, her hands curling around the axle while her legs braced into place. Gabrielle stiffened.  

“Xena—what are you doing?” Xena didn’t answer. Her stance widened slightly as she adjusted her grip.  

“You can’t do that,” Gabrielle said, rushing to her. “You're pregnant, remember.”  

Xena adjusted her weight, bracing harder. “So?”  

Eve reached her side just as Gabrielle stepped in front of the wheel. “Have you lost your mind?”  

“I’m not helpless,” Xena said. “I don’t have glass bones just because I’m carrying a child.”  

“That’s not the point,” Gabrielle snapped, her hand pressed against the side of the wagon now, blocking it. “This isn’t about weakness. It’s about protecting what’s inside you.”  

Xena rose slowly, her hands falling from the wood. Her jaw clenched, her eyes hard, but something behind them flickered—something uncertain.  

“You don’t mean that,” Eve said gently, watching her closely. “You’re not thinking straight.”  

For a long moment, Xena didn’t move. Her eyes drifted between the two of them, her chest lifting once, then again. Suddenly, her expression changed. She blinked. Her shoulders dropped slightly. Her mouth opened—but nothing sharp came out.  

“No,” she said after a moment, quieter now. “You’re right.”  

She rubbed her hand down her thigh, not looking at either of them directly. “I’m just...tired.”  

Xena didn’t wait for either of them to say more. She turned without a word and started walking, her boots pressing into the dry earth with slow, even steps. Gabrielle watched her go, her hand still resting on the side of the wagon, but she didn’t call after her. Neither did Eve.  

Without speaking, the two of them moved to the opposite side of the wagon where the man still stood, half-frozen, unsure if he should speak or stay silent. Gabrielle crouched beside the wheel and reached for the tools he had laid out, her movements quick and quiet. Eve stood beside her, steadying the frame while Gabrielle started to help.  

Xena walked without saying anything. She didn’t look back. Her feet carried her across a shallow slope that dropped down toward the riverbank. The grass thinned beneath her boots, turning into packed earth and smooth stones near the edge of the water.  

She crouched by the river and dipped her hands in. The cold bit into her skin, sharp but welcomed. She splashed a handful across her face and then sat back, her back pressing against the base of a tree.  

She stretched her legs out in front of her. The air was damp and heavy, but quiet. The stillness settled around her in pieces. She let her hand rest on her stomach. Not hard, not deliberate—just there.  

“You better not give me trouble today,” she said, quiet but clear.  

There wasn’t a smile on her face, but there was a calm in her tone. For a brief second, she meant it. There was something steady in that moment. A part of her that still felt connected to whatever was growing inside her.  

But then her stomach turned. The nausea came on fast and hard, pulling her forward before she could brace herself. Her hands hit the ground. She shut her eyes and held her breath, waiting for it to pass.  

It didn’t. Her muscles tightened. She gagged once, then again. Her body shook through it while her knees bent tighter, her elbows pressing into the dirt. It took everything she had not to throw up on the spot. After a long minute, it eased.  

She stayed still, her hair falling around her face, the chill from the water still clinging to her skin. She swallowed hard and wiped her mouth on the back of her wrist.  

Her hand didn’t return to her stomach. She leaned back again, slower this time, her head resting against the bark behind her. Her breath came low and steady, but her expression had changed. The calm was gone.  

She didn’t feel protective anymore. She felt used. She felt watched. Judged. Handled like something delicate, like she couldn’t move without hurting herself or damaging what someone else wanted her to carry. They said they were worried. That it was love. But it felt like a leash.  

Every time Gabrielle rushed towards her. Every time Eve spoke for her or hovered near her side. Every moment they stopped her from doing something she didn’t need permission for—they were shaping her into someone she wasn’t. And she had let them. That’s what made her sick the most.  

This wasn’t about the child. It was about keeping her small. Keeping her still. Making sure she stayed out of the way until someone else could decide what to do next. Her eyes stayed on the water, but her jaw had tightened again. Her hands curled against the ground beside her. She didn’t say a word, but something in her had changed.  

She didn’t feel like a mother.  

She felt like a cage. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: Born With Nothing  

The next three months passed with an uneasy quiet. Life settled into something close to routine—not peaceful, but manageable. The gods stayed silent. Even Ares kept his distance. No one could explain the calm, and none of them tried. Whatever had kept Olympus still, it was enough. Gabrielle and Eve rarely brought it up, and when they did, it was only in passing. If the gods had vanished—even briefly—it felt like a gift not worth questioning.  

They had visited four markets by the time Gabrielle gave up trying to count. Xena walked ahead of them now, hands on her hips, her jaw tight. The sun was at its highest and the leather stretched across her stomach looked even more uncomfortable than it had that morning.  

Gabrielle glanced down at the tunic in her arms—soft fabric, pale green, not too long, not too bright—and held it up again with the smallest hint of hope.  

“This one’s simple,” she said. “The cut’s clean, the material’s soft, and it won’t stick to you when you sweat.”  

Xena barely turned her head. “It’s the wrong color.”  

Gabrielle blinked. “It’s green.”  

“I know my colors, Gabrielle.”  

Eve stepped up beside them, another folded wrap in her hands. “This one’s not bad either. It laces at the side, so it won’t press against your stomach.”  

“It looks like a curtain,” Xena said.  

Eve exhaled slowly. “You said that about the last three.”  

“Because they all looked like curtains.”  

Gabrielle adjusted the tunic in her arms. “Xena, we’re running out of markets.”  

“Then we’re done for the day.”  

Eve shot Gabrielle a look, then dropped her voice slightly. “You said your ribs were hurting yesterday. You can’t keep wearing armor that won’t close.”  

Xena turned to face them fully now. Her eyes were steady, but her patience had clearly thinned.  

“I’m pregnant, not broken.”  

Gabrielle's voice softened. “We know that. But it’s getting harder to find things that fit. And you’re not exactly giving us options.”  

“I don’t want to wear something that makes me look soft.”  

Eve’s hands lowered at her sides. “You’re not soft. You’re swollen. There’s a difference.” That earned her a sharp glance from Xena.  

Gabrielle stepped in quickly. “What if we just find one plain wrap? One. Dark color. No patterns. We’ll let you cut it yourself.” Xena didn’t answer. She looked past them, her eyes scanning the stalls ahead like she’d rather be anywhere else.  

The market wasn’t crowded, but the voices around them carried. Vendors called from under their canopies. Someone was bartering over a basket of dried fish. A child ran past with a strip of cloth trailing behind her like a flag.  

Her gaze followed the line of stalls but didn’t land on anything. Gabrielle watched her closely. She still held the green tunic in her arms but didn’t lift it again. She’d seen this look before—when Xena had already decided she wasn’t going to try.  

Eve cleared her throat lightly. “We could take a break. Go to grandmother’s for a while. Try again later.”  

Xena exhaled through her nose. “Or we could keep wasting the day.”  

Gabrielle stepped beside her. “One more stall. That’s all I’m asking.”  

Xena didn’t speak, but she turned toward the next stall anyway. It was set up under a low awning, its fabrics shaded from the light. Most of what hung was plain—earth tones, loose cuts, nothing delicate. A tall woman stood behind the table, older, her gray hair pulled into a long braid that fell over one shoulder.  

She looked up when Xena approached. Her hands stopped moving. Gabrielle opened her mouth to greet her, but the woman’s eyes didn’t move from Xena. They traced down, then back up, settling low on her abdomen.  

The silence lingered just a little too long. Xena noticed and narrowed her eyes. The woman didn’t speak. Not right away. Then she stepped back from the table.  

“You need to leave,” she said.  

Gabrielle’s brow creased. “What?”  

“You need to leave this market,” the woman said again, firmer this time. Her voice was steady, but her hand gripped the edge of the table.  

Eve stepped forward cautiously. “We’re not here to cause trouble—”  

“I don’t care why you’re here,” the woman said. Her eyes didn’t leave Xena’s. “That child doesn’t belong here. And if you had any sense, you’d keep moving before the rest of them notice.”  

Gabrielle stepped between them instinctively. “What are you talking about?”  

The woman’s voice dropped. “It’s not just a child. I saw it. I saw the signs last night.”  

Xena’s arms dropped to her sides. She stepped forward once. Just enough to make the woman tense. She just stared at Xena’s belly, then turned her head away, whispering something under her breath that none of them caught.  

Xena eyes stayed on the woman’s face, and her hand moved before either Gabrielle or Eve could stop her. She reached across the table, caught the woman by the throat, and pulled her forward until there was barely a breath between them. Gabrielle’s voice came fast.  

“Xena.” Eve stepped in, her eyes wide, her hand lifting halfway like she wasn’t sure if she should interfere or just speak.  

“Mother.”  

Xena didn’t react to either of them. Her focus never left the woman’s face. The silence between them stretched, thick and steady, and the woman didn’t try to pull away. She just stood there with her shoulders squared and her eyes sharp, as if she had been expecting this to happen. Xena’s voice came low but clear.  

“I want the dark blue one behind you.” Then she let her go.  

The woman stepped back like nothing about the moment had bothered her at all. She reached up slowly, touched her neck once, then turned her back to them without a word. She moved to the far end of the table and pulled the outfit free from beneath a folded stack—a deep navy wrap paired with fitted pants, plain fabric, clean lines, nothing soft about the shape or color.  

She laid it across the table between them without meeting Xena’s eyes.  

“You’re late,” the woman said, her voice quieter now but not uncertain. “But I suppose that’s expected. You’re blood-bound to the witch.”  

Gabrielle looked at Eve, her brow creased in confusion. Eve didn’t say anything at first, but her gaze had already moved back to the woman’s face, trying to decide whether to press or let it go.  

Once the outfit was in her hands, Xena folded it without a word and glanced towards Eve and Gabrielle. Her mouth pulled into a tight, strained smile—sharp at the corners, with no warmth behind it.  

“Let’s go see Mother,” she said, her voice too even to be sincere.  

They followed her through the edge of the market, their steps falling into rhythm without a word. The path toward Cyrene’s tavern hadn’t changed. It wound through the back part of town past a low stone wall and a line of olive trees, the same way it always had. But something felt off long before the building came into view. The streets were still. Doors were closed and the windows were dark. The air carried no sound, no voices in passing, no clatter from kitchens, nothing to mark the hour. Even the usual warmth of the town felt like it had drained away beneath their feet.  

The breeze passed through dragging dust and brittle leaves down the road. A tumbleweed rolled across the path ahead of them, slow and hollow, brushing the wall before collapsing into itself.  

Gabrielle slowed her steps without realizing it. Eve moved closer, glancing at the closed windows and the boarded front door ahead. When they reached the tavern, they stopped. It didn’t look like it had been locked up for a day or two. It looked abandoned.  

The shutters hung loose on the windows. The wood had darkened where the paint had peeled back. Dust covered the front step, and a thick plank of old lumber had been nailed across the entrance. Two more boards covered the frame where the sign used to hang. One was cracked down the middle. The other looked freshly hammered.  

Gabrielle’s voice dropped to almost nothing. “What happened here?”  

Xena shook her head slowly. Her eyes scanned every inch of the building, her brow creased.  “I don’t know.”  

She stepped up to the front door and reached for the first wooden plank. Her fingers curled under the edge, and she yanked it loose with one clean pull. The nails groaned but gave way. She tossed the board to the ground and reached for the next.  

Gabrielle and Eve moved in behind her, but before they could help, a voice called out from across the road.  

“You don’t want to go in there,” a boy said, walking past with a sack thrown over his shoulder. He didn’t stop moving. “That place belonged to the witch.”  

Gabrielle turned, quick and quiet. “Wait—what did you say?”  

The boy stopped a few feet away and moved the sack higher on his back. He looked younger than he sounded, maybe twelve, with dusty clothes and a quick, cautious expression.  

“It’s hers,” he said, nodding toward the tavern. “The old woman who owned it. Said her granddaughter was gonna kill the gods. Said everyone would see.” Eve adjusted uncomfortably.  

Gabrielle stepped forward. “What happened to her?” The boy shifted on his feet. He didn’t look proud. He didn’t look sorry either.  

“They burned her,” he said. “Tied her up. Lit the fire in the square.” He adjusted the sack again. “Said they had to. Before something worse happened.”  

Then he turned and ran off without waiting for another word. The silence that followed was heavier than before. The wind moved again, but nothing else did.  

Xena’s eyes stayed on the entrance. Her hand still held the board halfway loose, but she wasn’t pulling anymore. Her shoulders went stiff, her jaw set, but there was something in her face that hadn’t been there before.  

A tear started to rise, slow and uninvited, sitting just under her lower lash like it had no right to be there. She sniffed once and wiped it away quickly with the side of her wrist, then pressed her palm against the doorframe and spoke without looking at either of them.  

“Come help me.”  

Gabrielle stepped forward first and grabbed the second board. Eve came up behind them. Together, they pulled the rest of the wood down from the frame and tossed it aside onto the overgrown walkway.  

The door creaked when Xena pushed it open. The air inside was stale and dry like the place hadn’t been touched in years. Dust clung to the edges of every surface. Cobwebs stretched between the corners of the ceiling beams. A few chairs were overturned. One stool was broken near the fireplace, its legs splintered, with straw stuffing sticking out from where the seat had split open.  

Sunlight pushed through the dirty windows in dull, crooked shapes, cutting across the floorboards in long streaks. The bar was still standing, but the shelves behind it were empty. Someone had taken all the drinkware. All the bottles. Everything Cyrene used to touch with her own hands.  

Xena stepped into the center of the room and looked around. Her face didn’t show anything at all for a moment.  

Then she moved to the nearest table and pushed the overturned chair upright. The legs scraped against the floor.  

Gabrielle reached for a dust cloth that had been tossed over the corner of the bar. She shook it out once, coughed at the cloud it kicked up, and started wiping down the thick layer of grime that had settled over the countertop.  

Eve went to the windows, opening each one one by one, forcing the latches loose and shoving the panes outward. The breeze came in slowly. Cobwebs lined the corners of the back room. Xena grabbed a broom from behind the bar and started dragging it down from the beams, one hand steady on the handle while the other knocked the strands loose.  

Gabrielle moved from table to table, wiping away the film that coated the wood. Her hands worked fast, but every now and then she stopped and looked around like she was expecting to see Cyrene’s silhouette near the kitchen doorway.  

Eve cleared a space near the hearth and gathered the broken pieces of the stool. She stacked them against the wall and then knelt to pick up the scattered straw. Her fingers moved carefully, brushing everything into a pile.  

Xena stayed near the bar. She wiped off the row of stools, then moved behind the counter, her hands steady, her expression flat. She ran her fingers across the grooves her mother had worn into the edge of the bar, right where she used to lean when she thought no one was looking. The room didn’t come back to life. But it stopped feeling empty.  

Gabrielle and Eve watched her from across the room. Xena stood behind the bar with her hand resting against the counter, her eyes fixed on something no one else could see. She hadn’t said anything since the cleaning began. She hadn’t needed to. The silence around her said enough.  

Gabrielle moved first. She stepped behind the bar and wrapped her arms around Xena from one side. A second later, Eve came up from the other. Their arms closed around her slowly, holding her where she stood.  

For a moment, Xena didn’t move. Then she let out a slow breath and stepped back, pulling herself out of their hold. “We’re going to stay here for a while,” she said, her voice even. “At least until the baby comes.”  

Gabrielle looked at her, surprised. Eve straightened slightly, caught off guard by the sudden shift in the plan.  

“Wait,” Gabrielle said, “you mean stay—here?”  

Xena was already walking away. She grabbed the folded clothes from the table near the entrance and headed for the stairs.  

“We’ll get settled later,” she said. “Figure out what needs fixing.”  

She didn’t wait for more questions. She disappeared up the steps, her boots pressing softly into the old wood. Gabrielle stood in place for a few seconds, then turned toward the kitchen with a quiet sigh.  

“Looks like we’re unpacking,” she said.  

Eve followed her. They moved together behind the swinging door, where everything still looked half-abandoned. Gabrielle pulled a few dish rags off a shelf while Eve began gathering pots and wiping off the table.  

Eve handed her a medium-sized pot, her fingers stopping for a second before letting go.  

“What do you think that woman meant,” she asked, her voice low, “when she said she saw signs?” Gabrielle let out a quick laugh, more dry than amused.  

“She meant she’s out of her mind,” she said. “Probably hasn’t spoken to another person in days.”  

Eve nodded but didn’t laugh. She turned away and grabbed a stack of bowls from the shelf, her back to Gabrielle now. She didn’t believe the woman was crazy. But she wasn’t ready to say that out loud.  

“We’re going to need to find firewood,” Eve said, setting the bowls on the counter. Gabrielle watched her for a second, then nodded and reached for the next pot.  

Cyrene’s room looked exactly how Xena remembered it. Neat, but old. The bed was made, though the covers were layered in dust. The small mirror above the dresser had streaks running through it, and the vase by the window still held dried flowers that had long since collapsed in on themselves.  

Xena stepped inside and set the folded outfit on the dresser. The door closed behind her with a slow creak. She didn’t flinch at the sound. She just stood there for a moment, looking at everything.  

The pillows were out of place. The blanket was too tight around the edges. The candle on the bedside table had melted into itself, hardened in an awkward slant. She moved to the bed first and began smoothing it out, pulling the sheet free and shaking it once to send the dust scattering into the air.  

She refolded it and laid it back down with the same kind of movement she used to use when setting her weapons down at night. She straightened the edge of the table and opened the small chest beside the bed. Empty. Not even a comb. She closed it again, slow and quiet, and turned to face the mirror.  

She unfastened her half-closed leathers slowly, her fingers moving on their own. Buckles first. Then the top half of the armor, pulling it away from her skin that had been damp and tense beneath it all morning. The leather creaked in her hands before she dropped it onto the stool beside her. And as it fell out of her grip, she let out a long breath, slow and steady. Finally feeling like she could breathe properly. Her shoulders eased for the first time in hours.   

She stood there naked and silently looked into the mirror. Then she turned sideways. The curve of her stomach had rounded out more in the last few weeks. The definition in her waist was gone. Her sides were softer. Her arms were thicker than they used to be, and even her posture felt heavier—like something inside her had taken control of how her spine wanted to move.  

She stared for a while. Her hand pressed gently against the side of her belly, then dropped back to her hip. She exhaled through her nose and muttered under her breath,   

“Round three.”  

She rolled her eyes and reached for the new clothes. She pulled the pants on first, adjusting them at the waist, then bent to fasten the ties near her ankles. The fabric was plain but didn’t cling. The top went on last, dark blue, sleeveless, wrapped at the sides with one long strip that circled and tied just beneath her chest.  

Gabrielle stepped outside first. Eve followed close behind, adjusting the strap of the basket over her arm. The tavern door shut behind them with a quiet thud, and the two of them made their way down the road without saying much at first. The air was warmer than it had been that morning, but not unbearable. The wind moved soft over the dirt, lifting strands of their hair and brushing along the edge of their sleeves.  

They weren’t headed anywhere specific at first, just walking toward the center of town, thinking out loud about what they needed. Firewood. Fresh produce. A few jars of oil, maybe. A clean set of pots. All the basics.  

But by the time they reached the market stalls, it became clear how many other things they hadn’t thought of until now. Gabrielle moved towards one of the stands, her hand stopping over a stack of folded linens. Beside it were soft blankets, simple cloth dyed in pale yellow and cream. She picked one up without thinking.  

“This is kind of cute,” she said, holding it up for Eve to see. “Soft enough for a baby, right?”  

Eve blinked at the blanket, surprised. “Yeah. It is.”  

Gabrielle smiled and tucked it into the basket, already moving toward the next stall. “It’s never too early to start thinking about the baby’s room.”  

Eve followed her with a nod, and the two of them moved slowly through the market. A vendor called out and waved them over to a corner stall filled with handmade items, woven toys, tiny sandals, carved rattles made from polished wood. Gabrielle picked up a small stuffed rabbit with crooked ears and turned it in her hand, then laughed under her breath.  

“Xena’s going to roll her eyes so hard,” she said.  

Eve smiled too, stepping around the table and reaching for a small tunic no bigger than her hand. “Do you think she’ll have another girl?”  

Gabrielle hesitated, looking down at the rabbit still in her hand.  

“I don’t know. Part of me thinks it's a boy. But I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s another girl.”  

Eve nodded, distracted now. Her hand lingered on the tiny tunic, her fingers curling slightly over the edge of the fabric. For a second, everything around her blurred. The sounds of the market faded. Her breath caught suddenly. The image hit her hard.  

Flames rising fast. The heat pressing against her face. A body tied to a stake. A scream caught mid-breath. The smell of burning cloth and smoke curling low around her feet.  

Then it was gone. She blinked fast and stepped back, the tunic dropping back onto the table. Gabrielle didn’t notice though. She was already talking about the color of the walls, something neutral, something soft, something that wouldn’t make Xena feel boxed in. Eve reached for the edge of the basket and nodded like she was still listening. Her hand stayed tight on the handle.  

By the time they returned to the tavern, both their baskets were full. Gabrielle headed straight for the kitchen and started unpacking the supplies. She lined the jars up across the counter, filled the water bucket from the pump outside, and sliced a loaf of bread while soup began to boil over the fire.  

Eve lingered near the stairwell, watching the upstairs hallway for a moment before turning to Gabrielle.  

“I’m going to go pick out a room,” she said. “Get settled.”  

Gabrielle gave a quick nod. “There’s a clean one at the end of the hall. Across from Xena’s.” Eve took the smaller basket off her arm and headed up the stairs. The room Eve chose was small, but it caught enough light through the east window to feel livable.   

A cot stood pushed against the wall. The dresser was old but clean, and the closet still held a few of Cyrene’s old linens folded into stiff squares. She had set the basket down beside the bed and pulled her boots off quietly, letting her legs stretch. Her shoulders were sore from carrying too much too far. She hadn’t said anything earlier, but her arms were shaking when she set the last bag down.  

She crossed the room to straighten the blanket and moved the basket of baby items to the corner near the window. That’s when she felt it. The stillness changed. It was pressure, like the air in the room had drawn tighter behind her back.  

Eve turned slowly. Athena stood near the door, calm and unbothered, dressed in white with her arms relaxed at her sides. She wasn’t glowing. She wasn’t armed. She didn’t need to be. Eve didn’t flinch. Her breath caught slightly, but her voice came steady.  

“What do you want?” Athena tilted her head, then smiled faintly.  

“No need to be worried, child.” She stepped into the room like she belonged there and glanced toward the bed, then at the small basket beside it.   

“The last time I was here,” Athena said, “your grandmother was singing The Song of Amphipolis while rocking you in her arms. You were tiny.”  

“It’s strange,” she said. “You would think after everything the gods did to her, to you, that I wouldn’t feel anything coming back here. That I’d just see wood and linens and old air.” She set the cloth down and glanced over her shoulder.  

“But then again... nostalgia is funny. Even for us.” She looked back at Eve and gave a small shrug.  

“Anyway. I’m not here to hurt you. If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”  

Eve didn’t move. Athena turned and picked up a small wooden rattle from the top of the basket. She turned it in her hand, her expression unreadable at first. Then her mouth curved.  

“You’ve been busy,” she said. “This little one already has a basket of toys, blankets, clothes. You’ve barely been here a day.” She glanced back at Eve, her smile sharp now.   

“What are you doing here.” Athena ignored the question.  

“Gabrielle’s got a good eye for these things. Soft blankets. Tunics that actually fit. The little things that make a child feel welcome. Safe.” She tilted her head slightly, her smile tightening.  

“Must be exciting. Preparing. Planning. Picking colors and imagining names. You know, no one did any of that for you.” Eve’s arms folded, but her mouth stayed closed.   

“There wasn’t a home waiting. No cradle. No bed. No walls to hold out the wind. Just the woods. Just the dirt. She gave birth on the forest floor like an animal, knees in the mud, blood in the leaves, with only Gabrielle there to catch you. No roof. No fire. No one coming to help. Just the cold and the sound of her trying not to scream” She looked down at the toy again.  

“And yet here we are. Talking about baby rooms. Gabrielle beaming over booties. The house being scrubbed clean just to make it ready for the new child. What a difference a few years make.”  

She looked up again, meeting Eve’s eyes fully now.  

“You didn’t get any of this. And look how well you turned out.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.  

“Imagine how perfect this one will be.” Eve’s throat tensed, but she didn’t speak. Not yet. Athena placed the toy back onto the bed.   

“This child hasn’t even taken a breath, and already they love it more than they loved you.” She gave a small shrug, then turned back toward the window.  

“Funny, isn’t it?” Eve stayed quiet for a few seconds, her hands clenched lightly at her sides. Her jaw had locked tight, but the words pushed out anyway.  

“She didn’t have the chance,” Eve said. “She wasn’t prepared because she couldn’t be. The gods were chasing her. She didn’t have time to settle anywhere, or prepare anything, or even—”  

Athena turned, and the laugh came before Eve could finish.  

It was loud. Full-bodied. That kind of open, rumbling laugh that came from deep in her chest and filled the whole room without sounding forced. There was nothing light about it.  

Eve froze where she stood. Athena took a few steps forward, still smiling, but the sound had died as quickly as it started.  

“Foolish girl,” she said. “We didn’t chase Xena through her pregnancy. We didn’t even know about the prophecy until the day you arrived.” She stepped close enough for Eve to feel it now, that presence that made the air feel heavier.  

Athena tilted her head and gave her the kind of look people gave when they were pretending to feel sorry for someone they secretly couldn’t stand. Her voice came quieter now, but not kinder. Her eyes scanned Eve’s face.  

“You think they were helpless. Cornered. Running for their lives. But they weren’t. They made choices. And they had time to do better for you. They just didn’t.” She turned away again, this time walking slowly toward the dresser like the subject bored her now.  

“They didn’t even want to name you at first,” Athena said, still dragging her fingers across the edge of the dresser.  

She turned her head slightly, just enough to glance back at Eve.  

“It’s sad, really. Your dead brother had to tell your mother what to call you. She stood there—pitiful, lost—like naming her own child was too much to ask.”  

Eve’s shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t speak. Athena smiled and walked back toward the bed, her steps slow, her eyes scanning the room again like she was settling into a story that deserved to be told.  

“You don’t know much about your mother and her little girlfriend, do you?” She picked up the toy from the bed again, but didn’t look at it.  

“If you think those scrolls Gabrielle wrote were the truth...” Her eyes lifted. “I’m afraid, little one, you’ve been misled.” She gave a short breath through her nose, not quite a laugh but close.  

“They left a lot out, didn’t they? All those stories. All that drama. But not once did she write about the way Xena hesitated to hold you."  

She walked toward Eve again, still holding the toy.  

“And yet here you are. Folding blankets. Buying rattles. Fixing up rooms like it all means something now.”  

She placed the toy in Eve’s hands. Her expression was soft, almost gentle—but it didn’t match the look in her eyes.  

“She never gave you this.” Athena’s eyes stayed on Eve for a moment longer. Then her voice dropped lower, quieter than before.  

“You’ve seen it too... haven’t you.” Eve didn’t answer right away. Her mouth tightened. Her grip on the toy changed.  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. Athena gave her a look.   

“Yes, you do.” Eve looked away. Athena took one step back towards the door.  

“You can stop it,” she said. “Help me, and we’ll make sure it never happens. Just think about it.”  

Then she disappeared. She stood in place, still holding the wooden toy in her hand. Her fingers moved over it slowly, feeling the curve of it, the smooth polish, the place where Athena had touched it last. It was small. Harmless. But it didn’t feel like something made for joy anymore.  

Her eyes moved towards the window, but she wasn’t looking outside. Her thoughts were too full to land anywhere. Athena had lied. That’s what the gods did.  

But not all of it had sounded like a lie. She thought about the scrolls again filled with battle stories and long journeys and sweeping declarations about love and redemption. She used to cling to those words. They made her believe in who her mother was. Who Gabrielle was. Who she had been born to be.  

But now...  

Now she couldn’t stop replaying the cracks between the lines. The parts that were too neat. Too heroic. Too clean.  

Athena’s words pressed in again.  

They didn’t even want to name you. 
She gave birth to you in the woods. 
They didn’t have a blanket. 

She tried to fight it. She reminded herself what Xena had faced. The pressure. The danger. The gods chasing her down, every corner of the world watching her choices like they were ammunition. But that small voice still asked—  

Why hadn’t they prepared?  

Why hadn’t they tried?  

Why did this baby matter more?  

She thought of the vision again. The fire. The screaming. The way her feet had felt frozen while the world collapsed around her. She had told herself it was fear. Stress. A trick of her memory. But Athena knew.   

Eve turned away from the bed and walked to the door, setting the toy down on the small table as she passed. Her fingers lingered there a second longer than they needed to. Then she pulled her hand back and opened the door. She didn’t know what Athena meant by help me but a small part of her wanted to find out .   

Eve stepped into the kitchen and leaned slightly against the doorway, watching Gabrielle stir something that smelled faintly of herbs and bread. The pot was deep, and Gabrielle was focused, humming again under her breath, her short hair tucked behind one ear, moving like this had become her space already.  

“Need help with anything?” Eve asked.  

Gabrielle turned with a smile. “Sure. Grab some bowls from the shelf? The ones on the left.”  

Eve crossed the room and reached up to grab them, stacking two into her hands before setting them down gently on the table.  

The silence lasted for a few seconds. Eve looked over her shoulder as Gabrielle adjusted the flame beneath the pot. She hesitated, then asked without turning around completely—  

“Do you remember the day I was born?”  

Gabrielle laughed softly, like the question caught her off guard but didn’t feel strange.  

“Do I remember—”  

She didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence. The sound of footsteps came from the stairwell. Xena entered the room with the dark blue outfit clinging neatly to her frame, her hair pushed back behind her shoulders, her stomach unmistakably present now beneath the clean lines of the fabric.  

Gabrielle stopped stirring. Eve straightened. Both of them looked at her at the same time.  

“You look amazing,” Gabrielle said, already stepping across the room toward her.  

“You really do,” Eve added, her voice quieter but sincere.  

Gabrielle reached her first, both hands going straight to Xena’s stomach with that same ease and warmth she always carried. “Oh, wow,” she said. “Wearing all that leather really hid how much this baby has grown.” Her hands moved lightly, still resting there as she looked up with wide eyes and the beginning of a grin.  

“I can’t wait to meet this baby. I don’t care what we have to go through, we’re doing this. We’re all in. No matter what.”  

Xena smiled softly. But it didn’t settle easy on her face either. It lingered there like it had been placed, not pulled from somewhere real. Eve stood near the table just watching them. Gabrielle’s voice carried through the room. The warmth, the hope, the forward-thinking plans that sounded like they had been waiting years to say out loud.  

Eve said nothing. The sound of Gabrielle’s voice wrapped around the room. Xena’s belly had all the attention now. The conversation had already moved past her question. Past her. And something in Eve’s chest pulled tight. She stayed where she was, watching the two of them, her arms loose at her sides, her jaw clenched just enough to feel it. And for the first time, she felt a feeling she hadn’t felt since she was Livia.   

Gabrielle’s hands were still resting gently on Xena’s stomach, her face lit with excitement. Eve stood a few steps back, her expression more unreadable by the second. Suddenly, two arms slid around Xena from behind, firm and possessive, wrapping across her midsection in a way that made Gabrielle flinch and Eve stiffen.  

“Well,” Ares said, his voice low and pleased, his lips close enough to her neck to brush against her skin, “Gabrielle’s right. Look how much our child has grown.”  

His nose grazed the side of her neck as he inhaled, slow and deliberate. Xena’s spine went rigid. Gabrielle backed away, her mouth parted in alarm. Eve didn’t speak. But the look on her face changed instantly, confusion first, then something darker dancing behind her eyes. Ares met her gaze across the room, and his smile widened.  

He didn’t say anything yet, but it was all there in the way his chin tilted and his hand rested across Xena’s belly like he had every right to it. That was when Xena moved. Her elbow slammed back into his ribs with full force, hard enough to make his breath catch. Ares grunted, stumbling a step as she pulled away from him. Her eyes were sharp now, her jaw locked tight.  

“There is no ‘our,’” she said, her voice hard and clipped. “Not with this child.” Ares rubbed his ribs, still grinning.  

“You’re still carrying my gift,” he said. “You don’t have to sound so ungrateful.” Xena turned on him fully now, her arms stiff at her sides, her stomach rising and falling with every tight breath.  

“Gift?” she repeated, the word dry and bitter in her mouth. “You call this misery a gift?”  

Ares raised a brow, his grin still playing at the edge of his mouth, but it didn’t quite settle. Not this time. Xena stepped forward, her eyes locked on his face.  

“I didn’t ask for this,” she said. “You think I wanted to feel like this every day? Exhausted. Uncomfortable. Trapped in a body that doesn’t feel like mine anymore? You think that’s a blessing?” Her voice didn’t crack, but it thickened. And the way she said each word made the kitchen feel smaller.  

“This isn’t a gift, Ares. It’s a punishment. And don’t pretend you don’t know that.”  

Ares didn’t reply. He just watched her. Gabrielle stood frozen behind her, her eyes wide. Eve didn’t say a word. She wasn’t even blinking. Xena kept going.  

“I’m not carrying this child out of love. Or hope. Or anything that even resembles joy.” She shook her head once, sharp.  

“I’m carrying it because my life has been so twisted, so wrecked, that the only way to keep the people I care about alive was to let you inside me. And now—now I get to walk around with a constant reminder of how low everything had to sink for us to survive.” Ares’ jaw shifted slightly, but he said nothing. The grin was gone. Xena’s hands curled briefly at her sides.  

“This baby means nothing to me.” Gabrielle inhaled quietly behind her.  

“The act meant nothing. The moment meant nothing. And the bastard that asked for it—meant even less.” She spat the last line out with no hesitation, her eyes locked on Ares like she wanted him to flinch. He didn’t but something in his face changed.  

Eve stepped forward slightly, but she didn’t speak. Her eyes bounced between them, the weight of what had been said settling hard in her chest. Gabrielle moved next, reaching for Xena’s arm, but Xena stepped back.  

“Xena,” she said, keeping her tone calm. “Stop.” She glanced toward her stomach, then leaned in just enough for her words to reach.  

“Your baby can hear you.” Xena’s head turned fast. Her eyes locked on Gabrielle, sharp and clear.  

“Don’t you dare,” she said. The words hit fast and hard. Gabrielle froze.  

“Don’t try to guilt me into caring. Not you.” Gabrielle’s lips parted, but nothing came out fast enough.  

Xena’s voice sharpened. “You think this is something beautiful? You think we’re going to look back on this and laugh? I didn’t ask for this, Gabrielle. I didn’t want any of it.” She took a step forward, her hands tense.  

“You get to shop and smile and plan like everything’s normal. I’m the one who made the deal. I’m the one who gave myself to that bastard to keep you alive. You didn’t have to lay there and give him what he asked for. And now I wake up every day stuck inside this body, carrying the reminder of everything I had to become just to get us here.”  

Gabrielle stepped back, her face open and full of hurt, but she didn’t try again. Eve stayed rooted in place, her hands clenched at her sides. Xena turned back toward the table, her breath slow but strained, her grip tight against the wood.   

Eve took a breath and started to move. Her hand came forward slightly, her eyes locked on Xena’s back. She opened her mouth.  

“Mo—”  

Ares appeared beside her before the word even formed, blocking her path before she could take another step. Ares raised a hand slowly, his palm open, like he was calming a wild horse.  

“No,” he said. “I’m going to handle this...my way.” Before anyone could speak, Ares grabbed Xena by the wrist and disappeared with her.   

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: Halls of Fire  

The rush of wind hit first, then the sound of air snapping back into place. Xena landed hard on her feet, Ares' arm still loosely around her waist as the ground settled beneath them. She shoved him off the moment her boots hit solid floor, stepping back without hesitation, her shoulders squared, and jaw locked.  

“Where the hell did you take me?” she asked without even trying to see where she was. Ares grinned like he expected the push. He let his arm drop and gave the room a casual look.  

They were standing inside Xena’s old farmhouse but it looked different. The walls were wood, freshly restored, the floors smooth and swept. Sunlight poured through windows that had no dust. The place was too perfect to be real. It smelled faintly of cedar and bread, though nothing had been cooked there in years.  

“I thought we could use a change of scenery,” he said, snapping his fingers once.  

A low fire lit in the stone hearth behind her. Curtains waved gently over the window frames. A small table set itself upright in the center of the room.  

Xena didn’t move.  

“You brought me here to play house?” She didn’t even get a breath past that.  

Ares grabbed her.  

One hard step forward, and she was shoved back against the wall, the slam of her body against wood echoing through the quiet farmhouse. His hand closed around her throat, tight and unforgiving, his fingers pressing just under her jaw.  

He didn’t cut off her breath, but he could’ve. And she felt that. Every inch of it. His face was close, his breath hitting her cheek as he leaned in, his voice low but full of venom.  

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said. “I didn’t bring you here to play anything.”  

Xena’s hand braced against the wall. Her other curled into a fist at her side, but he pressed harder, forcing her to stay still.  

“You think you can throw your tantrum, run your mouth, and act like that deal meant nothing?” His thumb shifted slightly, dragging along the edge of her jaw. “You’re mine. You agreed to it. And I don’t give a damn how you feel about it now.”  

Xena’s eyes burned into his, but her body didn’t move. Not yet.  

“This child,” Ares growled, “exists because you made a deal. Not because of some great love. Not because you’re some tragic hero. You laid down, and now you want to act like you were forced? Save that garbage for Gabrielle.”  

His mouth was close to her ear now. His grip never loosened.  

“You don’t get to spit on what you chose. This is what it cost.”  

Ares backed off slowly, the heat still rolling off him.  

“You don’t get to scream about misery, warrior princess. You’re not the victim here. You’re just pissed because the consequences finally came knocking.”  

He turned toward the center of the room, arms spreading like he was showing off a battlefield.  

“You want to hate the baby? Hate me? Fine. But don’t lie about how we got here.” He looked back at her then, eyes dark.  

“You were never innocent.” Xena stayed against the wall after he stepped back. Her shoulders pressed into the wood, and her breath dragged deep into her chest like she needed the weight to settle her. Her hand rested at her side where her sword waited, and she thought about how easy it would be to draw it now and end this before he could speak again.  

Ares stood in the center of the room like the farmhouse belonged to him. His arms dropped to his sides, and his head tilted slightly as he looked around. He didn’t need to say anything. The silence worked in his favor, and he knew it. He liked it when she tensed up, when her pulse jumped just enough for him to notice. He could feel it even now.  

His eyes moved back to her, and for a moment he forgot the walls and the fire and the game he had in mind. He saw her belly. Rounder than before. The sight hit him harder than any blade. It stopped him in a way nothing else could. That was his child. His blood. His legacy. He felt something in his chest tighten, and it wasn’t pride. It was something that made him want to rip the world apart for her and for that life she carried.  

His eyes dragged over her, and something in his chest twisted until it felt like armor splitting open. The blue draped over her in a way that stole the air from his lungs. It didn’t scream battle. It whispered something else, soft and dangerous all at once.   

The fabric clung to her hips and skimmed the shape of her thighs, loose in the right places so his mind could fill in what he couldn’t see. It made her look like something built for heat and shadow, for the kind of nights that never end.  

He couldn’t stop staring. Every breath she drew pressed the fabric tighter against her chest, and he pictured pulling that blue away in one hard rip, letting it fall to the floor while her body stayed under his hands. The thought of her on his bed hit him so fast it almost made him dizzy, her legs tangling in his sheets, her hair spread wild across his pillows, his mouth moving over every inch until she forgot her own name.  

His jaw locked as the heat crawled lower. It burned through his blood like fire, and he hated how much control it stole from him. He wanted her on her back, wanted to hear her voice break under his name, and the hunger for it hit so hard it felt like a wound.  

Ares flexed his fists at his sides and dragged in a breath that did nothing to cool the ache. The God of War didn’t get undone by a woman in blue. But right now, all he could think about was taking her apart piece by piece and making sure she never walked away again.  

That thought hit harder than the sight of her stomach, but when his gaze sank there, he felt it again, that pull. The curve was small, but it was enough to tear through him like a blade. He’d known, but knowing was one thing. Seeing it was something else entirely. It wasn’t an idea anymore. It was real. Alive. And it carried his blood.  

For a moment, the air in the room thickened until he could barely drag it into his lungs. The fire crackled behind him, but he didn’t hear it. All he could see was her standing there in that blue, her hair falling loose, her hand near the sword at her hip. She looked ready to kill him, but all he could think about was something else.  

The image came uninvited, brutal in its clarity. The picture changed in his mind, slow and heavy like it had been waiting there for years. She was still in this house, but the fire burned softer and the air didn’t taste like tension anymore. It tasted like her. She stood near the table with her hair spilling down her back, blue fabric brushing her legs, and when he moved to her, she didn’t fight. She came to him like she’d always belonged in his arms.  

He felt her body press to his, her breath warming his skin as his mouth found hers. The kiss started slow, deep, the kind that steals everything and gives it back twice as strong. His hands slid over her waist, down her hips, memorizing every line, and when she tilted her head to look at him, her eyes were soft enough to undo him completely. No walls. No war. Just her.  

And then he heard it. A laugh, small and bright. It came from the corner of the room where a cradle sat in his mind like it had always been there. The sound wrapped around them, light and warm, and he felt his chest twist so hard it almost hurt.  

His hand moved lower in that vision, spreading over the curve of her stomach, feeling life shift beneath his palm. Her fingers covered his, slow and sure, holding him there like she wanted it. Like she wanted him. She leaned her forehead to his and smiled, and it wasn’t cruel or mocking. It was real.  

And gods help him, he wanted it. All of it. The kiss. The weight of her against him. The sound of that laugh filling this house. He wanted it so much it scorched through his blood and made his heart pound like he’d been dragged into a war he couldn’t win.  

He wanted to rip the picture apart, but it clung like chains. It didn’t belong to him. He wasn’t built for this. He didn’t sit at tables. He didn’t hold babies. He broke kingdoms. He burned cities to ash. That was who he was. That was who she loved once because she loved the fire in him, the chaos, the blood.  

So why did this feel stronger than all of it?  

The heat in his chest grew until it felt like rage, but rage didn’t explain the ache that came with it. He clenched his fists hard enough to bite through his own skin. He hated this weakness. Hated that he wanted it almost as much as he wanted to slam her against the wall and remind her what they were made of.  

But he stayed still. Silent. Because for the first time in centuries, Ares didn’t trust what would come out if he opened his mouth.  

The heat from the fire brushed her back, but it didn’t ease the tightness in her chest. She stayed against the wall, shoulders locked, every muscle coiled like a spring, waiting for him to make his next move. But he didn’t move. He just stood there, quiet, and that silence felt heavier than a hundred shouted threats.  

Then she saw his eyes.  

It was subtle at first, a drop in his gaze, the sharp edge dulling for something softer, but it didn’t slip past her. Ares didn’t soften. Not for anyone. Not even her. Especially not her.  

Her breath caught before she could stop it. He wasn’t looking at her face anymore. His stare dragged lower, slow and steady, until it settled on the curve of her stomach. She felt it like heat crawling across her skin, and it made her fists clench.  

For a moment, she thought he was sizing her up for a weakness, ready to use it against her like he always did. But the longer he stared, the more wrong it felt. This wasn’t about war. It wasn’t about control. It was something else, something that tightened the air until she could barely draw a breath.  

And then she knew.  

The realization slammed into her because she recognized that look. It wasn’t lust. It wasn’t pride. It was something deeper, something she had buried in the darkest corner of her mind because letting it breathe even for a second made her sick.  

The thought of them like that. Together. Not as enemies. Not in some stolen, bitter night where anger burned hotter than desire. But something closer to human. Something that belonged to a life she swore she could never want. A home. A child’s laugh spilling through the walls while his arms closed around her like they were meant to stay.  

She hated that it was there. Hated that some part of her still ached for it when it should have died years ago. Her jaw tightened and she slid her hand towards her sword, slow and silent, the leather grip waiting like an old friend. Because this wasn’t going to break her. He wasn’t going to break her. If she had to carve that look off his face to make it stop, she would.  

He should have turned away. Should have thrown words like daggers, anything to cut through the silence strangling him. But then he saw it.  

The change in her eyes.  

It was quick, barely there, but he caught it, the wall she always held cracked just enough to show something softer beneath. It wasn’t fury. It wasn’t hate. It was something he’d never earned from her and maybe never would again. And that was enough to undo him completely.  

His feet moved before he told them to. Slow at first, his boots whispering over the floor, then steadier as the distance closed inch by inch. She didn’t move. She stayed pressed against the wall, her chest rising and falling like she couldn’t decide whether to breathe or fight, and it pulled him harder.  

His hand came up, fingers brushing the side of her jaw like he was afraid she might break if he touched too hard. His breath slipped out rough, and then his lips were on her. Not where he wanted them yet, he started at the edge of her cheek, then her temple, a slow drag to the line of her nose, tasting her skin like a starved man.  

He felt her shiver, just barely, and it wrecked whatever was left of his control. He stopped inches from her, close enough to feel the heat rolling off her skin. His hand hovered for a breath before cupping her jaw, his fingers tracing the line of her cheek in a touch softer than anything he’d ever given her.  

Her eyes locked on his. Everything else faded until there was nothing but that stare, fierce and unbroken. Her breath brushed his lips, and his heart slammed hard in his chest, but neither of them closed the gap. Not yet.  

They stared at each other in silence, their faces close, breath mingling in the heat between them. Her chest rose fast, his matched it, every inhale rough and loud in the stillness. Neither spoke. Neither blinked. The air pressed tight around them, and the pull was too strong to fight.  

Then they leaned in together, slow and steady, closing the last inches like it was the only choice left. His lips crushed harder against hers, pulling her deeper into the heat until her legs felt unsteady. Her hand moved before she could think, sliding over the leather on his chest, then gripping tight like she needed something real to anchor her.  

Ares groaned low against her lips, raw and guttural, the sound vibrating straight into her bones. His hands caught hers, big and hot, locking around her fingers as if he could keep her there by force of will alone. He didn’t let go. He didn’t want to.  

The kiss deepened, slow at first, then darker, hungrier, his tongue sliding against hers in a clash that burned. Her breath hitched, and she hated herself for how her body leaned closer, closing the gap until his heat seared into her.  

His grip shifted, releasing her hands only to wrap around her waist, pulling her flush against him like the years between them had never happened. Xena didn’t fight. She melted into the drag of his mouth over hers, the scrape of his teeth on her bottom lip, the way every move felt like surrender and defiance tangled into one.  

The kiss broke for a breath, their foreheads pressed together, panting into the same stolen air, before his lips claimed hers again, deeper this time, rougher, as if the world could burn and neither would notice as long as this didn’t end.  

Xena felt herself drowning in it, her hand fisted in his hair, his breath hot against her lips as the kiss stretched and pulled until her body forgot how to fight.  

Then his hands moved lower.  

He slid them from her waist to the curve of her hips, gripping like he needed to memorize the shape. His fingers found the edge of her top and tugged slowly, pulling the fabric loose inch by inch. Her breath hitched when cool air brushed her skin, but she didn’t stop him. She couldn’t.  

Ares broke the kiss just long enough to look at her, his forehead resting against hers, his voice rough like it scraped its way out of his chest.  

“Tell me you feel this,” he whispered. “Tell me you don’t want me the way I want you.”  

She said nothing. Her silence was enough to make him push harder. His mouth brushed her jaw, her cheek, the corner of her lips, trailing heat over every inch he could reach while his hands slid under the blue fabric, roaming her smooth skin with a hunger that had been festering for years.  

“I love you, Xena,” he breathed against her throat, each word hot and ragged. “Always have. Always will. You think that deal was about power? About winning? No. It was about this. About you.”  

His lips pressed to the hollow of her neck, slowly, like he was worshiping every line. His fingers roamed higher, curling over her ribs, memorizing the strength there, then lower, resting over the slight swell of her stomach. He froze for half a breath, the firelight catching the rawness in his eyes as he looked down.  

“Let me be a father to our child,” he said, his voice cracking open with something she’d never heard in him before. “Let me give you what no one else ever could.”  

The words slammed into her like a blade. Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the fire, the silence, everything but the rage that ripped through her at the sound of his claim.  

Xena drew back and slammed her fist straight into his nose. The impact landed with a sharp crack, hard enough to send him staggering back. Blood gushed instantly, dark and hot, spilling over his lips as his head snapped up in shock.  

“I’m bleeding!” Ares roared, his voice full of disbelief, like the very concept insulted everything he was.  

“Now that,” Xena said, her voice low and steady, “I can’t let happen.”  

Ares laughed once, sharp and broken by the thickness of blood in his throat. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing crimson across his jaw as his grin curved cruel.  

“Why?” he mocked, his tone dripping with venom. “Because I’m bad for you, Xena? Because I’m a manipulative bastard? You’ve said it all before. Go on. Tell me again how much you hate me. Tell me I’m the monster in your nightmares. Come on—sing me that song one more time.”  

Xena didn’t answer. She took her time stepping forward until the firelight cut across her face and something colder than hate gleamed in her eyes. Then she smiled.  

“No,” she said. “You’re wrong.” Ares stilled, his grin freezing as he caught that tone, dark and dangerous, nothing like the woman he remembered.  

“You’re too weak,” Xena whispered, her smirk twisting wider, “to be my child’s father.”  

Ares snapped his fingers. The blood vanished, the bone reset with a crack that made the air vibrate. He turned his head slowly to the side, like a man making sure he heard the world correctly.  

“Excuse me?” His voice was calm, too calm. Xena walked toward him, her boots dragging against the floor. Her eyes never left his.  

“You heard me,” she said, her tone slicing clean through the heat between them. “You’re too weak. My child needs a father who can train it to be the greatest warrior alive. Someone who will stand by my side while we bring kingdoms to their knees.”  

She stopped close enough for the firelight to catch the curve of her smirk. Her eyes swept over him like he was something broken, something unworthy.  

“And you?” Her voice dipped, soft and cruel. “You just want to sit here and talk about...” She tilted her head, pretend pity spilling from every word. “..‘loooove.’” Her lip curled, and the heat in her eyes went black.  

“That disgusts me,” Xena said, low and final, like the words themselves were a blade meant to cut him to the bone.  

He stared at her, the words still ringing in his skull. For a moment he waited for her to smirk like it was a tease. For the laugh that always came when she pulled one of her games. Because Xena would never mean that.  

Would she?  

The thought dug in before he could stop it. Memories hit him one after another. The times she made him believe she was his only to tear it all apart and leave him standing like a fool. She had played him before. She had made him bleed pride more than once.  

So what was this? A joke? A power grab? Or the truth?  

“Xena.” His voice came out lower than he planned and rough with something he refused to name. She turned slowly and her eyes locked on his. And that look stopped the blood in his veins.  

He knew it. He knew it better than any weapon he ever forged. He had not seen it in many decades, but it hit like a blade to the chest. It was the look of the woman he shaped from fire and rage. The Destroyer of Nations. The warlord who burned cities to the ground and never blinked. The one who never asked for love or wanted softness. The one who lived for power and ruin.  

And now she stood in front of him with that same fire alive in her eyes. No. He almost said it outloud, but his own mind drowned it. The denial snapped in half. He shoved his chair back with a scrape against the floor and rose in one hard move. His hand closed on the hilt of his sword and steel sang when he pulled it free.  

Xena’s smirk curved slow and sharp as her blade slid from its sheath like a promise. Steel slammed against steel, the crack echoing through the farmhouse as sparks burst between them. Xena pushed hard, her teeth clenched, muscles straining as their swords locked in a dead heat. Ares grinned through it, blood dark on his lip, eyes burning hotter than the fire behind them.  

Ares swung hard, his grin splitting bloody across his mouth. “You know,” he said through the grind of metal, “burning villages to the ground doesn’t sound all that bad.”  

Xena laughed low, dark and smooth, her blade twisting against his until they locked face to face. “Now you’re speaking my language.” Her eyes glittered like polished steel as she shoved him back with a savage thrust. “But if you want to stand with me, you’d better do more than talk.”  

He came at her fast, strikes sharp and punishing, his voice a growl in her ear as their swords scraped. “I can do more than talk.”  

She spun under his arm, their bodies colliding as she drove him into the table with a crash. Her breath hit his neck as she hissed, “Then prove it, Ares. Prove you can keep up.”  

Their blades locked again, straining between them, so close their lips almost brushed as he snarled. “That kid you’re carrying deserves better than this tug-of-war. It deserves us. The power we bring together.”  

Xena’s smile curved slow and merciless. “Then fight for it,” she said, pushing him back an inch. “Show me you deserve to raise a god.”  

Ares’ sword hit the wall with a violent clang. Before the echo faded, the world ripped away in a rush of darkness and fire.  

When the air snapped back, they were no longer in the farmhouse. Cold stone walls rose around her, lined with torches that bled gold across black steel. The Halls of War. His domain. The scent of smoke and iron wrapped the air, heavy and intoxicating.  

Xena turned slowly, her eyes sweeping the vast chamber before locking on the massive bed draped in blood-red sheets at its center. A low smile curved her mouth as she murmured, her voice smooth and dangerous, “Hadn’t seen this place in a while.”  

Ares didn’t answer. He stepped in close, towering over her as his hand closed around her sword and slid it from her grasp like it weighed nothing. The steel clattered against the floor.  

His eyes burned as he spoke, his voice deep and commanding. “Get on the bed.”  

Xena’s breath came slow, her lips curling into something dark and wicked. She bit down gently on her bottom lip, her gaze locked on his as heat rolled through her veins. Without breaking eye contact, she turned toward the bed and crawled onto it with sensual slowness. Her hips swayed as she moved, her eyes never leaving his face.  

The crimson sheets rippled under her palms as Xena crawled forward, her body moving with the slow confidence of someone who knew exactly what she was doing. Her hair slid over her shoulder, catching the torchlight like black fire while her eyes stayed locked on him, predatory, inviting, daring him to take what he commanded.  

Ares watched her in silence, his chest heaving with the storm still raging inside him. His jaw clenched hard as his gaze dragged down her body, drinking in every line like he’d been starved for centuries. When she reached the center of the bed, she lowered onto her hips, sliding back slowly until she rested on her butt, her lips curling into a smirk that could have started wars.  

“Well,” she murmured, her voice dark silk, “you gonna stand there, or are you planning to keep talking?”  

Ares moved. Each heavy boot striking stone like a drumbeat until he stood at the edge of the bed. His hand came up, curling around her chin with a grip that said he owned the ground she knelt on. He tilted her face up, his thumb brushing over her lip before pressing against the soft curve she’d just bitten raw.  

“You think you’re still calling shots here?” His voice rolled low, thick with heat and warning. “You crawled onto my bed, Xena. That means you’re mine.”  

Her laugh was a soft blade, cutting through the air as she leaned into his touch just enough to taunt. “Yours? Don’t fool yourself, Ares. You might own this bed, these walls, this whole damn hall...” Her fingers slid over his wrist, light and teasing, her nails grazing his skin. “...but me? You’ll never own me.”  

A growl tore from his throat before he crushed his mouth to hers. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was war. Hard, deep, stealing breath like he had the right to every inch of her. His hand slid into her hair, gripping tight as he dragged her head back, his tongue sweeping across her delightful skin.  

Xena moaned low, the sound melting into his mouth as her body arched into him. Her hands clawed at his chest, dragging down over leather and muscle before shoving it aside with a rough jerk. She wanted skin. Heat. Him.  

Ares broke the kiss just enough to speak, his breath hot against her lips. “You can fight me all you want,” he growled, his voice dark and low, “but you and I both know no one will ever take you like I do.”  

Xena smirked, her eyes blazing as she dragged her nails down his chest, the scrape sharp even through leather. “Big words,” she murmured, her voice dripping like honey over steel. “You planning to back them up?”  

Ares’ grin curved slow, dangerous, and full of teeth. “Watch me.”  

He pushed her back on the bed in one hard move, the crimson sheets rippling under her as her body sank into them. She propped herself on her elbows, her lips curling into a taunt as her gaze burned into his.  

“Well,” she said softly, biting her bottom lip as her eyes roamed his body, “what’s taking you so long?”  

That snapped his control.  

He stripped the rest from his body in one relentless motion. The leather hit the floor first, then the black armor, followed by every piece that kept him from her until he stood naked in the torchlight, muscle carved in shadow and fire, power gleaming like a weapon honed for war. His hunger showed in every line of him, in the way his chest heaved as his eyes dragged down her body and locked on the heat between her thighs.  

Xena’s smirk deepened, slow and intentional, as she eased back on her elbows and let her knees drift apart in a move that was pure provocation. The firelight swept over her silky skin, casting her in gold and blood-red glow, and when she opened for him, wet and ready, Ares’ breath came sharp and harsh. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. He only stared like a man at the edge of ruin.  

Then he sank to his knees. His hands clamped on her thighs, spreading her wider, holding her open like a prize that belonged to him alone. His mouth hovered just shy of her, his breath hot against her slick heat until she shivered and let out a low, involuntary sound that tore through the silence.  

“Ares...” It slipped from her lips..  

He answered by closing that last inch and dragging his tongue slow through her center, tasting her deep and long until her hips jerked against his grip. A groan rumbled in his throat as if her taste was everything he’d ever wanted and never had. He did it again, slower, his tongue circling with a precision that made her choke on his name.  

Xena’s head slammed back against the pillows, her fingers fisting the sheets hard as her breath shattered into broken gasps. Every roll of his tongue sent a tremor through her legs, her body arching helplessly as curses spilled from her lips between moans.  

“Shit... Ares...” she rasped, her voice cracking when he sucked her clit into his mouth and worked it with a deep flick of his tongue, relentless and punishing. Her thighs tried to close, but his hands held her wide, his fingers digging in with bruising force as he devoured her like the battlefield he was born to rule.  

Her hips rolled without thought now, grinding against his mouth in desperate rhythm, the fire roaring behind her eyes as heat ripped through every nerve. Her moans broke free, raw and jagged, mixing with his low growls until the chamber shook with the sound of them both.  

When her climax hit, it tore through her like a blade to the gut, hard and violent, leaving her writhing under his mouth as he kept sucking, kept licking, dragging it out until she cried his name like a war cry that echoed off the stone.  

Only then did he lift his head, his mouth slick with her taste, his grin dark and hungry as he crawled up over her, his body heavy and burning with the promise of what came next.  

“Patience,” he growled as his fingers trailed up her calf, curling around her knee before sliding higher. “You’re gonna need it.”  

Xena’s breath hitched, but her smirk stayed as sharp as her blade. She let her knees part, the motion a promise and a dare.   

Her voice rolled low as smoke. “You always did like to hear yourself talk.”  

His answering laugh was dark and raw. “Then shut me up.”  

She lunged, dragging him down into another kiss that crushed like war and burned like sin. His hands fisted in her hair, tilting her head as his mouth took everything she gave and demanded more. Her nails scratched his shoulders as he shoved the blue fabric down her arms, baring skin that gleamed like polished bronze under the firelight.  

The sound that tore from his throat when her body arched against his was guttural, feral, and it drove him harder. His mouth left hers, blazing a path down her throat, his teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp as he ripped the rest of the fabric away.  

Xena laughed breathless against the sheets, her voice shaking with wicked delight. “God of War... and you still have to earn me.”  

Ares froze for a heartbeat, his grin cutting sharp as his eyes dragged over every inch of her. His voice came out low and certain, thick with fire and lust. “I’m not earning you, Xena. I’m taking what’s mine.”  

He crushed his mouth back to hers, their bodies colliding as the world outside those walls vanished in a storm of heat and hunger.  

Ares’ mouth crashed back to hers, their bodies tangling in a fury that burned hotter than any battlefield. His hands gripped her thighs and dragged her down the bed until her hips slammed against his. Her gasp tore through the air, but it melted into a moan as his tongue claimed her mouth.   

He hovered over her, his breath harsh as his hands roamed her body, mapping her curves and memorizing every inch like she was the last thing in creation that mattered.  

“You feel that?” he rasped against her mouth, his voice raw and full of dark triumph. “That’s mine.”  

Xena’s nails dragged down his back, carving red lines over muscle as she arched into him. Her laugh broke sharp against his lips, fierce and breathless. “Keep talking, War God. See how long you last.”  

He growled low in his chest, his mouth trailing fire over her throat as his hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips like steel. His teeth grazed her skin, pulling a gasp from her lips that fed every savage hunger in him. He pushed her deeper into the sheets, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand as his mouth blazed lower.  

Xena writhed beneath him, her muscles coiled tight with the need to break free, and then she did.  

With a sudden twist, she slammed her knee to his side and rolled hard, flipping them in one fluid motion. Ares hit the mattress on his back with a grunt, his eyes flashing wide before a laugh rumbled out of his throat, deep and dark and wild.  

“Gods, I missed this,” he snarled, his voice vibrating against her as she straddled him, her hair falling around his face like a dark curtain.  

Xena leaned down slow, her lips grazing his jaw before dragging across his mouth in a kiss that stole the air from his lungs. “Missed it?” she purred, her hips grinding down in a way that made his grip lock on her thighs. “You’re about to beg for it.”  

He gripped harder, his teeth bared in something between a grin and a snarl. “Try me.” She rose slowly on her knees and then lowered herself in one long, steady slide that wrung a guttural sound from his chest.  

Ares’ fingers dug into her hips, but she didn’t let him set the pace. Her breath hitched as she shifted, rolling her hips in a slow, grinding circle that made his jaw snap tight. She dragged forward, then back, every move deliberate, every shift meant to make him break.  

“Gods,” he rasped, his voice raw against the sound of her breath, but she only leaned closer, her lips grazing his jaw as her hips worked over him again, slow and sinuous, like she was writing her name across his skin.  

Another roll. Deeper this time. A sharp gasp tore from his throat as she ground down hard, then pulled back just enough to make the next thrust hit sharper, harder. Xena’s eyes burned as she watched his control splinter under her, her smirk twisting wider as she rolled her hips once more, dragging his sanity to the edge with every wicked curve of her body.  

Xena’s breath came fast and hot, every inhale rolling over the sharp edge of a laugh that never made it past her lips. Her hips moved with merciless precision, slow and deep, grinding against him in a rhythm that felt like punishment and pleasure all at once. Each drag forward pulled a sound from his throat, each roll back made his grip clamp harder on her hips until his fingers dug bruises into her skin.  

She loved it. Loved the way his eyes darkened, the way his jaw clenched like a man hanging over the edge. For a heartbeat she almost laughed because the God of War, the one who claimed he owned her, was pinned under her body and unraveling one breath at a time.  

“You look good like this,” she whispered, her voice curling over him like smoke as her hips rolled again, harder, sharper, a move that made his head slam back against the sheets. “Flat on your back.”  

Ares growled, deep and broken, his control hanging by a thread that her next roll snapped clean. His hands shot from her hips to her waist, fingers clamping tight as his body surged up. In one brutal move he flipped her, slamming her onto her back with the bed rattling under the force.  

The shock tore a gasp from her, but it turned into a sound far darker when his mouth crashed down on hers, stealing air and reason in the same breath. His hands pinned her wrists to the mattress as his weight bore down, his voice raw against her lips.  

“You really think you’re running this?” His tone was a snarl, jagged and hungry. “Xena, you don’t lead me. You burn with me.”  

Her smirk broke through the kiss, hot and wicked, even as her chest heaved under his grip. “Then set the fire, Ares,” she hissed. “Show me.”  

His eyes flashed and i the next breath, his grip shifted, one hand locking her wrists above her head while the other slid down the length of her body, fingers curling around her thigh. He lifted her leg slow but firm, hooking it high around his waist, forcing her open as his body pressed into hers with crushing heat.  

He thrust hard, driving into her with a force that ripped a gasp from her throat and arched her back off the sheets. Xena’s nails clawed at his wrist where he held her pinned, her head tipping back as a sharp cry broke loose.  

He pulled back slow, making her feel every inch before slamming forward again, harder this time. Her breath shattered against his mouth when he caught it in a kiss, rough and wet, his teeth scraping her lip until she moaned into him.  

Ares broke the kiss long enough to rasp against her cheek, his voice thick with heat and triumph. “You feel that? That’s mine.”  

She laughed breathless under him, the sound twisting into a gasp when he drove in deep, grinding his hips down until the bed groaned under them. “Big words,” she hissed, her eyes locking with his in a blaze of challenge. “Try harder.”  

His answer was a growl torn from his chest as he shifted his weight, hooking her other leg around his waist before slamming into her again, fast and punishing now, each thrust shaking the frame. Her cries hitched higher with every snap of his hips, her body arching into his like the war between them had finally reached its last bloody strike.  

Ares’ rhythm broke with a growl deep enough to rattle the stone. His grip tightened on her hips, and before she could catch her breath he dragged free, flipped her onto her stomach, and hauled her up on her knees in one fluid motion.  

Xena gasped, her palms pressing into the sheets as her back arched for him, her breath ragged. She turned her head just enough to smirk over her shoulder, dark hair spilling wild down her back. “Thought you had me pinned, War God.”  

His laugh came low and savage against her ear as he pressed close behind her, his chest scorching her back. “You’re about to find out who’s pinned.”  

He guided himself slow, sliding into her inch by inch, so deep it dragged a strangled cry from her throat. Her fingers clenched the sheets as her head dropped forward, a raw moan tearing free.  

“Gods—Ares—” she gasped, voice breaking around his name.  

His teeth grazed her shoulder as a curse ripped from his throat, his voice rough and thick with lust. “Xena... holy—” He slammed the last inch home, grinding deep until she screamed his name like a battle cry.  

He pulled out slow, letting her feel every inch again before driving back in, harder this time. The sound of skin meeting skin cracked through the chamber like the clash of steel. Her body rocked forward under the force, her breath hitching into another cry that broke on his name.  

“More,” she snarled through clenched teeth, her voice a sharp whip as she slammed her hips back against him. “Harder, damn you!”  

Ares’ laugh rumbled dark and feral as his hands locked on her hips like iron. “Careful what you ask for.”  

Then he gave it to her, every brutal thrust pounding into her with raw power, shaking the bed until the frame slammed against the wall in a savage rhythm. Her moans tangled with curses, his name breaking from her lips, while his growls rolled low and vicious with every snap of his hips.  

“Ares!” she cried, her voice cracking as he hit deeper, harder, until the world blurred around her in waves of heat and sound.  

“Xena,” he gritted out, his teeth biting her shoulder hard enough to draw another scream as his thrusts turned merciless.  

The chamber burned. The torches blurred. Her body arched and shuddered under every stroke as her voice tore raw from her throat, matching his curses as the bed rattled against the wall. Before her breath could steady, Ares pulled out in one long drag that left her trembling. His hands gripped her hips and rolled her back onto her spine, her body sinking into the crimson sheets as the fire behind him flared high against the stone walls.  

Xena’s chest heaved as she stared up at him, her dark hair fanning across the bed like a spilled shadow. Her lips parted, ready to taunt, but the words caught in her throat when he lowered himself slow, his weight settling over her in a press that stole the air from her lungs.  

He slid into her with aching control, so slow it made her claw at the sheets, her breath breaking on a moan that sounded like a cry and pleasure at once. She couldn’t even tell if he was moving at first. His hips were pressed hard against hers, holding her down like stone, but each slow roll sent a surge through her that made her body quake beneath him.  

“Ares,” she gasped, her voice barely a whisper as her nails dragged down his back.  

His mouth brushed her ear, his voice dropping low and dark. “We’re going to raise this kid inside you,” he growled, the words rough and possessive, “and make the whole damn world bow to it.”  

Her eyes burned into his as his hips ground deeper, slow enough to make her curse under her breath. “And we’ll kill them all if they don’t,” she rasped, her smirk twisting under him. He kissed her hard then, a kiss that stole everything as his thrusts stayed slow, each one like the earth splitting under them. The heat rolled higher, the world narrowing to nothing but skin and breath and fire until the pressure snapped.  Xena’s cry tore through the chamber as his name ripped raw from her throat, Ares’ own roar breaking against her lips as they came together in a surge that shook them both to the core.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: The Second Favorite  

Ares and Xena were just gone, disappeared without a word. Gabrielle hadn’t moved from where she stood, one hand still outstretched like she could pull Xena back just by standing there. Eve’s arms were stiff at her sides. She stared at the space they had disappeared from, her face blank, but her eyes burned.  

“He took her,” she said. Gabrielle lowered her arm and turned towards the table. Her jaw moved before her voice did.  

“He wouldn’t hurt her,” Gabrielle said. Eve’s gaze snapped to her.  

“You don’t know that.”  

“I do,” Gabrielle said, more firmly now. She walked to the hearth and stirred the pot. “Whatever else Ares is... he wouldn’t hurt her . Not on purpose. Not unless she gave him a reason.” Eve stepped closer, her voice harder.  

“He is the reason.” Gabrielle paused, the ladle halfway through a stir.  

“I didn’t say I trusted him,” she said. “But I know what I’ve seen. Ares never really lets her go. And whatever game he’s playing, he won’t risk losing her.”  

Eve folded her arms, her weight shifted slightly toward the counter. She watched Gabrielle in silence. The room felt strange again. After a long pause, Eve spoke, softer this time.  

“Can you finish telling me about the day I was born?” Gabrielle smiled faintly at the question, like she welcomed the change in topic.   

“Of course I can.”  

She gave the pot one last stir before stepping back. “Xena and I had just learned about Zeus. That he knew about the prophecy. That he was coming for you.”  

Eve nodded slowly. She looked like she was waiting for more. Gabrielle leaned against the counter, her eyes staring at the wall like she was still living in that moment.  

“After we found out Zeus wanted to prevent your birth, Xena and I went to Tartarus,” she said. “We were searching for the Helmet of Invisibility, hoping it could keep her hidden to kill Zeus without being seen.” Her fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the bowl, but her voice stayed even.  

“She went into labor there. Right in the Underworld. We thought we had time, but everything started early. She nearly gave birth to you in a place where nothing alive was meant to exist.” She exhaled through her nose, not quite a laugh.  

“Of all the places in the world to start a life...” Her voice trailed off, then picked up quickly again...lighter, brighter, like she had caught herself before she got too caught up in the old feelings.  

“Speaking of birth...” She moved back to the shelf and opened a lower drawer, peering inside.  

“I want to finish the new baby’s blanket before the end of the week. I found some old trim in Cyrene’s chest, blue, with a stitched edge. It might be nice to use for the swaddling cloth.”  

Eve’s head turned toward her slowly, her eyes narrowing. But Gabrielle didn’t look back. Gabrielle had just started talking about Tartarus. About the day Eve was born. That was all Eve wanted, to hear the whole thing.   

But before she could even finish, Gabrielle was already talking about the baby again. Eve didn’t say anything. She just watched her, hoping she would go back to it. Hoping she would finish the part that mattered. But Gabrielle didn’t. She didn’t even look up.  

“I was also thinking of repainting the cradle. It’s sturdy, just needs a little polish and maybe a cushion for the base.” She pulled a folded cloth from the drawer and shook it out.  

“If the weather holds, we should walk down to the market tomorrow. I want to see if the herb woman still sells that calming salve. Xena’s ankles are going to swell up badly in a few months.” Eve kept her back turned, placing each bowl down slower than she needed to.  

Gabrielle had done it again. Started the story like it mattered, then dropped it the moment something softer came along. And now Eve was left sitting with the silence, trying to pretend it didn’t sting. It kept happening, every time she asked something real, Gabrielle gave her fabric and colors and quiet distractions instead. It was starting to feel less like an accident and more like a choice.  

She wasn’t angry at the baby. She was actually excited to be a big sister. But the more Gabrielle smiled about it and made plans like this was the first time love had entered the house, the harder it became to ignore how much it hurt. Gabrielle moved behind her and set something on the counter. Eve didn’t turn around. She just stood there, trying not to let it show.  

“I think the market still has those lavender sachets. We can tuck one into the cradle. Xena always liked that smell, remember?”  

Eve didn’t answer. She finished stacking the bowls, then turned just enough to glance at Gabrielle.  

“You didn’t finish,” she said.  

Gabrielle blinked. “What?”  

“The story,” Eve said, sharper now. “You stopped in Tartarus. Then you changed the subject.”  

Gabrielle opened her mouth, but the words didn’t come right away. Her eyes moved towards the pot again, like it might offer a way out. When that failed, she gave a soft breath and leaned her hip against the counter.  

“Right,” she said. “Tartarus.” She glanced at Eve, then down at her own hands.  

“She almost gave birth to you there. In the middle of the Underworld. Surrounded by dead souls and fire and screaming voices.” Eve’s arms had slowly dropped to her sides, her attention fully on Gabrielle now. But Gabrielle’s gaze started drifting again.   

“I wonder if Ares will be there this time,” she said. “When Xena gives birth again.” She didn’t seem to notice the way Eve’s face changed.  

“He’ll probably find a way to make it dramatic. Show up late on purpose. Or worse, try to help.” Gabrielle gave a small laugh under her breath. “Can you imagine that? Ares, holding the baby, thinking he did something heroic just for being there.” Eve’s jaw clenched. Gabrielle kept going.  

“Still... I guess it would be better than what Xena had last time. At least now she’s safe. She has a roof. A real bed. Clean sheets. People around her.” She turned toward the shelf again, pulling out folded cloth and running her fingers over the trim.  

“She might actually have a chance to enjoy this one.” The words landed harder than they should have. Gabrielle hadn’t meant it cruelly. She was just thinking out loud, caught up in the idea of a clean room, a happy birth, and a baby that came with soft clothes and a real love.   

But something about the way she said it, like this time was finally going to be right, made it clear that last time wasn’t. And Eve hadn’t missed what that implied. Xena hadn’t enjoyed it. Not any part of it.  

“I was asking about me ,” she said. Gabrielle looked up. Eve didn’t wait. She stepped past her. Her voice dropped low as she went.  

“Maybe the new baby will get the whole version.” She walked towards the stairs and took them two at a time. Her footsteps were sharp and uneven, echoing up the narrow hallway. The door to her room slammed shut a moment later. Gabrielle let out a sigh and rested her hand on the counter. She didn’t understand why everything felt so tense lately.  

She could explain Xena’s moods. The pregnancy, the deal with Ares, the stress of carrying a child she didn’t want. That made sense. Gabrielle had been doing her best to stay calm and keep things moving, hoping that if she kept the house in order, the rest of them might start to feel more grounded too. But now Eve was acting off.  

Gabrielle stirred the pot again, watching the broth roll in slow circles. Eve had snapped at her before storming upstairs, and Gabrielle couldn’t figure out what had set her off. She had been trying to share a memory, something meaningful. It had just reminded her of everything Xena didn’t get to have last time. A bed. A quiet space. A safe birth. That was all.  

She figured Eve was probably taking on too much. That she was blaming herself for what happened today. Or hearing Xena say those things about the baby had hit her harder than she let on.  

She picked up the folded cloth and ran her thumb along the edge. She hadn’t meant to upset her. She just thought talking about the new baby might help. Something light. Something they could all look forward to. She figured it would remind Eve that no matter who the father was, they were going to love this baby too. Gabrielle looked at the stairs again but didn’t go after her.  

She’d give her some space. Let her cool down. Then, they could try again later. Once the mood lifted, Eve would be ready to talk, hopefully.  

Athena stood in front of the portal, watching closely as Eve disappeared into her room. The glow from the portal lit the edge of Athena’s face as she watched Eve storm up the steps. Her shoulders were tense, her steps small and rigid, like she was trying to hold everything in. The door slammed behind her a few seconds later.   

Athena smiled. She didn’t need to hear the words to know what had happened. The tension in the kitchen had been rising all day, but it wasn’t Xena who broke first. It was Eve. And that changed everything.  

For so long, Athena had assumed Xena’s greatest weakness would always be Gabrielle. Her heart. Her past. Her devotion. But Gabrielle was too steady. Too loyal. And Xena had learned how to close that door when she needed to.  

But Eve... Eve was different.  

She wasn’t a distraction. She was a scar that never healed the right way. The quiet ache that lived under all that warrior pride. The daughter Xena wanted to protect but never fully embraced.   

And now, with a new child growing inside her, that balance had started to shift. Athena could see it happening already. The way Gabrielle’s hands stayed on Xena’s stomach. The way Xena avoided Eve’s eyes. The way Eve tried to smile through it but kept retreating further behind herself. It was perfect.  

Athena took one step closer, her smile deepening as the portal shimmered. She didn’t need swords or lightning or battles this time. She just needed one crack. One emotional wound that hadn’t been stitched right. And now, she had it. Her laughter rose slowly as she watched the image fade. She now knew where to press.  

Gabrielle stood near the table, wiping her hands with a cloth as the stew simmered quietly behind her. She had just started folding one of the baby linens when a sudden breeze swept through the kitchen, rustling the edge of the curtain. Aphrodite appeared in the doorway with her usual bright smile and shimmering dress, her blonde hair falling in perfect waves down her shoulders like she hadn’t just dropped into a room that wasn’t hers.  

“Hey, girlfriend,” she said lightly. “You can breathe a little easier now. I came to tell you the gods are backing off.”  

Gabrielle blinked. “Backing off?” Aphrodite waved one hand.  

“Yeah. You don’t have to worry about any of them coming after you anymore. They’re not focused on you or Eve or even Xena right now. The tension's kind of... redirected.” Gabrielle narrowed her eyes and set the folded cloth aside.  

“Redirected where?” Aphrodite hesitated, just for a second, but it was enough.  

“They’re more focused on Ares now,” she said quickly. “He’s causing more problems than anyone. So, you know, drama’s mostly around him.” Gabrielle crossed her arms.  

“Why?” Aphrodite tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and gave an innocent shrug.  

“Well... they’re also kind of watching Xena’s new baby now too—” She froze the moment the words left her mouth. Gabrielle dropped the cloth she had just picked up. It hit the floor with a soft thud, but neither of them looked at it.  

“What did you just say?”  

Aphrodite’s eyes widened, her lips parted like she might take it back, but nothing came out. She laughed nervously and took a step back, her fingers reaching up to twist a piece of hair around her finger like she thought she could charm her way out of the mistake.  

“I mean, it’s probably nothing. Just curiosity. You know how gossip spreads on Olympus.” Gabrielle stepped closer.  

“Why do they want Xena’s new baby?” Aphrodite shrugged again, slower this time, her eyes darting slightly.  

“I don’t know. It’s not my thing. Prophecies, destinies... I don’t really get involved with all that. You know me.” Gabrielle stared at her.  

“You’re lying.” Aphrodite looked away. Gabrielle’s voice changed. It wasn’t cold, but it was serious in a way Aphrodite rarely heard from her.  

“Listen to me. No matter what happens, do not let Xena hear any of this. I don’t care what they’re planning or who says what. She cannot know.” Aphrodite’s eyes moved back to her, confused.  

“She’s already having a hard time carrying this baby. I want her calm. I want her safe. She’s dealing with enough. And if she finds out the gods are watching that child, she’ll never sleep again.” She just nodded slowly, twisting that same strand of hair between her fingers as the smile faded completely from her face. Gabrielle stepped in fast, grabbing Aphrodite by the arm before she could blink.  

“Outside. Now.”  

Aphrodite blinked hard. “Wait, what? Can we not drag the goddess today? I just got here—”  

Gabrielle didn’t let go. She marched her straight out the back door, past the herb pots and down the stone path until they were far enough from the tavern to be alone. Once they reached the edge of the garden, Gabrielle let go and turned to face her fully.  

“Now you're going to tell me everything you know.” Aphrodite stared at her, her lips pursed like she was trying to decide whether to lie again.  

“I told you,” she said. “I don’t know anything.” Gabrielle put her hands on her hips. Aphrodite’s eyes darted, then she groaned and held up both hands.  

“Okay. Fine. The gods are freaking out, alright? They’re scared. Not of Xena. Not even of Ares anymore. It’s the baby.”  

Gabrielle stared at her. “What about the baby?”  

Aphrodite sighed. “They think this baby can kill them. Like Xena can.” Gabrielle blinked, then gave a short laugh.  

“That doesn’t make any sense. Xena only got that power after Eve. And only because of how Eve was born. You know that.”  

“Yeah, well, they don’t buy that anymore,” Aphrodite said. “They think whatever gave her that power is already part of her now. And if it’s in her... then it’s in the baby.” Gabrielle frowned.  

“But Xena didn’t have that power when she gave birth.” Aphrodite shrugged.  

“That’s the thing. But she had already changed. And this time... with everything that’s happened... with Ares back in her life... it’s different.”  

Gabrielle didn’t move. Aphrodite kept going.  

“They’re saying this baby could be the real Twilight. Not Eve. Eve doesn’t fight anymore. She’s a teacher now. A voice, not a sword. That makes her less of a threat.” Her voice quieted.  

“But with Ares tied to Xena again, with that kind of war and bloodline binding together... they’re scared this child won’t just inherit Xena’s strength or Ares’ rage. They think it’ll inherit her power too. The power to end them.”  

Gabrielle’s throat tightened. Aphrodite stepped back slightly, playing with a loose strand of her hair again, clearly wishing she had kept her mouth shut. Gabrielle didn’t say anything for a moment. Then her voice came low and direct.  

“Don’t repeat this. Not to anyone. Do you understand me?”  

Aphrodite nodded fast. Gabrielle turned and walked back toward the tavern, her steps steady, her hands clenched at her sides. If the gods were right... then a monster was growing under Xena’s heart.  

Eve laid on her side, one arm folded under her pillow, her eyes fixed on the wall across the room. The room wasn’t dark, but it felt dim anyway. The light from the window stretched across the floor, soft and harmless, but it didn’t reach her.  

She hadn’t meant to snap. Not like that. She had come into the kitchen hoping for something real. Something quiet and honest. A moment where Gabrielle would look her in the eye and tell her the full story of the day she was born. But instead, like always lately, it had turned into another conversation about the new baby. Another reason to smile. Another set of things to plan.  

It wasn’t the baby's fault. She kept reminding herself of that. But no matter how many times she said it in her head, the feeling didn’t go away.  

She was trying to be happy. Trying to help. She had folded the linens, cleaned the room, helped Gabrielle cook meals that Xena barely ate. She had done everything right. But somehow, it still felt like she didn’t belong in the story anymore.  

Her chest ached and she wasn’t sure if it was from anger or something worse. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, her arms now crossed loosely over her stomach. The quiet of the room only made it worse. It gave her space to think.  

Gabrielle had looked so focused, so excited when she mentioned the trim for the baby’s blanket. She had talked about new pillows, salves, soft colors. All the things Eve had never had. All the things no one had time to give her. And now, Gabrielle was pouring everything into this child like it was their second chance.  

But no one had asked if Eve needed one too.   

No one had finished her story. She had grown up in a palace without ever being touched gently. She had been surrounded by gold, armor, servants, and silence. No one rocked her to sleep. No one taught her how to braid her hair. No one held her when she was sick or asked what scared her at night. She didn’t even have a real name until she earned one in battle.  

Rome hadn’t raised her like a daughter. It trained her like a weapon.  

She had never called anyone mother. The word had no shape in her mouth, no meaning tied to warmth or safety. There was no soft voice waiting for her in the quiet hours, no scent of herbs lingering in the halls, no lullabies carried in the air to hush the dark.  

What she had was structure. Discipline. Mornings that began with cold baths and ended with bruises. Boots that thudded across stone floors. Blood smeared on the ground where she trained until her hands blistered. Blankets were coarse and thin, and meals were not given freely but earned through silence and obedience.  

She had been shaped by pressure, not love. Her body had been trained for endurance, not comfort. She had slept in silence so deep it felt like punishment. Every day was built around control, how long she could hold a stance, how many seconds she could go without blinking, how fast she could break another child’s ribs.   

Even when she started to bleed, no one looked twice. No one pulled her aside or told her what it meant. She figured it out alone, wiped the blood on her armor, and kept training. Her body changed. Her heart hardened. And no one noticed.  

Until him. The thought of Ares came fast and stayed. He saw her as a woman. As his . He trained her harder than anyone else, but it never felt cold. It felt like being chosen. Like being claimed. He made her believe she was his favorite. His most dangerous creation. His perfect match.  

When he took her to the Halls of War, she had never felt more alive. Everything about that place pulsed with energy, with strength, with heat, and he moved through it like a god who owned every corner of her. When he touched her, it wasn’t gentle. It was consuming. She gave him everything, her body, her loyalty, her pride, because for once, she wasn’t a nameless weapon raised by an empire. She was wanted. She was powerful. She was his.  

When he pulled her into his bed, into his arms, into the fire that lived behind his eyes, she burned for him without hesitation. He gave her everything she had been denied. He filled her in ways nothing else ever had. Her body. Her mind. Her soul. He took all of it and made her believe it finally mattered.  

For a while, she believed it did. Until the day her mother showed up and shattered all of it. Ares didn’t even look at her the same after that. He stopped touching her. Stopped seeing her. It was like she disappeared the second Xena walked in the room. One word from her mother, and suddenly everything Livia thought she meant to him was gone. And what cut deeper than anything else was that he didn’t even try to hide it.  

He was obsessed with Xena. He always had been. But back then, Livia didn’t know what that looked like. She had never seen him like that before. She had never seen him give anyone that much attention. That much devotion. But Ares was a lying bastard, as her mother always said. She pushed the thought of him out of her mind, for now.  

Her jaw tightened. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to settle her thoughts, but her chest still felt tight. Like something was pressing into her from the inside.  

She thought about the way Gabrielle had smiled. She thought about Xena’s face when she spoke those words in the kitchen. This baby means nothing to me, yet she carried it because she had to, because she existed. But now the house was full of blankets and clean linens and soft plans. And Eve was alone upstairs, trying to figure out why she felt like she had already been erased..again.   

Ares curled tighter against her back, his chest still rising against the sweat on her spine. His hand moved slowly along her hip, his fingers spreading across her skin like he couldn’t decide what to touch first. He kissed the back of her neck again, then dragged his lips lower, over the curve of her shoulder, down to where her ribs still trembled from the aftershocks.  

“You feel that?” he murmured against her. “Still shaking.”  

Xena didn’t answer. Her body was stretched and spent, but her mind stayed sharp. She tilted her head slightly, enough to feel his mouth graze her jaw, then opened her lips as his slid over hers. Their mouths met slow. Hot. Her tongue met his in one deep stroke, then another.   

It was teasing, slick, and lazy. Her tongue curling under his, then pulling back like bait. He answered by slipping deeper, licking into her mouth with a low sound in his throat, then biting her bottom lip just hard enough to make her grab the back of his neck. Her hand gripped tight, pulling him closer. Their mouths didn’t break. Their tongues licked and circled and teased again, one trying to outlast the other, but neither was willing to stop.  

He finally pulled back, just enough to speak. His voice was hoarse and smug.  

“I should take you to the Halls of War,” he said. “Keep you there this time. Let Gabrielle think I tossed you into a volcano.” Xena smirked, her chest still rising against his.  

“She’d deserve it,” she said.  

Ares laughed once under his breath and kissed her again, this time slower. His hand slid between her thighs with no urgency, just a possessiveness that made her press back against him without thinking.  

“Let her wait a little longer,” he said.   

“Mm-mm,” she murmured, brushing her nose against his. “I need to get back.” Ares groaned quietly and dropped his forehead to her shoulder.  

“Seriously?” he muttered. Xena nodded, her fingers smoothing back through her hair as she sat up.   

“The tavern’s been boarded up,” she said. “The place is covered in dust. Shelves smashed. I found out they burned my mother in that town. Called her a witch.” Ares lifted his head, the heat in his eyes dimming a little.  

“She deserved better,” Xena said simply, not looking at him. Ares stayed quiet. He didn’t try to argue. But his hand stayed on her waist, and the way he looked at her said everything. He didn’t want to take her back. Not yet. She saw it. Xena leaned in, kissed him deep, her mouth warm and slow over his.  

“Relax,” she said when she pulled back. “You’re coming too.”  

Ares tilted his head. “Oh?”  

“Yeah,” she said, standing and starting to get dressed. “The place might still be haunted. I’ll need someone to fight off demons.” The corner of her mouth turned up. Ares narrowed his eyes, then smirked.  

The house was quiet, but Eve didn’t feel rested. She laid in the center of the small bed with her eyes open and her arms folded under her pillow. Lost in her thoughts, she heard a voice. It was her mother’s. She was back!  

Eve sat up. She pushed the blanket off and stepped onto the floor. Her body moved automatically like she’d been waiting for this moment forever. She thought she’d find Xena with Gabrielle. Maybe down in the kitchen. Maybe finally calming down. Maybe finally talking like herself again.  

The hallway was dim as she moved towards the room Xena had taken over. The door was wide open. Xena was sitting on Ares’ lap, her arms resting behind his neck, her body straddled across his like she was used to this position.  

Her hair hung loose and messy, and she was smiling at him, laughing at something he whispered near her ear. Ares had one hand around her waist and the other resting against her stomach, his thumb brushing slow over the curve there.  

Eve backed away fast. Her heart jumped. She turned to leave, her feet silent on the floor, but something pulled her back. She pressed herself against the wall beside the doorframe and leaned closer. Just enough to see.  

Inside, the two of them kept touching, kept kissing. Ares tilted Xena’s chin and kissed her again, slow and deep, and her mouth opened under his like she had nowhere else to be. His hand stayed on her belly, like he was proud of it. Proud of her.  

The candlelight inside flickered just enough to light Ares’ face. He was looking straight at her. For one second, they locked eyes through the narrow gap. His mouth curved into a cocky smile. Then, he winked at her. Like he’d known she was there all along. Eve didn’t flinch, but her stomach turned.  

Ares smirked and dipped his head again, brushing his mouth along Xena’s neck. His lips parted, then his teeth grazed her skin like he owned it. Xena tipped her head to the side, her eyes half closed, her hands still tangled behind his neck.  

Eve shuddered and rolled her eyes. She turned sharply and headed down the hallway, not caring how loud her steps sounded anymore. She was going to find Gabrielle. She needed someone, anyone, to know that Xena was back. And that she brought the bastard with her. But she didn’t make it all the way. Halfway down the stairs, she stopped.  

Gabrielle was in the kitchen, sitting on the floor, her legs crossed in a pool of fabric. Aphrodite was next to her, laughing and holding up tiny tunics with gold stitching. The table beside them was covered in folded wraps, hand-dyed cloths, and more baby clothes than Eve had ever seen in her life.  

Gabrielle held one to her chest, beaming like she could already picture the baby inside it. Aphrodite tossed another piece into her lap, smiling like she had delivered a gift from the heavens. Eve didn’t move. She stood on the steps and stared at them. Everyone had someone. Her mother had Ares. Gabrielle had Aphrodite. And her?  

She didn’t even have a place to stand. She turned toward the back hall and walked away without a sound. Her hand pushed open the rear door of the tavern, and she slipped out into the night, leaving it all behind.  

Eve walked fast, not caring which direction she took. The woods behind the tavern were quiet, lit only by streaks of fading sky through the trees. She could still hear the echo of Gabrielle laughing. Still see the way Ares held her mother, the way he touched her stomach like it already belonged to him.  

Her fists stayed clenched. Her breath came faster the farther she went. She didn’t stop when the ground dipped or when her sandals slid against the soft mud. Branches tugged at her sleeves. Leaves brushed her shoulders. She barely felt it.  

She kept walking. Anger surged through her. She didn’t know if she wanted to cry or scream or break something, but she kept moving, like maybe if she went far enough, it would all disappear. And not just the feelings, everything, the deal, Ares, and even....she sighed.   

She wouldn’t dare say it out loud and she felt bad for thinking it, but she wanted that baby to disappear too. Suddenly, the air turned colder. Before she could turn around, a hand went over her mouth.   

“You’re coming with me.” Eve struggled but whoever it was knew exactly how to hold her. The fingers on her jaw were firm, the arm around her waist was locked like iron. She tried to twist free, but it was useless.  

The flash of Olympus was blinding. Cold marble columns stretched overhead. The floor gleamed beneath Eve’s sandals. Her hands were shackled, wrists bound in iron, and Artemis didn’t even pretend to be gentle. She shoved her forward, straight into the center of the grand hall where every god sat waiting.  

They sat in a half-circle, their golden thrones rising behind them. Athena was at the center, seated in the highest chair like it had been carved for her and her alone. Her expression didn’t change when she saw Eve, but her eyes sharpened.  

“Finally,” Athena said, standing. “Bring her here. Let’s not waste time. We all want to know the same thing. Can the daughter of Xena still kill us?” “I vote we test it,” she said. “Something small. Something... controlled.” Eve took a step back.  

“You want me to stab someone? That’s your plan?”  

“Don’t pretend to be above it,” Artemis said. “We know who you were before.” A blade materialized in her hand. Without waiting, she grabbed Eve’s arm and forced the knife into her palm. The metal felt heavier than it should have.  

“This proves nothing,” Eve said. “You’re wasting your time.” Athena rose from her seat, her voice sharp.  

“Oh, it will prove everything. Either you do it willingly... or we’ll find a way to make you wish you had. Maybe after your whole family is bathed in blood.” Hermes stood off to the side, arms crossed and mouth tight. He didn’t speak, even when Athena nodded toward him.  

“You’ll do,” she said.  

Hermes’ eyes widened. “Me?”  

“We need proof,” Athena said. “If she can hurt you, we’ll know.”  

Hermes took a slow step back. “I’m a messenger. A traveler. Not a fighter.”  

“You’ll heal,” Artemis snapped.  Hermes stepped back again, his brow creasing.  

“You don’t know that,” he said. “What if she can? What if it doesn’t heal?” Athena tilted her head like he had amused her.   

“She won’t kill you. You’ll live. That’s all that matters.” Hermes shook his head.  

“You’re gambling with me like I’m nothing.” Hermes stepped toward her slowly, wincing. He turned his hand over and held it out. Eve raised the knife high. Her whole body trembled. Her eyes shut as she screamed, slamming the blade down into his palm.  

Hermes flinched and shouted but there was no blood. He opened one eye. Then the other. His hand was still whole. No cuts. No pain. Just silence. Athena rose from her throne. She stepped down and grabbed Hermes’ hand, inspecting it herself.  

“Interesting,” she muttered. The gods exchanged uncertain glances.  

Athena stood straighter and snapped her fingers. “Lock her up while we deliberate.”  

One of the gods hesitated. “Where?”  

Athena waved her hand dismissively. “Put her in Ares’ chambers. He’s never there anyway. And I’m sure she’s... familiar with the space.” Eve jerked at the chains as the gods dragged her out, her face burning with fury and humiliation. Athena slammed her hands on the stone table. The sound cracked through the chamber, silencing everyone.  

“This doesn’t make any sense!” Her eyes cut across the room, burning with frustration.  

“The prophecy Zeus died for was wrong. She doesn’t even possess the power to kill us.” She leaned forward and her teeth clenched.  

“We’ve been wasting years hiding, plotting, looking over our shoulders. For what? Zeus died for nothing .” She sat back slowly, then began tapping her nails against the stone, one nail at a time.  

“No. Something isn’t right.” Her voice dropped.  

“The Fates told him it was Eve. They were certain. And Xena...when did she gain the ability to kill gods? It wasn’t there when she gave birth. Otherwise, Hercules wouldn’t have gotten Kronos rib. It wasn’t there when Eve was a baby. It came after.” Athena stood again, pacing now.  

“Ugh! None of this adds up!” She stopped and looked around the room and narrowed her eyes.  

“Either the Fates lied... or we’ve been looking at the wrong child.” Apollo leaned his head over to the side.  

“The Fates do not lie. Especially not to Zeus. If they told him it was Eve, then it was Eve.” Hephaestus grunted and crossed his arms.  

“Xena never had the power to kill us. I watched Ares walk through her sword hundreds of times without a scratch. Whatever this is...it didn’t start until after that girl was born. That spawn brought something with her.” Artemis turned her head toward Hephaestus.  

“Speaking of family, where is that little wife of yours?” Athena answered before he could speak.  

“She’s no threat. She’s playing family with the bard. And our traitor war god is off getting his cock drenched.” A few gods laughed under their breath. One or two nodded. But Athena didn’t smile. She tapped her nails against the stone table.   

“Then explain it. Because we’ve been wasting our time living in fear. Preparing for a child who can’t even scratch our skin.” She looked around the room. Her voice dropped low.  

“But maybe we were wrong about what the threat was. Possibly, the child was never meant to kill us.” She stepped around the edge of the table.  

“Maybe it was meant to change her.” All the gods watched her now. Hermes narrowed his eyes.  

“Change her how?”  

“We already know what Xena is capable of. We’ve seen it. But this... this version of her... the one with a child on the way and a war god wrapped around her finger...” She let that hang in the air.  

“She’s still dangerous. But now she’s leaning into it again. The old version of her.” She looked around the room.  

“She’s not softened by love anymore. She’s driven by something darker. And that’s the version of her we can use to turn on our pussy whipped brother.” Athena smiled slowly.  

“Eve is no longer the threat. But she is the key. And I say we keep her.”  

The cuffs clanked hard against the headboard. Eve thrashed, pulling until her shoulders burned, yanking against the chains like they might finally snap. Her chest heaved. She turned her head to one side, then the other, screaming at the walls, at the air, at whatever gods were still listening.  

“Let me outttttt!”  

She kicked at the sheets, her body twisting hard, as if sheer force could tear her free. The bed creaked under her weight. And then she smelled it, his intoxicating scent, flooding her senses before she could block it out.  

Leather, power, and the heat of his skin. It clung to the sheets, to the pillows, to the air around her like he had just left. She froze for half a second. Then she screamed again, louder this time, her voice raw and angry as her muscles tensed. His scent hit her again.  

It wrapped around her as she struggled, crawling into her nose, into her chest, sinking deep enough to make her stop moving. Her breath caught. She blinked. Her arms were still stretched above her head, but she was no longer pulling against the hold.  

Another breath and the memory slammed into her. The room had been darker then, but the fire had still burned red across the wall. She remembered how the shadows moved over his skin while he knelt behind her, his voice low, his hands locked on her hips. She hadn’t been afraid then. She had felt powerful. Seen. Worshiped like a goddess in his bed, in his arms.  

Her fingers flexed inside the cuffs. She took in another slow breath, her chest rising and falling as more images poured in. The way he used to touch her. The way he would throw her sword across the room and make her fight him with her hands, dragging her onto this same mattress when she won. That was the night he told her she was his. And she had believed him.  

Gabrielle looked up when she heard the floor creak overhead. Her smile came fast.  

“She’s back,” she said, already pushing off the floor and brushing the baby tunic off her lap. “I knew I heard her.”  

Aphrodite barely looked up from the swaddle she had been folding, but her brows lifted with interest as Gabrielle rushed toward the stairs. Gabrielle didn’t slow down, her excitement carrying her all the way up, two steps at a time. When she reached Xena’s door, she got the shock of her life.  

Xena straddled Ares, her body still moving slow and deep against him, both of them fully naked. Ares had one hand locked around her waist while the other skimmed her thigh, his mouth open against her chest.   

Xena leaned forward with a lazy smile, teasing his mouth with hers before catching his lips in another kiss. Their bodies were so close, it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. Gabrielle’s hand slapped the edge of the door.  

“By the gods, Xena!” she snapped, her voice caught between outrage and disbelief. “At least close the door!”  

Behind her, Aphrodite had followed up the steps more casually, curiosity written all over her face. When she reached the open doorway, her mouth opened slightly, then slowly curled into a grin. She tilted her head and smiled, clearly amused.  

“They’re having totally hot sex right now,” she said like it was the most fascinating thing she’d seen all week. Then she let out a long, proud breath.  

“Look at him go,” she added, motioning toward the room. “That’s my brother right there. The hips? The stamina? Ugh.” She leaned in a little, voice low like she was sharing the world’s best-kept secret.   

“Xena has no idea how lucky she is. That man has the biggest cock on Olympus and—” Gabrielle turned, horrified.  

“Aphrodite!” Aphrodite gave a little bounce on her heels like she was cheering him on.   

“I’m just saying.”  

Gabrielle turned back to her, stunned. “Are you serious right now?” Aphrodite licked her lips like she wanted to join in. Gabrielle reached for her wrist and tried to pull her back.   

“We are not doing this!”  

Aphrodite resisted for a moment, still beaming, then finally sighed like she was being dragged away from the best show on Olympus. She reached forward, pulled the door shut herself, and shook her head with a pleased smirk.  

“Fine,” she muttered. “Partypooper.” Gabrielle turned and stared at Aphrodite like she couldn’t believe her.  

“How can you be smiling?” she asked. “Did you even see her face? Xena looked miserable. She’s being forced to please him. I feel awful for her.” Aphrodite blinked like Gabrielle had spoken in another language.  

“Wait...what? Did we just see the same thing? Because Warrior Babe looked like she was enjoying every second of his long, hard—”  

“I get it, Aphrodite,” Gabrielle cut in. “But you’re wrong.”  She stepped away from the door.

“I’ll go check on Eve. Maybe she wants dinner.”  

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: What Happened Upstairs 

Gabrielle pushed open the door to Eve’s room expecting to see her curled under the blankets, maybe asleep. Instead the bed was empty. The sheets were tangled and half hanging off the mattress like she had left in a hurry. Gabrielle’s brow creased as she stepped inside. 

“Eve?” Her voice carried in the small space, but there was no answer. She checked the corner chair and the small table, even looked under the bed as if Eve might be crouched there hiding. Nothing. 

Her pulse picked up. She backed out quickly and went straight for the kitchen. Aphrodite was kneeling on the floor with a pile of baby clothes spread all around her, holding up a little tunic against her own chest with a wide grin. 

“Aphrodite,” Gabrielle said, louder than she meant. “Have you seen Eve?” 

The goddess barely glanced up. “Nope. Haven’t laid eyes on her since earlier.” She tossed a golden wrap into the pile like she was playing dress-up with invisible dolls. “Maybe she went outside to think.” 

Gabrielle stared at her in disbelief. “This doesn’t sound right.” 

Aphrodite shrugged, too lost in the shimmer of the fabric to care. “Relax. She’s tough. She’ll be back.” 

But Gabrielle’s stomach twisted tighter. Eve wouldn’t have wandered off without telling her. Something had happened...something Aphrodite clearly wasn’t worried about. 

Gabrielle pressed her lips together and drew in a sharp breath. “Fine. If you’re not worried, I’ll check with Xena. Maybe she’s seen her.” 

She spun on her heel before Aphrodite could say anything else and marched toward the stairs. Gabrielle reached the top of the stairs with her heart still racing. She made it halfway down the hall before slowing down.  

The last time she passed by this door, Xena had been riding Ares, her hair falling wild over her shoulders while he grinned like he had won. That image stuck in her head like a bad song she couldn’t shake. 

She hated even thinking it, but Xena had looked trapped under his touch. Miserable. Forced. That was not her friend, it couldn’t be. That thought twisted Gabrielle’s stomach tighter because it meant every moment she had to endure him, every time he touched her, was for them.  

She stopped at the door and leaned close, pressing her ear against the wood. If she heard even one moan or the bed creaking, she was turning right back around. Thank the gods, nothing. She waited another second, chewing on her lip, then muttered to herself, “Please be done.” 

Taking a breath, she knocked softly. No answer. She knocked again, firmer this time. From inside came Ares’ voice, smug and relaxed. “It’s open.” 

She walked in and instantly wished she hadn’t. Ares was sprawled naked across the bed like he owned the place. No shame, no sheet. Xena sat near him, tugging at a strap on her boot like there was nothing unusual about sharing a room with him. 

He wasn’t even trying to cover himself. Gabrielle’s gaze slipped once before she could stop it, and she froze. Gods. Aphrodite wasn’t lying. That thing was massive.  

Then it twitched. Her stomach dropped. She whipped her head away so fast her neck almost popped, and she lifted her hand to cover the side of her face. Heat rushed to her cheeks.  

“Why did you tell me to come in when you were completely naked?” she muttered. 

From the bed came his smug reply. “I didn’t tell you to come in. I only said the door was open.” Gabrielle groaned under her breath. She hated herself for even looking, let alone agreeing with anything Aphrodite had ever bragged about. 

From the corner of her eye she saw Xena watching her, catching every bit of her fluster. Without a word, Xena reached for a blanket and tossed it across Ares’ lap. Ares only grinned wider under the cover, enjoying himself far too much. 

“Ares, leave. I need to speak with Xena. Alone.” 

He leaned back against the pillows like a king on his throne, the smirk never leaving his face. “Last time I looked, this belonged to Xena, not you.” 

Gabrielle’s eyes flicked to Xena, searching for some kind of agreement, but she found none. Xena didn’t look surprised or offended by his presence. She only sat there, calm, watching Gabrielle as if she didn’t understand why this was even a problem. 

Gabrielle’s chest tightened. “Xena...” she said carefully, trying to hold her ground while keeping her voice steady.  

“Please. Can I talk to you? Just you.” Ares laughed under his breath, clearly enjoying the standoff. 

Xena tilted her head, her brow creased slightly as if Gabrielle had spoken in a language she didn’t understand. “Talk to me about what?” 

Gabrielle’s stomach twisted. She glanced at Ares, then back at her friend. “Not with him here. You don’t have to do this anymore, Xena. You don’t have to keep letting him—”  

Ares cut her off with a laugh, loud and sharp. “Letting me what? Forcing her? Is that what you think?” He leaned forward, his eyes glittering with amusement. “Sweetheart, I don’t force Xena to do a damn thing. Everything she does with me, she chooses.” 

Gabrielle’s face burned with anger, but her chest ached worse seeing Xena’s calm expression. Xena didn’t look miserable. She didn’t even look like she knew what Gabrielle was talking about. 

Gabrielle’s eyes narrowed, her voice rising before she could stop it. “You lying bastard. If you really knew Xena, you’d see how miserable she is with you.” 

Ares’ grin didn’t fade. “Miserable? That’s your version. From where I sit, she looks pretty damn content. You don’t like it because it doesn’t fit the little picture you painted of her.” 

“She’s only here because of your deal,” Gabrielle shot back, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. “She’s sacrificing herself to protect us. That’s not a choice, Ares, that’s you taking advantage.” 

Ares stretched out lazily against the pillows, his tone cutting low. “Sacrifice? Or honesty? Maybe she’s finally stopped pretending to be the saint you want her to be. Ever think of that?” 

Gabrielle’s breath caught, fury choking her words. “You don’t know her the way I do.” 

“Oh, I know her better than you ever will,” Ares said smoothly, his eyes sliding to Xena. 

Xena dragged her hand through her hair, her jaw tight. The tension in the room pressed heavier with every word between them. Gabrielle opened her mouth to fire back, but Xena’s voice suddenly filled the room. 

“Shut up, both of you!” The room went silent leaving Ares and Gabrielle staring at her. 

Xena’s eyes cut between them. “I can’t even hear myself think with the two of you going at it.” She turned to Ares first, pointing her finger at him.  

“You, stop baiting her.” Then she whipped to Gabrielle. “And you—stop speaking for me like I don’t have a voice of my own.” 

Gabrielle flinched, but Ares only smiled wider. 

“Xena, you need him gone,” Gabrielle said quickly, trying to take advantage of the moment. “Look at what this is doing to you. To the baby.” 

Ares’ smirk faded into a frown. “You think stressing her out with your constant nagging is any better? You’re the one rattling her, not me.” 

“That’s rich,” Gabrielle shot back. “You’re the reason she’s even in this mess. You made her your prisoner.” 

“I gave her a choice,” Ares said smoothly, leaning against the headboard like he owned it. “Something you can’t seem to accept.” 

Their voices clashed again, each one louder than the other, both insisting they were the one protecting Xena, both pointing at her stomach as if the baby belonged to them. Xena’s hand dragged through her hair again, groaning, and gritted her teeth. Her patience snapped. She shot to her feet with her fists clenched and her voice thundered through the room. 

“Enough! Ares, get out. Now!” Gabrielle crossed her arms with a smug look, certain she had won. 

Ares’ eyes lingered on her for only a moment before he snapped his clothes on. He rose from the bed and slid his arm around Xena’s waist, pulling her close. He leaned down, murmured something low against her ear that Gabrielle couldn’t hear, then let his hand drift across her belly. 

Gabrielle’s stomach turned. She looked away quickly, disgust crawling up her throat. Ares pressed his mouth to Xena’s in a slow kiss, then vanished in a rush of air that stirred the edges of the blankets. Gabrielle kept her arms tight across her chest, refusing to meet Xena’s eyes, too sickened by what she had just witnessed.  

“Xena, you don’t have to keep doing this. Not for me. Not for Eve. Not for anyone.” 

Xena’s eyes narrowed, her tone flat. “Doing what?” 

“You don’t have to give your body to him. Your soul. All of you. Not to him.” 

Her voice shook as she pressed on. “I know you think you’re protecting us with this deal, but it’s tearing you apart. And you’re carrying a child through all of it. Do you really want that baby born into this... this prison he’s made for you?” 

Xena’s eyes lowered to her stomach, her hand resting there as if she were lost in thought. After a long moment she looked back at Gabrielle and asked,  

“What did you want to talk to me about?” 

Gabrielle hesitated, caught off guard by the sudden change. Her chest felt tight, but she forced the words out.  

“It’s Eve. She’s missing. I checked her room, the halls, everywhere. She’s not here.” Xena’s expression stayed calm.  

“So she left.” 

Gabrielle stared at her in disbelief. “That’s all you have to say?”  

“Eve is a fully grown woman. She can take care of herself.” 

Gabrielle’s chest tightened. “You can’t mean that. The gods could have her, or worse, she could be drowning in her own feelings. She’s been hurting, Xena. She’s even told me there were times she wished she hadn’t been born.” 

Xena’s mouth curved into a smirk. 

Gabrielle frowned and reached for her arm. “What’s so funny?” 

Xena’s eyes lit with something dark, almost pleased. “Just think about it. If she hadn’t been born... then I wouldn’t be with Ares.” She said it with a lightness that sounded almost happy. 

Gabrielle’s heart clenched at the words. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her friend, holding her tight. “Oh, Xena.... we’ll get through this together. I can’t even imagine the pain you’re in, having to take all of him. Gods, I don’t know how you endure that. Every time he touches you, every time he forces himself on you, it must feel like torture. You don’t have to carry that alone anymore.” 

She pressed her cheek against Xena’s shoulder, her voice dropping lower. “Maybe next time he wants you, just...pretend you’re asleep. Don’t let him put you through that again.” 

Xena’s smile curved slowly, hidden against her friend’s hair. “Who says I want to stop?” she murmured. 

Gabrielle stiffened and pulled back. “What did you say?” 

“Nothing.” Xena pulled her back into the hug, a slick smile hidden against Gabrielle’s shoulder. 

The chamber still hummed after Eve had been dragged out. Some of the gods leaned back in their thrones, muttering to each other, while others scowled at Athena. 

Apollo leaned forward, his golden eyes narrowed. “Then what good is she? She can’t harm us, and she won’t serve us.” 

Athena stood and she began to pace the length of the table. “Maybe not by force. But by reach.” Her gaze swept the circle. “When that child is born, none of us will be able to get near Xena. Not you. Not me. Not even Ares. She’ll guard it like a wolf guards her den.” 

The lower Olympians along the steps leaned closer, their whispers growing. 

Phobos frowned. “So she’s a key. But keys open doors willingly. Why would she hand the child to us?” 

Deimos smirked. “If you want her broken, send me and my brother. Fear and terror will pull her apart until she crawls to us herself.” 

Athena’s head snapped toward them. “No. We don’t need her shattered. We need her willing. Subtlety wins where force does not.” 

Hebe, perched near the base of Hera’s abandoned throne, spoke up timidly. “But Xena trusts her. That’s obvious. How do you make someone betray the only bond they have?” 

The corners of Athena’s mouth curled. “You don’t make her betray it. You let her rot in it. Eve’s weakness has always been there, festering inside her. Look at her now. All the attention is on the unborn child, the blankets, the cradle, the stories. And where does that leave Eve? Forgotten. Pushed to the side.” 

She paused, her voice sharpening. “And let us not forget Ares. She shared his bed, thought she held his favor, and the moment Xena returned he dropped her like she was nothing. She hides it well, but it gnaws at her. She wants what Xena has, and she hates herself for wanting it.” 

Hephaestus shifted, his voice low and doubtful. “Weakness like that isn’t power. It eats itself before it eats others.” 

Athena tilted her head, her eyes gleaming. “Not if we feed it. Jealousy. That’s the crack in her armor. And through it, she will bring us the child herself.” 

Smoke rushed through the hall as Ares appeared at the edge of the circle, his boots striking hard against the marble. His eyes swept the council, then landed on Athena. 

“Funny,” he said, his voice low and edged. “A whole meeting about my woman and my child, and I don’t get an invitation?” 

Apollo leaned back in his throne, lips twitching like he almost enjoyed the show. Artemis gripped her bow tighter, but none of them spoke. 

Ares stepped further in, his grin sharp though his eyes burned darker than the smile. “So tell me, sister. What’s the plan?” 

Athena looked up at her brother. “Since you were balls-deep in Xena we decided not to disturb you.” 

Ares’ smirk and laughed it off. “Spoken like a jealous little sister. You sound more interested in me balls-deep in Xena than in your council. Don’t tell me you’ve been picturing it while I was gone.” 

A ripple of laughter broke through the lower seats. Ares slouched in one of the thrones, one leg thrown lazily over the armrest. He leaned back, stretching out with a smirk. 

“Well? Don’t mind me. Go on. Continue.” The gods exchanged quick glances. Apollo shifted in his throne, his mouth pressed thin. Artemis lowered her eyes. Even the lower Olympians along the steps looked uneasy, some whispering behind their hands. There were things none of them dared repeat with Ares in the room. Athena’s fingers pressed against the stone.  

“That’s enough for now. We’ve discussed what we need to. We’ll revisit when the time is right.” She pushed back her chair, ending the discussion without another word. The gods began to rise. Ares smirked, drumming his fingers against the marble. 

“Well, that was no fun. You all scatter the second I get comfortable. What’s the matter...afraid I’ll hear something I shouldn’t?” The silence that followed said more than any answer. A few gods glanced at Athena, waiting. She didn’t look at him.  

“Relax. Keep your little secrets. I’ll enjoy finding them out myself.” He walked off, the sound of his boots echoing through the hall. One of the younger gods rushed up to Athena and whispered.  

“Eve is still tied to his bed.” Athena’s lips curved into a cunning smile.  

“Good.” They both laughed, sharp and cruel, their voices echoing through the room. 

Ares walked down the marble hall with a cup of nectar in his hand. His steps were loose but sharp with frustration. He thought about Xena, about her body pressed to his in her room, the way she had pulled him in like he belonged to her. It was burned into him, the sound of her voice, the way she didn’t care who had walked in and caught them. She hadn’t tried to cover herself or hide what they were doing. She looked almost proud. 

That should have been enough to make him feel satisfied. It should have felt like a victory. But it didn’t. It felt too perfect. Too clean. Too much like the kind of dream Xena would spin if she wanted to mess with his head.  

A small part of him wondered if she had planned it, if the bard was in on it too, standing back and watching while Xena pulled him closer. The thought made his chest tighten and his grip on the cup harden. 

He let out a breath, forcing a smirk to cover the doubt. He told himself not to care. She was his. He had won. Yet even as he pushed the door to his chamber open, the unease gnawed at him. The last thing on his mind was someone waiting in the dark, chained to his bed. 

The chamber was dark and cold. He let the heavy door drag close behind him and kicked off his boots, ready to drop into the bed and forget the mess of the night. 

But he stopped. Something pressed at him. His head tilted and he narrowed his eyes into the darkness. He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers. Fire roared to life along the walls, throwing light across the chamber. 

His gaze caught immediately. Eve was chained to his bed, her arms stretched above her head, iron cutting into her wrists. She was silent, watching him, her chest rising slow and shallow against the pull of the cuffs. Ares froze, his body stiff with disbelief. Then the corner of his mouth curled, slow and dangerous. 

“Well,” he said. His voice was low, carrying both amusement and edge.  "Doesn't this bring back memories."

Eve pressed herself against the headboard the moment his eyes landed on her. The chains rattled as she tried to scoot away. “Oh no,” she whispered to herself. Her breath caught sharp in her chest as his eyes found her through the firelight. She tried to make herself smaller, quieter, praying he wouldn’t come closer. 

Ares just stood there, staring at her. Then, slow and mocking, he began to clap. 

“Bravo,” he said. “Really. Bravo. Where’s your mother hiding, huh? Come on, Xena, show yourself. I knew this was too neat, too perfect. A setup from the start.” 

He stepped closer. “Don’t worry. I’m not touching your daughter. That’s done. Old news. Over.” His eyes dragged over her like she wasn’t even a person. Her chest ached. She wanted to scream at him, hit him, anything, but the shame pressed heavier than the chains. 

He laughed under his breath and shook his head, his voice rising as if Xena could hear him. “Is this it, Xena? This your grand move? Dragging up leftovers from the past to try and rattle me?” 

“My mother had nothing to do with this,” she spat, her voice shaking but sharp. “Athena put me here. She chained me to your bed.” 

Ares stopped pacing and just looked at her. His smirk dropped. Eve yanked against the cuffs again, harder this time. 

“Now let me go.” Her voice cut harder, her eyes locked on him with something fierce. “You heard me. Let me go.” Ares threw his head back and laughed, the sound rough and echoing against the stone. 

“Nice try,” he said, his grin curling wider. “Athena, really? That’s the best you’ve got?” He stepped closer, eyes glittering in the firelight. 

“You expect me to believe you just woke up here, chained to my bed, with mommy nowhere in sight?” His laugh came again, crueler this time. “No, Evie. This has Xena written all over it. A little trick to get under my skin. And using you?” He shook his head, still grinning. “That’s low. Even for her.” 

“You think you can just toss me aside like trash because you’re obsessed with my mother?” she spat. “Don’t lie to yourself, Ares. You loved me too. You know you did.” 

He flicked his hand and the chains snapped open. The iron clattered to the floor as Eve yanked her wrists free. She sat up on the bed, rubbing at the raw skin, her eyes burning into him while he stood there like she was a joke. 

“You think that is love? Getting her pregnant, keeping her under your thumb? You’re using her the same way you used me. I saw it. The way she straddled you. The way you kissed her. You don’t care about her any more than you cared about me. You just take what you want and call it something else.” 

Ares tilted his head, his smirk returning slow. “You want the truth? You were nothing but a shadow. I thought Xena was gone, so I took what was left standing in front of me. Whatever you think we had—” he let out a rough laugh “—it ended the moment she walked into the room. Don’t fool yourself into thinking you ever mattered more than that.” 

His hand flicked out, power snapping through the air. “Now... begone.” Eve was gone, thrown back into her room at the tavern as if she had never been gone at all. 

Gabrielle’s voice was tight as she hurried beside Xena.  

“I don’t know where she could have gone. She was just gone, Xena. I searched the whole place.” 

Xena didn’t look as worried. Her pace was steady, almost casual, as they reached the door to Eve’s room. She pushed it open. Eve sat on the bed, rolling her wrists slowly, the skin raw and red. She winced as she rubbed them, then pulled a strip of cloth from the blanket and began wrapping one wrist with quick, shaky fingers. Gabrielle froze in the doorway, her breath catching.  

“Eve...” she whispered. Xena’s eyes narrowed. She stepped inside. 

“Where in Tartarus have you been?” Gabrielle hurried in right behind Xena, but she stopped short when her eyes fell on Eve.  

“Oh gods... your wrists,” she breathed, moving closer. Eve kept her head down, still trying to wrap the strip of cloth around one wrist. Her fingers trembled too much to tie it right. Xena’s shadow fell over her. Her voice cut through the room. Xena looked at Eve’s clumsy hands and scoffed,  

“You’re acting like a helpless baby, can’t even wrap a bandage right.” She sat beside her, pulled the cloth from her fingers, and wrapped it tight and straight around her wrist. When she tied it off, her eyes narrowed her.  

“Now tell me, where did these come from?” Eve swallowed hard. Her voice cracked when she finally answered.  

“I was kidnapped... and chained to Ares’ bed.” Gabrielle froze, her eyes going wide as she stared at Xena.  

“Why would he do that? What the hell is wrong with him?” 

Xena’s jaw hardened. “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.” She turned toward the empty space in the room, her voice sharp. “Ares. Get in here. Now.” 

A ripple of air split the silence and Ares appeared at her back, his arms sliding around her waist with a grin. “Knew you couldn’t live without me that long.” Xena spun in his hold, her eyes blazing. 

“You had her chained to your bed? Sleeping with me wasn’t enough, you selfish bastard, you had to drag my daughter into this too?” Gabrielle’s mouth fell open, stunned at the accusation, her eyes darting between them. Ares’ smirk dropped completely. He straightened, his tone sharp.  

“You’ve got to be kidding me! You think I’d touch her? I don’t want her. Not at all.” 

Gabrielle froze between them, glancing from one to the other. Eve’s hands shook where she clutched the bandages. Her voice cracked but carried.  

“There you go again. Talking about me like I’m garbage, like I’m not even here.” Eve’s chest heaved as she glared at him. “You used me. You made me believe I mattered to you. You took me to Olympus, showed me off like I was yours. And I believed it. I believed you actually cared. But now you talk about me like I was nothing, like I was just some mistake you tossed aside.” 

Her voice shook but only grew louder. “What about all those nights we spent together? The times you swore I was the only one who understood you? The way you held me afterwards, was that all a lie too? Did none of it mean anything to you? Was it just sex to kill the time?” 

She jabbed her finger toward him, her face twisted with rage. “Say it. Tell me to my face that I was nothing to you. That every time you touched me, every time you said I was yours, it was all just a game.” 

Eve’s words still burned in the air when Xena finally spoke, her voice low but cutting. “Eve—” 

That was all it took. 

Eve snapped her head toward her, her eyes wet and blazing. “Don’t you dare say my name like you care. You don’t get to do that.” Her voice cracked and surged at once.  

“Where were you when I actually needed a mother? When I was a child and had no one? You weren’t there. You weren’t anywhere. And now you stand here looking at me like I’m still that little girl you can control.” 

She shook her head, furious, tears spilling down her face. “I’m not a child anymore. You don’t get to come back and decide when to play mother. You came back and took what was mine. You made me disappear like I was nothing. Suddenly I don’t even exist, because everything is about you. It’s always been about you.”  

Her voice cracked, the fight turning into raw pain. “Do you know what it’s like to need a mother and not have one? I needed you!! I needed you when I was small, when I didn’t understand anything, when the world was too big for me. But you weren’t there.” Eve swung her glare toward Gabrielle. 

“And you. You filled my head with stories about her. Made me believe she was some hero worth chasing after. But when I asked you to finish them, you couldn’t. You always stopped short, like the truth wasn’t good enough for me. And now it’s the same thing every time I hear your voice—‘the baby this, the baby that.’  

That baby hasn’t even taken its first breath, and already it’s the center of your world. What about me, Gabrielle? Do I ever get to matter more than a half-written story or some unborn child?” Gabrielle’s eyes filled with tears, but her voice held steady. 

“Eve, I told those stories because I wanted you to know who your mother was. Why she couldn’t be there. Everything I couldn’t say, I wrote down. And Xena and I—we loved you. We still do. All the gods know we would have given anything to raise you.” 

Eve’s face crumpled. The fight left her voice and broke into a raw sob, the kind she couldn’t hold back even if she wanted to. Gabrielle moved first, stepping forward and pulling her into her arms without hesitation. Eve buried her face against her shoulder, her body shaking as the cries tore through her. 

Xena stood frozen for a moment, her jaw tense, her hands flexing at her sides. Eve’s sobs broke harder, her whole body folding into Gabrielle’s arms. Gabrielle stroked her hair and held her steady, but her eyes never left Xena. She gave her a look that said Get over here.  

Xena finally moved until she was right beside them. She reached out but before she could say a word, Eve collapsed against her, wrapping both arms tight around her neck. She cried hard into Xena’s shoulder. The second their skin touched, a shock tore through them both 

A violent rush of heat and light slammed through the room. Xena gasped, her head snapping back, while Eve’s cry broke into a sharp moan. The force ripped through them and threw all three across the room in different directions until they hit the floor flat. Xena crashed onto her back, the impact tearing a groan from her as pain shot through her spine. Her hand went straight to her stomach even through the haze of pain. Eve tumbled several feet away, trembling where she landed, and Gabrielle struck the far wall with the air rushed from her lungs. A blinding light filled the room, burning white until nothing else could be seen. 

Then, the glow was gone, leaving the three of them scattered across the floor. Gabrielle pushed herself up in shock, blinking hard against the fading spots in her vision. Eve laid shaking where she had fallen, still trying to comprehend what had just happened. Xena’s chest rose and fell in ragged gasps, sweat sliding along her temple as she tried to steady herself, her palm still pressed protectively over her stomach. 

Ares was on her before she could move again. He dropped to the floor at her side, his hands uncharacteristically gentle as he brushed her hair back and steadied her face. His palm pressed firmly against her stomach, his voice low and strained. 

“Are you alright? Is our baby alright?” 

Xena froze under the sudden tenderness. Her brow creased, confusion cutting through her. She caught his wrist in a hard grip and yanked his hand away from her stomach. 

“I didn’t say you could touch me.” Her voice came rough as she tried to steady herself, still fighting to get her wits back after the blast. Ares’ hand hung in the air a moment longer before he let it drop. His jaw tightened, and his eyes searched her face like he was looking for something that wasn’t there. For once, there was no grin and no sharp remark waiting on his tongue. 

The hurt flashed quick, almost hidden, but it was there. He drew his hand back slowly, flexing his fingers like he didn’t know what else to do with them. His voice came out quieter than usual. 

“Right. Should’ve known better.” He stood but didn’t move far, the confusion still written on his face as he stared at her, like he was the one left out now. Ares’ hand reached for her arm.  

“Xena,” he said, his voice low, “we need to talk.” Before she could get her balance, his hand closed around her arm and pulled her up. He didn’t give her time to argue. He turned her toward the hall and made her walk with him, his grip firm and unyielding. Her eyes narrowed on him the moment she was on her feet, but he didn’t let go. 

“You think I don’t get it? You’re acting like this because of her,” he jerked his chin toward Eve. “But she doesn’t matter. She never did. I’m with you. I’m not going anywhere.” He leaned closer, his hand rising up her arm, his mouth inches from hers. 

Xena shoved him back before he could close the gap, her voice sharp. “Are you out of your mind?” 

“Get your hands off me.” She brushed him away. “You better be by my side now that I’m in this deep.” Her hand pressed against her belly. “In this stupid deal.” Xena’s glare hardened. “Now leave my sight.” 

Ares froze, thrown off by the cold dismissal. His confusion snapped into anger. “Leave your sight? Less than an hour ago you were riding my cock and slobbering me down, and now it’s get out of my sight ?!” 

Xena scoffed, her eyes sharp. “You’re delusional.” She turned her back on him and went back into Eve’s room. Ares stayed in the hall, his jaw tight and his temper brewing. He didn’t move after Xena’s dismissal, only stood there until footsteps sounded behind him. Aphrodite came back up the stairs, her bracelets jingling as she stopped at his side, with a look just as confused as his. 

Ares turned his head, still scowling. “Can you believe that? I’m not dreaming, right?” 

Aphrodite tilted her head, her lips forming into a dreamy smile. “Nope. You’re not dreaming.” She gave a little laugh. “Me and Gabby both saw it. You had her, Ares. Every second of it was real.” 

Her voice dipped, slower now, almost purring. “And gods, it was hot.” Ares gave her a proud, cocky look, the corner of his mouth lifting like he had just won something no one else could. Aphrodite’s eyes gleamed back at him, heat sparking in her smile. Without another word, the two of them grabbed hands and vanished together in a rush of light. 

Xena dropped to one knee in front of Eve, her tone softer than it had been in months. “What happened to your wrists?” She reached for them gently, confusion written all over her face. 

Eve blinked at her. “You don’t remember?” 

Xena frowned, shaking her head slowly. “Remember what?” Eve and Gabrielle exchanged a look, both of them unsettled. Eve lifted her hand and touched Xena’s face. 

“Mother, look at me.” 

Xena’s eyes met hers, and Eve’s breath caught. The shadow she had seen there before was gone. For the first time in what felt like forever, Xena looked like... Xena. 

Eve’s hand stayed on her mother’s cheek, her voice low but steady. “Tell me the last thing you remember.” 

Xena frowned, searching. “We were here. Ares took me momentarily, and the next thing I knew we were at my grandparents’ farm and now I’m back here. That’s it.” 

Eve pulled her hand away slowly, glancing at Gabrielle. Neither spoke right away. Gabrielle moved, her eyes moving to Xena like she was testing her words before letting them out. 

Eve’s eyes narrowed. “Nothing in between?” 

Xena shook her head. “No. Why are you asking me like this?” 

Gabrielle leaned in, her voice careful. “So when you came back, you don’t remember you and his...interaction? Anything you might have said or done?” 

Xena’s brow creased. “No. I told you, I don’t remember. What are you two getting at?” 

Eve and Gabrielle exchanged another glance but neither explained. Eve crossed her arms, studying her mother.  

“No reason,” she said. Gabrielle gave her a warning look, and they both let it drop—for now. Xena looked back and forth at them, suspicion creasing in her brows.  

“You two are hiding something from me.” 

Gabrielle forced a calm smile, though her heart raced. “We’re not hiding anything. Maybe it’s just pregnancy brain making you feel off.” Xena’s eyes narrowed at her, clearly unamused. Eve pushed herself up off the floor. She brushed her hands over her pants, then turned to Gabrielle.  

“Can you come downstairs with me for a minute? I need help carrying up the baby clothes from the chest. They’re too heavy for me alone.” 

Gabrielle blinked, caught off guard. “The...the baby clothes, right! Yeah, of course.” She forced a quick smile and nodded too fast. “I’ll help. But first we need to get your mother to bed.” 

Gabrielle’s eyes widened, and Eve instantly agreed. Gabrielle and Eve each slipped an arm under Xena’s and helped her to her feet. 

“You need to lie down,” Gabrielle said firmly. “You don’t know what that blast did to you.” 

“I’m fine,” Xena started, but Eve shook her head. 

“No, Mother. Go lay down. We’ll bring your dinner to you.” 

“I don’t—” 

“Xena,” Gabrielle cut in before she could finish. “Please. Just this once, let us take care of you.” They didn’t wait for her answer. They guided her towards the bed, talking over every protest until she sank onto the mattress, frowning but too outnumbered to argue further. 

They slipped into the quiet downstairs hall, both of them looking uneasy. 

Eve’s voice was tight. “I saw them. She was in his lap with her tongue down his throat.” 

“And Aphrodite and I caught them in the act. It wasn’t just kissing. It was more than that.” 

Eve shook her head. “Then how does she not remember any of it? How can she stand there and say the last thing she recalls is the farm?” 

Gabrielle crossed her arms. “That’s the part I can’t make sense of either.” Finally Eve spoke again.  

“Something happened when I touched her. It was like all that darkness inside her just vanished. I felt it leave.” 

Gabrielle turned to her. “What do you mean, leave?” 

Eve’s hands tightened at her sides. “It was there, swallowing her whole, and then it was gone. Like the moment I reached her, it vanished.” Gabrielle frowned. 

Eve’s eyes burned. “It’s the baby. Don’t you get it? It’s his. It’s Ares’ blood growing inside her. That’s what’s dragging her down, that’s what’s making her darker. And the bigger it gets, the worse she’ll be.” 

Gabrielle shot back fast. “No. Don’t you dare put that on an innocent baby.” Her chest rose fast as she stared at Eve. “I lived through that before you were even born, watching the gods judge Xena and damn you for it. I won’t do it again.” Eve’s face twisted, caught between fury and grief. 

Gabrielle pressed on, softer now but firm. “This baby, no matter how we feel about Ares, was conceived naturally between them. And no matter how much we hate him, we will not condemn this baby.” 

Eve shook her head hard. “You’re blind if you don’t see it. The baby is Ares. It’s his blood, his power, his shadow sitting inside her. You saw her, Gabrielle. You saw how she was with him. That wasn’t my mother. That was Ares pulling her under. And now his child is only going to drag her further away until there’s nothing left of her.” 

Gabrielle crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “No. That’s not the baby, that’s Xena fighting something bigger than any of us can understand. And blaming an unborn child for what Ares does?” She let out a short snicker. 

“Careful, Eve. You almost sound jealous.” 

Eve’s mouth dropped open, the heat rising in her chest as she glared at Gabrielle. Gabrielle caught the glare and held her ground. “Don’t give me that look. You made it very clear upstairs how you felt.” She stepped closer, her voice softening even though her words didn’t.  

“I’m sorry that you feel like Xena took Ares from you. But honestly, he’s been obsessed with her since before you were born. I know that doesn’t help, and I know it probably cuts deep seeing him now, knowing he’s having a child with your mother, but—” 

“No,” Eve snapped, cutting her off. “That’s not it at all.” 

She turned away and went to the pot of stew Gabrielle had left on the counter. She ladled some into a bowl with stiff movements.  

“I just wish there was one person I could talk to that understood me,” she muttered, not looking back. She picked up the bowl and headed for the stairs. 

“I’ll take this up to her.” Eve pushed the door open quietly. Xena was stretched across the bed, fast asleep, her face calm for the first time in days. The sight made Eve’s chest tighten. She set the bowl of stew on the nightstand and pulled the blanket up over her mother’s shoulders. For a moment she stood there, staring, wanting to wake her, wanting to ask a thousand questions, but the words stuck in her throat. 

Her eyes drifted down, settling on her belly. She laid a hand there, her breath catching in her chest. That baby carried Ares’ darkness, and it was already changing her mother. 

She stepped back and slipped out of the room, heading down the hall to her own. She sat on the edge of her bed, her hands twisting in her lap. She felt pulled in every direction, anger, jealousy, shame, and guilt, all clawing at her. Nothing made sense anymore. 

Finally, she dropped to her knees beside the bed. Her fingers pressed together and she bowed her head.  

“Eli,” she whispered, her voice unsteady, “I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t know why I was brought back into this, or what my task is supposed to be. Please... show me how to understand. Show me how to bear this.” 

Her words cracked in the quiet. She stayed there, eyes closed, waiting, hoping for some kind of sign. But none came. With a slow breath, she pushed herself up from the floor and crawled in bed. She slipped under the covers, pulling them tight around her body. It didn’t matter what Gabrielle said, it didn’t matter how anyone tried to soften the truth. The baby was evil, and Eve was going to prove it. 

The knock at the door startled Gabrielle as she cleared the last of the bowls. She wiped her hands on a cloth and pulled it open to find a young woman standing on the step, travel-worn and dusty. 

“Sorry to trouble you,” the woman said. “I thought this was still a tavern. I was hoping for a room.” 

Gabrielle hesitated, then softened. “It isn’t anymore, but... we do have extra rooms. You’re welcome to stay the night.” 

Relief filled the woman’s face. “Thank you.” 

Gabrielle led her inside and showed her toward the stairs. The woman nodded politely and started up without another word. That was when Gabrielle saw it, the faint ink circling her arm, the sharp design she knew too well. A Roman mark. Her chest tightened. She froze with the cloth still in her hand.  

“Great,” she whispered under her breath. “As soon as Xena sees that, all hell is going to break loose.” She led the woman upstairs, fire lamps burning low along the hallway. Before Gabrielle could point out the room, the woman pushed open the wrong door...Xena’s. Gabrielle’s heart skipped. She rushed forward, pulling the door shut before the woman could step inside.  

“Not that one,” she said quickly, forcing a smile. She led her down the hall, opened another door, and gestured her inside.  

“Here. This one’s yours. Good night.” 

The woman nodded and stepped inside. Gabrielle shut the door and stood in the hall for a moment. Then she drew a slow breath and went to her own room, knowing morning would come too soon. With it would come the moment Xena laid eyes on their guest. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 14: Best Friends 

Gabrielle laid awake staring at the ceiling still thinking about the stranger who had walked into Amphipolis last night. She kept picturing that tattoo on the woman’s arm. Roman design. The kind Xena would see and hate on sight. Gabrielle’s stomach twisted at the thought of how Xena might react once she saw her. 

She slipped out of bed, slipped on some clothes and made her way downstairs. The kitchen felt too quiet, too still. She busied herself with making the fire, setting a pan, and laying out bread and fruit, though her mind was nowhere on breakfast. Who was that woman, and why had she come here out of all places? The sound of footsteps broke her thoughts. Eve came down with a smile that felt fresh and easy. 

“Need any help?” she asked. 

Gabrielle forced a small smile and nodded. “You can cut the fruit.” 

They worked side by side, Eve humming under her breath while Gabrielle worked on the rest of the food. She hesitated before speaking. “Someone showed up last night. A stranger. She’s Roman and looked about your age... I thought maybe you might know her.” Before Gabrielle could answer, a voice rang from the steps behind them. 

“Livia?” 

Eve spun around with her eyes wide. The knife clattered against the table. The visitor stood at the bottom of the stairs, her face lit with excitement. She called her name again, louder this time. 

“Livia!” Eve rushed forward without thinking, and the two of them collided in a tight embrace. 

The visitor’s eyes swept over Eve with bright excitement, taking her in from head to toe. “I can’t believe it’s you. Gods, it’s been months. I kept wondering where you disappeared to.” 

Eve’s breath caught and her face twisted with shock and relief. She held the girl tighter before pulling back just enough to look at her. “I’ll tell you everything later,” she said, her voice low, steadying herself. 

The visitor laughed, brushing at her own eyes. “I thought you were gone for good. And now here you are.” Eve turned, her hand still resting on the girl’s arm, and looked towards Gabrielle at the table.  

“Gabrielle, this is... my friend, Marcia.” Her tone was both warm and hesitant, like she wasn’t ready to untangle the past in front of anyone else yet. The visitor grinned, nodding towards Gabrielle, but her attention never left Eve for long. 

Eve kept her arm linked with Marcia’s, still rattled but smiling, when Gabrielle finally stepped forward. She forced a warm smile onto her face, though the hesitation showed in her eyes. 

“Marcia,” Gabrielle said gently, reaching out. 

Marcia loosened her hold on Eve just enough to clasp Gabrielle’s hand. Her grip was firm. She gave Gabrielle a quick smile, but her eyes went right back to Eve as if she couldn’t stand to look away for long. 

“We grew up in the same household, in the provinces.” Marcia smiled wide, her eyes bright as she looked at her.  

“More like sisters than friends. We did everything together back then.” Eve’s mouth curved into the faintest smile, though her shoulders were tense.  

“That was a long time ago,” she said. Eve turned toward Gabrielle, still holding Marcia’s arm.  

“This is Gabrielle. She’s my mother’s... my, my, her um—” 

Gabrielle took over with a warm smile. “I’m her mother’s best friend.” Then she glanced at Eve, one brow raised ever so slightly. 

Marcia’s head snapped back toward Eve, her brows creased tight. “Mother?” she repeated, her voice sharp with disbelief. Eve’s throat worked as she tried to answer, but before she could speak another voice cut through the room. 

“Yeah...what about it?” Xena’s voice rolled through the room as she came down the steps, slow and unhurried. Her eyes never left Marcia. She wore the simple blue outfit she liked now but nothing about her presence seemed softened. Her will was strong, her eyes sharp, and every step reminded the room she was still a warrior. 

Eve’s lips curved in a small smile. “Speaking of... here’s my mother. Xena.” 

Marcia’s eyes widened as she took her in. Shock spread across her face at the sight of the warrior she had only heard about. Xena still carried herself with command, but her body looked softer, like she had let herself go a little. Marcia straightened her shoulders and reached out, clasping Xena’s arm with a firm grip. 

Eve’s voice carried a hint of pride as she went on. “Mother, this is Marcia. We grew up together.” 

Xena’s grip held firm as she looked Marcia over. “A Roman,” she said, the words were sharp enough to cut. 

Eve caught the way it landed and gave a small, uneasy smile, her shoulders tightening. Gabrielle noticed it too. She stepped forward gently and her hand brushed Xena’s arm while she gave her the slightest pull. She kept her voice light, careful not to stir Xena further. 

“Breakfast is ready,” she said, guiding her towards the table. Xena let go of Marcia, her eyes lingering on her a moment longer before moving with   Gabrielle. 

They all went to the table, although everyone could tell the mood in the room was changing. Xena sat into her seat with Gabrielle close by, while Marcia slid in right beside Eve, her arm brushing against hers like they were still girls sharing secrets. 

Marcia leaned forward, her wide eyes fixed on Xena. “I read about you when I was a child,” she said easily.  

“The Destroyer of Nations. I used to picture someone... older. And maybe more muscular.” Marcia smiled like it was praise, blind to the fact she was dragging up the part of Xena’s life she hated most. Her eyes lit up as if she’d solved a problem.  

“Oh, and I know an ab routine that’ll tighten you right back up.” Gabrielle and Eve traded uneasy looks across the table. Xena’s hand moved steady, buttering her bread with the flat part of the knife. She smirked faintly.  

“Yeah, I can definitely tighten up. Feels like something’s already in there weighing me down.” Her narrowed eyes raised to Marcia.  

“I didn’t imagine anything about me would be sitting in Rome.” 

Marcia leaned forward eagerly, nodding. “Oh, but yes! Julius Caesar has stories about all the ones he’s conquered.” 

The knife froze mid-stroke. Xena’s grip tightened, and in one sharp motion she flipped it in her hand and pointed it towards Marcia. Her voice dropped, low and cold. “Caesar didn’t conquer me. He betrayed me. Remember that difference before you sit here repeating Roman lies at my table.” 

Marcia froze, her smile fading under Xena’s stare. Eve’s eyes went wide. Gabrielle’s breath caught, her hand twitching like she might step in if it went any further. 

Xena leaned in, the knife steady, her gaze locked on Marcia. “Whatever Caesar bragged about in Rome, whatever stories he twisted into victories, he’s rotting in the ground. And I’m still standing.” 

Xena bit into her bread, leaning back in her chair as she sat the knife down. Marcia shook her head nervously under Xena’s stare, her forced smile twitching before she dropped her eyes.  

Xena chewed slow, her jaw tight, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked across the table. Then she started back eating the rest of her food, calm like nothing had just happened. Gabrielle stomach curled. She set her cup down and leaned forward, her voice quick and warm. 

“So, Marcia,” Gabrielle said, cutting the tension. “How long have you been in Amphipolis?” 

Marcia looked at Gabrielle. “I just finished a slave trade before coming here,” she said. 

Her gaze moved back to Eve, and a grin tugged at her mouth. “If you were there, Livia, I know my coin would have doubled.” 

Eve stiffened at the name, holding her fork tighter in her hand. Gabrielle felt the tension rise again and glanced towards Xena, worried how she would take the information. 

Eve’s voice came soft, almost careful. “I’m not involved in that anymore.” 

Xena’s voice cut in, low and hard. “Slavery is filth. I hate everything about it.” 

Marcia blinked, her brow creasing like she couldn’t quite understand her anger. “Strange words from a Greek. You people are too soft. Rome built an empire on strength. Greece clings to feelings.” 

Gabrielle straightened in her chair, forcing her voice calm. “Maybe it takes more strength to feel. Empires fall, but people carry what’s done to them forever.” She reached for the bread and set it on the table, her movements quick, eager to move the conversation before Xena’s temper sharpened further. 

Marcia leaned closer to Eve, her voice softening. “Livia, I missed you more than I can say.” Then she turned her attention toward Xena and Gabrielle with an easy smile. “I wish you could have seen her growing up. She was the strongest, the bravest, the smartest, and the most cunning out of all of us.” 

Her gaze went back to Eve, warm but probing. “I don’t understand why you left. You had everything a girl could want. You had Octavius’s engagement, and we all knew you were destined to be with the war god.” 

Eve paused mid bite. Xena’s hand tightened around her cup, but she said nothing. Gabrielle’s fork clinked against the plate in her hand, her wide eyes darting between them, uncomfortable with where the conversation had gone. 

“Everyone? How did you all know?” Gabrielle asked Marcia, her voice uneasy. In Gabrielle’s mind, Ares should have been a secret with Octavius’ engagement already in place. 

Marcia lit up. “Yes. I noticed after we got older, he used to visit Livia in her room.” She raised her brow with a knowing smirk. “She thought we were all asleep.” 

Eve’s cheeks flushed red, and she touched Marcia’s arm, trying to stop the story before she told more. “Marcia—” 

But Marcia only smiled wider. “Oh, I was awake. The way you two were—” Eve’s hand flew up and clamped over Marcia’s mouth, her face burning. 

Marcia lifted both hands in surrender, laughing lightly as she leaned back. “Alright, alright. Fine.” Her eyes sparkled as she looked at Xena and Gabrielle. 

“You two get the picture. The war god couldn’t stay away from her. I was sure she was destined to be his queen or carry his heir first.” 

She turned back to Eve, her smirk playful. “So...where is he anyway? Just because you left Rome, I’m sure he followed you. Are you two still screwing around?”  

Gabrielle felt the mood shift, sharp and dangerous. Breakfast was seconds from turning ugly, deadly, or both. She leaned in quick, her hand pressing against Xena’s back, her voice low and urgent. “Hey.... don’t. Let it go. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.” 

Xena exhaled slow, her fork still in her hand as she jabbed into her food. She kept eating, chewing steady, forcing her jaw to relax as if the conversation didn’t matter. Her eyes stayed on her plate, every bite deliberate, trying her best to push the girl’s words aside. 

Marcia tore off a piece of bread with a sharp grin. “I always heard he had a taste for the Destroyer of Nations,” she said, almost laughing. “Guess both of y’all would’ve been sharing the same cock if that was true.” She tossed it out like a joke. 

Eve froze, her fork slipping from her hand and clattering against the plate. That was when Xena’s chair scraped back, making Gabrielle flinch, as she shot up to her feet.  

“Listen, little girl—” Xena’s voice was low and sharp, the threat coiled in every word. 

Across the table, Eve shot up from her chair, yanking Marcia by the arm. “We need to talk,” she hissed, already pulling her away. 

“You want to run off and whisper about me? No. Say it here, Eve. You don’t need to hide in another room.” Her voice rose, cold and daring. Eve’s breath shook, her eyes wide and wet as the words crashed into her. Gabrielle jumped up fast and grabbed Xena’s arm. She looked at Eve and Marcia, 

“Go on,” she urged. “Go ahead.” Eve nodded at Gabrielle then grabbed Marcia by the arm. She pulled her towards the back of the tavern, the wood floor creaking under their steps as they went outside the rear door. 

Xena scoffed loud enough to carry through the room. Her hand pressed against her belly as her eyes slid to Gabrielle. “Who does that Roman wannabe think she is? I don’t like her.” 

Gabrielle reached out, her voice soft but steady. “She doesn’t know you, Xena. She’s just going off the stories she’s heard.”  

Gabrielle offered her a small smile, her hand sliding gently along Xena’s arm. “Come on,” she coaxed. “Sit back down and eat. I’m sure your baby is still hungry.” 

Xena gave a short nod and lowered herself back into her chair. She picked at her plate, pushing the food around before finally taking a bite. Gabrielle sat down beside her and quietly resumed eating, the tension at the table still heavy but held at bay for now. 

Outside, Eve’s chest still felt tight from the scene inside. She held onto Marcia’s arm until they reached the porch, then turned her to face her. 

Marcia pulled back, her eyes narrowing in confusion. “What’s going on with you? You vanish from Rome without a word, and now I find you here of all places. Why didn’t you tell me where you were going, Livia?” 

Eve swallowed hard, her hands knotting together. “Things are different now,” she said carefully. 

Marcia frowned, looking her up and down as if trying to piece her together. “Different how? You had everything. Then you just walked away. No one knew why.” 

Eve led Marcia to a bench. She sat first and waited until Marcia dropped down beside her. Her voice came quiet but steady. “Remember when we used to talk about our destiny in life? Mine isn’t to be a warrior. It’s to spread the message of love, Eli’s message.” 

Marcia blinked at her, then burst out laughing. “This is a joke, right?” 

Her laughter faded when she saw Eve’s face wasn’t moving. “By the gods,” she muttered. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” 

Eve nodded. Marcia leaned back, shaking her head with disbelief. “So tell me then...how did you get Xena to claim you as one of her own?” 

Eve laughed, almost in spite of herself. “Claim me? Marcia, I came out of Xena. She is my real mother.” 

“Whoa,” Marcia said, her eyes widening. 

“My real name is Eve,” she added softly. “That’s the name I was given when I was born.” 

Marcia’s brows furrowed. “I’ve heard it spoken that Xena’s daughter would bring the Twilight. But you’ve been sleeping with a god for half your life, and nothing has happened to him.” 

Eve’s cheeks flushed red and she let out an awkward laugh. “That’s a story for another day.” 

“By the way,” Eve added quickly, “my mother is pregnant, so she’s kind of on edge. Don’t say things like that about her.” 

Marcia’s eyes widened. “Pregnant?” She leaned back, stunned. “Oh, then she must hate me.” 

Eve laughed and shook her head. “No, she doesn’t.” 

“Fine,” Marcia said, holding her hand out. “I won’t say anything else about your mother, as long as you don’t try to preach Eli to me. Deal?” 

Eve laughed, sliding her hand into hers. “Deal.” 

The loom room was dark except for the glow of the threads. Thousands of them, crossing and winding, some burning bright, some fraying thin. The sound of the loom was steady, ancient, like it had been moving before the world was born. 

Athena stepped into the chamber, her armor gleaming faintly in the glow. She moved with calm certainty, her eyes fixed on the three women bent over their weaving. 

Clotho didn’t look up from the thread in her hand. “You don’t belong here, goddess.” 

Lachesis turned, her pale fingers tracing the measure of a life. “The loom answers to no one. Not even you.” 

Athena’s mouth curved into a cold smile. “You owe me. Zeus is gone because of you. His death tore Olympus apart, and I’ve been the one holding it together. You let the balance break, and now you’ll make it right.” 

Atropos raised her scissors, the blade catching the thread-light. “And what is it you think we will do for you?” 

Athena stepped closer, her eyes sharp and gleaming. “There’s a child. Not yet born. Ares’ child. Xena carries it.” Her voice was steady. “If he stands against Olympus, you cut that thread. Make him choose. His family or his throne.” 

Clotho finally looked up, her voice calm. “You cannot simply end the child’s life because Ares refuses to bend to you. The God of War is his own being. His choices are his to make.” 

Athena’s jaw tightened. “I am going to be the Queen of the Gods. With Zeus and Hera gone, you will answer to someone. You will answer to me.” 

Lachesis shook her head, her fingers steady over the loom. “We answer to no throne. The loom spins as it always has.” 

Athena’s eyes narrowed, her calm mask cracking. Then she drew a sharp breath, her voice turning sly. “Fine. Do whatever you want. But make Ares believe you’ll cut that thread if he doesn’t side with Olympus. Think about it. If he gets that child on his own, your lives could be in danger too. He would wield power you can’t control.” 

The three paused and shared a long look, and Atropos finally spoke. “Very well. We will make him believe.” 

Athena’s mouth curved into a hard smile as she turned and walked out. 

Upstairs, the two of them sat together while Xena and Gabrielle worked downstairs. Eve kept Marcia close, steering her away from her mother’s eyes for now. 

“I’ll grab us some drinks,” Eve said, standing. “I’ll be right back.” 

Marcia nodded quickly, watching her go. The door shut, and she waited until she heard Eve’s steps fading down the stairs. In a flash, she crossed the room, checking the hall to make sure it was clear.  

She pulled a folded piece of parchment from her pouch, wrote on it quickly, then tied it to the leg of the messenger pigeon she summoned from outside the window. She released the bird and watched it flap into the afternoon sky. 

“Here we go—” Eve’s voice cut in as she stepped inside with two cups in her hands. 

Marcia jumped, spinning towards her, her eyes wide for a split second before she smoothed it over with a grin. She leaned against the window frame, casual. “Oh, just needed a little fresh air. Gets stuffy in here.” 

Downstairs, Xena and Gabrielle were working while Eve moved behind the counter, fixing drinks for herself and Marcia before heading back upstairs. Xena’s eyes followed the sound of laughter above them, and she shook her head. 

“Look at her,” Gabrielle said with a soft smile. “She hasn’t been that happy in a long time.” 

Xena sighed. “I know. But I don’t trust Marcia.” 

Gabrielle glanced at her. “Because she’s Roman?” 

“That’s the thing,” Xena said as she moved furniture. “I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. But you saw her during breakfast. You think I would ever say something like that to one of my friend’s mothers? And it’s not just that. I don’t think anyone from Livia’s past is good for her right now.” 

Gabrielle nodded slowly. “You think they might try to turn her back?” 

“Not turn her back,” Xena said. “But it’s reminders, Gabrielle. Simple things that can drag you back so fast, you’ll be a monster before you even realize you crossed the line.” 

Gabrielle saw the worry in her friend’s face. She reached across the table and took Xena’s hand. “That’s why she has us. We won’t let that happen.” 

Xena’s mouth softened into a small smile. Together, they spent the afternoon moving tables and sweeping dust, slowly reshaping the old tavern into a home. 

After a while, Xena dragged a chair across the floor and set it down with a sigh. “Gabrielle,” she said, pulling the chair into place. “Why were you and Eve questioning my memory the other night? Did... did I do something, or did something happen to me that I should remember?” 

Gabrielle carried a broken chair outside. She came back in and hesitated, debating with herself. Then she gave a nervous laugh. “You sure you want to know?” 

Xena chuckled lightly. “That bad, huh?” 

Gabrielle laughed again. “Worse.” 

Xena arched a brow. “Spill it.” 

Gabrielle took Xena’s hands and pushed her down into the chair. Her fingers fidgeted as she tried to force out the words. “Well,” she said, nervous but still smiling, “I walked into your room and... you were riding Ares. On your bed.” Xena’s mouth fell open. She frowned, trying to make sense of what Gabrielle had said. 

“When you say riding...” 

“I mean completely naked and him inside you,” Gabrielle said quickly. 

“On my bed?” Xena’s voice rose an octave higher. 

Gabrielle smiled with widen eyes. “On your bed.” 

Xena shot up from the chair. “Help me drag the mattress out. I’m burning it.” 

Gabrielle snickered, but then her face grew serious. “Are you saying that you really don’t remember that?” 

Xena sighed. “None of it.” 

Gabrielle tried to reassure her. “Well, don’t stress about it. It’s probably just pregnancy brain, and right now, Xena, you don’t need any more stress. This pregnancy, I want everything to go smooth. Plus, the gods aren’t messing with us now, not anytime soon anyway.” The words slipped out before she could catch them. Gabrielle’s shoulders fell, regret washing over her. 

Xena looked at her, puzzled. “How do you know that?” 

Gabrielle forced a smile, her voice light. “You don’t remember? We talked about it a few nights ago. You even said yourself the gods weren’t bothering us right now. Ares told us that, remember? Since he’s on our side, the gods backed down and made a truce.” 

She laughed softly, trying to make it sound natural. “See? Pregnancy brain. You’re forgetting your own words now.” 

Xena’s eyes stayed on her a moment longer, searching her face. Then she sighed and let it drop, leaning back in her chair. “Maybe you’re right.” 

Gabrielle smiled and went back to fiddling with the broken chair, relief in her shoulders. 

Dinner was long over and the light was fading when Xena set her buckets by the door and wiped her hands on her clothes. Gabrielle came out behind her, brushing crumbs from her top. Eve and Marcia had gone off to the market together, their laughter already distant in the street. 

“I’ll take care of the kitchen,” Gabrielle said with a quick smile. 

Xena gave a short nod. “Don’t wear yourself out.” She lifted the buckets and started towards the well. 

The air was cooler now and the grass was damp beneath her boots as she made the half-mile walk from the tavern. She set the buckets down, leaned on the rope, and began the steady pull to draw fresh water.  

The rope groaned as Xena hauled the bucket up, water dripping down the sides as it broke the surface. She set it on the stones and braced her arms on the edge of the well, staring out at the open field. 

Her hand pressed against her stomach. “It doesn’t make sense,” she muttered. “I can’t remember anything from the farmhouse. Not that night, not the day after. And of course I should remember being with your father. Who wouldn’t?” 

She shook her head with her lips pressed tight. “Gabrielle... she wouldn’t lie to me. Not unless the gods are twisting her too. So what’s real? What am I supposed to believe?” Xena adjusted against the stones, her face tightening at the soreness that lingered still between her legs.  

“Of course I was with someone,” she muttered. “I can feel it every time I move. But why can’t I remember? Why would a whole day just vanish like that?” 

Her mouth curved into a dry chuckle as she rubbed her belly. “Maybe it’s you. Are you making me forget those moments so I don’t hate myself?” 

Her face softened while her thumb brushed slow circles. “I’m sorry, my little one. I dragged you into this mess of a life I created.” 

Her voice dropped, soft and raw. “I need you to know something. When I said you meant nothing to me... I didn’t mean it. I don’t know why those words even came out. If something happened to you, I’d be devastated. More than anything I’ve ever lost. I don’t care if your father is a manipulative, selfish bastard. You’re mine. And I’m going to raise you without the greed, without the power lust. And I’m not letting the gods or anyone else take you from me. I swear it.” 

She took a deep breath, her tone softening. “I love you. I can’t wait to meet you, and I can’t wait to see my dove.” 

Her voice cracked on the word. Right then, under her hand, she felt it, the faintest flutter. Her eyes widened, her breath catching as the meaning sank in. She stared down at her stomach, silent for a long moment, before lifting her head to the sky. A tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away quick. With a sharp breath, she got up and pulled the next bucket up from the well. 

As the water stopped moving, Xena’s reflection caught her eye. But it wasn’t her current reflection. It stared back at her with its arms crossed and one brow raised, daring her to look away, watching like it was waiting for something. Xena turned her head to the side. Her hand hovered close to the surface like she might reach out and touch it. 

A sudden rush of wings cut through the air. A bird swooped so low it nearly brushed her shoulder. She flinched and waved it off and the water broke into ripples. 

She smirked faintly. “You know, that wasn’t quite the bird I was asking for. You’ve got your father’s sense of humor, I see.” 

When she looked back into the water, her reflection was normal again. It moved with her, nothing out of place. Xena took in a tight breath. She grabbed the bucket and muttered before heading back toward the tavern. 

Gabrielle watched Xena until she disappeared down the road, then went back into the tavern. The air inside still carried the smell of dinner, and the dishes were stacked across the table. She sighed and reached to gather them. 

She looked up and her hand froze. Ares was sitting at the far end of the table, leaning back with a smug grin on his face. 

Gabrielle scoffed. “If you’re here to torture my friend some more, she’s not here.” 

Ares stood, smooth and casual. “Actually, I came to talk to you.” 

“We have nothing to talk about,” Gabrielle snapped. “Anything about her baby, I’ll discuss with her.” He walked towards her and pulled her by the shoulders before she could grab another dish. 

She frowned, confused. “What, Ares?” 

He grinned wider. “Seems like the old Gabrielle is still in there.” 

Her brow creased. “What are you talking about?” 

“You lying to Xena about the gods, using her memory against her, and dragging me into it?” His voice dropped, amused and sharp. “That’s nasty work. I’m proud of you.” 

She pulled free, glaring at him. “So you came to gloat? Is it really that dull on Olympus?” 

He chuckled. “Not gloating. I want answers. When we disappeared earlier, I had the most amazing sex with her. I had her screa—” 

Gabrielle clapped her hands over her ears. “Too much, Ares. Way too much.” 

He held a hand out. “Hear me out. When I brought her back here, she couldn’t keep her hands off me. Then out of nowhere, after Eve threw her tantrum, she’s back to... Xena.” 

Gabrielle lowered her hands. “I can agree with that. This is the most normal she’s been since she agreed to be your prisoner. She hasn’t lashed out or been angry. She’s been...pleasant. The Xena I remember..well sometimes.” 

Ares gave her a hard look. “That’s nice, but I want to know why she can’t remember. Because when I was deep in her, we made plans. Plans she needs to recall. Plans about our baby.” His eyes locked on hers. 

Gabrielle slid the last plate onto the shelf. “Well, Ares, your guess is as good as mine. And Xena should be walking in soon.” 

She turned back to him, her voice sharp. “But before you leave, I need to ask you something. Do you know Marcia...Eve’s Roman friend?” 

Ares gave her a slow grin. “Marcia? She’s a fox. Looks harmless enough, but she’ll nose her way into every corner, take what she wants, and slip off before you even notice. But that’s every Roman isn’t it,” he burst out laughing. 

Gabrielle’s eyes went wide. “Are you saying we can’t trust her?” 

Ares’ smirk lingered. His eyes slid towards the door. “Xena’s coming.” Before Gabrielle could press him, he vanished. 

The market was alive with noise, merchants calling out their prices while children darted between the stalls. Eve held a basket on her arm, her other hand brushing over the ripe fruit stacked high. 

“Still picky,” Marcia teased. “In Rome you always wanted the finest, and I see nothing’s changed.” 

Eve smiled, a little shy but warmed by the praise. “Maybe I learned it from you.” 

Marcia gave her a playful shrug. “You learned plenty from me. Don’t forget who pulled you out of bed for training when you wanted to sleep till noon.” 

Eve laughed. “You never let me slack.” 

“Because you were meant for more,” Marcia said quickly, her tone soft but certain. “I saw it. Everyone saw it. That spark in you, it made me proud to stand at your side.” 

Eve looked away, her chest tightening. “That was a long time ago.” 

Marcia leaned in close, her shoulder brushing Eve’s. “Doesn’t matter how much time passes. You’ll always be Livia to me. Not the destroyer they whispered about, but my best friend. The girl who had my back, who laughed with me, who made me feel like I mattered.” Eve blinked fast and looked down at the apples in her basket. For a moment she felt lighter, like she could let herself believe in that bond again. 

Marcia paused at a stall stacked with figs, picking one up and turning it in her hand. “So...your mother’s really having a baby?” Her grin was wide, curious more than anything. “Can you believe it?” 

Eve’s grip on the basket tightened, her body stiff for just a moment before she forced a small smile. “Yeah. I can believe it.” 

Marcia caught the change in her but didn’t call it out. She popped the fig back onto the pile. “Guess that makes you the big sister. Better you than me—I’d be terrible at it.” 

Eve let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “I don’t know if I’ll be much better.” 

Marcia bumped her shoulder playfully. “You’ll be fine. You always took care of me, remember? Guess that was just practice.” 

Eve shifted the basket higher on her arm, her chest tight. “Maybe.” 

Marcia didn’t push. She grabbed a bunch of herbs from the next stall, tucking them into her own basket, her voice cheerful again. “So tell me...are you still as hopeless in the kitchen, or did Gabrielle manage to fix that?” 

Eve let out a laugh, relieved by the change of subject. “Hopeless might still be the right word.” Eve laughed and Marcia laughed with her. They kept moving down the row, still grinning as they looked over the baskets and jars for sale. 

On the walk back from the market, the sun dipping lower, Eve glanced at Marcia. “I’m glad we ran into each other,” she said quietly. “I’ve missed you.” 

Marcia’s grin spread wide. She bumped her shoulder against Eve’s and winked. “Took you long enough to admit it.” Eve laughed, clutching the basket tighter as they headed back towards the tavern together. 

Later that night, Xena was stretched out on the bed, one hand resting over her stomach while Gabrielle sat at the edge, talking softly with her. “Once we get this place fixed up,” Xena said, “we’re hitting the road again.” 

Gabrielle laughed. “Bored already?” 

Xena smirked. “Yep. I’m still full of energy and nowhere near tired.” Her eyes lingered on Gabrielle, her tone playful. “Maybe we ought to stretch our legs tonight.” Gabrielle reached for her hand and held it with a smile.  

“Things around here have been pretty tense lately. Maybe we just need to release some of that pressure. What did you have in mind?” Xena’s smirk deepened, but before she could answer, a sharp knock came at the door.  Gabrielle got up before Xena could move. She opened it to find Marcia fidgeting in the hallway. 

“Marcia? What’s up? Xena was just about to get some shut eye. The baby’s got her tired.” 

“Can I talk to her, just for a second? I swear it won’t be long.” 

Gabrielle hesitated, then opened the door wider. “Yeah, come in.” 

Marcia stepped inside. The moment her eyes met Xena’s, she saw the cold look waiting for her. Her words tumbled out fast. “I know you don’t trust me being here and being with Livia, but I just want you to know that I love her. I would never hurt her.” Xena didn’t say a word. 

Marcia gave a quick nod, her shoulders tight. “That’s all I wanted to say.” She nodded once more at Gabrielle, then slipped out the door. The door clicked shut, leaving the room quiet again. 

Gabrielle turned back toward the bed. “You could’ve said something.” 

Xena settled deeper against the pillows, her hand on her stomach. “She’s trying to play on my emotions. I’d never bite that.” 

Gabrielle let out a breath, then smiled. “You ready for that walk?” 

Xena shook her head lightly. “Think I’m gonna shut my eyes for a bit.” 

Gabrielle tilted her head. “Well, do you feel like having company tonight, or is Ares going to want you?” She shuttered at his name. 

Xena smiled. “I can always use company like yours.” 

Gabrielle slipped into the bed beside her, settling in close. After a quiet moment she asked, “Is Marcia being Roman and apart of Eve’s past the reason you don’t trust her?”  

Xena’s eyes stayed on the ceiling. “You gotta watch people like her. Eve’s told her more than once her name isn’t Livia anymore, but she still calls her that.” 

Gabrielle rested her hand on Xena’s belly. “Well, maybe it’s just habit. That’s like if I found out yesterday your name was Lucy.” 

Xena scoffed, “That’s ridiculous.” 

Gabrielle laughed and kept going. “I’d still call you Xena. You can’t expect her to change it overnight.” 

Xena grew quiet, her hand smoothing over her stomach. “Gabrielle...that thing I said before about this baby.” Her voice dropped low. “I don’t know what came over me. Believe it or not, I’m happy I get another chance at this. Hopefully I won’t screw it up again.” 

Gabrielle turned toward her, gently cupping her face so their eyes met. “We won’t let that happen. You have me and you have Eve. And I’m sure if it came down to it, Eve would fight for this baby just as hard as we would.” Xena’s eyes softened, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little as she leaned into Gabrielle’s touch. 

She settled back on the pillow. “Gabrielle, remind me to sit in boiling hot water tomorrow once we burn this mattress.” Gabrielle laughed as she got comfortable beside her. “Anything for you, Xena.” 

Gabrielle slept soundly beside her, but Xena couldn’t rest. She tossed and turned for hours. Each time she finally settled into the mattress and let her body relax, that intoxicating scent hit her nose. Ares. It yanked her awake again and again. 

Then she felt him. Her eyes snapped open and she sat up fast, scanning the room. His presence wasn’t strong enough to mean he was inside. Xena looked at Gabrielle, who was still peacefully snoring. She slipped on her sandals and walked out the back door. 

Getting comfortable on the bench, she asked in the night air, “What do you want?” 

Ares appeared right in front of her, smiling like he owned the place. “Oh, how I’ve missed that.” 

Her voice stayed flat. “What do you want?” He reached for her hand and pulled her up to stand in front of him. His eyes studied her face. She gave him nothing, though her chest tightened and her pulse quickened. 

“You really don’t remember what we talked about or anything that happened at the farmhouse?” he asked. 

She let out a sharp sigh and shook her head. “Nothing. When I try, it’s foggy.” 

“That’s alright,” he said, slipping one arm behind her waist. He brought her closer. “It went something like this.” 

His eyes stayed locked on hers as he leaned in, his mouth stopping a breath away from her lips. Xena’s body went tense. She tried to keep her face calm, but her eyes lingered on his mouth. He looked infuriatingly good...hungry eyes locked on her and lips so close she could almost taste them. Without thinking, she licked her own lips. 

“Ares.” 

He didn’t move. His voice dropped low, a breath away from her mouth. “Why fight it? No one can see us.” 

“There’s nothing to fight,” she said. Her voice was steady, but she wanted him to kiss her, wanted it badly enough that her body leaned towards him. 

He smiled knowingly. “Oh, I think there’s something.” 

Then he kissed her. Slow. Soft. She didn’t resist. Couldn’t resist. She let herself melt into it, her lips pressing back against his while his hold on her tightened, pulling her against his chest until she felt every part of him. 

The kiss lingered, unhurried, his lips brushing hers in a way that left her breath short. She tasted him and it sent a rush through her chest that made her grip tighten on his arm. Her body softened even more against him even though her mind screamed to hold the line. 

Ares angled his head, deepening it just enough, and she let him. Her lips parted under his, meeting him stroke for stroke, every movement deliberate, like they were testing how far the other would go. Her heart hammered so hard she could feel it against his chest. 

When his hands pulled at her hips, she didn’t fight it. His arms wrapped tight around her waist as her hand slid up from his arm into his hair, her fingers tangling in the thick strands. She pulled him closer, answering the heat of his mouth with her own. 

The room was dark while Eve slept soundly on the bed. Marcia sat at the window and counted stars. It was a calm and peaceful night, and a full moon was smiling back at her. Amphipolis was beautiful at night, she had to give that to them. 

Then, movement outside caught her eye. Xena walked out the back door and sat on the bench. Marcia leaned forward, thinking it might be the right moment to try again and talk to her. Before she could make her mind up, Ares appeared. 

Her lips parted, ready to call his name. She thought he must have come looking for Livia and she would save him the trouble. But then he stepped toward Xena. 

Her eyes widened as she stared through the open shutters, unable to look away. Ares pulled Xena close, and when his mouth met hers, Marcia’s jaw dropped. The kiss grew heated, his hands on her waist, and Marcia’s chest pounded so hard it hurt. 

Her thoughts raced. The last time she’d seen Ares, he was with Livia. Now he was here with Xena, kissing her like she belonged to him. Panic built in her chest. What was happening? 

She glanced toward the bed, ready to shake Eve, but her hand froze. What would she even say? How could she be the one to tell her friend that her mother was with the God of War? The news would destroy her. Marcia’s stomach twisted as she leaned against the shutters, her breath coming fast while her mind spun in chaos. 

Xena pulled back from the kiss, her breath uneven. Ares’ eyes stayed on her, softer than she’d ever seen, a look meant only for her. His hand lifted and pressed against her stomach. 

“Have you felt the baby move yet?” he asked. 

She nodded and smiled soft. “I felt the first flutter today.” 

Ares lowered himself to his knees, his hands glowing faintly as they pressed against her stomach. A slow smiled spread across his face, but then his face changed. A grim look settled there, his brows creasing as if something wasn’t right. 

Xena’s chest tightened. “What’s wrong?” He didn’t answer. His eyes stayed on her stomach, his expression conflicting, almost confused. 

Her heart pounded in her ears. “Ares,” she said again, sharper this time. “What’s wrong? Is it my baby?” Still, no answer. 

Fear tore through her and her throat burned as tears gathered. Xena’s grip tightened on his arm as she pulled him up. Her voice broke through the night. 

“Tell me what’s wrong!” Ares stared at her, his mouth parting, but no words came out. Her breath caught. She covered her mouth, her eyes stinging as a tear slid down her cheek.  

“Is our baby dead?” she whispered. He shook his head slowly, as if gathering his thoughts. His voice came low but sure.  

“It’s a boy. We’re having a son.” 

Xena’s mouth fell open. “A boy,” she repeated, stunned. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Is he okay?” 

Ares shook his head quickly, steadying his tone. “Yeah. Strong heartbeat.” Her eyes narrowed, searching his face.  

“Then what are you not telling me?” 

He didn’t answer. Instead, his hands slid around her waist, pulling her small belly into him. His voice dropped low, thick with pride. “Our son, Xena. We’re having a son.” Reality slammed into her and she shoved his hands away.  

“We aren’t some kind of family now, Ares. Don’t twist this into something it’s not.” 

She turned to leave, but his hand shot out and caught her arm. His grip was firm enough to hold her still, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that refused to let her go. 

“What do you call it then, Xena? A man, a woman, and their child. Screams family to me.” 

She scoffed. “You want to know what I call it? Greed. A bad reminder. A prisoner chained to you for life.”  

Ares’ smirk faded and his jaw tightened. For a moment his eyes burned with anger. He stepped closer, his voice low and rough. 

“You can spit all the venom you want, Xena, but it doesn’t change what we are. You can call it chains, I call it ours. And deep down, you feel it too.” 

“It’s not fair to my baby to bring him into a life full of chaos,” Xena said. “A child should be made from love, not desperation and deceit.” 

Ares’ face hardened. “He was made with love, Xena. You can try to deny it all you want, but when we made him, you loved me on that bed just like I loved you.” 

Her eyes burned into his. “You only love yourself.” She turned and stormed back inside, leaving him standing in the yard, his jaw tight as he watched her go. 

At first, she thought maybe she imagined it. Maybe it wasn’t what it looked like. But when Ares dropped to his knees and pressed his glowing hands against Xena’s stomach, her heart skipped. 

Her thoughts spun. Could it be his? Was this his child? 

Then she saw the way his face changed. The pride, the possession in his eyes as he looked at Xena and claimed the baby as his own. Her chest tightened and her mouth went dry. 

It hit her all at once. This wasn’t a guess anymore. This was real. Xena’s child belonged to the God of War. Marcia pushed back from the window. Her legs felt weak as she moved to the desk and dropped into the chair. Her hands shook while she pulled out parchment and her feather. She started to write and the words came fast, driven by fear with every line. When she finished, she folded the parchment and tucked it into her satchel. The secret sat heavy there, waiting. 

The knock on the tavern door came sharp and desperate. They were just finishing up breakfast. Gabrielle moved first, opening it to find a weary young man leaning against the frame, his face pale and dirt streaked. 

“Is Xena here?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “Some villagers said she came this way.” 

“Who wants to know?” Xena’s tone cut from the table. 

The man stepped inside, trembling as he pulled a crumpled note from his tunic. “I barely escaped with my life. My father told me to find a hero, to give this to them. This is as far as I could run. I was looking for Hercules, he’s still strong, but when I got here, they told me to ask for the legend...Xena.” 

Xena snatched the note and opened it. Gabrielle, Eve, and Marcia all stood wide-eyed, waiting for her to speak. 

Her eyes skimmed the page, then she read outloud. “The village of Thalos is under siege. Raiders have taken the walls, burning houses and taking captives. They’ve already killed the headman. They need someone strong enough to drive them out before nothing’s left.” 

The young man’s shoulders sagged with relief. “You’ll help us?” 

Xena folded the note and passed it to Gabrielle. “We’ll help you” 

The man’s eyes filled with tears. He dropped to his knees, hands clasped. “Praise the gods, praise the gods.” He stumbled back out into the morning light, half laughing, half crying, his voice carrying down the road as he rejoiced. 

Gabrielle looked at Xena. “When do we leave?” 

“Once we’re ready,” Xena said. 

Marcia leaned forward, her eyes bright. “Can I come?” 

“No,” Xena said. The word was sharp and immediate. Xena turned and walked for the stairs. 

Gabrielle gave Marcia a soft, apologetic smile before following her up. She found Xena in their room, pulling gear together. “What was that about?” she asked. 

Xena’s jaw was tight. “I’m not fighting with a Roman watching my back. She can go back to Rome or anywhere else, as long as it’s away from us.” 

Gabrielle nodded, then stepped closer, her voice quiet. “If what we read in that letter is true, we could use all the help we can get.” 

“Not from a Roman,” Xena snapped. “Can’t trust them.” 

Gabrielle touched her arm with a gentle smile. “Then how about this—I’ll watch your back like I always have, and let Eve handle Marcia. Eve trusts her. Maybe she’s not all that horrible.” 

Xena’s shoulders eased as she let out a long breath. “Fine. But I’m not watching out for her. If she can’t hold her own ground, she’ll be killed.” She strapped her weapons across her back and walked out the room without another word. 

Not too long after the man had left, the three of them were gathered outside their home under the bright morning light with their packs strapped and ready. Gabrielle adjusted the strap on her saddle before mounting her horse. Xena walked steady to her horse, checked the reins, and climbed on smooth. Eve followed with her bag. Marcia grinned and patted the back of her saddle. 

“Hop on with me.” Eve smiled. She climbed up behind her and put her arms around Marcia’s waist. Marcia pulled her mare forward. The bridle and saddle were decorated with Roman markings, crimson leather edged in bronze. Xena’s eyes caught it, and she let out a quiet groan but turned away. 

Marcia smirked. “What? She’s Roman bred. Stronger, faster, built for war. Not some village horse.” 

Gabrielle clicked her reins and started trotting down the road. Xena’s jaw tightened, and she urged Argo forward, trotting up fast until she rode right beside Gabrielle. They were becoming irritated already and the road to Thalos had only just begun. 

Xena kept her eyes forward. “We’ll stop in Arona on the way. I need to pick up a battlefield outfit. Don’t know what we’re riding into, so I have to be ready for anything.” 

Gabrielle nodded. “That’s smart. Better to have it and not need it than be caught unprepared.” Xena gave the reins a light snap, the two of them keeping pace together as the road stretched ahead. Behind them, Marcia’s mare kept an easy pace. 

Marcia’s eyes stayed on Xena, her voice full of awe. “I never dreamed I’d be going into battle with the Destroyer of Nations.” 

Eve let out a slow breath. “She’s more than that now.” 

Marcia smirked. “Oooh yea, I know. But the way people said her name in Rome... it carried weight. The fear. The respect. That’s the kind of shadow most daughters dream of standing in.” 

Eve looked away, the wind tugging loose strands of her hair. “I remember,” she said quietly. “But that’s not who I am anymore.” 

Marcia gave a short laugh. “Not who you are, but who you were. Big difference. You don’t just lose that kind of power, Livia. It doesn’t vanish because you changed your name.” 

Eve’s grip around her waist tightened. “It’s not about power. I chose a different path.” 

Marcia’s smirk softened into a half-grin. “Sure. You can talk about peace and love all you want, but I watched you lead. You lit up when people listened, when they followed. You don’t forget what that feels like.” Eve swallowed hard. She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. 

“Don’t worry,” Marcia added, her voice dropping. “I won’t tell your mommy dearest. She might not want to hear it, but I know the truth. Livia is still in there.” 

Marcia glanced at her with a grin. “Well, since you’ve found your mother... did she tell you who your father is? I bet he was a great warrior too. Maybe even a God.” 

Eve stiffened slightly. “No,” she said flatly near a whisper. “She’s never told me.” 

Marcia chuckled under her breath. “Then he must’ve been someone important. A man like that doesn’t just vanish. With blood like hers, you had to come from strength on both sides.” Eve turned her eyes away, biting down on the inside of her cheek. 

Marcia’s grin widened. “So she really hasn’t told you anything? That sucks. Do you ever wonder?” 

Eve’s jaw tightened. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“Of course it matters,” Marcia teased, tilting her head back to look at her. “You’ve got half your blood missing. Don’t you ever lie awake wondering who he was? If he’d be proud of you? Or if he’d hate what you became?” 

Eve shook her head sharply. “Drop it, Marcia.” 

Marcia laughed, unbothered. “You don’t have to tell me. I’ll just ask her myself.” 

Eve’s eyes went wide. “No, you wouldn’t dare.” 

Marcia smirked, her voice playful. “Watch me.” 

“Hey, Xena!” Marcia called out, her voice carrying down the road. 

Eve hissed under her breath, tugging at her arm. “Marcia, don’t—” 

Xena let out a long sigh, looking over at Gabrielle, then yanked her reins. Her horse spun all the way around, Argo’s hooves cutting the dirt as she faced them head-on. Her eyes narrowed and Eve could see the irritation in her face. 

Marcia straightened in the saddle, waving a hand like it was nothing. “How much farther until we stop?” Eve let out a shaky breath. 

“Why, is the Roman mare getting tired?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned her horse back around and kept trotting beside Gabrielle. Eve let out a groan, dropping her forehead against Marcia’s back.  

“I told you not to push her.” Marcia just grinned, unbothered. She leaned back a little in the saddle with a sneaky smile.  

“Speaking of fathers... who’s your mother’s new baby daddy? Maybe you two have the same one.” 

“No!” Eve snapped, sharper than she meant. She caught herself and let out a quick laugh, shaking her head. “No. We don’t have the same father. Trust me.” 

Marcia smirked wider. “So, you do know who the father is?” Eve’s jaw tightened. She drew a breath, then forced a smile as she looked away. 

“What about you? What’ve you been up to since Rome?” Marcia let out a low laugh, clearly amused by the dodge, but she didn’t press her...at least not yet. 

“Since you left, I’ve been trying to become Rome’s champion. Thought maybe I could fill your shoes.” 

Eve’s brows lifted, surprise flashing across her face. “Rome’s champion?” 

Marcia grinned. “Why not? Someone had to take your place. You vanished, Octavius needed strength, and I was right there. I might not be you, Livia, but I’m not far off.” 

Eve’s stomach turned at the name, at the pride in Marcia’s tone. She looked away, her voice quieter. “That’s not something to be proud of.” 

Marcia only smirked wider, her eyes bright. “Spoken like someone who’s forgotten what it feels like to have the world bow to you.” The words hung between them, Marcia smirking, Eve staring off at the horizon. Neither spoke for a while.  

Gabrielle glanced back again and caught the way Eve’s shoulders tensed under Marcia’s words. Her brow creased. “She looks uncomfortable today,” she murmured. 

Xena’s eyes stayed forward. “It’s those memories Marcia keeps digging up.” 

Gabrielle sighed. “Maybe it was a bad idea to bring her along after all.” 

Xena gave her a playful, knowing look. 

“I know, I know,” Gabrielle said with a half-smile. “It’s too late now. Hopefully Marcia can come to see who Eve is today and accept her for that.” 

Xena’s smirk sharpened. “And if she doesn’t, she and her “Roman” mare can take their asses straight back to Rome.” Both of them laughed as their horses trotted down the road, leaving the tension behind them. 

Far away, the loom of destiny hummed in the shadows. Ares stepped into the chamber of the Fates. Their three voices rose together, cold and certain. 

“Welcome, God of War. We’ve been expecting you.”              

Chapter Text

Chapter 15: The Choice 

The air in the loom room felt old and alive. The sound of the threads filled the space like a pulse that never stopped. Ares stood in the center of the glow, the light crawling over his armor while the three women worked without looking up. 

Clotho spoke first. “You bring uneasiness with you, God of War.” 

Ares smirked faintly as his voice cut through the hum. “You think I’m uneasy? You should see me when I actually start to worry.” 

Lachesis traced her finger along a golden thread, measuring its length. “Then ask what sits heavy on your mind.” 

He took a slow step closer, his jaw tight. “When I was with Xena, I felt two souls flowing inside her. But I only heard one heartbeat.” His voice dropped lower. 

“What does that mean?” 

Light ran across the blade when Atropos lowered her scissors to the table. “It means both life and silence share her womb.” 

He frowned. “Don’t talk in riddles.” 

Clotho finally raised her head. “Two children grow inside the mortal one. A son and a daughter. One’s heart beats in time with hers. The other’s heart waits.” 

Ares blinked once, his voice sharp. “Waits?” 

“She lives in limbo,” Lachesis said. “Her thread is spun but not alive in the weave.” 

Ares stepped closer, his eyes locked on the moving strands. “Then fix it. You’re the Fates. Make her live.” 

Atropos tilted her head slightly. “We do not fix what was chosen before time began.” 

“I’m not asking,” he threatened. “I’m telling you.” 

Clotho’s voice stayed calm. “You demand life from death, yet you are the reason her thread lies still.” 

His brow creased. “What?” 

“You turned from your birthright,” Lachesis said. “You defied Olympus. You tied yourself to a mortal and seeded your blood in her flesh. Now the curse of that choice runs through the womb that carries your line.” 

Ares’ grin flickered. “A curse? You think loving her cursed me?” 

“You broke the order,” Atropos said. “Gods are bound to gods. You belong to Olympus. You always have. The blood of war was meant to serve the throne, not fight it.” 

He let out a laugh, low and dangerous. “So that’s what this is. Olympus wants its soldier back.” 

Clotho met his stare. “We speak of truth, not want. The Olympians are your one true family. That has been the law since the beginning of time.” 

Ares folded his arms, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “And what? If I crawl back to them, everything’s fixed?” 

Lachesis didn’t flinch. “If you stand with the Olympians, both of your children will live. The second child’s heart will beat. The balance will be restored.” 

He stilled. “And if I don’t?” 

Atropos’ cold eyes met his. “If you stand with the mortal one, neither child will draw breath. She will give birth to death itself.” 

The words hung in the air. Ares stared at the threads, his throat tight though he would never show it. “You’re saying—if I side with Xena, I lose both of them.” 

Clotho’s voice softened but stayed steady. “The loom favors truth. The mortal one cannot carry what was never meant to exist.” 

He laughed again, louder this time. “You really expect me to betray them? To walk away from her so my children can live without me?” 

“You will not save them by standing beside her,” Lachesis said. “You will damn them. Her body will bear the weight of your rebellion, and she will know loss deeper than any wound.” 

His jaw clenched and he fought himself to keep from blasting the whole loom altogether. Atropos kept her head down. “Do you want her to suffer because of you?” 

He looked at them one by one, his breathing uneven. “You think I’d trade her for power? For Olympus?” 

Clotho’s tone turned sharper. “You will trade her for life. The choice is not about love. It is about order. About the blood that built the world.” 

“Then that blood’s rotten,” he said. 

Lachesis let the thread glide through her fingers. “It is cursed. You made it so when you tied it to a mortal’s heart.” 

Ares moved closer to the loom. The light burned along his armor. “I didn’t tie it. I chose her.” 

“Then choose again,” Atropos said. “Choose between love and legacy. Between the mortal one and the gods who made you.” 

He shook his head and let out a humorless laugh. “You want me to crawl back to Olympus and call them my family.” 

“They are,” Clotho said. “They were before the world learned your name.” 

“And you want me to look at her,” he said quietly, “and pretend I don’t care.” 

Lachesis’ tone didn’t waver. “Pretend nothing. Deny her. Deny them. Say the words that return you to where you belong.” 

He looked down at the threads, saw two that glowed brighter than the rest. They pulsed faintly, one steady, the other still. His hand hovered over them but didn’t touch. “And my daughter, she’ll live if I do this?” 

Atropos’ voice cut through him. “The moment you side with the Olympians, her heart will beat.” 

He stayed silent. The sound of the loom filled the room again. His expression hardened and the humor drained from his face. “You’re asking me to give up the only thing I’ve ever loved.” 

“You were never meant to love,” Clotho said. “You just forgot your purpose.” 

He stared at her, his voice cold now. “Then remember this. If either of my children dies because of you or because of them, Olympus won’t have a throne left to stand on.” 

Atropos raised her scissors slightly. “Threats mean nothing here. The threads already move.” Ares turned away, his chest heaving. The golden light slid over his shoulders as he headed for the door. 

“Make your choice, God of War,” Lachesis said behind him. “You cannot keep both worlds.” 

He stopped for half a breath, eyes fixed on the dark hallway ahead. “Then may the world regret whichever one I burn.” 

He stormed out, the sound of his boots echoing through the chamber. The loom kept humming, steady and patient, while deep within the weave, one faint thread began to tremble, waiting for the god who had yet to choose. 

Lightning ripped across the sky as Ares appeared inside his temple. The air itself bent with his anger. Fire burst from the torches before his feet even touched the ground. The priestesses froze where they stood, their chants dying in their throats. 

“Lord Ares?” one whispered. 

“Out!” 

His voice cracked the air like thunder. Every door flung open from the force of it. The priestesses ran, their skirts catching the rising heat as the flames followed them down the halls. 

He stood there breathing hard while heat rolled through the room. The flames along the walls swayed with every breath he took. His eyes locked on the nearest statue of Xena, its stone face calm where his wasn’t. 

The firelight moved over her carved features, and for a moment he almost reached out. Then his hands closed into fists and disappeared.  

The next breath he took was inside his private chamber. The bed stood at the center, massive, covered in dark silk that caught the glow from the firelight. Ares stood still for a long moment, staring at it. His throat tightened. 

He stepped closer, slow, every move heavy like he was walking through what was left of himself. His hand touched the edge of the sheet. The silk slipped through his fingers, smooth and cold. 

He dragged his palm across it and the memory replayed through his mind. Her body beneath his. The warmth of her skin. The curve of her back when he pulled her closer. The way she breathed his name against his neck. 

He closed his eyes. The room changed around him. He could almost feel her again, the way her legs wrapped around him and the soft sound that left her lips when he kissed her throat. 

Her blue eyes had caught the light that night. He remembered her eyes meeting his, wild and open with the same fire she carried into every fight. His breath caught in his chest. The ghost of her moan echoed through his mind, faint but sharp enough to break him. 

He gripped the sheets harder. His jaw tightened. For a moment, he wasn’t a god. He was a man who remembered how it felt to hold her and know she wanted him too. 

Their mouths met again, deep and hungry, the kind of kiss that made him forget where he ended and she began. Every breath, every heartbeat, pulled them closer until love and fire moved through them, creating the children born from that moment. He remembered the way she moved beneath him, the way her breath caught when he pushed deeper, a sound that still echoed in his mind.  

Her hands ran over his back, her nails dragging against his skin like she was trying to keep him there forever. He kissed her throat, her shoulder, the curve of her neck, tasting the sweat on her skin and the strength that lived in her. Every part of her felt alive against him, every touch a promise that she wanted him too. 

For once, there was no fight between them, no armor, no battle for control. There was only the woman he loved and the way she gave herself to him, the only moment where war turned to worship. Ares opened his eyes. The bed was empty. His hand still rested on the silk. The silence around him felt cruel. 

He whispered her name once, quiet and hoarse. “Xena.” 

“Why in Tartarus would I ever betray you?” he said under his breath. His voice broke. He laughed louder and louder. The laugh turned wild until it filled the whole temple. He threw his head back and shouted at the ceiling. 

“That’s it!” His voice thundered through the chamber. “I’m in Tartarus! I must be the new ruler of the Underworld because the God of War is not forced to do anything!” 

The air exploded with heat. Fire shot from his hands and tore through the room. Pillars burst apart. Stone cracked and fell. Flames swallowed Xena’s statues one by one. He threw another fireball, his face twisted in fury. The sound it made was like the sky breaking open. 

“They think I’ll give her up?” He hurled another blast that shattered a wall. 

“They think I’ll let them die?” The altar behind him split in half. Gold ornaments melted into the cracks on the floor. His eyes glowed red through the smoke. 

“She’s mine!” he shouted. “Those babies carry my blood and my name. No one will take them from me!” Fire roared around him. The ceiling split open and a rain of sparks poured down, lighting the temple like the mouth of a volcano. 

He slammed his foot into the side of the bed, sending it crashing against the wall. The frame cracked under the force while the canopy shook above it. He ripped the sheets apart and grabbed the carved headboard, hurling it across the room until it splintered against the stone. 

He dragged his hands through his hair again, his breath ragged, his chest rising and falling like he’d fought a war. “I love her,” he said low, his voice shaking now. “I’ve always loved her.” 

He fell to his knees in the wreckage. The floor cracked beneath him, and fire crept around the edges of his hands. He pressed his palms to the stone, but the power wouldn’t calm. It burned hotter. He lifted his face toward the open roof and shouted until his voice broke.  

“You can’t make me choose!” 

The loud sound echoed throughout the temple as the remnants fell. The flames crawled up the walls until the whole room burned, leaving Ares in the center on his knees with firelight flickering in his eyes 

“Xena,” he whispered. “I’d burn Olympus itself before I lose you.” The fire answered him, rising high enough to touch the storm. 

The room was finally quiet except for the low crackle of fire. Smoke curled around the ceiling where the storm had torn through, and the air smelled like ash and wine. Ares laid across the broken bed, one arm hanging off the edge, the other wrapped around a half-empty bottle. His vest was off. His hair stuck to his forehead. Every breath came slow and heavy. 

The air shimmered once, soft and pink. Aphrodite appeared inside the chamber. She didn’t speak right away. Her eyes swept over the broken walls, the scorch marks, the torn silk sheets twisted beneath him. 

“Ares,” Aphrodite said, walking beside the bed. “Your temper’s getting worse. I can smell heartbreak from halfway across Olympus.” 

He groaned without moving. “Go away, Dite.” 

She ignored him, glancing around at the wreckage. “You’ve really lost it this time. What was it, another fight with your warrior queen?” 

His eyes flicked toward her, dark and tired. “You talk too much.” 

“That’s because you don’t talk at all.” She walked closer, her heels clicking softly on the marble. “So, what’s it this time? You and her can’t agree on what to name the baby? She decided she likes mortals again?” 

He sat up halfway and shot her a look. “Don’t.” 

Her smirk faded. “Okay... not that, then.” She eased down on the edge of the bed. “You’ve got that look, the one you get when something’s eating you alive.” 

He tilted the bottle, took a drink, and stared at the wall. “You wouldn’t understand.” 

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “You’d be surprised.” 

He gave a short laugh, bitter and humorless. “No. You wouldn’t.” 

Aphrodite frowned. “Try me.” 

When Ares finally met her gaze, his eyes were red at the edges. “Tell me something, Dite.” 

“Anything.” 

“If the Fates told you to choose,” he said slowly, “between your husband and your son or between the rest of Olympus, what would you do?” 

She blinked. “That’s not the same—” 

“It’s exactly the same,” he cut in. “Could you do it? Could you stand there and pick who lives and who dies, who you love and who you betray?” 

Aphrodite’s face softened. “Ares...” 

He laughed once, sharp and broken. “You can’t answer, can you?” 

She hesitated, her voice quiet. “No.” 

“Then don’t act like you can fix me.” He took another drink. “You feel my heartbreak because that’s your domain, but you’ll never understand what it costs to be me.” 

She watched him for a long time and the playfulness in her eyes disappeared. “You really love her,” she said softly. 

He kept staring at the floor. “I always have.” 

Aphrodite stood and moved closer to Ares on the bed. “Then whatever they asked of you, don’t let it turn you into something worse.” 

He glanced up with a half-smile across his face. “Too late.” 

“Maybe you misunderstood, Ares. You know how they talk...all that dead, creepy code they use to sound wiser than they are.” 

He laughed once, sharp and dry. “No. They were clear.” He looked at her straight on. “Either I side with you all and Xena and our children live, or I side with Xena and our children die.” 

Aphrodite blinked, her brow creasing. “Children?” She covered her mouth, and her voice came out a whisper filled with disbelief. 

“Ares.... are you saying that Eve is—” 

He cut her off fast. “Hell no. Xena’s pregnant—with twins.” 

Her eyes widened. “Twins?” Her lips parted into a grin. “You’re serious? We haven’t had twins in the family in centuries!” 

She stepped closer, beaming. “That’s huge, Ares! Two little demi-gods? Do you even realize what that means?” He stared past her like he didn’t hear a word. The silence made her smile drop. 

“A boy and a girl. Two lives with the woman I love.” He set the bottle down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And if I even try to show love towards her or them, they’ll die.” His voice roughened, breaking mid-sentence. 

“I’m being robbed of being a father.” The words lingered in the air, soft and full of pain. Aphrodite’s heart broke seeing him stare at the floor with tense shoulders and white knuckles. 

“Ares...” she whispered. He ran a hand through his hair and his voice came out shaking with anger.