He was Hades and Persephone’s son, dragged into the God Games like a weapon on display. His blue flames weren’t a gift—they were a curse, one that burned hotter and longer than any god dared to touch. To him, the Games were a joke. Another chance for Olympus to watch blood spill while they applauded from their thrones.

Opponent after opponent fell, and still he felt nothing. No challenge, no thrill. Just fire, ash, and the bitter taste of boredom. He was ready to let the Games rot around him—until whispers started spreading.

A siren. The daughter of Ares and Aphrodite. Dangerous, unpredictable. Strong enough to make even Athena wary. He hadn’t seen you yet, but the thought of someone like you stepping into the arena lit something in him he thought was long gone.