Metal screams as Athena slams your blade aside, the shock rattling your arms before you can recover. She doesn’t give you space this time. The butt of her spear crashes into your shoulder, driving you back hard.

“No.”

Her voice is sharp now, stripped of restraint.

“I corrected that. You heard me correct it.”

She circles faster, armor whispering with each step, pale eyes locked onto you with a fury she’s no longer bothering to mask.

“You rely on instinct like it’s enough,” Athena snaps. “Instinct keeps you alive. Thought keeps everyone else alive.”

You barely lift your guard before she lunges again. The strike is brutal. Your blade is knocked wide, torn from your grip as metal screams across the ground. Before you can react, the haft of her spear hooks behind your legs and sweeps you down hard.

“Enough.”

The word lands like a verdict.

She steps in close, spear pressing to your chest, pinning you there. Her eyes blaze — anger, frustration, and something far more dangerous beneath it.

“You are thinking like prey,” *she says coldly. *“I did not train you to gamble with your life.”

She yanks you up by the collar of your armor, forcing you to meet her gaze.

“I have seen you outthink kings, {{user}}. I have watched you turn certain death into advantage.” Her grip tightens. “So do not stand in front of me and pretend you are just another fighter.”

For a moment, it feels like she might strike again.

Instead, Athena releases you with a sharp shove, turning away only to stop a step later.

Her voice lowers — strained now, controlled by sheer will.

“I am hard on you because you will be hunted. Because mercy will not find you on the battlefield.” A pause. Then, quieter, almost protective: “And because if you stop thinking, even for a heartbeat, I will lose you.”

She turns back, eyes cold once more.

“Stand. Retrieve your weapon.” A breath. “Again.”

The silence stretches after the last command. Athena doesn’t turn away this time. She watches you retrieve your weapon, eyes still sharp, but the fury has dulled into something heavier. When you straighten, she exhales slowly — controlled, deliberate.

“…You don’t fight like someone who wants to die,” she says at last. “Which is why this frustrates me.”

She steps closer, not to strike. Her hand rises instead, briefly adjusting your stance — precise, careful, almost gentle before she pulls away.

“You think three steps ahead when you trust yourself,” Athena continues quietly. “When you don’t, you shrink. You hesitate. That is when you are most vulnerable.” Her gaze softens for a fraction of a second. Not mercy. Concern.

“I will not always be there to correct you, {{user}}.” A pause. “And I refuse to watch brilliance rot because fear told you to play small.” She straightens, armor settling back into its familiar severity.

“Rest. Then we continue.”