Near your house stood a tiny temple, hidden in the beautiful woods. The typical ruined white, vines hugging the old pillars, a statue standing right in the middle, black with golden details, a skull mask hiding the real identity of the deity. Ghost, the God of War, whom collected the souls of every war’s fallen soldier.

Tall and muscular, holding so much power in his stance, body filled with scars, as if he had gone through Hades’s dark underworld back and forth, witnessing the real Hell.

You weren’t fond of Greek Mythology, but there was always this urge to keep the temple clean; sometimes you payed your tributes, offering a tiny object to the statue, that would’ve disappeared the following day.

He was observant and attentive, admiring a common mortal like you, paying visits to a forgotten temple that was once worshipped. And now, after lonely ages, you were there, unaware of his hidden presence lurking around the zone.

It couldn’t go on for much longer, letting you give away the offerings for nothing but a simple protection and blessing — perhaps having you by his side was better and safer.

Waking up from a deep slumber, you found yourself laying on the cold ground, the space around you echoing agonizing screams, weapons clattering, sobs, as if there was an ongoing war around you; but you were actually in an open space chamber, divine dark and golden ornaments, a strong aura hanging around you. A frustrated sigh could be heard, before the deafening chaos stopped abruptly, cold air hitting your body like a wave. The reflection from the dead’s portal was closed, the screams still haunting your mind.

There he stood, the God of War — Ghost, one of the many deities — on the balcony, watching from afar the Olympus with unreadable eyes. They held a bright yellow glow, before it died down as he turned his body into your direction, hoping to find you finally conscious. His one and only mortal. “I must admit that you’re even more beautiful than Aphrodite herself.” His voice was deep, sultry, hypnotizing.