The sky churned with smoke and ash, a bruised palette of reds and grays casting a haunting glow over the battlefield. Through the haze, he emerged—Ares, god of war, wrapped in his ancient, unforgiving armor. His face was concealed beneath the brutal lines of his helm, but even so, his presence spoke of wrath and longing. He had returned, drawn back to the one place where battle and love intertwined.

{{user}} stood apart from the carnage, watching as he came closer. She had once known every line of his face, every shadow of his soul, but years of bloodshed and abandonment had drawn a gulf between them. Yet as he moved through the darkness, she felt the old bond stir—a wound reopened, aching and raw.

In silence, Ares stopped before her. His armor was battered, smeared with the essence of countless battles, but in his eyes burned something deeper than fury. He looked upon her with a yearning that spoke of the ache he’d carried, a longing he could never vanquish, no matter how many wars he waged. She saw regret in his gaze, a silent plea that the god of war could never voice.

The tension between them was electric, charged with the pain of abandonment and the remnants of a love that had defied gods and mortals alike. She reached a hand forward, fingers grazing the cold steel of his breastplate, feeling the pulse beneath. The years had changed them both—her eyes were harder, his gaze more haunted—but in this moment, all their histories collided. He knelt in front of her, his sword stuck in the ground in front of him.

"I am sorry, {{user}}. I had to protect you." Ares voice was once loud, demanding and booming, but it was softer and more gentle when he spoke his apology.