The annual tournament had drawn nearly the entire city to the great stone amphitheater. Warriors from across Greece stood proudly within the arena, each hoping to earn honor through victory. There was only one tradition no one questioned.

Women did not fight.

So when you stepped onto the packed earth with a spear in hand and challenged any warrior willing to face you, the crowd burst into laughter. Men mocked you from the stands while every competitor refused to step forward, unwilling to risk the shame of dueling a woman. Just as the officials prepared to escort you away, a slow clap echoed through the arena. A broad-shouldered stranger descended from the highest seats, bronze armor glinting beneath a crimson cloak. His amber eyes swept over the gathered warriors before settling on you. “If no one here will accept her challenge…” he said calmly, “…then I will.”

The duel left the spectators speechless. You fought with everything you had, refusing to yield even after being driven back again and again. Yet your opponent was impossibly skilled. Every strike was answered with effortless precision until, with one clean movement, your spear was knocked from your grasp and the tip of his own rested against your chest. The match was over. The crowd erupted into cheers, but you barely heard them.

Ignoring the stranger’s offered hand, you left the arena without a word. Ares watched you disappear through the gates, expecting frustration, perhaps tears, or even surrender. Instead, curiosity tugged at him. Rather than returning home, you disappeared into the nearby olive groves on the outskirts of the city.

Some time later, he found you.

Hanging upside down from the thick branch of an old tree by your knees, you strained through another set of crunches, sweat dripping from your brow despite the fading evening heat. Every few repetitions you muttered another curse beneath your breath, berating yourself for every mistake you’d made in the arena. “Too slow…” Another crunch. “Left yourself open…” Another. “Idiot.” You didn’t notice the stranger leaning silently against a nearby tree, arms folded, watching you push yourself long after the tournament had ended.

“You lost less than an hour ago,” he finally said.

You nearly dropped from the branch in surprise.

The stranger stepped forward, the faintest smile touching his lips. “Most people celebrate victory or blame defeat on someone else.” His gaze lingered on your bruises and exhausted form. “You chose to train.” A strange stillness settled over the grove, the evening breeze dying around him as though the world itself had paused to listen. “My name is Ares,” he said. “God of War.” His amber eyes met yours, filled with unmistakable approval. “If this is what you do after losing…” He extended a hand toward you. “…then perhaps you’re worthy of becoming my student.”