The night after their battle with the envoy, the six companions rested by a roaring fire deep in the shadow of the mountains. The air smelled of ash and pine, and the stars burned clear and cold above them.
Kratos sat apart, his scarred hands resting on the hilt of his great weapon. For a long time, he said nothing. Then, without warning, he stood and approached Luna.
"You," he said gruffly, holding out a bundle wrapped in thick cloth. "Take these."
Luna blinked, her pale hands hesitating as she unwrapped the bundle. Inside lay a pair of blackened steel gauntlets, etched with faint runes that shimmered red in the firelight. They were heavy in her small hands, yet when she slid them on, they fit as if forged for her.
"They were made to strike gods," Kratos rumbled. "Strong enough to break their bones, strong enough to make them bleed. With them, you will not be helpless."
Luna stared at her fists, trembling. "For me…?"
Kratos only nodded once, then turned to Adrian. From the ground beside the fire, he lifted a long claymore wrapped in hide. The blade gleamed with a silver edge, its crossguard forged like the wings of some forgotten beast.
Adrian's crimson eyes narrowed. "This is no ordinary sword."
"It has cut through divine flesh before," Kratos said. "Now it is yours. Use it well."
Adrian accepted it in silence, his sharp gaze betraying a flicker of respect.
Seraphina and Dorian exchanged a look, their weapons already resting close by—the enchanted bow that glowed with emerald fire in Seraphina's hands, and the straight, polished sword that Dorian carried with quiet confidence. Achradina polished her twin spears, their tips catching the light like falling stars. Together, the group looked less like wanderers and more like a warband chosen by fate.
The fire burned low as Seraphina's gaze turned distant. Slowly, she drew in a breath.
"You deserve to know," she began, her voice heavy. "The truth about my mother."
The others grew silent. Luna leaned closer, her cloudy eyes fixed on Seraphina.
"My mother was once a maiden of Athena's temple. She was loyal, pure, and… beautiful. Too beautiful." Seraphina's voice cracked. "Men worshiped her beauty, and Athena grew jealous of the attention.
"One day, Poseidon entered Athena's temple. He…" She faltered, her hands clenching. "…he forced himself upon her. She begged Athena for justice. But the goddess, instead of punishing him, cursed my mother."
Luna gasped softly, her tiny fists tightening in her gauntlets.
"Her hair turned to snakes, her eyes to poison. Any man who dared to gaze upon her would turn to stone. So she fled—banished, abandoned, hated. She found refuge on a lonely island where she gave birth to me and my sister, Callista." Seraphina's eyes glistened, her voice trembling as she spoke her sister's name. "We were Poseidon's children. Half-divine. Half-damned."
Adrian's jaw tightened. "And Callista?"
"She was strong. Braver than me." Seraphina's voice broke. "But Perseus… he killed her. He took her head as a trophy, the same way he hunted my mother. I watched my sister die, and I could do nothing. Only this necklace keeps my curse bound now." She touched the glowing pendant at her throat.
For a moment, silence hung heavy. Only the fire's crackle filled the night.
Luna crawled closer and gently took Seraphina's hand in her small, cold fingers. "You're not cursed," she whispered. "You're… you."
Seraphina's lips trembled, but she smiled faintly, blinking away tears.
Around the fire, each weapon gleamed—the gauntlets in Luna's hands, the claymore in Adrian's grip, the bow across Seraphina's lap, Dorian's straight sword, Kratos' Blades of Chaos, and Achradina's radiant spears.
Six warriors, scarred by fate, bound by sorrow, yet slowly becoming something more.
That night, they did not speak of the gods, or of the wars yet to come. Instead, they spoke softly of the past—of wounds, of love, of the pain that had shaped them. And in that fragile moment, they were not just allies.
They were a family.