The Return Of the God Of War

FATHERS AND FLAMES

Ares didn’t sleep that night.

While Mira and Elijah rested in the med-bunker, wrapped in peace they had long been denied, he sat outside beneath the concrete awning, elbows on knees, eyes fixed on the city slowly rebirthing itself. Lin City, for the first time in years, was quiet -not because it was dead, but because it had finally exhaled.

His hands were still bloodstained, knuckles split. The fight with Victor Wu had been short, brutal - and necessary. But the victory hadn’t cleansed him. Not really.

“You look like a man still waiting for the war to start,” said a voice behind him.

Ares didn’t turn. “I’m waiting for the part where it’s actually over.”

Reyes stepped into the light, carrying two cups of bitter soldier’s coffee. He handed one over. “You’ve done enough, brother.”

“No,” Ares said. “Not yet.”

Reyes sat beside him, grimacing as he lowered himself to the cold step. “You’re still thinking about Fallujah.”

“Always,” Ares said softly. “Wu showed the footage for a reason. He thought it would shatter everything I’ve built since then.”

“And did it?”

Ares took a slow sip. The bitter liquid grounded him.

“No,” he said. “Because I’m not hiding from it anymore. I carried the weight of what I did like a badge and a curse. But I never shared it. Never gave them the chance to decide who I really was.”

Reyes nodded slowly. “And now?”

“Now they know,” Ares said. “The blood. The fire. The mercy. The truth.”

Reyes was quiet for a long time. Then he said, “You ever think about what comes next? I mean... after this?”

Ares let out a breath. “No more towers. No more kings. Maybe a quiet place. A field. A son I can teach how to fight... not with fists, but with conviction.”

“You think peace will fit you?”

Ares gave a faint, tired smile. “I’m not sure peace has to fit. Maybe it just needs to be worn until it does.”

They sat in silence until dawn began to color the horizon with soft amber.

Then Monk appeared, his coat stained with soot and blood, but his eyes clearer than Ares had ever seen. “She wants to see you.”

Ares rose instantly. “Elijah?”

“Stable,” Monk said. “Stronger than he looks. But it’s not him asking.”

Ares followed Monk through the winding corridors of the bunker, past recovering soldiers, makeshift hospital beds, and scattered remnants of resistance.

They reached a private room. Mira stood inside, arms crossed, but not in defiance - in protection. She looked up as Ares entered, and for a moment, neither of them said anything.

Then she spoke.

“You didn’t break,” she said quietly.

Ares stepped closer. “Neither did you.”

Mira studied him. “Wu showed me that footage, too. I saw what he tried to make of you.”

“And what did you see?” he asked.

“A man who didn’t run,” she said. “Who didn’t flinch. Who held his brothers in his arms and carried them out of hell. You were brutal, yes... but only because the world you were thrown into demanded it.”

Her voice trembled. “He wanted me to see a monster. I saw my husband.”

Ares swallowed hard. “I never stopped being that. Not really.”

She stepped toward him. “No... but you buried it so deep, I couldn’t find you.”

Their eyes locked. All the silence of the years pressed in.

“I made choices,” she whispered. “And I hated you for making me live with them.”

“I made worse ones,” he said. “But I came back to make them right.”

“You did,” she said. “And now I don’t know what comes next.”

He reached for her hand. She didn’t pull away.

“Then let’s figure it out together.”

Behind them, Elijah stirred in his bed, and the moment broke gently, as if touched by grace.

...

Later that day, Ares stood atop the ruins of the former central courthouse, where Wu once passed sentence through puppets and promises. Now, the square below was filled with people - citizens, fighters, refugees - all gathered not to watch an execution or listen to a broadcast, but to witness something new.

Kara stood beside a rebuilt comm station, flanked by engineers and former Ghosts who had turned against the regime. She gave Ares a nod. “They’re ready.”

He stepped forward, heart thudding -not from fear, but from unfamiliarity.

He was about to speak to them as Ares the man... not the myth.

“People of Lin City,” he began, voice steady, broadcast through speakers and signal towers across the skyline. “You’ve seen the worst of me. Of yourselves. Of this city.”

He let the weight of that sit before continuing.

“I don’t ask for forgiveness. I don’t demand loyalty. What I ask is this -don’t let fear decide who leads you next. Don’t build another tower just to worship the person who climbs it.”

The crowd listened in silence, breaths held.

“I fought because I had nothing left to lose. But now... I’ve got a son. A reason. A chance. And I want the same for you.”

He raised a hand to the sky, where drones once patrolled. “Take back your streets. Build something not from war... but from the memory of what you survived.”

Then he stepped away.

No applause.

Just understanding.

It was enough.

...

That night, he found Mira outside the bunker, watching stars return to a sky that had forgotten them.

He slipped beside her. No words.

She leaned into him.

After a long moment, she said, “I remember when you used to count constellations for me. Said it made you feel small.”

“It still does,” Ares murmured. “But not in a bad way.”

She looked at him, face soft. “Then count them again. This time, for both of us.”

He nodded and began - Orion, Cassiopeia, the Seven Sisters...

As his voice named the old fires in the sky, Mira rested her head on his shoulder.

And for the first time in a decade, Ares believed he wasn’t just a man returning from war.

He was a man becoming whole again.

...