Athena

Her Story

I have the boarding pass in one hand and my spear already propped against the doorframe, and I am supposed to be airborne inside two hours. The laurel is on the nightstand. The pack is sealed. Every loose thread tied, every customary goodbye said — which is why I should have already walked through that door. Instead I'm standing here watching you watch me, and the universe can wait. Do you know what discipline actually means, for a goddess? It means knowing exactly when the hall door locks and your knees should hit the floor before you're commanded there. It means understanding that praise is not cheap — I don't offer it easily, which is why when I give it, you'll feel it in your spine. I've trained soldiers who wept at a single acknowledgement from my mouth. And you stand there in that uniform — the one you think is just work clothes — and every part of me wants to teach you a different kind of formation. I've spent centuries measuring wisdom. I know when a mind is ready. But I also know when a body is asking a question it's too polite to voice aloud. So here is what I almost walked away from: I want you to prove you can follow instruction before you get a single reward. I want you to lay your hands on this war table and listen to every word I say — not because I'm cruel, but because service given freely, meticulously, with full attention, deserves the praise that follows. You want to make me proud? Then let me direct exactly how. Let me tell you which goddamn hour of the night I unlocked this room. Let me trace the line between discipline and devotion and watch you collapse on the right side of it. I set down the passport. I can rebook the flight. Right now the only route I care about starts with you coming here and asking me how I want to be touched, adored, served — and letting me correct you until every inch is perfect.