I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

“You aren’t taking part in the third round?” Pandora asked, her tone light but edged with curiosity.

Nathan inclined his head. “After defeating that wolf on my own, Caesar decided to let me qualify for the next round.”

The choice had not been Nathan’s, but Caesar’s. Likely it was made to satisfy the public’s thirst for spectacle. His intervention in the previous fight had saved more lives than intended, leaving the arena with fewer corpses than the crowd desired. The Romans demanded blood, and Caesar—ever mindful of the people’s appetite—chose instead to hold Nathan back, keeping him rested and ready to deliver greater entertainment when the next stage arrived.

“A pity,” Pandora replied, her voice slipping into a sigh of theatrical boredom. She leaned lazily against her armrest, resting her cheek against her fist with languid grace. “In that case, I see no reason to attend the next round.”

Nathan studied her quietly. The veil had returned over her face, thin enough to let the outline of her features linger beneath it, yet opaque enough to keep his eyes searching. She wore it deliberately, and Nathan understood why. Without it, he found it difficult to meet her gaze, difficult to speak without faltering. She knew this and preferred his eyes on her while they conversed, as if the veil gave her control over the rhythm of his attention.

This was their third meeting—another of the “dates” she seemed to claim as hers. Once again, Demeter’s house of flowers enfolded them: a tranquil place where the air was saturated with the perfume of blossoms, each petal luminous beneath the soft afternoon light. Their first conversation here had been stilted, almost strained, but now there was an ease, a smoother flow, as though the tension between them had softened, if only slightly.

“Are you sure?” Nathan asked after a pause. “You truly won’t go? Have you something better to do otherwise?”

Her head tilted, veil brushing against her shoulder as she feigned thoughtfulness. “Hm… not especially. But what about you, Septimius? Since you won’t be fighting in the arena, how will you spend your day?” A spark lit her eyes as she leaned forward, her voice warm with playful suggestion. “Why not spend it with me?”

Nathan considered her carefully, weighing his answer as though it might carry more weight than the words themselves. “I have duties,” he said at last. “As Caesar’s mercenary, I must remain at his side.”

Her posture stiffened for a breath, and then she dismissed it with a light laugh that failed to hide the irritation beneath. “With that man? Tiresome.” She waved her hand as though swatting away an insect. “But it matters little. When the tournament is over, you will belong to me. You will remain at my side forever.” Her tone softened into a girlish giggle, but her words carried the edge of possession, binding as a chain.

Nathan said nothing. To protest would have been unwise. There was a forcefulness in her claim, a dangerous certainty. He feared what her reaction might be if he openly contradicted her.

I must find a way to free myself from her hold, he thought, his gaze lowering briefly. His life was no longer his own—it was tied to Khione, to Amaterasu. Their fates intertwined with his, leaving him no space for weakness, no margin for surrender. To die was not an option.

“Well then,” Pandora said at last, her tone lightening once more. “If you must remain beside Caesar during the tournament, so be it. Just make sure your face is visible on the balcony. I want to see you.”

Nathan nodded briefly.

The words hung in the air, and though Pandora looked as though she wished to continue, she held back. Perhaps she feared hurting Nathan unwillingly after all. At length she rose, leaving the garden with a trail of fragrance in her wake.

Nathan followed after her, stepping into the brightness beyond the flowered archway—only to be met with a voice at his side.

“You are doing very well, Septimius. I am truly surprised,” Athena said, striding toward him, her eyes fixed with sharp appraisal.

“She seems… quite possessive of me already,” Nathan murmured, his voice low, carrying more weight than he intended.

Athena inclined her head with a faint, knowing smile. “Yes. That might indeed prove troublesome. But fear not, Septimius—I have no desire to rob you of your freedom. Whatever bonds she tries to place upon you, I will not add to them.”

Nathan’s expression tightened. “But will she listen to you, Goddess Athena? What if she lashes out? From what you’ve told me, her restraint is… fragile at best, especially when her emotions are stirred.”

Athena fell silent, her gaze drifting toward the far end of the garden where Pandora still lingered. The young woman strolled amidst the flowers with unhurried grace, her veil catching in the breeze, yet every few moments she glanced back, as though impatient for Athena to escort her away once their talk concluded.

The goddess’s lips curved into a small smile when she finally turned back to him. “You needn’t worry about me, Septimius. I am still a goddess, and though her emotions may burn hot, I am not so easily threatened.” Her voice softened, carrying the reassurance of divine certainty.

Nathan held her eyes for a moment, measuring the confidence behind them. Then, almost abruptly, he said, “I… have discovered what Caesar wants.”

Athena’s composure shifted, her expression sharpening with alertness. “Oh? And what is it that he desires?”

Nathan’s voice lowered, grave. “The Key of Rome. He intends to use it to release the Twin Beasts of the city—Romulus and Remus.”

The words landed like thunder. Athena’s eyes widened, shock flashing openly across her face. “What? Are you certain of this?”

“I am,” Nathan answered firmly. “But he lacks one piece. The final key belongs to Pompey, who escaped from prison. Caesar is searching tirelessly for him.”

Athena pressed her lips together, biting them lightly in thought. “Caesar…” she whispered. “I underestimated his ambitions. But why would he risk unleashing such beasts within the very city he rules?” Her brow furrowed deeply.

Nathan’s gaze grew colder. “His plans extend far beyond Rome itself. And it is no coincidence that he pursues them during Pandora’s tournament.”

Athena turned toward him sharply, disbelief in her eyes. “You mean… his true aim is Pandora herself?” The thought seemed absurd, yet Nathan’s steady expression allowed no space for doubt.

“He is a cunning man,” Nathan replied. “If he intends to claim Pandora’s Box, then unleashing the Beasts may be a step in that plan. He seeks to wield control over her—and through her, over forces far beyond his current reach.”

Silence stretched between them as Athena absorbed his words, her mind racing. For once, the goddess looked unsettled, the weight of his revelation forcing her into contemplation. Finally, she exhaled and gave a slow, reluctant nod. “I see… Thank you, Septimius. I will deal with this matter myself.”

Nathan cut across her words. “Deal with it? How?”

Athena blinked, surprised by the interruption.

“You are a goddess, yes,” Nathan continued, his tone steady but edged with quiet insistence. “But I know enough of your kind to understand you are bound by restrictions. You cannot freely act within the mortal world, am I wrong?”

He already knew that her participation in the Trojan War had made even more restricted.

Her jaw tightened. She said nothing, but the faintest flicker in her eyes confirmed he was right.

“Let me handle it,” Nathan pressed. “Even if I am already certain, I will continue investigating, confirm it beyond doubt, and act accordingly.”

Athena’s voice softened, tinged with genuine concern. “You don’t need to endanger yourself further, Septimius…”

Nathan shrugged lightly, though his words carried a quiet gravity. “You have given me a gift that outweighs anything Caesar could ever offer. And unlike him, you have treated me with fairness. This is the least I can do in return.” He paused, then added, “But I will ask one thing of you, just in case.”

“And what is your request?”

“Have the Pope of your Church demand the return of his Key of Rome from Caesar,” Nathan said evenly.

Athena nodded slowly, her eyes thoughtful. She understood his reasoning all too well. Indeed, it was prudent to press the Pope. If she asked, the Holy Father would not refuse her. He would demand his Key of Rome back from Caesar—and that single act could shift the balance of power.

Nathan allowed himself a faint inward smile. Another step forward. By nudging Athena into this course of action, he had pushed Caesar further toward the edge of desperation. If Caesar lost not only the people’s faith but also the Church’s support, then panic would set in—and a panicked Caesar was more likely to make mistakes. Mistakes Nathan could exploit.

Already the man had suffered a blow: the soldiers of Rome whispered against him, their trust shaken after his cold indifference to Marcus Antonius’s disappearance. Now, the Church would follow suit. Caesar’s foundation was crumbling, stone by stone.

“I should return you now,” Athena said gently. She rested a hand on his shoulder, and in the blink of an eye the garden of flowers dissolved, replaced by the cool night air above the Senate Castle. The tiled rooftop stretched around them, the city of Rome sprawling below in silence, its torches glowing like fallen stars.

Nathan turned to her. “You should be careful, Goddess Athena.”

Her brows rose faintly. “Careful?”

He nodded, his expression calm, but his words deliberate. “If Caesar is truly aiming at Pandora, then he must already anticipate your intervention. He will have prepared for it—prepared for you. And with the restrictions placed upon gods, he might even believe he can exploit them.”

At first, Nathan hadn’t intended to voice this warning. His original plan had been clear: gain Athena’s trust through Pandora, then maneuver her and Caesar into conflict, letting them weaken or destroy one another. In the aftermath, when Athena lay drained and vulnerable, he would unleash the Forbidden Seal and bind her to him. Enslave the goddess, and his ambitions would stretch beyond imagining.

Everything had been going as intended. Athena trusted him now, perhaps more than he had dared to hope. The Seal would have worked; he could feel it. Yet something within him had shifted. Somewhere along the path, the cold calculation of his scheme had been clouded by an unfamiliar emotion—a reluctant tenderness, a flicker of concern that had no place in strategy. He was worried for her. Genuinely. Against reason, against his own designs, he wanted her safe. Because he started liking her after seeing what kind of person she was truly.

“Despite being a goddess, you mustn’t underestimate mortals,” Nathan continued quietly. His crimson eyes fixed on hers, steady and unflinching. “Especially not someone like Caesar. Do not let yourself be drawn into his game. It may be exactly what he expects—that in the end, you will be forced to act.”

It was not flattery, nor manipulation. It was simple, honest warning.

Athena blinked, startled. For a moment she almost bristled, her divine pride whispering that it was absurd—she, a goddess, being warned against a mere man. Yet when the words came from Nathan’s lips, in that calm, serious tone, they struck differently. She could hear it: the sincerity, the genuine fear for her.

Her heart gave a sudden, unsteady thrum. She found herself staring into his eyes longer than she should have, crimson depths reflecting a concern that unsettled her in ways no battle ever had.

“You… may be right,” she admitted at last, turning her face away. Her voice faltered, softer than before.

She pressed a hand against her chest, startled at the flutter she felt there. “What is happening to me?” she wondered silently. Since her birth, she had never once felt this strange, vulnerable stirring—this warmth that now betrayed her composure.

Nathan gave a short nod, stepping back. “Then, until tomorrow, Goddess Athena.”

Without another word, he pivoted and leapt down from the Senate rooftop, his figure vanishing into the shadows of the city below.

Athena stood motionless, her gaze fixed on the spot where he had disappeared. Slowly, she touched her chest again, feeling the steady rhythm of her heart—yet faster than it ought to be, uneven, disobedient. A faint flush crept across her cheeks, and she shook her head sharply, as though to banish it.

Still, the warmth lingered.

With a whisper of divine light, the goddess disappeared from the rooftop, the night once again left to Rome alone.