I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

After his long and sincere conversation with Athena, Nathan wandered through the serene gardens of Demeter. A soft breeze danced among the emerald leaves, carrying with it the fragrance of blooming lilies and ripened wheat. The air itself felt sacred, blessed by the goddess of harvest whose touch made even the soil hum with life.

He felt lighter — not entirely unburdened, but calmer — as though the sharp edges of his thoughts had been dulled by Athena’s measured wisdom. Speaking with her had been like speaking to an eternal flame of reason. There were few beings in existence Nathan could treat with true sincerity, but Athena was among them. She was not someone he could ever deceive, nor would he ever dare use the manipulative methods he reserved for others — Hera, for instance.

Athena was different.

Nathan had long learned to adjust his demeanor according to the woman before him, an art his father had mastered — and perhaps cursed him with. With women as dangerous and calculating as Hera, deception was not merely useful; it was survival. But with goddesses of nobility and virtue — women like Athena — there was no need for masks or games. They were good in the truest sense, reminders that divinity could still possess grace rather than vanity.

His gaze lifted as he continued walking. Ahead, Demeter stood in a patch of sunlight, her white hair glimmering like ripe grain as she leaned over a field of flowers with her daughter, Persephone. Their laughter, gentle and melodious, carried through the wind as they picked blossoms together — soft petals of crimson and gold cupped delicately in divine hands.

Nathan’s lips curved into a faint smile, unbidden and bittersweet. For a fleeting moment, their figures blurred, and he saw not the goddess and her daughter, but Amelia and the little girl he had never even held in his arms. His daughter — a face he had only imagined in dreams.

A dull ache stirred in his chest, heavy and familiar.

Patience, he reminded himself, clenching his hand briefly. You’ll have them back. You’ll have your family again.

Until the world stopped watching him — until the chaos settled — he could not risk a single reckless move. For now, he would endure, wait, and bide his time.

“Oh, Septimius — you are here,” Demeter said at last, her voice like sunlight through branches.

Nathan lifted his head and nodded, acknowledging her serene smile. Persephone, radiant and gentle, waved at him with a warmth that made the garden itself seem to brighten.

“Pandora is waiting for you inside,” Demeter added.

“Thank you,” he replied softly and continued on his way, his steps slow and deliberate.

He reached the house of flowers and upon entering he saw seated in her usual spot Pandora.

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Her back faced him, still as a statue, her long silver hair spilling over the pale fabric of her gown.

“You’re late,” she said without turning. Her voice, smooth yet cold, slithered through the silence like frost spreading across glass.

Nathan closed the door behind him. The latch clicked — a sound too sharp in the stillness. He moved to his seat across from her and sat down, his expression unreadable.

“I was busy,” he replied evenly.

“Busy?” Pandora’s voice sharpened. Slowly, she turned her head, the faint gleam of violet flickering from beneath her veil. “Busy with what, exactly? You should be here the same hour, every morning. The same place. The same time.”

He met her gaze without flinching. “You already know what I’m doing. I don’t have much time, Pandora. But I’m here now.”

Her fingers tightened around the arm of her chair. “That’s… not enough!”

The air quivered as her anger took form. Her veil dropped, revealing the haunting beauty beneath — and the curse she carried. Her eyes glowed like shards of amethyst filled with darkness, and with that one look, Nathan felt it — the crushing pressure around his heart. It was as if invisible claws had gripped his chest, threatening to shatter it in an instant.

He winced, drawing a shallow breath. “Are you going to kill me,” he asked softly, “for being late?”

Pandora stared at him, fury and longing warring within her. For a moment, the tension held — then, gradually, her power ebbed, the pressure fading away like receding thunder.

“I’m… annoyed,” she said at last, her voice trembling with restrained emotion. “This tournament is a farce. A waste of time. We should end it — end everything — and you should stay by my side.”

Nathan’s eyes narrowed slightly.

This wasn’t good.

Her obsession had deepened — sharpened into something dangerous. If she were to discover that he did not belong solely to her, that his heart was divided among other women — goddesses or not — her wrath would not merely consume him. It would consume the world.

He could almost see it: the sky splitting, oceans boiling, the earth itself cracking under her anguish.

No. He couldn’t let it come to that.

There was only one path forward now — one perilous, reckless solution.

If he told Khione or Aphrodite, they would call him insane. They would never allow it. But logic and safety no longer mattered. The world could not withstand Pandora’s fury, nor could he keep running forever.

“It’s going to end soon enough,” Nathan said quietly, his tone steady yet edged with something unspoken. He reached forward, taking Pandora’s delicate hand in his own and closing his fingers around it.

The moment their skin met, Pandora trembled. A soft shiver coursed through her entire body, her lips parting slightly as if the warmth of his touch burned and soothed her at once. Her pulse quickened beneath his thumb, that single gesture enough to unravel her composure.

Nathan’s crimson eyes flickered — a faint, golden light blooming within them like embers reigniting after a long slumber. His voice, when he spoke next, was low and commanding, the kind of tone that left no room for doubt.

“Then you will belong to me.”

Pandora’s breath caught. The words struck something deep inside her — a place far more fragile than pride or anger. Her cheeks flushed a vivid pink as her lips curved into a faint, trembling smile.

“Yes… together,” she whispered, her voice soft but fervent, as if sealing a vow she had waited eons to hear.

Nathan returned the smile, calm and faintly warm, but his heart was steadying itself against the suffocating pressure her touch brought. A moment longer, and the dark pulse of her curse might have crushed his chest entirely. He gently withdrew his hand before his body could betray him.

“Will you be there tonight?” Pandora asked, tilting her head slightly. “At the tournament?”

Nathan nodded, his face perfectly composed. “Yeah. In the VIP balcony.”

It was a lie — deliberate, necessary, and sharp-edged.

Pandora’s expression softened, satisfaction glimmering faintly in her amethyst eyes. Whatever doubts she might have harbored vanished beneath the illusion of his assurance.

Soon after, their meeting came to an end. Athena appeared, her tranquil presence cutting through the lingering tension like a cool breeze through smoke. She led Pandora away, speaking softly to her, ensuring she was calm and distracted.

Nathan watched them go, his mind already several steps ahead. He knew this fragile peace would not last. Pandora’s emotions were volatile — her affection a volatile mixture of love and destruction. The longer he delayed the inevitable confrontation, the closer the world edged toward disaster.

When the house finally fell silent again, Nathan stepped outside, letting the sunlight wash over him. The warmth of Demeter’s gardens felt cleansing after the suffocating aura Pandora left behind.

He spotted Demeter and Persephone a short distance away, tending to a stretch of glowing wheat and wildflowers. Their laughter carried faintly through the air — light, genuine, and alive.

For a moment, he allowed himself to breathe.

But then, something changed.

A flicker in the air. A distortion.

Nathan froze.

From the corner of his vision, a sliver of darkness peeled away from his own shadow — a formless wraith, swirling and snarling like a beast born of nightmares. It lunged forward, a blur of malice streaking toward Persephone.

“—No!”

Persephone turned at that instant, sensing the murderous intent rushing toward her. Her eyes widened in horror, the color draining from her face.

Before the scream could even leave her throat, Nathan moved.

The world blurred.

He crossed the distance in less than a heartbeat, his body propelled by sheer instinct — by rage. The ground cracked beneath his feet as he appeared before Persephone, shielding her completely.

Persephone stumbled and crouched down, trembling, the sudden chill of divine energy prickling at her skin.

Then — silence.

She dared to open her eyes, slowly, hesitantly. Nathan stood before her, unmoving, his back to her. The air around him rippled with frost. In his hand, he held the dark beast — its writhing form frozen solid, encased in jagged crystal ice.

The aura radiating from him was terrifying. Cold. Absolute.

Persephone swallowed hard, unable to speak.

Nathan’s expression was unreadable, but the sharp glint in his crimson eyes spoke volumes. He was furious — not just at the attack, but at himself.

That thing… that abomination had been inside him. Hidden. Waiting. Watching.

And he hadn’t even sensed it.

But as soon as he’d touched it, as soon as his magic traced its essence, he knew. The signature was unmistakable.

Aaron.

Nathan’s gaze darkened, his fingers tightening until the frozen beast shattered in his grip, scattering like black glass across the grass.

Today, it had targeted Persephone.

But what if it had happened elsewhere?

What if it had emerged in Khione’s world — near Nivea? His daughter?

The image alone made his blood run colder than any ice he could conjure.

“Persephone!” Demeter’s voice tore through the hush of the fields as she ran toward her daughter, every graceful motion suddenly urgent. Her skirts whispered against the earth, the golden sunlight catching in her hair as she hurried to kneel beside the trembling young goddess. “Are you all right? Tell me you’re not hurt!”

Persephone steadied herself, still shaken, and forced a small, reassuring smile. “Yes… Mother, I’m fine.” Her voice was thin but steady as she glanced at Nathan, who stood between them like a sentinel wrapped in winter.

Demeter’s features softened as she looked up at him. Relief and gratitude mingled in her eyes. “Septimius… thank you. I don’t know what that was, but—thank you.” She reached out almost instinctively, as if to touch the place where his presence had been a shield.

Nathan shook his head once. The admission came quietly, almost to himself. “It’s my fault. It followed me.”

“Followed you?” Persephone repeated, alarm and curiosity flickering across her face.

He gave a curt nod. “Yes. It shouldn’t have been here. If I stay… I’ll only put you both in danger.” His voice hardened with resolve. There was no theatrics in it—only the plain, cold logic of someone who’d refused to gamble with other people’s lives.

Persephone scrambled to her feet, eyes wide. “No. Don’t say that! You protected me, Septimius. You did exactly what you had to.” She rushed forward and took a step closer, earnest and insistent. “You didn’t bring it here on purpose.”

Nathan let a faint smile cross his face at her innocence, the sort that softened the lines around his mouth for a heartbeat. Lately goddesses of a certain mercy and quiet strength seemed to cluster in his life; their presence was unexpected, soothing, and painfully unfamiliar to him.

“Once I’ve found whoever sent it and made sure they can’t do this again,” he said, looking from Persephone to Demeter, “I’ll come back. This place is… beautiful. If you’ll have me.” His voice held genuine feeling now—an honest wish to return to the simple warmth he’d glimpsed in the garden.

Demeter’s expression warmed, the maternal light returning full force. “Of course you are welcome. This place is special to my daughter and me, but you have done nothing wrong on the days you have come.” She offered him a kind, steady smile that felt like an absolution.

Nathan bowed his head in thanks. For a passing moment he allowed himself to imagine bringing Khione, little Nevia, even the other companions here one day. But the present demanded other things. He had a field to prepare, a confrontation to plan.

Before he could think further, Athena’s presence arrived like cool water poured into a fevered cup. She glided toward them, her posture composed, eyes sharp with that familiar, piercing intelligence. “Septimius?” she asked, raising one elegant brow as she took in the gathered trio. “What happened here?”

Nathan stepped forward to meet her, deliberately lowering his voice so only she could hear. He outlined the plan with economy and intent. “I’ll make her lose control,” he said bluntly. “If Pandora’s emotions are allowed to bloat and fester until they explode, the destruction will be indiscriminate. She will not — cannot — accept that I am shared. Waiting for her to break on her own terms is a risk the world cannot take. So I’ll provoke her — now, controlled, focused — and shoulder the blow.”

Athena blinked, the initial comprehension dragging a shadow across her features. “Trigger her?” she echoed, incredulousness sharpening her tone.

Nathan nodded once, steady. He sketched the contours of the scheme: not an assault, not a betrayal, but a deliberate set of provocations designed to funnel Pandora’s emotions toward him and away from unintended targets. He spoke of timing, of subtle lies, of staging moments to inflame pride and jealousy precisely so they would be contained in a single, survivable conflagration rather than spreading like wildfire.

As he spoke, Athena’s face tightened. The goddess of reason weighed the variables with the speed of a blade. “You might die,” she said finally, blunt and unsparing. It was not a question; it was the conclusion of cold analysis.

“I won’t die so easily,” Nathan replied, voice steady but not arrogant. “And you’ll be there to make sure I don’t.” The words were part plea, part command—an appeal to the one being who could match him in both force and prudence.

Athena hesitated, then the corner of her mouth lifted in the smallest of smiles, complicated and tired all at once. She breathed out, a sound that seemed to carry both resignation and resolve. “Very well.” She folded her hands and nodded once, decisively. “I will help you. We will plan this so that Pandora’s fury is directed, limited, and—if possible—survivable.”