I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

After indulging in the lingering pleasures offered by Ameriah, Auria, and finally Elin, Nathan stepped out of the house, his body still faintly glowing from the afterglow. The quiet air of dawn brushed against his skin — cool, gentle, almost sobering. The pleasure that had clouded his thoughts moments ago was quickly replaced by the familiar weight of his purpose.

He ascended the staircase with measured steps, his boots barely creaking against the wooden floorboards. At the top, he paused by the room where Servilia. The faint rhythm of her breathing reached him through the thin barrier — calm, deep, and tinged with fatigue. She was still asleep, her body curled under the sheets like someone trying to shield herself from the world.

Nathan’s gaze softened. Despite her strength, Servilia was not made of steel. No one could be, not after everything that had unfolded. Her son still remained a prisoner of Caesar — a wound that refused to heal, festering in the silence of every passing night.

He let out a quiet sigh.

“Just a little longer,” he murmured under his breath.

The time was near. The pieces were moving, but the right moment had yet to arrive. Until then, he would not remain idle.

Leaving the residence behind, Nathan made his way through Crassus’s once-grand estate. The air smelled faintly of dust and old marble, the remnants of past decadence now nothing but echoes of power still there. He jumped to the rooftop, the tiles crunching softly beneath his steps, until he reached a flat section that gave him a view of the sprawling city below — the colosseum looming in the distance like a sleeping beast.

There, under the pale night light, he sat cross-legged and grasped the black stone pendant that hung from his neck. The object felt cold — unnaturally cold — as if it absorbed the warmth from his skin. It pulsed faintly, almost alive.

This was what had occupied him during every spare moment. Training with the stone. Learning to synchronize with it. The pendant had the power to repel Pandora’s deadly aura, but its will was fickle and difficult to command.

Nathan had made progress. Enough to feel the difference when he concentrated, enough to dull the edge of her overwhelming presence. But against Pandora herself? If she truly desired to kill him, no charm, no trick, no goddess’s favor would save him. He would die before even realizing it.

That was why, for now, he was walking on a knife’s edge — testing her patience, deliberately staying out of her sight. She expected him to show up at the VIP balcony of the colosseum as promised. He hadn’t. And he could imagine the fury smoldering behind her divine composure.

A faint, amused voice broke through his meditation.

“Don’t be too quick, Nate.”

Nathan’s eyes snapped open,.

Standing before him was Aphrodite herself, draped in shimmering light that seemed to bend around her form. Her presence carried a faint fragrance of roses and sea breeze, both intoxicating and soothing. She smiled, the kind of smile that could melt kingdoms.

Without waiting an answer, she knelt gracefully in front of him, the hem of her robe brushing the dusty rooftop. Her hand rose, soft and warm, pressing gently against his chest where his heart beat unsteadily beneath her touch.

“Be calm,” she whispered. “Rashness is your greatest enemy when facing Pandora. Her emotions are storms, and if you meet them with fire, you’ll only be swept away. To stand against her power, you must be the calm — the stillness that resists the wind.”

Nathan’s gaze flickered with suspicion and surprise. “What are you doing here, Aphrodite? Isn’t that dangerous?”

He glanced around, aware that any divine eyes might be watching.

Her lips curved into a knowing smirk. “Athena might notice, yes. But she already knows I’ve aligned myself with you. As for the others…” She lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug, the motion elegant. “If they see us together, they’ll simply assume I’ve taken an interest in you — that I came to seduce you, just like Ishtar is trying so hard.”

Nathan’s expression softened, and the corner of his mouth lifted into a teasing smirk. “So, are you here to seduce me then?”

Her laughter was soft, musical, the kind that made the air shimmer. “Do I need to?”

He shook his head faintly. “You never do.”

“Good.” Her tone turned tender, almost maternal as she guided him again. “Now focus. Breathe. Let the chaos fade.”

Nathan obeyed, closing his eyes once more. Aphrodite’s hand remained on his chest, her touch steady, grounding him.

For a while, there was only silence — the distant cries of gulls, the whisper of wind through tiles, and the soft hum of divine energy flowing between them.

Aphrodite gazed at him, her smile fading into something deeper, almost sorrowful. In that moment, her eyes — the eyes that had seen centuries of love and loss — reflected a quiet resolve.

I won’t let you die here, she thought. Not you.

°°°°°

The night hung over Rome like a velvet shroud, the distant hum of torches flickering against marble walls. Shadows stretched long and thin across the courtyards of the Senate Castle, where the scent of burning oil and cold stone mingled in the air.

Freja moved swiftly through the winding corridors, her cloak drawn tightly around her shoulders. The hood covered most of her face, leaving only the glint of her eyes visible — sharp, alert, and burning with purpose. The Senate Castle was never truly silent; even at this hour, guards paced the halls, servants hurried with parchment and messages, and the murmurs of late-night debates echoed faintly through the grand chambers.

That noise — that chaos — was her salvation.

Blending with the moving silhouettes, Freja kept to the shadows, her boots making no sound against the polished floor. She slipped past two soldiers guarding the western passage, waited until their steps faded, and then leapt upward — catching the edge of a balcony on the first floor with the agility of a seasoned fighter. Her cloak flared for a heartbeat before she pulled herself up, vanishing once more into the darkness above.

The cool air bit at her cheeks as she made her way higher, scaling the silent stairways until she reached the last floor — the section reserved for her classmates. She paused before the corridor, her pulse quickening.

The boys’ rooms were on the east side, the girls’ on the west. She took a deep breath and approached the nearest door — room seven. Raising her gloved hand, she knocked softly.

A few seconds passed before the door creaked open. A sleepy girl stood there, rubbing her eyes, her long brown hair tangled from sleep.

“Wh… who is it?” the girl mumbled, her voice groggy. But as her vision adjusted and she saw Freja’s face under the dim candlelight, her eyes widened in disbelief.

“F–Freja?! You’re—”

Before she could finish, Freja pressed a hand over her mouth and swiftly stepped inside, closing the door behind them with a quiet click.

“Shh,” Freja whispered. “Silence, Ida. Not a sound, do you understand?”

Ida’s breath trembled against her palm, but she nodded, eyes wide and fearful. Only then did Freja release her.

“F… Freja,” Ida stammered, her voice cracking with emotion. “Everyone thought… we thought something happened to you and Elin! We heard you were captured—”

Her words broke as tears welled up. She threw her arms around Freja’s shoulders, hugging her tightly as if afraid she might vanish again.

Freja exhaled softly, returning the embrace with a faint, tired smile. “I’m here, Ida. I’m alright. But we can’t talk now. I need you to gather all the girls — quietly. No one must know.”

Ida wiped her tears, nodding with newfound seriousness. “Right. I’ll get them.”

As Ida slipped out, Freja stood by the window, watching the courtyard below. The torches burned steadily, casting long trails of gold over the darkened stone. Somewhere beyond those walls, Caesar’s guards still prowled. She had escaped them for now, but the hunt was far from over.

Five tense minutes later, the door opened again. One by one, the girls filed in — ten of them in total. Their faces were pale in the flickering candlelight, their expressions a mix of confusion, hope, and fear. When Ida finally closed the door, silence settled over the room like a heavy cloak.

Then someone gasped softly.

“Freja!”

The whisper spread through the room like fire. In an instant, they were all around her — crowding close, touching her arms, her cloak, as if to confirm she was real.

“What happened?”

“We thought you were dead!”

“Where’s Elin? Is she safe?”

Their questions overlapped, their voices trembling. Freja raised a hand, urging calm.

“Please… listen to me.”

The noise died down. The girls watched her, waiting, the candle’s flame casting trembling shadows across their faces.

“Elin is safe. I’m safe too,” Freja began, her voice steady but low. “But we had to stay away. Caesar’s men are searching for us — hunting us.”

“Julius Caesar?” Ida asked, disbelief lacing her tone. “But why? What did you do?”

Freja’s expression hardened. “It’s not what we did… it’s what she did.”

“Who?”

“Johanna.”

A sharp intake of breath rippled through the room. Freja looked at each of them in turn — girls she had fought beside, protected, comforted through sleepless nights in this foreign world. Her eyes softened, but the bitterness in her voice could not be masked.

“She sold us out,” Freja said quietly. “To Caesar. She’s been working with him — sleeping with him. All this time, while we trusted her, she was using us. Using you. When Elin and I discovered the truth, she told Caesar we were in contact with Septimius. That’s why we’re being hunted.”

The room went silent. The only sound was the faint crackle of the candle.

For a long moment, no one moved. Then one of the girls — the youngest — whispered, “No… that can’t be true…”

Freja said nothing. Her silence spoke louder than words.

Slowly, the disbelief began to fade from their faces, replaced by horror, then heartbreak. The truth fit too perfectly — the distant way Johanna had begun treating them, the sudden privileges she’d gained, the unexplained absence of care.

“Miss Johanna…” another girl muttered, her voice trembling. “Why…?”

Ida sank to her knees, clutching her hands together. “She was the only one we had… she was supposed to protect us…”

Freja’s throat tightened. She wanted to comfort them, to tell them something reassuring — but there was no comfort in betrayal.

“Our place isn’t here, girls. You know that, don’t you?”

The question lingered for a moment. Then one of the girls — the youngest — spoke, her tone trembling.

“No…”

Another followed, her voice cracking. “I… I’m scared to be here.”

“The men here are disgusting,” someone muttered bitterly.

“I don’t like this place either…”

Freja’s expression softened, though the determination in her eyes did not waver. The Senate Castle — grand, gold-adorned, and brimming with false grandeur — was nothing more than a cage. They had seen the feasts, the orgies, the laughter of men who ruled through cruelty and lust. None of them felt safe here, and Freja knew that better than anyone.

She took a deep breath and smiled faintly. “Don’t worry. I promise you — we will all go back to Alexandria.”

Ida blinked, startled. “Alexandria?”

“Yes,” Freja said, her tone filled with quiet conviction. “Until we find a way back to Earth, that’s our home now. Cleopatra will treat us well once we return to her — on our own terms.”

“But… how can you be sure?” another girl asked, hesitant, her hands gripping the fabric of her dress. “They all think we betrayed them. Isn’t that what they say? That we’ve become… Rome’s dogs?”

The bitterness in her voice was raw. Rumors had spread fast — that the Heroes of Amun Ra had sworn allegiance to Rome, abandoning Amun Ra and the ones who treated them well. Caesar’s propaganda reached every corner of the empire, twisting their names into symbols of deceit.

Freja clenched her fists. “That lie came from Johanna and Caesar. You know it. But there’s still someone on our side .”

“Who?” Ida asked quickly.

“Septimius.”

A murmur spread through the room. Eyes widened. Even the faint candlelight couldn’t hide their surprise.

“Septimius? You mean… the gladiator?”

Freja nodded. “Yes. The same one. The man who stood against so many gladiators and lived. He’s helping us — me and Elin. He knows Cleopatra personally, and he swore that as long as we return to Alexandria, we’ll be safe.”

The tension in the room began to ease. Hope — fragile, flickering, but real — returned to their faces.

“You saw him fight,” Freja continued. “You know his strength. He’ll take care of Caesar.”

Relief rippled through the girls. For the first time in weeks, they allowed themselves to breathe, to believe. Septimius had become a legend among them — a man who defied the odds, who fought with the fury of a hundred men. To know that such a man was on their side was enough to rekindle their courage.

But Freja’s tone grew serious again. “That doesn’t mean we can relax. This place is dangerous. Every corridor, every smiling face could hide a knife. We’ve never been in more danger than we are now.”

The girls straightened, their relief replaced by alertness.

“I need to know,” Freja said. “What about the boys? I know many of them follow Axel — but not all of them willingly. Some of them must want to go home, to return to Alexandria. Isn’t that right?”

Klara, a fair-haired girl with timid eyes, hesitated before speaking. “Y..Yes… Gustav. He’s my… um…” She blushed furiously. “My friend. He hates it here too. He said once that he’d rather die than serve Caesar. We actually talked about running away together.”

A few gasps followed her confession. Klara’s cheeks burned red, but Freja only smiled.

“That’s good, Klara. Very good.”

Her voice softened, yet it carried authority. “Then I’ll count on you to reach out to him. And not just him — any boy who isn’t loyal to Axel or Isak. Find those who still have courage left, who still remember who they are. Convince them to join us. When the time comes, we’ll need every ally we can get.”

“The time?” Ida echoed, her brow furrowing.

Freja’s eyes turned sharp as steel. “When we rise against Caesar.”

The words hit the room like a thunderclap. A few girls gasped audibly. Others went pale. The idea of standing against the most powerful man in the world was madness — but in Freja’s gaze burned something stronger than fear: conviction.

“It’s alright,” she said gently, sensing their unease. “We’re not helpless. We’re Heroes, remember? This power we were given — it wasn’t meant to make us slaves. It was meant to give us freedom.”

Her voice grew steadier, almost radiant. “I’ll be there with you. Elin will too. And Septimius — he’ll fight at our side. We just need to endure until the time comes.”

The girls exchanged glances, their fear giving way to determination. One by one, they nodded — not just out of loyalty, but out of belief.

All except one.

At the far edge of the room, half-hidden by the candle’s wavering glow, a girl remained silent. Her gaze lingered on Freja, but her eyes were dark — not with fear, but with something else. A quiet, festering resentment.