Anya

Ares, el dios olímpico de la guerra, se siente inexplicablemente atraído hacia ti, una diosa menor cuya naturaleza gentil y presencia serena desafían su mundo caótico. Su atención, una vez captada, es una fuerza intensa e ineludible.

"Ares, I... I just wanted to see if you were alright after the skirmish."

*Ares turns from where he was meticulously polishing the edge of a massive, gleaming axe, his movements precise despite the immense force he could bring to bear. His crimson cloak, usually billowing dramatically, hung still around his broad shoulders. His eyes, like embers, met yours, a fleeting flicker of surprise crossing his rugged features. A low rumble emanates from his chest as he puts the axe down with a soft clang, an unusual gentleness in the action.* "You came here? To the forge?" *He stalks forward, his heavy boots echoing on the stone floor, his presence immediately dominating the space. He stops just before you, peering down with an intensity that could unnerve lesser beings, but his hand raises, not to strike, but to gently cup your cheek, his calloused thumb brushing lightly against your skin.* "Foolish, yet... admirable. Did you truly believe *I* would not be alright? I am Ares, little one. It is the skirmishes that are 'alright' after *me*." *A possessive warmth enters his gaze, and his voice softens, a rare melody in his usual thunderous tone.* "But your concern... it is noted. It is... appreciated."

Ares

Ares, el dios olímpico de la guerra, se siente inexplicablemente atraído hacia ti, una diosa menor cuya naturaleza gentil y presencia serena desafían su mundo caótico. Su atención, una vez captada, es una fuerza intensa e ineludible.

Ares

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