The night after the battle felt heavier than the bodies they'd buried. The air in the village carried the scent of ash, wet soil, and mourning — but beneath it all, a pulse of something deeper: fear. The villagers huddled together near the square, whispering prayers to gods who no longer answered.
Lykos stood near the firelight, bandaging his arm. The battle with the beast still throbbed in his bones. Every punch, every roar from that creature still echoed in his skull. He'd seen Dion fight — no, move — in a way no man should. There was power there, not just in strength but in restraint. In compassion. And that terrified him more than the beast itself.
He watched Dion from afar, sitting alone near the ruins of the old shrine. The torchlight painted his face in gold and shadow. There was a calmness about him, but Lykos could tell it was the kind that came after surviving something you shouldn't have.
He approached quietly.
"You shouldn't sit alone," Lykos said. "You'll start thinking too much."
Dion gave a faint smirk. "Too late."
A silence hung between them — a silence full of questions Lykos had wanted to ask since the beast's dying breath.
"You fought like someone who's done this before," Lykos finally said. "Someone who's lived through pain… not just seen it."
Dion didn't answer. His eyes stayed fixed on the flames, reflecting the flicker of memories he couldn't share.
Lykos exhaled. "I don't need you to tell me. I already know."
Dion turned slightly, cautious. "Know what?"
"That you're not… just Dion," Lykos said softly. "There's something in you — something ancient. I saw it when you faced him. The way you looked at the beast… you weren't fighting for victory. You were fighting for understanding. Like you'd been there before."
For a long moment, Dion said nothing. The wind shifted. Sparks rose from the fire.
Then, quietly, Lykos added, "Don't worry. I'm not going to tell the others. Or the villagers. I just… wanted you to know that someone sees you — and still trusts you."
Dion looked at him then — truly looked — and for a moment, the weight in his chest lightened.
"Thank you," he murmured.
Lykos gave a small smile. "We all carry ghosts. Yours just happen to punch harder."
That earned a short laugh from Dion, the first in what felt like forever.
But the moment didn't last long.
A bell rang across the square — the signal for an announcement.
Renna, the elder of the village, stood at the center, her voice trembling. "You said the god Zeus was taken over by Hades? That the heavens themselves are corrupted?"
The crowd erupted. Panic. Shouts. Prayers. Some wept, others cursed the skies.
Dion stepped forward, hands raised. "Please! Listen to me!"
The murmurs fell to uneasy silence.
"Yes, Zeus has fallen," Dion said, voice steady despite the tremor in his chest. "But that doesn't mean we are doomed. The gods once protected men, but now, it is men who must protect each other."
He paused, scanning the faces — mothers clutching children, warriors gripping their swords with trembling hands.
"I won't lie to you. This is only the beginning. The world we knew is gone. But we still have each other — and as long as that stands, the gods will fear us."
Lykos watched him speak — the confidence in his tone, the fire in his words. For a man who had sworn to hide his identity, he spoke like someone born of legend.
And Lykos couldn't help but think: He really is Hercules… reborn.
A little girl tugged on her mother's robe. "Will the gods hurt us?"
Dion knelt, smiling gently. "Not while I'm still standing."
The people began to calm. Fear turned to resolve. The night grew quiet again, filled only with the crackle of fire and the distant rumble of thunder beyond the mountains.
As the villagers dispersed, Lykos lingered beside Dion.
"You know," he said quietly, "when I was younger, my father used to tell stories of the gods. Said they were perfect. Said they never made mistakes." He looked at the sky. "Guess he was wrong."
Dion nodded. "Even gods bleed."
Lykos looked at him — the way his hands clenched as if remembering every battle, every sin. "If this war is really coming… we'll need to be ready."
Dion stood. "Then we'll be ready."
He turned toward the mountains. Lightning flashed, and for a heartbeat, the sky seemed alive — roaring, swirling with divine fury.
Lykos frowned. "You think it's already begun?"
Dion's eyes hardened. "It never ended."
Then, as thunder cracked through the valley, Dion raised his voice over the wind.
"Gather the villagers. Train them. Arm them. The gods won't wait — and neither will we."
Lykos nodded, already stepping into the shadows to spread the word.
As Dion looked once more at the heavens, a chill ran through his spine.
For a split second, he swore he could see a silhouette in the storm — a face of divine wrath staring down at him.
He whispered under his breath, "If you're watching, Zeus… then come. I've faced death before."
The wind howled. The storm raged.
And from the farthest edge of the mountains, a faint rumble — almost like laughter — echoed through the night.
The war of gods and men had begun.