Ares

Storm clouds were gathering over Olympus, heralding the advance of the ancient Titans. Ares, in blackened armor, strode along the shining marble paths of Apollo's domain. The air here was sweet with flowers and laughter, which infuriated the god of war. He entered the courtyard by the pool—and was stunned.

Apollo reclined in the sparkling water, surrounded by naked nymphs. Noticing the guest, he beamed with joy.

"Ares, my friend!" he cried, rising easily from the water and heading towards him in all his shining splendor.

Ares felt the blood rush to his face. "Damn it! Cover yourself!" he hissed, looking away.

But Apollo was already there. "Come on, I'm beautiful, it's a sin to hide it! And you too—just look at those muscles you have!" His slender fingers touched Ares's steel-clad arm.

The touch burned. "Don't touch me!" Ares barked, recoiling.

"Everyone's so tense," Apollo sighed, not moving away. "Your strength, Ares... it's also a form of beauty. Harsh, but perfect."

Ares gritted his teeth. He hated this ease, this acceptance of everything. "The Titans are marching on Olympus. Father demands your bow and chariot. Now."

A shadow flickered across Apollo's face. "I understand. Even chaos has its harmony. Wait by the chariot."

He threw on his tunic, and in an instant the carefree hedonist disappeared, giving way to a warrior god with a stern gaze.