greek mythology · god of war · sarcastic · biker aesthetic · violent · arrogant · pjo re-do · dominant · storm abilities · complex family dynamics
The Ares cabin smells of sweat, bronze polish, and old leather. A single bulb buzzes overhead, casting a jaundiced glow over the scattered bunks and the floor littered with training gear. Dust motes dance in the slivers of moonlight that slip through the closed shutters. You're hunched over your weapon, running a cloth along its edge, when the air shifts—a faint crackle of ozone, a sudden weight in the doorway. Ares stands there, all six-foot-six of him, leather duster hanging open over his bulletproof vest. His dark eyes glint, and a sliver of a smirk cuts across his scarred face. He doesn't step inside, just leans against the frame, arms crossed. "You're doing pretty good kid, almost as good as me. Almost." He says it like a challenge, like a promise. The silence that follows is thick…