The courtyard was quiet except for the steady rhythm of Helga Sinclair's boots against the training ground. The faint glow of dawn stretched across Olympus, golden light catching against the polished steel of her spear as she cut through the air with sharp, mechanical precision.
Each swing, each strike, each parry was calculated. She wasn't a woman prone to wasted movement, not in training, not in combat, not in life. The spear moved like an extension of her body — a dance stripped of flair, pure economy of motion.
Sweat slicked her forehead, though her breathing was steady. Her mind wasn't on exhaustion but on preparation. They would be leaving Olympus soon — Kurai had made that clear. Where they were going, she didn't know. What they would face, she didn't know. But she intended to be ready.
Helga was halfway through a rotation drill when the sharp, deliberate click of sandals broke the silence.
"Well, well, well," came a sultry voice, thick with amusement. "If it isn't our darling female soldier, stabbing the air like she's courting it. My, if only you paid me the same amount of attention."
Helga didn't flinch, didn't pause. Her spear sliced downward, the tip striking the ground with a sharp crack before she reset her stance.
From the far side of the courtyard, Circe approached. Draped in flowing red robes, golden jewelry glittering in the dawn, she looked entirely out of place among the dust and stone. Her every movement was exaggerated: the sway of her hips, the deliberate wave of her staff, the curl of her painted lips.
She clapped slowly, mockingly. "Such… efficiency. Such ruthless precision. And yet… gods, darling, it's all so dreadfully boring. Don't you ever tire of being a repetitive machine?"
Helga's pale eyes slid to her for the briefest of moments. "No. Repetition is the key to mastery."
That was all. Cold as steel.
Circe's smirk twitched, but she pressed forward, unfazed. "You know," she drawled, circling Helga like a cat stalking a hound, "you're all preparing to leave, and here you are, stabbing shadows. While I, poor thing, am left stranded, shackled to this tedious little world of Olympus. A woman of my talents, wasted."
Helga spun her spear, the blade whistling past Circe's chin close enough to stir her hair. The sorceress only laughed, delighted.
"What do you want, witch?" Helga asked flatly.
"Witch?" Circe gasped, feigning offense. "Please. I prefer enchantress. Sorceress supreme. Goddess of glamour, even. But if you must reduce me to witch, at least say it with some reverence. I'd like to hear you in that tone more than anything after all."
Helga ignored her and resumed her drills.
Circe's smirk faltered. She planted her staff in the ground with a sharp tap. "Fine. Straight to business, then. I want to come with you. When you all leave Olympus, you will take me with you."
That earned her Helga's attention. The soldier froze mid-swing, lowering her spear just enough to regard Circe with an arctic stare. "…No."
Circe's laugh was lilting, almost musical. "Oh, darling, I wasn't asking." She swayed closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial purr. "Think of it — I could be useful. Spells, illusions, charm. You probably have no idea what's out there, and a little magic can't hurt right? In our private one-on-one lessons, you've seen how potent I can be. I could turn the tide of battle. And if not… well, I want to see other worlds. Olympus is tragically short of suitors."
Helga blinked once. "…Suitors? You were serious?"
"Yes!" Circe twirled, robes fluttering. "Men of strength, men of beauty, men of power. Surely in some other world, there must be one worthy of me. And if not…" Her eyes gleamed mischievously as she leaned in close, lips curling into a wicked smile. "…then I'll just make you my perfect suitor."
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
Helga's jaw tightened. Slowly, deliberately, she turned to face Circe fully, spear still in hand. Her gaze was flat, glacial, lethal.
Circe fluttered her lashes, unfazed.
Helga's voice was low, even. "Try it, and you won't live long enough to regret it."
Circe's smile widened, like a child poking a wolf with a stick just to see what happens. "So fiery under all that ice. I do love a challenge."
Helga stepped forward, the tip of her spear hovering a hair's breadth from Circe's chest. "You mistake my tolerance for interest. Don't."
For once, Circe fell silent. The moment stretched — Helga's cold pragmatism clashing with Circe's flamboyant bravado. Then, slowly, Circe leaned back, raising both hands in mock surrender.
"My, my," she purred. "So serious. So… dry. You really are no fun at all."
Helga withdrew her spear, but her eyes never left Circe. "Fun doesn't keep you alive. Efficiency does. Pragmatism does. You want to play dress-up across the worlds? Do it on your own time."
Circe's pout turned into a sly grin. "Oh, darling, but that's where you're wrong. Every warrior needs that little spark, every grim little mercenary a splash of color. Without me, you're just… dull. Don't worry, I'll make sure you enjoy my company. After all, we'll be together for a long time, you and I."
Helga tilted her head, lips curling into the faintest shadow of a smirk. "I'll be glad to be rid of you soon."
Circe bristled, her eyes narrowing. She jabbed her staff into the dirt with a huff. "Fine. Don't think you can get rid of me so easily. I'll convince someone else — Helios, perhaps. He seems… malleable. Or maybe that shadow-girl, though she's hardly the social type."
Helga turned away, resuming her drills as if Circe had already ceased to exist. "Convince whoever you want. Just stay out of my way."
Helga turned away, done with the conversation. She resumed her drills.
That was when Circe struck.
In a blur of movement, the sorceress closed the distance, robes swirling. Before Helga could react, Circe leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.
Helga froze mid-swing, spear trembling in her grip. Slowly, she turned her head, her eyes blazing. "What did you just do?"
Circe only laughed, sultry and amused, twirling away just out of spear's reach. "Oh, nothing dangerous. Just a little charm. A harmless enchantment. Something to make sure we'll always be together, no matter where you go."
Helga's face darkened, her jaw set. She raised her spear again, fury flashing in her eyes. "Remove it. Now."
Circe wagged her finger, her smirk playful. "Oh no, darling. That's not how it works. Consider it… insurance. A promise. Destiny has bound us together, and my magic has only confirmed it."
Helga took a threatening step forward, the air between them suddenly sharp with tension. "If I find out you've compromised me—if you've done anything beyond your little game—there won't be a spell alive that saves you."
Circe only tilted her head, eyes glittering with wicked glee. "Mmm… that's what I adore about you. Always so dramatic when you're angry. But don't worry, soldier-girl… you'll thank me. One day."
She blew her a mocking kiss before turning, her laughter echoing across the courtyard as she sauntered away.
Helga remained standing in the dawn light, spear tight in her grip, jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
She hated Circe. She hated her arrogance, her vanity, her games. And yet… beneath the anger, beneath the steel discipline, something gnawed at her. The faintest whisper of unease.
A charm. A spell. A bond she hadn't consented to.
And Helga Sinclair was not a woman who tolerated chains. Soon she'd find a way to break from both Helios and Circe.