Third person-
The forge was quieter than usual, the fires low, the metal resting. It was here Ogunyemi found his father—Ogun, the god of iron and war—seated on a stone bench with a blade across his lap, sharpening it slowly, methodically, as though the motion itself kept the rage in check.
Ogunyemi stood tall before him, sweat still clinging to his brow from the day's brutal training.
"You called for me?" he asked.
Ogun didn't look up. "The war is coming fast. Olympus will not wait, and neither will I."
"I know," Ogunyemi said. "I've been training the men harder. They'll be ready."
"They better be," Ogun murmured. "You're not just fighting for your people, boy. You're fighting for your future."
Ogunyemi frowned. "What do you mean?"
Now Ogun looked up, eyes gleaming like molten steel. "Win this war, and I'll give you Kamaria."
Ogunyemi blinked, uncertain he'd heard correctly. "Give... Kamaria?"
"A union worthy of the next god of war," Ogun said, standing now, towering. "You've loved her since you were a boy. I've seen it in your eyes. And she's powerful. The kind of woman who would birth strong heirs. Divine heirs."
Ogunyemi's mouth parted slightly. "Does she… know about this?"
Ogun's laugh was low and humorless. "A woman like Kamaria doesn't need to know until it's done. She'll accept it in time. She's loyal. Grateful. She'll see it as honor."
There was a flicker of hesitation in Ogunyemi's eyes. Something uneasy curling beneath his skin. Kamaria had never looked at him like that—never promised him anything. Still, his father's words pounded through his chest like a war drum.
"If we win…" he said, more to himself than to Ogun.
Ogun clasped his shoulder, firm. Final. "We will win. And you will have everything you deserve."
As Ogun turned back to his blade, Ogunyemi stood rooted in place—caught between the fire of ambition and the quiet, growing chill of doubt.