I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Chapter 527: Aphrodite’s Talk

Nathan’s crimson eyes remained fixed upon the horizon, where the last traces of night still clung stubbornly to the sky. Dawn’s light spilled slowly over the rooftops of Rome, but it did little to warm the chill that lingered within him.

His encounter with Isis still burned in his chest — not because of her power, but because of her audacity.

Nathan was not easily angered. After everything he had endured — betrayal, death, and the countless faces of gods who believed themselves superior — his patience had grown ironclad. Yet something about Isis’s tone, the divine condescension laced within her threats, had ignited a fire in him he rarely let loose. She had tried to remind him of his place, to put him beneath her as a mortal.

But Nathan had no “place.”

He carved his own.

Still, even he could not deny the faint tremor of danger he had felt. Her power had been real, and the threat — though defied — had brushed close enough to remind him that gods, when angered, could still wound even those who stood above mortals.

A voice, soft and melodic, broke through his thoughts.

“You seem angry, Nate.”

Nathan turned, his eyes softening as he saw who had come.

Aphrodite.

The Goddess of Love stood in the light of morning, her presence bathing the rooftop in a gentle radiance that seemed to chase away the shadows. Her golden hair shimmered faintly in the sun’s glow, her beauty so effortless that even the air seemed to hush around her.

She smiled — not the seductive, knowing smile mortals imagined when they whispered her name, but a smaller, gentler one. A smile touched by warmth.

Without waiting for permission, she approached and sat beside him, her movements graceful, natural, divine. Then, with a tenderness that contrasted the chaos of his thoughts, she guided his head into her lap.

Nathan blinked but did not resist. Her touch, warm and familiar, carried a calm that few others could grant him.

“Are you angry, Nate?” she asked softly, her voice lilting as her slender fingers pinched his cheeks playfully.

He sighed, his gaze flickering up toward her. “You watched, didn’t you?”

Aphrodite chuckled, brushing a strand of his white hair away from his forehead. “I did. I rarely see Isis lose her composure like that. You truly can’t help yourself, can you?” she teased, though there was affection beneath her words — the kind of fondness that could only grow from deep understanding.

Nathan tilted his head slightly, meeting her gaze. “Do you think I shouldn’t have acted that way?”

“No,” she said immediately, shaking her head. Her smile softened, becoming something sincere and unguarded. “It’s because you act like that, because you speak with such defiance, that I love you, Nate.”

Her words carried no hesitation, no divine pretense — only truth.

She had seen it all — how he faced gods without a trace of fear, how he stood before Isis’s fury without flinching. That courage, that audacity, was the very thing that drew her to him. It wasn’t mortal arrogance. It was something older, deeper — a refusal to bow, even before the heavens themselves.

In some strange way, she felt safe when he was near.

A goddess — who had never once known fear — found comfort beside a mortal.

And she wasn’t the only one.

A faint smile crossed Aphrodite’s lips as a memory stirred — Khione. The lonely goddess who had always lived in isolation, unwelcomed by gods, untrusted by men. Hunted, pursued by Poseidon’s unwanted desire, trapped in a cycle of fear she could never escape.

Until Nathan appeared.

He had changed her fate entirely. What began as something cruel, wrong, and chaotic had transformed into something neither of them had expected — love.

He had slain Poseidon for her. He had defied the Queen of Olympus and was ready to defy every Gods for her. For Khione, Nathan had become both sword and shield, willing to stand against the world so that she could finally live in peace. Together, they had found something gods often forgot how to feel — happiness.

From their bond came a daughter — a gift so precious that even Aphrodite, who had seen countless loves rise and fall, felt envy and admiration in equal measure.

She wished, deep within her heart, that she could one day have the same — a love unbound by fear, untouched by eternity’s loneliness.

But… she doubted it.

Even Nathan, with all his defiance and cunning, could not save her from her enemy. There were beings beyond even his reach — forces that lurked beyond divine politics and mortal wars.

Her smile faltered slightly, just for a moment — a fleeting shadow across her radiant face.

Nathan noticed instantly. He always did.

“What is it, Aphrodite?” he asked, his voice softening as he reached up, his hand brushing gently against her cheek.

Her lips parted in a small gasp. She was so used to concealing her emotions behind teasing smiles and casual charm. Yet before him, her walls always crumbled.

He saw her — not as a goddess, but as a woman.

“Nothing,” she said finally, forcing a small laugh, her fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. Then, reclaiming a bit of her playful tone, she added, “Actually… there is something.”

Nathan’s crimson eyes flickered with interest. “What is it?”

Her teasing smile lingered, but her tone grew more serious as she spoke. “Athena. She found out.”

For a heartbeat, the air seemed to still.

Nathan’s eyes widened slightly — a flicker of surprise, but not shock.

“You expected it, didn’t you?” she asked gently.

He nodded, his gaze lowering. “I did. I only wished it wouldn’t come so soon. But if she’s seen the memories…”

He thought about Johanna and sighed quietly, crimson irises catching the light of dawn.

“Then she’s probably seen fragments of what happened in the Trojan War,” he continued, his voice calm but heavy. “And she’s seen me — my true identity.”

“That is likely,” Aphrodite said softly, her fingers brushing through Nathan’s white hair as she gazed down at him. “Even with her skill, that woman cannot see all your memories. Your mind is… unlike any mortal’s. It is layered, sealed, guarded. There are places even gods cannot reach.”

Her tone grew quieter, touched with something akin to sympathy.

“But unfortunately, she saw enough.”

Nathan’s eyes flickered open, crimson light catching in their depths.

“She connected fragments — pieces from the Trojan War. She saw what you did back then, how you fought against Athena. She saw the way you concealed your identity, the deception you used. And she understood. Quickly.”

Aphrodite’s expression darkened slightly. “When she realized the truth, Caesar was already suspicious. He summoned her — and that woman revealed everything.”

Nathan’s gaze dropped. His eyelids fluttered shut as a heavy silence stretched between them.

So that was why Athena hadn’t appeared at dawn to take him to Demeter’s garden as usual for his talk with Pandora.

Why her presence, which he’d almost grown used to feeling nearby, had suddenly vanished.

A faint ache stirred in his chest — not of regret, but of quiet resignation.

“What was her reaction?” he asked, his voice calm but hollow.

Aphrodite hesitated before answering. “She left.”

The word hung in the air like a tolling bell.

Nathan said nothing. For several long moments, he remained perfectly still, eyes half-lidded as the morning breeze brushed through his hair. His expression betrayed nothing — no sorrow, no anger — yet something in the way his shoulders straightened betrayed a decision forming behind his calm.

Finally, he spoke. “Bring me to her, Aphrodite.”

The goddess tilted her head, an amused gleam flickering in her eyes. She knew him too well — knew what he truly meant.

“You’ve fallen for her, haven’t you?” Aphrodite asked with a wry smile. “As expected of her. Even you—”

“It’s not that,” Nathan interrupted quietly. His tone was steady, but the faint tremor of truth ran through it.

Yes, Athena’s beauty was undeniable — a kind of beauty that was carved from wisdom and war, not softness. But it wasn’t her face or grace that had drawn him. It was her spirit — that relentless resolve, that burden she carried without complaint, that loneliness she hid behind perfect composure.

He admired her. Respected her. Wanted her not as a conquest, but as an equal — someone who could stand beside him in the storm.

After all he had seen in her — the weight of knowledge, the pain of immortality — he wanted her to be happy. That simple wish, more than any divine ambition, guided him now.

“I know,” Aphrodite said softly, smiling once more. But this smile was warmer, tinged with sadness. She rose gracefully, her silken gown rippling in the wind, and Nathan followed her to his feet.

“Are you ready?” she asked, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Nathan gave a firm nod. “Yes.”

The world shifted.

In an instant, the rooftop, the distant hum of Rome, the scent of dawn — all vanished.

When Nathan opened his eyes again, he stood in another realm. The air here was softer, purer, carrying the faint fragrance of lilies and rain. A gentle breeze brushed across rolling fields of green, stretching endlessly toward the horizon.

They stood in a vast meadow, vibrant and untouched by time. Wildflowers of every color swayed in the wind, their petals catching sunlight that streamed through silver clouds.

At the meadow’s center rose a single, magnificent tree — tall, ancient, and alive with light. Its leaves shimmered like polished emeralds, and from its branches hung fruits of every kind — golden apples, silver pears, crimson figs — each glowing faintly with divine essence.

Nathan’s gaze lingered on it in silent awe.

“This is Athena’s home,” Aphrodite explained softly beside him. “A sanctuary of thought and reflection. A place even the gods rarely enter.”

She turned slowly, scanning the peaceful expanse. “I had to search hard to find it. Usually, it’s sealed behind layers of wards and barriers — invisible to anyone who doesn’t belong here. But…” Her brows furrowed slightly. “It seems she didn’t bother to restore them this time.”

A hint of surprise crept into her voice. “She must be distracted. For Athena, that’s… very unlike her.”

Nathan remained silent. He could feel it — her presence.

Cold, precise, but flickering beneath with something more fragile.

Aphrodite’s voice trailed off. Then, before either of them could speak again, a chill swept through the air.

“What are you doing here, Aphrodite?”

The words cut through the tranquility like a blade of ice.

They turned.

Athena stood behind them, her posture tall and flawless as always. Her armor gleamed faintly in the soft light, her blue eyes steady but devoid of warmth. Her face — that serene, perfect mask — was unreadable, colder than stone.

Yet as her gaze shifted past Aphrodite — to the man standing just behind her — something in that flawless composure cracked.

Her breath caught.

Her eyes widened ever so slightly.

Septimius

The fake name almost escaped her lips, though she did not speak it aloud. But the silence that followed carried its weight all the same.

He took a single step forward, crimson eyes meeting her blue gaze.

The air between them was tense .