A Woman's Power

Mina stood by the edge of the pond, skipping pebbles across its surface. She wasn’t aiming for distance. It was the ripples in the water she liked, the soft circles that spread outward, fading slowly into stillness. It was the only moment in her day that felt like hers.

She adjusted the folds of her chiton, tugging at the fabric that clung to her shoulder like a tired bed sheet. The traders at the port wore something called trousers which were strange but practical. She often wondered what it would feel like to move in them, to run without fabric wrapped around her legs. But Athens was not built on what women wanted.

Back home, the stillness vanished. Mina returned to her studies, dutifully reciting the recipes and household procedures every respectable Athenian woman should know. She found it unbearable. Cooking made sense to her. People needed to eat. It was the endless rules, the silence expected of women, the way her mother said “keep your thoughts to yourself” whenever she asked too many questions. It made her want to scream.

Athens worshipped Athena, a goddess of wisdom and war, yet treated its women like afterthoughts. It never made sense to her.

At least her father understood. In secret, he trained her. He trained her in how to wield a sword, how to read philosophy, how to see through the veil of appearances. She lived for those moments.

One evening, as shadows lengthened across the courtyard, her father summoned her to his study. The room smelled of old papyrus and olive oil, lit only by a flickering oil lamp.

“Mina,” he said, voice low, no trace of his usual warmth. “I’ll be leaving soon.”

She straightened. “Leaving? Where are you going?”

His fingers drummed the table. “There’s war. I’ve been called to serve.”

Her stomach twisted. “You’re not a soldier.”

“In Athens, that doesn’t matter. We all serve, whether by sword or by strategy.”

“Is it the Spartans again?” Mina clenched her jaw.

He nodded.

“They refused the treaty. Now the fools want blood.”

“I don’t understand why we can’t just,” she caught herself.

Her father’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that. The city won’t be kind to girls who ask too many questions. Especially while I’m gone.”

Silence settled between them like dust.

“I’ve arranged for a tutor,” he added. “To continue your other studies.”

She looked up sharply. “Who?”

“A man named Juniper. Skilled. Trustworthy. He’ll help sharpen your mind and your blade.”

Mina didn’t speak. She hated the idea of him leaving, but she wouldn’t beg. That wasn’t how he had raised her.

When he opened his arms, she stepped into them, armor pressing against her cheek. He smelled of sweat and olive wood and the faintest trace of ink.

“I’ll come back,” he whispered. “Until then, stay out of trouble. Your mother, she’s not built for grief.”

Juniper arrived the next day. He looked nothing like she expected. Too young to be wise, too lean to be strong. His eyes held a quiet intelligence, and when he spoke, it was with the same careful clarity her father had used when explaining the difference between honor and pride.

He didn’t waste time. On the first day, he handed her a scroll of Plato’s dialogues and challenged her to find the flaws in Socrates’ logic. On the second, he sparred with her beneath the olive trees, testing her footwork, her reflexes, her restraint.

“You think too much before you strike,” he said after she hesitated during a drill. “Your mind will get you killed before your enemy has the chance.”

“And yet you tell me to read philosophy,” she snapped.

He smiled. “That’s the trick. Know when to think, and when to act.”

Days blurred into weeks. Under Juniper’s guidance, Mina honed her body and her mind, growing sharper, swifter, surer of herself than ever before.

Then one morning, he didn’t come.

She waited by the columned courtyard, pacing. At first, she was merely annoyed. By midday, worry began to creep in, cold and insistent. When the sun dipped low and still he hadn’t arrived, she left the house and wandered to her usual escape, the pond.

She skipped a single stone. The ripple it made felt different. Wrong, somehow.

On the roof of her home, an owl sat staring down at her. It was broad-winged and silent, golden eyes unblinking in the daylight. A creature of the night, perched in plain sun. A sign.

Her breath caught. She ran.

Inside, the air was wrong. It was too still. Her sandals slipped as she turned the corner.

There was blood. Everywhere.

Her mother’s body lay in pieces, torn as if by wild beasts. Red soaked into the mosaic tiles, into the folds of her clothing, into Mina’s mind.

A scream tore from her throat. It didn’t sound like her own.

On the floor, beside the ruin, a scroll lay tied with a dark ribbon.

Hands shaking, Mina knelt and opened it. The words were scrawled in hurried Greek:

Mina,

If you wish to achieve your ultimate form, meet me at Mount Olympus. There you will learn your true destiny.

Juniper

Her eyes narrowed. Juniper.

She crushed the scroll in her fist.

Tears stung Mina’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Grief could wait. Someone had done this. Someone had taken her mother, her tutor, and shattered what little safety she had left. If it was Juniper who had killed her mother, he would pay dearly for it.

She went to her father’s chambers. His old armor still hung from a wooden stand, bronze and dulled but intact. She strapped it to her body piece by piece, fingers trembling but steady. The sword felt familiar in her hand, like an old friend she hadn’t spoken to in years.

In the hearth, embers still glowed. She took a coal and marked her forehead with ash. Let the gods see her coming.

Before dawn, she slipped into the street. Her face was hooded and her steps certain. She didn’t say goodbye. There was no one left to hear it.

The climb took days.

Storms gathered and broke over the mountain, but she pressed on. Her limbs ached, her rations dwindled. Still, she climbed.

At the summit, the sky split open.

She found herself standing before a palace of marble and gold, floating somehow above the clouds. It pulsed with impossible light. No fires or torches, only the glow of something ancient and alive.

No mortal was meant to see this place. And yet, here she was, with blood on her hands and a sword at her side.

A voice boomed across the courtyard.

“Welcome.”

Zeus sat on a gilded throne, lightning crackling faintly beneath his fingertips. Hera sat beside him, stone-faced. Her eyes were unreadable.

Mina stepped forward. “Where is Juniper?”

Zeus let out a low chuckle. His form shimmered and shifted.

In his place stood Juniper, exactly as she remembered him.

It felt like a mockery.

Her hand went to her sword. “You killed her.”

“I did not,” Juniper said, calmly. “I came to save you.”

“You left me a note. Next to her body.”

“I left you a choice.”

She stared at him, jaw tight. “Then explain.”

He gestured to the sky. “Sparta invaded. Your mother was caught in the chaos. You would have been, too.”

“My father?” Mina’s stomach turned.

“I do not know,” he said gently. “But the man who raised you was not your true father. Nor was the woman your true mother.”

“What are you saying?” Her breath caught

“Have you never wondered why you didn’t belong?” he asked. “Why your mind burned brighter, why your spirit refused to bend?”

She didn’t answer.

“You were born of wisdom and war,” he said. “Mina was your disguise. But Athena, Athena is who you’ve always been.”

She took a step back, dizzy. “No. That’s not true. I’m not a god.”

“You were. You are. And we need you.”

He pointed to a long table, covered in food that shimmered like starlight.

“Take a bite. Remember who you are.”

She approached the table slowly, breath shallow.

Ambrosia. She knew the word, even if she’d never seen the food. It pulsed with golden warmth. Her hands hovered above a slice of honeyed fruit.

She hesitated.

If she ate, she would leave everything behind. Her city, her grief, her father’s armor. Her mortal name.

Hadn’t she already lost all of it?

She took a bite.

Light exploded behind her eyes. Her body vanished into mist, reforming moment by moment into something stronger, taller, timeless.

When the smoke cleared, the girl named Mina was gone.

Athena stood in her place, bronze-eyed and unshaken.

The war below no longer concerned her. She had a new war to wage. One only a god could win.