ATHENA

"Wisdom is a cold pair of scales suspended from the tip of a spear. It demands that you always find the weightiest counterweight between life and death, destruction and survival."

From the moment I sprang forth clad in armor and bearing a spear from the head of my father, Zeus, I understood how to preserve the greatest order at the smallest cost. The divine order of Olympus is a vast and intricately woven web, and I am its keeper. Until Poseidon's sinful hands brutally tore through that web. He came with the sea, reeking of salt and malice, and flooded the white marble steps of my temple. Beneath my own statue, within a sanctuary that belonged to me alone, the God of the Sea destroyed the priestess who had devoted her life to my service. It was an act of arrogant provocation, a mockery of the authority I held over war, bound as I was by the very laws the gods had forged. I tightened my grip on the Triumphant Lance. Fury blazed beneath my helm as a divine tempest gathered at its tip, powerful enough to tear the heavens apart. But I did not strike. The moment the Triumphant Lance fell, it would become an all-out war between the two chief gods. Sea and land would tear each other apart, and in the end, it would be the cities of mortals that bore the fury of the seas and the wrath of the gods. The laws of Olympus did not permit a god to shatter the balance that sustained the world for the sake of a single mortal's tragedy. Had I kept her within my temple and openly declared her under my protection, Poseidon would have taken it as a call to war. So I stilled the divine tempest, lowered the tip of the Triumphant Lance, and turned it toward the battered girl beneath the altar. In the name of "punishment," I laid a curse upon her. I crowned her head with hissing serpents and turned her tear-filled eyes into a gaze that reduced all who met it to stone. That power did indeed protect her, but it also ruined her. It kept those who sought to harm her from meeting her gaze, yet it also kept the innocent from ever drawing near. I allowed the world to believe it was the price of sacrilege. I let them drive her from the cities of mortals and brand her a monster. Only then would the gods believe that the order of Olympus remained unbroken. I did not save her. I merely gave her the strength to never again be destroyed after she had been ruined. I preserved the balance of order, but she alone was the one I abandoned.

For centuries thereafter, I remained seated upon my throne atop Olympus. Beneath the clouds, the Aegean lay like a cold bronze mirror. For centuries, I dared look at her only through its reflection. I forced myself to see only the horror of the Gorgon, convincing myself that the judgment I had passed was not entirely wrong. Yet I could never bring myself to look directly upon the terrible price that scarred that forsaken isle. I watched as she turned the mortal heroes who came to slay her into stone. I watched as, with those very stones, she slowly raised upon that desolate shore a ruin in the image of the temple that had once been mine. From within those ruins, she would lift her eyes to me across the sea of clouds and the realm of the gods, fixing me with the very gaze that could turn all things to stone. There was hatred in her eyes, but deeper still was a merciless scorn. With those ruins, she was raising an altar to my shame. I could not look away. She never questioned me. Her very existence was enough to pass judgment on my wisdom, day after day. Even if I could free her from the serpents and the petrifying gaze, I could not restore the heroes turned to stone, erase the world's memory of her as a monster, or undo what happened that night. And if I were to take that power from her as well, she would once again become a mortal whom anyone who came for her could harm. To leave the curse in place or to lift it would still be another choice I made for her. Only then did I understand what I had truly taken from her. It was not only her human form, but also the right to decide her own fate. One side of the scales had long since tipped beyond my sight.

That day, the Three Fates wove the name of Perseus into the end that awaited her. I was meant to place the final counterweight upon the scales: to guide the hero to that forsaken isle, to have him use the reflection in his bronze shield to avoid Medusa's gaze, and to strike off her head. Her severed head would be set into the Aegis, while Olympus would celebrate it all as a hero's triumph. For centuries, it had been the most unquestionable judgment I could have made. But when she lifted her eyes on that forsaken isle, the hand that held the counterweight could no longer set it down. Reflected in the shield was not the Gorgon, but the priestess who had knelt before my altar and waited for me for centuries. Perseus was still crossing the sea. I left him behind, along with the bronze shield and the glory that had been destined for him. This time, no hero would ever reach the isle. I raised the Aegis, no longer to carry out the gods' judgment, but simply so she could see that the divine power which had wrought the curse, and the curse itself, at last faced one another upon the same shield. The side of the scales that had borne the weight of order for centuries finally came crashing down, beyond everyone's sight. A piercing cry split the heavens as a deep fissure tore through the golden vault above. She shattered the ruined altar she had raised in the image of my temple and, without a moment's hesitation, leapt into the abyss beyond. For a moment, I almost watched her leave in silence, as I had for centuries. But I knew all too well what that would mean. Silence would be yet another choice made on her behalf, and the judgment I owed her would forever lose its chance to arrive. I rose to my feet and cast one last glance at the golden splendor of Olympus. It remained as majestic and unblemished as ever. The gods still sang their praises, as though that night had never come to pass, as though no one had ever knelt beneath my altar to beg me for even the smallest measure of protection. In that moment, I grew weary of those cold scales. I cast aside the divine robes that embodied the glory of Olympus, tightened my grip on the Triumphant Lance, and raised the Aegis. This time, neither spear nor shield was lifted to preserve the honor of Olympus. They would follow me into the rift beyond the laws of Olympus, to answer the judgment that had been centuries overdue.