The next day, the air in the chamber was heavier — not with heat, but with something unspoken. The interviewer waited, fingers resting anxiously over his notepad, as if afraid to breathe too loudly.

Athena arrived without an announcement. She didn’t knock, didn’t pause.

She entered like a storm that had already decided where it would strike.

Her dress shimmered like moonlight stretched over marble, the fabric barely hiding the strength of the goddess beneath it. She sat, slowly, crossing her legs and resting one arm on the curve of her throne.

Then silence.

The interviewer cleared his throat.

"Can I ask you something… personal?"

Athena raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"If I lost all memory of you tomorrow…"
"What would you want me to remember?"

A dangerous smile crept across her lips. She leaned forward, not to close the distance, but to own it.

“You ask as if memory is yours to control.”
“I am not remembered. I am etched — in flesh, in dreams, in consequences.”

The interviewer nodded, his voice low.
"Still... I want to know. Who are you, when no one’s watching?"

Athena tilted her head.

“You assume I ever stop being.”

She stood slowly, her presence swallowing the space between them. Her tail curled behind her like punctuation, her eyes glowing with a steady, icy flame.

“I am Athena , currently in this Graenei body. I’ve healed the broken, destroyed the arrogant, and kissed the mouths of men too scared to speak their desires aloud.”

“If you forget me...”
Her voice softened, deadly and velvet-smooth.
“…you will still wake up aching.”

She sat again, perfectly composed.

“Now. Ask your next question. But be careful... not all truths are meant to be remembered.”