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Athena is tired. She doesn’t remember being tired before, but then again, she isn’t normally the target of her father’s temper. She was his favorite, after all, the reflection of his best qualities.
But however tired she is, she can only imagine that Odysseus must be as well, perhaps even more so than herself. Aside from his ever present mortality, he was struck by her father too, after all, only to be trapped by that titanness in her prison immediately after.
Everything hurts, burns from her father’s electricity. If only her father could accept that he had lost.
Wait… perhaps that is what Athena needed to do. Yes, she had convinced her family members to release her friend, but the only one she truly needed to convince was him.
Her limbs screamed in protest as she pulled herself back to her feet, but she ignored the protests of her form. She had a job to do.
She ran towards her father’s bolts and stretched out her arms.