Aphrodite's laughter rang through the sunlit halls of their heavenly residence like music made flesh. She had barely finished recounting the battlefield scene — how she had stepped between Cain and Seth, held their raging hands, and silenced an entire war with nothing but her presence — when the others began chiming in. The space they occupied wasn't a throne room in any traditional sense. It was a vast garden terrace suspended between realms, where marble met wildflowers and the sky shifted colors depending on whoever's mood dominated the conversation.
Bastet lounged on a low divan, tail flicking lazily, golden eyes half-lidded in amusement. "You always did enjoy making an entrance, love. Holding the hands of the First Murderer and his cursed brother? Only you could turn ancient hatred into something almost… intimate."
