"By what right do you wield the weapon of Kronos—a god?" Hermes asked, his voice unsteady—cracking beneath the weight of disbelief.
The world held its breath around Kael. Even the clouds stopped drifting, like time itself had stopped.
For the first time, Hermes didn't move.
He staggered back a step—eyes wide, breath caught, something pressing hard into his chest. Cold. Dense. Too heavy to be natural.
It felt alive.
Something deep inside him whispered—Run. But his pride kept him frozen, chained to the moment by a god's refusal to bend to a demigod.
"The moment I plunged my sword into his chest…"
He raised the weapon—slowly—letting it roll once across his palm before closing his fingers tight around the hilt.
It spun in his grip. Smooth. Light. Like it wasn't just ready to be used… but eager.
The air shifted—just slightly. A sharp hum followed—thin, high, unnatural.
The blade tore through the air, clean and fast, like it had done this a thousand times before.
