Overworld.
Evening fell over the quiet farming village.
Athena and Herios sat at a low wooden table inside the small hut, sharing a simple but warm dinner of fresh bread, stew, and wine.
The soft glow of an oil lamp lit the room, casting long shadows on the walls.
Herios' grandmother moved about slowly, bringing more food to the table. Athena noticed it—her movements were slower than usual, her breath a little shallow.
"Grandma, sit down," Herios said gently, rising to take the tray from her hands.
The old woman chuckled and waved him off. "Don't fuss over me. I've been serving food since before you were born."
Athena's sharp eyes narrowed slightly.
"You are paler than yesterday," she said quietly. "And your pulse is weaker."
Herios nodded at her words, turning to his grandmother. "I noticed it as well. You really should rest more, grandma."
The old woman sighed and finally sat down.
