The grand halls of Olympus shimmered beneath the late afternoon light, their golden pillars catching the rays of the descending sun. Akhon's steps echoed through the marble corridors, his mind heavy with doubt and fragments of memories that didn't quite fit into the world he now walked.
Everything looked right. It felt right, on the surface.
But beneath the polished surface of this "perfect" Olympus, cracks were showing. No one remembered what he did. No one remembered Kaeron. The Hesperides had been scattered like leaves in the wind, stripped of their roles and identities. And the gods—gods who should have been at odds—moved through Olympus like the closest of kin.
He turned a corner, following the sound of laughter, low and regal.
There they were.
