There was no path.
No divine trail, no footprints carved by time or ritual. The land before Akhon was wild and untamed, as if even the earth itself recoiled from being walked upon. Yet he moved forward, undeterred.
The mountain loomed ahead — larger now, though still cloaked in a strange mist. It shimmered faintly, like it didn't belong, like it had been stitched into this world from another. And that was precisely why he knew it was real.
Something had responded to his offering.
Something older than Hera's illusion.
With each step, the world behind him grew quieter. Olympus, with all its flawless geometry and soft golden glow, seemed distant now — as though he had already crossed some invisible threshold. The air grew cooler, thinner. The chirping of birds faded into silence. Even the wind held its breath.
