Warmth.
That was the first thing he felt.
A golden hue bathed his vision, soothing, gentle. Like the final light of day before the sun dipped below the horizon. He blinked slowly, his breath steady. A soft breeze brushed over his skin, carrying the scent of olives and honeyed air. There was peace in the atmosphere, but it felt… artificial. Constructed.
A voice cut through the haze, serene and commanding all at once.
"Akhon," it whispered. "Wake up, my son."
His eyes opened fully.
Standing above him, her black hair flowing with the wind, it was Hera. Her smile was serene, her robes cascading like rippling silk, but her eyes watched him with an intensity that unsettled something deep within him — something he could not name.
