The scent of blooming ambrosia filled the air as Hera walked slowly through the marbled colonnades of the new Olympus, her fingers brushing gently over the golden ivy that climbed the smooth pillars. The air was still—calm, perfect, without the clamor of war, without the biting edge of betrayal or politics. This was how it was always meant to be. A pantheon in harmony. A world without cracks.
She stopped at the edge of the central garden, overlooking the radiant expanse of sky where clouds rolled lazily across a canvas of endless blue. The sun bathed the garden in golden light, and for a moment, she closed her eyes and simply listened.
Birds chirped melodiously among the trees. Somewhere, soft laughter echoed between the marble corridors. Even the fountains sang with grace and balance.
This is peace, she thought.
