Morning broke over Asgard with slow golden light.
Thin beams slipped through the hanging drapes, pooling across the polished stone floor like spilled honey. Outside, the mountains shimmered under a fresh dusting of snow. Temple bells rang faintly in the distance, calling the gods to wake.
Zeus adjusted his dark blue cloak as he fastened the final bronze clasp. His bare chest, still lined with fading lightning marks, disappeared beneath the thick folds. Hera stood near the window, brushing her long dark hair with a slow, practiced hand. The breeze lifted the edge of her crimson robe, revealing the faintest imprint of a bite on her shoulder.
Neither spoke about the night before.
They didn't need to.
Instead, they moved around each other like calm fire and steady wind—quiet, familiar, no longer at war.
A soft knock at the door.
Zeus turned, voice firm but gentle. "Enter."
