The air in the stone chamber hung heavy with the scent of wild lavender and ocean salt, the faint rustle of curtains stirring in the breeze. Zeus's words lingered between them, a quiet admission that carried the weight of Asgard's cold halls and Hera's unspoken grief. Metis stood by the window, the crystal shard in her hand catching the sunlight, its faint pulse of gold and blue shimmering like a captured truth. Her eyes, sharp and unyielding, held Zeus's gaze, searching for something beyond his words.
"Forget it," Zeus said, his voice low but firm, cutting through the silence like a blade. "What happened in Asgard, what Hera planned—it's done. Let it stay there."
