The sky over Greece that morning was a pale gold—thin clouds stretched across the heavens like faded scrolls. And beneath them, the mortal realm pulsed quietly. Not with the roar of wars or cries of conquest, but with the soft rhythms of life.
Goats climbed narrow hills. Merchants shouted beneath faded canopies. A mother scolded her children in a dusty alley.
And in the midst of it… a man walked.
He wore no crown. No lightning danced in his veins. No divine glow traced his skin. Just a cloak—earth-colored and rough—and a pair of sandals too thin for the road.
He had brown hair now. A short beard. Human eyes.
Zeus—King of Olympus, Father of the Skies—walked among mortals for the first time in a long, long time.
And no one knew.
A boy passed him with a basket of bread. "Watch it," the boy said, bumping his side. Zeus stepped aside and smiled faintly.
