Morning.
The golden light of Olympus streamed gently through the high windows, soft and warm like it didn't want to wake anyone. The air still smelled of heat and sweat, of lavender and wine. The bed was a mess of tangled limbs, silk sheets kicked halfway to the floor. Breathing soft. Bodies glowing with that post-divine glow.
Zeus sat up slowly.
His hair was loose and wild, a few strands sticking to his face. His body still hummed, not just with power—but with memory. Last night was carved into him now. Every moan. Every kiss. Every flicker of eye contact. It hadn't been just lust. It had been something… heavier. Something older.
He glanced around the bed.
Metis was curled beside him, one hand still resting against his chest. Leto lay on her stomach, hair draped over her back like a river. Maia clung to a pillow, lips parted, drooling a little. Mnemosyne had one leg thrown over Themis, who somehow still looked regal even half-naked and asleep.
He let out a soft chuckle.
