Mount Olympus.
The storm clouds above flickered faintly, though there was no storm. Just tension—coiled and waiting.
Zeus sat near the edge of the high terrace, overlooking the endless skies below. His robe draped loosely over one shoulder, and the weight of the world felt unusually quiet tonight. The kind of quiet that always came before someone brought news that would ruin it.
And as expected, it came.
A golden blur zipped across the sky and landed on the marble tiles with a quick gust of wind.
Hermes straightened his cloak, still catching his breath.
Zeus didn't turn. "If you came just to breathe loudly, you're dismissed."
"Wish it was just that," Hermes muttered, stepping forward. "It's Poseidon."
That made Zeus blink.
"Go on."
Hermes scratched the back of his neck. "He stormed into the garden. In front of everyone. Called out Athena. Accused her of interfering in the mortal realm. Said Olympus is playing king and queen while the sea gets ignored."
