Mount Olympus.
Hera didn't speak a word as she rose from the edge of Tartarus, the molten heat still burning at the bottom of her dress, but she didn't feel it. She couldn't feel anything right now except the words Tartarus left behind.
"Olympus must fall."
She rode the skies back in silence, her scepter humming faintly in her grip, not from magic—but tension. Her eyes narrowed against the wind. Deep down, she didn't disagree.
When she landed back on Olympus, the sky was quiet again. Too quiet. Even the wind didn't move through the columns.
She walked through the hall like a shadow, her sandals clicking softly against the polished stone. She didn't go to Zeus. Not yet. She went to her chambers, drew the curtains, and stood by the window that overlooked the courtyard where Ares trained.
