The night on Olympus was clear, but the air felt strange—charged, as if something far away had just shifted.
Zeus stood at his balcony, leaning lightly on the carved railing, watching the gardens below.
Lucifer was down there, surrounded by the Muses. They laughed as they circled him, teasing him into playing a tune on the lyre. Even from here, Zeus could see that faint smirk on Lucifer's face—the one that showed he was humoring them but secretly enjoying it. His children darted between the pillars, weaving in and out of the torchlight, chasing each other with wooden swords.
It was a quiet, almost domestic scene. Something Olympus rarely gave him.
The sound of wings broke it.
A raven cut across the moonlight, gliding down to land on the stone ledge beside him. Its feathers shifted, lengthened, and folded in on themselves until Hera stood there, dressed in deep green, eyes sharp as ever.
"Why do you still keep him in the realm?" she asked, no greeting, no softness.
