The oath still hummed through Olympus long after the amphitheater had emptied. The Styx did not whisper and fade quickly. It lingered, binding every chest with an invisible hand.
Zeus stood alone for a moment at the broken railing, lightning silent under his skin, before he finally turned away. There was no more time for speeches. War was no longer a storm on the horizon—it was crawling through their seas, their skies, their roots.
And Olympus moved.
Athena
The courtyard was alive with the scrape of bronze, the thud of shields locking, the bark of orders. Athena stood at the center, bronze gleaming against her shoulders, owl perched silent but watchful. With a single wave of her spear, glowing maps unfolded into the air above her—mountains etched in gold, seas shifting in blue light, rivers pulsing faintly.
