The war hall emptied slowly, the gods scattering into corridors and training grounds, each carrying the weight of Athena's words. The map dissolved into sparks, the echo of her spear-strike still humming through the chamber.
Zeus had not spoken once.
He remained still at the far end of the table, the stormlight under his skin faint but restless. His children had looked at him more than once during the debate, waiting for his voice, waiting for the command that always came. It never did.
When the last echo of footsteps faded, he turned away.
The air around him trembled as he walked the silent corridors of Olympus, past broken columns and statues half-scorched from the battle. Every shadow bent faintly toward him, every flame guttered when he passed. He clenched his jaw. They could not see. Not now.
