The desert was still shaking from Ra's fall.
Ash and fire drifted across the dunes like snow, pyramids cracked into molten ribs, the Nile itself boiling in the distance. The Olympians stood together, battered and scarred, but alive. Their breaths came heavy, their weapons dripping blood and sand, their eyes hard as stone.
Zeus stepped forward. His storm dimmed, but sparks still crawled across his shoulders, his chest rising and falling like thunder trying to calm itself. He looked at Nyx, at Gaia, at his kin spread across the battlefield.
"It's done," he said. His voice was rough, low. "We move."
