The night wind curled along the cliffside.
Zeus stood high above the ruined village, his cloak snapping in the breeze, sparks running like restless serpents across his arms. From this height, the world below looked small, but the man kneeling in the ashes did not. Even from here, Kratos's grief cut sharp, his roar for Ares echoing through the valley like thunder.
Zeus's eyes narrowed, the electric blue glow in them reflecting every fire still eating at the wreckage. His jaw tightened. He had heard countless cries over the ages—warriors cursing the gods, mothers begging for mercy, kings calling for victory. But this one… this cry was different. It was not just rage. It was pain born from betrayal, the kind that left scars deeper than blade or fire.
The King of the Gods exhaled, the air itself rumbling with his breath. "So it begins," he muttered.
