The throne hall of Olympus gleamed with silver fire.
The pillars rose like endless trees, carved with scenes of battles that had decided the fate of gods and mortals. Lightning arced faintly along their edges, traces of Zeus's storm still woven into the stone. The high throne sat empty, but it did not make the hall less heavy. At its base, another seat stood, carved with equal reverence though smaller in form.
Metis sat there.
Her robe shimmered in pale threads of silver and deep blue, her hair pinned with a crown that was not forged of jewels but of starlight itself. Her gaze was calm, yet none of the gods before her mistook it for gentleness. She was the Queen of Queens—keeper of counsel, voice of Olympus when Zeus walked elsewhere.
The hall was not silent.
