The night stretched long.
Demeter had not closed her eyes once. She walked the halls of her temple with heavy steps, the torches burning low, her thoughts restless. Every time she shut her eyes, she saw Persephone's face—soft, glowing, but carrying something new. Something she could not place, yet it carried the weight of a god.
By dawn, she could not bear it anymore.
She summoned the wind, let it carry her to Olympus.
–––
The sky above the mountain was awake with stormlight. Clouds curled around marble pillars, thunder humming low in the distance, though no rain fell. The halls of Olympus stood as they always did, bright and vast, yet Demeter's heart thudded in her chest as she walked them.
At the far end of the throne hall, Zeus sat.
