The air atop the mortal peak of Mount Olympus was thin and cold, tasting of ice and ancient stone. But today, the very atmosphere shimmered with stolen warmth and borrowed light. The gods had come down to earth.
They appeared not with crashes, but with subtle shifts in reality. A patch of mist coalesced into the form of Artemis, her silver huntress' garb seeming to draw the moonlight from the day itself. A ripple in a rock pool became Aphrodite, rising with a grace that made the very air seem to sigh. One by one, they manifested on the natural ledges and outcrops that formed a vast, amphitheater-like arena around a flat, stony plain.
