The grey pocket hummed with a different energy now. Not the quiet hum of hiding. The sharp, electric hum of preparing. Of sharpening blades and hardening resolve.
Zeus stood at the center of it all, his white eyes sweeping over his army one final time. They were gathered in loose formation—gods and Titans and monsters and heroes, all of them hollow but burning bright with purpose. They looked at him with the kind of trust that made his chest ache.
"We're not hiding anymore," Zeus said, his voice carrying without effort. "Tomorrow, we take the fight to them. Not because we're stronger. Not because we're ready. Because waiting won't make us any of those things."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"The Archangels are mustering. Heaven is preparing for a siege. They expect us to come at them the same way we did before—straight on, desperate, hoping for a miracle." He almost smiled. "So that's exactly what we're going to do."
A murmur ran through the crowd. Confusion. Curiosity.
