The fracture had finally steadied.
Not healed. Not closed. Just... stopped spreading. Zeus had been standing at its edge for hours, pushing his will against the wound, forcing the light to hold. His head ached. His hands trembled. But the crack had stopped growing.
He stepped back from the edge.
The camp was quiet. Not the quiet of peace. The quiet of exhaustion. Gods moved between tents with their heads down, their shoulders heavy. Angels stood at their posts with hollow eyes. The healers had stopped rushing. There was nothing left to rush for.
Zeus walked toward his tent.
He didn't make it.
Hera stepped out of the shadows between two tents. Her arms were crossed. Her face was unreadable. She had been waiting for him.
"We need to talk."
"Now?"
"Now."
He stopped. Looked at her. She didn't look away.
