In the war-fogged morning of the Gulf of Corinth, where Olympus met sea and prophecy, the skies cracked with thunder — yet no lightning followed.
Cassian stood beneath the fractured heavens, the divine scroll still clenched in his scarred hand. His breath came slow, measured. He wasn't afraid. Not of gods. Not of fate. Not even of Thalorin.
But the sea — the sea had changed.
It no longer whispered like it once did. It called, low and ancient, echoing with the voices of drowned kings and betrayed titans.
"Your blood listens," Selene said softly, stepping beside him.
He didn't respond.
Instead, he turned to the cliffs. Something moved through the mist below. A shimmer of light, unnatural. Graceful. Then, a figure stepped onto the rocks — soaked, regal, barefoot, and cloaked in glistening kelp and azure silk that fluttered like living coral.
She looked no older than twenty. But her gaze was older than Olympus.
