The summit of Olympus was alive with a brilliance no mortal eye could bear. Clouds swirled beneath the marble pillars of the throne hall, golden light spilling from the heavens to dance across walls carved with the histories of gods. Thunder rolled endlessly in the distance, but within the hall, a tense silence pressed on every shoulder.
Twelve thrones stood in a perfect circle, each one commanding awe. Zeus occupied the head, lightning crackling faintly along his beard, his storm-lit eyes scanning the hall. His presence alone made the air heavy, as if the mountain itself bent to his will.
"They have forgotten us," Zeus said, his voice echoing like a cannon through the hall. "Mortals have abandoned their prayers. They build their cities, their weapons, their empires, and whisper that the age of gods is over."
Hera's gaze burned like ice. She rose from her throne, her crown tilting slightly, the folds of her robe whispering over the marble floor. "Then perhaps it is time they learn humility. Let their empires crumble beneath our hands."
Ares slammed his spear into the floor, the force sending a ripple through the stone beneath them. "Enough talk! Humanity thrives on arrogance and greed. We should strike them down immediately, erase them from existence!"
Athena leaned forward, gray eyes cutting through the tension. "Destroying them all," she said, her voice sharp, "teaches nothing. A world without humans tells no story. Let us challenge them instead. Let their champions rise and fight for the survival of their kind."
The gods murmured among themselves. Apollo's golden hair shimmered as he smiled faintly, as if amused by the notion. Poseidon's trident vibrated with an oceanic hum, his expression unreadable. Even Hades, seated in shadow at the edge of the circle, let a faint smirk crease his jaw.
Zeus exhaled, and the stormlight around him flared brighter. "A contest, then," he said, his voice low and terrible. "A war of champions. The strongest mortals, the wisest minds, the fiercest rulers of history — summon them. If they can defeat a god, let them live. If they fail, humanity will fall."
Lightning flashed across the vaulted ceiling, and the hall shivered under the raw weight of divine decree. Every god present felt it — the promise of battle, the inevitability of blood.
"Let the first champion be chosen," Athena said, her tone calm, almost clinical. "Let the world see that its fate lies not in prayer, but in courage, skill, and wisdom."
Hera's eyes narrowed. "Do you believe they can succeed?"
Athena's lips curved into a faint smile. "Some may. But even failure will be glorious, for all will witness the truth: humans once dared to challenge gods."
A gust of wind swept through the hall, carrying with it the faintest whispers — echoes of prayers long forgotten, prayers of kings, warriors, and scholars, drifting from the earth below. Zeus raised his hand, and the hall fell into absolute silence.
"Then it begins," he said. "Olympus has spoken."
Outside the throne hall, the storm tore across the mortal realm, shattering towers, cracking roads, and turning rivers into torrents. The sky glowed with a supernatural fire, visible from every corner of the earth. Humanity did not yet know why the heavens burned, nor why whispers of their ancestors' names began to echo in empty temples and ruined shrines.
And then, in the shadow of the impossible, a figure appeared — neither mortal nor god, cloaked in the void between worlds. A voice carried across the wind, faint yet absolute:
"Rise, champions. Humanity calls you back to life. The gods have decreed: fight, or watch your world burn."
Somewhere, Achilles stirred, the memory of Troy flashing in his mind. Somewhere else, Boudica's blood burned with unquenched fury. A strategist in the East, a king in the North, a warrior of the desert — all were summoned, their names whispered across the cosmos, igniting hope, fear, and fury in equal measure.
And in Olympus, the gods watched, their faces unreadable, as the first threads of a war that would decide the fate of mankind began to weave themselves across history itself.