The skies above Olympus roared with fire and light.
Athena vanished into the fray, leaving me standing before the throne—aching, ashamed, and burning with something far worse than pain, regret.
But there was no time.
Below, the great plaza of Olympus had become a battlefield of gods.
A golden hail of arrows rained down from the heavens—Eros unleashed another volley from high above, his wings unfurled, haloed in starlight. Each shot cracked stone, shattered towers, and melted divine wards. Hermes was a blur of motion behind him, teleporting between points midair, blades drawn, intercepting arrow after arrow before they could strike Zeus himself.
