Zeus stood at the edge of the balcony, his white robes drifting in the sharp morning wind. Below him, Olympus spread out in silent splendour: marble halls shining in dawn light, temple braziers smoking with fresh offerings, gardens of olive and laurel drifting with bees and small songbirds. But he saw none of it.
His fists clenched at his sides, the crackle of faint static biting the air around him.
Metis stood a few paces behind, her silver crown catching the rising sun in quiet brilliance. She watched him with calm eyes, though faint worry lined her brow.
"Zeus," she said softly, her voice clear and unhurried, "you cannot let this eat at you. Hera will not admit it. She has no reason to."
Zeus turned sharply, lightning flickering across his irises. His hair, loose this morning, whipped across his shoulders with the force of his aura.
