The war on Olympus was a cacophony of chaos—steel clashing, divine light flashing through the thick dark clouds, screams of gods and monsters echoing across the broken marble halls.
But in one quiet, crumbled temple courtyard, two figures stood still, untouched by the slaughter.
One was Hermes, Messenger of the Gods, his golden sandals glinting with the faintest pulse of divine energy, wings twitching as though eager to flee or fly.
His caduceus hung loosely in one hand, untouched. He stared with a mixture of confusion and wariness at the giant standing across from him.
The other figure was surprisingly… calm. Peaceful, even.
He was tall—of course, all Giants were—but unlike his brethren who roared and laughed as they tore through Olympus, this one stood straight, hands behind his back, not even bothering to summon a weapon.
"I am Damysus," the giant said with a serene tone. "Fastest of the Giants."
Hermes raised a brow. "You don't seem like you're about to crush me."
