Shrines were ablaze on the battlefield. The scent of ozone and blood hung in the air like incense offered to a forgotten god. Screams echoed from distant halls, drowned in the clash of steel and divinity.
But here—in what had once been the Grove of Harmony—there was only silence.
Or there had been until now.
The circle of sacred olive trees was blackened and broken, roots torn and leaves scorched. Amid the ash and wilted grass, two goddesses stood opposite each other.
One cloaked in pale green and gold, her hair like harvested wheat, her hands were curled tightly into fists.
Demeter.
And across from her, a darker shadow. The cloak of midnight. Her staff aglow with flickering blue fire. Her expression was unreadable and her eyes shiny like stars.
Hecate.
"I hoped it wasn't true," Hecate said quietly, voice as cold as the space between stars. "That you had joined him."
