The war on Olympus raged like a living storm.
Columns lay in splinters, divine banners burned as ash on the wind, and shrines toppled in heaps of shattered marble and broken reverence. Amid the destruction, the battlefield was a blur of color and wrath—until a single silence spread across one corner of the ruined acropolis.
Athena was standing there, after his father have her the order to leave him fight alone.
Armor torn in places, her golden helm cracked, blood running down one temple beneath the aegis crown. Her spear rested heavy in one hand, shield raised in the other. Her eyes, always calm and calculating, now burned with grim fury.
Across from her, stepping through a haze of rose-petal mist and ruined stone, came Aphrodite.
Unburnt.
Untouched.
