Ash floated like snow over the remains of the amphitheater.
Columns that once held sacred relics lay split in half. Statues of long-dead figures stared blankly from shattered pedestals, faces marred by heat and debris. The sky boiled a dull crimson, thick with smoke and the aftershock of divine magic. All of Olympus was shaking—but here, silence reigned.
Then a soft sound broke it. Most specifically, the crunch of armored boots on debris.
Athena dragged herself to her feet from the cracked crater. Blood matted her hair. Her right pauldron was gone, her chestplate warped and cracked from Hestia's last assault. She leaned against a fallen altar for a moment, gasping, before shoving off and taking one shaky step forward.
She didn't speak.
Across from her, Hestia stood still.
