Aphrodite stood frozen, staring at the suspended figures of Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos. The chains that held them weren't physical; they shimmered like strands of illusion and willpower, shifting through purples, blacks, and silver, anchoring the sisters midair. Each thread pulsed faintly with energy—a heartbeat from a source unseen but undeniably powerful.
"They're alive," Aphrodite whispered. "But barely."
Ares moved beside her, spear still ignited in crackling red flame. "Then let's cut them loose."
"No, wait—" She caught his arm just as he raised it. "These bindings… they're not just magical. They're temporal. Any brute force could tear their essence apart. We're dealing with something far more delicate."
Ares scowled. "We don't have time to be delicate."
