Hera stood alone in her private chamber, the vast marble hall silent except for the faint echo of her own footsteps. Chaos's words still coiled in her mind like a serpent, each syllable heavy with threat. "If they succeed, Hera, everything we've built collapses. Do what must be done… or the Fates will unmake our design."
Her fingers lingered on the edge of her throne, nails tapping against the cool stone. She had never feared any god—not even Zeus when he was at his most wrathful—but Chaos was different. Chaos had no heartbeat, no mortal flaw, no ambition in the way the Olympians understood it. Chaos was the beginning and the end. When it commanded, there was no refusal without consequence.
And yet…
