The sanctuary was still, its ancient pillars veined with ivy, as though time itself had forgotten the place. Aphrodite paced in silence, her golden hair catching the torchlight as the fire cracked against stone. Hermes leaned casually against one of the crumbling columns, but his eyes darted like restless sparks, scanning every shadow. Ares stood at the center, arms crossed, his presence heavy as an unsheathed blade.
They had waited long enough.
When Hera finally appeared, her steps were slow, as if every stride cost her something. Her face bore none of the imperious mask she usually wore on Olympus. Instead, she looked carved down, stripped of her armor, carrying the weight of knowledge none of them shared.
"You found me," she said, her voice tired but steady. "I should not be surprised."
Ares took a step forward, eyes narrowing. "Enough hiding. You know who's behind this—the erasure of the Fates, the veil over our memories. Take us to him."
