The room did not return to normal after Athena left.
Divinity lingered like smoke from a dying fire—thick, acrid, impossible to wave away. It clung to the air, pressed against the skin, and left a faint metallic taste on the tongue, as though the goddess had exhaled war itself into the space.
The stone walls, etched with subtle wards of wisdom and strategy, hummed with residual energy, their runes flickering erratically before settling into a subdued glow. The mana threads woven into the marble floor pulsed unevenly, like veins struggling to regain rhythm after a god's gaze had dissected them.
Atlas stood motionless in the center of the room, eyes half-lidded, breathing measured and deep. He could feel the echo of her presence probing still—testing the edges of his restraint, searching for cracks in the facade he presented. Athena had not come to threaten; she had come to *measure*. And measurement from a goddess like her was its own kind of violence.
