Olympus was burning.
Not literally—though at this point, that might've been less destructive than what was actually happening. The realm of the gods, usually pristine and perfect as a postcard from heaven, was cracking at the edges. Marble columns showed stress fractures. Golden fountains ran dry. Even the fucking clouds looked pissed off.
The gods sat in their great hall like children who'd just been told Santa wasn't real, except instead of presents, they'd lost access to their favorite playground: Earth.
"This is bullshit!" Zeus roared, his voice making the entire mountain shake like a bass drop at a rave. "We are GODS! We don't get locked out of anywhere!"
He slammed his fist on the table, and lightning crackled across the walls like angry graffiti.
Hera, looking like she'd aged a thousand years in the past few hours, didn't even flinch. "And yet here we are. Cut off. Isolated. Like fucking prisoners in our own realm."
