In the sun-drenched lands of the Overworld, where clouds floated like drifting islands over silver rivers and golden fields, a particular city gleamed beneath the afternoon light — a thriving center of commerce and myth, and now, the latest foothold of the Grand Order.
At the very top floor of a grand marble building that overlooked the entire city, three figures sat around a wide table scattered with maps, scrolls, and half-empty cups of nectar wine.
Herios, tall and quiet, his eyes sharp as tempered steel, sat with his arms crossed, lost in thought.
To his right, Athena, radiant and poised as always, leaned over the map, her gray eyes sparkling with both intellect and impatience.
On the other side, Medusa, whose once-terrifying visage had softened over time, rested her chin in her palm.
The three of them had come a long way.
