The world had shrunk to the feel of cold armor under his hands, the ragged saw of his own breath, and the stunned silence of the gods. For one impossible moment, Kratos had her. The Goddess of Wisdom, pinned to the earth by a mortal's sheer, stubborn weight.
Then her eyes met his.
The brief flicker of surprise was gone, replaced by something ancient and utterly calm. There was no anger there. No outrage. Only a profound, unshakable certainty.
"You touch the throne of Olympus itself," she whispered, and her voice was not loud, but it seemed to come from everywhere at once. "You will learn its weight."
A pressure began to build, not in the air, but in his mind. It was a vast, silent presence, like a mountain deciding to stand up. He felt his muscles tremble, not from fatigue, but from a deep, instinctual terror. The very light around them began to bend, pulling inward toward Athena.
With a gesture that was almost gentle, she placed her palm against his chest.
