The silence on the mountaintop was absolute. The wind itself had stilled. The golden light emanating from Kratos did not roar; it hummed, a low, stable frequency that felt like the first warm day after a long winter.
Hermes, for once, had no words. He hovered at the edge of the arena, his mouth slightly agape, his usual smirk replaced by stunned disbelief. He looked from the transformed Spartan to the healed stone floor, then back again. He opened his mouth, closed it, and simply shrugged, throwing his hands up in a gesture of total surrender.
It was Zeus who broke the silence. He rose from his throne of cloud, the movement slow and deliberate. The storm in his eyes was calm, replaced by a deep, unreadable intensity. He did not speak to the crowd, to Athena, or to Hermes. His gaze was locked solely on Kratos.
"The match is concluded," Zeus said, his voice not booming, but carrying with the weight of finality. It was not a suggestion.
