The great hall of Olympus was quiet, the echoes of the recent spectacle finally faded. Zeus stood by the open archway, watching the mortal world below as if it were a intricate game board. Metis stood beside him, her presence a calm, intelligent warmth against the cool marble.
"They are all whispering, you know," Metis said, her voice soft but clear in the vast space. "About what you did for the Spartan. Taking him to Elysium. It was… unorthodox."
Zeus didn't turn. "Let them whisper. They have always been better at talking than understanding."
Metis moved to stand beside him, following his gaze. "They whisper about other things, too. The old prophecies. The ones that say a son of yours will one day bring about your end." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Some are saying you are creating the very instruments of your downfall. First, you elevated Ares, then Hercules… now this Kratos. You seem to be collecting potential heirs with a talent for violence."
