The main event was over, the divine spectators had drifted away, and the peak of Mount Olympus had returned to its usual, windy silence. But in a sun-drenched courtyard overlooking the cloud-sea, a smaller, more familiar gathering was taking shape.
Hermes was a blur of motion, refilling golden cups with nectar before anyone could ask. "I'm telling you, I've never seen anything like it," he chattered, zipping from one spot to another. "One minute, it's all chaos and screaming—classic Ares, really—and the next, poof! Golden light, warm fuzzies, and the big guy's got a whole new job title. God of Hope. Can you imagine?"
