The storm above Olympus didn't fade. It grew louder—alive with wings, roars, and power from realms that hadn't shared breath since the first dawn. The marble terraces shook under the weight of armies arriving through light and shadow.
The first to step through the rippling sky were the Giants. Each one towered like a moving mountain, their skin carved with runes glowing blue and crimson. Frost curled from their breath, fire from their veins. Skrymir, broad-shouldered and draped in furs, dragged an axe the size of a temple door.
He met Zeus's gaze, his voice deep as thunder. "We remember when your kind chained us. Now we stand beside you."
Zeus nodded. "Then let us make that history worth something."
The Giants grinned, their laughter rolling like an avalanche.
