The golden halls of Olympus shimmered as twilight bled across the skies, casting the palace of the gods in hues of amber and violet. The thrones of the Twelve stood arranged in a crescent, looming above the marble dais where lesser divinities and messengers shuffled nervously. Today, the atmosphere was different—thick, heavy, charged with dread that even immortals could not ignore.
Zeus, the thunder-wielding king of Olympus, sat rigidly upon his throne, knuckles white as he clenched the armrest. His golden eyes burned with suspicion, though beneath his commanding aura lay something far more dangerous—fear.
"Poseidon…" Zeus muttered at last, breaking the silence. His voice rolled like distant thunder. "The oceans have awakened. My spies report storms that tear across the Mediterranean without cause. The tides themselves roar his name. Tell me, brothers and sisters… what does this mean?"
