The clouds curled and split as Athena cleaved through the sky like a silver spear hurled by fate itself.

    Wind coiled around her bronze-plated form, her cloak of owl-feathers flaring like wings behind her.

    Lightning surged far below, thunder groaning like a weary beast beneath her feet.

    But she paid none of it any mind.

    She was angry.

    Not the kind of fury that scorches the earth, like Ares.

    Not the cruel, coiling rage of Zeus.

    This was the cold, cutting kind.

    A diamond-edged wrath that brewed in silence until it bled into every breath.

    "Fool," she muttered. "Foolish old tyrant."

    Her fists clenched at her sides, gauntlets groaning from the pressure.

    Her eyes glared ahead, but she didn''t see the mountains or forests.

    She saw him—her father—sitting on that blasted throne of white marble and lightning, his hand resting on his chin in that lazy, arrogant posture.

    Zeus.

    Once the beacon of Olympus. Now, a hollow echo of himself. The ''hero'' who ended the tyranny of the Titans and became a tyrant himself.

    He had laughed when Athena said what Prometheus prophesized that only mortals could turn the tide of this war.

    His pride and arrogance refused to accept such words. How could someone that is no different from an ant possibly help someone as great as them?

    "Humans?" he''d scoffed then. "The dirt-born, the weak-willed, the ever-bleeding insects of the earth?"

    He had laughed—and the others followed.

    Like they always did.

    Instead of heeding Prometheus'' prophecy, Zeus instead ordered all Olympians to gather for a counterattack—as if this was a war they could win with strength alone.

    As if those Giants hidden in the shadows, whose numbers and powers remained completely unknown, could be bested by a swing of Poseidon''s trident or a thunderbolt hurled across the sky.

    Don''t they know that they literally have no idea about how strong the giants are? Where they are hiding? How many they are? Why would they counterattack when they knew nothing!?

    Athena clenched her jaw. Her helm nearly cracked from the pressure.

    They had no idea what they were dealing with.

    Not even her mind could come up with a plan to counter an enemy they had no knowledge of.

    She looked to the horizon.

    Artemis would surely not listen to Zeus and not attend this gathering.

    The moon-huntress had likely retreated with her sisterhood into the sacred groves, watching the stars for omens.

    She had no time for Olympian bluster—not when her girls, her loyal huntresses, could be in danger.

    Astrea wouldn''t answer the call either. She never did. The star-born enforcer of justice roamed alone, guided only by her silver scales.

    She''d likely scorn Zeus''s plan, choosing instead to impose her own righteous judgment on whatever forces threatened balance.

    Even Ares, the bloodthirsty storm of war, had grown… reluctant.

    Athena''s brow furrowed at the thought of him.

    Her brutish, reckless, often unbearable half-brother had changed.

    Amd she was sure that Herios had changed him.

    There had been a time when Ares would have leapt at this war, driven by the scent of blood and fire.

    But now? Despite all his talks of excitement at finally going to war, he didn''t make any move and simply left Olympus.

    Why? Well, he has children.

    Daughters he adored, sons he trained with patience she never thought he possessed.

    In the past, Athena would''ve never thought that Ares could possess such paternal instincts like he does now.

    His love for his children was so strong that there was a time where he personally slaughtered one of Poseidon''s own spawn for laying hands on his daughter, completely disregarding any consequences.

    He had even dared to come knocking on Poseidon''s door and look for a fight.

    That was the day Athena realized Ares had learned what it meant to protect, not just conquer.

    "Herios changed you," she''d once told him.

    He hadn''t denied it.

    The way that King of Men stood against all impossible odds, his back facing the kingdom he has built and protected...

    It was a glorious moment that stuck to the God of War.

    Athena paused mid-flight, hovering like a hawk above the low-hanging stormclouds. Wind howled around her, but she was unmoved.

    Below, the mortal world stretched out like an ancient tapestry—valleys carved by time, forests humming with life, cities of stone and fire nestled in cradle-like hills. It was so small, so fragile, and yet…

    "How?" she whispered aloud. "How can they—mortal men and women—hope to kill something that stands beside gods?"

    She raised countless heroes, hailed as their patron even, but deep in her heart, she knew that none of them can even hope to touch the realm of gods.

    No one can, unless they are blessed by gods themselves.

    Her lips tightened as she paused her thoughts.

    Her mind drifted to Herios.

    The mortal who united the scattered human tribes.

    Who faced monsters born from divine wrath and stood unflinching.

    Who carved cities where once there was wilderness, forged the first law, sang the first anthem of mankind''s sovereignty.

    Who spoke not with prophecy, but human will.

    A man who had looked into the abyss—and built a bridge across it.

    A man who boasted human power, in an era of god-believer.

    "...could they all be as great as him?"

    Her heartbeat slowed.

    Impossible.

    "What am I thinking? No gods or humans can be as great as him. No one can compare to him," she murmured. "His hands built what gods deemed impossible, who can even match a man like him?"

    The words echoed in the wind, swept away before the world could hear.

    Athena''s chest tightened—not with grief, but with the raw weight of truth and longing.

    Herios had done more with mortal hands than most gods had with divinity.

    "He had believed in the power of humanity. And so does Prometheus and Hades." Athena stared at the mortals below.

    Why would she doubt them?

    Athena took a breath, held it, and exhaled slowly.

    There would be no victory through divine firepower.

    No glory in celestial arrogance.

    If anything was to be won, it would be through those below—those fragile souls who dared resist even fate itself. S~ea??h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

    But would they rise in time?

    Athena didn''t know.

    But she would find out.

    She turned in the sky, her wings of thought and light folding around her.

    The assembly on Olympus could wait.

    Let her father shout into the wind.

    Let his lightning fall like rain.

    She had something more important to do.

    She would find the mortals who still dared to think, to learn, to create. And she would protect them.

    For in them, Herios lived again.

    And in them, perhaps, the last hope of gods as well.