Zeus had walked back from the edge of Heaven with Metis at his side, neither of them speaking, both of them feeling the weight of what came next pressing against their ribs like a second heartbeat. The healers were still working when he returned. Raphael had moved to a new section of the wounded, his light dimmer now but steady. Ares had stopped lurking at the edges and started carrying bodies—not gently, but without complaint. Even Thor had stopped laughing and started lifting.
The battlefield was becoming something else.
A place where survivors caught their breath before the next thing hit.
And the next thing was already here.
It started quietly. A question, passed from god to god like a wound that needed naming. What now? No one asked it loudly. No one wanted to be the first to admit they didn't know.
But the question spread anyway.
