Hera's Private Court
The doors slammed open.
Kratos burst in, blood on his shoulder where the lightning had grazed him. His steps were uneven, but his face… still defiant. Behind him, torchlight trembled from the wind that chased his entrance, as if Olympus itself refused to stay calm.
Hera was seated by the high arched window, her back straight, robe draped loosely over her shoulders, hair undone and cascading like wine-stained silk down her spine. She didn't turn.
"I felt the sky crack," she said. "So. He came."
Kratos fell to one knee. The sound echoed off the marble.
"It wasn't just a warning this time. He struck us down. All of us."
Hera slowly turned her head, green eyes locking onto him. There was a moment of silence between them—long and sharp like the pull of a bowstring.
"And yet… you crawled back to me," she said.
Kratos gritted his teeth, the shame clinging to his breath. "I tried to hold my ground."
"Did you?" Her voice wasn't raised, but it cut all the same.
