Gaia's head snaps back the moment she feels it, the shift sudden and undeniable as her oath tightens across existence. It doesn't wait for its appointed time—there are still six days left—but the oath has already taken hold.
It locks into place, firm and absolute, binding Olympus with a force that carries her will far sooner than it should. Zeus has accepted it. He hasn't accepted it under pressure or at the edge of a deadline, he has done so willingly, and that alone indicates to her that something has gone terribly wrong.
Her gaze sharpens as she turns toward Aleysia. The young demigod's body shakes violently, not from weakness, but from excess. Power floods through her in relentless waves: too much grief, too much rage, too much force tearing through her all at once. It doesn't move in harmony. It crashes, splinters, and surges again, as if her own power can't stabilize under the weight of what she feels.
