The pressure had been building for hours. Or days. No one could tell anymore.
Athena's teams had deployed to the fracture points. Odin was coordinating with the Aesir. Raphael had taken charge of the healers, moving between angels and gods with the same quiet efficiency. Everyone was working. Everyone was moving. Everyone was doing something.
Except Zeus.
He sat at the edge of the camp, on a broken chunk of what used to be a pillar, and watched.
The chaos around his wrist drifted lazily, like smoke in still air. Not restless. Not hungry. Just present. Waiting.
Gods walked past him. Some nodded. Some didn't meet his eyes. Some took the long way around, adding extra steps to avoid passing too close. He noticed. Didn't comment.
The sky above him cracked a little wider.
No one had answers. No one had solutions. Every conversation circled back to the same question, asked a hundred different ways:
What does Zeus do?
