The king of the gods sat on the throne at the chamber's apex. His beard had gone white three eons ago and stayed that way because Zeus had decided white conveyed authority better than the original black. His eyes contained storms. Actual storms. Lightning flickered behind his irises when he blinked. He wore a suit. Always a suit. Zeus had adopted mortal formal wear approximately forty years ago after attending a VHC gala in disguise and deciding that double-breasted Italian tailoring represented the apex of aesthetic achievement across all dimensions.
The chamber fell silent.
Apollo measured his words. Speaking to Zeus required understanding that the king of the gods processed information through three simultaneous filters: strategic utility, personal entertainment, and whether the speaker's argument threatened his authority. The trick was satisfying all three.
