The hall emptied slowly.
Gods drifted toward the exits in small, suspicious clusters. Ares left first, his boots cracking against the stone, his hand still resting on his sword hilt. Odin followed, Gungnir tapping a rhythm that echoed too long in the broken space. The Egyptian priestess disappeared into shadow without a word. The Old Man from Japan walked bent and slow, his sandals scraping against the cracked floor.
Athena stayed.
Hers stayed.
Zeus stayed.
And Hera—Hera remained near the pillar where she had stood through the entire argunt, arms crossed, face carved from stone.
The map table still glowed with silver lines. The fractures had shifted again. A new crack had opened near the eastern sector, thin as a thread but growing. Athena stared at it. She didn't need to trace it. She knew every line, every stress point, every place where reality was already tearing.
"We need a structure," she said.
No one answered.
She looked up. Hers had his arms folded, his wings twitching. Zeus sat on a chunk of fallen pillar, the chaos around his wrist pulsing slow and steady. Hera hadn't moved.
"A temporary council," Athena continued. "Three seats. One for the Olympians. One for the angels. One neutral."
Ares had left. But his voice still seed to echo in the space.
Neutral? Everyone here nearly died fighting for one side or the other.
"He's not wrong," Hers said quietly.
"He's not right either," Athena replied. "If we don't have a neutral voice, the council will be dead before it starts."
"Who would even take a neutral seat?" Hers asked. "Everyone picked a side. Everyone fought. There's no such thing as neutral anymore."
Athena's jaw tightened. She had thought about this. For days. There was only one being who could claim neutrality—who had stood apart from the war, who had refused to fight for either Heaven or the gods.
But that being was gone.
The Father had taken Him.
Swallowed Him back into the Tribunal's collapse.
"Michael," Athena said.
Hers blinked.
"He wasn't neutral," Hers said. "He fought against us."
"He fought for Heaven. Not for the Father. Not in the end," Athena said. "And he's the only angel the gods might listen to."
"And the angels? Will they listen to him?"
Athena didn't answer. Because she didn't know.
---
Michael arrived an hour later.
He ca alone, wings folded, sword sheathed. His face was calm, but his eyes were tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. He stopped at the edge of the map table and looked at the silver lines.
"The fractures are worse than yesterday," he said.
"Every day," Athena replied.
Michael nodded slowly. Then: "You asked for ."
"I did."
"What do you need?"
Athena laid out the proposal. Three seats. Olympian. Angelic. Neutral. Michael would hold the angelic seat. He would speak for Heaven's remaining host. He would advocate for their needs, their fears, their future.
Michael listened without interrupting.
When she finished, he said, "And the neutral seat?"
Athena hesitated. "We haven't filled it yet."
"Because there's no one to fill it."
"Because we haven't found the right being."
Michael looked at her. His gaze was steady, unreadable. "The Father is gone. The Son is gone. The Spirit is gone. There is no neutral left."
The words hung in the air.
Hers shifted his weight. Hera uncrossed her arms. Zeus didn't move.
"There has to be," Athena said.
"Why?"
Athena didn't have an answer.
---
Odin returned before the council could reconvene.
He walked into the hall with Thor at his side, both of them looking like they hadn't rested in days. Thor's face was bruised. Odin's eye was red-rimd.
"You're proposing a council," Odin said. It wasn't a question.
Athena nodded.
"Three seats?"
"Olympian. Angelic. Neutral."
Odin stroked his beard. His one eye moved to Michael, then to Zeus, then back to Athena.
"The Olympian seat," Odin said slowly. "Who holds it?"
Athena's gaze flicked to Zeus. Then away.
"We haven't decided."
"No," Odin said. "You have. You're just afraid to say it."
The room turned toward Zeus.
He sat on the broken pillar, chaos pulsing around his wrist, face unreadable. He didn't react to the attention. Didn't shift. Didn't speak.
Odin walked toward him. Stopped a few feet away.
"You don't have to be king," Odin said. "But you have to take a seat. Or this council is dead before it breathes."
Zeus looked at him.
"I didn't fight a war to beco a king," Zeus said.
"No," Odin agreed. "You fought to free us. To stop the Father. To break the Tribunal. You did all of that." He paused. "Now you have to help us figure out what cos after."
Zeus was silent.
The chaos around his wrist pulsed once. Twice. Steadied.
Hera stood near the pillar. She hadn't spoken. She didn't need to. Her glare was enough. Sharp. Demanding. The kind of look that had launched wars and ended kingdoms.
Zeus t her eyes.
She didn't look away.
Neither did he.
"I won't sit on a throne," Zeus said finally.
"Then don't," Odin replied. "Sit on a chair. Sit on the floor. I don't care. Just sit sowhere and help us hold this together."
The silence stretched.
Then Zeus moved.
He stood. Walked toward the map table. The gods parted before him—not in fear, in expectation. He stopped at the edge of the silver lines, looked at the fractures, looked at the cracks, looked at the dying light bleeding through the ceiling.
"For how long?" he asked.
Athena blinked. "What?"
"The council. The seats. The decisions. How long are we doing this?"
Athena's mind raced. She hadn't thought about duration. She had been too focused on structure, on survival, on keeping the realm from collapsing.
"I don't know," she admitted.
Zeus nodded slowly.
"Then we figure that out too."
He turned away from the table.
"I'll take the Olympian seat. Temporary. Until we find sothing better."
The words landed like stones.
Relief. Tension. Hope. Fear. All of it mixed together in the small, broken hall.
Odin nodded. Michael said nothing. Hera's glare softened, just a fraction.
Athena exhaled.
"Then we have a council," she said.
"Barely," Hers muttered.
---
The eting ended without further argunt.
Gods left in small groups. Odin and Thor walked together, speaking in low voices. Michael disappeared into the shadows at the edge of the hall. Athena remained at the map table, tracing lines that didn't need tracing.
Hers appeared beside Zeus.
"They're going to tear each other apart before the sky does," Hers said quietly.
Zeus looked at him.
"Probably."
"That doesn't worry you?"
Zeus looked at the cracks in the ceiling.
"It worries every day."
He walked away, chaos pulsing around his wrist, leaving Hers alone in the silence.
The hall was empty now.
Broken pillars. Cracked floor. A map of silver lines that kept spreading no matter how tightly Athena held them.
And sowhere, far above, the sky cracked a little wider.
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