The sun had barely climbed halfway through the sky before Hera moved. Her sandals struck marble with sharp, asured precision as she walked through the high halls of Olympus, her crimson robes flowing behind her like silent fire. Her eyes were cold, her mind clearer than it had been in years.
She entered her private hall, flanked by tall silver columns wrapped in blooming ivy. The room was quiet, lit only by the filtered glow of sunlight through polished bronze latticework. A few handmaidens bowed low as she passed. She ignored them, her gaze fixed ahead.
At the far end of the hall, several gods stood waiting. They turned as she approached – gods of lesser domains, gods whose loyalties shifted like reeds in the wind. There was Kratos, tall and broad-shouldered with eyes like dark iron. Bia, his sister, silent and sharp-eyed. There was Icelus, the dream-bringer, his pale robe drifting around him like mist. Beside him stood Phobos, god of fear, his young face handso and cold.
Hera stopped before them, folding her hands before her waist. Her gaze moved slowly across their faces, reading each flicker of greed, curiosity, or hidden loyalty.
"Olympus stands at the edge of change," she said softly. Her voice carried through the quiet hall, as calm as a mother’s lullaby, but her eyes burned with cold fury. "Zeus would crown a Titan-born queen. He would let the blood of those who once enslaved us rule Olympus again."
Kratos shifted, his jaw tightening. Bia said nothing, but her fingers curled slightly at her side. Phobos only smiled faintly, his dark eyes gleaming with silent amusent. Icelus blinked slowly, dream-heavy and unfocused.
"And you," Hera continued, tilting her chin slightly, "are loyal to Olympus. Loyal to the gods. Loyal to ."
No one spoke. The silence itself felt like an oath.
She let it stretch before she spoke again, her voice dropping lower, edged with quiet steel.
"tis cannot be allowed to live. If she is crowned, the throne will never be ours again. Her wisdom will coil around Zeus’s mind until he sees nothing else."
Kratos inclined his head slightly, his iron-dark eyes unblinking. "What would you have us do, Lady Hera?"
She looked at him, her gaze cold and unflinching.
"Prepare your strength," she said. "When the day of coronation cos... we strike."
A faint ripple of tension passed through them. Even Icelus seed to wake slightly, his dream-haze thinning as he watched her. Bia nodded once, silent approval. Phobos’s faint smile widened.
"The others?" Kratos asked quietly. "Deter. Hestia. Will they stand with us?"
Hera’s eyes narrowed faintly. "Call them."
Kratos bowed low, his massive fra bending with surprising grace. He turned and left, his footsteps heavy against the marble. The others followed, silent shadows slipping away through the wide halls of Olympus, leaving Hera alone in the quiet room.
She stood there for a long mont, her fingers twisting together in front of her. The sunlight fell across her face, gilding her high cheekbones and shadowed eyes in cold gold. Outside, she could hear the faint song of temple doves, their calls gentle and mournful.
A few hours later, Deter and Hestia entered the chamber. Deter’s robes were bright green and gold, her long braids draped with olive leaves. Hestia wore pale cream, simple and unadorned, her hair tied back with a thin bronze cord. They bowed before Hera, though Deter’s bow was shallow, her green eyes wary.
"Hera," Deter said quietly. "You called us."
Hera studied them, her gaze unreadable.
"Olympus is at risk," she said calmly. "Zeus’s choice threatens us all. tis cannot be queen."
Deter frowned, folding her arms over her chest. "tis is wise. She has guided Olympus with patience and clarity since the Titanomachy. Her reign will bring stability."
Hera’s lips tightened. "Her reign will end any chance of ours."
Hestia stepped forward slightly, her calm brown eyes eting Hera’s without fear. "And what would you do, sister?" she asked softly. "Kill her? Spill divine blood in the halls of Olympus?"
Hera said nothing, but her silence was answer enough. Deter shook her head, her braids swaying softly over her shoulders.
"I will not side with you in this," she said. "I have seen enough blood spilled in these halls."
Hestia nodded in quiet agreent. "Nor will I," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "I will keep Olympus’s hearth burning. That is my duty. Not murder."
Hera’s gaze darkened, though her expression remained still as carved marble.
"You would both let our thrones slip from us forever?" she asked, her voice low.
Deter’s green eyes sharpened. "Better that than tear Olympus apart with your pride."
Hestia reached out, touching Deter’s wrist lightly before looking back at Hera.
"We love you," she said softly. "But we will not follow you down this path."
They bowed once more before turning and leaving the hall, their robes whispering softly across the stone. Hera watched them go, her eyes hard, her jaw tight.
When the door closed behind them, the quiet room felt colder. The sunlight had shifted, leaving her in pale shadow. She stood there alone, the silence pressing down on her shoulders like heavy iron.
Finally, she turned and walked back to her private chambers, her footsteps silent and smooth against the marble floors. She entered her dim antechamber and closed the doors behind her, leaning against them for a brief mont. The cool bronze pressed against her back, grounding her trembling rage.
She moved to the wide window overlooking Olympus’s sprawling courtyards below. The gods moved like drifting lights beneath her, each carrying out their duties under the bright afternoon sky. She watched them for a long ti, her fingers tightening against the window’s stone ledge until her knuckles turned white.
"No one will stand in my way," she whispered to the empty room. "Not Deter. Not Hestia. Not even Zeus."
She turned away from the window, her crimson robe sweeping around her ankles like blood spilled across marble. The air humd faintly around her, a soft resonance of power stirring within her chest.
She walked to her private shrine, kneeling before the small brazier burning with faint blue flas. Her fingers moved quickly, scattering small handfuls of herbs and powdered bone into the fire. The flas shifted, darkening to a deep violet as thin coils of smoke rose into the dim air.
"Fates," she whispered, her voice low and shaking with quiet rage. "Show the path to victory."
The flas flickered and bent, shadows twisting across her pale face. For a brief mont, Hera’s eyes glowed faintly with that sa violet hue. Then the vision settled in her mind – dark and heavy and final.
She bowed her head, letting her hair fall forward like a dark curtain, hiding the cold, thin smile that curled across her lips.
"Soon," she murmured. "Very soon."
Outside, the winds of Olympus picked up, rustling the olive trees and rippling the gold banners that hung from its high towers. The gods felt it without knowing why – a quiet, tightening storm gathering beneath their feet.
And far above them, in the halls of Olympus, Hera rose to her feet, her robe trailing behind her like a silent river of blood and shadows.
A/N
Kratos here is not the Kratos we all know
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