Both gods dropped into formal bows—flawless, practiced, the kind of obedience only eons of groveling before cosmic titans could engrain.
"Yes, my lord," they said in perfect unison.
But Hera couldn't help herself. The question had been gnawing at her from the moment they arrived. And standing in the presence of beings who spoke of corrupting Prime Cores like mortals plan afternoon tea had finally burned through her diplomatic restraint.
"With all the time the Three have spent here…" she began, carefully, "why didn't you take the cores sooner? Why risk waiting? Parker could have intervened at any time."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward—it was existential. It made Hera suddenly hyperaware of her own heart. Her skin. Her bones.
Erevin looked up from his reality-carving with something like amusement, while Aelion's eyes gleamed with the dangerous patience of a predator considering whether to play or strike.
Callianeira just laughed.
