The obsidian ring in the courtyard pulsed like a sick heart, a constant, ugly reminder of the breach. Around it now stood figures who rarely gathered in one place, their combined presence making the very air of Olympus feel dense and ancient.
Zeus and Odin stood shoulder-to-shoulder, one the embodiment of a storm, the other of deep, cold wisdom. To their right was Hades, a silent pillar of finality, and Poseidon, who smelled of deep trenches and restless tides, his trident glinting. To their left stood the Jade Emperor, his robes of imperial yellow a stark contrast to the others, his expression serene but his eyes holding the weight of celestial bureaucracy. A few other powerful figures from distant pantheons lingered at the edges, their forms shimmering with distinct, foreign magic.
They were a council of war, assembled from broken threads of different tapestries.
"So this is the wound," the Jade Emperor said, his voice calm and measured. "It feels… impatient."
