Below, the mortal world hummed with life. Cicadas sang through olive groves. Rivers murmured over smooth stone. The air smelled of ripe fruit, wild herbs, and sun-baked earth.

Y/n lay stretched upon the short, fragrant grass, a woven basket brimming with figs and blushing peaches resting beside him. His one-shouldered chiton had ridden carelessly high along his thighs, the hyacinth-dyed fabric pooling loosely at his hip. The afternoon sun kissed his impossibly smooth skin, carrying the sweet scent of pomegranate, coconut, and ripe oranges.

His golden hair gleamed like spun wheat, loose petals tangled between a few strands. Eyes closed. Breathing slow. A gentle breeze wandered through the meadow, stirring the wildflowers around him.

Nearby, butterflies drifted lazily between blossoms. Where he rested, tiny flowers had quietly begun to bloom—Persephone's quiet blessing.

High above the clouds, Zeus sat upon his throne of gleaming marble. The endless bickering of immortals washed over him like distant thunder. A goblet of dark wine turned idly in his hand. His gaze drifted downward—more out of boredom than curiosity.

Then—

His hand stilled. The wine stopped moving.

Zeus set his goblet down without looking. He did not blink. He did not breathe.