Zeus sat alone in his grand chamber, a place of both majesty and solitude. The air around him was heavy, filled with the faint scent of burnt ambrosia and the soft hum of divine energy that never ceased in Olympus. Yet, despite the splendor of his surroundings, his mind was elsewhere—preoccupied by the raging chaos of the Trojan War, a conflict that had begun mere months ago but already felt like an eternity.
The war was far more brutal than he had anticipated for a clash between mortals. The carnage and unrelenting fervor of the Greeks and Trojans alike mirrored battles waged among the gods themselves in ancient times. Once, such a spectacle would have filled him with a fiery excitement. His immortal blood would have boiled like the raging storm clouds he commanded, much like Ares's blood burned now with bloodlust. But the centuries had tempered his spirit, and with the passage of ages, Zeus had come to appreciate the fragile beauty of peace.
