Zeus stirred from his slumber, his eyes slowly opening to the faint glimmer of dawn streaking across the heavens. For a moment, he remained still, his senses overwhelmed by the weight of his rest. It felt as though he had been asleep for a millennium, his body heavy with an exhaustion that ran deeper than mere physical fatigue.
Was it because he had pushed himself too far?
The last few months had drained him, more than he cared to admit. Supporting the Trojan army—even with a mere fraction of his divine blessing—had taken a toll. Thetis's plea had been heartfelt, and Zeus, though reluctant, had granted her request. It wasn't a direct intervention; he hadn't granted the Trojans his full favor. Instead, he had provided subtle strength, a whispered boon to the hearts of thousands of soldiers. Yet even for him, the King of the Gods, such an effort over the months had proven straining.
