Aphrodite materialized at the edge of Olympus in a shimmer of golden light, her senses overwhelmed by the all-too-familiar sight of the realm she had once called home. Eros appeared beside her moments later, his casual demeanor a stark contrast to her tense composure.
The expanse before them was as breathtaking as ever: golden spires, alabaster towers, and lush, ambrosial gardens stretched across the ethereal plane. The air was thick with divine energy, the kind that hummed faintly against mortal senses but pulsed like a roar to a god.
Eros folded his arms, tilting his head as he surveyed the scene. "Well, nothing's changed," he said with a wry smirk. "Still the same self-important hub of egos and grudges."
'He's right,' Aphrodite thought, though she didn't voice it aloud. The city looked untouched by time, every marble column and blooming garden as pristine as she remembered. But the weight of judgment hung in the air, thick and stifling.
