The council chamber, a massive circular hall carved from gleaming marble and glowing gold, hummed with barely contained tension. At its center, an ethereal flame flickered atop a pedestal, its light casting long shadows on the faces of the gathered gods and goddesses. The flame, a representation of Olympus's vitality, had grown dimmer in recent centuries—a subtle but unmistakable sign of the cracks forming in their once-immortal domain.
Aphrodite and Eros entered, their footsteps echoing in the silence. Every eye turned toward them.
Zeus, seated on the grand throne, leaned forward. His once-proud gaze was now tinged with weariness, the weight of Olympus's decay evident in the lines on his face. "Aphrodite," he rumbled, his voice like distant thunder. "You've returned."
"I was invited," she said, her tone measured but sharp.
