Just before dawn, as I was reviewing my battle plans one last time, the air in the shepherd's hut suddenly felt different. The oil lamp's flame turned a bright, unnatural silver, and the temperature dropped enough to make me wish I had my old tweed jacket.
A presence filled the small space, ancient and powerful.
"Your plans are interesting, hero," said a voice that somehow reminded me of library whispers and sharp winter mornings. I turned to find a tall woman standing in the corner, her gray eyes gleaming with an intelligence that made my academic achievements feel like kindergarten finger paintings.
"Lady Athena," I said, trying not to sound as terrified as I felt. Here was the goddess of wisdom herself, standing in our shabby little hut like she was visiting a particularly interesting museum exhibit. Iolaus slept on, apparently unaffected by the divine presence.
