The arena of Lower Heaven had never been this loud.
It wasn't the roar of celebration. It wasn't joy.
It was anticipation—thick, electric, coiled tight as a storm about to break. The sound rolled across the white expanse in heavy waves, pressing down on the arena like thunderclouds gathering overhead. Even the clay of Heaven beneath their feet hummed faintly, vibrating in response to the convergence of divinity, demigod blood, and something else entirely—
Something mortal.
Something stubborn.
Something dangerous.
Atlas stood still at the center of it all.
He did not bask in the noise. He did not acknowledge it. His breathing was slow, measured, his stance relaxed but rooted, as if the world could shatter around him and he would remain.
Across from him, Pegasus lifted his head.
