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The chamber of Olympus was silent, but the air was thick with malice. The Kyrions leaned over the polished marble table, eyes sharp, voices low and deliberate. Athena's mortal lover had Butbeen executed, or so the council believed. the child—Athena's unborn daughter—still existed, a spark of power that made even the eldest Kyrion's eyes glint.
"A child," Kyren murmured, tracing his fingers over the marble. "Even unborn, she is dangerous. The council underestimates her potential. They think punishing Athena and her mortal is enough to neutralize the threat."
Atheon leaned forward, voice sharp. "A weapon hidden in plain sight. She will grow… unseen, untouchable. A force they believe they control but cannot yet reach."
Merath smirked, tapping the table. "And we will use them to do our work. The higher gods fear what they cannot control. Whisper to them about the alpha's pack—suggest they might retaliate, strike first. They will act, thinking it is precaution, and they will not question it."
Kyren's lips curved into a cold smile. "Perfect. The pack will be destroyed, the alpha's influence erased. All the while, the child remains untouched. For now, Olympus believes she is still within Athena's reach—vulnerable, manipulable. The illusion is enough."
Atheon chuckled softly. "So predictable. Every law, every rule, every council meeting… we plant the seed, and they water it themselves. They will act out of fear, blind to the true game."
Merath's eyes narrowed. "They believe themselves wise, untouchable. Yet every decision they make now plays into our hands. They have no idea the child is already beyond their reach, or what she could become."
Kyren exhaled, satisfaction curling at the edge of his tone. "Let the council decide. Suggest danger, hint at rebellion, and they will authorize the strike. Olympus will believe it was justice, not manipulation, that drove their hands."
Atheon's grin sharpened. "Fear is a stronger weapon than any blade. The gods will obey it, and we will reap the benefit. Meanwhile, the child… she grows, protected by shadows, while they think the threat is contained."
Merath leaned back, voice low, deliberate. "The plan is in motion. Soon, every piece will fall into place. Every strike, every decision, every life lost strengthens our position. And when the child is ready, we will have everything we need."
Kyren's gaze drifted toward the window, clouds swirling above Olympus. "Patience. Let them destroy the pack, let them believe they have secured the world. They do not know the spark is already beyond their reach… and their fear is already ours."
Atheon's grin sharpened. "Soon, every move will play into our hands. They think they act wisely—but they follow our whispers instead."
Merath leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "The higher gods will strike. They will believe it is their choice. Every decision, every move… it will play into our hands. By the time they realize, it will be too late."
Kyren's lips curved into a faint smile. "Let fear guide their hands. Olympus believes it is secure. And soon, the first blow will fall."
From the shadows, a messenger glided along the marble corridors, cloak shimmering in silver. In moments, he arrived at the council chamber, bowing as he entered.
"My lords," he said, voice steady yet urgent, "reports from the mortal lands… a pack gathers near the eastern forests. They are no ordinary wolves. They are organized, swift, and loyal to the blood of a goddess."
A younger god frowned. "Are you saying this pack could strike Olympus?"
"Perhaps not yet," the messenger said, carefully measuring each word. "But caution is prudent. Their alpha was no ordinary warrior. Even in death, his pack remains united, vigilant. They may perceive weakness… and act first."
A murmur ran through the chamber. One elder god spoke, hesitant. "We cannot ignore such a threat. The alpha's influence was great… and Athena—her punishment has left… complications. The pack could move in her name."
"Complications?" another asked, narrowing eyes. "Explain."
"The union between Athena and her mortal lover… it produced a child," the messenger said quietly. "Its full nature is unknown, but even whispers speak of its potential. There are prophecies… ominous warnings. One says: 'When silence devours the night and blood refuses the soil… a spark will rise, and courage will awaken in the hearts of the fallen.' I do not know its meaning, but such words have reached mortal ears—and may stir their loyalty, their courage."
The eldest god slammed a hand on the table. "Prophecies or not, we cannot gamble. If the pack moves, it could ambush us. Neutralize them before they act. All forces, all measures… authorized."
"Yes, my lords," the messenger said, bowing again before slipping away, silent as a shadow.
The council exchanged uneasy glances. Fear had taken root, exactly as the Kyrions intended..