The camp was still when he walked in.
Not the stillness of peace. The stillness of holding breath. Gods who had been arguing fell silent. Angels who had been tending wounds looked up. Even the healers stopped moving, their hands hovering over patients, forgotten.
Zeus walked through them.
His armor was cracked. His face was streaked with dust and something darker. His steps were heavy, measured, the steps of a man who had walked further than his body wanted to go.
They parted before him.
Not in fear.
He had seen fear before. Had felt it roll off armies, off enemies, off allies who didn't trust him. This was different. This was respect. The kind that came from watching someone do something you didn't think they could do.
He had gone alone.
Had walked into the broken sectors without backup, without a plan, without anything but a name and a purpose. They hadn't expected him to come back. Some of them had hoped he wouldn't. Others had prayed he would.
He was here.
