The tension in the air had become palpable, as if every breath was a spark waiting to ignite a cataclysm. The thunder of Zeus echoed in the distance, like a war drum heralding the imminent clash between gods who had upheld only a fragile, silent truce for ages.
Nyx walked slowly toward Zeus, wrapped in a penumbra so dense the ground beneath her feet seemed to dissolve into liquid darkness. Her gaze was serene, but her eyes—luminous slits within the veil—burned with ancient rage.
"Your war must be going worse than I thought," she said with a millennia-old chill. "To invade the world itself… Do you truly understand what that means?"
Zeus didn't move, but his aura crackled with renewed force.
"What it means, Nyx," he replied, his voice laced with the arrogance of a thousand victories, "is that your dominion of shadows no longer inspires fear. You are no longer the primordial terror you once were at the dawn of time."
