Hera stood still, her blade resting loosely in her hand. She did not respond to the man's question.
When his figure stepped fully into view, I noticed the radiance immediately. Gold seemed to paint every part of his body, not as armor, but as something closer to a blessing etched directly into his flesh.
A short sword, white as freshly fallen snow, rested in his right hand. In his left hand, he held a small sphere no larger than a fist, almost translucent, with a faint, murky white core slowly swirling inside.
His golden eyes swept over me.
The moment they landed, they ignited with confusion, then sharpened into unmistakable hatred. I could feel it pressing against my skin, raw and intense, as if he already wanted to tear me apart where I stood.
At least buy me dinner first, I joked silently, the thought dry and reflexive, more habit than humor.
