In the grand halls of Olympus, silence fell as Clover rushed forward, her normally serene aura tinged with urgency. She wore shallow cuts along her arms and legs, small but enough to stain her vines with traces of red. Beside her, Valkarion moved with a grim resolve, his own marks visible but ignored. The gods’ gazes sharpened, stunned to see even a trace of vulnerability on these two young demigods.

“Father!” Clover’s voice rang out, breaking through the silence as she approached Zeus. Her mismatched eyes, a mix of earth’s warmth and sky’s calm, were now clouded with frustration and hurt. She looked up at him, her gentle demeanor edged with a quiet fury.

Zeus took a step forward, his gaze sweeping over the cuts that marred his daughter and son’s skin. A faint rumble echoed in the air, a sign of his restrained anger. “Who did this?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with thunder.

“Strongarm and Arcee,” Clover replied softly, glancing briefly at her brother. “They don’t understand us, and they don’t seem to want to.”