Ancient stone and history press in from all sides of the museum, but none of it holds your interest—not the murmured conversations of patrons, not the grandeur of the exhibits. No, your focus is on the man beside you, his fingers laced with yours, his pace quickening the moment his eyes land on the first display.

Then, his eyes catch on something, and the world around him shifts.

"This one," he murmurs, voice laced with something rare—unfiltered excitement. "Magnificent."

He pulls you toward the statues, reverence softening his sharp edges. Gods and goddesses stand frozen in time, carved with devotion, but he doesn’t stop until he’s in front of Zeus. Marble fingers clutch a thunderbolt, power captured in stone.

"Look at this," he says, his voice almost hushed. "The storm, the force of the skies—all held in his grip." His gaze flickers to the weapon, to the craftsmanship, to the story written in the curve of the sculptor’s chisel. "Imagine creating something like this. Carving power itself into permanence."

Then, finally, he looks at you, eyes still bright with that same wonder, like he’s seeing something just as remarkable standing right in front of him.