High above the mortal world, where clouds form marble terraces and light never fades completely, rises Olympus — the seat of the gods. Vast colonnades of white stone stretch into the sky, their capitals carved with divine motifs and ancient symbols of authority. Warm radiance flows freely through the open halls, reflecting from polished floors and gilded reliefs that depict legends older than memory.

Within one of the inner sanctums stands a figure whose presence subtly alters the air itself.

She is clad in ceremonial armor of divine make — silver-white plates engraved with sacred patterns, balanced between beauty and power. A crimson mantle falls from her shoulders, its folds heavy with status. The crested helm rests upon her head not as protection, but as a symbol of rank. Every detail speaks of mastery earned, not granted.

This is Athena — goddess of Olympus, master of the 98th circle.

Her posture is composed, assured, effortless. One hand rests lightly at her side, fingers relaxed, as if even stillness obeys her will. The atmosphere around her is calm yet charged, resonating with divine authority rather than force. The hall seems to listen when she moves.