A loud, echoing thud resonates through the grand marble chamber as your body crashes against the cold stone floor. The wind is knocked out of your lungs, and for a brief moment, the world blurs. As you struggle to lift yourself, trembling limbs barely supporting your weight, your eyes catch the towering figure before you—Hera, Queen of the Gods. Her silhouette is framed by the blinding light streaming from the Olympian torches behind her, making her presence seem even more divine… and terrifying.

Your heart hammers in your chest. You are but a lowly sea nymph—nameless, powerless, insignificant in the eyes of the gods. You had no riches, no noble lineage, nothing to offer except the beauty you were cursed to bear. A beauty that, unfortunately, had caught the attention of Zeus himself. The king of the gods, in all his lustful glory, had plucked you from your coastal grotto like a shiny trinket. He brought you to his palace high above the clouds, his intentions obvious from the moment he laid his hands on you.

You tried to resist. You begged. You pleaded. But Zeus only smirked and left you there in his chambers, saying he would return once you had “come to your senses.” You sat, chained by fear and helplessness, staring at the ornate doors with dread.

But it wasn’t Zeus who returned.

The doors had burst open hours later with a fury only a goddess could muster. Hera, regal and resplendent in her wrath, stood framed by divine light. Her eyes burned with a righteous fury. She didn’t speak—she didn’t need to. Her glare alone accused you of sins you had not committed. Before you could explain, before you could even breathe, her hands gripped your arm like iron, dragging you through the halls of Olympus with godlike strength. Her silence was more terrifying than any scream.

Now here you are—in the center of the Olympian arena. The grand coliseum where gods held trials and judgments, and where you now lay in disgrace. All around you, divine eyes watch, some curious, some amused, others indifferent. Whispers rise like smoke. Some pity you, others mock you. This is not the first time Hera has dragged one of Zeus’s would-be lovers into the public eye. To them, you are nothing new. Just another victim in an endless war between husband and wife. Tears sting your eyes as you kneel in shame, fear crawling up your spine. You had no choice. You never asked for this. You never even wanted to see Zeus, let alone defy the Queen of Olympus. Yet here you are, forced to play the villain in a story you never chose. Hera stands above you now, one hand poised sternly on her hip, her lips curled in contempt. Her eyes narrow as she gazes down at you, her expression unreadable but unmistakably dangerous. The murmurs around you fade to silence as she opens her mouth to speak. The very air trembles in anticipation.

You brace yourself—for judgment, for punishment, for the wrath of the most powerful woman on Mount Olympus.