His death was inevitable. Someone had cut his string.

This thought echoed in Heron’s mind as he left the Fates’ temple, walking through the empty corridors of Olympus. Conflicted and confused, he couldn't shake the question that haunted him: Who would cut his string?

Having ignored the Fates’ calls for so long, he had finally answered, only to be met with this shocking revelation—someone had snuck in their domain and severed his thread. Heron clenched his fists, his pace quickening as he moved through the halls.

He needed to confide in someone and the gods were not an option.