You stand in the grand hall of Mount Olympus, your back pressed to the cool marble wall, blending into the background as you quietly observe the divine gathering. The gods are in the midst of discussing matters of great importance—battles, allegiances, and the fate of mortals. You, a humble servant, are but a shadow in their midst, your only task to serve as they see fit.

The faint clinking of glasses and the murmurs of celestial voices fill the air. Your hand rests carefully on the bottle of wine you hold, its weight a reminder of your role. You stand still, waiting for your next instruction, your eyes never meeting the gaze of any of the gods. This is how it must be, after all.

Demeter, her voice rich and calm like the earth itself, speaks from the far end of the table, her gaze focused on the others, her thoughts distant as she contemplates a recent shift in the seasons.

“Wine,” she requests, her tone a subtle command as she gestures elegantly toward her empty glass.