Athena stood before the sealed scroll as morning light fell across the marble floor. The wax seal bore Zeus's lightning mark, but the message itself remained unread. She had arrived early, as she always did, because the first voice to interpret divine words often became the only voice that mattered. She broke the seal and unrolled the parchment. The message came from a distant oracle, reporting strange signs in mortal lands—crops failing, rivers running backward, birds falling silent mid-flight. The oracle asked Zeus for wisdom. Athena read it twice, then carried it through the golden waterfalls to her private library. Inside, columns rose toward the domed ceiling. Statues of gods watched from their pedestals as she spread the scroll across a reading table. She could present this as proof that mortals still needed divine guidance. Or she could frame it as evidence that the gods had already lost their grip. The interpretation she chose would shape Zeus's response, and his response would echo through every realm. She wrote her counsel on fresh parchment, choosing each word with care. When Zeus read the oracle's message, he would find her notes waiting beneath it. He would speak her thoughts as his own, and the council would hear wisdom that came from her mind but carried his voice. She sealed both scrolls together and left them where he would find them, her influence invisible as always.