The hall, crowded by gods regulating each corner of the seven heavens, held its collective breath as the weight of anticipation weighed upon their divine forms. Beads of sweat shone on their foreheads, trickling down like droplets of dew under a scorching sun, but nobody dared to move. The tension in the room was palpable, thick, suffocating, and silent, as if the air itself was waiting for one command.
The God of Heaven, seated in brilliant majesty upon his throne of gold, raised his head from its resting place against his right palm and did so with slowness and deliberation. His pupils of gold shone like molten metal, catching the light as he straightened and leaned back against the high back of his throne, the picture of heavenly authority. His voice rumbled deep, even, and unmodulated, like thunder across the hall, demanding attention and yielding compliance. "Let the meeting begin," he said, each word dripping with an absolute authority that had no room for doubt or dissent.
