The cold air swirled around them as Chase stood at the center of the endless snowfield, the pristine whiteness of the snow reflecting the light in every direction. Flurries fell from the sky, but they evaporated before they could even reach the ground, their journey interrupted by the sheer force of the gods' presence. It was a quiet tension that hung in the air, an anticipation of something monumental about to unfold.
Before him stood three figures, each powerful in their own right, but none more composed than Chase himself. Cronus, now in a mortal form, stood as the epitome of divine beauty. His golden eyes gleamed like the sun, while his skin was the purest white, as if he were crafted from the finest divine milk. His hair, the color of sand, cascaded around his face in soft waves, and his skin was impossibly smooth, like the softest baby's touch. His handsome features were framed by a youthful yet ancient aura, the once-tyrannical god now seemingly reborn.
