The door to the room opened a few seconds later, but not dramatically.
It simply opened too quickly, striking the wall with a dry sound, and a young witch appeared in the doorway trying to maintain the dignity of someone who had clearly been run over by her own curiosity. Her hair was a little messy, her hat crooked, and her expression shifted between irritation and fascination.
Behind her, filling almost the entire corridor, stood Hercules.
He was large in a way that made the architecture seem smaller. Not just tall, not just muscular, but carried by a physical presence that did not need divine energy to be noticed. He was the kind of man who entered a room and made everyone immediately understand that doors, chairs, and fragile people needed to be careful. Over his shoulders, he wore an enormous lion cloak, with the beast's head resting like a trophy too alive to seem like only fabric and hide. The mane fell around him like a wild crown.
The witch cleared her throat.
