The gods didn’t retire. They unionised.
Welcome to the Company: a deeply British bureaucracy tasked with containing eldritch hazards, supervising divine egos, and filing incident reports on the apocalypse before lunch.
Meet Juno Verdant. Seer-class, divine-adjacent, and one sarcastic comment away from a formal reprimand. She sees too much. She says too much. She absolutely will argue with Death about a sandwich.