Epilogue

Where was he? Who was he?

Everything was all wrong. Looking left and right, he saw blackness, shadow. His body felt pain as never before, especially between his legs.

After what might have been a few moments or a few months, the being recalled that he was Ouranos. That did not stop him from feeling like everything was wrong. He was no longer what he was.

He could feel the shadow of himself, but he could no longer call upon his once-great might. He was hollow, a half-self. In the dark depths of Tartarus, where shadows whispered, and eerie echoes reverberated, Ouranos, the fallen ruler, stood with a heavy heart, slowly trudging through the dark Realm. His once proud form was marred by defeat.

“You sought to conquer and rule, to impose your will upon the cosmos,” the echoing voice of Chaos said. “But the threads of Fate were woven against you.”

Ouranos turned to see the Progenitor had emerged by his side. “Was there ever a moment where I could have succeeded?”

Chaos, in its enigmatic form, extended tendrils of darkness and diaphanous light. “No, Little Ouranos.”

“What could I have done?” Ouranos asked, begging for a solution to his suffering. He was learning what future generations would know so well. Most would do anything to rectify their mistakes after the fact, but scarcely beforehand.

“No one’s destiny is shaped solely by their own actions. You are no different. The grand design of all has its own rhythm, its own balance. For you to topple me was too great a quest.”

Ouranos stared upon the Realm of Tartarus. Tears streamed down his spectral face. “Then all of my goals were for nothing.”

“Not for nothing. You have paved the way for great Kings to follow you,” Chaos said.

Though the Last Primordial had been larger than the Great Progenitor in life, he was looking up to his creator in death. “Was I never meant to keep my throne? Could I not have continued as the King of Olympus?”

Chaos nodded. “There was. Had you been content to be King, you would still be ruling, and there may have been time in the future for you to have all of the cosmos as you wanted.”

Ouranos lowered his head. He could not bring himself to look at Chaos in his shame. “What is to become of me now?”

“As penance for your hubris, you are to watch over the souls of the departed for a time. It is fitting, so you can see others fall as you have.”

“Is this all I am to have?” Ouranos asked. For all of the posturing he had done in life, he was pleading to have his crown, his wife, or even his manhood restored to him.

“For now,” Chaos said. “Someday, you shall be overcome again by a deserving King. He shall rule this Underworld for centuries and become synonymous with this Realm, until he surrenders his throne to another.”

“Surrenders?” Ouranos wondered. Who would give up power willingly?