Chapter 2: The First Devouring

“You know of the mighty Titan, Cronos. So fearful was Cronos ... that his own children would rise against him that he decided to imprison all in his belly. Rhea stood by and watched as her children were devoured one by one.”

— Gaia, God of War II (2007), written by Marianne Krawczyk, Cory Barlog, and David Jaffe, copyright © Sony Interactive Entertainment.

The weight of destiny hung over his head. To make matters worse for Cronos, this inevitable forecast blended with the ache of his wife’s alleged betrayal. Without knowing for certain if Rhea had willingly laid with Ouranos, there was only doubt to wallow in.

These truths left Cronos feeling more and more alone, without knowing who to trust. Unlike (and because of) his father, Cronos understood that the decisions he wrestled with would directly shape Mount Olympus but the whole of Greece itself.

That burden of ruling was constantly on his mind.

He could not complain to his brothers. Hyperion had gone out of the way to give Cronos the throne. Crius had stepped aside after his hands and arms had been decimated by their father in the battle against him, which made Cronos feel indebted to that particular brother. Coeus was so busy contemplating every facet of existence that he could not care for the ruling seat of power. Oceanus and Iapetus were too involved in their own lives. For Iapetus, it was loneliness; for Oceanus, it was the sea. Neither of them could be King of Olympus.

He could not protest his circumstance to any of his brothers when he was the only one of them that could be the leader of their brotherhood. All of those factors isolated the king until all he could do was think within the confines of his chamber.

The revelation of Aether’s true parentage had not been a surprise; Cronos had expected it since the child’s birth. That did not prevent the tempest of conflicting emotions from stirring within him in the moment. When it came to matters of the heart, Cronos was discovering that no amount of comfort and rationale could offer condolence; however, solitude would only make the wound worse.

Rhea’s love for the child revealed to Cronos the depth of her love for Ouranos. That cut deeper than he had expected, and whether he knew it or not, her betrayal would forever etch scars on his heart.

The sad truth was that he could not kill Aether. Cronos still very much loved his wife regardless of what she had done. Killing her son, even if Ouranos was the father, would turn Rhea against him for the rest of time.

Is that what the Fates meant when they had told Gaia that his choices would determine if he would rule? By enraging Rhea, or losing her love for that matter, would he somehow lose his throne?

Or was it something else entirely? Was he blinded by his focus on the Titaness he loved to avoid some truth that mattered more?

The more he thought on the matter, the more the Fates’ riddle was unfair. It could mean literally anything, and he could spend eternity grappling with every decision that would lead to some other possibility in the boundlessly cosmic of the multitudinous. Indecision would cripple him until he was afraid that each new choice would strip him of his reign.

This led him back to his wife’s son.

Aether’s existence would be a constant reminder of his father’s selfish cruelty. The greed of Ouranos was embodied in that baby boy; He would exist as a wedge between Cronos and Rhea when they had been so happy before Ouranos’ taking of Rhea.

How could his father damage so much with his selfishness? Ouranos had Gaia, the Primordial of the soil and earth itself. By Chaos’ order, she had created Ouranos to be her perfect mate. How could his father spit on such a gift by stealing Cronos’ wife?

The problem was Cronos was gripped by indecision. Ouranos had been undone by rash selfishness; Cronos would be damned if he would be as well. This led to Cronos deciding it was best to wait.

As time went on, Rhea would tell him she was pregnant with his child. This would ease his anger and pain. The Titanic siblings Theia and Tethys were also pregnant. The Kingdom of Olympus was expanding. For that, Cronos felt great pride. He could not imagine what he would do if Rhea did not give him a son.

“He said that to you? Truly?” Gaia asked. The Primordial of the Earth stared at her daughter in completely undisguised, disgusted horror.

The two shared each other’s company in the privacy of Rhea’s palace on Olympus. Gaia had very little use for any of the many palaces in the divine city. She made her home elsewhere in the lands below the mountain of the deities.

After Ouranos’ fall and Cronos’ ascension, it made sense for Rhea to have her own home on Olympus rather than in the mortal realm below. After all, Rhea was Queen of Chaos’ creation just as Gaia had once been, and so the realms should reflect her intentions.

“He did,” Rhea answered honestly. Truthfully, she was horrified, both by Cronos’ actions, and her reaction to them.

Dark as the entirety of the truth was, The Titan Queen would not tell her mother what else he did after his tantrum. Informing her mother of Cronos’ bad behavior was one thing. In life, there are a plethora of options one has at their disposal, but to tell her mother that Cronos had been forceful in the bedroom, and Rhea accepted him into her bed enthusiastically was not a choice Rhea was prepared to make.

After all, Rhea needed her mother as an ally. Explaining the complexities of her relationship with Cronos might taint that possible collaboration.

“What am I supposed to do, Gaia?” Rhea shook her head as tears flowed. Genuine moisture came from her eyes even if she had ulterior motives. “I won’t have any of my children living in fear of Cronos!”

Rhea did not need to state the obvious. The unspoken words for Ouranos were left in her mouth. She did not want to risk upsetting her mother with the reminder of her husband and his infidelity in any way. Although, and Rhea had to admit this to herself, both she and her baby were living proof of Ouranos’ wandering eye.

Gaia exhaled as if the air itself were exhausting her.

Her daughter was right to be afraid. It was not because of what Cronos had done in defense of Olympus and the Realm, but because Cronos was letting his action against Ouranos take over who he once was. The transformation into this less feeling version of himself would not do for him or all of those that lived below Olympus.

“You may be right to be skeptical of him, Rhea,” Gaia replied carefully. She did not want to sound as though she were condemning one child as she offered comfort to another. “The Fates told me that there is an unknown curse on Ouranos that could affect his bloodline or the throne.”

That revelation gave Rhea a future to believe in. While she did not know how certain a message from the Fates could be, it was better than this unknown fumbling around in the darkness. If Gaia could illuminate Rhea’s path, Rhea could face it all head-on even if it was fraught with danger.

“Is there a way to find out?” Rhea asked.

“There is,” Gaia replied with a nod. “I will have to return to the Underworld and study what I learn there. When I am sure of that, I will return to you, but I will be away from Olympus, Rhea.”

Gaia paused with genuine concern for her daughter. She was unsure how willing Rhea had been to lay with Ouranos, but Gaia accepted that her daughter had been a toy in her husband’s plan. No matter how willing, Ouranos never should have taken advantage of their daughter’s love for him. Once Gaia understood that part of it, she simply loved her daughter as a mother should.

“You will have to placate Cronos for a while,” Gaia ordered.

Rhea did not seem to react poorly to the directive. That did not mean Gaia could be heartless. To not give favoritism to one child or another was the mark of a good mother, and the Earth Mother had accepted the charge of being a maternal unit to her twelve Titan offspring with distinction.

“Can you do that?” Gaia asked with more care. Confirming her daughter’s safety was a reminded effort on her part to show her love to Rhea.

Rhea nodded. She sniffed and wiped away a tear. “What if I give birth to a girl?”

“Then you give birth to a girl, Rhea,” Gaia said comfortingly. “We will deal with what comes afterwards, regardless of what Cronos does.”

Rhea nodded and hugged her mother. Gaia kissed her daughter’s forehead as they embraced. Upon breaking the contact, Gaia departed.

Left alone with her thoughts, Rhea shook her head. If Cronos harmed Aether, Rhea knew that she would never forgive him. In that unforgiving thought, she could not predict how, but Rhea would find a way to kill Cronos.

Gaia did not know if time worked differently in the Underworld. It was not something she had thought of when she first visited the Realm of the Dead, but she could feel some sort of shift (temporal or otherwise she could not know) when she entered the Dark Realm.

As Gaia descended into its depths, she stepped with purpose towards her goal. Her eyes never left her target. She brought herself to the spirit of Ouranos.

She considered carefully how helpful he would be to her cause. With his selfishness in mind, she knew she might need to offer him some incentives, including telling him about Aether. Recalling the pain he had brought upon her, she found herself conflicted and wondered how much she could tell him without betraying Cronos since he was her new king.

The more consideration she gave it, the more she cautioned herself. Despite that need for caution, there was also indecision over the best approach to take.

As it was, the vast expanse of Tartarus disregarded her conflicting feelings and accepted her without prejudice. The Realm’s eerie darkness, intertwined with the whispers of Primordials long forgotten to the newer generation, sent a shiver down Gaia’s back.

She shook herself to regain her focus. Whilst caught up in the unusual feeling, she lost sight of the behemoth of a Primordial. She did not need to look far to locate her former husband.

Trudging with despair through the Realm was the Primordial of the Air, Father Sky, the Last Primordial: Ouranos. She might have said he was exactly as he was in life, but she knew that was not the case; he seemed emptier, more hollow, with flesh that was nearly transparent as she had seen him once before. Unlike in life, he had a golden-bloodstain on his groin. The wound from Cronos’ scythe lingered, leaving Ouranos without any of his manhood even in death.

She was apprehensive when she approached. “Ouranos?”

For a moment, the Sky Primordial did not answer; rather he stared off, without focus on anything, as he walked ahead. When she called his name again, his ears pricked up and he turned his head slowly.

“Gaia?” Ouranos asked, uncertain of whether or not he was speaking to a hallucination.

Stopping his plod, he utilized a moment to collect himself to his circumstances. After all, as the first death, he was making discoveries about existence that many more would make for the rest of perpetuity. When he recognized Gaia was physically there, and not some specter of his imagination, he stared in baffled bewilderment.

Having known Ouranos all his life, Gaia recognized the facial contortions that were synonymous with him making a decision. He turned from her, and resumed his slow trek through the Underworld.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Ouranos asked.

He had restarted his walk. Having been denied little in life, the expectation of her to follow was one that would be met. Death would not prevent custom from being denied.

Even with that portion of his personality intact, he could halt the shame from mixing with a certain measure of hatred. Together, that potent blend tinged his words.

Gaia was not without empathy. She had truly loved the husband given to her by the Great Progenitor. The rest of all time was the length by which they were meant to be together. To say that Gaia had taken her vows to heart was to underestimate the devotion she had given her husband. Regardless of his previous actions, her loyalty to Ouranos was still a primary motivation to Gaia’s essential existence.

“Ouranos...” Gaia breathed. The name felt as natural for her to say as air was to breathe.

“Do not say my name!” Ouranos snapped back to Gaia.

His tone was a cautionary warning. His love had converted into wrath upon his death as so many facets of his murder had become clear. It appeared to him that death had granted him a certain clarity to recall truth.

Gaia understood and accepted the warning in stride. “I have come for your help,” she said softly.

Ouranos stopped his walk once more before turning to stare at Gaia. Pure, unadulterated bewilderment was etched on his face. Before too long, when Gaia added nothing, a bark of laughter flew from his lips. It was so long and loud that it echoed throughout the Underworld’s halls.

“You? You ... You! You want my help?”

With every use to the word addressing Gaia, he found a certain insanity infecting the inflection of the following word until the incredulous question launched itself from his lips. For the first murdered being in existence, her request was entirely outside the realm of any reasonable reality.

“I never harmed you,” Gaia said, returning his indignation with a calm serenity.

“No?” Ouranos asked. Accusation was lathered across the single-syllable designation.

“I have been given much time to think after my death, dear wife,” Ouranos practically spat out. “I wondered: who gave our Titan children those tools? It could not have been our other repulsive children. I had them locked away here.”

Ouranos paused to count her betrayals.

“Who readied Cronos? Who rallied our children to fight against me? Who did these things if not you? Who else could it be?”

The questions hung in the air like a barrier between them. Gaia would never reach them so long as she was guilty on each count. That meant the only answer to his interrogation wasto brandish a truth of her own.

“You did,” Gaia retorted in answer.

While she had not come to be angry with her late husband, she found it was becoming increasingly easy with each of his questions. After all, should she allow this Primordial to escape responsibility for his transgressions? Had he been wronged without fault, he might have had a point, but they both knew better than that.

“Did you believe you were not at fault...?” Gaia started, standing up the ghost of her husband, “when you took your daughter to bed—our bed, to the very bed where we conceived her!”

The truth of her words might have wounded the once-Primordial King. However, he had long since believed himself to be infallible. Scars of a battle from recent memory would make it impossible for Gaia to reach him with ethos alone.

“After what you and that runt of a son did to me!” Ouranos howled in unrighteous indignation.

Gaia did not react to his words. When a weaker force had been brought down upon her, she stood her ground in the simple truth that she had been wronged by the one with the louder voice. Solace would not come often for rulers in the eons to come, but for Gaia, in that moment between them, she was not indignant of his reaction nor spurned by his behavior but standing upon the firm ground of righteousness.

For a moment, it appeared the Sky Primordial might continue his angry onslaught. Instead, confronted by the truth of Gaia’s words and the look of broken disappointment in her eyes, Ouranos lowered his head in shame.

“For how I treated you, wife,” he said meekly. “I am sorry.” He lifted his head slowly to lock eyes with his previously loving partner. Sincerity radiated from his gaze. “I was wrong to let my ambitions and selfishness hurt you.”

Gaia momentarily stared at Ouranos, confused. He had never been one to apologize in life. To see this quality about him in death was disconcerting.

“Thank you,” she breathed, unsure of how to continue. She stole a moment’s reprieve before pushing on. “This is not about you or me anymore. It is about your son.”

Despite having believed he had his wife’s amnesty for what had transpired in life, Ouranos flinched from hearing the title of his male offspring. His mind was captured by the memory of the battle between himself and his sons. He recalled the rage he had brought down upon them, the power at his command, and the sorrow of having it all stripped away.

Ouranos let out a laugh, almost turning from Gaia once more.

“I care nothing for that traitorous whelp Cronos,” he declared in truth.

“Not Cronos,” Gaia replied slowly. The wound that Aether was the product of her husband’s infidelity still pulsed with an ever-present sting. To inform her husband of the existence of that child would only tear the laceration further. She knew, however, that she needed to open up if she wanted to encourage him to do the same. “Your union with Rhea produced a child. He is called Aether.”

“Aether?” Ouranos asked.

A glint of nearly forgotten ambition that would never come to fruition swirled within his eyes. The Primordial of the Sky would say nothing of his former plans to the Earthly counterpart.

Gaia struggled to speak before swallowing her pride. He would have to hear what she had to say if she were to liberate the secrets of his prophecy with the Fates from him.

“Your son...” she barely choked out, “by Rhea.” She straightened herself to regain her composure. Luckily for her pride, her husband was still so self-absorbed that he did not notice the inconvenience placed upon his one-time wife. “As of right now,” Gaia went on, barely clearing her throat, “his destiny is uncertain. You know how effective Cronos is with his scythe...”

She trailed off, allowing the threat to hang in the air. While Ouranos was aghast at the possibility of Cronos slaying an infant, Gaia paused to allow the wound in Ouranos’ heart to deepen. She had no intention of letting Cronos slay a child. She would do all she could to protect the boy even if he was a product of her late husband’s unfaithfulness.

“If I can help ease Cronos’ mind about a prophecy, however,” she said, letting the words sting for another moment, “Aether might be allowed to survive and flourish in the care of his mother.”

Ouranos almost jumped at Gaia. “He can’t hurt him!” Ouranos exclaimed with honest paternal affection for his unmet son. “He’s a child. He’s done nothing wrong.”

“Then help me put Cronos’ fears to rest,” Gaia pleaded. She loathed her own manipulation

Ouranos looked at Gaia and paused. While live had been nothing but giving to him, death had stolen much of his mind, all of his body, and had entirely maimed his soul.

“I don’t recall the prophecy entirely,” he honestly recollected. He was reaching for memories that had not been so important long ago to him. “But,” he went on, “from what I remember, the throne is cursed.”

Gaia looked at him in confusion. “What? What throne?”

“The Throne of Olympus,” Ouranos explained. “Every King will be deposed by their most deserving son,” Ouranos answered honestly. Death did not suit the Primordial. He kept grasping for memories that felt just out of reach.

“Every King?” Gaia asked.

Question after question raced through her mind. Olympus was built on the back of permanence. That the divine monument would have transient rulers was a concept that she struggled to believe. And yet, the Fates had not deceived her once. A distant, wishful thought in her mind that her husband’s memory was faulty made her believe that Ouranos was wrong.

Ouranos battled for his memory with the Fates. He had been the first divine being to experience death in the land of Greece, and there were consequences beyond his body being destroyed. He continued to scrape through his decayed mind before the answer finally came to him.

Desperate, aspiring belief was written all over Gaia’s face. When he believed he had the answer, he could recognize a certain recklessness in Gaia. Once she was given the information she wanted, her life would be made easier, but in so telling her the truth, Gaia might never return to see him.

That was not a reasonable outcome for him. After all, If he did not see her again, he would know nothing of Rhea or his newborn son, Aether.

This is where his weakened mind needed to earn its keep. His wants were different than that of Gaia. To be alone in the Underworld was not an outcome Ouranos would tolerate.

Gaia was not there for him. After he had lain with Rhea, he had lost his once-wife’s love. With that love gone, so too was her loyalty to him. Where once she would have accepted whatever he had said without excessive protest, including locking away the Cyclopes and Hecatoncheires, he knew there was an irrevocable shift in their once-immovable marriage.

After she helped Cronos slay Ouranos, her loyalties had been decided. Perhaps they had been given to their son; perhaps, they had moved to herself, but they were no longer with Ouranos and never would be again.

Conflict over that interpretation of events built up inside of him. For his death alone, Ouranos owed Gaia nothing. The problem was that he returned to the loneliness that he feared. He needed the prospect of her coming back.

There was only one answer that made that possibility into a probability.

“The curse could end with him,” Ouranos lied. “It might go on repeatedly, Gaia, but that is what I remember.”

Gaia looked at Ouranos to intuit if he was being truthful. She could see there was a certain affection for the son. Sadness swept over her heart since she knew that he would never be privileged to meet little Aether.

If there was enough reason to tell the truth, that was it, and so, for that solitary moment, Gaia believed him as she had once trusted him in life.

“I will tell him,” Gaia promised.

As she turned to leave, Ouranos accepted she would likely not return, and it broke his heart. Desperately, he reached out to Gaia.

“Is ... Is Aether well?” Ouranos asked, tears falling from his eyes. He could not help that grief struck him harder than any weapon.

Sickness was not something the Primordials knew of. However, knowing that his murderer was the caretaker of his last child, Ouranos worried. Gaia was not one to harm others, let alone an innocent child, but he needed his fears to be put away.

Gaia did not turn back to face him again. How could she? She had come for duty, but when discussing Aether, she felt the love that she had once bore for her husband. Had he wanted a child like Aether, she would have given that child to Ouranos. She would have done everything in her power to make Ouranos happy.

Gaia did not hold the child’s birth against the. To a smaller degree, she tried not to begrudge her late husband. Nevertheless, the pain of his actions still wounded her, so she allowed herself a fallibly petty retort.

“He’s your spitting image, husband,” she said, almost begrudgingly. She lowered her voice to reflect the sorrow in her hear. “It is a shame you had to conceive him by straying from our marriage.”

The condemnation, though mild, was more damning than anything that had been done to him in life. Ouranos fell to his knees. He was painfully aware he had lost more than just his sex.

“I am sorry, Gaia. For everything.”

Gaia heard his apology, but said nothing. How could she? Ouranos had ruined everything with his ambition and wayward eye. She left Ouranos to weep in despair. That would be punishment enough.

“Then we don’t know?” Cronos exclaimed when Gaia returned. She informed him as soon as she arrived.

While he had heard all his mother had spoken about her adventure to the Underworld, irrationally fearful anger had overtaken Cronos. While he had only hated Aether’s existence for being the product of Ouranos’ lust, Cronos was coming to fear the possibility that he might lose everything to that child.

“I won’t be deposed by Aether. I won’t lose everything to Ouranos’ son.”

Gaia lifted her hands, trying to calm her angered son. Her power in the lands were not swayed by a crown or simple prestige. She was steadfast, firm, and a part of the existence that her children were willing to take for granted.

“I do not believe it that simple, my son,” she said calmly. “From what I have gathered, each King will be deposed by their most worthy son, not their father’s son, so your brother is no threat to you.”

Cronos crushed another pillar of his palace in his rage. Gaia’s clear-minded thinking only upset him more rather than eased him. Whatever tools she believed she had, only decisive action could balm the growing paranoia slipping into his mind.

He did not know what to do or where to go. He could not punish Gaia. She was his mother and did nothing wrong other than serve her. The option of using the scythe never even crossed his mind. He turned away from her instead. His fears were merging with his wrath.

When this happened, he did not know what he might do. Rather than give into his passions, he did what he should have from the start.

“I will find out more!” Cronos swore.

Gaia tried to stop him. There was more to talk about. After going to the Underworld repeatedly in quick succession, and the discussion of offspring, made Gaia recall her other children by Ouranos. She had always tried to liberate them from their prison. Their jailing had been wrong, and their weapons were what had made all the difference in raising Cronos up.

With Cronos in power, she hoped that this would make all the difference in commuting her childrens’ sentence.

“About your siblings in Tartarus—”

Cronos would not hear her. He was lost in a Realm devoid of reason. Hepushed past his mother and vanished. As surely as she knew Chaos had made life for so many, she knew that her son would be going to the Underworld.

To be pushed aside by her son, when she had been nothing but a good and loyal mother as well as his counselor was maddening to Gaia. She had been faithful in her duty to Cronos.

Why would he not reciprocate that kindness? Was that to be the way of Greece? Kindness would be spurned and rulers would become entitled?

Gaia let out a scream of frustration. She was a Primordial Daughter of Chaos. She had made the Titans. It was from her that most of the divinities would come from. It was her line that would populate the Realm. Nyx, Tartarus, Erebus, Eros, and Ouranos were not the ones making a foundation to last for eons more. It was her.

And what did she want?

She wanted all of her children free and to be in the existence she had helped make. Unfortunately, with Cronos’ obsessive fears, she worried that day would never come.

Rhea overheard the conversation as she held little Aether. She could not be more overjoyed. In her womb, there was another child, she prayed Cronos’s nightmare would come true. Let him have his son, and she would raise him to kill Cronos, even as Cronos had killed Rhea’s love, Ouranos.

She cuddled Aether and hoped he would help her train this usurping son. Rhea would do all she could so this next King did not have the prophecy used against him. After all, her children had done nothing wrong. It was Cronos who had started this cycle with his bloodthirsty nature. Why could he not have left well enough alone? Had Cronos been as unobservant as always, Rhea would have married him and only occasionally stepped out to please, and be pleased by her Kingly father. If little Aether grew up in the image of his father, Ouranos, Rhea could learn to let go of her first love. Aether could become more of a King than his father or brother, and Rhea would be his Queen. Or her next son could inherit the throne, and Rhea would marry Aether after Cronos’s demise. What mattered was that Cronos would no longer be in the land of the living.

Cronos had never been to Tartarus. Before he was king, he was happy to simply be in Rhea’s company or growing wheat out in his fields; after his ascent, there had been little reason to leave his palace.

Though, in his heart of hearts, Cronos knew the truth that he could not voice to anyone. His wife, mother, and siblings could all suspect the verity, but Cronos would never confirm it for them. He was afraid of the other parts of Chaos’ creation.

After slaying his father, he had become the first killer in this existence. Someday, there would be those that would go so far as to call him a murderer.

All of that weighed down upon him with the immensity of the heavens focused through the lens of metal that rested on his head.

When his mind returned to the task before him, the desolate Realm seemed to stare at him until he felt shaken in his core.

His surroundings were dark, cold, and unfeeling, which was unlike the Living Realm of Greece. Tartarus’ domain was the opposite of the heavenly mountain of Olympus in every sense.

More than the oppressive environment, there was a sensation within him that he could not easily explain. The heart of this feeling was that he felt as if his cosmic power would abandon him and would only leave him as a hollow husk rather than the king he was. Even if his power stayed, the isolation would consume him.