Chapter 3: The Madness of Cronos

“Cronus’ son has trapped me in madness, blinding ruin –”

Agamemnon, Homer’s Iliad (~8th Century BCE)

Days passed after Cronos’ act of cannibalism. None of his siblings would dare confront him over this outrageous behavior as he was King on Olympus.

Instead, it was Gaia who tried to see her wayward son. Though, in the end, she did not come to discuss the loss of Aether. Her thoughts were not with Ouranos and Rhea, but rather the children who had been punished unfairly.

The weight of that concern was visible on the Earth Primordial. She gazed into the brooding eyes of her selfish son, knowing that her fight would be an uphill battle...

“Cronos,” Gaia began with cautious solicitation. “Now that you have spoken to the Fates, I implore you to reconsider the future of the Cyclopes and Hecatoncheires. You know their imprisonment in Tartarus has gone on far too long, and it was another injustice of your father.”

She was careful not to mention Ouranos by name because she feared that hearing mention of the Sky Primordial might set Cronos off. Despite being Cronos’ mother, she knew that the Throne of Olympus was sacrosanct. Chaos had crowned Ouranos himself. Gaia crowned Cronos. She had given her son the power to reign over the realm. That was Gaia’s choice (perhaps even a mistake), but that entitled Cronos to decide the future of all in Greece, including Gaia’s.

Cronos, while shirtless, was clad in his regal attire befitting the King of Olympus. His belt was made of gold, his forearms were adorned with a bronze pair of bracers, and his legs were covered in baggy, bloody burgundy pants. Ouranos never needed such regalia, yet for Cronos it only accentuated his Titanic allure. His bald head and stubbled chin looked all the more appealing to the eye. He was strong, power itself, commanding the Throne Gaia’s husband had lost in death.

He stood with pride as an enormous structure. Gaia could see how immovable her son was becoming in his role as king.

His brow furrowed at his mother’s request, reflecting the weight of his responsibility as the Ruler of the Titans. He faced Gaia, no longer recognizing her as his mother but as his subject.

“Gaia,” he replied with resolve. “After Aether and seeing the Fates, I have no intentions of freeing the Cyclopes and Hecatoncheires.” Gaia began to protest when Cronos held up a hand to silence her. “They possess too much power, and could be a great risk to Olympus.”

Gaia stared at Cronos with hurt indignation. To see him lose so much of his empathy when he gained his throne was not something she had intended for her son. However, she could not let that cloud her judgment or deter her from her quest.

She softened her expression, knowing that she could not lose this chance. If she allowed anger over this injustice to rule her, Cronos would ignore her just as Ouranos had. Setting aside her maternal concern, she persevered. “They are family, Cronos, yours as well as mine” she said softly. “They helped you even before you knew you needed it. They deserve a chance at freedom. After all, you could not have bested your father without the tools they crafted for you.”

Cronos sighed heavily at his mother. Perhaps he was teetering on the decision. Maybe Gaia’s words could make the difference. He nodded his head, recalling the day of his rebellion against Ouranos. “You are right. The Cyclopes and Hecatoncheires did play a vital role in helping me depose Father. I recall that kindness,” Cronos acknowledged. Though he agreed with his mother, his voice was tinged with aggression. “But what if someday a child of mine wants to fight me as I fought Ouranos? Couldn’t my ‘siblings’ decide that I waited too long to free them or that they want the Throne?” Cronos stopped and shook his head. “No. Their powers are too great,” Cronos repeated. “I won’t risk them being free.”

Even before he gave his decision, Gaia could see the negative coming. Still, she reached out, gently placing a hand on Cronos’s arm. “Son? Please?” If nothing else, she was his mother. She loved her son since his birth. Surely, he returned that familial affection.

Cronos’ gaze softened at her love, returning a kindness in turn by placing his hand atop of hers. For the smallest moment, Gaia believed her son would do the right thing. His resolve momentarily seemed to waver as he looked upon Gaia’s earnest face.

“Gaia,” Cronos spoke with soft sympathy yet heavy conviction. “I will not do it.”

With a heavy heart, Gaia locked eyes with her son. The judgment was final from what she could see, and so all she could do was nod, accepting Cronos’ decision.

She did not weep, she did not wail, she did not cry, and she did not fight him. Gaia had once been Queen of Olympus. She was a true daughter of Chaos, one of five beings to wholly be made by the Progenitor. There was a dignity in that distinction from other divinities.

As such, when she fully accepted his words, she turned away from the Titan King of Olympus. The Cyclopes and Hecatoncheires would continue to deteriorate, which could only destroy Gaia’s soul, but for now, there was nothing to be done.

News of Cronos’ devouring of Aether spread throughout Greece. Rhea’s wailing was a tale all the Titanesses would come to know. Cronos’ disrespect and denial of Gaia’s reasonable request was also being told among his siblings.

It was deep within the confines of a secluded cave on the coastal edges of Greece that Hyperion, the radiant Titan of Light, met with his siblings.

Hyperion, for all his majesty, stood tall and imposing. His golden hair cascading down his broad shoulders. Though he was smooth along his jaw, it only added to his attractiveness. If ever another divinity from another land were to visit the lands of Greece, they would be forgiven for mistaking Hyperion for the King of Olympus with all of his amazing, outward beauty.

Oceanus, the Titan of the Ocean, was thoughtful and serene when compared to his bright sibling. He was as fluid as the water itself. His skin had a tinge of blue about it, but he was as tall and as strong as his brothers. On his face was a long flowing beard to match the one sported by his fallen father. He sat on a large, jagged rock as if it were the most natural activity with his supernatural grace.

Crius, the Titan of Constellations, bore scars on his hands and forearms from a battle that few would truly know or understand. His broken hands were a testament to the cruelty of Ouranos. However, he was still a pinnacle of strength and power with honed muscles that were more pristine than even Cronos. Starlight and battle coursed through his veins. He wore sky blue shorts held up by a bronze belt. He had a fierce face and short black hair.

Coeus, the Titan of Intellect, possessed an air of calm wisdom. He wore fabric on his shoulders, acting as both a cape and covering for his chest but left his abdomen exposed to the world. He had another white and silver toga around his waist to cover his ground and the upper parts of his legs. His keen mind was always searching for solutions, even ones his brother did not admit or recognize.

Each brother sat or stood in the cave, quiet at first.

Hyperion, having called the meeting, spoke up with concern. “Brothers, I fear Cronos is descending into madness. His actions grow increasingly erratic. I know Father needed to be defeated. You know I will never question our actions on that score, but devouring a child, no matter who the father was, is deranged.” He shook his head at the very thought of eating a child. Never in his life would he hurt Theia in such a way. Thoughts of his wife reminded him of another crime of his brother-king. “I believe he has Rhea trapped on Olympus as well.”

Oceanus nodded solemnly in agreement. “I agree. I think the darkness that had a hold on Ouranos is clouding Cronos’ once noble heart. I know for a fact that he has turned away Gaia when she wanted an audience with him. I fear the only thing that he might listen to is violence, and we can’t go from king to king this way.”

Despite being a recluse, Oceanus was revealing his authentic concern for his brother.

“Do you fear any dissent from us might be met with violence?” Coeus asked empirically. His logical mind cut straight to the core of the concerns of his brethren.

At that question, none of the brothers had an answer. The silence that set in was more uncomfortable than an answer might have been.

Crius stood in defiance of their complaints. While he had no rhetoric for Coeus, he did possess passion for his arguments. “Let us not forget it was Cronos who freed us from the tyranny of our father, Ouranus. Ouranos raped Rhea, betrayed our mother, and tried to break me!” Crius exclaimed, lifting up his scarred hands and arms. The golden red ichor gleamed in the scars that laced his strong appendages. “We owe him our gratitude for liberating us from his oppressive rule.”

Coeus swiftly replied, knowing a fight could break out if Crius was not calmed. “I understand your loyalty to him, Brother,” Coeus said respectfully to Crius. “I do not deny that Ouranos was problematic. His evil would have spread to affect us all. We were right to fight him. Cronos was right to remove his head,” he continued.