Chapter 4: Seeds of Creation

“Do it for your people, do it for your pride”

— The Script, Hall of Fame (2012), written by Danny O’Donoghue, Mark Sheehan, and Will.i.am, © 2012 Sony/ATV Music Publishing and Universal Music Publishing Group.

For all the planning that Rhea and Gaia shared, they found patience difficult to practice. Waiting is easy when you know what you’re waiting for, but Rhea was waiting for the unknown. Every day that this baby grew in her belly, the Titan Queen could not help but be restless.

Day after day, this sentiment grew. The feelings might have burst from Rhea like a raging inferno if not for the day when the pains struck. The carrying of Aether had been easy in comparison.

The birth of the ruling couple’s first trueborn child was both proving difficult and one that would be remembered in the annals of the grand halls of Mount Olympus. Anticipation mounted within the Titan Sisters of Tethys and Theia. They were acting as midwives in place of Gaia. While they could not know the complicated relationships between the Titan King and Queen and the Primordial Queen, they could sense the fearful undertone emanating from Rhea.

Rhea could not know what she was radiating because her focus was on the different battle of birth. Her thoughts were also divided, which did not help her focus on the task at hand. From Cronos’ mistreatment of her to the prophecy that Gaia, Rhea could see a solution to her imprisonment, but even one thought would plunge into an accumulating expansion of lesser thoughts.

What if she had a girl? That would not do for her plans with Gaia. But a boy? This soon? She was not ready to try and harm Cronos.

Her mind raced back and forth at what might happen, what she should do if this or that happened, and of course, wondering if Gaia were wrong about prophecies and destiny.

This led back to the fearful quandary of what he might do if she delivered a girl.

By the end of her thinking, with all the sentiments and expectations running through her mind, the excruciating spasms of labor robbed the Titan Queen of all rationale. Rhea appealed to Chaos that she would not deliver a boy. If any being could help Rhea both through the endeavor and to give her the outcome she wanted, it would be the Great Progenitor.

She knew in her heart that she wanted vengeance for what had happened to Ouranos and Aether, but with the landscape of Olympus as it was, she was keenly aware that she was not ready to enact her retribution against the Titan King.

Cronos stood nearby as he had with Aether. He seemed entirely unaware of his wife’s internal struggle, but even if he had, Rhea firmly believed that he would not care.

Regardless of his intentions or affections for his wife, he never took his eyes off of Rhea. She could be screaming and sweaty in her task of birthing his child, but it mattered little to him. Agony was painted on her face, and he could not find sympathy for her within himself.

To understand what her husband was thinking would not be high on Rhea’s list of priorities, so it would be even less important to Cronos.

For Cronos, there was an indifference as to what Rhea thought of him. All that mattered was the simple path ahead. His thoughts were on the sex of the child that was coming into existence. If the baby was male, it was clear that he would need to act as he had with Aether. If the child was a girl, he did not feel threatened. After all, the prophecy spoke of a son taking what was his, not a daughter.

In the case of a girl, he could breathe easier by doing nothing. He was sure that Rhea would be happy for the company on Olympus.

He had been isolating her since he had heard the prophecy. She would be too dangerous to keep company with the other Titanesses. If Rhea poisoned any of his brothers against him, Cronos believed that it would make it that much easier for Rhea to birth a son who could overthrow him with the help of his Titan brethren.

He knew the prophecy did not speak of losing his throne to a brother, but he could not take the chance that the Fates were wrong, or that Rhea would help bring his future to fruition by manipulating their siblings. He had to remove the possibilities from taking away that which he had earned.

Rhea clenched her fists from her body being racked in pain. Another conflicted but determined cry escaped her lips. With each contraction, she drew strength from the primally instinctive forces within her; she would not die or be harmed by giving birth. There was too much to be done, and she could not be reunited with Ouranos in the land of the dead until those things were completed.

Every pain from her laborious pushes of birth brought her closer to Cronos’ removal from power, regardless of the sex of the baby. That was all she needed. Nothing else mattered. When the moment of his deposition arrived, then she could consider other possibilities, such as dying.

Hardening herself away from the pain, Rhea delivered her precious daughter into the world. She lay there, perspiring, spent, and struggling to find her breath when Theia handed her the baby girl, wrapped up in her blanket. Rhea got her breathing under control before looking towards Cronos.

Cronos would not even look at his wife in those moments. He turned away from the mess she was. Sweat coated her face and chest. Her hair was in disarray from writhing and thrashing in pain.

While he did not look upon his wife, his focus honed in on the baby being born. To be sure of the details of the child was not important. Only the gender mattered for his future. He observed that his child was a daughter and not a son.

He breathed a sigh of relief. What did the Fates know? He did not need to restrain himself from taking his wife to bed. She was his to have. No one could prevent that. The daughters of Nyx were as arrogantly fallible as anyone.

That confirmation was worth more than any crown on his head because it brought him peace. With the tranquility bathing his spirit, the Titan King left Rhea and the infant in the care of his Titanic sisters.

The soft cries of the newborn baby girl flushed the room with noise. When Rhea’s heart should have swelled with love, she barely looked at her own daughter. This female offspring was meant to be celebrated for coming into existence. After all, the Titans understood how fleeting life could be when it was snatched away.

However, for all of the joy she should have had in the babe’s existence, Rhea was only capable of focusing on the unseen. Her gaze would appear to be looking at nothing, but she knew that she was regarding a future she was wishing for.

There were no thoughts of family or home. This child was just one more piece to some grand puzzle for the destiny of all of Olympus. When Rhea glanced at her daughter, she was all too aware that she was both important and insignificant. She would play a part, but this would be the first child of a numerous quantity that she might have,

These children would be her warriors. They would be her protectors and liberators. This was the army that could undo Cronos. She was not sure how, but this was the start.

The name ‘Hestia’ left from Rhea’s lips as if given to her mind by the Great Progenitor.

This baby and her siblings would exist only to further her plans.

Rhea looked down at Hestia as the baby grasped Rhea’s thumb with her tiny fingers. Rhea smiled and kissed her. Theia’s and Tethys smiled with joy.

They had happiness in the happiness they witnessed. Little did they know how hollow the façade was.

Rhea would find happiness one day; she knew that much of her existence, but until that day, she knew she would need to be the doting mother and wife to the lands of Greece. In her heart, she would only exist with her single goal in mind.

From the ground, where there were trees and streams that stood and flowed, to the sky, which had a golden light burning in the heavens set within a beautifully blue canvas, there were many wonders to the land of Greece.

If there was one Titan who appreciated every facet and feature of the lands of Greece, it was Iapetus. He was a strange one by the standards of his brothers. In a way, he felt that the only true quality that separated him from his siblings was he was more introspective than them. It was not just about himself. Iapetus wondered about the light in the sky, Chaos’ creation of the Primordials, how they were meant to interact with one another, and about his place in Greece.

Iapetus cherished the creations of the Progenitor, but also, he enjoyed the contributions that his siblings made to existence. While his Titanic siblings looked upon the world and found one interest or another to preoccupy their time, Iapetus was not so limited. Life was amazing, and he would not apologize for his fascination over the entirety of conscious reality.

However, this sort of thinking made him a pariah among his family. His brothers found him wondering about his existence to be depressing, which it could be. With the discovery of death, the idea of mortality to eternally living creatures was a phenomenon worth considering.

This kind of philosophy was why when the others got together he was scarcely invited. His company made them feel uncomfortable. He knew that much of it. That was why when Iapetus was invited by Hyperion to a meeting about Cronos, Iapetus had decided to stay away. While he was certain that Hyperion would want him there, Iapetus felt he would only bother his other brothers with his presence, so he stayed away.

When he thought of the company of his brothers, their distinctive natures came to the mind of the Titan of Mortality.

Oceanus loved the water (from the lakes, rivers and streams). Crius was obsessed with the stars in Nyx’s night sky. Coeus was always trying to figure out how the world worked rather than just cherishing what was. Hyperion loved light and fire. Well, that was not entirely true. Hyperion also enjoyed his travels as well as his wife: Theia.

For Iapetus, sitting on a cliffside in solitude, as he was, could bring him just as much joy as feeling the breeze on his skin.

His mind was always in motion like Coeus’ but not so intellectual that he lost the sentiment of creation. He could see that light would illuminate to be sure, but for him, and likely also Hyperion, it brought warmth. However, where he differed from his brothers was that he enjoyed the simplicity of light being wonderful.

The blue sky of their dead father was fascinating to him in that long after its maker in Ouranos was gone from life, it persevered. The blades of grass came from the earthy soil of his mother, and each microminiature saber of greenery was unique in how they grew when Iapetus observed it.

When he thought of the multitudes of all that existed, Iapetus marveled at the creation of his parents as well as the Primordials and the greatest of all, Chaos.

But then, when his thoughts ran out of things to be amazed by, he recognized that his solitude was not voluntary. He was always inexplicably alone.

He had tried to be more approachable to his brothers, but he never quite fit in with them. They were just different. He cherished the differences of someone like Ceous to Hyperion to himself. Those diverging contrasts were what made each of the Titan siblings distinct. He was not Cronos no more than Crius was Coeus. When he voiced his celebration of those heterogeneities, he only succeeded in upsetting his brethren rather than growing closer to them.

He hoped to find love with one of his siblings, like Mnemosyne or Themis, but they never expressed any interest in him. Before too long, he had to accept that romance with one of his sisters was not his destiny.

Instead, as his siblings found love in one another, and interest in their domains, Iapetus sat alone on the cliff, pondering life, creation, and the peculiar nature deviations that made everything unique.

He exhaled deeply in those thoughts. His very existence felt sadly hollow, and he dared not voice his thoughts on such a subject without causing himself to wallow into a depression. There was nothing to be done though.

His life was what it was, by Iapetus’ estimation.

Returning to his thoughts on life as a whole, instead of shunned and isolated existence, he wondered about their father and the blades of grass and the child Ouranos had consumed. The veil between life and death seemed thinner than every Titan realized when Cronos slew their father.

At first, the consensus, how Iapetus understood the matter, it was believed that a great weapon or powerful might would need to be brought down upon any of the divinities in order for them to kill one another, but that Cronos could just consume a child, and that blades of grass died in excessive heat or not enough rain, Iapetus began to believe that death could come for any being with the right motivation.

For his mind, he worked out that Chaos had made existence with many possibilities. Iapetus understood that Titans were not as fragile as greenery, but they also were not Primordials or even greater still, the Progenitor. Life was a gift and could be taken away.

After the demise of Ouranos, Iapetus wondered if all of the divinities were meant to live and die. With Cronos’ more erratic actions as of late, he was starting to ask himself more questions.

But there was one query that was atop the list of his curiosity. What was the point of life if it ended?

This always led to another question, such as: If their lives were fleeting, what was the purpose of such impermanent joy?

Shaking his head, he could not help but find despair in all of his questioning. Not because he disliked his own inquisitive nature but because without a solution, he could only pick as the question over and over again. There was no satisfying conclusion for him

Rather than look at the waters beneath the cliffs he sat on, he turned his head up to stare at Hyperion’s Great Flame that rested in the sky during the day. When the Flame came back down from the sky, then that was night.

There had been a lot of darkness in the living realm since the creation. The only true lights shone from the divinities when they walked the living realm. As such, Hyperion, with the blessing and some power from Chaos, made a ball of fire and planted it in the sky. Up close, the fire burned with a thin ethereal light.

Iapetus had reached out his hand to touch the light from his curiosity, but thankfully, Hyperion had stopped Iapetus. Hyperion, before putting the fire in the sky, explained that the Flame on Olympus would consume ALL things it touched unless precautions were taken.

Considering what stories Hyperion had from other lands, it made sense that he could create such an amazing innovation as a ball of fire to light the sky. Iapetus recalled Hyperion’s last story of a land called India, where the divine beings there battled relentlessly for supremacy. The Indian divinities believed it was necessary to do battle to establish a hierarchy of power.

Iapetus shook his head, glad not to be so barbaric and foolish. Regardless of his loneliness or even sorrow, he would never sink so low as to kill other beings to prove his importance. That was when his mind circled back to his loneliness. Seeing all that there was to the creation of the Great Progenitor, he shrugged. He was by himself, but the world was absolutely amazing. While he did not have his heart’s desire of partnership, everything in life was actually rather sublime.

She was the dark of Night, but in this world of the Progenitor’s existence, this was a blackness deeper than any Nyx might have conjured.

The Realm of Chaos stretched infinitely in all directions unlike the Underworld. Greece, Olympus, and the Underworld all seemed to have limitations, but in the home of her parent, Nyx wondered if there were any constraints. Jagged spires of black and white stone twisted skyward as veins of golden light pulsed in the tapestry of the celestial firmament.

The air was both thick and thin as well as cold and warm but somehow never hot. Iridescent colors bled through the blackness in shapes that could not exist in the lands of Greece. It all flickered and dissolved along the periphery of sight. It all shifted in line with a logic only Chaos might fathom.

Nyx wore a dress of dripping black night that had diamond starlight dotted throughout its design. A necklace of liquid darkness decorated her throat. Her pale skin seemed to against the starlight caught in the folds of her gown.

In the Realm of her own, she might have expelled an aura that could convince any that she had a right to rule, yet before her creator, she seemed mute by comparison. That never bothered the Primordial.

She was born from the greatest being that she had ever come to know. There was an honor in that distinction for her that could give her peace even when life could not.

Her eyes found Chaos. Their form was vast and unfixed like a silhouette against the pulsing dark. Thin streaks of color and light warping and breaking across their frame even as it gave off a masculine and feminine sort of force that Nyx could not yet quantify.

Their face was not quite a face but rather a suggestion of one. The outlines of deep, colorless eyes, a mouth drawn not from flesh but from the idea of speech, and a bridge of a nose without nostrils.

“Once more, you have seen fit to grace me with your presence, my Daughter.”

Chaos’ voice drifted through the void in a way that made Nyx’s spine shiver. The cadence and volume was neither loud nor soft. The noise simply existed; however, it had a haunting quality that reminded Nyx of their differences.

Nyx was somewhere between four to five feet aware from the Progenitor. Her dark eyes locked onto her parent with a piercing keenness.

“I have,” she said with a nod. “I am sure you know why.”

Chaos focused on nothing when they replied. Their form was pulsing around the imagery of being finite when it was clear that they were not. The semblance of eyes did not focus on Nyx. It appeared their gaze was for the void.

“I am,” they said

Nyx’s lips curled into something that was not a smile. “Then you know what I’m going to ask.”

There was no response from the Progenitor. Other beings might not have understood this communication style from Chaos, but Nyx was the one living child that spent the most time with their sire. This led to Nyx having an understanding that led to having knowledge others did not. Some of it was guesswork and others was paying close attention to the most minute changes in the one who begot her.

This silence led to a frustration for the Night Primordial. She gritted her teeth and tightened her jaw.

“You and I both know that Ouranos has been dead for some time, and he now roams in my Realm of the Underworld,” Nyx said. She looked from her parent and then back to the place that she had come. “Cronos has been raised up to be the new ruler of Olympus.”

Chaos inclined their head in acknowledgement of what their child had said.

“As it was meant to be,” Chaos remarked. Their interest was barely present in the reply.

Nyx’s eyes flashed with angry starlight. “Meant to be?”

While Chaos held a consistent, if not mild, disinterest of all things, they turned their peering contemplation over to their Primordial spawn.

“I sensed the disturbance through the fabric of existence if this suits you better, Daughter,” Chaos said.

Their words echoed through Nyx’s ears and mind. This allowed her to analyze the dialogue twice over. While the counter from Chaos had the overtone of power and indifference, Nyx could also identify an undercurrent of displeased irritation. She understood that their parent had the might to remove her from creation just as easily as Chaos had spawned Nyx. That made confrontation over any detail difficult.

“I understand the progeny of Gaia and Ouranos have chosen to end their father’s reign,” Chaos went on. “I am not unaware of existence.”

Nyx’s voice sharpened with her ire but tempered by empathy.

“Ouranos was your son through Gaia,” Nyx said. “His fall has broken the natural order you helped cultivate.”

“Natural order?” Chaos regarded impassively. “What was broken?”

Nyx’s breath hitched in response.

“Perhaps, the weight of existence demanded this eventuality, my Primordial of Night,” Chaos said.

The formality was not lost on Nyx, and she grimaced in a cold loathing at hearing their creator speak so distantly about her.

“That is not an answer,” Nyx struggled out. She shook her head in confusion. “This cannot be right!”

Nyx was not especially fond of or close to Ouranos. Nevertheless, his death meant an ending of life, which was new to the lands. That could not be how Chaos had meant for things to go, could it?

“That life unfolds how creation wants is the correct response,” Chaos mused.

“Did you know?” Nyx asked.

“I have seen patterns since before the dawn of this creation,” Chaos answered truthfully. They removed their observation from Nyx and returned it to the harmonious disorder of their Realm. “That the pattern unfolds to its nature is what shall have my concern. Your displeasure is insignificant to me.”

Nyx’s hands balled into fists at her sides. She could not fight her creator. That would do her no good. Chaos was the only being Nyx trusted to come to for guidance. At worst, Chaos would destroy Nyx; at best, Chaos could punish Nyx with banishment from returning to the Realm of Chaos. Both answers were insufficient for Nyx, so she did what she had to and moved the discussion to another subject even as the shadows at her feet coiled and twisted to mirror her frustration.

“What of Eros? Is his absence part of your inevitable pattern too?” Nyx asked. Challenge drenched her voice even if she had not meant it to.

Chaos’ form scintillated, blinking between bodies of solid and liquid in a miasma-like shape until it settled on a body of whitish gray. Forms of faces were trying to push out of their body. If Nyx was not mistaken, some of the heads seemed to appear to be lesser versions of her Primordial siblings.

“That matter concerns only myself and Eros,” Chaos replied, unmoved.

Nyx stepped forward. For some reason Nyx could not readily quantify, this answer was entirely insufficient. It was entirely possible that because of Chaos’ disinterest towards Ouranos, apathy at Nyx, and vagaries about Eros, it was all compounding to change Nyx from a loving and dutiful daughter into an entitled Primordial.

Well, Nyx knew what entitlement had rewarded Ouranos. Nevertheless, she spoke her mind.

“Where is he?”

Chaos’ eyes glittered faintly in a reflection of the secret of and with their missing offspring.

“He is learning,” Chaos replied honestly. When they saw the impatience in Nyx’s glaring face, Chaos surrendered to parental affection and said more. “He learns to walk a path of four instead of one. He understands that his mistake has led to turmoil for the lands and will return when he is prepared to face the complexities of existence, but not a moment before.”

“He goes missing around the birth of the Titans, and you tell me that he is off learning?” Nyx asked. She was losing the battle to her irritation at her life-giver. “That is not good enough!”

Chaos did not answer her. Instead, there was a boredom in their features that Nyx recognized as the whole body turned away from the Night Primordial.

“I want to see him.” Nyx’s voice broke. She was barely holding on.

Everything about her life seemed to be unraveling or altogether out of her control. Two of her brothers had become one with the Underworld, one had been slain, and another was missing completely, and she was to ... what? Trust in Chaos’ idiotic outline for existence? That would not do.

“If you refuse to answer me, at least allow me to speak with him,” Nyx pleaded.

“No.”

The answer was as cold as it was succinct. If Nyx had been dropped in the deepest, coldest part of Tartarus without her divine powers to protect her, she would have found more warmth in that distant continuance than she did at that moment in the presence of her parent.

Nyx’s darkness surged around her body.

“Then ... I am to just wait? Is that what you expect?” Nyx asked, almost demanding an answer.

“Expectation is entirely irrelevant,” Chaos replied. “What is to happen will reveal itself as it is the nature of creation to do so.”

Whatever reply Nyx had expected after such cryptic behavior from the Progenitor, this was not it. Her shadows lost whatever life they had in her temper and deflated back to lifeless darkness.

“You could stop this,” Nyx said. This was the only invitation Chaos would need to give Nyx a future she understood.

“Yes. I could,” Chaos said in a way that Nyx interpreted to be unfeeling.

“Then why don’t you?” Nyx asked, reaching up to the creator.

Chaos’ voice grew quiet. There was a stillness in it that told Nyx not to move or else everything from the Realm to the magic in her veins to even the Underworld itself would break apart.

“Because my creation would come to resent me for prolonged interference,” Chaos answered. There was an edge of sadness to their voice that Nyx could not mistake. “Were I to shape all of existence with my hand, your kin and their offspring would soon loathe me for my actions. They desire their control, so they are gifted with the struggles to rise and to fall. If they suffer or their lives come to an end, it is their right to do as they see fit.”

Nyx’s mouth twisted from a grimace until it simply fell agape.

“That is ... ab-so-lute-ly ... madness,” she said, aghast.

“Perhaps.”

Chaos’ form flickered as their solid state seemed to bore them. They bounded between a light and shadow figure as a line of gold threaded through them.

“Or perhaps it allows your brethren to dictate their existence on their terms without resentment towards me for any perceived involvement.”

“Where does that leave the rest of us?” Nyx’s voice trembled with sudden vulnerability as she realized how distant of a figure her creator intended to be. “Where does that leave you and me?”

“You are left with an existence as it was created,” Chaos said with bland regard. “Perhaps, it is time that you look beyond me, Daughter.”

“You mean ... for me to let you go?” Nyx asked.

A certain moisture seemed to get caught in her throat, almost choking her. Tears of liquid diamonds started to roll down the Primordial’s cheeks.

“You might interact more with existence to learn from what you created,” Chaos advised. While they did not directly answer their daughter, the child knew well enough. “Allow yourself to be taught that you are a being entirely separate from me.”

“And if I don’t comply?” Nyx asked.

The challenge returned to her voice. Her shadows mirrored their mistress’ intentions. She could not destroy the Progenitor, but she would not be dismissed or ordered about like some other, lesser being.

Chaos raised one of their hands.

“Then you will remain as you are,” Chaos mused. “Alone.”

With the declaration in the air, the very atmosphere around Nyx twisted. Her shadows fractured in disobedience to her intentions. They bent inward as a wave of force buffeted Nyx. Before she could resist the overwhelming power of Chaos, she knew she was no longer in their presence.

She stumbled back to find herself in the Underworld. The doorway to Chaos was closing in front of her eyes, and Nyx could do nothing to stop it.

Nyx stood there for what might have been moments or days. She could not know in her daze. She did not know if she blinked, cried, or screamed. The denunciation of her parent was enough to break her.

Alone.

Her own parent professed that she would be alone. Such an utterance from the Progenitor could not be misunderstood by Nyx. She knew her creator better than anyone.

She did not feel her hand curled into a fist. She did not feel herself fall back to drift deeper into the Underworld. The dark felt colder than it ever had before, and yet she allowed it to wrap her up.

There was comfort in all she had known. It was the only way she might yet rebel against the sire who had sent her away, and yet, she had never before felt so powerlessly hollow.

Nearly a year after Hestia’s birth would pass before Rhea would see Gaia again. The other Titans had been procreating to bring new Titanic beings into the world. It was a more chaotic time than the downfall of Ouranos because no one knew what to expect next.

Rhea was no exception. On Olympus, she could only feel dread and uncertainty for what was to come. She found solace in the presence of Gaia. Maybe it was the peaceful nature of Rhea’s mother that provided such peace, or it could have been because another year passing meant they were a year closer to being rid of Cronos.

Regardless of what was the source of her ease, Rhea’s mind was preoccupied with the future.

“There is something I have been thinking about, Mother,” Rhea said with mild concern.