Chapter 10: Ten years Later

“Wars don’t end happily. Not ever. Often relationships that were central during war, dissolve during peace. Some people who were brave and fearless in war are unable to handle peace, feel disconnected and confused. Other times people in war make the move to peace very easily. Always people die in wars. And always people are left shattered by the loss of loved ones.”

-- K.A. Applegate, author of Animorphs, in a letter to fans addressing the ending of the Animorphs series.

Battles came and went. Titans rose and fell against the might of the gods. Of Zeus and his enclave, all of them survived their battles while Titans fell left and right. However, the tolls of battle had been taken upon them. What were once brim and young gods and titans were quickly becoming exhausted and jaded.

They did not need to communicate that between each other. They saw it in their eyes, knew it in their souls, and the attrition of what had come before was wearing down on them.

The gods were battle-worn and weary; their bodies had been locked in a relentless struggle against the Titans for the long decade. Some important named Titans like Phoebe had been slain while others like Cronos and Coeus lingered on. The conflict had raged across the valley of Thessaly.

They stood atop Mount Othrys overwhelmed by their exhaustion.

Zeus, his once-gleaming golden gauntlet tarnished with the grime of battle and his lightning bolt crackling with diminished intensity from near overuse, stood with a weary posture. The weight of countless battles had stripped away his youthful exuberance. Even the reddish brown portion of his jaw was becoming as white as his lustrous mane.

Poseidon, with his sword at his side, leaned on his trident with a practiced grace. What was once the pride of his arsenal was now nothing more than as a makeshift staff. His sea-green tunic was tattered, and his sea-blue eyes, previously sharp and focused, were glazed over with exhaustion.

Hades held his Hooks on their long chains loosely. His bident was tied to his back. The eldest brother was a shadow of his once-imposing figure. However, unlike his sibling, a fire burned in his eyes. Time in Cronos’ stomach had taught him that his struggles were a battle of endurance.

Metis, the strategist, stood resolute but the strain had taken its toll on her as well. The Aegis shield, once a symbol of invincibility, felt heavier with each passing moment. She had guided the young gods with wisdom, but the attrition of war had taken its toll on her brilliant mind and once-strong body.

Hera was as beautiful as ever, wielding her invincible bow that fired infinite arrows. She had not been raised or used to the idea of battle in her upbringing with Rhea. That did not stop her from taking part in the long-lasting war.

Demeter’s gauntlets, which had harnessed the powers of the seasons to devastating effect in each blow, hung limply at her sides. The goddess of agriculture, fertility, and the seasons, found the radiance of life fading from her.

Hestia, the gentle and nurturing goddess, held her long staff with trembling hands. There was no flame in her eyes. Her mousy brown hair had lost all of its bounce.

Prometheus and Epimetheus had fought valiantly alongside their divine kin. While Prometheus had an ax in hand, it was clear that he favored his bare hands. They sat together in a weary silence that they shared gladly.

Mnemosyne and Themis were deep in discussion as they had been since offering their wise counsel in the beginning of the Great War. These ancient Titanesses kept their voices faint yet ruminative.

They had gathered atop Mount Othrys to look out at the plains of Thessaly. While they saw an empty battlefield, the splayed out ichor was a sign of what the last ten years had wrought.

The exhaustion in their eyes was only another example of what they decade had taken from them. Nevertheless, a persevering resolve burned within those same eyes regardless of the ten long years of unrelenting battle.

A toll had been taken, but the young gods knew that the fate of Olympus and the future of Greece depended on their enduring resilience in the face of this monumental conflict.

They did not know how, but something about the conflict felt as if it were coming to a close.

On the majestic heights of Mount Olympus, a small group of Titans gathered in a somber assembly. The Great War had raged on for what felt like an eternity, and the price exacted on their ranks was undeniable. The once-mighty Titans now bore the marks of their own from relentless battles.

Cratus was the embodiment of strength and power, and as such, he stood at the forefront of a small contingent of disgruntled Titans. He had stone-like muscles that were tense from many battles. While there were scars, none of the marks were so large that one might think a single weapon had damaged him to a great degree.

Beside Cratus stood Zelus. Zelus’ eyes burned with zeal. Zelus clenched his fists in frustration as rage flickered in his eyes. Zelus was bared to the world; it was smooth and toned.

Nike was a winged goddess of radiant proportions. Some say she represented victory; however, with the wilted laurel wreath that crowned her head, one might be forgiven for thinking otherwise. She sat in the corner of the room, annoyed.

Bia leaned against a pillar. Similar to Nike and Zelus, she also had wings. She exuded an aura of restrained power that was so recognizable that any combatant in the Great War would recognize her.

These were the children of Pallas and Styx, the grandchildren of Crius and Eurybia. With their grandmother as one of the earliest casualties of the war, they had given their full support to Cronos.

After seeing Cronos’ mismanagement, and the deaths of countless Titans, the siblings emitted a sense of defeat.

Cratus, his voice deep and rumbling like thunder, spoke with a tone of accusation.

“Siblings, our fallen brethren lie scattered across the battlefield,” Cronos said, breathing a long sigh. He was holding back his wrath. “We entrusted Cronos with our lives, and yet he orders us into a war where everyone falls left and right while Cronos does not have the courage to join us out there.”

Zelus did not hold back the bitterness in his voice.

“His parents were born of Progenitor. Maybe that line does not understand the rest of us.” Zelus struggled to think, let alone speak. He shook his head before focusing himself. “We will not be sacrificed in this neverending conflict!”

Nike added her own voice to the conversation. “This all means nothing. Even if we did win, we lost too many of the titans for Olympus to be the same as it was.”

Cratus nodded in agreement.

Bia punched a pillar in their own frustrations.

“We should demand an end to this senseless bloodshed. The fallen titans cannot obtain justice over their own deaths, but we can. We can’t stand by as more of our kin die.”

“I know Cronos will not listen to us,” Cratus said with a shake of his head. “He is too obsessed with killing his children.”

Zelus smirked. “If Cronos will not heed sense, then perhaps we could make our point to a king who will.”

The other divine beings looked to Zelus with interest.

In the opulent heart of Cronos’ palace, nestled amidst the resplendent grandeur of Mount Olympus, a private chamber was adorned with rich tapestries and shimmering gemstones. Within the chamber, two Titans met to discuss the future of Olympus.

Cronos, the Titan King, sat on a chair of stone. His imposing form was clad in robes of midnight black and regal purple. Time had not so much as touched him.

On the other side of a table, opposite of Titan King, Coeus stood with an air of solemnity, ever the champion of scholarly wisdom and keeper of secret knowledge. Clad in robes adorned with celestial patterns, he was a sage meant for the annals of time.

In his low voice, Coeus’ resonant rumble filled the chamber. “There are whispers of unrest, Cronos. The lesser Titans are becoming unhappy with this prolonged fight.”

Cronos’ gaze, as ancient as the cosmos itself, bore into the distance. His silence was a signal for Coeus to continue.

“They are growing restless, my King,” Coeus elaborated. “They question the path we tread. What has been mere moments for you, using your control over time, has been a decade for us. The war has been hard, Cronos.”

“Those were my misgivings in the beginning, Coeus!” Cronos exclaimed. The Titan King slammed his fist into the table, cracking it.

“I had not expected for us to sustain such loss,” Coeus conceded. “I can accept the wait is my fault. But it might be time for you to take the field, Cronos.

Cronos twitched in a flicker of anger. “I have been wanting to do so since the beginning.” Cronos let out a frustrated breath. “Do you have a full understanding of their powers, Coeus?”

Coeus paused, his gaze steady in contemplation. He nodded slowly. “I believe so. While Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon have proven themselves to be formidable, I believe I understand the limitations of their powers and weapons, my king.”

Cronos leaned forward. “What of Hyperion? He possesses the great Flame of Olympus. Why has he not unleashed it upon them?”

Coeus’ response was measured, his voice carrying the weight of solemn knowledge. “The Flame is a double-edged sword, my king. To wield it risks the annihilation of all we hold dear, including Greece itself. Hyperion understands the cost.”

“And what of Rhea?” Cronos asked.

“She is still in her own solitude. She has made it clear that while she is in support of you, she has no intention of raising arms against her children,” Coeus informed.

“Fuck!” Cronos exclaimed. “Her magic would be useful on the battlefield.”

Silence descended upon the chamber as Cronos and Coeus exchanged a meaningful glance. The anger of Cronos dissipated, being replaced by a look of determination.

Cronos spoke, his voice carrying the gravitas of divine resolve. “You, Crius, and Hyperion shall join me on the battlefield. Together, we shall lead a final assault on my wayward children. We shall bring an end to this turmoil, and Chaos willing, I will never have children with Rhea again.”

Coeus nodded, ignoring the final part of his brother’s declaration.

Things had not been going well for the gods of Othrys. While they seemingly won every battle without a loss of life, the conflict had taken its toll on its occupants. Hades, who used to make love to Hera after every battle, was starting to close off from her (as well as others) again.

Hera knew that she had defied Rhea by going to bed with the eldest son of Cronos. The princess wondered if her lover’s despondency was a punishment for her disobedience of Rhea’s plan.

Going mad from why this distance was occurring was certainly inevitable if Hera’s father was state of being was any indication.

With the Great War looking like it might go on, Hera would not tolerate this distance from the person she was closest with. She needed answers, but she could not go to Olympus.

Instead, she found herself within the timeless and bleak domain of the Underworld. This was where shadows whispered secrets and other ancient powers existed outside of the scope of the Great War. She slowed her way forward; there was a quality about the atmosphere that felt heavy with the dense burden of the infinite.

She ventured deeper into the realm all the same. Answers were important to her. A heart could carry the weight of many demands, such as a Realm at war or breaking from Hades’ despondency, but the many battles had stripped away much of the fortitude that she had once taken for granted.

Inwardly, a prayer was muttered by the princess in her wish for answers by the enigmatic tapestries of the ‘Sisters of Fate.’

Upon crossing the threshold of their Palace-Temple, Hera’s senses were immediately ensnared by the ethereal beauty of the place. A flurry of otherworldly colors danced around her to paint the air itself with spectacles of destiny. The Sisters of Fate were beings more ancient than Time itself. To be of an age immemorial would be their honor just as they weaved the threads of existence on colossal looms.

For the visit of this goddess, their faces were hidden beneath hoods.

Hera’s eyes were not for the ones who were lauded to know everything when it came to history and the future. Rather, she was fixated upon the colossal tapestries that hung on the walls before her. In those threads, she witnessed immensities.

In one corner, an arras of enormous proportions displayed a scene of dauntless courageousness. At its center stood a figure clutching the severed head of a fearsome female with serpentine locks that twisted in agony. The fearsome visage would be the bane of countless souls. Across from this brave being, there was a monumental sea monster rearing up from the depths. Its writhing tentacles were poised to strike. The dreading, deadly gaze of the viper-haired maid was harnessed by a hero’s hand and was turning the watery beast into an eerie monument of petrified stone.

She moved on to see another piece of woven artistry. There was a labyrinthine structure. At its heart, a figure brandished a simple blade. Before them stood the daunting form of a monstrous being with a bull’s head and a body like a god’s but less of a shine to it. Yet, even as she looked at the fine fabric, there was more to this tale. It seemed that the hero’s journey was not solely one of slaying beasts. They had unearthed a bow ... Hera paused. That was her bow. She did not have it on her but that was her bow that he was wielding throughout this war. She would know it anywhere.

Turning back, she scrutinized an invading opponent who sought to release titan warriors from a prison in the mountain. She tilted her head at this because she did recognize some of these lesser titans, but she and her allies were slaying them left and right. Why would they ever be in a mountain?

Another wall hanging unfurled a maritime odyssey. A ship set sail across the seas of Greece. Its crew was pursuing a strange fleece of gold. Among them, there was a youth that Hera felt a connection to even through the barrier of space and time. He brimmed with potential. Beside him stood a lesser man with blond hair that she did not care about, but they shared a resemblance.

Adorning another corner of the chamber was a curtain depicting a celestial god imparting a gift of boundless loyalty to a girl? She was royalty like Hera. Was she a princess? Her countenance was radiant as she accepted a hound of incredible prowess. There was a bond between the two. The art was detailed and beautiful, but she could not determine if it was lust or affection that they shared.

Another tableau unfolded, and it depicted the Underworld. In it, the hero from the boat grappled with an indomitable three-headed giant dog. Hera knew of the loyal hounds that Prometheus and Epimetheus had created. She had known them to have one head, not three. This development could mean hundreds of things, but she could not work out specifically what it was or why it was important enough for the Fates to put it in their weaves.

The final dossal held Hera captive when her eyes found it. Regality and love converged within the work of art. A wedding ceremony unfolded in a shroud of a lustrous candescence. Figures of a god and goddess were entwined in a kiss that was built upon everlasting love. The identities were obscured from an onlooker’s gaze. There must have been a reason for that, but fuck if Hera knew what that was.

She was completely held hostage by the lucent goddess. That person in the art piece had an everlasting love for the undeniably regal counterpart.

Hera felt a strange and powerful connection in the way their lips met. She was about to reach up and try to touch the work. Maybe by touching the image, Hera might complete the interlink between the future and the present. When she raised her hand a few inches, Hera heard a voice.

“Welcome, O Future Queen of Olympus,” one of the hooded sisters said.

The voice of one of the sisters shocked Hera out of her awe of the tapestries. Rather than look upset or flinch at the shock, Hera turned to address the Moirai.

“Mighty Fates,” she spoke, her voice quivering with a blend of awe and trepidation.

While she had not intended for the embarrassing shaking, she could not help it. These three divinities were unique. They were certainly descended from Chaos through Nyx, but Hera felt comfortable categorizing someone as a Primordial, Titan, lesser titan or god. These three maidens were unique in the hierarchy of Greece.

Regardless of their standing, Hera saw them as worthy of respect. The problem was with the knowledge they supposedly possessed, it became impossible for Hera’s feelings not to bleed into fear.

“I seek your wisdom so that I may know what the future holds for me,” Hera went on.

The eldest of the Sisters had fingers gently guiding the skein of destiny. Shereplied in a voice that resonated with the essence of ages.

“The future, dearest Hera, is a tapestry woven by the choices of any living being. We may shape the loom, but it is the choices of beings such as yourself that hold the real power when it comes to the pull of the threads of fate.”

Hera nodded to signify that she understood, but her gaze never left the intricate patterns of the tapestry.

“Regardless of my choices, I must know what will happen at the end of the war to come,” she said. Her concerns were coming across in every syllable. “What lies ahead?”

“Ahead, or ahead for you?” Atropos said. There was a hint of a laugh in her words.

Hera was so caught aback that she could barely stammer.

The middle sister had her fingers deftly arranging the threads. She spoke next. Hera believed that this much be Lachesis; she was the sister who must have the understanding of the present.

“You shall be Queen, many times over, and for all eternity,” she replied. “Your rule shall shape the very course of Olympus ... and its rulership.”

Hera furrowed her brow into a glare. Despite her irritation at the way she was answered, curiosity and determination overcame her.

“Please, Sisters, grant me clarity. I don’t fully understand.”

She was careful when she spoke next. She had heard the Fates’ say Queen many times over. Did that mean there would be more kings? More than that, one sentence could mean a thousand things. She worried that she might not comprehend, and when it came to using information of the future to navigate forward, she would need a full and correct interpretation.

“Tell me of these kings who shall follow my reign.”

Atropos responded once more.

“Kings will rise and fall even as the sun does; their identities are known to us, but obscured to you by the mists of time.”

“But what good does that do me?” Hera asked with an impatiently flippant tone.

When no answer came, she became all too aware of who she had an audience with whom she had. These were not beings to be trifled with, and she had gone and lost her temper. She lowered her head in contrite supplication.

“I apologize, Sisters.”

Clothos and Lachesis let out long laughs. It became so egregious that they ended up covering their faces. They looked to one another before looking towards Atropos, who was the only Sister to maintain her composure.

She went on to respond to the future queen.

“Your misgivings are understandable given you lack our vision, and you are forgiven for your fear, but understand that you have a great gift, Future Queen. You alone shall hold the key to the ascension of Kingship, dear Hera.”

“But how?” Hera wondered.

“That is something you will have to discover for yourself,” Lachesis answered simply.

“But how will I know who this person is that is meant to be king?” Hera persisted.

The hooded sisters looked back at one another. A silent signal was given between them. Their eyes glowed with the light of eons and potentialities.

Together they spoke with a careful assuredness.

<p align=”center”>”Through selfless surrender,

your power shall bloom, </p>

<p align=”center”>In this act,

Olympus’ true heir’s room.</p>

<p align=”center”>His mighty ascension,

not forged by scheming plan, </p>

<p align=”center”>Through your grace,

he’ll inherit the throne’s true span.</p>

<p align=”center”>Forever you shall reign,

your love’s embrace, </p>

<p align=”center”>Shall guide Olympus

in eternal grace.</p>

<p align=”center”>In generous giving,

your destiny takes flight, </p>

<p align=”center”>As Queen and King,

Lead with love’s pure light.”</p>

Hera stared in stunned bewilderment. The poem had given her even less to work with. The rhyme and verse might have been useful to someone like Metis or Prometheus; for her, it could only exacerbate her frustrations.

“We have guided others,” Lachesis explained. “If we tell all that will happen, you will not move forward as you should.”

“Events may be easily understood, but people always have a choice, Queen Hera,” Clothos added.

“So go forth,” Atropos commanded. “Choose, Lady Hera. The Fate of this realm, and so many more, are in your hands.”

The Fates’ cryptic words hung in the air like a lingering melody, a melody that Hera could not yet decipher or fully comprehend. She left the sacred chamber with the weight of her destiny bearing down upon her shoulders.

After she was gone from the realm of Tartarus, Clothos turned to Atropos.

“Are you sure we did not reveal too much to her? Surely, our words and the tapestries would have too many signs.”

Atropos shook her head. “These young divinities do not yet have the wisdom or foresight to see the gift. The knowledge on the tapestries might be seen today but will be forgotten tomorrow.”

“What if one such as Metis or Prometheus were to have come, Sister?” Lachesis asked, genuinely curious. As the Fate of the Present, she rather enjoyed looking over those two particular Titans.

“Then we might have a need to show concern,” Atropos answered with a laugh. “They would look at an end result even as they are in the middle of the process.”

The three Sisters let out cackles of laughter. They were not playing just one game, with one end result. They saw many. They saw realms rise and fall. They saw possibilities and probabilities. They saw worlds come and go.

In their eyes, they saw a time where the Titan Cronos was their servant. In another, they used an Hourglass of Time. In yet another, they turned cruel. So, on, and so forth. They even saw timelines which no longer held individuals, divine or otherwise. In some, a single Titan of another land, controlled time.

They wanted a Timeline where not only the Fates lived on, but one where the Pantheon of Greece thrived. They wanted a Realm of gods and goddesses not just for this time, but for all time. To meet that end, they would need a proper king, leader, general, army, and home.