Chapter 10: Ten years Later

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.

The gods, battle-worn and weary, had been locked in a relentless struggle against the Titans for the long decade. The conflict had raged across the valley of Thessaly. They stood atop Mount Othrys overwhelmed by their exhaustion.

Zeus, his once-gleaming golden fist tarnished with the grime of battle, and his lightning bolt crackling with diminished intensity, stood with a weary posture. The weight of countless battles had stripped away his youthful exuberance.

Poseidon, with his sword at his side, leaned on his trident with a practiced grace, using it as a makeshift staff. His sea-green tunic was tattered, and his sea-blue eyes, previously sharp and focused, were glazed 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.

Metis, the strategist, stood resolute but the strain had taken its toll on her as well. Her Zeus’ 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.

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 upbring 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, 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.

Prometheus and Epimetheus, who had fought valiantly alongside their divine kin, now sat together, sharing a weary silence. Mnemosyne and Themis, the ancient Titanesses who had offered counsel and wisdom, were deep in discussion, their voices low and reflective.

As they gathered atop Mount Othrys, the exhaustion in their eyes was matched only by the determination that burned within them. Ten years of unrelenting battle had taken its toll, but the young gods knew that the fate of Olympus and the future of Greece depended on their 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 Titanomachy had raged on for what felt like an eternity, and the toll it had taken on their ranks was undeniable. The once-mighty Titans now bore the marks of their own from relentless battles.

Cratus, the embodiment of strength and power, stood at the forefront of a small contingent of disgruntled Titans. He had stone-like muscles that were tense from many battles.

Beside Cratus stood Zelus. Zelus’ eyes burned with zeal. Zelus clenched his fists in frustration as rage flickered in his eyes. Zelus was toned, with his chest bared.

Nike, the winged goddess of victory, was radiant, however the laurel wreath that crowned her head seemed slightly wilted. She sat in the corner of the room, annoyed.

Bia leaned against a pillar, exuding an aura of restrained power. She was a force to be reckoned with even in the Titanomachy.

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 radiated defeat.

Cratus, his voice deep and rumbling like thunder, spoke with a tone of accusation. “Siblings, our fallen brethren lie scattered across the battlefield. 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, his voice tinged with bitterness, continued, “He was born of primordial chaos. He does not understand us Titans. We will not be sacrificed in this endless conflict.”

Nike added her own voice to the conversation. “This all means nothing. Even if we did win, we lost too much in the process.”

Cratus nodded. “I feel Cronos treats this war as a destructive game.”

Bia punched a pillar. “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.”

Cratus shook his head. “I know Cronos will not listen to us. 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 won every battle, it had taken its toll. Hades, who used to make love to Hera after every battle, was starting to close off from her again.

Hera knew that she had defied Rhea by laying with the eldest son of Cronos and wondered if his despondency was a punishment for her disobedience of Rhea’s plan.

She needed answers but she could not go to Olympus.

Instead, she found herself within the timeless realm of the Underworld, where shadows whispered secrets and the air was laden with the weight of eternity. She ventured forth, deep into the realm. Her heart was heavy with the burden of a world at war, as well as breaking from Hades’ despondency. She prayed that there were answers in 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 cascade of otherworldly colors danced around her, painting the very air with visions of destiny. The Sisters of Fate, beings as ancient as time itself, weaved the threads of existence on colossal looms, their faces hidden beneath hoods that shrouded them in an aura of mystery.

Hera’s eyes were fixated upon the colossal tapestries that hung on the walls before her. In its threads, she saw so much.

In one corner, a tapestry of enormous proportions unfolded a scene of legendary heroism. At its center stood a figure, his features concealed in shadow, clutching the severed head of a fearsome Gorgon, her serpentine locks twisted in agony. The Gorgon’s fearsome visage had been the bane of countless souls until this very moment. Nearby, a colossal Kraken reared up from the depths, its writhing tentacles poised to strike. The Gorgon’s dread gaze, now harnessed by a hero’s hand, had turned the Kraken into an eerie monument of petrified stone.

On another expanse of woven artistry, a labyrinthine structure loomed, intricate and enigmatic. At its heart, a figure—shrouded in mystery—brandished a gleaming blade, a shine of determination in their eyes. Before them stood the daunting form of a monstrous Minotaur, its bull-like head a testament to its ferocity. Yet, there was more to this tale, for the hero’s journey was not solely one of slaying beasts. They had unearthed a legendary bow, a boon that would soon alter the destiny of realms. Nearby, an invading king, driven by ambition and hubris, sought to release ancient Titans from their inescapable prisons.

Another tapestry unfurled an awe-inspiring maritime odyssey. A ship, resplendent in its golden splendor, set sail across tumultuous seas. Its crew was comprised of men, pursuing a quest of unparalleled significance—to retrieve a fleece of gold. Among them, a youthful hero 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.

Adorning another corner of the chamber was a tapestry depicting the grandeur of the divine, where a celestial god imparted a gift of boundless loyalty. A princess stood at the heart of this scene; her countenance radiant as she accepted the divine blessing bestowed upon her—a hound of incredible prowess. The bond between the two was a sign of lust and affection.

Another awe-inspiring tableau unfolded, depicting the depths of the Underworld, where a hero similar to one on the boat grappled with an indomitable three-headed giant dog.

Finally, a tapestry that held Hera captive was revealed. Regality and love converged within the strands. A wedding ceremony unfolded, shrouded in a radiant aura, with figures of a god, and goddess entwined in a kiss that transcended the realms. The identities of these deities were unknown to Hera. Still, she was held hostage by the radiant goddess who had an everlasting love for the undeniable regal man. Hera felt a strange and powerful connection in the way their lips met.

“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. Hera turned to address the Fates. “Mighty Fates,” she spoke, her voice quivering with a blend of awe and trepidation. “I seek your wisdom so that I may know what the future holds for me.”

The eldest of the Sisters, known as Atropos, her fingers gently guiding the skein of destiny, replied in a voice that resonated like the ages themselves. “The future, dear Hera, is a tapestry woven by the choices of any living being. We, the Fates, 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, her gaze never leaving the intricate patterns of the tapestry. “I understand. But still, I must know what will happen at the end of the war to come. 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.

Lachesis, the middle sister, her fingers deftly arranging the threads, spoke next. “You shall be Queen, many times over, and for all eternity. Your rule shall shape the very course of Olympus ... and its rulership.”

Hera furrowed her brow, curiosity and determination overcoming her. “Please, Sisters, grant me clarity.” 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? “Tell me of these kings who shall follow my reign.”

This time, it was Atropos, the eldest of the sisters, the cutter of threads, who responded. “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.”

“What good does that do me?” Hera asked with a flippant tone. When no answer came, she became all too aware of who she had an audience with whom she had. She lowered her head in supplication. “I apologize, Sisters.”

Clothos and Lachesis laughed, covering their faces. They looked to one another before looking to Atropos, who was the only Sister to maintain her composure. She went on to respond to the future queen. “Your misgivings are understandable, and you are forgiven, 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.

“But how will I know who this man is?” 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.

“Through selfless surrender,
your power shall bloom,

In this act,
Olympus’ true heir’s room.

His mighty ascension,
not forged by scheming plan,

Through your grace,
he’ll inherit the throne’s true span.

Forever you shall reign,
your love’s embrace,

Shall guide Olympus
in eternal grace.

In generous giving,
your destiny takes flight,

As Queen and King,
Lead with love’s pure light.”

Hera stared in stunned bewilderment. The poem had given her even less to work with.

“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.