Chapter 13: Titans’ Fall

Atlas arrived on the sacred heights of Mount Olympus. Ever desperate to escape the hellscape that was the final battle of the Titans, he walked through the divine city. He needed to find ambrosia for himself and then he would find his wife, Pleione.

He entered Cronos’ palace, determined to find the ambrosia, but what he found instead stopped him in his tracks. Within the chamber stood his brothers, Prometheus, and Epimetheus.

The looks of sorrow and disappointment clouded both of their faces.

“Fleeing from the battle, brother?” Epimetheus asked. “Father did not raise us to be cowards.”

“After so long, that’s all you have to say to me?” Atlas screamed.

Prometheus raised his hand to halt Epimetheus’ rising temper. “Atlas,” Prometheus said, his voice heavy with sadness. “You fought for the wrong side.” His voice carried the echoes of pain from the years of conflict.

“I fought for Father! For Menoetius!”

Epimetheus shook his head. “Oh ... Brother ... You have been foolish. Cronos killed our father, not Zeus. We have been with Zeus for the last ten years, and he denies killing our father. Oceanus believed it was Cronos, not Zeus, who did the deed.”

“Seeing how Cronos has used so many Titans and discarded them left and right ... I have to believe it was Cronos who killed our father, Atlas.”

Atlas’ brow furrowed as he absorbed the words. The revelation struck him like a thunderbolt, shaking the foundations of his beliefs.

“And come now ... You and Menoetius charged headlong into conflict. Our brother got himself killed because he wanted to charge into battle without thinking,” Prometheus added. His tone was heavily laced with regret.

Atlas closed his eyes briefly, memories of the fallen Titans flashing before him. He had fought alongside his brothers, believing in the righteousness of their cause, but the truth was becoming clearer with each passing moment. His brothers’ passion and Prometheus’ honesty was cutting Atlas in his heart.

“You fought for the wrong side,” Prometheus repeated kindly. Though he kept his voice gentle, it was tinged with sorrow.

Atlas shook his head. “Maybe,” he admitted, his voice heavy with uncertainty.

Both Epimetheus and Prometheus looked hopeful. There was a chance they could save their brother from the punishments of Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon.

Then, Atlas continued speaking. “But” he said, narrowing his eyes. “I can tell Zeus is going to be worse than Cronos ever was.”

The room fell silent as the brothers stood there, the tension in the air thick with the bittersweet realization of what had been lost, and what still hung in the balance. There was no swaying Atlas from his course of action.

“I wish we could have saved you, brother,”

Atlas turned from them. “Will you aid these new rulers in capturing me?”

“We will not,” Epimetheus said. “We just won’t stand with your bad decision.”

Atlas started to walk away. However, before he was able to take another step, Epimetheus’ strong hand stopped Atlas. Epimetheus turned his brother and gave him a long hug. When Atlas pulled away in confusion, Epimetheus handed Atlas a small vial of the rejuvenating ambrosia.

“We may not stand with you, but we certainly won’t stop you, or aid in your destruction,” Epimetheus said.

“Run, Atlas. Get as far as you can from Olympus. Hide somewhere. Have a family. Just never return to Olympus,” Prometheus advised.

Taking the vial in hand, Atlas embraced both of his brothers. “But the other lands ... Hyperion said there are other divinities.”

“Then ... Just run south. Hide on Gaia’s Island. Hide away in the desert if you have to. Just stay away from Olympus.”

“I will, brothers,” Atlas promised. Tears started to well in his eyes. “I want you to know ... we may have fought on opposite sides, but I never stopped loving you both.”

“Of course not,” Epimetheus said, his eyes watering.

“We’re brothers, after all,” Prometheus added, as if he were sealing a promise more meaningful than any divine blood shared between them.

They cheered; they celebrated. They were children.

Children with the power of the divine. He and his brethren should have never fallen to such simple brats.

The outcome of the battle may have left him defeated and weakened, but Cronos was not one to accept loss easily.

The Plains of Thessaly lay in ruin, the once-mighty Titans defeated and unconscious, surrounded by the magical poppy flowers of Hypnos. The battle had taken a toll on both sides, but the godchildren had emerged victorious.

At least, for now, Cronos thought as he stirred.

His vision was blurred and his body weakened from the energy-siphoning thunderbolts Zeus had unleashed upon him. The lingering agony of that divine assault still seared through his being. Such a thought of his defeat was humiliating. Thankfully, Metis had decided to join in the celebration of the gods rather than watch Cronos.

Cronos, once the ruler of the Titans and the Lord of Time, struggled to move, but that did not compare to the conflict that swirled in his mind. He was all too aware that if he attempted to move too much, they would notice him. However, that did not stop his determination to survive.

With great effort, Cronos tapped into what remained of his godly powers. Using his mastery over time, Cronos directed his dwindling divine energy inward. He accelerated time on himself, willing his body to heal and his powers to return.

It was a risky gambit, for such manipulation of time could have unpredictable consequences; however, he needed to accelerate the effects of his bastard son’s lightning bolt on him.

As seconds turned into minutes, Cronos felt his strength slowly returning. The searing pain in his body began to subside, and his vision cleared. He knew he couldn’t afford to waste any more time. There was a diminishing return on his power. He could not focus solely on his temporal powers.

Instead, with a final surge of effort, Cronos teleported himself away from the battlefield. He reappeared on the sacred heights of Mount Olympus. His eyes scanned the divine city for his palace and the ambrosia that could restore his full strength.

Cronos’ gaze fell upon his own palace, where the ambrosia was hidden. He began to make his way toward it, each step a testament to his unwavering determination to regain his former glory.

However, when he entered the palace, he found Rhea, his wife there.

Cronos, weakened and desperate, stared at her in shocked confusion.

Rhea stood in a seductive dress that accentuated her every curve. The neckline plunged deep down, showing off the body Cronos had not touched in many decades. Her gown, flowing like liquid moonlight, clung to her form in a way that ignited the embers of desire in Cronos’ weary heart.

Cronos, momentarily taken aback, couldn’t help but be captivated by Rhea’s allure. “What are you doing here, my queen?” he asked, his voice husky with a mixture of anger and fascination.

Rhea’s laughter, like the sweetest of melodies, filled the room. She took slow, deliberate steps towards Cronos, her eyes smoldering with a dangerous fire. “Oh, my dear Cronos,” she purred, “I’ve been waiting for you, of course.”

Cronos, returned to searching for the ambrosia, turned his attention to his wife, his confusion growing. “Where is it?” he demanded. “Where is the ambrosia?”

Rhea’s laughter ceased, and her expression turned from seductive to something far more sinister. “You won’t find ambrosia here,” she replied, her voice dripping with venom.

Cronos, now both furious and bewildered, took a step closer to Rhea. “What have you done, woman?” he roared.

“Oh, with the ambrosia?” Rhea said. “Nothing. After all, you have no shortage of enemies. Rhea’s smile widened, revealing some sort of betrayal.

“What have you done?” Cronos asked. Even in his weakened state, he had a firm belief that he could overpower her.

“Didn’t you ever wonder how Zeus was able to escape your belly? How he became strong enough to harm you, O Mighty Cronos?”

“You!” Cronos breathed. “It was you! You tricked me. You must have hid him.”

“I did,” Rhea hissed. “I spirited Zeus away when he was just a baby!”

Cronos staggered back, the revelation hitting him like a thunderbolt. The truth was he was exhausted from his overexertion, and Rhea’s confession was leaving him weaker for the wear. “But why?” he hissed in anger, his eyes burning with betrayal.

Rhea smirked in satisfaction. “Because of what you stole from me!”

“Aether?” Cronos breathed. “This cannot be about Aether!”

“And Ouranos! My first love!”

“You did love him!” Cronos snapped.

“I loved him more than I ever loved you!” Rhea spat.

“Then why do this? Why tell me?” Cronos asked, moving slowly to his wife.

“Because of what you did, I want you to know what happens next.”

“What happens next?” Cronos asked.

“For Chaos sake, you are stupid!” Rhea declared.

“Then spell it out for me, Rhea!” Cronos exclaimed. There was murderous intent in his eyes.

“You won’t be here to see it, but Zeus will become King of Olympus. He will rise and take everything you had. And I mean everything!”

“You would fuck your own son?”

“I fucked our father! I loved him! And you stole him from me!”

Cronos lunged, wrapping his hands around Rhea’s neck.