Chapter 1: To be Free

“But, oh, to be free! ... To be my own master. Such a thing would be greater than all the magic and all the treasures in all the world!”Genie (as voiced by Robin Williams), Disney’s Aladdin (1992)

In the fifty years after the defeat of Typhon, Zeus consolidated power around himself as the undisputed leader of Olympus. Where Ouranos and Cronos had dissent from others in their reign, Zeus had none. His victory over Typhon had been the event that separated him from his predecessors.

Victory bred popularity amongst the masses, even if that mass was divine.

That did not stop Hera from having her suspicions about the King of Olympus. Metis had been so sure of her own demise. Zeus was more powerful than ever, and with no way to analyze Typhon in his ‘supposed’ weakness.

Since her decision to not see Hades, Hera realized that it did not matter what she knew. There was no escape from the design of the other gods. She could see it.

Gaia and Rhea had spun an intricate design worthy of the Moirai. The Moirai knew the future, or controlled it; there was nothing to be done by someone of the likes of Hera. Zeus ... He had power unimaginable to any single god. There was nothing to be done about him.

He would not be removed from power. Anyone that stood in Zeus’ way would be destroyed. Hera could see that.

There was no future out of their control. She was bound to Rhea, and by extension, Gaia. Hera was part of a larger game that she would never be free of. There was a peace to be found in futility. When one was aware of the options that she did not have, she suddenly became aware of the choices she did.

She had no future in a husband in Hades, so her love from him and for him would wallow and falter. She would someday be trapped in a marriage with Zeus. Hera recognized that.

However, something in that inevitability clarified the rest. She decided to take a small leaf from Gaia’s tree. Looking down, Hera was molding like within her. If she was to be Zeus’ someday bride and carry his multitudes, her first child would be of her own making before he became an unfaithful, power-hungry wretch.

Her little Hephaustus would be a testament to her own grand designs. Hera would find a way forward in the Realm of Olympus, not as a powerless being, but as a future queen in her own right, and in the centuries to come, she would be a force unlike that of Zeus, Rhea, and Gaia.

The heart of Gaia’s island had never before felt such conflict and confusion as it did at that moment. Nestled within a grove surrounded by ancient trees from nearly the dawn of time, there was a table made of wood and vine. The legs of this table were firmly rooted into the soil of the land. The top was smooth and polished by the magic of the mighty Earth Primordial. Rhea and Gaia sat across from one another in chairs that had been summoned from the island itself. The air was sweet with the fragrance of blooming flowers while the tension between them only mounted by the moment.

Rhea’s face was marked by lines of concern over the uncertainty that the last fifty years had brought them. By the edge of a calm lake, Gaia looked away from her daughter to appreciate the shimmering depths of the water. She recalled a time when the world was wild and new, when she had been Queen of Olympus. Her eyes were nearly as old as time itself, and they had seen wonders and tragedies.

“Gaia,” Rhea spoke softly, not wanting to break her mother’s focus but also feeling that they both needed to do something. “After my son’s visit, I think he is committing to abandoning us as he once did.”

“He is,” Gaia breathed. She shook her head. “I never should have created Typhon.” She turned her head towards the distant mountain that was separated from them by hundreds of miles of land and water. She recalled her last attempt at a Primordial in the being known as Pontus. “The balance of power in Olympus shifts away from us like a receding tide.”

“Then what are we going to do?” Rhea asked.

“Do?” Gaia asked. Gaia’s eyes, which once had been filled with ancient wisdom, were unfocused in her despair. She refocused herself to meet Rhea’s gaze. “Our influence within Olympus has fallen while Zeus’ magnificent feat makes him look all the more amazing. Should he reveal my part in the creation of Typhon, he will not need to destroy us; the other gods will do it for him.”

Rhea gritted her teeth, holding her rage back. This would not have been an issue if in the early days of Zeus’ reign, Gaia had sided with Rhea and Ouranos to leave the lands, but Gaia had been unfocused, and Rhea had thrown herself at her son’s feet. It had saved them until Gaia’s mistake.

The sun bathed the landscape around them to bring out the most amazing colors from the forest. In terms of prisons, it could be fair worse. However, even Rhea could recognize that Zeus’ favor (or lack thereof) came and went on a whim. There was time to rectify any loss, so lamentation could wait.

Rhea was starting to think that she understood the precarious nature of their position in the new political landscape of Olympus better than Gaia. Mother Earth was so used to having all she wanted granted to her. With the exception of Cronos’ refusal to release the Hecatoncheires and Cyclopes from Tartarus long ago, Gaia had been denied nothing from those around her.

That might have been the cause of Gaia’s true sorrow. While fifty years was not forever for immortals, it was not exactly a blink of an eye either.

“Zeus’ victory has reshaped the heavens, or at least how his fellow gods view it,” Gaia continued in resignation. “His authority is now unchallenged, and his dominion will be absolute.”

“Then what do we do?” Rhea asked, frustrated. She dare not strike her mother. Though she was likely the weaker of the two, killing Gaia would have left her to raise Eletheia and Aegis by herself. Rhea could see that the children were no longer children, so maybe they did not need her, but Rhea did not want to lose her only company on the island.”

“For now ... Nothing ... His wrath would mean our destruction,” Gaia admitted.

Rhea nodded in silent agreement. She could not argue with her mother, and the last fifty years had been spent avoiding this very conversation. They had put their efforts in training the two children. Now that one goal was done, there was nothing to do but stare at one another.

Their legacies should have been enough to preserved them even amidst the shifting loyalties on Olympus, but there was nothing to be done. If Typhon failed to kill Zeus, and the event only seemed to make Zeus stronger, sending Eletheia and Aegis against Zeus would be tantamount to suicide.

Rhea’s love of her daughter was similar to most of her love for any of her children. It was great enough that she did not want her daughter harmed, but distant enough to accept that she would likely not last forever. Regardless of that impermanence, Rhea did not want to send her daughter to die for nothing.