Chapter 3: A Binding Obligation

“Truth is the beginning of every good to the gods, and of every good to man.”

— Plato, The Republic (Πολιτεία), Book II (382a), composed c. 380 BCE. Traditional English rendering from the translation of Benjamin Jowett, first published in The Dialogues of Plato (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1871). Public domain.

She had fallen asleep easily enough. Zeus had enjoyed himself with her. Demeter was rough around the edges without a doubt, but with her enthusiastic willingness, Zeus knew he could bring out a more salacious side to her for his own uses.

He had brought her to his bed after the intercourse. She had the spirit even if all she had done during the sex was scream her head off. It was reassuring for her skills, but she needed to do more than cry his name out if she wanted to be his lover.

While she slept, Zeus looked her over before exhaling deeply. The realization struck him as he looked her over. A different problem required a solution. He could find himself content to marry Demeter. Even if she was a bore and a less than good lay, she was amicable to allow him to have other partners; for that alone, Zeus could find himself open to an ongoing partnership with her. Besides, if nothing else, her body was amazingly sexy. He could live with that.

With all of that in mind, the Lightning King made his way out of his bed chambers and headed for the single temple that could lead him to answers.

Under the shroud of darkness, in the dead of night, Rhea arrived back on Olympus.

Her heart dropped when she saw the differences of the city as compared to when she was Queen. This fact was an acknowledgement that the younger gods were moving away from her era, and both she and Gaia would become novelties or relics of a bygone age.

Cronos and Ouranos had made the city for their own private uses, so she could not appreciate the city as much in the past. She had only just been privy to the city when the Titans overthrew Ouranos, and during the reign of her undeserving husband, she was tantamount to a prisoner with as few freedoms that Cronos permitted her.

While she had been to Olympus after Zeus’ ascension, this was the first time she could really inspect her son’s handiwork.

She was thankful that the night cloaked her movements as she walked through the divine realm. No one would be able to see her pained reaction to the changes.

Everything was more welcoming for the other deities as opposed to Cronos’ time. She could not quite place why, but this alteration felt wrong. Olympus had been meant for the King and Queen to reside, yet before her eyes, these children called ‘gods’ were staying in the palaces that were meant to be looked at and touched by royalty.

Did any of them even truly know or understand how this wondrous domain had come to be? Did they appreciate its history or its significance?

As she neared the celestial palace where she had lost her virginity to Ouranos, Rhea’s resolve wavered momentarily. Her mind filled with the weight of centuries-old grievances against her son, which coupled nicely with the pain of seeing the familiarity of her former home being lost to her. He was meant to be better than Cronos, but he was disobedient, ungrateful, and willful. Furthermore, he was desecrating the monument to the creation of Greece.

He needed to be brought to task. It was that urgency that spurred her forward to the heart of Olympus.

However, as she grew closer, she caught sight of Zeus walking towards the temple dedicated to the Moirai. Gaia had told Rhea of Zeus’ humble act of service of building the palace to them.

A shiver ran down Rhea’s spine as she watched her son disappear into the sacred sanctuary. She knew better than to meddle with the workings of the Fates. Those Sisters had brought down Ouranos, and while Rhea and Gaia had been the ones to make the moves, Rhea suspected that the Fates had worked against the Cronos somehow.

With a heavy sigh, Rhea would have to retreat back to the island. She knew that she could do nothing to intervene with the actions of the Fates. Her attempt would have to wait.

But then ... she faltered. She would need to see her son, and if there was a chance that she might learn more about what was going on with Zeus’ destiny, all the better.

Zeus entered the private palace of the Moirai slowly. This was the first time returning to the Fates since consuming Metis. After Cronos’ deposition as King for devouring his offspring, Zeus worried, in his newfound and stolen intellect, that he might have committed a great crime worthy of being removed from power.

The air crackled with the Fates’ power. Then again, that very aura could simply all be in Zeus’ head. He conceded that much of it.

The inner decor was strings and threads that crisscrossed in a labyrinthine web. Each thread, by his estimation, represented a life that was woven into the grand tapestry of existence. For a moment, he wondered if this was how Metis saw the world all the time.

Upon scanning the room, he found the three performing tasks with the threads. Clothos sat at her loom, spinning the threads, while Lachesis measured out the length of each thread, and. Atropos clipped the thread with her shears.

In the background of the chamber, the sheen of a vibrant imagery caught Zeus’s attention.

It was a depiction of some kind of prince seated upon a celestial throne with Hera by his side. Beside the two of them stood strange figures. Two were Prometheus and Atlas. That did not make sense though; he knew for certain that Atlas was holding up the sky. This image must have been something from the past, but he also saw a red headed beauty and ... Metis? He could not be sure. Where Metis had been a golden blonde-haired woman, this was a goddess of dirty blonde hair. Her blonde was less gold and closer to Zeus’ white mixed with gold.

He could not make out what that meant, so he shook his head and marched toward the Moirai with careful reverence.

After all, the riddle of the future was not for him to know. His predecessors had gone mad trying to unravel its secrets, and what had their curiosity obtained for them? Nothing but defeat and slowly to be forgotten by the masses.

“Great Sisters,” he began with respect. “I have come seeking your counsel about the Curse you told Metis about.”

“We are aware of why you have come,” Lachesis said.

To that, Zeus nodded. Of course they would. They knew everything.

“Am I allowed to know of this destiny?” Zeus asked, doing his best to restrain his temper. He was King of Olympus. He had built the palace in which they had resided. Was he not due some respect from them?

“Careful, Great King,” Clothos warned. “Your true intentions to rule over us might reveal themselves.”

Zeus flinched. He knew better than to try and trick the Fates. As such, he tried a new strategy. “No ... But should I know of this prophecy against me?”

Atropos sighed in an exhausted irritation.

“Each King of Olympus shall be deposed by their most worthy son for three generations. That is the Curse of Ouranos.”

She spoke the prophecy with as much interest as one might have in a colorful fish they had seen all day. It was interesting, sure, but after seeing it over and over, the object had lost its luster.

“But then ... what son? Will it come from Demeter?”