Chapter 4: That Which Is and Can Be

Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time

Plans that either come to naught, or half a page of scribbled lines

Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way

The time is gone, the song is over, thought I’d something more to sayPink Floyd, Time, from The Dark Side of the Moon, 1973, written by Roger Waters, copyright © 1973 Pink Floyd Music Ltd./EMI Music Publishing.

The elder Cronos moved forward with deliberate purpose. He waved his hand with the confidence born of bending and weaving time to his will.

The younger Cronos was still lost in his absorbing of the multitude of information and theories he had been given. The magnitude of what his older self revealed to him was immense, infinite even. As such, he stood there in awestruck silence. His eyes were still locked on the infinite rivers of time below.

The elder Cronos used this moment to move the rivers over time to his wants.

“Now that you understand some of the past,” the elder Titan murmured. He spoke with gentle understanding at his younger self’s ability to finally comprehend. “Now, you must see the present.”

With one final wave of his hand, the colors both outside of the time tunnel and within shifted. He had been shifting through the rivers of time and possibility to focus on a single one of gold and silver. The vortex of their tunnel swirled and flashed until a vision of that timeline emerged before them.

It was the throne room of Olympus. Cronos, both young and old, knew it well. The grand edifice to the leader of the divinities was bathed in golden light. Zeus was off of his throne as his eyes lingered on the golden haired goddess that the younger Cronos had never seen before.

The goddess of love was as radiant as ever. Her beauty was a magnet for all who gazed upon her, but more so for one who had electricity running through his veins. Her laughter echoed softly in the chamber, though it carried a dangerous edge. Zeus leaned in closer, his voice deep and persuasive. His hand, draped with the authority of the king of the gods, brushed against hers.

“Do you see this?” the elder Cronos said distastefully. “Even now, our son lets his whims of passion have control over him.”

“Yes...” the younger Cronos muttered. “And?”

“You still do not see. In the midst of everything, after a peaceful marriage to Hera that might bring stability to the realm, he distracts himself with trivial desires.”

The younger Cronos’ eyes narrowed. He watched as Zeus tilted Aphrodite’s chin toward him. He offered her no words before he leaned down to kiss her smiling lips. Aphrodite’s gaze was playful but even she could see through this king’s desire to be her lover.

The tension was palpable in their playful game of seduction.

The younger Cronos shook his head in disgust while the elder saw opportunity.

The scene dissolved with another wave from the opposite hand of the elder Cronos. Olympus was replaced by the dark, foreboding shades of the Underworld. The younger Cronos knew that realm well after being imprisoned there for so long.

They watched as a window of the time tunnel was focusing in on the heart of Hades’ domain. There was a room where the Lord of the Dead sat upon his somber throne. If Olympus was light, the Underworld was the shadows itself. A silent sentinel reminding Cronos that though life was meant to be everlasting to a Titan, it could be ended in a single moment.

Hades was draped in his crimson and obsidian robes, which gave him a sharp, commanding presence to behold. Without the hair on his head or the beard on his face, Cronos could recognize the similarities of the facial structure between himself and his eldest son. He flinched at that memory, as it still reminded him that Hades was not the first son from Rhea. Her adultery with Ouranos had conceived Aether, Cronos’ first devoured child.

Returning his attention to the Underworld, there was a child of Nyx. While he did not know the child’s name, he recognized his dark wings from the battlefield. The scythe wielded by this being once belonged to Cronos. The god had a gaunt face with an impassive pair of eyes that glowed in the dark light of the Underworld. Beside him was some kind of grim boatman. The boatman had longer white hair, was thing, and very nearly skeletal. Cronos could not believe that he was of the divine. Regardless of the Titan’s opinion, the Chthonic deity shifted uneasily before their shared master.

“I am ordering you both to watch over this room,” Hades commanded, his voice like the grinding of stone. “No one but myself or Nyx are allowed to enter. However, if anything stirs from the doors within this place, you are to report it to me immediately.”

The winged deity nodded with a gaze as cold and empty as the void. The other was the most silent servant Cronos had ever witnessed. So much that when he bowed, no noise was made.

Despite the brevity of the moment, the younger Cronos could feel the weight of Hades’ authority in the chamber. For the smallest moment, Cronos could not help but feel a sense of pride. After all, Hades was his eldest son, so the tension beneath the calm (which was practically a storm waiting to be unleashed) was caused, in part, by Cronos’ blood in the Chthonic King.

“Zeus may rule the skies,” the elder Cronos said with a faint sneer, “but Hades controls his realm of the dead like a fortress even preparing for a shift in the future while his brother amuses himself.” He let out a restrained laugh, shaking his head.

The younger Cronos turned from the scene back to his elder self. He had always known his sons were different. After all, in the war, one had favored his fist and control over lightning up close while the other had wielded a bident and hooks, keeping his distance. The younger Cronos did not suspect that his sons were so divided. It was almost cosmic. One was distance while the other was preparation itself. Witnessing it firsthand was more than if his elder self had simply shown him.

“Then we can use this?” the younger Cronos asked, expectant. The vision of Hades faded from the tunnel wall, returning it back to swirling colors.

“We can,” the elder Cronos said with a nod. “After all, this shows us where our sons are vulnerable. Let them play their games, let them think themselves secure in their thrones. When the moment comes, we will tear them down. You will understand soon enough.”

“When the moment comes?” the younger Cronos said back, confused. “What do you mean? Why not strike now? We can strike Zeus in his distracted lust or Hades in his preparation!”

The elder Cronos shook his head as he loosed a deep sigh from the deepest part of his being. “You hear me and what I say, but you do not listen.”

The younger Cronos had had it with his older self. He lunged forward, lashing out. He threw blow after blow. But the elder Cronos simply stepped back just outside of range before throwing a single attack at his younger self in the stomach.

The impact rung through his whole back. Cronos the younger fell to his knees, gasping to breathe.

“How?” was all he was able to choke out.

“I traveled through time. Do you not think I did not try the same thing with the older version when he came to visit me. I was you, so everything going through your head has already gone through mine.”

In that exact instant, something snapped into place for the elder Cronos. “That is why he did this.”

He let out a deep laugh. The laughter would have enraged the younger Cronos more if he did not think it was futile. If what the older version said was true, it meant that he could not harm the more aged Titan because it had already happened.

“I traveled through the bounds of time to meet with you, so we could see all of infinity, Cronos! Do you think I went through all of that effort so that when we have our great battle with Zeus, we win by the merest of margins?”

He paused, allowing the younger Cronos to take the question in. This had the added benefit of giving Cronos the time needed to regain his standing, bringing himself to his feet.

“No!” the elder Cronos cried out, impassioned. “I came here so that we would win by a landslide! Our defeat over Zeus will be so overwhelming that divinities from far and wide know of our name! We will win in such a manner that every deity everywhere will fear us and kneel before our greatness!”

“How?” the younger Cronos wondered. The conviction of his older self caught him aback, and this inferior Cronos found that he could not move from the weight of it all.

The elder Cronos laughed. The low rumble reverberated throughout the entirety of the time tunnel.

“Let me show you,” the elder Cronos declared. A glint of brilliant madness shined in his eye.

With a simple wave of his hand, the swirling tunnel of time shifted once again to reveal many windows rather than just one. Rivers of time bent to his command; scenes before them changed to obey their master.

At first, for a few seconds, the younger Cronos saw only darkness. This blackness gave way to reveal the vast, desolate landscape of Tartarus. He was overtly familiar with the realm. After all, he had spent centuries there, wallowing away. However, this place of punishment for Titans was different to him somehow.

The imagery sharpened, and Cronos could say something about the realm was different. It was not tangible in a verbal way, but he knew this fact in his soul that this was not the Tartarus where he had been imprisoned.