The Time of Zeus Book 5: the Coup
Copyright© 2025 by Carlos Santiago
Chapter 22: Declaration
“Love and hate are more closely intertwined than you might imagine.”
— Mimir (as portrayed by Alastair Duncan), God of War (2018). Written by Cory Barlog and the Santa Monica Studio team. Directed by Cory Barlog. Developed by Santa Monica Studio. Published by Sony Interactive Entertainment. Copyright © 2018 Sony Interactive Entertainment LLC. All rights reserved.
Weeks had passed for the brothers since the heavens nearly fell. They knew what events were taking place at the moment. These were pivotal portions to their own histories that Prometheus drilled into them as children.
The details might have been murky, but they knew well enough what would occur. After all, the events of this day would be one of the direct motivators that led to their mothers making the choices to conceive them one day.
At the edge of the Grecian world, Atlas stirred in their care, beneath the sky.
Zagreus looked to Anicetus, and Anicetus looked back.
“Do you think Chaos kept him asleep this long to keep us away from others?” Zagreus wondered.
“I wouldn’t put it past them,” Anicetus said.
He restrained a laugh as this king knew Chaos was one of the most complicated individuals in all of creation, yet to him, there was a simplicity to the Progenitor. This was the difference between someone like himself and the gods and titans of the time.
They knew Chaos as this distant, nigh omniscient and omnipotent being. For a moment, he paused to consider the future he knew, which was his past.
That was the fundamental difference. Most deities had a parasocial relationship with Chaos. Visiting the Realm and being of Chaos was not something most did not want to do; for Anicetus, it had been a necessity given to him by his teachers and his responsibility as High King.
As such, he wondered if it was the future version of the Progenitor or the current one that was keeping Atlas asleep. The more he thought on the matter, the more he realized that this would not do to think on.
“No,” he said with a sniff of a laugh. “Everything happened as it was supposed to. If it happened any other way, everything would have been different.”
“Oddly poignant of you,” Zagreus said slowly. He was entirely unsure of what to do with his brother’s declaration.
“No,” Anicetus said with a shake of his head. “It was something Chaos and Buddha were trying to explain to me, but I wasn’t ready to hear them, just then.”
“And you are now?” Zagreus asked.
“I think so,” Anicetus said.
Zagreus knelt beside Atlas. He was steady in his managing of the titan’s broad frame.
“Almost ... got ... him,” he murmured.
“He can’t be that heavy,” Anicetus remarked sarcastically.
“I’d like to see you try and move him!” Zagreus shouted in a whisper. “He’s heavier than the blasted mountain.”
Anicetus simply motioned to the fact that he was carrying the literal heavens and thus preventing everyone in this time of Olympus from dying underneath its very weight.
He was slow to adjust his grip, so Zagreus could maneuver Atlas back into position. The weight of the heavens remained balanced above them with Anicetus’ hand to hold it aloft. With slow care, the two sons of Heracles guided Atlas upright. The titan’s frame trembled under the old, familiar strain.
Just before consciousness returned—before breath would become voice, and thought would become burden—the brothers vanished in a flash of light.
If all was right with reality, no one would know they were there.
They reappeared within one of the caverns of Mount Othrys.
Zagreus looked up from his hands, wiping off the dirtiness of the titan.
“So,” he asked, “are we going to speak with Chaos now?”
Anicetus did not answer at first. He looked out of an opening of the cave. Like so much in this time, he remembered this part of his history intimately. His mother never let him forget this time because of what was taken from her.
He counted the days beneath his breath.
“ ... It failed, didn’t it?” he asked softly. “The coup of Athena and Hera? While we held up the sky, they should have tried and failed by now.”
Zagreus gave a reluctant nod. “After this,” he said, “Zeus will demand oaths. From Hera. From his children. From every conspirator.”
“And Hera,” he said. “He punishes her publicly to humiliate her and remind her of her place.”
The silence that followed was oppressive. The two may have had different mothers, but they had much in common from their father. They loved many of the same people, much of the same mountain, and treasured many of the same morals.
Zagreus looked away first. He knew what Hera meant to Anicetus in the future. His throat dried up right when he finished the thought.
“Zeus ties her to the highest post on Olympus, strips her of her robes, and her godhood until she begs for him for forgiveness and swears never to openly move against him again.”
A tear traced a clean path down Anicetus’ cheek. He did not wipe it away as he was not ashamed of his love for Hera. His emotions were honest and true from a lifetime spent caring for her.
“I’m going to see her,” he said.
Zagreus did not argue. When it came to the complicated nature of Anicetus’ affection for Hera, he knew he could not stand in his way. To call out the behavior would be as unwarranted as offering warning or wisdom was unneeded. He was to be a steadfast brother for when Anicetus returned compromised
Then, with a flash of silver and white, Anicetus was gone.
The skies above a very specific part of Olympus darkened swiftly at the discretion of their sovereign. Thunder rolled over Hera.
Below, the gathered gods and goddesses assembled before Zeus’ palace.
Zeus stood tall before the building that represented his greatness.
“Good day, Olympus! Terrible tragedies have befallen our great city, but let it be known,” his voice thundered over the tempest, “that treason shall not go unpunished in Olympus.”
His gaze swept the crowd, lingering briefly on the shackled figures of Poseidon and Apollo, then on the assembled Olympians.
“These two, with the aid of Hera and Hestia, led a charge to try and remove me from power,” Zeus declared.
“Poseidon shall be exiled to Poseidonus for a millennium, away from Olympus. There, he shall kneel before Olympus and learn gratitude, lest his pride shatter him. His wife, Amphitrite, will represent Poseidon and his interests for this time.”
Poseidon’s chained held him down, and he did not seem conscious enough to even acknowledge what was being said.
“As for Apollo,” Zeus continued, “for his betrayal, will serve among Prometheus’ mortals as an ambassador of Olympus. For ten years, he will be one of them, and when his time is done, he will return to Olympus.”
Apollo said nothing. He was much like his uncle, only he looked worse for wear after the beating given to him by his father.
“Hestia,” Zeus declared next, “will serve Demeter and will give Demeter’s will to Olympus.”
The hearth goddess said nothing.
No one could know that in no way was this a punishment for the daughter of Rhea. It did not matter though. The villains of Zeus’ narrative were Hera, Poseidon, and Apollo in that order. They needed to be punished. Everything else mattered far less.
“And all of my children,” Zeus boomed, “shall swear oaths of fealty to me, binding themselves forever to Olympus and its order.”
The god applauded and cheers went up. For them, order had been saved.
Little did they know how he would continue to leave their queen suspended until she was broken and swore never to harm him.
For all their good, the children came forward; all except for Athena that was. They swore loyalty to Zeus, to never raise their power against him, and to follow his rule on Olympus.
Zeus would never fall to his godly offspring on Olympus, and he would know invincibility and untouchability because of it. The Time of Zeus would never end.
Hera hung suspended high above Olympus, stripped of nearly all her divinity, her once-majestic robes torn away by the cruel winds. The cold had long bested her. She was holding on by a fraction of willpower being stretched over the seconds.
Her thoughts, when they were rational, thought of all she had done and of Zeus. Was it not better to simply give in to Zeus’ overwhelming power? What good was it to fight him anymore? No one cared. No one would best him. No one would fight him. He was as insurmountable as Mount Olympus itself.
Fate and destiny had conspired against her. There was no point in fighting.