Chapter 4: Descent of the Gods

“People forget! In the beginning, Hades was wise ... and just and strong. It were your daddy became drunk on power.”

— Hephaestus (portrayed by Bill Nighy), Wrath of the Titans (2012). Written by Dan Mazeau and David Leslie Johnson-McGoldrick; directed by Jonathan Liebesman. Copyright © 2012 Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. All rights reserved.

She had heard that Hades had been on Olympus.

For all of her stances, pains, longing and loss, Hera did not seek him out. If he was on Olympus, he was surely there on official business.

After the embarrassing attempt, on Hera’s part, to be with him after eating the stupid golden apple, she did not want to be near him. It was altogether unfair to Hades. He did not deserve her using him as an option to create happiness in her life.

He was his own person. She knew that in her heart of hearts.

Still, in that deep, truthful place that was her heart, Hera wondered what life might have been like if she had run off with Hades or if she had helped elevate him to the Throne of Olympus. The fundamental flaw was that she did not know if she should have been with him.

Regret was for other gods. The lesser beings who were in charge of smaller aspects of existence. She was the Queen of Olympus. She needed to keep her mind in the moment and plan for the future.

That Athena had come to her recently discussing Zeus’ abuses of power since ascending to the throne had bothered Hera. She was not some loyal girl to Zeus, in love with him and blind to all of his faults. Athena was right. Zeus was a flawed creature.

He might be a bigger despot that Cronos. Hera could not entirely be sure.

The problem was everyone had wrapped up in Zeus just as they were in Hera. All lived to serve the thrones of Olympus. All served to glorify the Olympians, who in turn glorified Zeus.

A flash of brilliance struck Hera at that moment.

She had not considered the option as so few ever went to consult with them, but she knew that two of the three kings had been brought down by the Moirai.

If Athena was right, if Zeus had crossed some line, if it was time for a new leader, it was the daughters of Nyx who would surely know.

The air was still, and the light seemed to grow darker as Hades stepped onto the island of the Primordial. His cloak of night billowed in the brackish wind. The deep crimson and violet hues of his robes drank in the light of the natural kingdom of one who was present at the dawn of creation.

The Lord of the Underworld moved with unhurried precision. Given his time in building up the Realm that Olympus forgot, he had learned his lesson to take his time, and as such, he had long since discarded the need for haste.

He purposely walked down the path that seemed to be smooth dirt with boundaries made of vines. Since the Great War, Hades had not seen much of Gaia. He had been too busy being a king of his domain, so making his way toward the heart of the island was a new sensation for him.

It was not bad, nor good. For Hades, it was similar to fear with the unknown and trepidation. On the other hand, his power and assuredness in himself made him more curious than concerned.

At the center of the grove, beneath the shade of her ancient boughs, Gaia sat. She was not a woman in the most understood sense, nor a goddess in the shape of one, but something older, and therefore, altogether unique.

Her towering ten foot form was wrought of bark and stone, threaded with veins of gleaming water. Vines wreathed her shoulders. Bark was the flesh of her body that exuded the scent of rain-soaked earth.

Before her lay a still, glasslike pool. Its surface betrayed nothing but a reflection of the Earth Primordial and the sky above.

Hades did not yet know that she was observing within the beautiful cerulean liquid.

“Hello, Gaia,” Hades greeted with a formal grace.

Since his liberation from Cronos’ stomach, Hades had learned about niceties and courtesies gods gave one another. He had been gruff in his early days in his freedom, but the war taught him that he needed allies, and if one was to have allies, he would have to treat them with respect. He gave it freely, and he hoped it would be returned in kind.

As King of the Underworld, not much reverence was thrown his way, but in the end, that was an aspect of existence that he simply accepted.

The Primordial Queen turned and stood with a slow, deliberate grace. Her eyes were twin pools of deep, moss-laden green. Hades had not had her give him her full, singular attention before. There was an amusement in her regard for him as well as a tinge of curiosity as to why he had come to see her.

“Hades, illustrious King of the Underworld, what dark purpose compels you to tread upon my sacred isle?” she inquired.

“Should you not already be apprised, Gaia?” he wondered, believing his grandmother to be all-knowing even it were unrealistic.

A pause existed between the two for the briefest of moments. There was a small smile of stone on the face of the Primordial.

“Do I?”

His gaze did not waver. “Aegis and Eletheia.”

Gaia’s expression remained impassive. “Strange names. Are they shades, wandering too far from your realm?”

Hades’ jaw tensed, but he did not rise to the bait. “Poseidon claims they are of Zeus.”

A flicker of something passed over Gaia’s face. It was too quick to be noticed even by the Chthonic King. Then, with a slow inevitability of a river carving into stone, she sighed.

“Then Poseidon speaks more truth than he knows.” She turned back to the pond, fingers of woven bark trailing the surface. “Aegis is my son by Zeus; Eletheia is the daughter of Rhea and Zeus.”

The wind stirred, carrying the weight of revelation. Hades’ gaze darkened. “And Zeus?”

Gaia’s lips pressed together in something like wry amusement. “He knows. He has always known. But these were not children he wished to claim. He showed no interest upon learning of their existence.”

A silence stretched between them, thick as the roots coiling beneath their feet. Hades exhaled through his nose. “And they have fled?”

Gaia nodded. “They have, for they perceive the truth of their sire and reject the treacherous games in which all are ensnared”

Hades frowned. “What game?”

Gaia’s gaze, heavy as the weight of mountains, settled upon him. She bore into him with her eyes, ensuring that he understood that she spoke the truth. “He is maneuvering the Realms to where all gods in Greece kneel to him.”

The words hung between them, settling into the soil of fate.

Hades rolled his shoulders, bristling at the thought. “That,” he admitted, “is, unmistakable, the nature of my brother unmistakably.”

Gaia’s expression turned inquisitive. She could see the changes in the ruler of the Underworld. There was a familiarity in his face that mirrored what Rhea had shown when Zeus gave her his favor.

“He offered you something, didn’t he?”

Hades did not answer right away.

“What did he promise?” Gaia asked. She would need to know if she was to tally the score of the power on Olympus.

For the first time in the exchange, Hades hesitated. She had struck at the heart of the matter for him. Then, slowly, he exhaled. “Something more important than power.”

A low chuckle rumbled from Gaia. “As this Realm stands, Hades, power is the root from which all else grows.”

Hades turned from the Primordial. He took a step, then another, before pausing at the edge of the grove. Though his eyes lingered on the trees and plants, his eyes were elsewhere altogether. Over his shoulder, his voice cut through the thick air.

“She is.”

Then, without another word, he stepped into the shadows and was gone.

Poseidon strode through the halls of his palace on Poseidonus. His tunic of sea blue and mossy green flowed with the surrounding water’s movements just as the silver accents caught the glow of the city’s light. His bioluminescent markings on his arms pulsed faintly in tandem with his unconscious responses to the shifting tide of his thoughts.

At the entrance of his throne room, he found Amphitrite waiting for him.

She stood as the ocean stretched beyond in the background in its vibrantly endless, living swirl. The waves outside seemed to be responding to her presence.

Her silver-blue hair were as lovely as ever. It was as though strands of moonlight came from her scalp to frame her face. The gown of seafoam and pearl, rippled like the tides.

“How was your time on Olympus?” Amphitrite asked

At his approach, she recognized a more serious look on her husband’s face. While she considered her courting to be more of a kidnapping, she had come to care for Poseidon since she was always a princess of the sea under her father, Oceanus, but as Poseidon’s wife, she was Queen of the Sea, like her mother, Tethys.

At the moment, there were no pleasantries between them. His upset appearance ruined any chance of that.

“You’re troubled,” she commented.

Poseidon exhaled. “Not troubled, my queen. Resolved. I think I am starting to see things your way.”

His eyes were still steeled from what he witnessed on Olympus as well as the conclusions he came to.

Amphitrite stepped closer. While she was intimately aware of the politics of Olympus, she had seen how Poseidon, as a son of Cronos, shook up the sea when he left the godly mountain. There was only one person that could shake the earth shaking husband of hers.

“Zeus?”

Poseidon’s jaw tightened. “He speaks of Olympus as the heart of all things,” Poseidon gestured broadly back in the general direction of Mount Olympus. “Everything but the Underworld is under his purview and the sea is an afterthought in his grand design.”

“Would you correct that?” Amphitrite asked, pushing her husband to be the strongest leader.

“I will.” Poseidon’s glowing tattoos flared brighter, his power responding to the force of his words. “Let him sit atop Olympus and falsely believe himself king of all. Poseidonus will be Olympus’ equal.”

A slow smile spread across Amphitrite’s lips.

“At last,” she whispered so low that only she could hear.

Poseidon’s gaze softened slightly. “Call in your siblings that are loyal to us, my queen. We will begin by improving this city, and then we shall look to improving our might.”

The river ran slowly through the valley. The waters were as clear as polished glass to Prometheus’ eyes. The muddy banks had scuff and indent marks from Prometheus digging up the mud and dirt to mix with his own personal clay. His knees were dirtied and his hands burned hands were filthy from his making

Overhead, the sky burned gold with the fading sun.

Kneeling at this river’s edge, Prometheus cared for none of the facets around him. His focused attention existed only for the work that he imbued with his delicate, deliberate care.

His scarred hands obeyed him in all he did despite the burn marks from the Great Flame. He cupped a fragment of clay that was no more than five or six inches tall. Within the earthly figure, the intelligent son of Iapetus saw potential.

His fingers moved with precision, sculpting the curves of a brow, the slope of a nose, the delicate indent of a closed eyelid. With each touch, the figures in his grasp became more real from definition. To him, they were a more hollow version of the gods. Maybe he used those monkeys to bridge the gap where his mind failed.

They were likely to become a link between being divine and the animals. They would lack the godly minds and power, but they would not be some benign creature he had made. Mortal humanity would be much more than just animals.

Male accompanied by a female; men and women, as Prometheus had named them in his mind. He set them onto the side with the other pairings he had made.

Each had been crafted with slight variations, just as the gods had been. While Chaos had only birthed five Primordials to be distinct people, the offsprings of those Primordials were wide and varied. Some had wings, some were strong, and some were magically inclined. With humanity, some would have high cheekbones, others would have big foreheads; some would have softer, rounded faces, others would have bushy brows.

Their diversity and potential multitudes would be what made them fascinating. They would not be stagnant like Olympus. They would change everyday. Every new life would bring them fresh ideas. Every death would bring grief; Prometheus understood that from experience with his father and brother gone. Humanity would experience all of this and more on a larger scale.

For that, they could become greater, as a collective, than any city on a mountain.

He felt that truth in his heart. Doubt would sneak in, making him wonder if they had the capacity to be more than the other animals. They would be more than the great apes of the forests, who were admittedly clever, but real wisdom like Metis or foresight like Prometheus or the lauded intellect of Coeus. Perhaps the ambitious hunger for more and greater heights might be something to grant humanity. Prometheus paused, studying his creations.

They could not be gods as Zeus would not accept the challenge, and Prometheus was unsure if he could even grant divinity.

Humanity only needed the room to grow in Prometheus’ judgment. He suspected that all he hoped for them would come to pass and more.

He had seen visions of the future, but it was always in motion. Even the best laid plan could be undone by a single unseen step made by someone else.

The idea of humanity expanding, growing, being diversely different settled in him with the steady beat of his own heart.

His mind turned to Zeus, then, by extension, the gods. Their tangled histories, his own included, were filled with conflicts. That very strife was born not only from ambition but the repetition of its own history, like a wheel spinning over and over again.

There were many faults in the line of Ouranos, but as Prometheus thought on it, he realized that Ouranos married his mother and sister in Gaia. Cronos married his sister and ... cousin ... Prometheus was making sure of that, but Rhea and Cronos were related twice over, list Zeus and Rhea as well as Ouranos and Gaia.

Perhaps, the repetition was related to the narrowing of their own bloodlines. It was both a closed circle and a spiral repetition going forward.

That would not do for his precious humanity. They would need a better chance at a future where the lesser could be with the greater, differences could be mended by love, and maybe this family of humanity could expand to every Realm.

With careful intent, he metaphysically pressed something deeper into his figures as a safeguard against stagnation. Someone like Zeus might see the protection as a faulty mistake.

However, this trait would ensure no child of the mortals would be bound too closely in lineage. It was a subtle shift, creating a natural barrier that would encourage variation in them. If they were fair enough apart in parentage and ancestry, there would be greater possibility of change through the lens of adaptation.

That would be for later. His work was not done, and he was certain Zeus would want a hand in all that was done. The fire from Helios’ light had hardened the earth of the clay that had been made wet by the water of the stream. Pieces, small pieces of divinity helped create these wonderful creatures. From Gaia to Helios to Pontus or maybe Oceanus...

Regardless, they would be Prometheus’ finest creation.

Nyx’s night draped Mount Olympus even as Selene’s moon gave off light for Hera ro make her to the stone steps to the Fates’ temple. The temple’s grand entrance, framed by towering columns and veiled in sumptuous curtains of deep crimson, welcomed her into a world where time was woven into the very fabric of existence.

Within the building, Hera could feel a cold breeze of the Moirai’s plan of Fate. The walls were adorned with tapestries of events Hera had never seen before. Even though it captured her attention, she held firm on her plan.

Hera moved quietly through the large hall as she made her way to the daughters of Nyx. This was an open room with a high ceiling. The Fates did not live in it, as far as Hera knew. They seemed to come and go between the Mortal Realm, the Underworld, and Olympus.

Regardless of their traveling habits, Hera’s eyes were drawn to a plethora of images displayed in intricately embroidered panels. One tapestry portrayed Osiris and Isis in the timeless embrace of the Nile’s eternal flowing riverbanks.

Nearby, in another panel, there was an image of the stoic Odin sitting in quiet majesty beside a luminous blonde-haired woman. Their forms were in front of the backdrop of some kind of log-constructed building.

Further along on the left, a depiction of a floating court came into view. A warrior in white with dragon shaped shoulder pads stood in front of a playfully defiant monkey ruler of some kind.

Another tapestry had captured a mighty armed god with steadfast resolve. He subdued a monstrous dragon whose scales shone with obsidian under the light of relentless fire. Its retributive wrath did not care for the might of the warrior.

In a stark counterpoint, a panel from lands burst with color. There was a blue-skinned warrior with four arm. He was the embodiment of turbulent power as he locked himself into a timeless struggle against a goddess of fiery destruction. Around them, there was destruction in the form of wildfires and ash but also creation with flower bursting to life at the edge of the frames

Hera had taken them all in as she had past them, yet still she was curious as to what they meant. Were they far off lands or were they simply futures for the lands of Greece? She did not know. She did know that Odin and Osiris were from lands far away and had not been on Olympus until her wedding to Zeus, so she very much doubted that she had witnessed events from the past.