Chapter 7: Even Gods Must Wait

“Go spin the wheel and see where it lands
Join in the circus, stay for a dance, and
Right when the war quiets down, ya strike up the band
Keep marching on, my friends
And do what you can”

— Heimerdinger (as portrayed by Mick Wingert), “Spin the Wheel,” Arcane: League of Legends, Season 2, Episode 7: “Spin the Wheel,” written by Christian Linke and Alex Yee, directed by Pascal Charrue and Arnaud Delord, produced by Riot Games and Fortiche Production, released November 25, 2024. © Riot Games.

They had two places they could call home; however, on this day, the triplets of Nyx worked within their sacred palace upon Mount Olympus. Ever-burning braziers lit the room but also cast long shadows when they touched the personages of the females within as well as when the light was blocked by their work. The air rustled from the perpetual movement of the thread being drawn, woven, and cut.

This was the sound that had been perfected by these sisters since before the birth of time itself.

Before the Sisters of Fate stood the Loom of Fate. It was an immense construct of celestial gold and cosmic silk that represented events throughout history, but not simply the past. It was capable of encompassing the entirety of the past, present, and the destined future and stretched beyond the confines of the chamber in an ethereal sense as it touched the very fabric of existence.

While their work included all that was, is, and could be, a scene was taking shape at the moment. A sturdy chain of gold and adamantine coiled around Zeus’s body. The King of Olympus strained against his bindings, but no matter the effort he put in, the chain held fast.

Surrounding him was the regal fury of Hera, sharp-eyed Athena, Poseidon, golden Apollo, and Hephaestus. While the image of the tapestry was static, it was clear that there was bickering going on as Apollo and Poseidon seemed to be reaching for Olympus’ throne. If ever the lesser qualities of greed and the self-serving existed, it was on the faces of those gods while Athena and Hera seemed to be shouting indiscernible words.

Even as the three pairs of hands were deftly at work, the loom shuddered at the very essence of existence.

Lachesis froze first. The golden thread she had been measuring became immobile in her grasp. Her brow furrowed as she could sense intuitively what the loom was warning through magic.

“Do you feel that?” she murmured.

She looked away from the work to her sisters. While they seemed stunned, Lachesis was worried.

Atropos lifted her gaze from the unfinished tapestry with a slow deliberation. She closed her eyes for a moment to use her preternatural power to feel the disturbance. Her mind was made for the possible futures that drifted along the river of fate.

What she experienced was not, in any way, expected.

“They do not belong here,” she said slowly.

Clothos turned from the loom. Her focus had always been the past. While the present all too quickly became the past, there was something incorrect about what was happening right then, which led her to want to agree with Atropos. Her eyes bounced between her sisters.

“Who?” Clothos asked.

Lachesis ran her fingers along the threads. She was experiencing the distortion in the moment. For her, this was how it was meant to be. There was an understanding with how continuance was meant to be.

“Two divine beings,” she whispered. “But they are ... displaced. They walk our lands of Greece, yet their thread is not woven into this time.”

Atropos inhaled slowly. She needed to think. Feeling the pull of the possible informed her decision; these uncharted deviations were wrong and should not exist. Her voice, ever measured, carried the weight of knowledge yet unspoken.

“They must come from the future,” she said at last.

She paused, raising a hand to silence her sisters from interrupting her. Her mind was one of the sharpest in existence, and even among her sisters, Atropos was not one to neglect her rational thinking when it came to the function of life. She was not one to speak to her contemporaries unless she was certain that her words were not only accurate but significant to the conversation.

“A possible future at any rate,” she added carefully.

Clothos’ lips pressed into a thin line in response to the words. Never before had this occurred. The strange second Cronos had appeared in a small moment, sure, but it seemed intended by design. One day Cronos should return to the past, assuming that all factors stayed the same.

This was why Clothos appreciated the past; by definition, it was rigidly unchangeable whereas the present was everyone’s right to shape.

The future was Atropos’ dominion. When it came to the fortunate, fate, or doom of tomorrow, Atropos was not one to hesitate.

“Should we intervene?” Clothos asked when she understood the fear of her sister.

For her response, Atropos was silent for a long moment. She locked her eyes upon the threads that they had stopped working on.

She was not peering at the labor they had put in. Rather, she was trying to ascertain how the river of time twisted. The unseen tributaries could lead to ruin while others steered to order.

When she could sense the power and distinctness of these interlopers. This anomaly had not been foreseen like Cronos had. Their auras emanated an ambience that she could not quite put her finger on.

One felt so much like Hades, but both younger and older. In one sense, their power seemed entrenched in the endless darkness of the Underworld that warned of being born there while there was an immaturity to the power. This being, whoever they were, did not take their potency as seriously as Hades.

They other seemed to mirror Zeus, but there was so much Atropos could not understand about it. There was a touch of the Egyptian goddess Isis about him while also a shroud like Hera’s magic. The more she sensed of this deity, the more there was a mixture of powers and magics layered one atop of the other. It was so overbearing that Atropos rubbed her head from the piercing pain attacking her skull.

“No,” Atropos said, shaking her head. “So long as they do not interfere with our design, we shall do nothing.”

Clothos frowned. “And if they do?”

The glint of Atropos’ shears caught the dim light as a threatening shine crossed her eyes.

“Then these intruders will know the power of the Moirai.”

Lachesis’ grip on her measuring rod tightened. Her sister’s words did not put her at ease as they might have in most circumstances.

There was more to this in her mind. A whisper at the edges of the distortion was grabbing her. The possibility that she had dreamed of in fleeting visions since the time of Ouranos flashed before her eyes.

“What if they were sent by the Moirai of the future?” she asked. While she was not one to make her sisters doubt what they experienced, this event felt momentous for them, and should, therefore, be treated with every due consideration. “Or in the name of the High King?”

At that, Atropos’ expression shifted. Her sister’s belief in the vision they had seen long ago was problematic. It was easy to believe when one saw the tangible, but the promised prince of the future was so far off, and many events could take place between even that moment and his birth that it felt far-fetched to Atropos at times.

For the first time, true consideration crossed her features. Clothos, by comparison, exhaled sharply and shook her head.

“The High King...” she muttered. “You still believe in a child fated to rule Olympus forevermore?”

“I do,” Lachesis replied with a firm nod.

Atropos’ grip on her shears slackened just slightly. Her sister’s belief was worthy of consideration in her mind. She could not simply discount it because she was uncertain. That was the problem when dealing in matters of destiny ... Until the moment came to pass, what did the Moirai really know? But once the moment came, there was very little they could do to change anything.

“Then we will be careful,” Atropos said at last. “However, should they interfere with the events of our Realm, we will intervene.”

The other sisters considered Atropos’ words before nodding. She knew best when it came to matters of the future, and it would be disrespectful not to heed her when it came to moments such as this.

She had to think long and hard. Hera paced the meeting room in her palace.

Considerations had to be made for who to involve and who to entirely ignore. Athena had been careful not to reveal her plan to everyone. In that arena, she deserved a certain level of praise; however, that she would approach anyone without knowing where their loyalties lie was altogether foolish.

Poseidon was self-serving, so there were possibilities there. Hades would not, or perhaps it was could not, leave the Underworld. Hera was not sure, but she knew better than to try and count on an unknown during a time when she needed certainty. Prometheus was too obsessed with his creation of humanity. He would be of no help whatsoever.

Hestia would be of no help. Hera knew that much about her sister.

Demeter ... Now there was a chance with her. After all, Zeus had treated her poorly before marrying Hera and instilling Hera as queen. There was a chance Hera could use that event as a means to motivate Demeter into action. While it was no guarantee, the notion did merit further thinking.

She had to think of the next generation of gods.

Ares would be ready to do battle. That was his nature. Despite that, or rather because of it, Hera knew that involving her conflict-hungry son would be a detriment. One needed to know when it was time to put their weapons down rather than continue attacking. In that way, Hera’s son would not be ideal.

There was Artemis, but she was loyal to her craft of archery. She was not a warrior in the sense that she would be ready for a war to come.

Apollo was the instrument of Leto. There were some possibilities there. Hera knew the young god to be whiny and entitled since slaying Python. Hera knew defeating one monster did not make one ready to battle the King of Olympus, but if Hera needed brash audacity, Apollo would do.

Hermes was a petulant little shit, but he was not one to battle Zeus. Something had occurred at Hera’s wedding between Zeus and the fleet-footed god. Whatever it was, Hermes would be useless in the battle that was to come.

Hephaestus could prove useful, Hera knew. She could not put him in danger though. Since his first evacuation from Olympus, Hera had felt a certain guilt towards her son. As such, she would never put him through another difficulty.

Aphrodite would be predominantly worthless in this arena. She was a lover, not a fighter. Hera knew better than to count on that one in the battle ahead.

Even as she considered who first to see, a knock came from her door.

“Pardon the intrusion, Your Majesty,” came a male voice.

Hera turned and saw the young Thanatos in her doorway.

“Yes?” Hera asked. She was trying to mask her contemplative thoughts from the younger god. “What can I do for you?”

“His Highness Hades of the Underworld is cordially requesting your presence Lady Hera.”

This caught the Queen of Olympus back. She looked upon the young being carefully.

“May I ask for what?”

“The matter, it would seem, is a private one,” Thanatos said.

With a snap of the words, he vanished from Hera’s sight. She blinked in mild frustration. She was in the middle of planning for the future of Olympus, and to be interrupted by manners of the Underworld threw her off.

Knowing the great counselor to Zeus, Cratus suspected that Prometheus would say that the river whispered to him. Its waters had a certain rhythm to them that mirrored the wind. Cratus could admit that much of it.

Far from Olympus, the riverbed existed in its own sort of silence. There was noise to be sure, but with the flow and the breeze, there was a calming peace that washed away all of the noise.

Prometheus knelt beside the water. His bare feet sunk into the silt with his weight pressing down upon it. There was a reverent care for the small figures of ochre clay pulled from the earth and river alike.

Prometheus’ face was calm yet focused. There was a look of pride sparked in his eyes with his quiet intent. He was a creator at work, complete with methodical patience.

If there was another thought in his mind other than his fabricating construction, no one could tell.

Cratus stood in the distance, taking all of this in. He had his arms crossed in judgment of Zeus’ favored counselor. As though carved from stone, he held his position like a monolith of resolution.

Cratus was not like most on Olympus. He did not play the game of favoritism or politics. He served the highest calling there was. To be the protector of Zeus was simplicity itself.

The king made the decisions, and it was Cratus’ duty to make those decisions a reality. Cratus understood the fundamental truth about rulership. Zeus would have enemies. It was Cratus’ duty to protect his ruler from those threats.

Where threats to Olympus stirred, he followed. It was not by Zeus’ charge that he did such things. It was an instinct to protect the king who had brought peace and law to Olympus. This led Cratus to knowing who was a problem and who was not.

Of all those irritating conundrums, there were few as vexing as the sons of Iapetus. Prometheus was the most elusive when it came to proving the problematic nature of being. He was not a warrior like Atlas or force of nature like Menoetius. Epimetheus was so simple and soft that even if he harbored thoughts of insurrection against Zeus, he would scarcely prove to be an obstacle.

Prometheus was both like and unlike his brothers. He was a threat; of that, Cratus knew. The problem was in proving such a claim. Prometheus was clever yet quiet. He could not prove a physical equal to Zeus. That much of it was clear. After all, many had heard the story of Athena’s birth where Zeus battled Prometheus and Epimetheus.

Even with the Aegis shield of Metis, they had proved unable to even stand in the same area as their king. No ... They were not hazardous to the king like most would imagine. That did not mean that they were not unpredictably precarious to Zeus’ rulership.

By Cratus’ estimation, they were dangerous in the way thought was dangerous.

A mindset led to thoughts. Thoughts led to actions. Actions could be problematic when it came to the security and life expectancy of a king.

Was it not a mindset that eventually led to the death of the first King of Olympus? It could have been similar thoughts that led to Cronos not ruling. Cratus would not allow the same for his sovereign.

Now, before Cratus’ eyes, Prometheus played creator like the Great Progenitor.

The sheer hubris of that actions alone told the protector all he needed to.

Then, of course, this led to the simplest thought. What if these mortal beings that Prometheus was making were part of some larger, more duplicitous goal?

Cratus shifted his weight slightly in recollection. The Great War had been terrible. The thunder of Zeus’ bolts, Titans screams as they fell, and the destruction that was so great that it might have consumed them all.

Back then, Prometheus stood beside Zeus as a counselor and tactician. Only Metis could be seen as being a more meaningful advisor in those days.

Shaking his head, Cratus could not know what to do with Prometheus. He could only watch the advisor and hearth-maker in his uncertainty.

For the son of Pallus, there were not many paths left for him to walk, but he knew one fundamental truth. Prometheus was not to be trusted. He could not move against the son of Iapetus, but one day, he would be able to.

When that day came, only Zeus himself would be able to prevent Cratus from enacting justice upon him.

She paced back and forth in the pavilion of her palace.

Her thoughts overwhelmed everything else.

She was born the daughter of Metis and Zeus. For many on Olympus, she was seen as the heir to the throne. Never had she wanted such an honor.

An Olympus that was not oppressed or being misled were her only goals. One by one, she had reached out to who she thought were the most likely to assist her in the endeavor.

Finding out that the citizenry of Olympus enjoyed the status quo had stunned her. It had made the most sense for some of them not to want to help, yet for there to be none that would make this dream a reality had told Athena that she was believing in a dream for nobody.

More and more, the goddess of wisdom found those she defended to be unworthy of the idealism she gave them, yet still, somehow, Hera believed that something could be done.

What was trust without evidence? That was what Hera was holding onto, and Athena could not understand why. It was a child’s wish to operate in this manner.

Someway, Hera could make this work. Was it because she was older and knew better? Was it because she had fought in the Great War? Athena found herself wondering what Hera had that she did not.

It was insanity. There was no proof that they would have any allies. Why? Why did Hera believe?

How could Athena trust in Hera or those ideals? She shook her head. The more she thought about it, the more she found it to be impossible to believe in this plan.