Scene One: The Throne of Olympus
The sky above Olympus was an endless sea of storm clouds, yet the divine council stood in eerie silence within the golden halls of the gods.
A projection shimmered in mid-air—an ethereal window carved from mist and divine fire, showing Mount Oryx, the cage of light, and Megumi's body, still unmoving.
Around it stood the Olympians, their faces pale, their confidence shaken.
"He took a hit from Editan and didn't disintegrate," Athena murmured, gripping her spear. "That should've killed any demigod—even a godborn."
Ares clenched his jaw, arms crossed tightly. "He's still breathing…"
Apollo narrowed his eyes. "His aura—it's twisted. It doesn't match any divine lineage I've ever seen."
Then the shadow of a tall figure stepped forward.
Cronos.
Once buried in Tartarus, now looming above them, his presence cold and absolute. Time itself seemed to slow when he spoke—his voice deeper than eternity, aged like a wound that never healed.
"Yes, my sons. My daughters," he said, surveying the image with a grim smile.
"You are only now beginning to understand."
Zeus turned to him, brows furrowed. "What are we seeing, Father?"
Cronos's amber eyes glowed dimly.
"The boy is powerful," he said. "But it is not just him. It's the ones who follow him. That girl—Nyx—was forged in death and betrayal. The Gorgon you cast aside has rage deeper than oceans. The old warrior, Leonidas, fights like he remembers the first war."
Hera scoffed. "So they're passionate. So what?"
Cronos chuckled—a low, cold sound that made even Poseidon still.
"You Olympians forget," Cronos said, stepping closer to the image of Editan and Hyperion, glowing like fire and lightning. "We Titans were not defeated by strength. We were betrayed. Overthrown by trickery and chance."
He pointed a withered finger toward Editan's blazing form.
"And yet even now, after centuries in Tartarus… my sons are stronger."
The gods fell silent.
"Yes, Zeus," Cronos said calmly. "We grow stronger in confinement. Not weaker. Time, pain, memory—they feed us. While you indulge in feasts and lust and fear prophecies… we become monsters in waiting."
Thunder cracked outside.
"And now…" Cronos murmured, "so does he. Your rebellion has birthed a Fallen King. A being who defies your throne but also rejects my chains."
He turned toward the Olympians, his face solemn.
"And the war you feared? It has already begun."