The throne room of Olympus had never known such silence.
Not even during the first Titanomachy, not even in the final hours of war when victory was bloodied and uncertain.
But now… in the aftermath of Megumi Valentine's display of power on Mount Oryx—Hyperion dead, Editan slaughtered, and the throne of Cronos claimed by the Fallen King—fear had returned to the gods.
Even to the immortals who once ruled unchallenged.
The hall echoed with hurried footsteps, divine whispers, slamming voices. Arguments bounced from column to column like thunder.
"He's too dangerous!" cried Ares, pacing wildly. "We should strike now, all of us—together!"
"Strike?" Aphrodite snapped, her voice laced with venomous grace. "And die like the others? I've seen what he did to Hyperion. We'd be ripped apart."
"He's not a god," muttered Hephaestus, staring at the screen projecting Mount Oryx's remains. "He's something… different. Something worse. A being between realms. Holy and unholy. I saw the electricity around him—it was red. Do you know what kind of force that takes?"
"Then we have no option left," Poseidon growled. "We need to call on the weapons we swore never to use again."
"Against a single man?" Athena questioned sharply. "He is powerful—but not invincible. He bleeds."
"But so did we," Aphrodite whispered. "And look what happened to Hyperion."
The room fell into another argument—roars, objections, fear turning to blame.
And in the center of it all, Cronos said nothing.
He stood motionless, eyes locked on the screen that floated before him—replaying the final moments of the battle: Hyperion's collapse, Editan's head falling to the stone, and Megumi sitting upon the throne of the Titans as if it had always belonged to him.
Zeus watched his father carefully.
Cronos's jaw was tight. His fists clenched. But his body trembled—barely. Almost imperceptibly.
Then, it happened.
A single golden tear escaped Cronos's eye and rolled down his weathered cheek.
Zeus took a step forward, mouth parted in shock.
And then—Cronos dropped to his knees.
The entire pantheon fell silent.
Even the wind seemed to stop howling outside the palace.
No one spoke. Not Poseidon. Not Ares. Not Hades. Not Hera.
Just the sound of the once-great King of Titans, kneeling before the gods he had once sought to destroy.
His head hung low.
"I'm sorry," Cronos said softly. His voice shook like a mountain cracking beneath a storm.
"My sons," he whispered. "I have failed you."
The gods exchanged glances in disbelief.
"All of this… all this war… all this death…" His voice thickened. "It was because I couldn't let go. I wanted to hold onto a throne that should have passed to you long ago."
His gaze rose, filled with deep pain.
"I should have let the Olympians reign. I should have trusted that your time was righteous and earned."
He turned his eyes to Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades.
"I blame myself for your deaths. For your fear. For everything."
The golden shimmer returned around Cronos's body—soft, fading light that pulsed with regret.
"I'm sorry," he said again. "I started that war."
And with that—
Cronos vanished.
No flash. No thunder. Just light—and absence.
⸻
Zeus stood still, his mind spinning.
He didn't understand what he felt. Guilt? Respect? Or was it the first time… he had ever seen truth in his father's words?
And for the first time in centuries, the King of Olympus lowered his head.