From all the stories that I had grown up reading about, what was the literal canon in all the stories that I had read? Cronus ate his children, and that was a fact. The problem was that it had been a month, and I was still alive, and I wondered when it would be that my father would snap and try to devour me.
That was not the only issue. Hestia, who was, in fact, the eldest sister and the daughter of Cronus and Rhea, was my cousin. I sometimes caught myself watching as she followed Helios and Selene around the palace, laughing, as I felt some discomfort about what else would change.
How much of the stories passed down through history was anything but false?
The bronze scissors clicked softly against Kryn's fingers as he worked, the sound steady as a heartbeat. "Still, my lord?" he murmured, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. I nodded, keeping my chin lifted as his blade-tipped fingers—despite their size—trimmed the strands of my hair with precision.
Kryn had served me since my first breath. A goatman of the elder clans, his four curling horns marked him as lineage-strong, his dark fur streaked with silver where age had touched him. His braids, twin ropes of black fading to storm-gray, rested over shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of my father's palace if asked. He wore a simple chiton of undyed linen, belted at the waist with a cord of braided leather—practical, unadorned. A servant's garb, though no one would mistake him for anything less than what he was: the personal assistant of the young prince.
"Raise your arms, young lord," Nari chided, her lighter voice teasing as she shook out the folds of my ceremonial himation. Her horns, slender and polished smooth by years of oiling, caught the dawnlight as she moved. Unlike Kryn's austerity, she wore beads of carnelian and lapis strung between the tufts of her cream-colored fur, a touch of vanity she'd earned through decades of service.
Goatmen were a mix of beast and men, born as one of the nature spirits of Gaea. They were humanoid in shape, with fur covering their entire bodies and long whip tails as long as their bodies.
I tilted my head as Kryn's shears paused near my temple. "Something on your mind, Young Prince," he observed.
"Well, Father just announced a banquet, and this is the very first that I shall take part in. I am wondering how it is going to go." I asked.
Nari snorted, draping the heavy wool over my shoulders. "Do not stress too much about the banquet. Just take some deep breaths and try to enjoy the time you get with your family." She tugged the fabric straight, her fingers quick. "Hold still—if your father sees you draped like a half-sacked grain bundle, he'll send me straight to Tartarus."
Kryn exhaled through his nostrils, a sound like wind through dry grass. "There." He stepped back, brushing stray hairs from my shoulders. "Fit for the halls of Othrys."
I turned toward the bronze mirror. I stared at the way my dark curls were pulled back into a ponytail as the curls fell down my shoulders. The sides were adorned with silver beads and rings, and my hazel eyes stared right back at me.
Outside, the horns of the feast-call began to sound as I left and headed to the Great Hall, as Kryn and Nari started cleaning up behind me.
Life among the Titans was... nothing like the stories. They had their own customs and traditions that would only be forgotten by the time the gods took over.
For example, one of their traditions was the Agon, a duel in which many took part. A Duel where they spent months training to fight before stepping into the ring and seeing which of them was the strongest. The Titans were truly a barbaric tribe.
So far, none have beaten Father.
And many have tried.
Speaking of my father, he actually had some interest in me, always wanting me around, no matter if he was going to a meeting or trying to assist another titan.
On quiet days, when things seemed to slow down enough that father wasn't as busy, he would take me away from the castle and from Mount Othrys and climb with me to an overlook high above the forest canopy, where we were able to see all of the land of Greece.
The wind was quiet there, and the world below was untainted from the touches of mortals.
Cronus knelt beside me, his golden eyes scanning the horizon. Then, slowly, he raised his hand and gestured to it all.
"This," he said, with a quiet pride in his voice, "is all my dominion. Everything you see—the skies, the mountains, the rivers, everything that exists on this land—I watch over it all. It's a lot to carry, sure, but it is what my mother passed on to me after I had gotten rid of my father."
I said nothing, small fingers curled in the folds of his robe.
"One day," he said, placing a firm hand on my shoulder, "my time as the ruler of the cosmos will end, and everything will be passed down to you as my firstborn. You have a strong soul, Aidoneus, much like your mother's. I believe that the Architects have great plans for you."
I really didn't know what to make of that. It is true that, as the eldest, I am in line for the throne, and yet that will not matter when Zeus is born. If things really do end up happening as theyas they did, then he will be the one to become King.
That one moment bothered me more than anything, to think that my own father held me on such a pedestal. I just hoped that he would not be disappointed when things do not go his way.
The scent of roasting boar reaches me before I even enter the hall—fat dripping onto coals, mingling with the thick honeyed aroma of mead and the tang of pomegranates. My bare feet make no sound as I ascend the obsidian steps of Mount Orthrys, each one worn smooth by generations of Titans before me.
I pause at the towering archway, gripping the polished stone. I've been alive for five years now, and still my throat tightens before these gatherings.
The Grand Hall of Mount Orthys was already alive.
It seemed that the banquet had just started, as I noticed several Titans already eating and drinking as they looked far too relaxed.
Columns carved from stone stretched toward a ceiling that shimmered faintly, as if holding a memory of stars rather than the real thing. Long tables ran the length of the hall, already burdened with food enough to feed armies that did not exist.
Meat, mostly. Entire roasted beasts, their skins glistening. Bowls of fruits that seemed too vibrant to be natural. Liquids in golden goblets that shifted color when the light touched them.
He stood near his throne, massive even in stillness, one hand resting on Mother's shoulder as she leaned in to hear something murmured in that deep, rumbling voice of his. The kind of voice that made even the bravest Titan straighten his back. He smiled, and it reached his eyes, warm as a summer storm, but I'd seen that same warmth freeze over in an instant.
I knew better than to approach directly.
Instead, I lingered near the pillars, letting the shadows cling to me, something I picked up so I wasn't stared at all the time. The air hummed with laughter and the clatter of golden goblets. To the right, Hyperion's sons were already deep in their cups, their voices swelling like the tide against the stone walls. Nearby, younger Titans clustered like hunting dogs sizing up prey, pretending not to notice who stood tallest.
"Hiding again?"
Hestia's voice, light as the embers she tended, brushed against my ear. She smelled of hearth-smoke and honey cakes, her chiton the color of dawn—simple, but woven so fine it caught the light with every step. Beautiful. Objectively.
"You're late," I muttered, refusing to turn.
She laughed, hooking her arm through mine. "And you're predictable." Her fingers tightened, warm against my wrist. "Come on. At least pretend you enjoy Father's feasts."
I barely had time to grunt a refusal when movement flickered at the edge of my vision.
There.
Near the western archway, where the torches burned low—Hecate.
Daughter of Perses. Granddaughter of the stars themselves.
She stood apart, not like an outcast, but like someone who'd carved her own space from the air. Her chiton wasn't the usual fluttering white—hers was the color of midnight, embroidered with constellations that seemed to shift when I blinked. Silver charms traced her arms, whispering against her skin with every breath, each one shaped like something familiar—a key, a serpent, a crescent moon—but none I could name.
She wasn't watching the room. She was dissecting it. Eyes dark as the spaces between stars, flicking from Titan to Titan like she was tallying secrets.
My throat tightened.
"Oh?" Hestia's elbow dug into my ribs. "So that's where your gaze keeps wandering."
Heat prickled up my neck. "Shut up."
She grinned, leaning in. "Go talk to her."
"Absolutely not."
"Why? Scared?"
"I'm not—"
"Sister."
Helios' voice cut between us like a blade. He stood taller than both of us, his blond hair tied into a messy braid over his shoulder. "Father needs you."
Hestia sighed, squeezing my wrist before slipping away.
I exhaled.
And then—
Hecate turned.
Her eyes locked onto mine.
And I realized, with a jolt like lightning—she'd known I was staring all along.
A servant walked past and offered me a platter of figs stuffed with goat cheese. I took one mechanically, barely tasting it as my attention drifted away from Hecate and toward the cluster of second-generation Titans near the wine fountain.
Atlas has grown again—broader than the mountain he's named for, his sun-bronzed shoulders straining against his chiton. He's demonstrating a wrestling hold on Perses, who scowls but doesn't resist.
"—like this, you see?" Atlas grunts, adjusting Perses' arm with surprising gentleness. "Leverage beats strength every time."
"Tell that to your face when I broke it," Perses snaps, but there's no real venom in it.
I could join them. Should, perhaps.
Instead, I felt far more comfortable just watching from the shadows.
The sharp clang of metal draws my attention to the far corner, where Iapetus methodically polished his spear. Themis hovered nearby, talking rapidly to him, but he might as well be carved from the same stone as the hall's columns for all the reaction he shows.
When Themis finally turns away, as I catch the hurt in her face—just for an instant—before she smooths it back into regal composure.
A hand claps my shoulder, startling me.
"Brooding again, little lord?"
Mnemosyne grins down at me, her violet eyes gleaming with the particular cruelty of an aunt. Before I can answer, she plucks the fig from my fingers and takes a deliberate bite. "Mmm. Sweet. You know, you need to be more subtle when looking at a girl. I wouldn't be surprised if everyone knew that you had a thing for Perses' daughter."
Heat floods my face. "I don't—"
"Oh, don't fret." She flicks my nose, leaving a sticky trace of honey on my skin. "Your secret's safe with me." Her smile turns sharp. "For a price."
Before I can respond, the hall suddenly falls silent.
Father stands.
Every conversation dies mid-breath. Every movement stills. Even the torches seem to burn brighter in his presence as he surveys us all, that same unreadable expression on his face.
"Brothers. Sisters." His voice resonates through the stone beneath my feet. "Another cycle passes under our dominion."
A murmur of approval ripples through the assembly.
Father continues, each word measured and deliberate: "Over the centuries, our family has just grown more as new members join and bring more and more honor to the name of the Titans."
His gaze sweeps over us, lingering briefly on each of his Nephews and Nieces before settling on Prometheus, who was sitting in the corner.
"Prometheus! Don't think I haven't noticed your clay creations, I have to say that you have real promise, having spent many hours in your shop working to create an entire new lifeform."
A few scattered chuckles. Someone mutters, "They still piss themselves when lightning strikes."
Father's lips twitch. "Even the weakest flame may burn brightest in time. I expect great things from you, Iapetus, so don't give up and keep working hard."
Prometheus looked embarrassed as he thanked his father, his brother clapping him on the back.
Then Father's attention shifts to Helios and Selene, standing proud near the eastern pillars.
"Hyperion and Theia have decided to pass their dominions over the sun and moon to their eldests," he declares, and the very air shimmers with the weight of the pronouncement. "Helios and Selene, should you prove yourselves and bring ."
Selene's chin lifts, her silver eyes flashing. Helios merely smiles, but the torches flare higher in response.
Father's gaze finds Atlas next.
"That display in the training yard yesterday..." He lets the words hang, and Atlas straightens like a soldier called to attention. "Clumsy."
Perses snorts. Atlas elbows him hard.
"But promising," Father amends, and the hall exhales. "Train harder, and one day you will be able to stand as one of the strongest Titans."
Atlas bowed to his father as he thanked him.
Then that is when Father turns to Coeus and Phoebe.
His expression softens in a way I've never seen before.
"And now, we celebrate new life."
Phoebe's hands cradle her swollen belly as Coeus beams beside her, his golden aura pulsing with pride.
"Another scion joins our line," Father announces, raising his cup.
The hall erupts in cheers.
I lift my own goblet mechanically, the wine suddenly bitter on my tongue.
Another cousin, and I wondered at that moment who would be the one born. Would Poseidon, Demeter, and maybe even Hera be born next? Just how exactly would we be split, and would it be among the twelve elder Titans?
Hestia catches my eye across the hall and offers a small, genuine smile.
I look away first.
The feast continues around me, laughter and music swirling like smoke toward the vaulted ceiling. I take another sip of wine, letting the noise wash over me until I'm nothing but another shadow in Father's glorious hall.
The screaming hadn't stopped for three nights.
Demeter, who had been born a week ago, had lungs that could cause anyone in a hundred-mile radius to go deaf. I'd pressed my pillow over my ears until my skull ached, but nothing drowned out the wails.
The halls were quieter, at least. Cold marble underfoot, the occasional flicker of a dying torch. I'd wandered these corridors before, but tonight they twisted differently—like the palace itself had grown restless and shifted in its sleep.
I paused at a fork where I swore there'd been a tapestry yesterday. Now, just another blank stone wall.
"Left," I muttered.
Wrong choice.
The floor tilted. Not enough to stumble, but enough to make my stomach lurch. The walls leaned closer, whispering in a language that prickled the back of my neck.
I hated admitting I was lost. More than the dark. More than Demeter's howling.
Because getting lost meant I wasn't paying attention. And not paying attention in Cronus' court was how you ended up with a missing sibling and a mother who stared at the horizon too long.
My fingers skimmed the wall. Not for guidance—marble didn't care—but to feel the grooves where something colossal had once scraped its talons.
"You're not lost," I told myself. "You're… exploring."
The lie tasted bitter.
Ahead, the corridor split again. One path glowed with the usual torchlight. The other? Just shadows and that odd, rhythmic scratching.
Not claws. Too precise.
Writing.
Curiosity burned hotter than caution. I followed the sound down the darker path, where the torches had given up entirely. My bare foot hit something soft—a discarded scroll, its edges nibbled by something small and desperate.
The scratching grew louder.
A door loomed ahead, half-open. Oak, ancient, carved with faces whose mouths gaped in silent screams.
I pushed it wider.
The air smelled like old ink and older secrets.
Shelves. Endless shelves. Scrolls stacked to the ceiling, bound in cords the color of dried blood and twilight. The desk at the center groaned under parchment mountains, and behind them—
A Titan.
His hair hung in uneven hanks, as if he'd hacked at it with a blade between sentences. His fingers—stained indigo—moved ceaselessly, a stylus scratching across clay.
He didn't look up.
The scratching continued.
A reed pen moved across parchment in his hand, dipping into a small vial of ink before returning to its task. The symbols he wrote weren't letters. They twisted and curved in ways that made my eyes hurt if I looked too long, like they weren't meant to be understood at a glance.
He muttered to himself.
"…no, that's wrong… structure collapses… sequence unstable…"
I cleared my throat.
Nothing.
The pen kept moving.
I tried again, louder this time. "Uh—hello?"
Without looking up, he waved a hand lazily in my direction. "Busy. Come back later."
His voice was rough, distracted, like he had already forgotten I existed the moment he spoke.
I frowned and stepped closer. "What are you doing?"
That got his attention.
The pen stopped mid-stroke. Slowly, he lifted his head as I barely recognized Coeus. His eyes looked exhausted as if he was running on literal fumes.
His eyes landed on me—and for a moment, I thought he might actually fall out of his chair.
"…Prince Hades?"
I blinked. "Uncle Coeus, I am surprised to see you down here so late."
He straightened immediately, setting the pen down with surprising care. "Honestly, I needed a break." His tone shifted, suddenly more formal, though the exhaustion still clung to it. "I love my daughter, yet she bears a set of lungs that scares me. My wife told me that she would take care of her, and yet I can't help worrying about how exhausted it would make her."
This was the first time I realized just how much emotion Titans truly had. They were not just barbarians who ruled before the gods arrived. They truly had emotions like anyone else.
Gesturing at the parchment, I decided to change the topic. "What are you working on so late at night?"
A flicker of something—annoyance, maybe—crossed his face, but it faded quickly. "Research," he said. "On the Divine Script."
I looked down at the parchment.
The symbols didn't make any more sense up close.
"…Why?" I asked.
He let out a short, humorless breath. "Why?" he repeated. "Because it is everything."
That didn't help.
He leaned back slightly, rubbing his temple. "The Divine Script was created by Lord Phanes himself. It is the foundation of existence. Every force, every element, every law that governs reality…" His fingers tapped lightly against the desk. "It all originates from it."
I looked at the parchment again.
Still just weird lines.
"… Doesn't look like much," I said honestly.
Coeus snorted. "That's because you don't understand it."
"Do you?"
That made him pause.
"…Not yet," he admitted.
I tilted my head. "Then why not start smaller?"
He frowned. "Smaller?"
"Yeah." I stepped closer to the desk, pointing at the symbols. "You're trying to figure out everything at once, right? That's… kind of dumb."
His left eye twitched.
I ignored it.
"Why not start with something basic?" I continued. "I believe if you can start out with the core elements, you can figure everything else out."
He blinked. "The elements?"
"Fire, water, Earth, air," I said, counting them off on my fingers. "They're the primary four elements that represent the four states that everything is made of. solid, liquid, gas, and energy. Should be a lot simpler to start with, in my opinion."
Silence filled the room.
Then, slowly, he leaned forward.
"…Interesting, very interesting. I never thought of things that way."
Coeus closed his eyes as the room seemed to go very silent. His breathing slowed, deepened in… out… steady and controlled. The tension in his shoulders eased as his hand lifted the reed pen once more.
But this time, he didn't seem to try to rush it.
The pen moved carefully, deliberately. Taking stroke by stroke as I watched, as shapes began to form—familiar ones.
Four familiar triangle symbols. Two inverted. Two upright. Lines cut through the top of one of each.
My eyes widened slightly.
I hesitated. "They look like… the Alchemic symbols."
His gaze snapped to mine. "Do you recognize these symbols?"
I frowned. "I don't know. They just… really look like something I have seen before."
There was no way that the very alchemical table of elements would become the branch of modern chemistry. There had to obviously be more to it, or humans would have easily discovered how to manipulate the very code that the world was built on.
"How do you know what the Divine Script looks like?" I asked.
"Honestly, I do not fully understand it." He asked as he leaned toward me. "This has been my gift for quite some time now, the ability to see the divine language created by one of the Grand Architects."
"I believe that I may have a theory of some other symbols. Do you think that I can borrow that?" I asked, pointing at the reed that he was holding.
He hesitated.
Then, slowly, he handed it to me.
The reed felt lighter than I expected.
I leaned over the parchment and began to roughly sketch out several symbols from the Alchemic element table.
The symbols for the three prime numbers. Sulfur that represented the spirit. A triangle on top of a Greek cross, representing hot and dry
Mercury for the soul, a crescent on top of a circle with a cross underneath, representing volatile/fluid.
And finally, Salt that represented the body. A circle bisected by a horizontal line, representing solidity and fixation.
When I finished, I pushed the parchment back toward him.
"Do those look familiar?"
He looked down.
And froze.
"…Yes," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "They do. You can not see the Divine Script, yet you already know what some of those symbols look like."
A grin spread across my face. "Then I think I know the basics of the Divine Script."
He looked up sharply. "And what is that?"
"Well, seeing as they use the same symbols from the Alchemic table of elements," I said. "My guess is that if we can figure this out, then we would be able to manipulate matter using our natural divinity, though getting the right formula will take some time."
He frowned. "Do you think that it would simply work like that?"
"I believe if we figure out the correct way to conduct the scripts into power, then it would work," I said as I thought over it. "There is something else I think might help for now."
I took a blank sheet of parchment and sketched an alchemical circle, layering the two triangles in a star pattern to form a basic magic circle.
"Try this, imagine this circle and try to inscribe the Divine Script into it while you slowly add your divinity until you reach the limit.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
"… It's worth trying."
He raised his hand.
His eyes focused on one of the symbols—the one I assumed was water.
His breathing shifted again. Slower. Deeper.
I never expected the air to turn so cold that it burned.
That was my first thought when the temperature plummeted—a sharp, stinging bite against my skin that made my breath hitch. I exhaled through my nose and wiped my hands on my tunic. "This is the seventh variation. If the Divine Script doesn't respond to this one—"
"It will."
Grumbling, I smoothed out the parchment and redrew the circle—two overlapping triangles forming a six-pointed star, with the runes for water, ice, and stillness etched between the points.
"Now," I muttered, pushing it toward him, "imagine it. Not just seeing it, but—"
"I know what visualization is, princeling."
The insult rolled off him with the same weight as an endearment. I clenched my jaw but held my tongue as he lifted his hand, palm upturned, and closed his eyes.
Nothing happened.
Typical. Another dead end. I slumped back against the wall, picking at the ink that had somehow gotten under my nails. Maybe this was a waste of time. Maybe—
Then the air changed.
A whisper of frost curled across the stone floor, spiderwebbing outward from where the Titan sat. My breath fogged before me, sudden and sharp, and I instinctively wrapped my arms around myself. The cold wasn't just cold—it was alive, biting into my skin with teeth.
And then—light.
A neon blue glow erupted above the Titan's palm, and my circle—the exact one I'd drawn—flared to life in the air, spinning slowly. The runes pulsed like a heartbeat. Divine energy? It had to be. I'd never seen anything like it—never even dreamed it was possible.
The markings came next. Lines of icy blue light crawled up the Titan's exposed arms, twisting into unfamiliar symbols that shimmered like frozen veins. His fingers twitched, and then snow.
Actual snow.
It condensed from nothing, swirling above his palm in a miniature storm, gathering mass until it compacted into a perfect, gleaming sphere. A snowball. A fucking snowball.
I couldn't help it—I snorted. "That's it? After all that—"
The snowball shot upward like a comet and smacked into the ceiling with a wet thwack. Ice crystals rained down onto my head.
My mouth hung open.
The Titan's eyes snapped open—bright, electric blue, like the heart of a glacier—and he stared at the snow clinging to the ceiling. Then he laughed. A deep, booming sound that shook dust from the shelves. Before I could react, he lunged forward and grabbed my shoulders, shaking me like an excited child.
"It worked!" His grin was wild, unguarded. "You saw it, yes? The Script—it responded!"
"I—yes, but—" I stammered, still trying to process the fact that a Titan was manhandling me over a snowball.
Coeus didn't wait for a response. He snatched the parchment and held it up, his grin fading into something more intense. "This is only the beginning. The Divine Script—it's more than language. It's the law. The fabric of creation itself." His eyes locked onto mine. "Work with me. Learn with me. And together, we'll unravel the secrets left behind by Lord Phanes!"
The offer hung between us, heavy as the cold still lingering in the air.
I looked around—at the towering shelves, at the countless scrolls waiting to be deciphered, at the snow melting on the floor.
Then back at Coeus, as I realized that I was being given a chance that many would dream of having."
"...Deal," I said.
His grin returned, sharper than before. "Good." He clapped a hand on my shoulder—this time, lighter—and turned toward the shelves. "Now. Why do you not show me some more of this Alchemy of yours?"