The flames in Olympus's grand hall burned lower than ever before. No songs echoed through the marble, no laughter spilled from golden lips. The air was thick with silence, the kind that clung to the skin like cold mist.
For once, the gods of Olympus did not feel immortal.
⸻
The Debate Begins
Poseidon's trident struck the floor with a crash that rattled the pillars. His ocean-blue eyes glimmered with unease.
"We cannot waste time. If the Fallen King stirs, our thrones are meaningless. We need an army—mortals, titans, shades if need be. We must prepare for war before he awakens fully."
Athena narrowed her silver gaze, her words sharp as a blade.
"An army? Against him? Father, you forget history. The first Fallen King was not beaten by numbers. He was bound by trickery, sealed at impossible cost. No force of spears or shields will change that."
Ares laughed harshly, slamming the butt of his spear against the stone.
"Then we fight until Olympus bleeds dry! Better to burn in battle than cower in silence!"
"Fool." Athena's voice cut like a dagger. "Your rage will do nothing. He is not an enemy you face. He is an ending you cannot fight."
Ares snarled, but Hera raised her hand and silenced them both. Her regal eyes gleamed with something that unsettled even Zeus: fear.
"And who among us, child, has the wisdom to oppose what even we gods fear? Where will this knowledge come from, Athena? We have no one left who remembers that war."
The chamber stirred uneasily. The weight of her words lingered like ash.
⸻
Zeus's Unease
Zeus rose from his throne, shadows cutting across his thunderous form. His voice, though steady, carried a tremor that none had ever heard before.
"I feel him," Zeus confessed. "In the lightning. In the storm. My power resists me, as though something older—something deeper—claws at it from beyond." His grip tightened on his scepter until cracks splintered through its golden shaft. "If this continues… Olympus itself will shatter before a single strike is made."
The gods shifted, their usual arrogance silenced. Even Ares held his tongue.
"Then what are we to do?" Apollo's golden light dimmed, flickering faintly. "Every day, the sun feels heavier, as though shadow seeks to blot it out. I… I cannot hold it much longer."
"And the moon," Artemis added quietly. "It feels watched. Hunted. As though night itself has turned against me."
Their words cast a chill through the chamber. Even the hearth's eternal flame seemed to dim.
⸻
Cronos Speaks
In the shadows, Cronos stirred. The Titan King—once the terror of gods and mortals alike—sat quietly, his golden eyes weary. The faint shimmer of broken chains still coiled his wrists, a reminder of Tartarus.
When he finally spoke, his voice carried not tyranny, but sorrow.
"My children," Cronos said slowly, "you tremble at a truth you do not yet understand. The first Fallen King does not seek conquest. He does not crave dominion, nor even vengeance."
His gaze swept over them all, lingering on Zeus.
"He seeks silence. To unmake. To erase everything until nothing remains—not Olympus, not mortals, not even memory."
A hush fell, heavier than iron.
Hestia's flame flickered. Aphrodite wrapped her arms around herself, whispering, "If that is true… then nothing can stop him."
Ares's knuckles whitened on his spear. "I don't care what he wants. He bleeds, he dies."
Cronos's golden eyes turned to him.
"You do not understand. His blood is not blood. His body is not flesh. He is will. He is hunger. How do you kill the night itself?"
The question hung unanswered.
⸻
The Crack of Panic
The chamber erupted in voices.
"We must flee—" said Dionysus, pale and trembling.
"We must forge alliances—" Athena urged.
"Armies, armies!" Ares roared again.
"Silence!" Zeus bellowed, lightning splitting the skies outside. The council froze, thunder booming like judgment.
"No more coward's talk. No panic. If mortals hear whispers of this, they will break before the war begins. We prepare in silence."
His gaze turned to Hermes. "You will watch Megumi Valentine. Every step, every breath. If he is tied to this awakening, we must know. And if he turns against us—" His eyes darkened. "We will act."
Hermes nodded grimly.
⸻
Cronos's Burden
When silence returned, Cronos rose. For a moment, all eyes turned to him—not with fear, but with wary anticipation.
He looked at Zeus, his son, with something almost fragile in his expression.
"You are right to be afraid," Cronos said quietly. "And you are right to prepare. But no weapon you forge, no army you summon, will help you."
He paused, his voice lowering, heavy with regret.
"There is one who might hold the answers. One older than even I. One who saw the first Fallen King when the world was young."
The chamber stirred.
"Who?" Hera demanded.
Cronos's gaze fell to the floor. His words came with the weight of a thousand years of shame.
"My father. Uranus, the Sky Father. Perhaps… it is time I go to him."
Shock rippled through the hall.
"Uranus?" Poseidon's voice cracked with disbelief. "You would dare—after what you did to him?"
Cronos's face tightened, grief carving into his stern features. His voice shook—not with power, but with shame.
"Yes. I am not sure if he would even speak to me. After I betrayed him. After I—" He faltered, lowering his head. "After I butchered him."
The gods fell silent. The words pressed against their chests like stones.
For once, even Zeus had nothing to say.
Above Olympus, the thunder rolled, restless and foreboding.