All that surrounded me was darkness, yet within that inky blackness, a cruel symphony of unsettling sounds lingered. It was a forewarning of turmoil yet unseen.
Still, even in the darkness, I felt an odd sense of comfort. For a moment, I wondered if I was dead. Maybe I was. Suddenly, something pushed me, and a light appeared ahead of me. I tensed as my body moved toward it.
The closer I got to the light, the louder I could hear the talking. The tones blended as if each word was crafted from pure harmony, rising and falling with a melody all its own. Every syllable seemed to carry an echo of distant stars, a soft chiming that lingered in my ears long after the sentence had passed. The problem was that I couldn't identify the language. It didn't sound like anything on earth.
"Súrhen ai'thra velarion… ithen kai na'dor."
The sound was too perfect. Every tone resonated with something inside me I'd never known. It was as if the language bent to divine will, shaping itself in my mind. The more they spoke, the more I understood.
A new voice, sharper and more commanding, broke through:
The sound was too perfect. Every tone resonated with something inside me I'd never known. It was as if the language bent to divine will, shaping itself in my mind. The more they spoke, the more I understood.
A new voice, sharper and more commanding, broke through, and I felt the meaning slowly unravel in my mind like a hidden secret being revealed through this celestial symphony.
Quick! Prepare the water basin. Someone called out, their voice sharp and commanding. I heard movement.
The light grew blinding, as if the world were being born around me. My body was shoved forward, and then everything changed.
Cold air burned my lungs. Suddenly, my vision filled with color: gold, bronze, amber, and light.
Massive, glowing hands lifted me. I blinked through tears that weren't mine and saw them.
Giant girls, no, women stood around me. Each one was as tall as a living statue, radiant and strong. Their skin shimmered with divine light, making the air feel warmer with their presence. One had hair like liquid copper, another's eyes were pale blue like storm clouds. Their fingertips looked like towering columns, and every breath they took felt like a gentle gust of wind. They spoke softly, their voices ringing like temple bells, echoing through the vast chamber.
"By the rivers… he's small," said one, her tone curious, not cruel.
"Smaller than any child I've seen, my lady," another murmured. "Far smaller than the first daughter when she was born."
I blinked. Small? What was that supposed to mean? The tallest girl, with hair braided with tiny glowing pearls, turned toward someone resting on a bed of polished marble and gold-veined stone. As she moved, the air seemed to grow heavier, thickening with an awe that made it difficult to breathe.
She was breathtaking.
Her skin glowed with dawn's first light. Chestnut curls radiated around her shoulders. Her lips no longer pale from labor, her eyes gentle and brown, deep as the earth, filled with ancient love.
Even exhausted, she radiated a kind of majesty that made everything around her bend in quiet reverence.
"Lady Rhea," said the copper-haired girl, bowing low. "Congrats."
Rhea.
That name felt familiar. I didn't remember it, but I knew it by instinct. A myth. Titaness. Mother of gods. A sudden thought passed through my mind, unbidden but insistent: Will I escape the fate that is written for me? The gravity of such a destiny hung over me like a silent threat, one that could ripple through the very fabric of the cosmos. What if my actions, in defying prophecy, set off a chain of events altering the celestial order itself? The mere thought planted a seed of fear, a whisper of a conflict yet to come.
So this was my mother, meaning that everything had worked out. I was now in the body of baby Hades. Somehow, amid the tangled threads of fate and myth, my consciousness had slipped into this world. Perhaps it was a twist of divine will or a cosmic error, but here I was, beginning a new existence in myth and legend.
They brought me closer, voices murmuring, hands moving in ritual. Someone set a basin of golden liquid beside me, shimmering and fragrant with honey and starlight. One girl dipped and wrung a cloth.
I squirmed as they washed me in the golden liquid. It was warm, alive, clinging to my skin, then seeping and burning like sunlight behind my ribs.
When it was done, I was wrapped in a thin cloth that shimmered faintly like woven moonlight.
They brought me to my mother.
Her expression softened as she reached out, her enormous hands trembling slightly. She took me from the girls and held me close to her chest. Her warmth felt immense, like the heartbeat of something cosmic.
"My little one," she whispered. "So small… and yet, I can see the determination behind your eyes."
She smiled, looking tired, maternal, and proud.
She looked up as one of the other women—tall, radiant, with silver-blonde hair—stepped forward and spoke. "Lady Rhea, what shall you name him?"
Rhea smiled softly, gazing down at me with eyes filled with impossible love. "He will be my little Aidoneus," she said, and her voice carried the weight of eternity. "My Hades."
A knock broke the stillness.
"My lady?" A young man's voice, uncertain but respectful.
The chamber doors opened, and another figure entered. He was taller than any of the maidens, though still young. He moved with an awkward, uncertain gait. His frame was lean, his limbs too long for his body. His dark hair was tied back, and his eyes were sharp and thoughtful. A silver circlet on his brow marked his station.
He bowed low, his expression strained. "Lady Rhea, Lord Cronus approaches."
Rhea smiled faintly. "Thank you, Atlas. Please, bid him welcome."
Atlas. I stared, wide-eyed. Atlas, the Titan who would one day bear the heavens. He didn't match the ancient myths. This Atlas was slender, nervous, and barely past adolescence. He looked more like a boy who might drop books than someone who could hold up the sky.
He bowed again and stepped aside.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed down the marble corridor. The air grew thick. Power seemed to hum all around.
And then he entered.
He was immense, not just in size but in presence. His dark curls fell over broad shoulders, and his beard was trimmed around a strong jaw. His eyes glowed faintly gold, as if the sun burned behind them. He wore a white and gold chiton, and the golden wreath on his brow glowed like a halo.
Cronus.
My father.
Atlas bowed low. "Lord Cronus."
Cronus stepped forward, his gaze fixed on Rhea, the stern power in his features softening into something almost human.
"My love," he murmured. "You have endured much."
Rhea smiled weakly. "For you, and for our children, I would endure all the earth's pain."
Cronus knelt beside her. As his gaze turned toward me, my body tensed instinctively. My heartbeat paused, a momentary hitch in my breath made my lungs feel tight. Every myth I'd ever read flashed through my mind: He devoured his children. He feared the prophecy that one would overthrow him.
He reached for me.
No, no, no, no. I braced myself for the worst.
But instead of teeth, there was laughter. Deep, echoing, warm.
He lifted me high, his voice thunderous and filled with awe. "Behold my son! The first of my lineage!"
The maidens cheered softly. Rhea smiled, relief in her eyes.
Cronus looked down at me again, his expression a mix of pride and calculation. "He carries your beauty," he said to Rhea. "And your stubbornness, I think."
I blinked. This was not what I expected.
"Come, Hestia," Cronus said suddenly, turning toward the open doorway. "Come meet your brother."
A small head peeked around the corner. A little girl, maybe five years old, with hair like our father's and eyes that burned like tiny flames. She clutched the edge of her dress nervously, and tiny embers trailed where her fingers touched the fabric.
Rhea smiled warmly. "Do not be afraid, my flame. Come."
The girl tiptoed forward, gaze flicking between Cronus and me.
He knelt again beside her, then carefully lowered me into her small, trembling hands.
"Careful, my little fire," he said softly. "He is smaller than you were."
She stared down at me, her eyes full of curiosity and wonder. A small smile flickered on her lips.
"Hello, brother," she whispered. "I'm Hestia."
The word echoed in my skull.
Hestia. My sister.
I didn't know what to say, think, or do. I was still trying to reconcile the fact that my father wasn't eating me. That the myths were wrong, or worse, they were not yet written. Yet, as I processed this unexpected safety, a faint memory of the metallic crunch from before lingered in the quiet halls of my mind, a subtle reminder of the lurking dread that had once consumed me. This moment showed me how easily comfort could coexist with a shadow of fear, a duality that hinted at the complexity of my new reality.
All I could do was look up at her, those flickering eyes reflecting in my newborn gaze, and feel the faintest warmth, not one ounce of fear.
For the first time in my life, I felt safe.
And yet, somewhere deep inside, beneath the infant heartbeat, beneath the confusion and awe, a voice still whispered. It was old, distant, and familiar. "Please protect our family." The voice felt like an echo of an ancient bond, perhaps a remnant of the original Hades. It carried a weight of responsibility that I did not yet understand, but its urging touched something deep and intrinsic within me.
🙛🙚🙛🙚🙛🙚🙘🙙🙘🙙🙘🙙
I learned quickly that being a Titan wasn't all glory and thunder.
I learned quickly that being a Titan wasn't all glory and thunder.
It was confusing as hell.
One morning, I could barely lift my head. Next, I was walking, talking, and wondering why my reflection seemed to burn. By the end of the week, I could read, speak, and think again. By the second week, I looked twelve. Hestia, my sister, was fourteen, graceful and self-assured, seeming centuries older.
The strangest part was my hair.
At first, my hair was black, like the original Hades. However, after a few days, red strands began to appear. Soon, my hair was a deep crimson, and my eyes turned red too.
I remember staring at my reflection, dumbfounded.
"Mother," I had asked her one day, "am I… sick?"
Rhea laughed softly.
Even tired from tending us, Rhea still looked radiant, with long chestnut curls over her shoulder. She sat near a brazier with golden fire, weaving cloth from silken, dawn-shimmered fibers.
"Not sick, my little one," she said, her voice soft and calm. "You've simply begun to become more of yourself."
"What do you mean by more of myself?"
"Our forms reflect our essence," she explained. "We are what we will ourselves to be. The Titans choose their shapes as easily as a river chooses its course. It's how we show who we are inside."
"So… I wanted this?" I lifted my red hair. My mortal wish for dark red hair couldn't have affected this body, but the proof was right there.
Rhea's lips curved as she combed her fingers through my hair. "Don't worry, I think you look very handsome."
"Mom, stop that." I couldn't help shrugging her off as she laughed.
Life on Mount Othrys wasn't as grand as mortals would one day imagine. The mountain was alive with wind and light, its peaks carved into terraces and halls. Great pillars of smooth stone held up open ceilings, letting sunlight pour in. Rivers of molten gold flowed through channels along the floors, keeping the halls warm.
The Titans lived simply, despite their power. No one sat on thrones all day. They worked, trained, and feasted together. The air always smelled faintly of ambrosia, sweet and sharp, like honey burning on a hearth.
By the time I looked fourteen—which was only two weeks after my birth—I started lessons with Coeus. These sessions were not just academic; they carried an undercurrent of urgency that I couldn't quite grasp but knew was vital. Coeus, my uncle, one of the elder twelve Titans, and by far the calmest being I had ever met. His presence filled the hall without effort. His hair was long and so blonde it looked platinum. It framed a face that looked slightly weathered with age. A thick beard covered his jaw, and his eyes were this hard silver color. He always seemed to be thinking about something else.
He wore a simple chiton of deep indigo, clasped at one shoulder with a bronze pin shaped like a star. He smiled when he saw Hestia and me enter. I sensed a hidden weight behind his teachings, a sense that we were preparing for a challenge yet unknown, something that could test the very fabric of what we were learning..
"Lord Coeus," I said as I entered the study hall, a long chamber lined with open windows. The light made the air shimmer.
He looked up from the brazier where he was heating a metal rod, even though there was no forge in sight. "Greetings, Young Lord and Lady Hestia. I am glad to see that you had time for our lessons."
"Well, I did beg father to learn as much as I could about our history and culture," I responded.
His mouth twitched, almost a smile. "You are a unique one; most do not care about our history."
We studied every day. Or rather, I did, while Hestia occasionally drifted off mid-lesson, pretending to meditate. Coeus taught us about Titan laws, our traditions, and how the world came to be thanks to Lord Chaos.
This morning, he decided that we would learn a great deal more about Titan's customs and traditions.
"For us, strength is everything," he said, pacing before the brazier. "When words fail, the Kael'duun decides."
"Kael… what?" I asked.
"The Settling of Flame," Hestia said before he could answer. "It's the ritual combat Father told us about."
"Correct," Coeus said, nodding. "A Titan must never hide behind lies. When two stand opposed, they declare their grievance and seal it in a flame. Whoever remains standing after the duel speaks the truth."
"That's… brutal," I said.
He shrugged. "Perhaps. But it keeps us honest."
He told us more about the Kaedor, the Day of Strength held every hundred years, when Titans competed to prove who was strongest. This ritual originated in the earliest days of Titan rule, with the intention of channeling their innate powers into a form of honorable competition. As Coeus spoke, sparks leaped from the nearby brazier, dancing through the air like fiery messengers. A rival Titan, Lelantos, paused by the doorway, listening intently before continuing down the hall. Titans believed that strength was the ultimate expression of truth and sought to demonstrate their abilities openly in a trial of might and skill. The event was governed by strict rules, including the participation of only adult Titans and the prohibition on the use of lethal force, making it a testament to skill and strategy. Winning the Kaedor conferred great prestige, symbolizing an unyielding command over one's own essence. Cronus, Coeus mentioned, had won every Kaedor since the fall of their father, Uranus. As Coeus spoke, an image flashed through my mind. I saw myself standing in the arena of the Kael'duun, the heat of the sacred flames licking at my skin, the anticipation heavy in the air. The roar of an unseen crowd filled my ears as I imagined facing an opponent, ready to test my worth in this ancient rite. Though young and untested, the thought ignited something within me, a spark of challenge, promising trials yet to come.
"Is that why Father's the leader?" I asked.
"It is why he is respected," Coeus replied. "Leadership is not given. It is claimed through might, wisdom, and will. Your father proved himself for the throne when he defeated your grandfather. If you want respect, then you earn your fame."
That phrase stuck with me. Earn your flame.
When Coeus finally dismissed us, Hestia stretched lazily. "Well, that was interesting. I'm going to help Mother with the hearth fires."
I lingered. "Coeus?"
He looked up.
Why don't the Titans write anything down? I asked, a hint of worry creeping into my voice. What if everything we've learned just… vanishes when we're gone? What if the stories and knowledge die with us?
His brows lifted slightly. We have no need. Memory endures when one's mind never fades. Coeus replied, but then after a pause, he added with a hint of skepticism, And yet, is not the act of writing a testament to our belief in the impermanence of the self?
Yeah, but… what if you fade anyway? I pressed. Ouranos fell. Even immortals can die, right? Or fade into the Void. And then what becomes of our legacy? The weight of my fear settled over the room like a heavy fog.
The room fell quiet.
Coeus studied me—not angry, just thoughtful. The brazier's light flickered in his eyes. "You speak truth, little Lord. Few dare to say such things aloud."
I shrugged. "Someone should."
"Is that bad?"
"Not at all. Perhaps it is time for our kind to learn to preserve what we know. Words hold power. I will speak to him to try and find a way to preserve our stories."
I stood, unsure what to say. "Thank you."
He bowed slightly, one hand over his heart. "It is I who thanks you, Aidoneus. You have a spark of greatness in you."
That night, during the Blood Feast, I watched as my family gathered around the long stone table. What was this Blood Feast? Well, despite their fierceness, Titans turned out to cherish family above all things. Once every blood moon, the Titans hold this great Blood Feast where they eat meat, drink ambrosia, and revel in joyous celebration. It was more like a grand assembly of celestial beings, united in a feast worthy of the gods, with laughter echoing like a symphony among the stars. The scents mingled, rich ambrosia weaving with the faint tang of blood, encapsulating the essence of the feast's duality of warmth and violence. Yet, beneath the merry facade, an uneasy tension simmered, like the subtle shift of a breeze before a storm. It lingered on the edge of perception, a whisper of discord that hinted at the potential for turmoil hidden beneath the jubilation.
Cronus sat at the head of the table, vast and broad-shouldered, his hair braided over his shoulder and his beard neatly trimmed. Beside him, Rhea glowed with a calm smile. The younger Titans filled the hall with laughter and clinking toasts.
Before the meal began, Cronus cut his palm and let a single drop of golden ichor fall into the fire pit running through the center of the table. The flames roared, shifting colors: crimson, orange, and white.
"To the Creator," he said. "To Lord Chaos, who blessed us with life!
All responded: "Strength is truth. Kin are eternal. The flame is sacred."
Hestia caught my eye from across the table and smiled, that same soft, knowing smile she always had.
For a moment, I forgot I'd ever been human.