I will be honest, I really wasn't expecting all of this.
I expected fire. Screaming. Cronus chewing off heads. An endless string of traumatic baby-meals capped off by a permanent stay in someone's digestive tract.
But here I was still alive, living among the Titans.
So how was it to live with the Titans?
And truthfully? It wasn't bad at all.
The world was quiet in those days—untouched, unspoiled. Forests stretched endlessly in every direction, their trees older than thought. Rivers wound through soft meadows, clear and cold, while strange birds and beasts roamed without fear. The air always smelled of earth and fresh leaves. Sometimes, when the wind shifted, it carried the salty breath of a distant ocean.
The Titans didn't live in cities. They didn't need them. Their home was a single, open-stone palace built along the slopes of Mount Othrys. No walls, no gates—just smooth columns and shaded spaces that overlooked the wild expanse below. Vines curled through the stones, and wildflowers crept across the floors. Nature didn't resist them. It grew around them, as if they belonged to it.
Life was slow here. Peaceful. The Titans spent their days walking the hills, tending to things that needed no tending, speaking in low tones, or sometimes not at all. They were immense and calm, like the land itself.
Now the Titans did brawl and fight, there was a monthly event called the Axioma. The name was derived from ἄξιος (worthy) and δόξα (glory); a contest to prove yourself in a dual.
And my father… wasn't what I expected at all.
Cronus, the Lord of the Cosmos, Titan of Time and Agriculture, King of the Golden Age, was—brace yourself—a doting parent.
He held me in one massive arm like I was a precious gem and often carried me with him wherever he went.
On quiet days, when the world seemed to pause, he would take me away from the others, away from the open halls of Mount Othrys, and climb with me to an overlook high above the forest canopy, where the whole of the land stretched out beneath the clouds.
The wind was quiet there, and the world below—endless groves, rivers coiling like silver veins, wild mountains asleep in the distance—breathed as one.
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 my realm. 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."
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 the my first born. You have a strong soul, Aidoneus, much like your mother's. I believe that Lady Ananke has a great plans for you."
I really didn't know what to make out of that. It is true as the eldest I am the one in line for the throne and yet that will not matter when Zeus is born and if things really do end up happening like it did than he will be the one to become King.
As time went on, my sisters—Hestia, Demeter, and Hera—were born, followed shortly by my younger brother, Poseidon. Our once warm and lively home slowly began to change.
At first, it was subtle. Cronus still smiled, still kissed Rhea's forehead and lifted us up in his arms. But the light in his eyes dimmed. He began disappearing for longer stretches of time, locking himself in his high chambers above the mountain or pacing alone by the blackened cliffs. He stopped telling stories. He stopped laughing. When he looked at us, especially me, it was as if he was staring through a fog—seeing not his children, but something else entirely. Something he was starting to fear.
He began to speak less and rage more.
One day, he struck a Titan servant across the chamber for dropping a goblet. Another, he shattered a marble pillar with a single blow when Hera cried too long. And though he never laid a hand on us, his presence darkened every corner of our lives. The mountain grew quieter. Rhea grew more tired. I knew—deep in my bones—what was coming.
Five years later, I was training daily in the fields near Mount Othrys, the tallest mountain currently, where the Titans ruled. Let me tell you now—five years as a god is not the same as five years as a mortal. Not even close. Comparing the two is like comparing a mountain lion to a housecat. I'd matured fast, my mind and body growing in tandem with something far older, far deeper, than anything human.
At five years, I looked to be around twelve. My body was lean, having a slight muscular built after my constant excersise. My hair had grown out to my shoulders, jet-black that looked almost blue when it caught the light. Most of the Titans either chopped their hair short for ease or let it fall freely in wild manes. But I tied mine half-up with a silver cord braided from my mother's own weaving. She told me once that it made me look quite handsome, but what mother doesn't say that about their son? I wasn't sure about that—but I liked the way it kept the strands out of my eyes throughout the day.
So what did my days look like, back then?
I awoke with the first light of Helios as it spilled over the ridge and warmed the temple stones. My attendants—a pair of goatmen- two young Satyr's named Kryn and Nari—would help me bathe in cold spring water scented with cypress and crushed mint. Then I'd dress, usually in a sleeveless black or navy-blue tunic bound at the waist with a silver clasp.
Breakfast came right after of course, and it was actually really good. Rhea always sat first, graceful and tired-eyed, her face soft with affection when she looked at us. Cronus, if he attended, was silent. He'd pick at his food—ambrosia cakes, thick slices of melon and pomegranate, barley bread with golden jam—and rarely touched the nectar.
We, the children, spoke quietly. Hestia would hum as she helped Demeter reach the fruits. Hera would ask questions about littereally everything and mother would calmly try to answer all of them. Poseidon as a child was wild and untamable as he bounced on his chair as if he has ADHD.
Moments later he knocked over his cup, causing one of the servents to run and clean it up and replace his cup.
I sat in my chair eating my fruitsalad as I watched all of this happening, for a family of Titans and gods, you really wouldn't expect such a- I stopped eating as I stared at Poseidon who was staring down at the bowl of nectar in front of him like it had personally offended him. I watched warily as he dipped one finger into the thick golden liquid. Then two. Then his whole hand.
"What are you—" I began.
With a triumphant cry, he scooped out a handful and smeared it across his face like war paint.
"BEHOLD!" he bellowed, now standing on the bench. "I AM THE GOD OF SYRUP! KNEEL BEFORE MY STICKY WRATH!"
Demeter choked on her bread. Hera sighed so hard I thought she might pass out.
Before I could stop him, he reached across the table, grabbed a fish off my plate—my fish, perfectly seared—and dunked it straight into the nectar bowl. Then he tried to make it swim, narrating the whole thing with splashy sound effects.
I just stared, deadpan.
"That was mine."
Poseidon blinked at me, fish dangling from his fingers. "It's swimming now. It's happier."
Rhea didn't even flinch. She calmly wiped Poseidon's face with the same patience reserved for wild animals and very young gods.
Cronus didn't say a word. He just slowly reached for his goblet, muttering something under his breath.
I looked down at my plate and the replacement fish Mother had just placed there, steamed and seasoned with fennel. Poseidon, meanwhile, was still licking sugar off his fingers, grinning like a sea-drunk satyr.
"Are you happy now?" I asked, deadpan.
He raised his sticky hands in triumph. "It's called flavor, brother."
"It's called sacrilege."
"You should try it!" He jabbed his spoon toward my plate. "Sweet and salty! Like rain on roasted oysters!"
"You've never had oysters."
"Not with that attitude."
Demeter snorted from the other end of the table, still sipping her morning nectar. "Don't encourage him, Hades. You're just giving him power."
"Too late," Hera muttered beside her. "He's already self-appointed himself God of Syrup."
Poseidon struck a dramatic pose. "All hail!"
Hestia rolled her eyes and smacked him on the back of the head with a slice of toast. "Enough. Eat like a normal person or I'll personally feed you to Oceanus."
"That would just make me stronger!" he shouted, then proceeded to slip on a puddle of his own syrup and crash off his stool.
The table erupted into laughter, even Rhea, who looked exhausted but radiant in that way mothers do when they've somehow managed to survive five divine children with their sanity intact.
Cronus raised one eyebrow, still silent, and took another long sip from his goblet.
I smiled quietly and returned to my meal. As annoying as Poseidon could be, mornings like this were rare now. The air felt heavier in the palace of late. Cronus had grown quieter. Shadows lingered longer in the halls.
I tried not to think about it.
After breakfast, I did what I always did.
I left.
Not in the "run away from your family" way, but in the "please gods give me ten minutes of peace from the syrup demon" way.
I liked being alone. Not because I disliked my siblings, but because my mind was loud in its own right. Always thinking. Always turning.
I wandered past the golden archways of Mount Othrys, down into the wide training fields and further still to a quiet garden behind the southern wall. A garden no one visited, because it held no pretty flowers or talking vines or musical fruit. Just stone benches and silence.
My favorite place in the world.
I sat cross-legged in the middle of a sun-warmed stone circle and closed my eyes.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Still the mind. Focus.
I had overheard some of the younger Titans in the training halls weeks ago. A group of them—Lelantos, Astraeus, and a few others—had been sparring and boasting afterward about unlocking their first Domains.
"The trick," Lelantos had said, "is in controlling your mana. It flows through everything. When you master it, your Domain will reveal itself."
Simple, right?
Except it wasn't.
I'd been trying for years now. Sitting in this spot nearly every morning. Breathing. Focusing. Imagining rivers of glowing light flowing through my body. Trying to feel something shift.
And yet…
Nothing.
No spark. No warmth. No awakening of divine purpose.
I was five now—young, even for a god—but not helpless. I could read, train, outwit most Titans my age, and even spar against Hecate when she visited. But this? This was maddening.
Why couldn't I feel my mana?
I had asked myself that same question over and over, training harder, pushing deeper, watching my Titan kin conjure fire and light from the very air while I remained empty.
It made no sense. I followed every technique they taught me. I practiced until my bones ached. And still—nothing.
I closed my eyes. Inhaled. Exhaled. Let the world blur.
And then, like a breath of wind through a sealed door, a thought slipped in:
What if I wasn't supposed to feel mana?
What if that was never meant for me?
I swallowed hard.
I wasn't a Titan. I'd always known that, but I'd never let it stop me from trying to become one of them. They wielded mana like second nature—but maybe that was the problem. Maybe gods were different. Maybe I was different.
I focused deeper.
Not outward, but inward.
I passed my heartbeat. Passed my breath. Passed the echo of every lesson I'd ever repeated like a mantra.
I searched for anything—any flicker, any pull, any resonance.
For a long moment, I found nothing.
Then—I finally felt it, a spark. I don't know exactly where it came from but I knew that it was somewhere inside of me.
I leaned into it, reaching out, my fingers trembling.
Almost…
"GUESS WHAT!"
My eyes snapped open as Hestia's voice pierced the garden like a thunderbolt.
I fell backward, groaning. "Hestia, this better be inportant becasue your interuptting."
She skidded into view, breathless and beaming. "You won't believe it! You really won't!"
"What?"
"Mother's pregnant again!"
I blinked. "Wait… What?"
She nodded so hard I worried her head might fall off. "She told me this morning! I was helping her clean the garden atrium and she let it slip! We are getting a younger brother!"
I sat up slowly, groaning as my joints cracked.
"How long have I been out here?" I asked.
Hestia tilted her head. "A while I guess. Around a week or two?."
"I see, thank you." I muttered as I watched Hestia run off saying she was going to go tell the others.
I stood slowly, stretching my arms until my shoulders popped, muscles stiff from stillness. The air was cooler now—the sun had long slipped behind the hills, and the stars were beginning to prick through the indigo sky one by one. A breeze rustled through the trees, soft but restless.
Far off in the distance, I could just make out Demeter's voice, scolding Poseidon again. Something about him putting live fish in the bath basins.
I should have smiled.
But I didn't.
I turned my gaze upward, past the stars, past the sky itself, as if I could see what was coming.
Zeus.
He would be born soon.
And I didn't need a prophecy to know that Cronus was near his breaking point. The signs were there—in his silences, in his bursts of rage, in the shadow that lingered behind his eyes.
I exhaled and let the wind move around me. Nothing good lasts forever and it seems that meant that our little happy family was about to break.
And I would admit that I was alittle sad about that.