The Judgement Hall holds its breath. The air, already thick with ozone and anxiety, grows heavier still as the side door grinds open.
Hyperion is dragged in, a broken sun. Where his mighty right arm once blazed, only a mangled stump remains, swathed in bandages stained through with old, tarnished gold. His body is a testament to brutal captivity—a landscape of knotted, ugly scars and fresh, livid bruises that bloom across his skin like violent constellations. He moves with a hunched, crippled shuffle, each step a visible agony that echoes in the silent hall.
Yet, his aura has not completely dimmed. A palpable heat, the last embers of a god-king's might, still radiates from him. And his eyes are twin solar flares, burning with undimmed, furious vigilance.
From the crowd, a sharp, choked gasp. Helios jolts to his feet, his face draining of all color. Beside him, Selena's hand shoots out, her fingers vicing around his wrist with desperate strength.
"Don't," she whispers, her own eyes wide with horror, tears already carving silver paths down her cheeks. "Brother, please. Do not be reckless."
Helios glares at her, the light in his own eyes flickering with rage and helplessness. But the raw plea in her tearful gaze stops him. He sinks back into his seat, his arms crossing over his chest like a barricade, his jaw clenched so tight it aches.
"Hyperion," Judora announces, her voice striving for steadiness. "Titan of Heavenly Light. The Solar King, sovereign of all celestial bodies. Second in authority only to the Celestial King within the sky realm."
The judges open their Soul Books. Nereus strokes his beard, his watery eyes shifting from the text to the ruined Titan before them. He speaks first, his tone carrying the weight of deep disappointment.
"Hyperion has been criminally negligent in his cosmic duties. His absences have caused the orbits to wobble, his rages have sparked stellar flares that scoured worlds, and his indifference has led to cosmic winters that nearly ended epochs of life. He treated his solemn charge as a whim." Nereus's gaze hardens. "I judge him as a Sinner."
"agree," Hades's voice cuts in, cold and absolute. "His irresponsibility is not a flaw; it is a catastrophe. The extreme droughts, the ice ages that gripped the earth, the meteor showers that rained fire—these are not accidents. They are the direct results of his neglect. The world suffers for his inattention. I judge him Sinner."
Both turn to Theia. She closes her book slowly and releases a long, weary sigh that seems to hold the exhaustion of ages.
"He may have been negligent," she begins, her voice softer now, almost mournful. She turns her covered gaze toward Hades. "But he is also the Sun. The relentless bringer of dawn, the purifier of corruption, the guardian whose light is the only wall holding back the outer void. For every field he burned, a thousand forests grew. His virtue is not in his diligence, but in his very existence." She pauses, the black cloth over her eyes somehow conveying profound sadness. "Yet… a guardian who abandons his post is still guilty. The light does not forgive the darkness it allowed to flourish. I judge him Sinner."
Her words are a death knell. A wave of grim satisfaction ripples through the Olympian contingent. In the neutral quarter, Helios slumps, his fiery aura guttering. Selena buries her face in his shoulder, her body wracked with silent sobs.
Theia rises and turns to Ananke, bowing her head. "Lady Ananke, for his ages of essential service, for being the source of life itself, I beg you to temper the sentence with mercy."
Ananke does not acknowledge her. Her implacable stare is fixed on Hyperion, who stands, trembling slightly, meeting his fate with solar pride.
"The judgment stands," Ananke declares, her voice the sound of finality. "Hyperion is guilty. His punishment: the total forfeiture of his solar divinity. He is to be imprisoned within the core of a dead star for all eternity."
As the last word echoes, Hyperion's body rebels. A searing, molten-gold light—the very essence of his being—tears from his pores. His veins swell into glowing, topographical rivers beneath his skin before bursting, painting him in his own brilliant, dying ichor. His form unmade from within.
"AAAAAAAGHHH—!"
His scream painfully. It echoes for an eternity of minutes, a hellish symphony that etches itself into the memory of all who hear it. When it ceases, Hyperion is a husk, collapsing into the arms of the waiting soldiers.
"FATHER!" The cry is torn from both Helios and Selena. They rush forward, not as deities, but as grieving children, supporting his unconscious form. Julie unlocks the chains with swift efficiency and nods to her soldiers. "Assist them." The soldiers move to carry the fallen Titan away, his light extinguished, his legend ended.
---
The next judgements pass in a merciful, swift blur—a deliberate lull in the storm.
Krios, the Titan of Constellations, is declared Virtuous by unanimous accord. "He brought guidance, not chaos," Nereus explains. "His stars were maps, not weapons." He is freed, bowing deeply with quiet gratitude.
Koios, the Axis-Pivot, follows. "He maintained the balance of realms with impeccable precision," Theia states. Hades and Nereus agree. Another unanimous Virtue. Koios knees buckle with relief, and he is led to sit beside his brother, both now under the silent, calculating gaze of the Underworld.
The air coils tighter. The main event approaches.
THOOM. THOOM. THOOM.
A seismic tremor precedes him. The great doors strain. Every soldier grips their weapon, knuckles white. Druvak enters first, his skeletal form tense, a sword of green soulfire blazing in his hand. Behind him, a phalanx of the Underworld's strongest strains against chains of Stygian iron so thick they seem to be dragging a mountain.
Cronus.
He is clad in chains, his mouth and eyes sealed by bands of dark metal. A horrific, still-smoldering vertical slash. Severance Scythe still buried there, severing his connection to his own power. He is a canvas of scars and old wounds.
Yet, he stands straight. His shoulders have not bowed. His presence, even muted, invades. The air curdles, becoming thick and suffocating. A subsonic hum, the sound of grinding epochs, vibrates in the teeth and bones of every being present. Hearts stutter from a primordial, cellular memory of the King of Time. Several lesser spirits slump forward, overwhelmed into unconsciousness.
Sniff… sniff…
Cronus's head turns. He halts, the chains shrieking in protest.
"Rhe…Rhea…" The muffled name is a tremor through the hall.
Rhea's hands fly to her mouth. A fractured sob escapes. She takes an involuntary step forward, but Hestia's firm hand on her arm holds her back. A sharp tug from Druvak forces Cronus to turn and be led before the dais.
Julie steps forward. With a click, the seals over his mouth and eyes are removed. He blinks, his gaze clearing, sweeping over the grand court. His lips quirk in a faint, defiant smile at Ananke. Then his eyes find Rhea. All defiance melts away, replaced by a raw, devouring longing that silences the very concept of the trial around him. He gives a slight, almost imperceptible nod to Krios and Koios in the corner.
"Cronus," Judora's voice is barely a whisper, amplified by the utter silence. "Titan of Time. The Former Celestial King. The Primordial Slayer."
The judges read. And read. Minutes stretch. Nereus's mind churns, not just with personal fear, but with the overwhelming political calculation that had haunted Olympus and ocean realm since the Rejudgement was announced.
'It's not about what he did wrong,' Nereus thinks, his eyes scanning the endless list of deeds in the Soul Book. 'It's about what he did right. Look at this—liberator of the Titans, slayer of the Tyrant Uranus, architect of the Golden Age, defender of the world against the Giant chasm. His virtues are not mere footnotes; they are the pillars of modern creation. How do you condemn the being who forged the era you now live in?'
'This is why Oceanus and Zeus feared this court,' he realizes, a cold dread settling in his stomach. 'Not because Hades holds power enough to stand against primordials, but because the evidence for Cronus's freedom is written in the very fabric of the world. Every deity here knows it. To judge him solely on his sins would be hypocrisy. To free him would be to unleash a storm upon a world that has already weathered him once.'
He steals a glance at Hades, who sits with a king's impenetrable calm. 'The Underworld King understands this too. He is not judging a monster; he is weighing a legend. The real question is not "guilty or innocent?" It is "can the world survive his freedom, and can Olympus survive the political earthquake of his pardon?"'
Cronus ignores them all. His world has shrunk to Rhea's face.
Hades closes his book with a soft thud. The sound is a gunshot in the quiet. He leans back, the weight of the next words heavy upon him.
"Lord Cronus," Hades begins, his voice echoing. "Has committed sins that scarred the cosmos. He ruled through fear. He ignored the tyranny of his subordinates, allowing corruption to fester. He recklessly unleashed powers that brought the world to the brink of oblivion." He feels twin pairs of eyes burning into him—Rhea's desperate glare from the crowd, Ananke's analytical chill from above. He presses on, sweat beading on his temple. "He attempted infanticide. He committed patricide. These are indelible stains."
He takes a sharp breath. "But alongside the shadows of sin, there was immense light. He was the architect of the Golden Age. He liberated gods and mortals from the crushing tyranny of Uranus. He has stood, personally, as the final bulwark against existential threats that would have consumed all reality, not once, but countless times." Hades meets Cronus's now-attentive gaze. "Therefore, I judge the totality of his being. I declare him Virtue."
The hall is motionless, stupefied.
Then, chaos.
"I OBJECT!" Nereus and Theia shout in unison, leaping to their feet.
"He is a force of nature who refused control!" Theia's voice rings out. "A being who wielded the power to unmake realities on a whim! Such a creature cannot be virtuous, he can only be contained!"
"He bathed the world in blood for pride and conquest!" Nereus booms. "He broke sacred oaths as if they were cobwebs! He is the embodiment of Sin!"
Creak. SNAP.
The sound of splintering marble. All heads turn.
Rhea is on her feet. The gentle, grieving mother is gone. The air around her warps. Her blonde hair lifts and lashes like strands of solidified fury. A palpable, raging heat erupts from her, making the stone bench beneath her steam. The Queen of the Titans glares at Nereus and Theia, and in her eyes is the promise of absolute, motherly annihilation.
Hestia shrinks back, edging closer to Hecate.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Ananke's finger calmly taps the armrest of her throne. She looks from the fuming judges, to the defiant Cronus, to the volcanic Rhea, and finally to the strategically silent judges. A long, slow sigh escapes her.
She stands. The universe holds its breath.
"Cronus, Titan of Time," she pronounces, each word a law etched into fate. "Your reign was a paradox of glorious light and abyssal shadow. You have been both the world's greatest shield and its sharpest sword turned inward. The scales do not balance; they are fractured."
She glares at him, and her will becomes reality. "Your sentence is this: All knowledge of Time divinity. Every divinities you possess. Your weapon, the Severance Scythe. Your innate ability over divine energy manipulation. All are forfeit, here and now."
She extends a hand. The Scythe embedded in Cronus's chest shriekes and tears itself free, flying to her grasp. As it leaves, the unraveling begins.
Golden light erupts from him. It is not a leakage, but an excision. His veins bulge with the terrifying, physical manifestation of eons being ripped out. His skin splits like overripe fruit. Golden ichor, thick as molten river, pours from every wound, every orifice, flooding the floor around him.
Aaaaahhhh!!! AAAAAAA!!!
His painful scream is the most profound sound the hall has ever heard.
When the light fades, he is kneeling in a pool of dull, red blood. The golden ichor is gone, leeched away. All that remains is a massive, broken man, hollowed out.
"CRONUS!"
Rhea explodes forward, a golden blur of grief and love. She crashes to her knees in the pool of his blood, her arms scrambling to cradle his shuddering form.
Through a haze of agony and blurred vision, Cronus sees her. He smiles, a raw, broken expression of pure love. His trembling hand, slick with his own red blood, rises. He gently caresses her chin, his thumb brushing a tear away, and with immense effort, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Rhea…" he breathes. Then his eyes close, and he goes utterly still in her embrace.
Julie, Druvak, Hecate, and Hestia converge around them to help them.
With this judgement ended.
Hades turns to the dais and bows deeply. "The Underworld is in your debt, Lady Ananke. We thank you for upholding this judgement."
"Rise, Hades," Ananke says, her tone leaving no room for deference. "You do not owe me. I participate in this because I found this necessary for world balance."
With a final, inscrutable glance at the scene of bloody reunion, she turns. A portal of pure white light spirals open behind her throne. She steps through, and is gone.
The Judgement Hall remains, silent but for the sound of Rhea's weeping and the slow, final drip of red blood onto black marble.