The struggle swelled toward its fateful conclusion. Chaos felt a wrenching shift that would irrevocably tear all of existence when the scythe in Cronos' hand struck down the once-king. The moment Ouranos' flesh was torn apart, separating his head from his body at the neck, his right to be king was lost to the Progenitor as well as the rest of living existence.
Although the Progenitor had crowned the king, and had known this being all of his life, Chaos watched the fall of Ouranos impassively. The Titan's father collapsed limply into the sea. His head rolled away even as the waves of Oceanus' sea buffeted away momentarily before swallowing the gigantic being whole.
The crown he wore slipped beneath the waves but not before letting off a glistening flash for the observing eyes of the creator.
Chaos perceptively distinguished the headband that had signified Ouranos' right to rule.
Moments later, the crown reappeared, materializing atop a faint, spectral image of Ouranos' fallen form that was being escorted into the Underworld by the young son of Nyx called Thanatos. Its brilliance remained yet somehow was more ethereal in the king's death.
Chaos continued to watch as the specter drifted into the depths of the Underworld. For the smallest measurement of time, Chaos considered a king who had ruled but never fully grasped the power bound within his reach. What Ouranos might have accomplished had he simply been happy with all he had been given astonished the Progenitor. He might have raised a pantheon so wondrous that for millions of eons, people would have known and praised his name.
For his failings, his name would be rarely recalled by anyone. He would be a piece to someone's story needed to tell someone
else's
story, and the fault was entirely his own. Chaos would sigh if they could only muster enough effort to care more for such a disenchanting dismay.
To the Progenitor, the Primordials were their children, and Ouranos had been made special since he was the Last Primordial, yet Chaos knew that in all of existence, for all the time and space that existence might yet span, Ouranos was but one tiny twig on a greater branch.
That reminded the creator of the greater design of all reality.
When Chaos looked towards that shaping formation, they saw the golden strand that they had come to recognize from the first prophecy. This single strand might yet bind up all of existence. If one king must fall for so many lives to be saved eventually, was it not worth it? Was it not worth all of that and more when the downfall had been brought about by that foolish king's hands.
There were so many questions to consider when it came to the infinite of all things, yet still, amidst the starlit void, Chaos remained, unmoved and inscrutable. They would ponder the outcome of this clash and what it might mean for the realms beyond Greece, and for generations to come.
Rather than focus on the pessimistic view of inevitability, Chaos would look at the new, the reborn, the rise of another.
In the window in their world, Chaos looked upon another event in the realm below. Time was a fickle facet of their realm. Sometimes it flowed slower or faster in their realm. Chaos could not especially figure out why, but then again, they scarcely seemed to care.
Chaos was an interesting entity. They did not know existence as most did. Time and space, past and present, even the impossibly heavy weight of the unfathomable eternity were part of their day to day, and moreover, this girth was not too much for Chaos to find their focus.
Looking upon the sight of Mount Olympus, their gaze fell upon the youngest son of Ouranos and Gaia.
Cronos stood in front of an assembly of his Titan brothers and sisters. The entire immediate family was present while he stood at the forefront. His back was to his siblings.
While shirtless, the slayer of Ouranos was clad in his regal attire befitting a King of Olympus. His belt was made of gold, his forearms were adorned with a bronze pair of bracers, and his legs were covered in a baggy, bloody burgundy skirt. Ouranos never needed such regalia, yet for Cronos it only accentuated his Titanic allure.
While he had a bald head, he looked all the more appealing to the eye with his strong jaw and stubbled chin. He had a strong body, framed with large muscles even among his family. Outside of Crius, he might have been perceived as physical power itself. He was the only one with the right to command the Throne of Olympus since The Last Primordial's death.
He knelt down before his towering Earth Mother and respectfully lowered his head. Gaia was a tall female made of earth, stone, vines, and water. She was as feminine as her daughters, but her appearance was a display of her connection to the Progenitor.
Before her Titan children, she presented a golden wreath for her son's head. With the crown that her husband wore missing, the Primordial Queen decided it was best to make one herself to declare her son to be the next King of Olympus.
His brothers might have fought this idea, but with how Crius had been crippled from the battle with Ouranos, Coeus was usually so unemotional, Hyperion stepped aside after Cronos slew Ouranos, Iapetus seemed so disinterested in everything, and Oceanus was in love with the sea, there was no other choice to ascend.
Upon placing the wreath on his head, Rhea came to stand beside her brother. She said nothing at first. Gaia acknowledged her daughter with a nod of her head. Before the other children of Gaia and Ouranos, the two were wed, and from that day forth, they were to be known as the Titan King and Queen of Olympus.
Chaos' consciousness pulsed from the imagery, causing their faint curiosity to pull away from the path of the Titans.
Cronos' coronation and wedding was something distant despite the momentary interest in their grandchildren. However, Chaos perceived existence differently than the emotionally driven Titans. For Chaos, that there was life and choice was what mattered. How the other divinity used this choice was both relevant and irrelevant to them. Morality and ethics were still being decided by their progeny, and it was right for them to do so.
Still, Chaos could not pretend that while they were distant from the divinities in the Realm of Greece, the Progenitor
did
have their own agenda. Pretending otherwise would be dishonest of the creator of the lands of Greece.
From their outsider perspective though, Chaos could see the essence of Olympus. There was and would be a ceaseless chain of rulers. Unlike Chaos (or perhaps Chaos would also fall into this trap) each generation below would be grasping for supremacy.
This caused pause for the Progenitor. They had once seen something that had caught their fleeting interest. Interest was rare for them, so with interest came a curiosity. Had the Titans and Primordials found a way to deviate from the path that the Progenitor had laid out for them?
Through the cosmos, Chaos peered upon the stream of time as though it were nothing more than a flowing river. Each fall of a king formed a ripple that still held the possibility of leading to a distant, uniting future.
With this vision, Chaos breathed easier.
Surely, this was the path woven for their offspring, but if Chaos had offered them the power to choose, there would be a second by second chance at change. Multiple choices here, multiple choices there. What might have been one deviation here, one deviation there was quickly becoming a wholly unique possibility.
Even if each generation a king was dethroned, this did not guarantee that the other smaller, lesser pieces would comply with the choices that Chaos wanted. True. All of their decisions contributed to a steady movement toward something vast yet cohesive. The river of time could twist and turn in a million ways. Nevertheless, Chaos believed it would meander into their optimistic design. Perhaps, this would not occur easily, but time in the Realm of Greece always marched forward. It was oppressive and trudged toward a final convergence, one way or another.
For all of those reasons, even Chaos could not define this future.
A flicker of unease crept into the essence of the Progenitor. Sharp as a shard of broken starlight, it stabbed into their deepest core. With so many potential deviations, they began to feel the cold uncertainty of fear.
What if these unfolding events did not progress towards the unification of the many? Could this start a vicious, violent cycle that endlessly repeated itself? Were their Primordial children, even the Titans, truly capable of grasping the depth of what Chaos hoped for? Part of Chaos wanted to believe it was planned, but plans for the future would be unfair to make again their offspring.
Chaos had a gaze that stretched across endless galaxies, through quasars, beyond a singular idea of existence and time. They could see what their progeny was not even remotely sure of just yet. Because of this, that fear they felt was all the more frustratingly scary.
The timeline twisted on itself in ways even they could not entirely untangle. This uncertainty struck Chaos in their heart once more, and for one long, ponderous moment, Chaos contemplated the worst possibility of all: Could even they be wrong?
Chapter 1: The Birth of Aether
"Birth is the sudden opening of a window, through which you look out upon a stupendous prospect. For what has happened? A miracle. You have exchanged nothing for the possibility of everything."
— William Macneile Dixon,
The Human Situation: The Gifford Lectures Delivered in the University of Glasgow, 1935-1937
, Edward Arnold & Co., 1938.
In the land of Greece, there stood an edifice of rock and stone that kissed the heavens with the intimacy of a love reminiscent of its Primordial creators. This seemingly natural structure was made from the coupling of two offspring of the ineffable, unknowable Progenitor called Chaos. From its rock, to its slopes, to the snow-like cloudy heights, the monument was a testament to the majestic magnificence of the divine. Olympus stood as a unique place, both in the Land of Greece and the plane of the Titans.
