The Slaughter Divine

Though she had long anticipated this moment, Tyche could not suppress a pang of sorrow for Rhea. Torn between maternal instinct and wifely devotion, the Titaness withered beneath Cronus' relentless hunger. Each day, her presence grew fainter—her emotions dimming like a flame in the wind.

"To seek mercy through sacrifice," Tyche mused, watching from afar. "This was your choice."

Bound by shared time's essence, nothing remained hidden between the royal pair. And still, Cronus devoured his children—his thirst for power unrelenting, his love a distant memory. He knew the torment he inflicted upon his wife; yet he pressed on, forging his path to primordial divinity atop the bones of his own flesh.

Keanos, however, brought her solace.

She watched him train with steady eyes, pride swelling within her chest. For once, she allowed him respite—a rare indulgence for a son so eager to prove himself.

He took to the earth at once, leading his pack into the wilds. The wolves, well-fed by the dryads, bounded after him with fierce loyalty. Across plains and forests, he ran—not for battle, but for the thrill of the chase.

Yet fate had other plans.

A great white bear caught his eye—its fur gleaming silver beneath the moon, its form unlike any beast before it. Something unnatural stirred within its gaze.

At once, Keanos gave pursuit.

The creature fled with unnatural speed, leaving broken trees and trampled undergrowth in its wake. Yet even as he chased, something gnawed at his instincts.

Then came the clearing.

Selene's chariot passed overhead, bathing the glade in pale light. Beneath it stood the beast—no longer running, but kneeling at the feet of a god clad in furs. The figure stroked the animal's head, whispering words of comfort.

The wolves betrayed him first—their glowing eyes betraying movement in the dark.

Emerging from shadow, Keanos offered a respectful bow. "I did not know this one was claimed."

The god regarded him calmly, his amber gaze sharp as flint. His bare chest bore scars of war, his frame thick with muscle honed by strife.

"I am Pallas," he rumbled. "Son of Crius and Eurybia. This is my companion."

Keanos inclined his head. "Forgive me, Lord Pallas. I did not mean to intrude."

A pause.

"You are Keanos, I presume?" Pallas asked. "God of winds and hunt?"

Keanos nodded, wary now. "And you are brother to Perses and Astraeus."

Pallas gestured toward the fire. "Sit. We may yet share purpose."

Drawn by curiosity, Keanos complied.

"I sought guidance," Pallas admitted, feeding the flames. "From my sister-in-law, Astraea. She spoke of a god who would aid me in mastering the wild forces that dwell beyond control."

His fingers traced the edge of his blade. "I require the domain of the hunt."

Keanos hesitated. He knew Astraea's bond with Perses ran deep—but she would not have sent this one unless she trusted him.

Still, he had learned caution. "And what do you offer in return?"

A flicker of crimson lit Pallas' palm—a shard of raw slaughter, pulsing with primal hunger.

"A fragment of my lost dominion," he explained. "Once, I wielded it freely. But unchecked bloodlust nearly consumed me. Only my father's intervention saved me from becoming mere carnage incarnate."

Keanos felt the weight of it instantly. A dangerous gift—one that whispered promises of glory and ruin alike.

"It will bring balance," Pallas continued. "With wild nature to temper it, I may yet wield destruction without losing myself."

Keanos weighed the offer carefully. Then, with a nod, he agreed—on one condition.

"You shall swear upon the Styx. You will not use my hunting essence to birth new gods."

Before Themis' watchful scales, the exchange was sealed.

Hunting merged with slaughter—becoming something darker. The Hunt became the Kill.

Keanos rose with a new force stirring in his veins.

Pallas, too, changed.

His breath quickened. His muscles tensed. The red glow threatened to reclaim him—but then, coldness bloomed within his chest.

Frost.

Gifted by Tyche herself, it calmed the rising tide of violence.

"Where did you obtain this?" Pallas asked, shaken. "This clarity amidst the storm?"

Keanos stiffened. "From my mother."

Recognition dawned in Pallas' eyes—then hunger.

At once, Keanos recoiled.

Summoning the gales, he vanished into the sky, calling his wolves after him. His bow rose in warning.

"Do not think to take more than was given, Lord Pallas."

The war god's expression darkened—then cleared.

"I wish only to meet her," he said, voice smooth as polished steel. "Your mother—the Sky Queen."

Keanos did not wait to hear more.

He loosed an arrow.

The forest erupted in chaos.

Trees fell like slain giants. Wolves howled. Birds scattered in panic.

Above, Selene saw the disturbance.

Her chariot streaked downward, silver arrows flashing through the night. At her side, Eos arrived in a veil of morning mist, obscuring Pallas' sight.

Amidst the storm of blades and claws, Keanos danced—elusive as the wind itself.

Pallas struck with fury, yet found only air.

For the first time, Keanos fought not just beasts—but a god who walked the line between warrior and monster.

And though the battle had just begun, Tyche already sensed the shift.

The world trembled.

Not for kings or queens.

But for their children.

The age of the Titans was ending.

The age of their offspring had begun.

Eos fled like a streak of morning fire, vanishing into the golden halls of the sun. In her haste, she knocked over a pitcher held by a startled nymph—her mind set only on warning Helios.

Within the temple, Helios rose at once at his sister's arrival, fearing he had overslept.

"Has dawn passed already?" he asked, abandoning his meal.

"No," Eos gasped, breathless. "It is Keanos and Pallas—fighting in the mortal realm!"

At once, Helios mounted his chariot. Urgency crackled in his voice as he urged the horses skyward. Selene arrived moments later, her own steeds panting from their swift flight.

For the first time in ages, both day and night shone upon Olympus together.

The battlefield lay in ruins.

Trees toppled like fallen titans, wolves prowled through the wreckage, and the scent of blood lingered in the air.

Keanos stood tense, bow clenched in his fists, eyes burning with fury. Selene hovered beside him, her silver gaze wary.

Helios stepped forward, shielding his protegé. "What happened?"

Pallas, seated atop the bear's corpse, wiped blood from his chest. "Your nephew was the one who attacked first."

Keanos bristled. "You sought to claim my mother as your prize!"

A pause.

Helios' golden eyes darkened. "Did he now?"

Pallas grinned. "I merely wished to meet the Sky Queen. Surely that is no crime?"

Selene stiffened. She exchanged a glance with her brother—understanding bloomed between them.

Tyche's name had become a battlefield all its own.

Keanos trembled with restrained rage, but frost's power cooled his heart before it could consume him. He exhaled slowly, forcing himself back under control.

Pallas, too, felt the change—his crimson hunger receding, clarity washing over him like winter rain.

Then came Astraeus, summoned by fate or kinship. Perses followed soon after, drawn by the scent of war.

Astraea moved swiftly between the warring parties, soothing tempers with measured words. Yet even she saw the truth—the battle had never been about hunting.

It had always been about honor .

And Tyche.

With great reluctance, she turned to Helios. "Brother... I must ask you to hold back."

But Helios did not answer.

Instead, he looked to Keanos—eyes searching for wounds, for weakness.

Finding none, he nodded. "Tell me everything."

Yet before Keanos could speak,赫卡忒 slipped away—a shadow among shadows.

Back on the Isle of Mist, Tyche labored in silence, weaving wealth's final strand into her flame. The rainbow sisters hovered outside, unwilling to interrupt yet desperate to warn.

Then, a knock.

Iris entered first, then Arke. Behind them, Hecate bowed respectfully.

"Lady Tyche," Hecate began carefully. "There has been a fight in the mortal world."

Tyche frowned. "Pallas? A name I barely recall. And why should he concern me?"

Hecate hesitated. "He spoke of meeting you. Of claiming you."

A sharp breath left Tyche's lips. "Foolish boy."

She rose at once, worry overtaking fatigue. "Is Keanos hurt?"

"A few wounds," Hecate admitted. "Nothing he cannot endure."

That was enough.

She called forth the hawks, leaping into the sky without delay.

When she arrived, the forest still bore the scars of war. Her son stood defiant, frost swirling around him like a second skin. Before him, Pallas licked blood from his teeth, unrepentant.

Helios loomed behind Keanos, silent yet watchful.

"You dare threaten my mother?" Keanos spat.

"I merely wish to speak with her," Pallas replied, rising to his full height. "Surely you, more than anyone, understand the pull of fate."

Astraea intervened before another strike could land. "Enough! We are not beasts—we do not settle matters with violence."

Perses seized his brother's arm, holding him steady. "This ends now."

Yet the tension remained thick.

Then, the mist broke.

From the auroral light emerged Tyche herself.

All heads turned.

Her presence alone stilled the storm.

She surveyed the ruin of trees, the torn earth—and finally met Pallas' gaze.

"You wished to see me?"

The war god swallowed hard.

Before he could reply, she lifted a hand.

"Fate does not favor those who seek to wield it recklessly."

A whisper of wind.

A flicker of stars.

And Pallas understood—he had trespassed where even gods feared to tread.

Not just upon Keanos' pride.

But upon Tyche's domain itself.

He had tried to claim what was not his.

And fate had taken note.

"I meant no offense," he muttered, kneeling at last. "Only admiration."

Tyche studied him, her expression unreadable. Then she turned to Keanos.

"Come, my son. Let us return home."

Without another word, she ascended into the sky, Keanos close behind.

Below, the others watched in silence.

Helios exhaled slowly, turning his gaze toward the east.

He would remember this.

And so would the world.

The age of the Titans was ending.

The age of their children?

Far more dangerous.