Planning

Twilight Vale

The air here always felt like a held breath. The trees stood frozen, their branches gently humming with faint starlight, and the river below flowed in reverse—up toward the clouds instead of down toward the sea. Time was different in this place. Quiet. Unbothered by the outside world.

Prometheus stood near the riverbank, arms crossed over his chest, his silhouette outlined by the drifting glow of constellations overhead. His cloak hung low over one shoulder, a small forge crystal embedded in his belt flickering with every breath he took.

Before him stood Metis, cloaked in deep green and blue, her hair woven with symbols of water and wisdom. She looked as calm as ever, but her eyes burned like stormlight trapped behind glass.

Prometheus let out a small scoff and tilted his head.

"You want me to side with the son of Cronus?"

He raised an eyebrow, his voice dry and sharp.

"And oppose the Titan King himself?"

He looked away, toward the river that flowed up.

"Well… I had that in mind. Eventually."

His mouth curved faintly.

"Just didn't think you'd be the one asking."

Metis didn't blink. She stepped closer.

"Then you know why I came."

He glanced at her, something flickering behind his eyes. "I know why. I just want to hear you say it."

Metis nodded once, slow and controlled.

Her voice dropped.

"Because this isn't just about overthrowing Cronus. It's about rewriting the order. The old world is cracking. I saw it. You've seen it too."

Prometheus didn't speak.

"Zeus didn't come back to start a rebellion," she said. "He came to end a legacy built on fear. One you and I were born into. One we were meant to serve without question."

Prometheus clenched his jaw, the crystal at his belt glowing hotter.

"And you believe he's the one to do it?"

Metis smiled faintly.

"He's not polished. Not wise yet. But he's brave. Reckless. Unapologetically alive. And most of all—he's not Cronus."

Prometheus chuckled softly. "Low bar."

She didn't laugh.

"He has the support of the Olympians now. Hestia. Hera. Demeter. Hades. Poseidon. They've joined him. You know what that means."

Prometheus looked away again.

"It means the old blood is waking up."

Metis continued.

"Styx has pledged her rivers to him. Eidyia has warded the caves beneath Dikti. Doris is rallying the sea spirits. Even Rhea stands behind him now—openly."

That made Prometheus freeze.

He turned slowly.

"Rhea broke silence?"

"With her whole voice," Metis said. "She watched Cronus devour her children, and now she's watching her last-born tear him off the throne."

Prometheus exhaled through his nose, muttering,

"Old gods falling. New ones rising."

"Not just rising," Metis whispered.

She took a step closer, her voice lower now, almost like a secret.

"Forging a new world. One we don't have to chain ourselves to."

Prometheus looked down at his hand—burned and scarred from centuries of forging.

He saw the cuffs that had long since broken.

He remembered fire.

He looked up.

"Does he even understand what he's about to start?"

"Not fully," Metis said. "But he will. That's why I came to you."

A beat of silence passed.

A wind rolled through the vale, carrying sparks and stardust with it.

Prometheus finally turned to her completely.

"You have allies. You have power. You even have thunder."

He raised a brow.

"But do you have a plan?"

Metis's eyes flashed.

"The moment Zeus strikes again, Cronus will call the Titans into formation. It'll become a war of realms—land, sea, sky, and underworld."

She opened her palm, a shimmering scroll appearing in her hand.

"We don't just fight them head-on. We outthink them."

Prometheus smirked.

"Now that sounds like you."

She handed him the scroll.

He opened it. His eyes scanned quickly.

And for the first time in ages, a smile cracked across his face.

"You really think we can steal that from Iapetus?"

"With you helping?" she said. "Yes."

Prometheus rolled the scroll shut.

He looked toward the sky, where the stars had begun to pulse like they were counting down.

"Then let's light a fire under the old world and see who burns."

Metis smiled.

And the river behind them shifted its current—for the first time in centuries.

Mount Dikti

The chamber was quiet now, but it pulsed with something deeper—purpose. Light flickered from glowing stones overhead, casting shadows that danced across the cavern walls. Thunder rumbled softly in the distance, as if the mountain itself was holding its breath.

Zeus stood at the center, one hand resting on a map carved into stone—etched by Metis herself, enchanted to shift with every change in the world's balance. The Olympians surrounded him, each one watching, listening, thinking.

Hera, arms crossed, lightning still flickering softly along her fingers.

Poseidon, seated against a stone pillar, water dripping steadily from his skin, pooling beneath him.

Hades, leaning in the corner, eyes half-lidded, shadow curling lazily around his boots.

Demeter, her hands glowing faintly green, fresh leaves sprouting at her feet.

Hestia, calm, centered, a warm flame floating just above her palm.

All of them—awake now. Gods again.

But the air was heavy with more than just war.

"There's more than just Cronus," Zeus said, voice low.

He looked up at them, serious now.

"More than just his throne."

He pointed at the far corner of the map—a pit etched in black, pulsing faintly with chains and screams.

Tartarus.

"That's where they keep them," Zeus said. "The others. Gaia's children. The ones Cronus locked away. The ones that helped him win the first war and were betrayed after."

Hera's eyes narrowed.

"The Hecatoncheires. The Cyclopes."

Hades spoke next, colder.

"Monsters, some say."

Zeus turned to him.

"They're weapons. Forgotten, discarded. And they hate Cronus more than we ever could."

Poseidon pushed off the pillar.

"You want to free them?"

Zeus nodded.

"They helped Cronus overthrow Ouranos. We help them now. Not because we're saints—"

He looked at each of them.

"But because we need every blade we can find."

Demeter stepped forward.

"And if they turn on us?"

"Then we deal with it," Zeus said simply. "But they deserve freedom. We all do."

Hestia finally spoke, her voice soft but strong.

"How do we even get to Tartarus?"

Zeus looked back at the map.

The deep black pit glowed brighter.

"That's where the plan starts."

He looked up.

"We go through the old passage beneath the Temple of Shadows. It hasn't been touched since Cronus sealed it after the war. It'll lead us down the Styx and into the deeper rings."

Hades raised an eyebrow.

"You're planning to take us through the underworld?"

Zeus shrugged.

"You're the expert."

Hades gave a dry chuckle.

"Fair."

Hera sighed.

"We're really doing this…"

Zeus nodded.

"Yeah."

He clenched his fist.

"Cronus took everything from us. Now we take back what he buried—

—and bring it to the surface."

Later – At the Mouth of the Temple of Shadows

The Olympians stood before a towering, half-buried ruin wrapped in dead vines and silence. The entrance was sealed with chains, old magic, and forgotten curses.

Zeus stepped forward.

He raised his hand.

Lightning crawled across the seal.

"Let's wake the rest of the world."

With a crash of thunder, the gate cracked open.