Grecian Urn...

Apollo watched Hermes from a distance for a long time, gazing as the god wordless walked among the mortal statues. It was a somber sight, the world frozen and silent, devoid of everything that gave them their greatest strength. Hermes’ face betrayed his concern, and dislike for the situation.

“Are you going to stand there watching all day?” Hermes called out finally, looking back at Apollo with a dark expression lit in his eyes.

“You seemed to be entranced….”

Hermes was beside him in a flash, the god of speed looking more like himself than he had since the fall of Zeus. It was that realization that made Apollo cringe slightly, casting his eyes away as he licked his lips.

“You wanted to talk, I assume…” Hermes commented, his arms crossing over his chest in an annoyed air. “So talk…”

“There isn’t any reason not to be civil…”

“I’m being perfectly civil. Civil does not require me to be kind, however, to a brother who betrayed the whole of his people.” Hermes scoffed, turning to step past Apollo. He had no intentions of listening to his brother it seemed.

“Hermes, wait…”

“Why should I?” Hermes snapped, “You! You are the reason everything is like this. How long do you think our world can survive like this? In a world that doesn’t move? People give us our power, their knowledge of us keeps us here. Their buying, their selling, their movies and music, their love, their wars, everything they do keeps us here! Look at them!” His voice echoed like thunder in the stillness, motionless people vibrating with the sheer power behind Hermes’ anger.

“I am sorry….” Closing his eyes, Apollo looked away before he knelt slowly before his brother. “I do not deserve your forgiveness, but I beg for it none the less, my brother. I have been selfish…reckless. Of that I cannot be absolved, I know…”

“Forgive you?” Hermes’ voice sounded hurt more than taken aback. “You want me to forgive you? Why should I? You would have fed me to the wolves!”

“Please!” Apollo cried, looking up at Hermes, “for my crimes I cannot repent enough. Tell me what task you would ask of me, and I would do it…”

“Your fate isn’t in my hands…” Hermes snarled, turning away angrily. His shoulders were tense, and his head was bowed in an uncharacteristic manner.

“Hermes…”

“Just stop! By Zeus, just….just stop.” Hermes glanced over his shoulder at Apollo, eying him cautiously. “Why did you do it?”

“It was meant only to affect Aphrodite, Ares and Hephaestus. I did not intend for the whole pantheon to crumble. “

“Well bravo, brother, because you fucking set us all on our asses. Thank you, it was an excellent experience. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

“I did not…”

“You did not, you did not, not, not, not. I got it! Congratulations, you fucked up something you didn’t intend to fuck up. You played with fire, and we all were burned. I’m unbelievably proud. Now go away….”

“Hermes….”

“Go away! Just go. Go apologize to your muses, to your counterpart and the whole mountain. Bleed for them, and then maybe I’ll be ready to give you. Maybe.”

Gaping a little, Apollo sighed and stood. There was little point in trying to argue forgiveness out of Hermes. But…but at least he had tried. It as a start of a long list.

Hades appeared on Othrys, skin pale and eyes dark. He'd been too wrapped up in relishing the return of his power to notice what else had changed, it was only when Persephone pointed it out the quiet that Hades realised something was...off.

She was wrong of course; it wasn't quiet, it was silent. The world was never silent, how could it be when it was filled with the living? Life was noise; silence belonged to the dead.

But the world was silent, which Hades had found...more than slightly worrying. Obviously life still existed, but it wasn't really living anymore.

And he'd found out more. The clouds weren't moving, the trees weren't moving, even the sun, although still shining brightly in the sky, was transferring no warmth to the ground. Everything had just...stopped. Aphrodite's spell hadn't worked after all.

No, that wasn't right because the spell didn't originate with Love. It was Cronus' spell, and it had definitely worked.

Hades had left his wife with her mother and headed off to the Underworld to take back his rulership...only that hadn't worked out quite so well. He was God of the Dead again, and his other titles had been restored in full, but he wasn't king. Couldn't be king. It just...wasn't letting him take it.

Now that was really annoying.

He took a path up to his father's temple, the warm Othrys breeze doing little to remove the chill in the air that Hades left in his wake. It looked better than the last time he'd been here, closer to its former glory. It was unsettling.

Stopping, he looked up at the building, letting his eyes take in each refurbished detail. Hades didn't knock.

"Cronus! What have you done?"

She stepped out of the temple on Othrys and began walking up a path ignoring the lovely scenery that had sprung up into bloom since her last visit. The path was probably quite lovely if one was meandering along on a nice sunny day... Aphrodite, however, was more akin to being on a war path. She walked in silence, Deimos beside her as she made her way over once-familiar paths until she stood in front of the largest temple, hands sinking to her hips as she glared for a moment, before calling out.

"Cronus!"

Cafe Botsares was now largely empty, the lunch crowd finally thinning out as the sun began her gentle descent west. Cronus sat silently, his eyes fixed on the gentle lapping of the sea against the coast. His astakos was only half finished, but he was no longer amused by it. The waiter hovered nearby, trying to decide if he should take the plate. Cronus had not touched the dish for a half hour. Piraeus had not been the port of Athens when he ruled, though he had to admit it was a better choice than Phaleron. The whole little town fairly bustled with activity.

Tourist accounted for more business than every nowadays, especially with such easy access to the many islands that stippled the Aegean. When he could sense the waiter's anxiety peaking, Cronus gestured that his meal could be taken away. With rush of relief the man scooped up the remains of the lobster. Cronus ordered a Greek coffee and the waiter nodded happily, quickly heading back to the kitchen.

Beside him sat a young woman, Sabienne. She was probably not even twenty, though Cronus found it particularly difficult to tell the age of women nowadays. She was French, though she repeatedly insisted she was half Greek. When Sabienne first mentioned this out on the beach in the morning Cronus smiled gently and nodded in agreement. He did not want to tell her she was mistaken. Cronus could smell a Greek a kilometer away and this girl was clearly a Gaul.

However she proved an amiable enough companion for the afternoon. She talked incessantly, but had a good clean accent and was simple enough to follow. It amazed Cronus how much her rambling stories of friends and enemies, the little dramas of her still nascent social life, echoed the tales of his own children back on the Mount.

She was very beautiful too, possessed of a hungry, lean body distinctly the province of healthy youth. Her skin was dark from days in the sand. Blonde hair, a shade lighter than it would be in the winter, was gathered into a loose pony tail, which trailed to an end halfway down the well-toned, distinctly feminine curve of her back. A loose dress covered her small breasts and thin waist, concealing the bikini she still worse beneath. Straight teeth and a clean complexion complimented her azure eyes, which blinked just enough to tell Cronus she was genuinely speaking to him. He made sure to smile and nod appropriately. She would be simply delicious.

Cronus shifted his gaze from the sea back to his lunch… companion. Sabienne's smile blossomed anew when looked at her again. Her stream of speech faltered a moment, some primal part of her mammalian brain registering that she was looking at something more than a man. He had this effect on most humans.

The waiter swooped back in at this moment, delivering the Greek coffee. He was gone again in a whisper of a movement. Cronus smiled gently. "Would you like more wine, Sabienne?"

She assented and Cronus picked up the bottle of Xynomavro and filled her glass. She quickly found her speech again and started off on a story about the first time she got drunk on wine, back when she lived in Marseilles with her aunt. As Cronus set down the bottle she suddenly stopped speaking. This was enough to give Cronus pause and he looked to her once again. She sat entirely still, though not in a relaxed posture. Her mouth was slightly agape, as if in the act of forming her next word, and her fingers were frozen in a nearly closed ring around the stem of her wine glass.

A quick glance at the town around her confirmed Cronus' suspicions. He picked up his coffee and leaned back in his chair. As he sipped at the thick, bitter liquid he once again looked out at the sea, taking a singular thrill at seeing the foam-capped waves captured against the formerly fleeing sun.

The once King of all Creation smiled tightly. "Now," he commented quietly, "the fun begins."

( Hades And Cronus Chit Chat )

                A swirl of smoke rose lazily, drifting up towards the ceiling.  Cronus, laying down flat on the bed, watched the wisp deteriorate, his thoughts wandering.  “I’d forgotten so much, but I never thought I’d forgotten this…”  He smiled wanly.  His wife, Rhea, made a small sound, almost mouse-like, in agreement.  She was next to him, lying on her stomach, her right arm cast limply across his bare chest.  He could feel she was cold.

“There is great unrest on Zeus’ mountain, darling.  Our children, it seems, have been at war.  Aphrodite herself told me so.”  Cronus took another drag on his cigarette; a newly acquired habit picked up on a recent trip to the land of the mortals.  He tapped the white stick gently, causing the growing ash to tumble to the floor.  “Evidently Apollo’s been a naughty boy, casting spells.  Mother always told me of the danger of casting spells.  Gaia was the only one who ever seemed to get them right, as you well know…”  Not turning to look at her, his right hand came to rest on her forearm, stroking it idly.  His fingers were still slick and wet.

“I have the spell, read it carefully.  It is a powerful thing, obviously not one Apollo wrote himself.  Our children are at a loss to repair the damage.  Even Aphrodite is flummoxed, but I know how to fix it.  I couldn’t have hoped for a better way back into their good graces.”

Rhea murmured something barely intelligible.  “No dear, I’ve no designs on their little mountain.  Othrys is my home – it always has been.  No, I’ve something else entirely in mind.”  He licked his lips, a slight tingling hint of sweet copper his reward.  “They need my guidance now, more than ever.  I will give it to them.”

The wet, warm sheets had begun to get stiff and cold.  Cronus gently slid Rhea’s arm off his chest and got up, sticking the cigarette into the corner of his mouth.  Rivulets of crimson ran languidly down the edge of the bed, collecting in tiny pools.  He was careful to avoid stepping in the congealing fluid as he reached for his robe.  “Much time has passed, too much.  I wish I could have been here for you, all those years alone on this mountain. “  He turned to look at Rhea, her back rising in a shallow, rhythmic fashion, tracts of her skin purple and masticated.  He smiled, menacing glint lighting up his eyes.  “But don’t worry.  I’ll not be leaving you again.”

Cronus tied his robe and left the room.  He would give her a few days to recuperate.

 

( Family reunions all of the place.... Cronus and Aphrodite. )

It was an insistent tug that pulled at those old enough to remember... the strongest felt to those closest to Othrys. Rhea had felt it days ago, pulling her out of the reclusive home she'd kept herself in since the rise of her children. It was an insistent tug that pulled at those old enough to remember... the strongest felt to those closest to Othrys. Rhea had felt it days ago, pulling her out of the reclusive home she'd kept herself in since the rise of her children.

She knew, you see... she knew something was coming, and it could only be him. She'd been waiting... though the portents and omens all pointed to doom... doom for someone, at least. It tugged at them, this force, like a magnet pulling back those that would remember, who'd understand what this meant... and what it could mean for the future.

( Othrys looked like liked the shadowed forbearer of Olympus that it was... decrepit, run down.... a mountain of temples sitting in ruins. One would expect more of the flora and fauna to have taken it back, but there was something that kept out all but the most stubborn, as if Gaia kept this place the way it was, so much a she was able. )

A darkness unlike blindness proceeds in all directions. The endless void of Tartarus seemingly yawns out in ad infinitum, evoking eternal nausea. It is an entity, practically. It gropes and pulls at sanity, distorting all sense of place and time. How long has it been Others in the pit, if there are others, might be able to see clearly, clearly enough to mark off time in the old way. They might know how long it has been since his fall from Othrys. He has not seen any of them since that fateful day, so long ago. Or was it yesterday?
Impossible to tell.

Cronus (is that my name? Iblis, Kroni… Cronus?), just another splinter of the oldest primordial personality, ever lost and misunderstood as his name, ponders these same questions over and over again, utterly unaware of anything but himself. Until the light returns. It is gradual, like the dawning sun. The ice of his bleak, nothing prison falls away in onion skin slices.

Then there is air, freedom, and feeling. There is pleasure. He looks around, seeking his brothers and sisters, those Titans cast down with him. Nothing but the void. If they are here, Tartarus is not going to give them up, at least not now.

So without another second's pause he pulls himself up towards the light. There might be a chance, someday, to return here and find them if they still exist. Now he must take advantage of these strange circumstances.

Why or how this miracle occurred is the last thing on his mind.

Questioning fate, he learned long ago, is as futile as cursing it.