The time had finally come.
Far from the cold, golden walls of Mount Othrys, hidden beneath layers of divine secrecy and the whispering leaves of ancient trees, Rhea took refuge in the cave of Mount Lyctos, deep within the isle of Crete.
The world itself seemed to sense what was about to unfold.
The sky turned black.
Thunder cracked across the heavens like the roar of a war god. Storm winds howled, shaking the mountain as if nature were holding its breath.
And then, through the chaos of the storm, came a high-pitched sound that cut through the darkness.
"Wahhhhaaa!!"
The first breath of life from her sixth child.
A wail of power and defiance.
He was born in storm and fury, as if the heavens welcomed his coming.
In her trembling arms, Rhea held her son—a tiny infant with eyes like lightning and hair as white as clouds.
She looked at him, this fragile, divine spark who was destined to rise higher than any before him.
The one whom fate whispered would challenge Cronus.
"Zeus," she whispered, her voice trembling with awe and hope,
"My child of thunder… my last hope."
As the storm raged on, she wrapped him in divine cloth, kissed his forehead, and with tears hidden behind a mother's resolve,
she left him in the care of trusted spirits and sacred beasts, far from the tyrant's gaze.
She floated in the sky and summoned her time and space divinity. A deep blue and violet energy wrapped around her hand.
'Space distortion' she created a space distortion field and enveloped the isle of Crete. This field was completely invisible; even if someone tried to enter, they would lose their way and direction.
And with her heart aching but her will unshaken, Rhea returned to Mount Othrys, holding the stone in her arms, wrapped in white cloth…
Rhea returned to Mount Othrys just in time.
Her footsteps were slow, heavy with the weight of grief. In her arms, wrapped tightly in soft divine cloth, was the white stone—the gift from Gaea that now carried the hope of Olympus.
She took a deep breath, masking the fire of resolve within her heart, and let her expression fall into one of despair and exhaustion. She summoned her sword and donned golden armor.
A heavy stomp echoed, the ground shaking with a minor tremor. Rhea tightened her grip on the sword, then looked at the white stone wrapped in white cloth and placed on the bed; it looked completely like a sleeping baby.
Moments later, Cronus entered the grand chamber, his presence dark and overwhelming. His eyes, sharp and always suspicious, darted to her arms.
"The sixth?" he growled.
Rhea did not say anything. She held the sword and lunged toward him. She swung her sword at him, but Cronus sidestepped and dodged the blade.
'Acceleration.' Rhea used her spell to amplify her speed several times. 'Space Slash.' She enhanced her sword into a violet blade. 'Teleport.' She teleported behind Cronus and slashed at him.
'Nullify.' Cronus, God-King of Time, held complete dominance over the time domain. With one word, he nullified Rhea's acceleration spell and easily dodged her slash. Rhea's blade cut through the air and sliced the very dimension.
Cronus then fused a little divine energy into his fist and punched her in the stomach.
Rhea crashed into the wall. The stone cracked completely, and her armor shattered into pieces, some of which pierced her body.
Cough.
She coughed up blood, her eyes blurry as she saw her husband, Cronus, lunging forward without hesitation, his hunger for survival greater than any shred of fatherhood. He did not even look at the "child."
His eyes held no warmth, no hesitation.
Only paranoia.
With a triumphant snarl, he swallowed the stone whole, its weight sliding down his throat and into the prison that held his other children.
Then, he laughed—a deep, echoing laugh that filled the golden halls.
"Hah! The curse is broken! I have defied fate and defeated my father's prophecy!"
He raised his arms to the heavens as though proclaiming his invincibility to the cosmos.
But he did not know…
He had not defeated fate.
He had only fed it.
For the real child, Zeus, his sixth and final son, had been born far away from his reach, beneath the stormy skies of Crete.
There, hidden from Cronus's eyes, the child was now being nurtured, trained, and protected by ancient spirits and sacred beasts: Amalthea, the divine goat who fed him, and the Kouretes, the warriors who masked his cries with the clashing of their blades.