After the gods redrew the order of the cosmos, they each condensed a physical form.
Now that the universe was colorful and varied, only with bodies could they better enjoy it.
The Night Goddess Nyx was once again accepted by the celestial pantheon; the gods allowed Nyx to merge into the rules of the cosmos—its highest honors included her share.
In name, Aether and Hemera were again counted as her children, though their root affiliation still belonged to the celestial gods.
Kronos and the gods formulated a new set of cosmic rules that all gods had to obey; if violated, then the gods would rise together in punitive war to jointly uphold the newborn order.
There was no helping it—Kronos could not, like his father Uranus, possess absolute power to control everything.
Even though he was most unwilling in his heart, for now he could only compromise and, together with the other gods, cautiously maintain the newborn and fragile cosmic order.
But as all kings will do, once Kronos had secured the throne of God-King, he unhesitatingly began to gradually centralize power.
He newly created many mortal and spiritual beings; as a creator-king he exercised his authority to the utmost within the world. The world thereby became rich and variegated, and he won the unanimous respect of the gods.
Afterward he invited the Mother Goddess Gaia to construct Mount Othrys—a divine mountain that grew alongside Heaven and Earth—to serve as the Titans' common home, the center of cosmic order, and the site of the God-King's supreme throne.
His authority grew ever steadier, his power ever stronger; likewise, his heart for centralization burned ever hotter.
He then created upon the earth many elemental beings, beings much like gods.
They did not age, had extremely long lifespans, knew neither pain, disease, nor toil; the earth bore abundantly by nature and provided ample food without cultivation.
This was Kronos's first large-scale creation of intelligent life, so he treated them with great favor—and creating this intelligent life also had its designs.
Yet he was very cautious: the wisdom of these elemental beings was not very high, and most of their love and desire had been stripped away.
They did not fight; their natures were kind and docile; they faithfully worshiped the gods—ideal subjects of the gods.
Their deaths were also peaceful; Iapetus, the Titan Weaver of Death, showed them great favor—what he wove for them was death in a beautiful sleep, without the least pain.
And after death, their spirits condensed from spirituality would be granted grace by the Earth-Mother and the gods, becoming earth-spirits—
Or be taken by the gods to the dwellings they had in the cosmos (various constellations—at this time not yet named—clusters of stars grouped in the night sky).
The cosmos was still far too empty; higher intelligent life distributed across the universe was truly pitifully scarce.
Creating life is simple, but creating higher intelligent life requires care—it is really not easy.
The gods were too lonely; though these elemental beings were duller than the gods by comparison, they were still highly intelligent life.
And they were so docile, and faithfully worshiped the gods; naturally the gods were willing to favor them.
Thus for them, death was rather a kind of immortality—fall asleep, and they could follow the gods to their divine realms.
This era was called by mortals of later ages the Golden Age; these beings were called the Golden Race of humanity—though in fact they were elemental beings.
Everything about these elemental beings was good—except that they were always innocent victims of collateral damage.
Naturally the cause lay with the Hecatoncheires and the Cyclopes—mostly the Hecatoncheires.
They were far too huge and far too powerful. Even though Heaven and Earth kept growing larger, the Hundred-Handed were truly too large and far too boisterous.
Their casual horseplay was a dreadful catastrophe for the elemental beings—like a natural disaster descending.
Indeed, it was a disaster for all life.
Heaven collapsing and earth cracking, the sky caving in and the ground sinking—this was the most literal reality.
In the cosmic starry sky beyond the world there was space enough—but only within the world were the laws most complete, and only within the world was life most colorful.
The cosmos was too desolate and barren—devoid of beautiful vitality.
The countless celestial bodies beyond the world had been made by the Sky-Father Uranus; in essence, they were only to maintain the world's framework, a barrier to ward off Tartarus.
Only the earth was the Sky-Father's beloved place, the true cradle of life.
Only where both Heaven and Earth existed and the laws of Heaven and Earth, together with many other laws, were perfected—only that could be called a true world.
Within the world was the gods' true home; within the world was what the gods loved deeply.
The stars of the cosmos were but the gods' side residences for enjoying quiet or for proper rest—casual upkeep would do; meticulous construction was unnecessary.
With that effort, it would be better to further strengthen the world and make the homeland more beautiful.
The gods were too busy building Heaven and Earth; who would have leisure to painstakingly cultivate those "shifting sands" that collapse with a wave?
This also caused the Hecatoncheires to soon incur universal wrath; it was not easy to cultivate a bit of higher intelligent life, yet their random roughhousing destroyed almost all of it—this gave all the gods a headache.
If it were only normal death, the gods would not have minded.
But the destruction they caused was not normal death; rather, with their absolute power—able to pierce matter—they directly annihilated completely, sparing not even souls.
This was Kronos's deliberate, open stratagem—one tacitly shared with all the Titans.
He feared and hated the formidable power of the Cyclopes and Hecatoncheires.
He was the god of creation, growth, and harvest—yet the authority crucial to him over calling the clouds and summoning rain was also held by other deities.
And there were the still more fearsome thunder, lightning, and thunderbolts—power so terrifying that each time he saw it he thought of his father's former wrath, that suppressed, dreadful memory.
Of course, he knew his other elder brothers and sisters felt the same.
That dreadful thunder and thunderbolt were a psychological shadow for all the Titans.
Kronos could not tolerate their continued existence in the world; nor could the other Titans—none wished the world to have these giants.
Moreover, the three Hecatoncheires occupied far too much space; this thoroughly obstructed the expansion and consolidation of his power within the world.
Thus, seizing on the pretext of the giants destroying the elemental beings, Kronos led many Titan great-gods to demand that those six giants leave the world, banishing them into the vast, empty, desolate cosmos.
Even the Mother Goddess Gaia had nothing to say to this, for she could not refute that the Hundred-Handed indeed brought chaos to the world.
Faced with the resolution of the entire Titan host, she could only comply.
After this incident, Kronos truly established his own authority.
He possessed not only the gods' respect—but also their fear.
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