The cavern reeked of smoke and scorched stone. Outside, the mountainside still glowed faintly, blackened where fire had melted earth into rivers of glass. The beast's corpse lay broken in the valley below, steam hissing from its cracked scales.
Inside, the Eleven sat in silence. Their emblems flickered weakly in the dark, like fading embers. No one spoke. No one even dared to breathe loudly.
They had survived—but only barely.
Chronos sat with his back against the cavern wall, his tiny chest rising and falling as if each breath might split him apart. His palm still glowed faintly, the silver hourglass pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. Every throb reminded him of what he had done, and of how close he had come to tearing himself apart.
Oceanus broke the silence first. His forearm-mark glowed faintly, a ripple of blue chasing across his skin. "Mother… why? You defeated it, but—" He swallowed, his voice unsteady. "It almost killed you."
"Yeah," Hyperion muttered, sparks dancing across his chest-mark. "You're Gaia. You're the Earth. Why didn't you just crush it?"
The question echoed through the cavern, carrying the weight of every sibling's thoughts. Even Mnemosyne, usually sharp-tongued, kept quiet, her glowing eye fixed on Gaia as if waiting for her to explain.
Gaia lowered herself until her face filled the cavern entrance. Her vast form seemed to merge with the stone itself, every movement pressing against the children like the weight of a mountain.
"You think I should have ended it easily," she said, her voice low but thunderous. "You think because I am Earth, no spawn of the Sky should trouble me. But you are wrong. And you must understand why."
Chronos leaned forward despite the ache in his body. He needed to know. Why couldn't she end it? If even Gaia had limits… what did that mean for them?
Gaia raised her bloodstained hand, soil and shards of stone trickling from her fingers.
"There are three reasons," she said. "And all three are truths you must carry."
"First." Her voice rolled like an earthquake. "That creature was not born of this land. It was shaped by Uranus' will. The Sky does not create as I do—with roots and rivers, forests and flesh. It shapes things from hatred, from rejection. When you fight such a beast, you are not striking flesh and blood. You are striking against Uranus himself. And every blow is like pushing against the weight of the sky."
The children shivered. Even dead, the beast's corpse seemed heavier now, as if Uranus' presence lingered in its twisted body.
"Second." Gaia's tone deepened, her eyes narrowing. "The Earth is vast, yes. Endless in your eyes. But to unleash my full strength has consequences. If I had shattered that beast completely, I would have torn down this mountain. Collapsed this cavern. Split rivers, drowned valleys. To kill one enemy, I would have destroyed the home that shelters you. My power is not free—it is tied to all life around me. To use it recklessly would make me no different than the Sky."
Themis' scales shimmered faintly. She lowered her head, whispering, "So true power… always carries cost."
Chronos' chest tightened. He thought of how his time-freeze had drained him to the edge of death. He understood her better than the others.
"Third." Gaia's molten eyes burned. "Uranus is always watching. Every time I strike, he studies me. Every defense, every wound, he remembers. If I had unleashed everything, he would have learned too much. He would have known how to break me. The Sky never forgets."
Silence fell. The fire crackled weakly, casting shadows against their young faces.
Mnemosyne's eye flickered as she whispered, "So if you go all out… you reveal yourself. And he'll use it against you later."
Gaia inclined her head. "Just so."
The siblings sat in stunned quiet, their emblems glowing faintly in the dark.
Oceanus clenched his fists. "So that's why it took so long. You couldn't destroy it without destroying us too."
Hyperion grit his teeth, sparks flaring. "But one day, we'll be strong enough. We won't need you to hold back."
Phoebe's crescent mark glowed faintly. She touched her chest, whispering, "But if he keeps sending more… how do we survive until then?"
"By enduring," Gaia said simply. Her voice rumbled like a distant storm. "Strength is not measured by what you destroy, but by what you endure without breaking."
Her eyes lingered on Chronos.
"You, my son—you have already learned this truth. To stop time is to stop the world. To narrow it, to bear the strain, that is the beginning of mastery. You are not ready. But you are learning."
Chronos lowered his gaze to the glowing hourglass. His chest still ached. His head still spun. But he nodded. "I'll endure. Even if it kills me trying."
Hyperion slapped him lightly on the back, sparks crackling. "Don't die, idiot. You're supposed to lead us one day."
Oceanus laughed shakily, though it broke halfway into a sob. "Yeah. You stop time, we hit the monsters. Fair trade."
Even Themis cracked a faint smile. For a moment, the fear hanging over them loosened.
Gaia's lips curved faintly, but then her eyes lifted, hardening as she gazed at the night sky.
"This was only the first," she said. Her voice trembled with restrained fury. "Uranus sent this one to test me. To test you. He will send more. Worse. Stronger. But you will not remain children forever. One day, you will rise as Titans. And when that day comes… the Sky will learn to fear the Earth."
Her words echoed through the cavern, heavy as prophecy.
Chronos pressed his palm to the ground, feeling the pulse of the earth beneath him. His body trembled, but his mind steadied. He understood now. His power wasn't about destroying everything at once. It was about control. About endurance.
And he swore silently: One day, I'll master it. I'll master time itself. And when Uranus comes for us—I'll be ready.