The cavern felt different after the beast's death. The air was thicker, charged with unease. Even though its corpse lay broken outside, the Eleven could not shake the feeling that the Sky still lingered, watching from above.
Gaia wasted no time. She gathered them at the cavern's mouth, her colossal form towering, eyes molten and unyielding.
"You survived your first trial," she said, her voice rolling like thunder. "But survival is not victory. Survival is only the beginning. If you remain as you are, you will die when the next comes."
Her gaze swept over them, heavy enough to bow their heads. Even Hyperion, who normally grinned in the face of danger, scowled and lowered his eyes.
"From this day forward," Gaia continued, "you will train. You will learn to wield the emblems etched into your flesh. No longer will you stumble into power by accident. You will master it. Or you will be devoured."
Chronos pressed his trembling hand to the silver hourglass glowing faintly in his palm. The memory of freezing the beast still haunted him—the blood in his mouth, the crushing weight, the terror of breaking apart. Could he really control something like that?
The training began with meditation.
"Breathe," Gaia commanded. "Close your eyes. Feel the essence around you. The pulse of the earth. The rhythm of the rivers. The heat of the flame. Your emblem is your key. Open the door."
One by one, the Eleven obeyed.
Oceanus was the first to succeed. His ripple-mark shimmered, and the nearby stream surged toward him. The water rose unnaturally, lifting into the air before collapsing back with a splash. He gasped. "I… I pulled it!"
Gaia nodded. "Water will answer you. But water drowns as easily as it heals. Learn balance, Oceanus."
Hyperion grinned, his star blazing. Sparks crackled down his arms. He thrust both hands forward, and a flare of light burst, scorching the cavern floor. "Ha! Did you see that? I could burn this whole place down!"
"Idiot," Themis muttered, her scales glowing faintly. "You'll burn yourself first."
"Jealous," Hyperion shot back with a smirk, though his arms shook from the effort.
Mnemosyne's glowing eye narrowed. "He forced it. That's why it resisted him. Fire listens to guidance, not arrogance."
Hyperion scoffed, but Gaia's voice cut like stone. "Mnemosyne is correct. Light cannot be commanded through pride. It must be guided."
Mnemosyne looked away, but the faintest smile tugged her lips.
Crius raised his arms next, his constellation-mark flickering. Tiny points of light sparked above him, forming a crooked shape in the air before fading. His face twisted with frustration. "It won't hold…"
"It is enough," Gaia said. "Stars are patient. Be patient with them."
Coeus' scroll-mark glowed, and his lips moved rapidly. Words none of them understood tumbled from his mouth, half-formed truths that flickered through his mind. He clutched his head, groaning. "Too much—too fast—"
Phoebe knelt beside him, her crescent mark glowing softly. "Slow down, brother. Not all knowledge must be swallowed at once." Her calming aura eased his breathing.
Iapetus struck the ground with his glowing blade-mark, cracking stone with raw force. He grinned. "Finally—something useful."
"You only think with your fists," Themis said coldly, though her scales pulsed brighter, betraying her nerves.
"Better than hiding behind judgments," Iapetus growled.
Phoebe sighed. "You two will argue forever."
Beside her, Tethys gasped as her wave-mark burst, water flooding from the cavern walls. She cried out, stumbling as the flood soaked her ankles.
Phoebe's crescent glowed brighter, and her presence calmed Tethys until the water slowed.
Gaia's eyes moved to each child in turn. "Good. Weak, clumsy, fragile—but good. This is the soil. From soil comes growth."
Finally, her gaze fixed on Chronos.
He knelt slowly, sweat already dampening his hair. The silver hourglass on his palm pulsed like a heartbeat.
"You carry the heaviest burden," Gaia said. "Do not aim for the world. Aim for a grain of sand."
Chronos nodded shakily. He raised his hand toward a pebble tumbling from the cavern ceiling.
The hourglass flared.
The pebble slowed. Then froze.
The siblings gasped, whispering among themselves. Hyperion leaned forward. "He did it again."
But Chronos' body screamed in protest. Blood trickled from his nose. His chest ached as if a mountain pressed down on him. His small frame trembled violently.
The pebble hung suspended for three agonizing heartbeats.
Then it fell.
Chronos collapsed to his knees, coughing blood.
Mnemosyne rushed to steady him, her glowing eye watching the rhythm of his breath. "You did it… but it's too much."
"I… focused it," Chronos gasped, wiping his mouth. "Just one thing. It's easier than stopping… everything. But it still burns me out."
Gaia lowered her immense head, her molten gaze steady. "And yet you succeeded. This is the beginning. Not to master eternity at once, but to master moments. Piece by piece. Grain by grain."
Chronos stared at the fallen pebble, his palm burning faintly. Piece by piece… maybe that's the way forward.
The training lasted until their bodies collapsed. Oceanus fainted into the stream, panting. Hyperion's hands blistered from his sparks. Crius' stars flickered out. Coeus clutched his head, groaning. Tethys wept from exhaustion. Even Iapetus, who laughed through the pain, could barely stand.
They lay sprawled across the cavern floor, aching, their emblems dim.
"You stumble," Gaia said, her voice rolling over them like a storm. "Good. Better to stumble here than fall in battle. You bleed. Good. Better to bleed now than die later. You are weak. Good. Weakness is soil. From soil, strength will grow."
Her words pressed into them like prophecy.
Chronos lay on his back, staring at the crystals above. His palm still glowed faintly. His chest ached, but his thoughts were sharp. It doesn't have to be everything. I can freeze fragments. Focus. Endure.
He closed his eyes, exhaustion pulling him under.
Gaia's final words echoed as he drifted into sleep:
"Rest. Tomorrow, you will train again. And the day after. And the day after that. Until the Sky comes once more—and when it does, you will not simply endure. You will rise."
Chronos' last thought before sleep was not fear, but resolve.
One day, I'll master time itself. One day, I'll face him.