The echoes of Uranus' laughter lingered long after the stars quieted. The cavern was thick with silence, broken only by the jagged cries of the newborn Cyclopes and Hecatoncheires. Their voices did not sound like life—they sounded like wounds screaming.
The Eleven huddled together, their emblems faintly glowing. Hyperion's fists still sparked, his teeth bared. "You all heard him," he snarled. "Monsters. That's what they are. Even Father knows it."
Phoebe tightened her arms around Tethys, who trembled violently. Her crescent glowed softly, calming her sister's panic. "Don't say that," Phoebe whispered. "They're ours. Our blood."
"They're beasts," Iapetus spat, slamming a fist into the ground hard enough to crack the stone. "A hundred arms? Fifty heads? That thing isn't my brother. That thing is something to be put down before it puts us down."
"Careful," Themis snapped, her scales glowing faintly. "You sound like Father. Judge before you know, condemn before you understand."
Iapetus whirled on her, fists sparking with blood. "And you'd welcome those… things into your arms?"
Themis didn't flinch. "If I must. Better to bend toward kin than break into Father's cruelty."
Mnemosyne's glowing eye flickered uneasily. "I… I remember every cry. I can't forget them, even if I wanted to. It's horror, yes—but horror doesn't mean hate."
Crius clutched his temples, stars scattering chaotically above his head. "Their cries pull at the constellations. I see them twisting, writhing. I can't steady them."
Coeus murmured, his scroll glowing faintly. "Perhaps their form is not error but design. Perhaps there is truth buried in their chaos. If we cast them aside, we may lose what that truth could give us."
Oceanus stared at the trembling shadows where the monstrous siblings writhed. His ripple-mark shimmered with unease. "The river doesn't choose its tributaries. It flows to them. Maybe… maybe that's what we must do. Flow to them, whether we want to or not."
The siblings' voices rose in panic, rage, sorrow.
Then Gaia's voice cut through it all like stone cracking. "Enough."
The Eleven froze.
Their mother's molten eyes burned with fury, yet sorrow dimmed their glow. She lowered herself, her vast form filling the cavern.
"They are not monsters," she thundered. "They are mine. And they are yours."
The siblings flinched.
Gaia's gaze swept over them, molten fire flickering in her eyes. "Uranus curses what he fears. He smothers what he cannot control. He twisted your brothers into forms meant to frighten you. He wanted you to despise them, as he does. But you must not. If you do, you will become as he is."
Her words pressed heavy on their bones.
Phoebe's crescent glowed faintly. "Then… we are to embrace them? Even like this?"
"Yes," Gaia said, voice firm. "You must not always love easily. But you must never hate your own. Blood is bond. Even cursed, they are family. Their pain is not their crime."
Hyperion growled, sparks flashing. "And what good are they to us, then? Crying, writhing things with too many arms and too few minds?"
Gaia's molten gaze snapped onto him. "More than you know. The Cyclopes, though their forms frighten you, carry fire and stone in their blood. They are smiths, unmatched even in infancy. The Hecatoncheires, though twisted, bear strength beyond reckoning. Uranus hides them in chains because he fears their gifts, not their shapes."
The siblings stilled, staring at her.
"Gifts?" Oceanus asked slowly. "What kind of gifts?"
Gaia's voice deepened, rolling like prophecy. "One day, when you are ready, your brothers will forge weapons for you. Not leashes. Not crutches. Extensions of your realms. Tools not to bind, but to sharpen."
The Eleven stirred.
"Like… my fire in the shape of a spear?" Hyperion asked, his sparks twitching.
"Yes," Gaia said. "Flame burns, but in the form of a spear, it pierces deeper. Water flows, but in the form of a blade, it strikes sharper. Judgment condemns, but in the form of scales forged in iron, it weighs truer. Even time—" she fixed her gaze on Chronos, "—devours and restores, but in the form of a scythe, it can carve destiny itself."
Chronos' chest tightened. His hand clenched around the glowing hourglass on his palm. A weapon for time? The thought both terrified and thrilled him. Could I even bear it? Or would it consume me as surely as time consumes all things?
Mnemosyne whispered, her glowing eye steady. "So their curse is also their blessing. To shape us into what we are meant to be."
"Exactly," Gaia rumbled. "The Olympians who come after will wield their god-weapons as symbols. But you—you will wield weapons forged from your very realms, born of your own blood. They will not be mere symbols. They will be destiny sharpened."
The Eleven's emblems pulsed faintly brighter, as if the idea itself resonated within them.
Themis looked uneasy. "And if our brothers hate us? If their pain blinds them to us?"
"Then you will prove yourselves," Gaia said. "You will show them you are not the Sky. That you do not cast them into shadow but bring them into purpose. Family is not only birth—it is choice."
Chronos lowered his head, staring at his palm. The hourglass pulsed, each beat heavy in his bones. Family. Even them? He remembered their screams, their malformed bodies. Fear gnawed at him. Yet Gaia's words weighed heavier. They are yours. They are mine.
He clenched his fist, jaw tightening. If time devours all things, then it must hold them too. If I am to master time, I cannot reject even what I fear.
Around him, his siblings stirred with mixed resolve. Hyperion scowled but fell silent, sparks dimming. Oceanus exhaled slowly, as if steadying a current within. Phoebe squeezed Tethys' hand, soothing her tears. Crius muttered a vow to steady his stars. Iapetus cracked his knuckles, still restless but quieter.
Gaia's molten gaze swept across them all, her voice rolling like prophecy.
"The Sky will not stop. Uranus will curse, twist, and strike. But you must not fracture. Remember who you are. Remember your brothers, even those hidden in shadow. One day, they will forge weapons for you—extensions of your very being. And with them, you will rise higher than even the Sky."
The cavern trembled with her words.
The Eleven straightened, their emblems glowing faintly brighter despite exhaustion. Hyperion smirked faintly, though his eyes were serious. Themis inclined her head in agreement. Phoebe whispered encouragement to Tethys. Oceanus stood taller, his ripple steady.
Chronos pressed his palm to his chest, whispering silently: If Father curses us, then we will rise higher. If he fears our brothers, then we will free them. And with them, we will forge weapons sharp enough to carve fate itself.
Outside, the stars flickered faintly, as if they, too, were listening.
And deep within the earth, the cries of the cursed brothers echoed—not as curses, but as promises waiting to be fulfilled.