The Eleven followed Gaia out of the cavern in silence, their steps heavy against the cracked earth. Morning light stretched long shadows behind them, but none of it felt warm. The air was sharp, metallic, like iron shavings on the tongue. Each child carried the echo of the night before: Uranus' laughter, the cries of their cursed brothers, the weight of chains rattling in their dreams.
They walked until the land yawned into a canyon vast and scarred, its walls ripped open as though by titanic claws. The ground was blackened, veins of ash cutting across the stone. From below came a low rumble—growls, hisses, the scrape of too many claws on rock.
Tethys clutched Phoebe's arm, her breath shaky. Hyperion's smirk faltered, sparks leaping nervously across his skin. Even Iapetus, restless and unflinching, hesitated at the stench of smoke and blood that rose from the canyon depths.
Gaia stopped at the canyon's edge, her molten eyes fixed on them. "Cultivation is not meant for silence and peace alone," she said, her voice rolling like thunder. "It must hold when blood spills, when fear claws at you, when chaos presses in. If you cannot keep your realms then, you are nothing but sparks waiting to be smothered."
The Eleven's emblems flickered faintly.
"Here," Gaia continued, lowering her hands to the torn ground, "you will fight the spawn of the Sky. Beasts born not of nature, but of Uranus' will. They are not mighty as the monster you faced before, but they are many. And many can kill as surely as one."
The canyon rumbled. Shadows rippled below.
Gaia's molten gaze narrowed. "Do not fight as children flinging sparks. Fight as your realms. Flow as rivers. Burn as flame. Strike as stars. Balance as scales. Endure as time. Become what you are."
The ground split.
From the canyon poured a tide of creatures. Wolves with jaws crackling lightning. Serpents wreathed in smoke and fire. Crawling things with too many limbs, their shadows dripping like tar. Their roars split the air, echoing against the walls as they surged upward.
"Now," Gaia thundered.
Oceanus moved first. His ripple-mark blazed as he inhaled. The sound of water filled his ears—not only from the canyon stream, but from within himself. He lifted his arm, and the current answered. A wave surged from the stream, wrapping around his body. When a wolf lunged, he stepped aside, redirecting its momentum into stone. The beast shattered, bones breaking like driftwood against rocks.
Hyperion grinned, sparks dancing wildly across his arms. He remembered Gaia's warning. Not wild fire. Hearth fire. He drew the sparks inward, his chest glowing, then released a steady blaze. A serpent struck at him, but his controlled flame burned through its skull cleanly, not wasting energy in fury. He exhaled, chest heaving, but steadied himself.
Phoebe's crescent glowed like moonlight. She placed her hand on Tethys' trembling shoulder. "Flow with me. Don't fight it—move with it."
Together, their realms pulsed. A wall of tide and moonlight rose before them, shielding Crius from a beast's claws. Tethys gasped but held steady, her fear drowned out by Phoebe's calm rhythm. The wall shimmered like a tide under moonlight, pushing the beast back.
Mnemosyne gasped as her glowing eye flared. Every beast's lunge, every strike—her memory held them. She shouted, "Two behind Oceanus! Left, Hyperion!" Crius' stars steadied above, glowing in alignment with her calls. He traced their paths like constellations predicting the beasts' movements. "Strike there!" he barked, and Hyperion turned just in time to meet another wolf with a steady blow.
Themis' scales blazed faintly as she shouted at Iapetus. "Balance, brother! Not rage—precision!"
Iapetus roared, fury surging. His first strike nearly toppled him with its force. But he pulled it inward, holding it tighter. His eyes narrowed, his fists sharpened. He crushed one beast's skull, then pivoted with control, tearing the leg from another. He growled, but his movements were sharper now, honed.
Coeus' scroll glowed with frenzied light. "Their claws arc high, heavy but slow—strike low, ribs exposed!" He followed his own words, ducking beneath a beast's strike and stabbing his hand against its chest. For once, his knowledge flowed instead of drowning him.
Chronos stood at the edge of the circle, his emblem pulsing violently. The silver hourglass burned in his palm, dragging against his veins. His lungs heaved as beasts closed in. Flow as time. Endure as time.
A wolf-beast lunged at Hyperion's blind side, lightning sparking from its jaws.
Chronos' chest clenched. He reached, grasping the sands. The world slowed—the air thickened. His body screamed under the pull, his bones aching.
But he remembered Gaia's words: Do not freeze the world. Flow. Choose.
He forced the pull narrower, onto the beast alone. Its jaws slowed, snapping sluggishly, lightning arcs frozen midair.
"Now!" Chronos gasped, sweat pouring down his face.
Hyperion turned, fist blazing, and struck. The beast shattered, fire consuming its form.
Chronos collapsed to one knee, chest burning. His vision blurred, but his heart hammered steady. He had done it. Not freezing everything—just one.
Oceanus shouted over the clash, "He did it! Chronos slowed one!"
The Eleven surged together, their realms burning brighter.
Water redirected. Fire burned steady. Moonlight shielded tide. Memory guided stars. Judgment steadied fury. Knowledge moved with rhythm. Time itself chose its prey.
For the first time, they moved as one.
The canyon shook with the battle's end. Beasts fell, their bodies dissolving into smoke and ash. The ground was littered with scorch marks, broken stone, and blood.
Silence returned.
The Eleven stood heaving, bruised and bloodied. Their emblems glowed faintly but did not flicker out. Exhaustion weighed heavy on them, but so did pride. They had endured.
Gaia's molten eyes swept over them. "Good," she rumbled, her voice softer now, though no less heavy. "You bled, but you did not shatter. You stood, and you remembered. Cultivation is not peace—it is war. Not to escape the storm, but to become it."
She leaned closer, her vast shadow falling across them. "Do not forget this. Each beast you face will press harder. Each trial will cost more. But if you endure… if you remain your realms… then no Sky can chain you. Not even Uranus."
The Eleven straightened, weary but unbroken.
Chronos wiped blood from his lips, his palm trembling. The hourglass pulsed, steadier than before. He whispered, "I will not just wield time. I will endure as time."
The canyon lay silent now, save for the faint drip of blood into stone.
The Age of Titans had stepped into its first true war.