The strange thing about immortality is how quickly time can feel distorted. It had only been a couple of months since Poseidon's birth and just a year since my own, yet time had truly flown by. Once a newborn god, uncertain of how to navigate my second chance at life, I looked at myself now and saw a young man who appeared nearly nineteen. My body had filled out into a lean, muscular build, and my face had matured, though sometimes, when I looked in the mirror, I could still see remnants of the child I once was.
Tonight, my crimson hair was braided back with golden-threaded cords, adorned with a delicate golden wreath resting neatly against my brow. This was a symbol of my coming-of-age and my readiness to face Lord Chaos. Mother had chosen the wreath herself, carefully trimming and weaving gold into it.
I wore black robes with deep red folds and thin gold borders, draped sharply and regally, making me appear far older, stronger, and more certain than I truly felt.
As I stepped into the great hall of Mount Othrys, the air was warm with the scents of nectar, roasted meats, laughter, and the low hum of Titan voices. It was my celebration—my coming-of-age—and my final night before facing the Creator of the universe.
The hall itself felt alive; torches with ever-burning flames lined the walls, and the stone was etched with scenes of ancient triumphs and old family traditions. Titan children darted between the pillars, older Titanesses sipped from silver chalices, and the elder Titans spoke loudly with a booming confidence that could shake mountains.
Tonight was for feasting, for pride, and for everything the Titans believed made a child worthy of adulthood. Yet beneath all the celebration, there was something else—something sharp and cold that pricked at the back of my neck.
Father.
Cronus sat on his throne at the far end of the hall, drink in hand. To anyone unfamiliar with him, he would appear as a proud Titan King overseeing a glorious festival. But to me, who had spent the past year watching him unravel, he looked like a man drowning in his own mind.
He appeared older than he had any right to be; his once-powerful jawline was now obscured by a long, unkempt beard streaked with premature grey. His hair hung past his shoulders in tangled waves, and his eyes were shadowed, constantly flicking from corner to corner as if he expected something to leap from the darkness and swallow him whole. When he thought no one was watching, his lips moved in frantic whispers—to no one at all.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to look away. Tonight wasn't the night to dwell on his troubles. It was my moment to prove myself worthy of Chaos's attention and to show that I was ready to receive my first domain—something I had anticipated since the day I was born.
"Prince Hades!"
A young Titan boy nearly stumbled into me, thrusting a chalice of nectar into my hand as if it were a sacred offering he had been entrusted with.
"Congratulations! Um—on reaching maturity!"
His voice cracked at the end. He couldn't have been more than twelve and looked the part. I accepted the chalice with a small smile.
"Thank you," I said. "Enjoy the celebration. Eat something. Drink something. Preferably not too fast—you'll regret it."
He blushed, nodded rapidly, then ran back to his friends, who were watching us with wide eyes. Some of the older Titans found it amusing; the younger ones found it intimidating. I was still getting used to both reactions.
I wandered through the hall, greeting those who called out to me. My uncles welcomed me warmly—Hyperion with his booming laugh, Crius with his quiet nod, and Coeus with his ever-present calm. Coeus, especially, clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder.
"You stand tall tonight," he said. "And you will stand taller still by dawn."
"Let's hope," I muttered.
He chuckled. "No need to hope. You are Rhea's son."
As I moved past them, I noticed a cluster of younger Titans fall silent, then immediately resume whispering once they thought I was out of earshot.
"I'm telling you, it's going to be Knowledge," one hissed. "Coeus practically carved the domain into his skull."
"Wrong," another muttered. "Did you see the Prince with Lord Iapetus last week? If anyone's getting a combat domain, it's the Blood-Haired Prince."
A third snorted. "Combat? Hades? Please. Cronus trains him like he's grooming a successor. I say Authority. Big, flashy, kingly."
"No, no," a Titaness countered. "In my opinion, I could see him eventually succeeding Lord Cronus and ruling as the God of the Earth."
Then, from the back, someone spoke up:
"I'm putting fifty obols on Fate. Have you seen the way he stares at people? Like he already knows more about us than he lets on!"
I rolled my eyes and kept walking when I accidentally bumped into someone.
A soft body collided with mine, and I instinctively reached out to keep them from stumbling. A sharp voice snapped at me before I even had time to apologize:
"Watch where you're going!"
The girl I'd nearly knocked over glared up at me, her bright violet eyes practically sparking. She was tall—taller than most Titanesses her age—dressed in a flowing black peplos adorned with intricate silver threading. Silver bangles clinked softly against her wrists, a coiled snake-shaped armlet wrapped around her upper arm, and delicate silver sandals peeked out from beneath her gown.
Her long, wavy black hair cascaded almost to her hips.
Beautiful. Striking. And currently furious at me.
"Sorry," I blurted quickly. "I wasn't paying attention."
"Oh—" She froze as recognition hit her. Her posture shifted instantly from anger to stiff mortification.
"Prince Hades. I—I didn't realize—"
"It's fine," I interrupted, offering a small smile. "Really. You can be mad, it was my fault for not watching where I was going."
She blinked at me, then unexpectedly laughed under her breath.
Before either of us could say more, two older Titans approached—one tall and broad-shouldered, with wild ash-blond hair and eyes like molten bronze, the other, a woman draped in a star-patterned himation, wore a calm and composed expression.
The man ruffled the girl's hair, making her huff and bat his hand away.
"Hecate, starting fights already?" he teased, chalice in hand. "And here I thought I raised you better."
Hecate. The Titaness of witchcraft.
I felt something tighten in my chest—whether it was surprise or interest, I couldn't tell.
The woman bowed her head slightly. "Prince Hades. A blessing upon your coming-of-age."
Asteria.
And that meant the man—
"Lord Perses?" I asked.
He grinned, baring sharp, amused teeth. "Good lad! And here I thought all you royal types were too fancy to remember your elders."
I shook my head, smiling politely—though my mind was still stuck on the girl beside him.
Perses laughed again and clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder.
"You and my daughter seem to get along. Good! Come the next century, who knows? Maybe we'll be arranging a marriage—"
"Father!" Hecate groaned, her cheeks flushing pink. "Please."
I blinked, caught off guard.
Perses winked. "Just teasing. Mostly."
Hecate shot him a murderous look before turning back to me.
"Don't take him seriously," she muttered. "I'm not interested in any arranged marriage. No offense."
"None taken," I assured her, though I struggled not to stare at her. She was… intriguing.
Before I could ask anything, a wave of sudden silence swept through the hall.
The laughter faded.
The chatter died.
Every Titan turned toward the throne.
Father had stood.
Even from here, I could see the faint tremble in his hands and the way his jaw clenched, as if holding back a scream. But his voice rang out strong and commanding, just as the Titan King was expected to speak.
"Tonight," Cronus proclaimed, his voice booming through the grand hall, "we gather to honor my eldest son, Hades, who stands on the threshold of maturity and is ready to receive his first domain from the Creator Himself."
My heart raced as a wave of anticipation washed over me.
Dozens of eyes turned in my direction, each gaze heavy with expectation.
"Hades, my boy!" Cronus continued, extending a hand adorned with glistening rings. "Step forward."
The crowd parted like the Red Sea, creating a vivid pathway to the imposing throne where my father awaited. Every Titan—elder, peer, and child—fixed their gaze on me as I approached, the sound of my footsteps echoing against the intricately carved stone floor. My chest burned with a fierce mixture of excitement and trepidation, and I felt more alive in that moment than I ever had, even when I was Nate, the mortal I once was.
Father's eyes, sharp and penetrating despite the shadows that lingered beneath them, scrutinized my every move. "Hades," he intoned, his voice deep, resonant, and filled with gravitas, "the time has come to unveil what kind of god you will become."
I nodded once, a subtle yet significant tilt of my head. My older sister, Hestia, had undergone this rite only months ago, and she had been sworn to secrecy about the experience, leaving me almost entirely in the dark.
I stepped closer, the golden wreath nestled in my crimson hair catching the flickering torchlight, casting shimmering reflections like molten gold. The heavy black-and-red robes I wore billowed around me with every movement, their embroidered gold trim sparkling as if kissed by stars. I could feel the weight of every Titan's gaze—some radiating pride, others tinged with skepticism, and several quietly steeped in fear.
Then the Old Rite began.
A small satyr, nimble and sprightly, darted forward, carefully cradling a golden bowl filled with nectar that shimmered like sunlight captured within liquid amber. Another satyr followed, bearing a sacrificial knife forged from Polymythril gold, an exquisite gift from Lady Gaea herself, its surface gleaming with an ethereal glow. As Father took the blade, he began to speak, recounting its storied creation, its solemn purpose, and the centuries-old ritual that demanded one's own blood to blend with the sacred nectar.
"Tonight," Cronus proclaimed, his voice booming through the grand hall, "we gather to honor my eldest son, Hades, who stands on the threshold of maturity and is ready to receive his first domain from the Creator Himself."
My heart raced as a wave of anticipation washed over me.
Dozens of eyes turned in my direction, each gaze heavy with expectation.
"Hades, my boy!" Cronus continued, extending a hand adorned with glistening rings. "Step forward."
The crowd parted like the Red Sea, creating a vivid pathway to the imposing throne where my father awaited. Every Titan—elder, peer, and child—fixed their gaze on me as I approached, the sound of my footsteps echoing against the intricately carved stone floor. My chest burned with a fierce mixture of excitement and trepidation, and I felt more alive in that moment than I ever had, even when I was Nate, the mortal I once was.
Father's eyes, sharp and penetrating despite the shadows that lingered beneath them, scrutinized my every move. "Hades," he intoned, his voice deep, resonant, and filled with gravitas, "the time has come to unveil what kind of god you will become."
I nodded once, a subtle yet significant tilt of my head. My older sister, Hestia, had undergone this rite only months ago, and she had been sworn to secrecy about the experience, leaving me almost entirely in the dark.
I stepped closer, the golden wreath nestled in my crimson hair catching the flickering torchlight, casting shimmering reflections like molten gold. The heavy black-and-red robes I wore billowed around me with every movement, their embroidered gold trim sparkling as if kissed by stars. I could feel the weight of every Titan's gaze—some radiating pride, others tinged with skepticism, and several quietly steeped in fear.
Then the Old Rite began.
The hall fell silent the moment the satyr approached the throne. He moved with reverent precision, his cloven hooves barely making a sound against the polished stone floor. In his arms, he held a golden bowl filled to the brim with clear water that had been cleaned and purified by Oceanus.
A second satyr followed closely behind, carrying a folded cloth of white linen used only in sacred rites. Cronus rose from his throne, and the air itself seemed to bow with him. Today, he did not look like the weary, fraying king I had watched deteriorate day by day. Tonight, beneath the ceremonial braziers emitting blue flames, cloaked in his deep gold mantle, he appeared ageless—like a Titan, eternal.
He took the bowl carefully, gripping it with both hands as if it were the very spine of creation itself. A hush fell over the gathered Titans. Every torch dimmed. Every shadow stilled. Cronus lifted the bowl high above his head.
"Creator of All," he thundered, his voice booming with ritual authority, "Lord Chaos, First of the First—bear witness!"
A pulse rippled through the hall, vibrating through the stones, the marble, and the very air in our lungs. Cronus continued, his voice slower now, almost reverent.
"Tonight, your grandson—my eldest son—reaches his Rite of First Domain. As tradition commands, I offer the purest water. I ask you, O Maker of Cosmos… bless this vessel."
First, there was silence, and then the water in the bowl bubbled and began to steam as I watched it turn into a tar-like substance. It clung to the edges of the bowl as if alive, moving with a mind of its own. A collective gasp swept through the Titans.
"Chaos has offered His blood!" Cronus proclaimed. The hall erupted in cheers—deep, Titan roars that shook the mountain. Some pounded their fists against their chests; others raised their arms to the sky. The blue flames leapt higher, spiraling upward like twisting serpents of smoke.
My breath hitched. Despite everything—fear, doubt, anticipation—I felt a shudder run through me. This wasn't symbolic; this was literal. I was about to drink the blood of the Creator.
Cronus descended the steps of the throne, bowl in hand. Every Titan backed away to give him space, bowing their heads as he passed. When he reached me, he stopped just inches away. His face, worn and aging prematurely, softened for a heartbeat.
"Tonight," he said quietly, just for me, "you drink what we Titans first drank at the dawn of the world. The blood that unlocked our dominions—the same blood that makes us who we are." He extended the bowl.
"Hades," he said, his voice once more public, commanding, echoing through the hall, "eldest son of Cronus and Rhea—drink."
My hands shook as I accepted it. The bowl was warm—too warm, like holding a beating heart. The black liquid spiraled slowly, moving on its own. Every Titan watched. Every expectation weighed upon my shoulders. I lifted the bowl. The smell hit first—metallic, ancient, wrong; like something that existed before the concept of scent itself.
I drank. The liquid hit my tongue like molten lead. Then fire. Then ice. Then both at once. I forced myself to swallow, and the world snapped. Blue flames swirled upward, twisting into spiraling vortexes. My bones vibrated. My vision fractured into prisms. My heart thundered as if trying to break free of my chest.
The bowl slipped from my fingers. My knees buckled. My hearing collapsed into a ringing roar, drowning out the shouts and movement around me. Hands caught me before I hit the ground—strong, deliberate, practiced. Ritual attendants moved with otherworldly calm, lifting me and carrying me toward the ceremonial exit.
The world dimmed. Voices became echoes. Light became smears. And as consciousness slipped from my grasp, I felt the mountain rumble—the cave accepting me, sealing itself… swallowing me into its sacred darkness.
Then—nothing.
When I awoke, I was no longer in the hall. The darkness pressed in like velvet, endless and complete, yet I could see with uncanny clarity. Was it torchlight? No, my eyes pierced the gloom with their own awareness.
The cavern was circular, smooth, and impossibly vast. Statues stood in a ring around a raised dais at the center, and I felt an irresistible pull toward it, as if gravity had transformed into intent.
Three statues dominated the platform:
In the center stood a buck, carved from pale, almost glowing white wood. Its antlers spiraled unnaturally high, tipped with shapes I couldn't immediately name. Its eyes glimmered faintly.
To its right was a serpent, coiling in impossible loops, its scales glinting. Its gaze seemed to penetrate the shadows.
On the left was a creature I could barely comprehend—a mosasaur, broken and shattered, yet menacing in its static motion.
I instinctively knew that the dais was meant for me and that I had to step onto it.
As I climbed, the floor hummed beneath my feet. The air thickened, vibrating with some unseen power. My crimson hair stirred as if caught in a wind no one else could feel.
I placed both feet on the dais. My heart raced, and my body trembled with a mix of anticipation and fear.
Then, I heard a sound—a creaking, snapping, sounding like a tree branch breaking as the buck's head tilted slowly. Its carved eyes blazed with this pale fire, making it look almost godlike. That's when this voice emerged from the statue. This layered voice seemed like a chorus of male and female voices, all speaking at once.
"Greetings, Nathaniel Rhodes. I have been waiting for our little meeting since the day you were born."
The statue, although it hadn't moved from where it had stood, seemed to be looming over me like some powerful force. I swallowed, heart drumming in my chest, and stepped forward, instinctively bowing my head. It felt natural, a humble homage. Mortals bowed to the gods; gods bowed to forces beyond their comprehension. And this—this presence—was more profound than anything my mind could grasp.
"Creator," I whispered reverently, keeping my gaze lowered, as if the very act could summon the respect due. "I greet you with the utmost reverence. Although I am curious to know how long you have known I had taken over this body."
In response, the cavern resonated with a deep, vibrating hum, as if the stone itself inhaled, drawing in the very breath of the cosmos. A voice, vast and layered, echoed from the depths behind the statue's unmoving façade—an ancient sound that pressed against my skull, filling the space around me with its weight.
"Raise your head, Son of Cronus." Lord Chaos boomed. "I am one of the Architects of Creation, ruling over all that has, is, and will exist. So I have known of your birth and how you would be reborn as a god, millennia before you even existed."
I lifted my gaze cautiously. The statue remained perfectly still, yet its eyes ignited with an ethereal glow, cutting through the shadows like twin stars piercing the night sky. "Who else knows?"
The wooden buck stood motionless at the heart of the cavern—an exquisite creation crafted from pale, rootless timber, its antlers twisted and gnarled like bleached branches caught in a tempest. It possessed no face, no eyes, no breathing chest to betray its existence.
And yet, when it spoke, the very marrow of the cavern inhaled as if answering a forgotten call.
"You gaze upon me as though expecting grandeur," the statue said, its voice resonating with layers of sound—some were ancient, others youthful, a cacophony born of countless ages and identities. "But I find this form convenient. It saves me the trouble of manifesting in a way more… tangible."
The wooden buck inclined its head, its joints creaking like the whispers of long-lost souls.
"Fear not," it added, tones rich and foreboding. "Not even my children—the Primordials—know your true name. Your secret remains mine alone to guard."
The air thickened, heavy with the essence of omniscience, pressing against my chest.
"Now tell me…"
The buck leaned closer, though it had no muscles to shift. "What manner of god do you dream of becoming?"
My pulse thundered—not from fear, but from the immense weight of the question. This was the first inquiry Chaos—the Creator—had ever posed to me.
I swallowed hard, the sound echoing in the stillness. "I want… I want to be strong. It doesn't matter what domain I receive. I will find a way to grow. To fight. To win."
The antlers shimmered darkly, like the shadow of an eclipse.
"And why," Chaos asked, its tone measured yet probing, "do you seek such strength?"
"To stop the Great Devourer." The words escaped my lips, sharp and clear, betraying my determination. "To stop him permanently."
A sudden chill enveloped the cavern, frost spreading like a creeping vine across the stone floor, glistening ominously.
"Bold," Chaos murmured, the mockery lingering in its voice. "Stupid, but bold."
The buck's body remained immobile, yet the presence behind its voice expanded, overwhelming—like an abyss looming over me, ready to swallow.
"You aspire to defeat an Architect, a being so far beyond the gods that I required my siblings' full strength to seal him away."
My throat went dry. I nodded—slowly, deliberately—in tacit acknowledgment of the peril before me.
Chaos continued, "So what is it that you desire? For me to elevate you? To transform you into an Architect yourself, instantly? Effortlessly? Because you believe yourself to be special?"
Heat prickled my cheeks, burning with humiliation. My gaze fell to the cold, unforgiving stone beneath my feet.
Because yes. That was the miracle I had hoped for. Some divine bestowal. Some cheat code written in the stars. Some protagonists' shortcut to glory.
Chaos scoffed, the sound echoing with disdain.
"You mortals," the buck said, its voice laced with a mix of amusement and judgment, "always think your reincarnation comes with a power-up. As if merely rising into a divine form entitles you to greatness."
I clenched my fists, fighting the rising tide of frustration. "I don't expect—"
"You do," Chaos interjected sharply. "Your soul reeks of expectation. Of narrative hunger. You yearn to be the hero, the exception—the one who bends fate, convinced your story will culminate in victory."
The buck leaned in, wood creaking ominously.
"This is not a story, child. This is existence. And existence bears no regard for your whims."
My throat tightened, a cold grasp of reality settling upon me.
"But," Chaos said, its voice softening momentarily, "you wish to try. That much is clear."
"Yes," I breathed, the acknowledgment heavy with unspoken hope.
The cavern exhaled, as if reality itself let out a sigh of resignation.
"A perilous road lies ahead—a road that will draw the attention of gods far beyond these lands, pantheons unknown to you."
My heart skipped a beat. Other pantheons? The implications spiraled in my mind, but Chaos offered no time to linger on them.
"I have considered your essence," the Creator declared, its tone turning contemplative. "Your mortal heart. Your Titan blood. The modifications you've already wrought upon the fabric of fate."
I stilled, a rush of trepidation flooding me.
Chaos hummed under its breath, a sound like wind rustling through ancient trees.
"Yes. You have already diverged from the original course of Hades. More than you yet realize. Much more."
The shadows within the cavern quivered, alive with energy.
"But despite your divergence…" Chaos continued, "I offer you the same domain I once granted the original—a realm he later shattered and divided, fragments of which he entrusted to Demeter."
My breath hitched in my throat, realization dawning with suffocating clarity.
"And what domain," I asked quietly, almost reverently, "do you grant me?"
The buck's carved head slowly rotated, its blank wooden face aligning perfectly with mine, a void gazing into my very soul.
"Earth."
My heart stopped, a chilling silence engulfing me.
Not the Underworld. Not shadow. Not death.
Earth. Mother Gaea's sacred domain. The cradle of all Titans. The unyielding pillar of creation.
"I—why—?"
But pain answered my bewilderment before Chaos could respond.
White-hot, molten agony lanced through my chest so violently that I crumpled, my hands clawing desperately at the stone floor. My vision erupted in a riot of colors I had never fathomed. Heat surged through my veins as if my blood had turned to magma, pulsating with fierce energy.
"G—gah!"
A scream tore from my lips as the cavern itself convulsed beneath me. The walls trembled, loose stones cascading from above like fallen stars.
The statues lining the chamber ignited, their eyes blazing with an ethereal light, illuminating the ferocity of my torment. My bones felt as though they were grinding, reshaping, reforging under unseen forces. My muscles spasmed uncontrollably. Each breath became a battle, shards of burning glass tearing through me like merciless daggers.
The earth beneath me responded—cracks radiated outward from where I knelt, pulsing with a life force of its own.
My scream erupted from my throat again, raw and primal, echoing through the cavern.
The world blurred into an indistinct haze.
My vision constricted like a tightening vice.
Chaos's voice, distant yet unequivocal, resonated through the quaking stone: "Rise, Hades, the god of the Earth."
The last sensation before darkness engulfed me was the tremor of the cave, as if the very earth acknowledged my suffering, trembling with the consciousness of my pain.