This war had aged him. He was no longer
the God-King’s second-in-command
who threw lush feasts, but a worn father
watching his sons be felled.
His voice, once deep, rich, and vibrant,
now sounded old, ancient, the smallest
of tremors behind each of his words.
‘Children,’ he began, the word coated
with a sadness as he looked around.
I followed his gaze. All around us were
tired Potamoi, some being held up by Oceanids,
others slouched on the floor, unable to stand.
Pain, an unfamiliar feeling to most Gods,
had become a familiar refrain here.
Their weary spirits were broken.
I had heard my sisters speak of how it was now
taking longer and longer for them to heal.
Even to my own heart, which had turned cold
after the cruel treatment of my siblings,
I found the sight painful to behold.
I looked back to my father as he seemed
to struggle to find his words.
‘This has been an extensive, brutal war.
The first and only one of its kind.
For a long time, I thought
that due to our numbers alone,
we would defeat these new Gods,
that they would fall quickly.
After all, these realms have always
been Titan realms.