Page 240 of Styx

for my children.

Still, my heart broke

for Asteria and Hekate.

The Aftermath of War

When Nyx’s night spread darkness for days on end, Nike returned home to tell me it was almost over. She wove a tale so sordid that my very bones hurt to hear it. She said that Gaia, upset at her own children, the Titans, had chosen to help her youngest grandchildren, the Olympians, instead. Gaia told Zeus every secret we had kept so guarded. Where our palaces were, where stores of adamantine lay, how to convince Oceanus to withdraw his many children from battle. Where we ached most. Our weak points. The idea that a mother could turn on her own children that way felt like anathema to me. But then, I was her first grandchild, and she had never had a kind word for me. Her words had been true. I was not beautiful. This had caused me more trouble, more pain in my immortal life than necessary. Now, Nike told me of the cages my own consort Pallas had built to hold the Titan generals. My uncle Hyperion was one of them. Zeus had asked Hyperion’s son Helios, who had turned on the Titans, to take over his father’s duties. All this time I thought Gods were irreplaceable. And look how easy it was to even replace the God who lifted the sun into the sky. The worst of the fates was in store for gentlehearted Atlas, who fought so fiercely and powerfully for us. Zeus decreed that it was his punishment to hold the heavens upon his shoulders forever. A burden that would never end. ‘What of the rest?’ I asked Nike. Her once sweet face now held a bitterness I did not recognize. War had changed her too. ‘You must go to Olympus to see their fates, mother,’ she said quietly. ‘Zeus wants us all there for when it ends. Every one of us.’

A Ceremony

It was the opposite of a feast.

The remaining Titans gathered,

but there was no joy, no chatter.

We knew what was coming.

When I finally saw Pallas again,

he did not hold me nor I him.

We barely acknowledged each other.

Zelus came with me, now that

he was mended. Gold scars

seared across his arms where

I had stitched them back.

Bia, her Goddess in full bloom,

joined us at the centre of Mount Olympus,

as did Nike and Kratos.

My children seemed distant,

different somehow from

how I had raised them.

Only sweet Bia held my hand

and stayed by my side.

Next to Zeus’s throne were

wretched adamantine cages

holding Gods soaked in their own ichor,

defeated and broken.

My uncles, once so proud.