SWNOVELXO Chapter 8: THE TITANS
---
Chapter 8: Titans
After observing the time-sequence priesthood within himself for a while, Soulis steadied his thoughts.
There was no connection yet between his spirituality and timing—no bridge to integrate the two.
"You still have to land on it," he murmured, his voice calm but tinged with determination.
Lifting his gaze to the illusory moon suspended in the sky, a shadow crossed Soulis' eyes.
"First, I must accumulate divine power."
With a powerful priesthood now in his grasp, the process of gathering divine power would accelerate. Yet, the methods of this era were primitive, bereft of the belief systems that Olympians would later exploit. Here, gods relied solely on time and patience to grow their strength.
Soulis lay on the cold ground, his body sinking into an almost meditative state—a place between sleep and wakefulness. The fog within him stirred gently, like a tide responding to an unseen moon. His presence blended with the priesthood, and faint glimmers of ethereal light flickered beneath his skin. A rhythmic pulse thrummed in the back of his mind, syncing with the shifting glow as though the fog itself held whispers of an untapped infinity.
The so-called "divine level" of his priesthood was merely the upper limit it allowed him to reach—not a measure of his current strength. At present, Soulis was no more than a novice with divine power barely brushing level five. It would take years of effort to ascend to the priesthood's true potential.
In later ages, the gods of Olympus would harness belief as an accelerator, forging new priesthoods fueled by mortal faith. But this age lacked such "shortcuts."
Even the Twelve Titans, like all newly born gods, would require centuries to grow into their full strength.
---
The sacred mountain, the birthplace of the gods, lay cloaked in an eerie stillness. Here, where Soulis and Gaia had recently departed, the air hung heavy with unspoken tension.
At its peak stood Uranus, the Heavenly Father, his presence imposing against the stormy skies. The prophecy coursed through his thoughts like venom, and the aura around him pulsed in response. Clouds churned above, their turbulent movements mirroring the king's rising agitation.
The God-King's children knelt before him, their heads bowed low. The youngest, Cronus, broke the oppressive silence. His voice trembled, his once-proud demeanor reduced to that of a pleading child.
"Father, father," Cronus began, his words halting. He shrank before Uranus, his tall frame hunched in submission. "I am your youngest son. I swear to the world—I will never be the one to betray you or aid any rebellion."
As Cronus spoke, the world responded to his vow. A low rumble echoed through the mountain, binding his words into an unbreakable oath. Should Cronus ever violate it, he would face divine punishment—his power stripped, his authority shattered.
Uranus' piercing gaze softened slightly, but his expression remained unreadable. Despite Cronus' assurance, the God-King was unconvinced.
'The prophecy speaks of my eldest son, not the youngest. Yet... what does it mean? "The eldest is not the oldest child."'
Lost in thought, Uranus considered the nature of gods: their immortality, their indestructibility. Even with his immense power, he could not erase the essence of a god. Imprisonment, perhaps, but never true annihilation.
His aura continued to oscillate, an unconscious manifestation of his unease. Seeing this, the other gods mistook his thoughts for anger. One by one, they echoed Cronus' words:
"We swear to the world that we will never become the rebel with the sword, nor will we aid them."
The mountain trembled again, sealing their vows.
Uranus' lips curled into a sneer. 'Pathetic. They grovel before me, swearing loyalty out of fear. Are these truly my children? Such weakness could never overthrow me.'
Yet his disdain was tinged with contradiction. He longed for his children to show courage but was equally unwilling to tolerate defiance.
With a burst of divine power, Uranus struck Koios, sending him sprawling. The rest of his children recoiled, fear etched across their faces.
"You swear your loyalty, yet you cower before me like frightened mortals," Uranus declared, his voice a thunderclap. "So be it. You, my trembling offspring, shall bear a name befitting your cowardice."
He spread his arms wide, his voice resonating with the authority of the sky:
"In honor of your oaths, I name you Titans."
The ancient divine language twisted the title into an insult: the nervous ones, the timid ones, the retributive ones.
The weight of the name etched itself into their beings. Koios clenched his fists, his knuckles white with suppressed fury. Themis' shoulders sank, her pride crumbling under the burden of humiliation. None dared to protest.
Uranus watched them in silence, his expression unreadable. Did he secretly wish for one of them to rise against him? To defy him, even at the risk of incurring his wrath? The thought was fleeting, drowned beneath his growing disdain.
"Leave my sight," he commanded coldly. "And do not return until you are worthy of your divine heritage."
The Twelve Titans bowed and retreated, their shame palpable in the heavy air.
---
As the sacred mountain emptied, Uranus turned his gaze outward. The prophecy gnawed at him, a specter of doubt clinging to his thoughts. He looked down upon the world, its shifting fog obscuring the lands below.
"If rebellion comes with a sword, then I shall take the sword from their hands."
His voice rose, resonating with divine authority. "In the name of the God-King, I declare: from this day forward, the act of forging is a crime. Let the Forger be imprisoned beneath Tartarus, never to emerge."
The world trembled in response. The skies darkened, and the art of forging was shackled by divine decree. A fragment of Uranus' power diminished in the process, but he dismissed it as inconsequential.
He would remain supreme.
---
Standing alone atop the mountain, Uranus allowed his thoughts to drift. The storm clouds began to dissipate, leaving the air thick with fog.
'Perhaps it was a mistake to hear that prophecy,' he mused. 'An unknown fate may have been easier to bear.'
Yet even as doubt flickered in his heart, he could not suppress his desire for more heirs. As the embodiment of fatherhood and the sky itself, it was his duty to expand the divine lineage.
And these children—these Titans—were weak. It would take centuries for them to grow, and by then, he would have devised a way to secure his reign.
His gaze turned to the horizon, where Gaia's presence lingered faintly. She would return soon, and with her, the next generation of gods.
This time, he would be ready.
---