CHAPTER 112: “BECAUSE HE’S CUTE.”

In a place older than Olympus, older than the Titans, older than the memory of men.

It was not a hall, nor a mountain, nor any place mortals could name—it was a hollow cut from the skin of reality itself.

Darkness bled in from all sides, yet it wasn’t empty. Stars hung motionless in the air, close enough to touch, each one pulsing faintly with a rhythm that wasn’t light but life. Beneath them, a black ocean stretched without waves, its surface so still it looked like glass.

Here, the Primordials gathered.

Nyx, night made flesh, stepped from a column of shadow as if it were a doorway. The air dimmed around her, the stars bending toward her presence. Her dress was stitched from the deep void itself, and her eyes held no pupils—only endless black.

Across from her, Erebus stood like a cliff of pure darkness, broad and unmoving, his form absorbing every glimmer of light that dared to approach. His voice, when it came, was low and cold.

"Tartarus has fallen."

The words rippled through the still ocean, each one like a drop of black ink spreading in water.

More figures emerged—Ananke, the coil of inevitability, her form shifting between woman and serpent; Eros, radiant and terrible, with beauty sharp enough to draw blood; and finally, Gaia.

Gaia did not walk—she rose. The glassy ocean swelled upward, turning into a great mound of living green beneath her feet, trees and flowers blooming instantly in her wake. Her presence was grounding, unshakable, yet her expression was unreadable.

None spoke for a long moment. Then Ananke’s voice slithered through the air.

"It is no small thing to kill one of us. No god of sky or sea should be able to do such a thing. And yet... Zeus has done it."

Erebus’s head tilted slightly, the movement slow and deliberate. "This is what happens when we ignore the storm until it strikes the shore. The boy was given reign over Olympus, and now he thinks himself our equal."

Nyx gave a small, amused hum. "Equal? No... not yet. But he moves in that direction." Her lips curled into a faint grin. "And that makes him interesting."

Eros’s eyes gleamed, sharp with disdain. "Interesting? He is dangerous. And not just to us. Word will spread beyond our own—into other pantheons. The ones who already view him as a threat will now see proof. Soon, they will move."

Ananke nodded slowly. "The first ripples are already forming. The old beings from the east, the watchers beneath the frozen void, even the sun-bearers of the south—they will see this as a chance to strike before he grows too strong."

Erebus’s tone deepened, heavy as a collapsing mountain. "Then we should do it first. Strike before they do. Tear Olympus down, scatter its seats, and end him before he becomes what we all know he can become."

The stars in the air seemed to dim further, as if the suggestion itself sucked the light out of them.

That was when Gaia spoke. Her voice was not loud, but it rolled through the ocean and the air like a heartbeat.

"No."

All eyes turned to her.

"You would attack my blood," she said, her tone even. "The son of Cronus is my grandson, and I will not raise a hand against him."

Erebus’s darkness stirred, faint tendrils coiling at the edges of his form. "Blood has never stopped war."

"It will now," Gaia said simply. Her gaze swept across them all, steady, rooted. "You speak as if he is a storm you cannot control. But you forget—storms can be guided. I have watched him grow. I have seen his victories, his mistakes. He is not perfect, but he is not our enemy. Not unless we force him to be."

Ananke’s head tilted, serpentine eyes narrowing. "You would defend him? Even if it means opposing us?"

"I would," Gaia said without hesitation. "Even if it costs me my life."

The words hung heavy. This was no threat, no bluff—just truth, spoken plainly.

Then, unexpectedly, Nyx laughed. It was not a cruel sound—low, warm, edged with mischief.

"Well," she said, stepping closer to Gaia’s side, "if you’re going to make such a bold stand, I suppose I’ll have to join you."

Erebus’s gaze cut toward her. "And why would you do that?"

Nyx’s grin widened, eyes glinting like midnight stars. "Because he’s cute."

The silence that followed was sharp enough to break.

Ananke’s brow twitched. "That’s your reason?"

"Do I need another?" Nyx’s voice was soft but certain. "You all see threats. I see a boy who wrestled a Primordial into the dirt and lived to talk about it. That deserves my attention... and my protection."

Gaia didn’t react to the remark, though there was the faintest pull at the corner of her mouth, as if suppressing a smile.

Eros exhaled slowly, the air shimmering faintly with his presence. "So you both would shield him. That puts the rest of us in an awkward position."

"It puts you in a dangerous one," Gaia corrected, her gaze cutting toward him. "Think carefully before you decide which side of this line you stand on."

Erebus’s form rippled like smoke caught in wind, but he didn’t push further. "So be it. But do not expect me to protect him when the others come for him. And they will."

"They can come," Nyx said lightly. "I’ll be watching."

The meeting did not end with a resolution. It ended with currents pulling in different directions, the ocean of black beneath them still unbroken, but the air above sharp with unspoken challenge.

As the Primordials began to fade back into the spaces between reality, Gaia and Nyx remained a moment longer.

"You mean what you said," Nyx remarked, her grin softer now. "About defending him."

"I do," Gaia said. "But I also mean what I didn’t say. He will need to be ready. If he is not, not even I can save him."

Nyx tilted her head, the darkness around her folding closer. "Then we’ll just have to make sure he’s ready."

And with that, the two vanished—leaving only the still ocean and the faint hum of the stars.

Far above, in Olympus, Zeus stood on the highest balcony, unaware of the meeting but feeling the strange shift in the air, as if the world itself had just turned to watch him.