Percy Jackson hates Kronos.
Percy hates the way the Titan King somehow, someway, cheated death- clawing his way out of Tartarus after four years to kill more of his friends, to throw the Olympians into their own prisons and claim Zeus' throne as hi...
Conversations - The Flight, Assassin's Creed, Mike Georgiades
Romeo and Juliet, Op. 64: No. 13 Dance of the Knights - Sergei Prokofiev, Orchestra of the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, Mark Ermler
Let Me Down Easy - Gang of Youths
Aawake At Night - half alive
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Kronos was in the back gardens when Iapetus approached him, his hands spread out above him as he concentrated on ripening the pomegranates bowing the trees' rapidly growing, interlocking branches.
"Kronos, you've got laurels in your hair," Iapetus told him pointedly, coming to a stop a few feet away with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
The Titan King glowered, tearing his attention away from his work and swiping a hand back through his hair, the sprigs crumbling away. "Iapetus," he greeted shortly. "Blast it. What do you want?"
Iapetus' gaze flicked back and forth from the pomegranates to Kronos, before finally settling on his brother. "August nineteenth." His voice was tense, and, in front of him, Kronos cursed under his breath.
"Very well," the Titan King grunted after a long moment, flicking his wrist as he shifted his weight to one foot. "And our little traitor?"
The Titan of the West hesitated, his eyes flickering from left to right, ensuring they were alone before he spoke. "None the wiser."
A sneer played across Kronos' lips, and he turned away, redirecting his attention back to the pomegranate grove. "Good. You may go, Iapetus."
The older took a few steps back, his hands clasped tightly behind him, before coming to a halt. "Kronos," he said carefully, and the Titan King glanced over his shoulder, his face creased in distaste.
"What is it?"
Wavering, Iapetus' brow furrowed. "Pardon my language, but what in Ouranos' cursed name are you playing at? The plan-"
Kronos scowled, and, pomegranates momentarily forgotten, he stalked toward his brother, his hands clenching as he approached. Half-grown stalks of wheat sprung up at his feet, and, behind him, the orchard shuddered, as if in aggravation. "The plan," Kronos spat, "-is still in effect. Nothing has changed."
A strained look tugged the corners of Iapetus' lips downwards. "Then why are you out here gardening?" He asked incredulously. "It's as if you're two hundred again."
Bristling at Iapetus' tone, Kronos' eyebrows shot up. After a tense moment, he fully closed the space between them, jabbing his finger harshly against his brother's chest. "Just because," he breathed lowly, "-you are involved with this- this mess, does not mean that you may speak to me like that." Gold bored into silver. "You mind yourself, Iapetus. You mind yourself. This is your final warning."
