From The Beginning {A Percy Jackson Fanfiction}

| δ |

| Trigger Warning - Sanguinaria (The Drinking of Blood) and Minor Self Harm |

| 11,215-11,210 BCE |

| Post Hera's Birth |

It was no secret that Kronos was paranoid. He questioned the loyalties of his closest advisors, no matter how blind or idiotic they were. Do not be deceived, Kronos was no fool. He was aware of the rising tensions in his kingdom. He was aware of how some looked upon him in disgust or fear. He was aware some were unhappy with his rule.

A group of these people were a bit more vocal about it than Kronos would have liked. His dearest siblings, the Elder Cyclopes and the Hekatonkheirs. Their blacksmith abilities were already something to worry about, having crafted many weapons of power for his subjects. And their vocalizations had pushed them too deep to recover.

They would be easy to get rid of. They were outcasts, different from the others. Nobody of importance would miss their presence, hm, except Oceanus' son would, but he was liked by too many to be exterminated.

It was a shame, really, that he had to do what he was about to. Being liberated from Tartarus's realm only to be returned by the same person. But it was a necessary task if Kronos were to ensure his seat on the throne.

Taking a deep breath, Kronos clasped his hands behind his back as he stared out into the rich lands of Gaea, his lands. It was all his. He allowed a smirk to come across his face for a brief moment.

"Atlas," the Kind commanded. And Atlas was there, like the obedient dog he was. "You have a new assignment; seize the Elder Cyclopses and Hekatonkheirs."

≜≜≜

Brontes was correct with his predictions. The King's guards had stormed their forge with weapons they had crafted and told them that the King had ordered their arrest. Brontes had not fought when thick chains were clamped around his wrists and ankles and connected to the same restraints as his brothers.

He had not fought when he was forced to march or when he was beaten or spat on or jeered at. Brontes had accepted his fate long ago. Now they were here to carry it out. The Elder Cyclopses were known for being wise. Many had approached them with their questions, hoping one of the three could answer it.

That is why they paused their fretting when the son of Oceanus had approached them, seeking favors from them all. There was an aura surrounding Perseus that made them stop. He looked no different from the others, muscular, strongly built, handsome. And yet there was just something about him. . .

"I always return my favors."

That is what he had said, and finally, they understood. This Titan had some part of taking down the King. The Fates had claimed him.

So as Brontes was forced to his knees, looking into the blank eyes he once called brother, all he could do was close his eye and breathe in the last breath of fresh air he would get until the Fates deemed otherwise.

It was all he could do as Kronos's scythe sunk into Gaea's skin and ripped it apart, swallowing the six whole and condemning them to life in the Pit.

≜≜≜

Perseus had been sparring with Zoë in their clearing when he felt it; the ground ripping apart and consuming six beings. His head had shown him all of it, Kronos's scythe impaling itself in the ground, Atlas's wicked grin, Bronte's final breath. All of it.

"Is this going to become normal?" Zoë had joked when he regained consciousness and Calypso continued to fret over a particularly nasty bruise that he had received when he had fallen. Perseus had attempted a smile, but he was sure that it was more of a grimace.