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Olympus stared at the uninvited guest with nervous confusion and barely restrained fury. Of course, they had heard the news from Hades, but many—if not all—had assumed it was merely a joke or an embellishment of reality. And yet Chronos stood there. Right on Olympus, among countless gods, in no particular hurry to attack.
He calmly surveyed Olympus with a hint of interest. He wore attire unusual for him, and there was no hostility radiating from him, which only left the gods unsure of what to do. Should they drive him out, kill him, or follow Hades’ advice and hear him out?
“A rather pleasant place,” he said, causing the Olympians to flinch involuntarily.
Surprisingly, there were no insults, no remarks about tastelessness. Zeus cleared his throat slightly and, gathering his courage, stepped forward.
“Father. I hope you had a respectful reason for coming here.”
The Titan of Time slowly shifted his gaze to his son, making Zeus shudder, unable to decipher what that look meant.
“Yes, my son. I did not come here today merely to look at you all,” Chronos replied, narrowing his eyes.
Zeus frowned and thought for a moment. After a few seconds, he subtly rolled his shoulders back, trying to appear larger. He remembered his brother’s words—that their father had changed, that he had apologized to him and to everyone in the House of Hades.
“Have you finally realized your mistakes and decided to apologize to all of us?” Zeus asked, watching the Titan closely.
The gods behind him began whispering, their curiosity piqued. Everyone wanted to see whether Chronos would truly apologize—or stage yet another spectacle.
Chronos slowly raised one eyebrow and let out a quiet scoff. The Thunderer flinched inwardly and groaned in frustration. Poseidon, standing nearby, muttered a curse under his breath and rolled his eyes. They all knew what that reaction meant—and what would follow.
“Apologize? Oh no. I came here today for a completely different reason.”
A heavy scroll suddenly appeared in his hand. The Olympians tensed, preparing for something far worse.
“Without a doubt, many of my actions were horrific and without justification—but that concerns how I treated my sons in the past and what I did in this reality.”
The Titan of Time unfurled the scroll until it nearly touched the floor. The gods’ eyes widened in shock. It was covered from end to end in tiny writing—and even then, much of it remained rolled up.
“What is that?” Aphrodite interjected, staring at the parchment in confusion.
Chronos scoffed and narrowed his eyes.
“This? Oh, this is simply a record of everything you did in MY realm while I was dead—for reasons you are well aware of. I selected only what I found most interesting.”
He tilted his head slightly, maintaining a cold smile.
“Or did you truly think that because I committed a few misdeeds—both in the past and in this reality—I would simply forgive all of you for what you did to my kingdom?”
“These were all necessary measures!” Athena protested.
The Titan of Time shot her an irritated glance.
“Oh? My dear granddaughter, then tell me—which of your actions were necessary?”
He unrolled the scroll further, reading.
“For example, turning a poor maiden—used by my son—into Medusa. Was that your way of diversifying the races of the mortal world?”
Chronos lowered his gaze to another line.
“Ah, or the transformation of Arachne. How touching—showing mortals how to react properly to defeat. What did you tell my granddaughter during the war? That I should accept my loss and let go, because not everyone is meant to be a good ruler. Well then, I could say the same to you—though in matters of creativity.”
Athena glared at the intruder, her hands clenched into fists. Chronos continued unfolding the scroll, reading further.
“Chronos, don’t you think you are behaving uncivilly?” Hera said sharply, boring her gaze into him. “You enter another’s home, spread falsehoods, and act as though we asked for your opinion on our rule.”
In response, Chronos looked at her the way one might look at an insect—causing Hera to flinch.
“First of all, this is MY home, which you stole from me. But very well—I will forgive you for that. Consider it compensation for what happened in your husband’s past. Second, just because you dislike the truth does not make it fiction. And finally, I have no intention of continuing to tolerate your repulsive behavior that tarnishes the name of divinity. I wish to cooperate with worthy gods—not animals.”
He clicked his tongue and continued unrolling the scroll.
“And considering what you did to soothe your wounded ego, I am wasting my breath. Though I warn you in advance—if you plan to curse me or cause harm, choose the option with snakes. They would at least be more pleasant than you.”
Hera flushed red with outrage, opening and closing her mouth without words. Zeus only frowned, staring at his father. He didn’t know whether to risk striking him with lightning or whether it would be too dangerous. The Titan of Time looked refreshed, while the Olympians were still battered from war—any battle could prove disastrous.
“Oh, yes—Aphrodite, my apologies for nearly forgetting you.”
Chronos slowly turned his gaze toward her, prompting her to wrinkle her nose in irritation.
“Oh, I can’t imagine what I’ve done to earn your attention,” Aphrodite replied sharply. “Has your divorce made you consider love itself a terrible crime?”
The Titan of Time tilted his head, mentally noting the jab.
“Love is undoubtedly one of the greatest feelings. Desire, however… you have rather specific tastes. Forcing a daughter to love her father because he neglected you slightly. Making a stepmother desire her son simply because he did not believe in love. Or my personal favorite—passion for a bull! You surpassed even my son in the realm of perverse desires.”
He turned back to his scroll, reading on.
“Apparently, due to your adolescent hormones, you decided to abandon unnecessary things—such as clothing. After all, in bestial affairs, such trifles only waste precious time.”
Aphrodite hissed in fury. Zeus finally snapped and waved his hand, realizing that another moment and the Olympians would tear Chronos apart.
“Enough! Father, we are not your toys to endure your insults and baseless attacks.”
“Baseless?” Chronos hissed, rolling the massive scroll back up with a single gesture. He struck it against his palm, glaring at his son.
“Oh, my dear offspring—you have no idea HOW MUCH I learned about your deeds while I was dead. I haven’t even discussed your actions yet, nor those of your brother Poseidon. You are the perfect examples of why I became disappointed in the gods.”
Zeus clenched his fists. Poseidon tightened his grip on his trident. The Titan of Time swept his indifferent gaze across all the assembled gods.
“I came here for only one reason. My dear granddaughter insisted that I apologize to you for what I did. Very well—I apologize to my sons for ruining their childhoods, and I apologize for the fact that my attempt to reclaim my throne was excessively cruel. I apologized to Hades, because unlike the others, he was a worthy god. But as for the rest…”
He tossed the scroll at his sons’ feet and summoned his staff.
“I can say only one thing: the Titans’ refusal to hand power over to you was the correct decision. You are pathetic rulers who worship power without understanding how to lead people. Mortals chose me not because I was persuasive, but because they knew I could lead them to a better future—unlike you.”
Chronos struck the ground with his staff, scowling.
“As a result of our charming conversation, I have reached one conclusion: you will never receive my power in this reality—or any other. Even if Melinoë or Hades themselves came to me and begged for help for Olympus, I would refuse. I would rather disappear than do a favor for animals who consider themselves gods and superior to others.”
He struck the ground with his staff once more and vanished, leaving a furious Olympus behind—to deal with the scroll he had left at their feet.