I Am Zeus

The silence after Gaia's words stretched. The night was heavy, the ruins of Olympus still bleeding smoke, and Zeus's storm dimmed just enough for her voice to slide through.

"I may have someone who can help you," Gaia said at last.

Zeus's eyes shifted to her. "Who?"

Gaia did not answer. She only turned, her hand brushing the broken railing. Roots crawled up from the molten cracks, wrapping around her feet, glowing with a faint green light. The air thickened, humming with the weight of the earth itself.

"Come with me," she said simply.

The ground moved. Not like an earthquake. More like the world itself folded in, pulled around them. The sky vanished. The balcony, the ruin, even the gods still whispering below—all gone in an instant.

Zeus didn't flinch, though his hand still sparked faintly. When the shift ended, they were standing somewhere else entirely.

A plain of endless stone stretched before him. Dark, silent, yet filled with a weight that pressed into the chest. The sky above wasn't blue or black—it was a swirling canvas of gray, as if dawn and dusk were locked in a struggle that would never end.

In the center of the plain lay a being.

Massive. Larger than any Titan Zeus had ever seen. His body was stretched across the stone like a mountain given human form. His chest rose and fell in slow, deep breaths that seemed to shake the air itself. His skin glimmered faintly, not flesh, not stone, but something in between. His hair was like rivers of night, spilling endlessly around him. His eyes were shut, but even in slumber, power radiated from him—raw, ancient, endless.

Zeus froze, thunder quieting in his veins. His eyes narrowed.

"Who is that?"

Gaia's voice was almost reverent. "That is Ouranos. The sky before you. The one who came before you, before Cronus, before even me."

Zeus's brow furrowed, eyes never leaving the giant form. "Ouranos…"

"The Primordial Sky," Gaia said softly. "My first mate. My first king. The father of Titans… and the one who was cast down, torn apart by Cronus's sickle. His body scattered, his will bound, his essence sealed."

Zeus's jaw tightened. "I thought he was gone."

Gaia's lips curved faintly, though it wasn't a smile. "Gone? No. Forgotten, yes. The world does not forget the sky, child. It only pretends."

Zeus's fists clenched at his side, lightning snapping faintly across his arms. He looked again at the being lying in silence. The air around Ouranos was heavy, as if even sound feared to stir near him.

"And you brought me here," Zeus said slowly, "because you think he can help me."

"I know he can," Gaia replied, stepping forward. Her roots stretched across the stone toward the slumbering form, caressing the cracks in the ground like a mother reaching for a child. "But it will not be easy."

Zeus's eyes flicked to her. "He sleeps."

"No," Gaia whispered. "He dreams. His will is fractured. Cronus cut him, and each wound still bleeds in the bones of the world. If he wakes fully, his rage may shatter everything. He may not know friend from foe."

Zeus's lips pressed tight. The storm in him stirred, restless.

Gaia turned to face him, her gaze steady though her form looked frail. "But you carry the storm, child. The sky answers you already. You are closer to him than anyone else. If anyone can reach him, it is you."

Zeus stared at Ouranos. The sheer size of the being was staggering—like staring at a piece of existence itself given flesh. He remembered the wars, remembered how hard it was to break Titans, how much blood had been spilled just to fell Cronus. And this… this was their father. Something older. Something heavier.

"Why him?" Zeus asked finally.

Gaia's eyes darkened. "Because the Primordials will come in force now. And when they do, even your lightning may not be enough. You need the strength of what came before. You need the sky itself."

Zeus exhaled slowly, his breath faintly sparking. He took a step forward. The air thickened at once, as though Ouranos's slumber resisted his presence. The pressure pressed down on his shoulders, but he kept walking.

Closer.

Each step made the hum louder, like a storm building in silence. His heart pounded with it, his veins resonating.

He stopped a few paces from the giant's face. The closed lids were still, but Zeus could feel the power beneath them—a sea of it, stretching farther than he could comprehend.

Zeus lifted his hand. Lightning flickered faintly across his fingers. He paused. For the first time in a long while, he hesitated.

Gaia's voice came faintly behind him. "He may destroy you. Or he may raise you higher than any throne. That choice lies in his dream… and in your storm."

Zeus lowered his hand, placing it gently against the massive cheek of the sleeping sky.

The world shifted.

Light burst behind his eyes. He was not in the plain anymore. He was standing in a vast emptiness, a sky with no ground, no horizon, only endless stars. The storm in him flared, but it was small compared to the endless expanse.

And there, rising in the void, was a figure.

Ouranos. Awake. His eyes were like galaxies, burning endless and cold. His voice was not sound—it was the air, the stars, the pull of gravity itself.

"Who… dares disturb my dream?"

The weight of it almost crushed Zeus's knees. Sparks exploded across his body, holding him upright. He met that cosmic gaze without flinching.

"I am Zeus," he said, his voice raw against the void. "King of Olympus. The storm."

The stars trembled at the name. Ouranos's eyes narrowed, recognition flickering faintly.

"The child of Kronos…" the voice rumbled. "The usurper of usurpers…"

Zeus's jaw clenched, lightning bleeding from his skin. "I am not Cronus. I broke him. I will break worse."

Silence stretched. Then the vast figure leaned closer, his presence overwhelming.

"Storm-child," Ouranos murmured, the words shaking the void. "You smell of me. You are the sky reborn in flesh."

Zeus's breath quickened, his fists clenching. "Then lend me your strength."

Ouranos's laughter rolled across eternity, vast and echoing. "Strength? Or chains? If I rise again, the world will weep. Do you seek victory… or ruin?"

Zeus didn't answer right away. His storm swelled, wrapping him in light against the crushing dark. He lifted his chin, eyes burning bright.

"I seek what is mine," he said.

Ouranos was still. Then, slowly, his massive hand lifted, descending toward Zeus like the sky itself falling. Lightning arced wildly from Zeus's body, but he didn't move. The hand pressed against him—immense, heavy, crushing.

Yet in that pressure, something sparked.

The storm and the sky touched.

For a heartbeat, Zeus felt it—the true weight of the heavens, endless and eternal. The storm in him roared in answer, not crushed, but magnified.

Ouranos's voice rumbled, distant now. "We shall see, storm-child… if you are worthy of the sky."

The light broke.

Zeus staggered back into the stone plain, gasping. His hand was still pressed against Ouranos's face, but now it glowed faintly, blue-white lightning dancing across the Primordial's skin.

Gaia's eyes widened. She whispered, "He answered you…"

Ouranos did not wake. His eyes remained closed. But the plain itself hummed louder, the air vibrating with a power that hadn't been there before. The connection was made.

Zeus lowered his hand, his chest heaving. His storm flickered, stronger, wilder, restless under his skin.

He turned to Gaia.

Her tired face held the faintest smile. "The sky has not forgotten you, child."

Zeus's eyes glowed faintly as he looked back at the sleeping Primordial. He said nothing, but the storm in his veins answered for him—louder than ever.