The first chain exploded in a burst of molten light, its fragments scattering like dying stars across the cavern floor. The vibration from the blast echoed through the bones of the earth, a cry of something ancient finally shifting after centuries of forced stillness.
Othrys groaned, the sound half-pain, half-pleasure.
Kaelos stood firm as dust and embers danced around him. The Gauntlet of Arkrion hissed with heat, the silver of his eyes blazing. The pendant at his chest pulsed rhythmically, in tune with something older than himself.
Prometheus stepped cautiously forward, raising his staff. "You've made your choice, then."
Kaelos didn't turn. "He's not the only one in chains."
The second chain cracked as Othrys heaved against it. Fire bled from his wounds, but the movement was more than symbolic—his strength was returning.
Skyla, watching from the shadows, curled her wings around herself. "Fools awaken fire they cannot control," she muttered.
Othrys looked to Kaelos now, not with contempt, but with curiosity. "Your blood is not clean. But your soul… it carries ruin."
Kaelos said nothing.
"Then let us strike a pact, Stormborn," the titan continued. "Flame for lightning. Destruction for wrath."
"I don't need a pact," Kaelos replied. "I need you to show me how to kill gods."
Othrys laughed. It was the sound of volcanoes cracking open.
"You cannot kill a god with strength alone. You must unmake them—strip away their name, their worship, their tether to the mortal world. Only then can they bleed."
Kaelos stepped closer. "Then teach me."
Prometheus scowled. "You don't know what you ask."
But Othrys's smile deepened. "I'll do more than teach. I will forge you."
Another chain shattered. A third. The power in the cavern surged like a sun being born.
Othrys raised his arm, now free, and pointed a burning finger toward the far wall of the cavern. It split open, revealing a staircase carved in obsidian, leading into a chamber wreathed in living flame.
"Step into the Crucible, Kaelos," he said. "And leave your humanity behind."
Kaelos stared into the fire. For the first time, he hesitated.
"Myrene," Prometheus warned, "would not want this."
Kaelos turned to him, the silver of his eyes now streaked with gold. "Myrene wanted me to survive. But survival isn't enough anymore."
He stepped into the fire.
---
Inside the Crucible, Kaelos screamed.
It was not pain—it was remaking. Fire peeled away his flesh, revealing veins of storm. Lightning danced through his marrow. His memories twisted, reshaped by rage and clarity. He saw Olympus—not as a heaven, but as a prison in the clouds. He saw Zeus's face—not as a father, but as a tyrant cloaked in thunder.
When he emerged, his skin shimmered with a dark sheen, his eyes alight with both lightning and flame. His voice, when he spoke, trembled the walls.
"Olympus will fall."
Othrys bowed his head, for the first time in centuries, to someone other than himself.