Greetings! I have returned! :) I fully intend to continue and revise my other stories, but I needed something to help jump start my creativity. This story will focus on the core six Olympians: their rise to power and the evolution of their relationships. Thank you!

Prologue; Many years ago...

"Ouranus!" Moros called out to the wind, his hair blowing about from the fierce atmosphere high upon a mountain. At the call of the name, the wind blew harder and Moros dropped his head, putting his arm up to shield his eyes and face. The wind seemed to growl all around him, but the night was fast approaching from the east and Moros knew that even Ouranus would not dare harm him in the presence of his mother, Nyx. A hot wind blasted from behind before a cold one struck his front; he was forming. Moros' yellow eyes peered up from over his arm where the wind became visible through a vast array of wonderful colors. They bent to his will and began furiously blowing within an invisible mortal shape, akin to blood pumping. The colors in the core of the shape began to grow thicker as his shape became more defined.

As the details of his skin and face became evident, a burst of wind blew forth from him and Moros shielded his eyes once more. He planted his feet firmly in the ground to prevent from being blown back off the edge, he concentrated on his weight and completely missed the touch of his mother supporting him from behind. The force of the air around him began to calm and he heard a loud sigh from the god before him. Despite having seen Ouranus in his visions, Moros has never been before the primordial god's form before. He was very tall, perhaps twice the size of his own father, Erebus, without hair on his head and his eyes were pure white; despite that, Moros could feel his stare.

"I bring you warning," Moros began and paused when Ouranus' face flared in anger, but said nothing. Moros swallowed and continued. "A prophecy that begins with you and will perpetuate throughout your lineage if not heeded."

"Speak it," Ouranus stated coldly, his voice deep and powerful.

"Tyrants raised by tyrant's hands

A loving mother is not denied;

A cycle done in one command –

He writes his doom upon his bride.

The foolish king breeds his judge:

A son to rise, the father to fall.

The mother loved is not begrudged.

No god escapes, blood conquers all."

The words escaped through Moros' lips so fluidly, it were as if he weren't speaking them himself. In a flash, he saw Ouranus' fate sealed by the words of the prophecy and he clenched his jaw to refrain from reacting. The mortal face of the primordial god seemed to change as he processed the words and the information, quickly darting from confusion to anger and back again. As the night grew overhead, Moros became more secure in his meeting, as the darkness was his home.

"What does it mean?" Ouranus asked as his hands curled into fists, the anger of his confusion settling in. Moros frowned and took a step back, shaking his head.

"That is all," he stated plainly, glancing around to the night sky.

"Tell me what you know!" Ouranus bellowed as he took a step forward, the wind around him beginning to pick up. Moros held his breath as the gap between them closed and the strength of the air around hi picked up. He glanced to his sides, hoping in vain there would be some escape at his disposal. Suddenly Ouranus bellowed out and a massive gust struck Moros in the chest, knocking the air he held out of him and blowing him off the edge of the mountain. As he fell, he could see the large body above burst into a mass of colors that integrated into the dangerous winds around. He twisted his free falling body to look down below, where the caverns in the side of the mountain were dark and the shadows grew. He smiled knowingly and twisted his body closer to the edge of the mountain. This thickness of the night embraced him, slowing his descent, and as he hit the growing shadows of the cavern's entrance, the ground felt like a soft material. He bowed his head in the darkness.

"Thank you," he whispered and the shadows receded from under his feet.

"Did anything change?" the familiar voice of Erebus asked from the shadows; Moros frowned.

"A little," he shook his head, sighing quietly. "But there will be much suffering until then."

Chapter One.

Demeter held her shoulder as she walked the path to Olympus, her hand covering the wound of a thick sword from Helios. Hera was covered in blood and dirt, but remained unscathed, so she reached out to her sister, taking her arm as they walked side by side. Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades all lingered behind as they recalled their individual battles and rejoiced over another day. Even Hades, the somber one of the three, smiled at their tales. As they approached the archway, Rhea and Hestia were there to greet them. Hestia was frowning, as she had been watching her sister struggle with her injury and she finally stepped out to greet her. Hera released her grip on Demeter and nodded her head in gratitude, briefly glancing back to her brothers before bowing to her mother.

"Another success?" Rhea asked quietly, smiling despite the deep sadness she felt for her family on the other side.

"Barely," Hera replied in a hushed tone, attempting to keep her pessimism from her brothers. Before Rhea could reply, they had approached and each of them bowed their heads politely. Hera stiffened her back and turned to them.

"Don't let Hera worry you," Zeus grinned knowingly at his sister, who curled up her nose. "We are winning this war."

"You walk the fine line of arrogance and over confidence. You should not underestimate our father and his kin," she warned, though these very words had been said before and fallen on deaf ears. Each time, both Zeus and Poseidon rolled their eyes while Hades took the words but said nothing; this time was no different.

"Hera, you are a fine warrior and I feel no shame in admitting we would have lost some battles without you," Zeus stated as he cleared his throat, waving a dismissive hand as he began to pass the threshold into their homestead. "But you have no idea how to relax and enjoy your victories."

Poseidon let out a booming laugh as he followed suite and even Hades grinned a bit, yet nodded his head politely to his sister as they passed. Hera, who opened her mouth to retort, found a hand placed on her shoulder and saw her mother's carefully poised face. Once the brothers were out of ear shot, Rhea removed her hand and began walking.

"There are others out there to ask for help," she began softly, her hands folded together in front of her as she walked. Hera looked up to her mother for a moment, an eyebrow raised before looking ahead of her, where her three brothers were walking and celebrating.

"You know Poseidon's view on that; he believes the victory belongs to us alone," Hera replied pointedly, her disagreement with the notion evident. She started to cross her arms until the view of her bloodied robes struck her line of sight; slightly embarrassed to be in such a state of mess next to her mother, she put her hands behind her back and continued to ignore the gore. "And in any case, I would not presume to enlist others without everyone's approval."

"That is your choice. But you have friends outside of your family, Hera," Rhea pressed, glancing down at her. "And should you win or lose, friends will be important to have when this is all over."

Hera stopped in her step, sighing loudly as she lifted a hand to rub her temple and a small smile released despite herself.

"You are, as always, right," she admitted begrudgingly before she turned off to the hall that led to Hestia's chambers. Her mother did not follow and Hera assumed she would spend time with her sons, enjoying their happiness at their minor victory.

As her step tapped in the echoing halls, she thought back to their battle. Zeus always faced off their father, as he had a special revenge for him and his crimes against his children. At first, Cronus did not come to battle; he had sent his followers and would watch from a safe distance. Over time, the more battle waged on and it became evident an easy victory would not come, he began leading the battles and locking into duels with his youngest son. Poseidon and Demeter were effortlessly spectacular partners in battle; their combined prowess over the sea and earth made it difficult for approaching Titans to maintain ground battle. It would sink beneath them and swallow them whole, or harden and keep them in place. Hera and Hades became an unlikely duo over time; both were equally skilled in observation of the battlefield and strategically minded, though she would always admit Hades was the better fighter. They had a silent style to them, reading each other's actions and moving to assist the other without needing eye contact or confirmation. They often would come back to back, touching for a moment and then launching off of each other into the fight once again. Hera smiled as she recalled Coeus attempting a lunge to her side and Hades blocked the advancing blade; he then left his own side open to Hyperion, who Hera spun to face and block his lance.

She stopped in her pace in the hall, her thoughts now lingering on Hades himself. In her solitude, she could blush at the budding emotions and ponder on the future possibilities. He was strong willed yet rational and calm. He was the most sensible of her brothers and most kind at heart. When she heard the voices of her sisters bouncing off the walls in the hall, she was pulled out of her dreams, back to reality where she was still covered in blood and dirt. She laughed to herself as she walked through the archway, putting her hands out to her sides.

"Sisters, I think I need a bath," she announced with a smile and Hestia turned to her, her eyes widening a bit before she gestured over to the ground level hot bath that Demeter was already in.

"Yes please," Demeter replied with a grin. "You look atrocious."

"Careful," Hera jokingly warned with a wag of her finger. She began to remove the battle armor with Hestia's help, then pulled off the tattered and worn robe underneath. The core of her body was relatively clean, but her extremities showed the wear of battle; Demeter chuckled at how strange it looked. Hera slowly descended into the hot waters, closing her eyes and breathing a sigh of relief at the relaxing temperature. Demeter beckoned Hestia over, who at first shook her head, but when her sisters insisted, she sat by the side and placed her feet in the water.

"Does it go well?" Hestia asked quietly, her eyes focused on the waters and how they distorted her feet. Hera glanced over to Demeter, both frowning slightly and nearly simultaneously sighed.

"It does," Hera started as she tilted her head back to place her hair into the water. "But we're dragging this out by fighting ourselves. We should be gaining allies."

Demeter looked to the surface of the water, watching the steam rise and twisting her fingers between it. Her lips twisted a few times, indicating the struggle she had internally with that statement. She looked up to her sisters, noting they were staring at her and she sheepishly smiled as she settled into the water, submerging herself up to her chin.

"Perhaps it is time to revisit that topic," she stated, the water dancing close to her lower lip as she spoke. "Anybody you had in mind, sister?"