He looked down at the tiny bundle in his arms. Fear settled over him as he realized the little girl he held was not a Titan—something different, something new… a new breed of immortal.

His father's words echoed in his mind: Mark my words, boy—one day, your children will overthrow you, just as you did to me.

He had to get rid of her. And fast.

Just as he was about to open his mouth wide enough to swallow her, the tiny goddess tangled her fingers in his beard and cooed up at him. He paused, looking down, and noticed the awe in her eyes. But not just in her eyes—her tiny face, so young, so delicate, bore Rhea's likeness, and his heart clenched. He closed his eyes tightly and sighed. He could not hurt Rhea in this way.

"Husband? Are you all right?"

He felt her hand rest gently on his arm, shaking him from his inner turmoil. A glance at his wife told him everything—concern, nervousness, and something else… hope. Hope that he would not do what she feared.

Kronos swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he looked back down at the child in his arms. The child who should not exist, whose presence defied the natural order of Titans. And yet… she trusted him. She did not cry, did not shrink from his grasp. She only stared up at him with wide, innocent eyes, as though he were her entire world.

His grip tightened for a moment, his father's prophecy ringing in his ears. But then, softer than a whisper, Rhea spoke again.

"She is our daughter, Kronos."

Her words, so simple yet heavy with meaning, cracked something deep inside him. The weight of destiny, the chains of fear—had he not broken free of his father's rule only to become the same monster?

Slowly, carefully, he exhaled. Then, against all the voices in his head urging him otherwise, he pulled the child closer to his chest.

"She is our daughter," he echoed, and in that moment, fate shifted.

He would not… could not be like his father. He would be better. He would make sure that prophecy never came to pass.

Reaching down, he tickled the infant, watching as she squirmed and giggled.

"You never told me her name, Rhea," he said softly.

"Hestia. Her name is Hestia," Rhea answered with a warm smile, leaning into his side as she watched the interaction between father and daughter.

"A strong name," he murmured. "She is not a Titan—you know that, don't you? She is… different. New. Unique. She will be smaller than the others but will surpass them in every way."

"Yes," Rhea mused, a devious glint in her eyes. "Reminds me of someone else… someone smaller than the other Titans, yet able to surpass them."

He scowled at that. It had always been a sore spot—being the youngest, the smallest Titan. Neither his parents nor his elder siblings had ever taken him seriously.

"Oh, hush, Rhea," he huffed, crossing his arms as she smirked and cradled baby Hestia against her chest.

"What?" she asked innocently. "It's not not true, now is it?"

He did not deign to answer. Engaging with Rhea now would only encourage her playful side, and she would continue to tease and provoke him—something only she had the privilege to do. His siblings were too fearful of angering their king.

"I thought so," she laughed triumphantly, ruffling his hair with affectionate ease.

He shot her a glare and gently batted her hand away. "Quit that, Rhea. Besides, shouldn't you be resting? You did just bring a new life into the world…"

She mock-pouted. "Oh, I see how it is. You grow tired of my presence, husband. Oh, how that wounds me." Her smile lingered for a moment before fading as exhaustion took its place. She had tried to mask it, but now, the weariness was plain on her face. "But you're right. I am sore… and very tired. I shall retire to our chambers."

With that, she swept away her gown billowing out behind her as she left with their baby. He sighed and rubbed his face questioning if he did the right thing. His chest was tight with emotions he did not want to name. He had chosen, but deep inside, a whisper of doubt remained. His father's warning echoed once more in his mind.

One day, your children will overthrow you.

He clenched his jaw.

Not if I can help it.