While Chronos's family debated over fate and lineage, lightyears away from familial concerns, Chronos reveled in the now, the pulsating heart of a riotous celebration.
For a brief span, the weight of destiny lifted, leaving only the raw, visceral present.
The tavern on Mount Olympus was a living creature, a cacophonous monster of mirth and mayhem—where warriors wore their scars as badges of honor, and where legends sprouted from mere whispers.
Melodies of bawdy songs mixed with boisterous laughter, the clattering dice, and the clang of metal tankards in a discordant symphony of freedom.
How many ages since he'd lost himself in the world's primal song?
'No titles, no prophecy, no destiny. Just me. Just Chronos.'
His thoughts unfurled like a banner in his mind, and for once, he allowed himself to bask in the present.
