The sun had barely risen, casting long shadows across the worn stone streets of the city. In the quiet moments before the day erupted into the usual chaos, Elias stood in the shadow of a towering statue. It wasn't just any statue, though. This one was the likeness of Ares, the Titan of war—larger than life, carved from white marble, his eyes eternally focused on a distant battlefield. To most, he was a god. To Elias, he was an ideal.
Elias wasn't special. He wasn't born of divine blood, nor was he graced with a supernatural gift that would elevate him above the common man. He was just a man—a regular one. But standing here, under the towering figure of Ares, a fire burned in his chest. It was the kind of fire that came from watching the gods do the impossible and wondering, for just a fleeting moment, if it was within reach.
The idea had been planted in his mind years ago—whispers from tavern drunks, old soldiers in their last days, and scholars who spoke of heroes, titans, and gods. They spoke of strength in a way that made it sound like something tangible, something attainable. "Strength," they said, "was not simply a gift. It could be forged. It could be earned."
Elias had always wondered how much of that was true.
Today marked the beginning of his search for the answer.
He'd trained for years in secret, starting with small goals. Lifting weights heavier than what was comfortable, pushing his body to do just a bit more than the day before. But it had never been enough. He'd reached his limits and realized something. The world did not stop for those who didn't have more to give. It was relentless, unforgiving.
But the titans—Ares, Heracles, Perseus—those were names spoken in awe. The legends of their feats were etched into every wall, every tale, every ancient scroll. They had the strength of the gods themselves, and while Elias didn't expect to lift mountains, he couldn't ignore the voice inside him that told him he could be something greater.
"Get up," Elias whispered to himself, shaking the remnants of sleep from his mind.
His first goal was simple—surpass the limits of what the average man could achieve. Every hour he spent in the gym, every grueling stretch of training in the darkened corners of his house, was a reminder that he was chasing something that was more than physical.
He walked over to the nearby training grounds, where the soft glow of torches reflected off the ground, illuminating the makeshift gym. There were other men here—strong men, too—but Elias knew the truth. They were here for the same reason he was. To prove something to themselves.
"Let's see if I'm ready for this," he muttered as he approached the stone pillar that would serve as his first test.
The pillar was simple, as far as pillars went—just a sturdy, heavy piece of rock. It had been carved into a perfect cylinder, standing taller than Elias by a few feet. It was a traditional challenge passed down by the titans, meant to test the mettle of those who would strive for greatness. In the past, it had been the strength of the arm that determined success. For Elias, though, it was something more. It was a question of will. Could he push past his own limitations?
He gripped the stone, his hands slick with sweat. The weight was immense. It felt like the world itself had latched onto his arms, pulling him down. But Elias refused to be swayed. He lifted with everything in him, his muscles screaming for respite, but his resolve holding firm.
With every inch, he could feel the weight of the world. The pressure of his own ambitions. The weight of being nothing more than a speck in the vast universe, and yet daring to challenge that universe.
One inch. His body trembled, but he held it steady. Two inches. His feet slid on the slick ground, and his knees shook. Three.
And then, with a great roar, Elias lifted the pillar. His body screamed in protest, but his heart, fierce and burning, did not let him stop. He stood, the pillar aloft, and for a brief moment, time seemed to freeze.
There was no divine blessing here. No miraculous power coursing through his veins. It was just him—Elias—the man among titans.
His hands ached, his body screamed, but his spirit was unbroken.
And that was when he realized the truth. The titans were not born from the gods. They were forged through relentless will, through an unyielding belief that greatness was not a gift—it was something to be claimed.
He lowered the pillar, his legs shaking beneath him, but his heart was steady.
Today had been just the beginning. There would be more challenges, more tests, and every step would be a step toward his own divinity.
The world would not recognize him as a titan.
But he would be one.
For himself.