He saw you abandoned by gods.

Left to rot, left to decay, Hera in tow of what lay in your womb, Zeus’s lightning blurring the sky’s lines and ripping itself seams along the night’s air. Burning a fire to illuminate the crying mothers, the starved infants and dying men scattered along bloody grounds.

His arms were bound in golden chains, with eagle’s feathers pinned within his opened wound. The curled pain of a mechanical beak, hooking itself against his hand made liver, carving it out from his divine framework, locked against the boulders rock. His limbs locked in place, burnt and molded against brimstone until only his neck could make an ache he could quell.

His eyes came up as you cried, your frame contorted by Zeus’s panic and Hera’s wrath for what lay within your womb, the tears along your feminine cheeks, burnt from the fires that surrounded where he lay against the boulder. The titan looked down onto you, feeling his spine bush back against the rock, a movement that caused your attention to catch his own.

“Why do you cry?” He whispered.

He smiled down to your teary eyes, your trembling fingers, your cloth hugged around the growing child that Hera so sought to ruin. His brow rose, a chuckle leaving ruined lungs as he heard your weak reply. a lover of Zeus, an enemy of Hera, the mother of a child whose destiny is to die.

“Do you wish to know something, mortal?” He murmured, the voice of a conspirator who had befuddled the gods, who had tricked the King of Kings, with mirth along his muddled tongue.

“I did not design you with tears.” He chuckled, “You mortals, so sad with what will be, what is not, cried by your own creations.”

He saw you stare up, your eyes still wet yet now cleansed with the wonder of the titan who spoke of before times, your hands trembling as you stood at his feet. Your hair blowing in the warm, nearly scorching, wind.

“It is interesting, no? You have flourished without your creator.”