Titanomachy was brutal, Kronos and his Brothers vs his children.
But.
It was in the midst of this chaos that Hera labored.
The Queen of Olympus was hidden away in a cavern at the edge of the battlefield, her cries muffled by the roar of war. The entrance was guarded by Hestia, who stood with her eternal flame drawn into a living wall of fire, its heat keeping back both mortal intruders and the shadows of Titan-spawn that prowled the edges of the field. Beside her, Demeter knelt with hands pressed to the ground, roots and vines twisting upward to reinforce the cavern, shielding it against falling stone and shuddering earth.
Inside, Hera’s body trembled with pain as she gripped the jagged stone floor, sweat soaking her hair. Every contraction was a thunderclap in her chest, as if her own divinity rebelled against the birth. Her voice broke the air, fierce and raw, and the cavern walls quaked with it.
“Hera,” Hestia said softly from the entrance, not daring to leave her post, “hold on. The child will come. The fire is strong, the earth is strong. You are stronger still.”
Demeter crouched beside her sister, cool hands brushing Hera’s brow. “Breathe. Do not think of war, not now. Think of the life you are bringing. He is almost here.”
But Hera’s eyes burned with something more than maternal pain. Her breath hitched as another tremor shook her. “The child… he is not like the others. Even now, I feel it.”
The world outside roared — titanic laughter, boulders crashing through the air, lightning splitting the clouds. It was as though the universe itself battled above her, and she gave birth in its shadow.
Then came the moment. A scream — hers, long and tearing — and the infant emerged into the world.
And silence.
No cry. No wail. No sound of mortal weakness.
Hera lifted her head, eyes wild with fear. The child lay in Demeter’s hands, his skin already glowing faintly with a bronze-like shimmer, his hair dark as midnight. But it was his eyes — storm-gray, glinting with shifting light, dawn and dusk in one gaze — that froze them all. He did not blink. He did not scream. He watched.
The shadows of the cavern stirred as though they were alive. They recoiled from the infant, then crept closer, curling along the floor in uneasy arcs. Hestia’s fire sputtered and hissed as though struggling to hold them back. Even Demeter felt her vines shiver against the walls, roots tightening as though they sensed a rival.
Hera reached out, clutching her son to her breast. Her breathing slowed, though her arms trembled. “My child… my firstborn.”
The infant tilted his head, gaze unblinking, and for a heartbeat the cavern seemed to fall away. Hera felt herself stared through, as though by eyes older than the world. A flicker of cold wind swept the chamber, and the flame nearest the child bent toward him, as if bowing.
Then thunder crashed outside, and Zeus arrived.
He came in a blaze of lightning, his armor cracked and blackened from battle, his hair wild with ash and sparks. Every step shook the earth as he strode through Hestia’s flame and Demeter’s wall of vines, his power overwhelming theirs in an instant. Sparks fell from his shoulders, burning against the stone.
“Hera!” His voice was both command and plea. “Where is he?”
Hera’s arms tightened around the infant. Sweat and tears streaked her cheeks, but there was pride in her eyes. “Here. He has come.”
Zeus approached, his fury dimming as his gaze fell upon the child. His jaw slackened, his breath catching in his chest. For a moment, the god who had defied Kronos, who had raised arms against the Titans, looked almost human. He bent low, great hands trembling as they reached for the boy.
The infant turned storm-gray eyes upon him.
And the thunder above lessened, softening from a roar to a low murmur, as if the storm itself leaned in to listen.
Zeus cradled him in his arms, awe spreading across his face. “Kenshi,” he said, voice booming yet reverent. “The blade that cleaves shadow. The firstborn of Olympus.”

We are Dopamine Released, a genre-bending avant-pop act, a union of Fredø, the singer-songwriter, and Dopamine, the producer — a demon Fredø summoned to ignite unstoppable creativity.
👩🏼‍🎤👉Fredø / 😈👉Dopamine

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