Kratos's Arc

Chapter 3 of 11

The elder's roots had settled. Kratos had his permission, but permission was not a place. His enforcers needed walls. They needed a base where Bia could return and where his law could take shape. He climbed from the volcanic dark and looked for high ground. He found it on the cliffs above the sea. A white-domed retreat clung to the rock, its blue roofs bright against the water. Pink flowers spilled down the walls. Stone steps climbed from the surf to an arched door. It was empty, forgotten, perfect. From here his fist could watch the coast and reach anywhere. But a black centaur blocked the steps. His fur was dark as pitch, his beard tangled, his arms thick. Chiron the Centaur planted all four hooves and did not move. "This ground is claimed," Chiron said. "I train the worthy here. I do not hand it to a god raising soldiers." Kratos stepped up. "I don't need your blessing. I need the walls." "Then take them." Chiron reared. His front hooves came down where Kratos had stood. Kratos rolled, caught a foreleg, and heaved. The centaur crashed into the steps. Stone cracked. But Chiron was old and quick. He kicked free and pinned Kratos against the arch, one hand at his throat. They were matched. Neither could finish it. Kratos saw the truth in the centaur's eyes: this fight could grind for hours and change nothing. Then thunder rolled without a cloud. Light poured over the cliff. Zeus stood on the highest step, lightning bright in his fist, white beard blowing. Chiron released Kratos at once and lowered his head. "Enough," Zeus boomed. His voice shook the domes. "Chiron, this god stood with me against the Titans. His fist will serve my law." He turned to Kratos. The lightning dimmed. "You were there. I remember. This place is yours." Kratos went still. He had waited long to hear those words. Chiron bowed deeper, then trotted down the steps and vanished along the shore. Zeus set a hand on the arch. "Hold the coast for me," he said. "But a stronghold flies a banner. My law, not your own." He drew a flag from the air. Deep blue, a white cross, bold stripes. "Raise this. It marks you as mine." Kratos took the banner. He found a tall metal pole beside the highest dome, its base wide, its finish like silver. He climbed and hauled the flag to the top. It caught the sea wind and snapped open, blue and white against the sky. Zeus was gone by the time it flew. Kratos stood alone on his cliffs, his stronghold below him at last. He had his base. But the banner was not his own. It was Zeus's. His fist now flew another god's colors, and every enforcer who came would serve under a mark that was not theirs. Bia had still not returned.