FANTASY | CONTEMPORARY FANTASY | FICTION SERIES | WEB NOVEL
Titan’s Daughter | Chapter 7 Part One
Revelation
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A familiar scent gently caressed Gaea’s consciousness, tempting her back into the realm of awareness. As she opened her eyes, she heard the muffled voices of two people engaged in a hard, whispering conversation.
“You said it would never manifest.” One of them she recognized as her father.
“Dad?” Gaea took a ragged breath and swallowed, trying to moisten her throat. Her vision blurred, making the room look like she was looking through a fogged-over bathroom mirror after a hot bath.
Gaea’s father approached and crouched beside the sofa. She reached out, seeking the comfort of his face, or what she believed to be real, but he gently took her hand, kissing it while brushing away a stray curl from her cheek.
“Unless I was dreaming, I think I was attacked by a giant,” Gaea said, her voice trembling as she tried to sit up on the sofa, albeit with her father’s careful assistance. Waves of pain washed through her body, causing her to instinctively touch the areas that throbbed the most.
“It was a cyclops,” Mr. Porter replied, though he failed to mention that he had blasted it back to where it came from.
“Mr. Porter?” Gaea questioned.
“Yes, Gaea.” Mr. Porter moved to the edge of the coffee table, where old magazines were carelessly stacked, with a cup of tea placed in the middle. He picked up the cup and handed it to Gaea.
“This’ll make you feel better,” he said.
Gaea clasped the cup with both hands, allowing the warmth to chase away the pain from her hands. It was jasmine tea, her favorite. She would often make herself a cup in the morning before an exam, finding that it helped her and Persephone focus for some reason. Sprite, on the other hand, wasn’t particularly fond of the stuff. The brew Mr. Porter handed her was strong, and she took a slow, deliberate sip, letting the warm aroma fill her nostrils.
“Wait… a what?” Gaea asked, a sudden realization dawning on her, almost choking on her last sip.
“Giblet,” her father began, his voice a little more than a whisper.
“There’s something I should have told you a long time ago.”
“I was… well, I was waiting for the right moment.” He paused for a split second, as if he was hoping that the silence would continue for him.
“But I guess,” he continued, his voice even softer, as if he was afraid of the words, “that there’s no right time to tell someone… well, that they’re a half-god.”
Gaea choked on her tea, again, coughing, “Half what!?”
She cleared her throat, her anxious expression shifting between her father and Mr. Porter. In that moment of silence, the crackling fireplace emitted a few sparks.
Was this some elaborate birthday prank? Gaea thought. But as she looked into her father’s eyes, she saw nothing but honesty, fear and relief. Still, her louder, more rational side tried to argue that this was absurd.
Gaea shook her head slowly, fighting the disbelief. Another part of her, some hidden corner of her mind, screamed that it made sense. She couldn’t dismiss what she had just been told, not when, about an hour ago, she was hunted by a monster nearly as tall as an eastern white pine tree, with a gaping, infected eye in the center of its forehead, calling itself Brogdu. So it seemed that Brogdu wasn’t nuts after all.
“To be more precise, Gaea, you’re a half-titan — one of only three and one of two Demitasse,” Mr. Porter said, interrupting the silence.
Demitasse? What the hell a small coffee cup gotta do with me? she wondered.
As if reading his daughter’s thoughts, her dad added, “The female offspring of a mortal and a titan.” He paused, his eyes filled with memories.
“Your mother was one of the last old gods,” he continued.
Gaea recalled some of what her father had told her about her mother — that she was a New York antiques dealer who fell in love with Perthly Bay. Whenever her father spoke of her, he referred to her as his goddess.
Gaea held the cup to her lips for a moment longer, allowing the scent to linger in her nose. The pain receded, and her body relaxed with each sip.
“The cyclops sensed your celestial half emerging,” Mr. Porter said. “Unordains are fair game.”
“Unordain… that thing, it called me that,” said Gaea, remembering Brogdu’s threatening words and his infected eye.
Her father sighed heavily— the kind you only hear when someone is full of fear.
“It refers to those who are without the blessings and protection of the gods,” he explained.
“To lesser beings like that cyclops, consuming a demi, a half-blood, is like… well, it’s like leveling up in a video game.”
“I can only imagine what that thing would have become if it had…” said Mr. Porter, his words trailing off.
“Regardless, I broke the rules when I helped you. Demis must show they are deserving of divine assistance. And my action, well…” He paused, wanting to say something else. “There will be consequences,” he said, instead.
Mr. Porter’s face turned somber. “You did something that no demi is supposed to do.”
“All the gods are connected through the ether, and you dialed in. Luckily, I was the first to pick up your distress signal from the forest.”
He pointed a finger at Gaea for emphasis. “But you can’t do that again, ever.”
“If anyone else would have shown up…”
The way he said it, as though Gaea had some kind of manual for this godly stuff tucked under her arm, as if she had the faintest clue how she’d made that call for help, let alone how to stop doing it.
All she knew was that now, apparently, sliding into the divine group chat for a little help was a cosmic no-no. She made a mental note: Must avoid accidental godly DMs in the future.
“Not only did you usurp the gods’ ether, but you also briefly reconnected to the Creatious.”
Mr. Porter threw the word “Creatious” out there like it was as common as pizza, as if she was supposed to know what the word meant. Gaea gave him a look that screamed, “English, please?” The word was just as alien to her as Mr. Porter’s sudden knowledge of godly affairs.
“Today in the kitchen,” Mr. Porter went on, “I could sense the Creatious trailing you, like a persistent shadow.”
“Up until your birth,” he added, glancing at Gaea as if to check if she was still following, “only your mother and Grandma had the ability to influence it.”
He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “You’ve inherited that same gift, Gaea.”
“Or curse, depending on how you look at it,” her father interjected.
Mr. Porter gave him a quick sideways glance and said, “It’s a legacy we’d hoped you’d never have to deal with.”
Gaea could almost see the invisible “Welcome to the Family Business” sign hanging in the air. The business of influencing the Creatious — whatever that is.
“Your mother severed your connection to the Creatious, using her own life force to build a barrier between you and it,” said Mr. Porter.
“Now, as you’re coming into your powers,” he continued, “the Creatious can feel it. It’s like a moth to a flame, Gaea. It wants back in.”
Her powers? The words bounced around in Gaea’s head like a ping-pong ball. The Creatious wanted to reconnect. But she still didn’t even know what Creatious meant, let alone how to stop it from doing whatever it wanted to do.
“The barrier hasn’t failed entirely, but it’s taking a beating as your powers grow.” Mr. Porter paused, allowing her a moment to absorb the information so far.
All Gaea could think of in that silence was how she wished she could hit the pause button on this part of her life. Heck, she’d even take rewind at this point.
Mr. Porter continued, making a fist and punching his other palm for emphasis, “Your powers are like angry waves crashing against a glass wall. Sooner or later, that glass’s going to shatter.”
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