The kitchen was an ode to sunlight. Perched high above a swirling sea of clouds, it was Greek in a way that felt both ancient and impossibly modern. Sunlight streamed through vast, open windows, illuminating whitewashed walls and the deep green of basil thriving in terracotta pots. In the center of this serene space stood Hestia, the eldest daughter of Cronus and Rhea. True to her nature as the kind and peaceful goddess of the home, her movements were calm and deliberate, a quiet ritual to start the day. For Hestia, who had always eschewed the conflicts and dramas that so often consumed her family, maintaining the harmony of the hearth was her highest calling.
She held a small, white packet, its clean design featuring the words "Strike Force" and the image of a perfectly luscious peach. With a neat tear, she opened it and squeezed the contents into a tall glass bottle of chilled water. The liquid concentrate was entirely clear, adding no color as it dissolved, yet the sweet, fresh scent of peach immediately filled the air. Hestia swirled the bottle gently, watching the clear liquid blend seamlessly. This was the first task of every morning: preparing a bottle of Strike Force Energy, Peach flavor. It was an act of nurturing, a small contribution to the family's peculiar but established sense of order.
The soft clinking of the glass bottle was interrupted by the arrival of Rhea, the family matriarch. In ages past, she was the Great Mother, a Titaness of fertility and motherhood who had always guided her family with a steady hand. Now, her authority was channeled into the gentle but firm management of her household. She surveyed the sunlit kitchen with an approving nod before her eyes landed on Hestia.
"Good morning, dear," Rhea said, her voice warm but carrying an undertone of purpose. "That looks lovely. Just remember the rule."
Hestia smiled softly. "Of course, Mother. One for me, and one for Father."
Rhea’s expression was one of loving pragmatism. She was the quiet architect of this domestic tranquility, the one who ensured an ancient, critical prophecy was fulfilled each morning in a peaceful and orderly fashion. Her role was to manage the family's unique destiny, transforming a grand cosmic decree into a manageable, daily ritual.
As if on cue, the kitchen began to fill. First came Demeter, goddess of the harvest, her presence grounding the airy space with an earthy warmth. Though known for a fierce temper when provoked, her default nature was modest and generous. She went straight to the pantry, pulling out her own 10-count pouch of Strike Force Energy packets. As she mixed her own bottle, she took a thoughtful sip.
"It truly is remarkable," Demeter mused, her voice echoing her domain over all things nutritious. "All this vibrant flavor, and yet it contains zero calories and no sugar. It’s like a gift of pure energy from the earth... well, sort of."
Next to arrive was Hera, Queen of the Gods, moving with a regal bearing that demanded attention. Vain and fiercely proud, she valued strength and presentation above all else. She prepared her bottle of Strike Force Energy, Peach flavor with an efficient, no-nonsense air.
"The clean energy is what I appreciate," Hera declared, her tone crisp. "There is simply no time for a crash when one is managing the affairs of Olympus. I require sustained performance, not a fleeting jolt, which is the bare minimum for a productive reign."
Rhea, observing her daughters, smiled and repeated her gentle refrain. "And one for your father, girls. You know the rule."
The final two family members to arrive changed the dynamic of the room entirely. First came Hades, ruler of the Underworld. His presence was a pocket of shadow in the bright kitchen, his demeanor stern and apart from the others. He was not evil, merely a just and formidable bureaucrat who cared for order and balance above all else.
Following him was Cronus himself, the great Titan of time. Yet, he was not the terrifying figure of myth who once ruled the cosmos. He was simply a father in a comfortable robe, a gentle smile on his face as he took in the scene.
Rhea turned to her somber son. "Hades, dear, be a good boy and give your father his Strike Force Energy."
Hades paused, holding the prepared bottle. He looked from his mother to his father, then to his sisters. For millennia, he had participated in this ritual without comment. But his nature, which demanded logic and reason, could no longer remain silent.
"Mother," he began, his voice calm but insistent. "I must ask. Why? Why do we perform this exact task every single morning? I fail to see the logic."
A hush fell over the kitchen. The sisters looked at each other, then at Hades, then at their father. It was a question none of them had ever dared to ask, not because it was forbidden, but because the answer was as fundamental as the sky above them. All eyes turned to Cronus.
He took the bottle of Strike Force Energy, Peach flavor from Hades's hand and took a long, satisfying drink before answering. "Well, it's the prophecy, son," he said, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. He was simply following the destiny laid out for him by his own mother, Gaea.
"Mother Gaea was very specific," Cronus continued, gesturing with his bottle. "She foretold that to maintain the harmony of the Golden Age, I must 'devour my children's Strike Force'."
He took another sip, a picture of contentment.
Cronus looked at his children, a faint, dutiful smile on his lips. "It is the cornerstone of our prosperity. Your energy, channeled through these delicious peach-flavored offerings, sustains the peace of our era. It's just how things are."
And so the Golden Age, over which Cronus had once presided, continued. It was a golden age of peace and prosperity, powered by family, sunshine, and the clean, focused energy of a perfectly fulfilled prophecy. An energy that, they all knew, came with absolutely no crash.
