The Renaissance of the Gods has begun, cast out of Olympus they choose their Heirs who must manipulate global events in order to defeat the new generation of Titans. The winners will rule Olympus until the time of the next reincarnation.
The siren never did give Robin and his family enough time to reach the shelter. Usually they were only within a stone's throw of the entrance, but usually doesn't mean always. They ran among a group of a dozen people, all sprinting in the same fearful urgency. Children wailed while parents hid tears with darting hands. The group didn't make the end of the street before the first missile struck a street over.
Dust and debris fell over the tops of the buildings to their right, filling the road like a river. Screams eventually drowned out the ringing in his ears. Robin had fallen to his knees, for a moment he knew his wife's hand had left his, and his sons thin arms were no longer wrapped around his neck. He bellowed their names into the dust that clung to him like a fog as a second missile struck the row of buildings to his left and he was engulfed, instead, by falling rubble.
But Zeus still did not come for him.
Only once Robin had awoken, among raging fires and mountains of brick, only after he'd spent hours tearing rocks from the mountains, weeping and screaming. Only after his fingers became bloody and his palms tore open, once he'd fallen backwards, lying motionless as he stared at the darkness above. Only after Robin understood his own weakness, did Zeus come.