Page 8 of Prometheus' Priestess

“Amara has agreed to be placed on Earth to teach the humans the art of alchemy. To transmute the fear into love. She will lead the next lineage of witches, and this time we will have her go in human form so as not to arouse suspicion. We don’t need another century of witch-hunting,” Athena toldhim.

“Ah and so you ask me for a human cloak forher?”

“If it is indeedpossible.”

Prometheus didn’t answer, but instead turned to Amara.

“What happens if you fail in yourtask?”

“The fear will eat me alive in my human form,” she replied softly.

Prometheus’ brow furrowed, lines straining his dishevelled, tanned face. Rugged in a way that appealed to warrior goddesses and also those who preferred not to get their hands dirty, Prometheus had the mark of a man who spent his time farming the land. Built with muscle that only came from manual labour, no one would look at Prometheus and think of an artist if they did not know him. Especially not one who was so meticulous about each of his human creations that he sculpted from large, calloused hands with the utmost care.

“And if she is caught by one of the gods?” This question he addressed toAthena.

“She is not a god. Therefore she does not break the meddlingrule.”

“Yet you send her into the human world to do your bidding,” Prometheus countered, a quiet rage beginning to simmer beneath his words. Athena had a terrible habit of treating humans as little more than chess pieces. The fact that she would do so with such a delicate creature as that which sat across from him, irked him. There was something about Amara that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something about her that made his instincts payattention.

“The rule is clear. The Gods of Olympus cannot meddle in the affairs of humans. There was nothing to be said of anyone or anything else. Surely you of all people appreciate the loophole?”

He cast Athena a dirty look that said he knew what she was playing at and, instead, he turned his attention back to Amara.

“And what have you been offered for such anundertaking?”

Amara glanced at Athena for permission to share and received a nod.

“The great goddesses have offered me a place among history that few have received. Should I complete my moira, I shall receive a temple of my own. To share my gifts and arts with others. To become someone ofnote.”

It was all anyone wanted in Olympus, to become someone that history remembered. Unspoken were the words that she would feel as if she had finally found purpose in thisworld.

Prometheus’ eyes bored into her, as if trying to determine the truth behind her words, the motivation behind her actions.As if he knew she was lying to herself.

Apparently satisfied for now, he spoke once again. “Human souls are different from immortal souls. They only know the confines of the bodies I’ve built them. They have no sense of freedom the way we do. When their souls are freed, they are released back into the breath of air that swirls around us. That is a human’s first true taste of freedom, not the free will they play with down there on Earth. Death circles their minds at all times. You have never known death. Once you are in a human body, we have no way of knowing if you’ll retain your memories of Olympus enough to perform the alchemy. You may never again know the freedom you have now. What is being asked of you isdangerous.”

“Someone has to teach the humans and I have faith. It got me this far.” Amara replied softly, though her spine was as straight as steel as she gestured to the cup in front of him as proof of her abilities.

Something in Prometheus tugged low and deep in his belly. Instinct roared at him to protect her, to say no to the goddess’ plan. But some primal part in the back of his mind said to watch, to wait, and, for some inexplicable reason, to trust Amara. He hadn’t had cause to trust another in eons. It felt ... uncomfortable. But even her mere presence caused his concerns to ease somewhat. It was as if she was practising her alchemy on him. Though surely a priestess wouldn’t dare influence a god without permission.

Finally he said to Athena, “You ask too much ofher.”

“And you make ominous declarations, as usual.”

Athena continued when Prometheus went to rebut, “The ruling only speaks of the Gods of Olympus not getting involved with human life. You are a Titan. Hera has no say on what you can do. No one would even stop you walking through the mortal world given your role in theircreation.”

Prometheus cocked an eyebrow at Athena.

“You forget about Zeus’ eagle.”

“I will find a way to deal with my father if you agree to help,” Athena promised, grabbing Amara’s wrist and, turning the priestess’ palm upwards, thrusting it towards Prometheus.

Moments passed in silence as Prometheus considered it, staring, unblinking, at Athena. But they both knew he was stalling. Athena had played her ace card when she had stated with certainty that the humans were dying. Prometheus’ fate was already tied to theirs. It had been a long timeago.

Eventually he held out his own palm in turn next to Amara’s, resigned to play the Moirai’s games, even as a part of his brain clawed desperately at him not to.

“I will assist your priestess, Amara, on Earth to the best of my abilities. This oath I swear by Styxherself.”

Taking a knife from the butter-soft sheath on her bicep, Athena sliced Amara’s left palm from index finger to wrist before doing the same to Prometheus. To the priestess’ credit, she didn’t let out so much of a hiss as tears blinked into her eyes. They grabbed one another’s forearm and his sworn oath was bound. The pact was sealed in ichor, the golden substance binding the two of them together in place of blood. Athena wiped the blade across old, worn warrior leathers and returned it to its sheath. It was done.

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