Page 51 of Prometheus' Priestess

“You could give the humans the gift of whitefire.”

Zeus paused for a moment before letting out a belly-aching laugh that roared through the heavens. He stopped when Prometheus did not joinin.

“You would have me give them ourknowledge?”

“Your humans are killing themselves. They have no idea what awaits them. All their science gives them is a sliver of information and they are exhausting themselves, their bodies, each other ... desperately trying to get answers.”

“This never happened to the philosophers. Why don’t they just listen tothem?”

“The philosophers are a dying breed, mocked amongst their kind. Humanity has begun to fear what it does not know now we have left and they only trust what they can answer. They will kill themselves trying to getthere.”

Zeus was quiet for a moment. Prometheus knew Zeus understood the self-sacrifice he spoke of, but he could not tell if Zeus’ silence was in contemplation orboredom.

“Would you really want to lose them?” Prometheus asked. “Remember the days when fair maidens would walk past you, offering coy looks?” He pressed on. “The thrill of the chase before they bowed down at your feet? The adoration they show that a nymph, Oceanid or fellow goddess willnot?”

“No,” Zeus said slowly.

“Imagine how much greater that adoration will be if theyknowhow tiny and insignificant they are compared to you. It won’t be like the old days where they knew about us, about you, from the beginning. It won’t be a given. They consider themselves your equalnow.”

A dark, brooding grumble began to stir in Zeus’ mouth.

“They’ll fight you now. Wouldn’t that make the chase so much sweeter, rather than the ones who give themselves so willingly here hoping to gain favour? Don’t you miss when you had to trick them? Imagine the shock and awe they will feel when they realise that you grace them with their presence. Once they concede, they’ll love and adore you, fear and worship you, obey your every whim in a way they never havebefore.”

“Psychological warfare,” Zeus mused. “Well, it does sound rather ... novel, after all thistime.”

“Psychological warfare is what they need,” Prometheus agreed, as he handed Zeus the juiciest flank of meat. Zeus ripped the meat from the bone and began methodically chewing. When Zeus’ smile began to turn to a frown, Prometheus pre-empted him.

“Hera need not know. I can take the task for you. Slip the fire into the hands of a select few. Replace the fire before anyone knows it was missing and let the humans’ need for telling tall tales of legends naturally do the rest ...”

Zeus ripped another large chunk of meat off the bone with his teeth and swallowed whilethinking.

“Well, I suppose no one is going to find it hard to believe that you offered the humans another gift of fire should we getcaught.”

Prometheus grunted in agreement.

“But naturally, I’ll have to be seen as punishing you again for this if we do. Would you really put yourself through that again? Just for them? Thehumans?”

“Solitude was not so great a punishment for one like me. You and I both know that, my friend.” Prometheus shrugged.

Zeus smiled at the informality and this time it appeared neither cunning nor cruel, malicious nor boisterous. It was golden. In that rare moment, he truly was the King of the Gods.

“Alright, you may give them the white fire my friend, but no one may know until it is done or else all hell will breakloose.”

CHAPTER XXVI

When night fell, Prometheus stepped out of his workshop in Olympus, dressed in the black and gold gilded armour Tyche had seen him working on the last time he was here. He hadn’t known then what he was going to use it for, but one like Prometheus would never admit to being under the influence of one of the nefarious Muses. Many had invited themselves into his dreams ever since he met Amara. He was usually adept at ignoring them.

Unwilling to admit he was grateful for their interference this time, he stroked and surveyed his handiwork. It was made of the finest leather, rather than metal, given where he was going. It didn’t even look like armour at all, more like a second skin. One that contoured to Prometheus’ body, that allowed him freedom of movement and maximum protection against the heat. It also blended him so well into the night that even the glints of gold-threaded lining wouldn’t be picked up by anyone, not even if he were to be followed by Zeus’ eagle.

The road to where the fire was kept was a treacherous one, given how few ever climbed it. Indeed, Prometheus thought back to the only time it had been used − when he and Zeus had returned the fire after heating the furnace for the first humans.

Born of earth, water, air, and fire. The only species like it.

The climb began like any other in Olympus, simply a dusty road leading to nowhere. But as Prometheus pierced the cloud layer, the terrain became harsher. Craggy rocks jutted out and if you didn’t know where to place your feet, you could cause a boulder to fall, a broken ankle if you fell into a crevice, or simply a slip that would have you tumbling down a jagged, rocky mountainside. Prometheus could afford none of these options. It wasn’t that he couldn’t feel pain, but because no one could know he was here.

Thankfully, being a man of his hands, he used most of his senses to feel his way up through the mountainside, relying on his memory to guide him up the least treacherous path to the white fire. Several hours had passed by the time he made it to the mouth of the cave and sweat was dripping down his temples, a fine sheen of perspiration covering the rest of his toned body. But, given his impeccable workmanship, the leather had not chafed but glided smoothly. Sweat didn’t even cause it tosqueak.

His forearms bulged as he used the weight of them to carry him up to the lip of the small cave. He knew it was the right one, for just beneath the lower lip was an olive branch, completely out of place in this terrain, precisely why he had left it there last time. Should he or Zeus have need to come up again, his foresight had foretold, he would use the olive branch as a guiding post. Sometimes his gift was useful.

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