Prometheus' workshop smelled of iron dust, char, and the sour tang of wine that had long since gone to vinegar.
I stepped out of the shadow of the lintel and into the cluttered chaos. The Titan was hunched over a bench, muttering furiously to himself, his fingers blackened with soot as he fiddled with some contraption that looked half like a gear system and half like a cage for a very unlucky bird. A faint shimmer of divinity pulsed in the air, twitchy and unstable, like lightning bottled wrong.
"Prometheus," I said, clearing my throat.
He jumped—actually jumped, shoulders tightening as though I'd driven a knife into his ribs—then whirled, wild-eyed. His face was streaked with ash and his hair stuck up in every possible direction. "You again. By the rivers, Hades, do you have to slink about like a corpse with a guilty conscience? Make a noise when you enter, damn you."
"I did," I said smoothly. "You were simply too lost in your brilliance to hear it."
He squinted at me suspiciously, then returned to whatever ruin he was working on. "Well, what is it? Did you bring me Adam's blood?"
"No," I said flatly.
He froze, his fingers tightening around the half-broken gear. "Then why are you here? Without it, we cannot—"
"I spoke with Yahweh."
That got his attention. His head jerked up. "And?"
"She gave me… something better than Adam's blood."
Prometheus narrowed his eyes. "Better?"
I leaned against a column, as I motioned to the furnace where a fire was lit. "The mortals are failing because their spark is too small. Their lives gutter like candles in a draft. What they need isn't blood. What they need is an eternal flame, not just a normal flame."
For a moment, he didn't move. His jaw worked, his mind turning faster than any of his bent gears. Then his eyes widened and lit like coals fanned into flame.
"The eternal fire," he whispered. "Hestia's flame."
I inclined my head. "A spark of it. Enough to root inside mortal souls and hold their lives steady."
Prometheus let out a hoarse laugh that became a shout. "By the void, of course! It was there the whole time! The answer staring us in the face, and we were clawing about in the dirt for scraps of blood and bone. Flame! The flame of life!"
He clapped his hands together, scattering soot everywhere, and then suddenly bolted upright.
I frowned. "Where are you going?"
"To fetch it, obviously!"
I pushed off the column, straightening. "Prometheus. Stop. We should think this through."
"Think?" He gave a manic grin, teeth flashing white through the grime. "There is nothing to think about. This is the solution, Hades! No more dead men dropping like flies. No more frail little wretches gasping out their pitiful weeks. With the flame, they will last! They will thrive!"
"I don't disagree," I said carefully, "but Hestia guards her flame for a reason. She will not take kindly to someone running off with it. If we are to do this, we should speak with her first—together."
Prometheus waved a hand, already halfway to the door. "Speak, speak, speak—that's your answer to everything, Lord of the Dead. Meanwhile, men die by the hour. Let the God of Fire handle fire."
I stepped forward, shadows curling at my heels. "Prometheus—"
But he was already gone, bursting out of the workshop like a man aflame, cackling something about destiny.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Wonderful."
The silence that followed was almost worse than his muttering. Tools ticked as they cooled on the benches. The faint whine of his abandoned contraption wound down into nothing. And then it was just me, alone in the ruin of genius.
With a sigh, I followed him.
Hestia's home was no palace. Not like Zeus' glittering monstrosity, not like Hera's prideful hall. Hers was more temple than house, and more hearth than temple. White stone, worn smooth with care. Vines creeping gently along the outer walls. A warmth that spilled from the doorway before I even knocked.
I raised a hand and rapped against the door.
It opened almost at once.
Hestia stood there, her hair pulled back in a loose braid, flour dusting her hands. She blinked in surprise at me, and then her face broke into a smile that warmed even my shadow-bound heart.
"Hades! You're just in time. I've just finished baking a fresh batch of cookies."
I couldn't help the low chuckle that escaped me. "Then it seems I've arrived at the right moment. I'll take a few, if you're offering."
She laughed softly, ushering me inside. The scent hit me immediately—sweet, spiced, comforting in a way I hadn't felt since… since childhood, perhaps. Since before all the wars and betrayals.
Her temple was simple, but alive. Shelves lined with herbs and jars. A great central hearth glowed steady, firelight dancing along the walls. And there, cooling on a tray, was a batch of golden-brown cookies that looked almost too perfect to eat.
I plucked one up, bit into it, and let the warmth spread through me. "Delicious. You remain unrivaled."
"Of course," she said primly, though her eyes twinkled. "Now. You didn't come all this way just for sweets. What troubles you?"
I set the half-eaten cookie down, serious again. "Prometheus is on his way here."
Her brows lifted. "To me?"
"Yes. He intends to take some of your eternal flame."
The smile faded from her lips. "Take?"
"He believes it is the only way to sustain mortal life. Their candles are burning out too quickly. He means to give them a spark of your fire."
Hestia's gaze shifted to the great hearth, flame steady and bright. "And he may not be wrong."
I exhaled. "I didn't say he was. But you know as well as I do the greater problem."
Her eyes flicked back to me, sharp with understanding. "Zeus."
"Zeus," I echoed. "When he discovers what Prometheus has done—and he will—his wrath will be swift. And cruel. He will not see a gift of flame as salvation. He will see it as theft. As defiance."
Hestia's shoulders softened as she sighed. She brushed flour from her hands, then crossed to the hearth, staring into it as though it might offer her counsel. "So what is it you want from me, Hades?"
I stepped closer, voice low. "I need your support. Just once. Stand with me in this. If Prometheus is to be punished, he must not stand alone. And Zeus must not be allowed to think his word is final."
For a heartbeat, the only sound was the crackle of firewood. Then Hestia straightened, turning to me with a calm, steady expression.
"What Prometheus is doing," she said slowly, "is the right thing. Though… he might have done it differently." Her lips curved in the faintest wry smile. "But yes. He is right. And I will support him. I will support you."
Relief loosened my chest, though I didn't let it show. I inclined my head. "Thank you."
She waved the thanks away, brushing past me to check the tray of cookies as though nothing had changed. But I could see it in her posture—resolve as strong as her fire.
I opened my mouth to say more—only for the heavens to shudder.
A storm cracked open above the temple, thunder rolling like a war-drum. Lightning flashed, painting the walls stark and white. The air trembled with power, the kind that raised the hairs on your arms and told you a storm-god had taken notice.
I let out a long whistle. "Well. That didn't take long."
Hestia's mouth tightened. She set the tray down with care and turned back to me. "Then we had better go deal with my brother."
The throne room of Olympus was already vibrating with Zeus' temper before I even stepped foot inside.
Thunder cracked above the great dome, rattling the marble columns and sending small showers of dust down in faint streams. The floor trembled beneath each distant strike. When Hestia and I entered, the council was already gathered: Hera sitting stiffly with her crown adjusted just so, Demeter wringing her hands like she wanted to be anywhere but here, and Zeus—storm-eyed, grinning like a wolf that finally scented blood.
"Ah! Look who arrives at last," Zeus' voice boomed, spreading through the chamber like rolling thunder. "Hades. Sister. We are about to discuss treachery most vile. Prometheus has stolen from Olympus." His hand clenched the arm of his throne so tightly that sparks shot from his fingers. "He has taken from us the sacred fire. Not only that—he has given it to the mortals!"
I raised a brow, moving slowly to my seat at the far end of the horseshoe of thrones. My shadows curled around me like they could sense the storm about to break.
"And?" I said flatly.
Zeus shot to his feet, lightning crawling up his shoulders. "And?! Brother, are you truly so blind? He has given them a spark of the eternal flame! With this, they may grow, they may think, they may one day challenge us. He has broken the laws of Olympus!"
"Or," I said, folding my hands on the arm of my throne, "he has fixed what was broken."
The room went quiet for a heartbeat. Even Hera's constant disapproving sighs stilled.
"Do you mean to mock me?" Zeus snarled.
"No," I replied evenly. "I mean to remind you. It was our idea to ensure the mortals survived longer than a few weeks. Without that spark, they were doomed to rot before they could learn anything of value. Prometheus simply took the step we were too cowardly—or too divided—to take ourselves."
Zeus' jaw worked furiously, his beard trembling with the barely contained rage. "Do not presume to instruct me, Hades. I am King of the Gods. This Titan has dared to—"
"—to what?" I cut in, my voice low, sharp as obsidian. "To help? To ensure your precious mortals don't collapse into dust before their bones even set? Tell me, brother—what is it you're afraid of? That they may live long enough to remember your faults? That they may see through your posturing and learn to stand upright in defiance of you?"
Hera's lips pressed into a thin line, though I swore her eyes flickered with something like agreement. Demeter flinched but said nothing. Hestia only sat with calm patience, her flame-gold eyes fixed on Zeus.
Zeus' lightning cracked through the air, splintering the marble at his feet. "You dare speak so to me?"
"Yes," I said simply.
For a moment, the storm threatened to break open. My shadows reached, restless, eager to bite back at his light. But then Zeus' mouth twisted into something colder, crueler.
"Very well," he spat. "If you will not see sense, then the Titan must be punished. He shall be chained to the rocks of the Caucasus. And every day, an eagle of mine will feast on his liver. He will suffer for eternity, so that none may forget what it means to defy Olympus."
I leaned back, sighing as though I'd heard a particularly tiresome jest. "You're predictable, brother. You take any chance to posture as an executioner. But not this time."
Zeus' eyes narrowed. "You cannot stop me."
"No," I said, letting my shadows curl thicker around me until the edges of the throne room dimmed, "but I can claim him. Prometheus will not be chained. He will not be your example. He is already mine."
Confusion rippled through the council. Hera glanced between us, frowning. Demeter bit her lip.
"What nonsense is this?" Zeus demanded.
"He is a Titan," I reminded him. "He cannot belong to Olympus, not truly. But he can belong to me. I claim him for the Underworld. He shall join my court, my kingdom. If you wish to punish him, you will have to come through me."
The storm roared. Zeus surged forward, sparks crawling down his arms like serpents. "You dare to—"
"I dare," I said, rising from my throne. My voice was steady, not loud, but it carried, filling the chamber like the sound of a cavern echo. "You claim to be King of the Gods, yet your reign is brittle as glass. You fear shadows, you fear fire, you fear mortals. You lash out at anything you cannot control. But Prometheus?" I pointed down the length of the hall. "He betrayed his people to help us. He has done more for Olympus than you ever have."
Gasps rippled through the chamber. Hera's eyes widened, Demeter dropped her hands into her lap. Even Hestia's flame seemed to flicker higher, like the words carried more truth than fire itself.
"Zeus," Hestia's calm voice finally cut through, smooth and soft but steady as steel. "Prometheus took from me, not from Olympus. That flame is mine to give. And I gave it freely."
Zeus turned on her. "Sister, you—"
"No," Demeter spoke for once, her voice trembling but firm. "She is right. The flame is Hestia's alone. If she allowed Prometheus to use it, then there has been no theft, no treachery. And if you punish him for that, you spit on her authority. Do you wish to dishonor her, brother?"
That landed like a hammer to his jaw. Zeus froze, chest heaving, sparks crawling higher across his body. His gaze darted between Hestia's serenity and Demeter's uncharacteristic firmness.
The storm quieted. Slowly.
His lip curled. "Very well," he growled, though his voice cracked with fury. "But mark me. If that Titan so much as stumbles, if he so much as breathes wrong, it will not be me who chains him—it will be you who begs me to do it."
He slammed his fist down on the arm of his throne. The sound echoed like thunderclaps. "Meeting dismissed."
One by one, the others rose. Hera left first, though I swore I saw her give me the faintest, most reluctant nod. Demeter followed, shoulders shaking but head held high. Hestia lingered for only a moment, long enough to meet my eyes.
"You did well," she said softly. "Though perhaps next time, less fire in the oil."
I gave her a small smirk. "I thought you liked fire."
Her laugh was quiet, gentle, before she vanished in a flicker of flame.
The throne room emptied, leaving only the faint smell of ozone and my own shadows slithering across the floor.
I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders. My jaw ached from how tightly I had clenched it. But the matter was settled—for now. Prometheus was safe.