The winds howled across the barren earth as three divine figures stood upon a sacred hill—Prometheus, Epimetheus, and Athena. Before them lay nothing but empty land, a world devoid of true mortals. But that would soon change.
"It is time," Prometheus declared, kneeling down. With careful hands, he gathered the rich clay of the earth, mixing it with the water of a sacred river. His fingers shaped the first human form—fragile, weak, yet filled with endless potential.
Athena stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with wisdom. "Without the mind, they are nothing but husks." She breathed onto the figure, and a golden light flickered. The first human opened his eyes.
More figures followed, shaped from the land, given intelligence and reason by Athena. They stood, confused but alive, gazing at the world with newfound awareness.
Meanwhile, Epimetheus worked on the animals. He sculpted them with his hands, giving each a different trait—strength to the oxen, speed to the deer, flight to the birds, fangs to the wolves. But in his enthusiasm, he used all the gifts before reaching mankind.
When Prometheus saw this, he sighed. "So humanity is left defenseless."
Epimetheus shrugged. "I did not think ahead."
Prometheus grimaced but said nothing. Instead, he watched as the humans wandered their new world.
The first humans were weak. They shivered in the cold nights and cowered in the darkness. Without fangs, claws, or natural weapons, they were at the mercy of the beasts Epimetheus had created.
But there was one thing they did have—faith.
They saw the gods in the storms, in the rivers, in the mountains. They prayed, pleaded, and offered sacrifices in desperation. They placed food and bones on crude altars, hoping Zeus' lightning would descend and grant them fire.
And Zeus answered. His lightning struck the altars, igniting flames. Humanity rejoiced, worshipping him as their savior.
Yet their suffering did not end. Hunger gnawed at their bellies, and they offered entire beasts to the gods in sacrifice. They did not eat, fearing divine punishment.
Prometheus watched, his heart heavy. "This is not right."
And so, he devised a plan.
Prometheus gathered the humans and spoke:
"The gods are powerful, but they do not feast as we do. Offer them only what they deserve—bones and fat. Keep the meat for yourselves, for you are the ones who need it."
The humans hesitated but obeyed. When their next sacrifice was made, Prometheus prepared two portions:
1. A pile of glistening fat covering nothing but bones.
2. A pile of rich, juicy meat covered with unappealing hide.
Zeus arrived, inspecting the offerings. He scowled at the meat but was tempted by the shining fat. With a nod, he chose the first portion.
When he reached for it and uncovered only bones, he realized he had been tricked.
Zeus' face darkened, but the choice had been made. By divine law, the gods could only accept what was first given to them. From that day forward, humanity kept the best portions of their food, offering only the useless parts to the gods.
---
The Theft of Fire
Years passed, and humanity thrived. They grew stronger, well-fed, and confident.
But one day, an old man lay on his deathbed. His body frail, his breath weak, he turned his cloudy eyes to the sky and prayed:
"O great Zeus, hear my final words. We thank you for your fire, for your power. But Prometheus deceived you—he made us trick the gods. We do not deserve your gift. Please punnish that evil God, Prometheus and give me immortality"
The clouds rumbled. Lightning split the sky.
Zeus' voice echoed across the land.
"So be it."
And in an instant, fire vanished from the world.
The flames in every hearth flickered and died. The humans were plunged into darkness once more, left to freeze and starve. And the human who betrayed Prometheus became ashes.
And Zeus, watching from Olympus, smiled.
---
Smoke curled from dying embers, and frost crept into homes. Humanity huddled in fear, their breath misting in the frigid air. Zeus had taken fire from them, casting them back into helplessness.
Prometheus stood upon a lonely mountain, watching. His fists clenched with fury. "Zeus has gone too far."
He turned to the artifact hanging from his belt—the Lantern of Coeus, forged by Hephaestus, who hold the Titan of wisdom himself. Within its glass, golden light flickered—the power of foresight, of knowledge, of the cosmos.
Prometheus whispered to the lantern, "Show me the fire of the gods."
The lantern pulsed.
In an instant, Prometheus saw it—the sacred flame burning within Olympus itself, locked away in the halls of the gods. A fire that could never die. His jaw tightened. He would take it back.
Night fell upon Olympus, and the gods rested in their golden halls. The torches flickered, their flames casting shadows along the grand pillars.
Unseen, Prometheus moved like the wind.
He was no warrior, no thief—but he was clever. He knew where the gods' eyes wandered, when their gazes averted. He slipped through the halls, silent as a whisper, until he reached the sacred chamber.
Before him, the Eternal Flame burned, white-hot and divine.
Prometheus held up the Lantern of Coeus. The artifact hummed, its magic resonating with the fire. Slowly, gently, Prometheus guided the flames into the lantern, sealing them within. For a moment, Olympus itself seemed to shudder.
Then he turned and vanished into the night.
Across the world, humans shivered in the cold, their stomachs empty, their hands numb.
Then, a glow appeared in the distance.
Prometheus descended from the mountains, his figure illuminated by the golden light of the lantern. The people gathered, their eyes wide with awe and hope.
"Zeus has forsaken you," he declared, lifting the lantern high. "But I shall not."
With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed the fire. The flames spread like the dawn, igniting hearths, torches, and hearts.
Humanity was reborn. And as the fire took root, Prometheus smiled, knowing he had defied Olympus itself.
The storm came at dawn.The skies turned black, and lightning split the heavens. The earth trembled as Zeus' fury descended upon the world.
From the peak of Olympus, his voice thundered:
"Prometheus, you have betrayed me for the last time!"
Before Prometheus could flee, chains of divine lightning wrapped around his body, binding him in place. The heavens tore open, and Zeus himself descended, his form wreathed in storm and rage.
"You would defy me for these mortals?" Zeus growled.
Prometheus did not waver. "I would defy you a thousand times more."
Zeus' eyes burned with fury. With a wave of his hand, the storm carried Prometheus away, lifting him high into the sky, past the clouds, past the mountains, until—
CRASH!
Prometheus was hurled upon a lonely peak, far from man and god alike.
Zeus raised his hand, and unbreakable chains of adamant bound Prometheus to the mountain. His arms stretched, his body restrained.
Then Zeus spoke his final curse:
"For your crime, you shall suffer for eternity. Each day, an eagle shall feast upon your flesh, and each night, you shall heal—only to suffer again."
Prometheus gritted his teeth, saying nothing.
The sky rumbled. A shadow descended. The eagle of Zeus arrived.
And as its talons tore into him, Prometheus endured—unbroken.