An island hung suspended in the sky, a jagged mass of earth and stone defying the laws of gravity. Lush vegetation spilled over its edges in verdant waterfalls, roots clinging desperately to the crumbling soil as streams cascaded into the void below. At its heart stood the temple—its marble columns pulsing with a soft, divine glow, as if breathing. In the center of the sanctum, a towering statue of a woman in armor stood vigilant, spear in hand, her stone gaze eternally judging the world below.
Inside, however, the atmosphere was... less than reverent.
The place was a disaster—as usual. Prometheus had his feet propped up on a blueprint, tossing grapes into the air and catching them in his mouth (missing spectacularly half the time). Athena sat across from him, polishing her spear with one hand and swatting away his stray snacks with the other. Her owl, perched on her shoulder, gave Prometheus a look that clearly said "I could end you."
Okay, hypothetical," he said, propping his chin on one hand. "If we gave them wings, but, like... tiny useless ones—just for decoration—"
Athena didn't even glance up from her scroll. "No."
"Hear me out—"
"No."
"—They could flap dramatically when they're angry!" He demonstrated with quick little hand flaps, nearly knocking over his wine cup.
Athena finally looked up, her expression flat. "You want to invent chicken people?"
Prometheus gasped, clutching his chest like he'd been stabbed. "Is this what you think of me?!" He gestured grandly. "I was just thinking of an angelic aesthetic look"
She rolled her eyes so hard her owl mimicked the motion. "They'll get stuck in doorways."
"THAT'S the part you have an issue with?!" Prometheus screamed throwing his hands up.
The owl gave a single, disapproving look.
Prometheus slumped back in his seat, muttering, "...You're both bullies."
Athena ignored him, swirling her nectar, watching the golden liquid. "We're giving them logic, reason," she said, "and just enough creativity to be dangerous."
Prometheus snorted, nearly choking on his own wine. "Boring." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Can we at least make them sneeze confetti?"
Athena froze mid-sip. "...Why?"
"Birthday parties!" Prometheus leaned in, knocking over a clay figurine. "Political scandals! Personal flair!"
She set her cup down with a firm clink. "I'm adding common sense to counteract you specifically."
"You monster," Prometheus gasped, clutching the table for dramatic effect. He was about to speak when—
BOOM! The temple shook. Dust rained from the ceiling.
Prometheus perked up instantly. "Hephaestus finally blew up his forge again!"
Athena stood with a long-suffering sigh. "I'll get the fire extinguisher."
30 minuter later…
Athena finally returned, her silver robes now dirty with smoke and her hair slightly burned at the ends. She dropped the empty fire extinguisher with a clang.
"Where were we?" she asked, brushing a piece of ash from her cheek.
Prometheus, who had spent the last half-hour drawing ridiculous mustaches on all the clay prototypes, perked up. "Right! Human design meeting. I believe we were discussing my brilliant confetti sneeze feature—"
"No we weren't," Athena cut in, snatching the clay figure from his hands. She studied it critically. "We're keeping it simple. Two arms, two legs, standard issue."
Prometheus gasped. "You can't be serious! That's so... symmetrical."
Athena ignored him, carefully shaping the figure's proportions. "Basic opposable thumbs—"
"Boring!"
"—Limited capacity for critical thinking—"
"Now you're just being mean!"
"—And absolutely no decorative wings, explosive sneezes, or retractable anything."
Prometheus slumped dramatically across the worktable. "You're taking out all the fun out of creation."
Athena smirked, adding the finishing touches. "There. Perfectly average, completely functional humans."
A beat of silence. Then Prometheus' eyes lit up with mischief. "...What if we made them left-handed sometimes?"
Athena opened her mouth to protest, then paused. "Actually... that's not terrible."
"I know! And get this—" He leaned in conspiratorially. "What if they could... blush?"
Athena groaned, but there was a hint of a smile. "Fine. One non-essential feature."
Prometheus pumped his fist. "Victory! Now, about that confetti—"
"NO"
Hours later, the last rays of sunlight stretched across the temple floor, illuminating the divine clay between them. Athena wiped her hands on her robe, leaving streaks of golden dust. She studied their latest creation—a clay figure, a human.
"We should add a tear of a god," she said suddenly, tapping the figurine's chest.
Prometheus looked up from where he'd been resting. "What, like divine seasoning?" He grinned. "A pinch of immortality to taste?"
Athena rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide her smirk. "Just a drop. Enough to make them... more..."
"More what? More annoying?" Prometheus leaned forward, resting his chin in his hands. "Because I think we've got that covered already."
A breeze rustled through the temple, carrying the scent of ambrosia and burnt clay. Athena plucked a golden vial from her belt, holding it up to the light. The liquid inside shimmered like liquid sunlight.
"This is from when Ares stubbed his toe on Olympus," she said, shaking the vial. "Pure divine essence."
Prometheus snorted. "Of course you kept Ares' tears. Do you have a whole collection?"
"Shut up," she said, but her lips twitched. Carefully, she unlocked the vial. "One drop. That's all they'll need."
The tear fell, hitting the clay with a soft plink. The figure shuddered, then stilled.
For a moment, neither spoke. Then—
"Well," Prometheus said, breaking the silence. "Now they'll really be insufferable."
Athena laughed, shoving his shoulder. "Come on. Let's go plant these troublemakers on Earth before Zeus notices it and punishes us."
"Heh," he smirked, glancing toward the storm clouds gathering over Olympus. "That old bastard must be fucking his sister now. You really think he'll care about a few humans popping up on our land?"
Athena shot him a dark look, her fingers tightening around the vial of divine tears. "You know these aren't normal humans, Prometheus," she said, voice low. "A drop of godhood in each? This could very much get us in trouble."
"Tch. Whatever." He rolled his eyes, grabbing the figures higher. One slipped—he caught it by the foot before it could hit the ground. "Worst case, we blame Hera. She loves taking credit for things."
Athena didn't laugh. The owl on her shoulder fluffed its feathers nervously.
As they gathered the 100 clay figures, they stepped off the edge of Olympus, the wind howling around them like a living thing. Below, the mortal world sprawled in darkness—forests like patches of spilled ink, rivers silver-thin under the moonlight.
Prometheus exhaled, watching his breath curl white in the air. "...You ever think maybe we should've asked permission?"
Athena adjusted her grip on the figures. "Every second since we started."
The ground rose to meet them. A clearing, ringed by ancient oaks. The grass here was too green, the air too still—as if the earth itself had been waiting.
One by one, they set the figures down. The clay was warm to the touch, pulsing faintly where the divine tears had mixed into the clay.
Prometheus crouched, brushing his thumb over one's forehead. "Hey, little disaster," he murmured. "Try not to burn the world down too fast, yeah?"
Athena sighed.
Above them, thunder rumbled. Distant, but getting closer.
"...We should go," she said.
Prometheus stood, wiping clay from his hands. "Yeah."
They left the 100 figures there, glowing faintly in the dark.
As they vanished into the clouds, the first human drew breath.