Thanatos said in an exceedingly solemn tone: "The solemnity of death springs from absolute equality and irreversibility!"
"If today I indulge favoritism out of a moment's compassion and mercy,"
"then in the future I may again indulge favoritism because of fear, because of gain, because of other private motives."
"At that point, 'death' would become the most hypocritical and ridiculous thing in the cosmos."
"Because that would mean that so long as someone can move me, so long as someone can please me, even threaten me, then 'death' can be negotiated and 'ending' can be traded."
Thanatos suddenly asked in return, his voice not loud but each word striking like a hammer: "Prometheus, do you truly think that would be a good thing?"
"At that time, all beings would no longer think about how to do more meaningful things within a limited life; nor would they think about how to do their utmost to avoid death's coming."
"They would only think about how to move me, how to please me. They would try every possible means to turn this fixed death into a bargainable transaction."
"If today we break the rule for the sake of feeling, then the hearts of beings will take that as instruction."
"If life and death can be exchanged with goodwill and sentiment, then there will surely be beings who learn to move me by deeds, by performance, by stratagems, in order to beg for special pardon."
"When that time truly comes, will there still be true feeling in this world? Will sincerity be extinguished? Will affection be profaned?"
"Will not everything march toward the most thorough hypocrisy and calculation?"
"Think: the aim of the world will no longer be 'how to act meaningfully within limits,' but 'how to win pardon, how to curry favor with the arbiter.'"
"True hearts and good deeds will be masked by interest; begging and flattery will replace self-examination and effort."
"How filthy and frightening that would be!"
Prometheus's face was grief-stricken; he had no words.
And Thanatos went on.
"Yes—you might say I could hold to my goodness and mercy and open a way only for those of high virtue, the kind and loving."
"But, Prometheus," Thanatos's gaze grew keen as a blade, "is my great Father's sacred and righteous order merely empty words?!"
This question made Prometheus's heavy expression turn instantly ashen.
He hastened to say: "No! I would never harbor such an exceedingly foolish thought!"
Thanatos did not pick up that line, but continued sternly:
"Do you think everything you do is surely right?"
"No. Certainly not."
"Then neither am I."
"We will both err, and we both have private desires."
"Private desire breeds partiality; partiality surely destroys order."
"Prometheus! All things have order. If law may open one exception for private desire, that exception will at last become the new norm, and order will gradually unravel until it ends altogether!"
"Know this: the destruction of order is irreversible. Once begun—no matter how small at first—it will end in total collapse!"
"I am 'Death,' but I do not decide whether a being 'should' die. That is not mine to determine."
"The Heavenly Order stands there; the threads of fate are weaving ever forward."
"I only bear, and can only bear, the duty of bringing back to the Underworld those whose threads of fate have already snapped."
"If gods use private good and evil as the measure, rather than the sacred and just Heavenly Order to adjudicate right and wrong, that will be the beginning of chaos!"
"Even if you love them, you must never pay for it by wrecking rules and deranging order!"
"Forcing a thread of fate that has already broken to be spliced anew is not something I can do, nor something I ought to do."
"Even the great Goddesses of Fate—the noble and illustrious ladies of Heaven's viceregency and sacred just order—would never allow themselves to do such a thing."
"How vast is the authority the Goddesses of Fate possess? Yet they only comb the threads of fate; they never permit themselves to pluck and weave at whim."
"All flows with its nature. They give only the necessary guidance and ordering."
"My great Father's Heavenly Order embraces all, supremely fair and just."
"Everything He does, every sacred order He establishes, has its justice, its necessity, its absoluteness!"
"All is so the cosmos may develop more flourishingly, so that the whole and all beings may live better!"
Seeing Prometheus gone pale and drenched in cold sweat at these words, Thanatos slightly softened his tone.
He could understand Prometheus's love for humankind.
Exhaling, he continued slowly: "Honored Prometheus, you are a god, and a wise great god. You are the son of the Ever-Cycling, and my great Father's counselor."
"Please set aside that narrow pity for a single creation and fix your gaze on the development of the entire cosmos."
"If 'Death' may be at whim, then may 'Fate' be so? May the 'Seasons' be so? And may 'Order' itself be so?"
"Shall all gods be free to do as they please?"
"And if all gods do as they please, is that truly… a good thing for these fragile mortals?"
"You love your mortals, and you may save them as you wish."
"Then if a god despises them, may he destroy them as he wishes?"
"Breaking rules, doing as one pleases… you should know what that is called. That is 'chaos,' that is 'disorder'!"
"And what will chaos and disorder finally bring? You know even better than I."
Thanatos's questioning was not condemnation but a warning.
Prometheus's face was ashen; he could not utter another word.
For he knew clearly that all Thanatos said was right.
Thanatos was not refusing mercy; what he sought to protect was order itself, the vast freedom that all beings can stretch within rules.
The God-King's order was not wrong.
Then the one who sought to break it—himself—was wrong.
Fate's threads weave all things.
This is the cosmos's inevitable development.
The Goddesses of Fate never casually pluck these threads; they only provide broad guidance and overall ordering.
How it unfolds still depends on beings themselves.
All things, all beings, are developing in accord with their nature.
Rain falls equally on all living things; sunlight shines equally upon them all.
If beings do not wish to be rained on, then they should think of how to shelter themselves; if the sun is too hot, they should think of how to shade themselves.
Not beg the gods to disperse the clouds and dim the sun.
Prometheus's eyes were heavy and desolate. The ending of this child's life was not divine mockery, nor fate deliberately snapping his thread.
The immediate cause was his mother—and all who in the tribe were tasked with watching the children—failing their duty.
They were too careless, lacking true reverence for danger.
But was that truly the whole cause?
In the depths of Prometheus's divinity, a colder voice demanded: Why? Why do humans treat lethal dangers with such carelessness?
The answer was one Prometheus dared not dwell on; it made his very divinity recoil, brought cold sweat pouring.
But whatever the case, this was not the fault of order, nor of Death and Fate.
If, because of this, the gods broke order—and if the gods truly did—then that would be the most terrible disaster for all beings.
Yet faced with this shocking tragedy before his eyes, how was he to accept it?
Yes, he was at fault; that mother was at fault; even those charged with minding the children were at fault—but the consequence was too grave, too bitter.
These humans were his children!
His most glorious creations, the beings he had poured all his heart into, his most cherished.
From the very beginning he had stayed by their side, teaching them how to survive this savage world.
When the first human child was conceived, it was under his own watch that the frail newborn drew his first breath.
Humans cheered for that first infant, and he, the creator, did as well.
In that moment, incomparable happiness and fulfillment flooded his divinity, and even his long and undying god-life felt to have gained some deeper, more important meaning.
Humans… they were his dearest children, the sons and daughters he had taught and tended with all his might, as if his own!
How then could he bear to watch such a tiny, vivid life sink into eternal darkness?
Seeing Prometheus's dark, sorrowful look, Thanatos let out a light sigh.
He eased his voice and went on: "Honored Prometheus, before my birth, the beings of this world already had far too many chances to recognize death."
"They had far too many close calls, could even personally experience lethal danger and escape."
"My sister, the goddess Keres, had never truly fulfilled her office of 'violent death.'"
"This was both because I had not existed and she herself was incomplete; and because she likewise was unwilling to do such heart-rending things."
"But precisely because of this, far too many beings have long since lost their reverence for nature."
"Carelessness, negligence, frivolity… they thought in their hearts: at worst, we'll only suffer a bit—so what?"
"There will always be gods to save them."
Thanatos's keen gaze fell like a cold blade upon Prometheus, his voice light yet brooking no doubt: "And as to why that is, perhaps you too should reflect upon it seriously."
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