Chapter 4: Poseidon’s Promise

The sea does not like to be restrained. Poseidon, The Lightning Thief (2005)

As the first light of dawn painted the sky with hues of orange and pink, Poseidon stood at the edge of the sea, his gaze fixed upon the horizon where the waters met the sky. Only yesterday had Zeus been crowned King on Mount Olympus. Poseidon had been given reign of the sea, but during the war, the lands of Greece and Olympus had always been the focus.

The Underworld and the ocean had been domains that the deities of Greece had overlooked. Poseidon, for all his love of the water, knew that he would be responsible for the oceans, and that meant taming a rough landscape.

By Poseidon’s side stood Prometheus, who was (as always) a figure of quiet strength and wisdom. In the adventure of looking over the ocean, Prometheus could be instrumental in helping Poseidon.

The air was crisp with the promise of a new day within the Grecian Realm, and the waves whispered of times immemorial for those who listened.

Poseidon could feel the call of the ocean, as he had almost all of his life. All the way back to his time within Cronos’ belly, he loved the water. It made hims feel alive. There was a deep, primal urge that pulsed within his veins that neither Hades nor Zeus just understand.

To have drawn the middle straw was only providence, a sign from the Moirai themselves. He would claim his birthright as King of the Seas.

With a determined nod, Poseidon turned to Prometheus, his eyes alight with anticipation.

“It is time,” Prometheus declared. “Are you ready?” Even as he spoke, Prometheus was as solemn as ever. His expression was a grave resolution.

Poseidon let out a nervous laugh. “I think so.”

Prometheus turned his head to give Poseidon a stern expression. “This task will not be without its challenges, Poseidon. While the War was dangerous, ruling is about compromise and understanding.”

Poseidon flashed a confident smile, his sea-green eyes shining with determination. “I know. You have warned me. I won’t pretend I’m not nervous, Prometheus, but this was the domain I have always wanted,” he said, his voice brimming with conviction. “I’m ready for whatever awaits us.”

With that declaration, Prometheus strode forward, his footsteps echoing against the rocky shore. Poseidon followed, hoping for a destiny that would bring a new era to the realm of the oceans.

As the sun reached its zenith in the sky, casting its brilliant light down upon the realm of the Grecian Sea. The waters churned and roiled with a tumultuous fury. Oceanus, the son of Cronos and Rhea and the ancient Titan of the seas, stood at the forefront of the battle, his countenance grave and mature as he marshaled his forces against the formidable foe that loomed before them. Beside him stood Tethys, the beautiful Titaness. Her regal countenance was transformed into one of resolution as she directed the Oceanids (children of Oceanus) and Nereids (grandchildren of Oceanus from the line of Nereus and Doris) in their valiant efforts to hold back the relentless tide of destruction.

But even with the combined might of Oceanus and his allies, they were no match for the sheer power of Pontus, the Primordial of the Grecian Sea itself.

Pontus towered over the battlefield. His form was shifting and ever-changing like liquid fire as he unleashed torrents of water upon his foes with devastating force. He stood over a hundred feet in height. His visage was of an ancient man with a powerful body even if his flesh was made of the sea itself.

Despite their best efforts, the attacks of Oceanus and his allies seemed to have little effect on Pontus. They threw attacks of ice, hail, lightning, heat, and smoke in an infinite combination.

For every blow they landed, the form of the Primordial recoiled in pain, and the damage seemed intense, but within a few moments, he simply reformed his liquid body. His very essence, much to Oceanus’ and his forces rage, pulsated with an otherworldly vitality that defied even divine comprehension.

As the battle raged on beneath the scorching sun, the cries of the Oceanids and Nereids echoed across the waves, their voices a haunting lament for the destruction that threatened to consume them all.

Even in the face of such overwhelming odds, Oceanus and his children fought on. The crashing of their powers and their bodies against the ways echoed deep into the day.

As Prometheus and Poseidon approached Oceanus’s magnificent palace, they were greeted by a mixture of both awe-inspiring beauty and subtle devastation.

The structure rose majestically from the shore, its grand towers crowned with spires that seemed to touch the heavens themselves. However, upon closer inspection, they could see signs of recent conflict — cracks marred the once pristine walls, and sections of the palace’s exterior had been scorched or broken by some unknown force.

Despite the damage, the palace retained its regal elegance, with intricate carvings depicting scenes of oceanic life adorning the walls. As they entered the courtyard, Poseidon could not help but feel a pang of regret at the sight of the damage.

He had been to Oceanus’ Palace before the Great Titan War, and he had always admired the building that the Titan had built up.

Their attention was drawn to a beautiful young Oceanid. “Greetings, Poseidon and Prometheus. I am Galaxaura,” she said with a polite smile. “My father has been expecting envoys from Olympus. The hospitality of Oceanus is open to you both,” she went on, her voice musical like the waves lapping against the shore, “but my father is indisposed.”

Prometheus raised an eyebrow, curiosity evident in his expression. “If I may ask, what is your father doing?” he inquired.

Galaxaura’s gaze shifted slightly, a faint blush coloring her cheeks as she glanced at Poseidon. “That is for him to tell you,” she replied cryptically.

Poseidon could not suppress a fun grin at the Oceanid’s response.

“What ... did... you do?” Prometheus whispered, his tone a mixture of disbelief and annoyance.

With a sheepish smile, Poseidon confessed, “I may have indulged in some ... playful fun with a few Naiads and Oceanids here and there.”

Prometheus let out a long, exasperated sigh, shaking his head in disbelief. Knowing the hard fought victory against Cronos, Prometheus restrained his anger from slapping Poseidon because Zeus might not be pleased with such disrespect of his elder brother.

After the Titan War, Prometheus had no intention of being on Zeus’ bad side. He suspected Zeus might not kill Prometheus, but Zeus could very easily be more punishing that Cronos ever was if they were not careful.

“We have come to this palace to establish you as King of the Seas, and you have been... frolicking ... with some of his daughters?” he chided.

“Frolicking...?” Poseidon almost laughed at the titan’s choice of words.

“Don’t make light. Olympus is in change, and you want a stable kingdom, and you have sabotaged relations with the Titan you want to kneel before you?” Prometheus said, doing all he could to hold back his temper.

Poseidon chuckled sheepishly, only just realizing the gravity of the situation. “I suppose I may have been a bit distracted,” he admitted. He lost his smile when Prometheus’ frown was condemning his actions. “But that does not mean this is beyond fixing.”

“You had better hope so, Poseidon, for your sake.”

While Prometheus was inches from striking Poseidon, Oceanus and Tethys returned to their magnificent palace. Their regal stature was still on full display despite the weariness etched upon their faces. Their clothes were stained with the dull gold of dried ichor as evidence of the fierce battle with Pontus.

Behind them trailed a retinue of Oceanids and Nereids, their forms weary and wounded from the conflict.

“Galaxaura,” Oceanus commanded, his voice resonating with authority. “Prepare the healing hall for the wounded.”

Galaxaura bowed deeply in acknowledgment before hurrying off to carry out her father’s orders.

Tethys, her exhaustion evident in the lines of her face, spoke softly to her husband. “Perhaps it is time to accept that Pontus will not stop, and we cede some of the ocean to him,” she suggested, her voice tinged with weariness.

“Never!” Oceanus exclaimed vehemently, his pride wounded by the mere suggestion of conceding territory to his ancient rival. “We have ruled over these waters since time immemorial. They are rightfully ours, and we shall not relinquish them to Pontus or anyone else.”

Tethys fell silent, her gaze weary yet resolute as she listened to her husband’s impassioned declaration. It was clear that she shared his weariness of the ceaseless battles with Pontus, but her loyalty to Oceanus remained steadfast despite her fatigue.

Finally, as they settled into their thrones within the palace, Oceanus’s gaze fell upon Prometheus and Poseidon with a mixture of curiosity and expectation. “Ah, envoys of Orthrys ... Or is it Olympus?” He greeted them with a regal nod. “Tell me, how fares the war against my brother, Cronos?”

“Poseidon, as well as Zeus and Hades, has deposed Cronos,” Prometheus said. “I do believe your daughter, Metis, sent you an invitation to the revelry.”

“Well, we have our own problems. Without my brother’s treaty, Pontus has seen fit to wage war on us for complete control over these seas.”

“And I am sure you have been more than reasonable,” Prometheus said with a knowing look.

“What was that, little titan?” Oceanus said, standing up to his full height.

Poseidon readied his sword as Prometheus did nothing.

“Oh, please Oceanus!” Prometheus said blithely. “My father spoke of you often. You cared for nothing but the oceans. But I would wager that while you don’t care for the affairs of the lands, Olympus, or the Underworld, you most likely are just as possessive of the things you do care about.”

Oceanus flinched at the charge. It was Tethys who spoke.

“Well, he is not wrong there, Husband,” Tethys commented.

Oceanus deflated and sat back down. “What is it you want of me?”

“As of defeating my father, Cronos, Zeus has been named King of Olympus. His rule is endorsed by his mother, Rhea, as well as your mother, Gaia.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Oceanus asked, rolling his eyes.

“It has been decreed that Poseidon is to be the Ruler of the Seas and Oceans,” Prometheus said calmly. “We would hope, as you had no part in the Great Titan War, you would...”

“I would, what?” Oceanus said, standing up again. This time, water swirled around his wrist. Prometheus, in response, summoned an orange fire to his wrists. “Did you think I would lay down my kingdom because a prince, hiding behind his mother’s skirts and my mother’s trees, laid claim to it.”

“You had no hand in our conflict. Had you chosen our side, your domain might have been your own,” Prometheus said.

“The sea had nothing to do with your little war,” Oceanus snapped.

“A war that deposed the Titan who brokered your treaty between yourself and Pontus!” Poseidon asserted with proud energy.

Oceanus looked from Prometheus to Poseidon. They were battle hardened warriors, who were correct about the war they had fought, and while Oceanus had spent the last few years locked in conflict with Pontus, these young deities looked refreshed and he was tired.

Any battle between himself and them at that moment would have an easily predicted conclusion. And if Oceanus lost a battle to some upstart in his own palace, he would lose the respect, as well as dominion over his subjects, which included his family as well as the wildlife within the seas.

Quickly, Oceanus calmed himself, thinking of a solution.

“You want my kingdom, son of Cronos? Very well. You may have it. All you need to do is prove yourself worthy of it. Broker a peace between Pontus and my family as your father did. If you can do so, I will call you King.”

Poseidon smiled looking from Prometheus to Oceanus. “You have yourself a deal, Uncle!”

Later that day, and after refusing to have dinner with Oceanus and Tethys, both Prometheus and Poseidon believed it was better to start on the work of making peace with Pontus rather than playing nice with the Titan of the Sea.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the sky, Poseidon and Prometheus found themselves standing outside Oceanus’ magnificent palace. Regardless if they made the choice, they knew that they would need to talk before the work began.

They admired the lights of the dimming light of Helios before Poseidon broke their shared silence.

“Prometheus, I want you to return to Olympus,” Poseidon said with a note of determination in his voice.

“What? Why?” Prometheus questioned, a hint of worry creasing his brow.

“If I am to make peace between Oceanus and Pontus, I must do it on my own. I don’t want Oceanus finding some excuse to not keep to our agreement,” Poseidon explained, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon.

Prometheus considered Poseidon’s words for a moment before nodding in agreement. “Very well,” he conceded. He thought of all he knew about the Sea Primordial. Pontus had been born of Gaia but not from a union with Ouranos, so categorizing him had always been difficult.

However, Gaia had placed the watery being in high regard, so Prometheus had as well.

“It is believed that Pontus is one with the sea,” Prometheus explained. “Where there is saltwater, he is there. I would suggest going to the middle of the ocean.”

Poseidon nodded, acknowledging Prometheus’s advice. He lifted his mighty Trident, its gleaming surface reflecting the fading light of the setting sun. With a single swift motion, he summoned Cetus, his loyal sea monster that had served him well during the Titanomachy, for the quest that would gain him his throne.

Prometheus disappeared in a flash of light. Upon the ground, there was a circle with two hands holding a fire on it. Neither the son of Iapetus nor the son of Cronos would notice.

In the quiet stillness of the night, Oceanus and Tethys lay in their bed within the opulent chambers of their palace. The air was thick with unspoken words, but the tension was still somehow befitting the rulers of the vast expanse of the sea.

Tethys, with her beauty illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight filtering in through the windows, turned to her husband with a furrowed brow. “What if he succeeds, dear husband?” she inquired, her voice tinged with a hint of concern.

Oceanus exuded an aura of strength and authority. Slowly, he turned to his wife in bed and met her gaze with unwavering confidence. “He won’t,” he asserted with the weight of his convictions.

“But what if he does?” Tethys persisted, her tone soft yet insistent. She did all she could to not sound like she was shrill or upset. “The children heard. They all heard you. If you break your word, you will be seen with less honor than Cronos.”

“I am not my brother,” Oceanus retorted, his voice firm and resolute. He did not slam his fist against anything but the intense anger he felt about his fallen brother could be felt.

“Then why did you put yourself in a position to either break your honor like him or supplicate yourself to one of Cronos’ children?” Tethys pressed, her disappointment evident in her tone.

“He will not succeed,” Oceanus repeated, his determination unwavering. “Pontus is too great for any of us to fight.”

“Yes but he fought in the Titan War. We have been here. We have not been part of the world. He might have powers or abilities we do not know about,” Tethys said.

“He has a sword and his trident. He is Cronos’ middle son. He was trapped in a stomach most of his life. I don’t expect great things from him,” Oceanus said confidently. “When he goes to fight Pontus, he might nearly die, but Pontus will be weakened. When he is like that, we can finally destroy Pontus,” he declared, his voice tinged with a hint of anticipation.

Tethys fell silent, her heart heavy with a mixture of surprise and disappointment at her husband’s duplicity. She was weary, exhausted by the endless cycle of battles with Pontus that seemed to offer no resolution.

As she nestled closer to Oceanus, readying herself for bed, she could not help but wonder if there would ever be an end to their eternal battles against the Ocean Primordial. After all, there was so much happening in the world, and she wanted to see more than just the Palace and the ocean.

They fell asleep together. Oceanus felt triumphant that Poseidon would be doing Oceanus’ work for him. Tethys dreamt of a world where her husband was back to his playful love and fun like when they were children, when discovery was enough, and it was not only about the sea.

In the dark of night, Prometheus returned to Olympus. While he was concerned about Poseidon, Prometheus had to have faith that the second son of Cronos was ready for the task of taming the ocean despite knowing how immature the young god was.

His steps were guided by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the clouds. Instead of seeking out Zeus to inform him about Poseidon’s journey, Prometheus made his way to his own palace. His home was one of the many structures that had once stood empty during the reign of Cronos, but currently, it was taken over by Prometheus and his twin brother, Epimetheus.

As he entered the palace, his eyes fell upon that twin. Epimetheus was hunched over a workbench, meticulously shaping a model of the first human woman. The figure was composed of mud and dirt, its form still rough and unrefined. Epimetheus had made tools to sculpt the figurine.

Prometheus could not help but chuckle at the sight. “Eight arms, Epimetheus? That seems a bit excessive, even for you.” Though he laughed, Prometheus still looked upon the tiny creation with a clinical eye.

“They will be smaller, though,” Epimetheus defended his design, his brow furrowed in concentration. “And there are many dangers in the world that they will need to defend against. I have heard that there is a mother of monsters called Echidna down on the land of Greece.”

“That may be true,” Prometheus conceded, “but let’s not overcomplicate things.” Prometheus stepped closer to examine the model. “Perhaps we should opt for a sturdier substance ... clay, perhaps?”

Epimetheus considered the suggestion for a moment before nodding in agreement. “Clay would be more resilient, but would it lend itself well to molding?”

Prometheus considered the question before nodding. He touched the tiny person, only somewhat sure of his own positive answer.

The brothers fell into a thoughtful silence as they pondered the possibilities for their creation. During the time of Cronos, no one had stopped them from making creations. The two had a feeling humanity would be their last creation. They wanted it to be perfect.

Epimetheus spoke up again, his voice filled with curiosity. “What if we were to give them the ability to use magic?”

Prometheus paused, his expression thoughtful. “Magic is a gift bestowed upon us by Chaos, a power of the divine,” he explained. “To grant humanity such abilities ... it could have unforeseen consequences for both them and us. It might even weaken you and I, permanently.”

“But wouldn’t it be a wondrous gift to bestow upon them?” Epimetheus countered, his eyes alight with enthusiasm.

Prometheus mulled over the idea, weighing the potential risks against the potential benefits. “Perhaps,” he conceded at last, his mind already racing with the possibilities.

As the first light of dawn began to streak across the horizon, Poseidon and Cetus continued their exploration of the vast expanse of the ocean. Poseidon was perched atop the mighty sea monster’s head, so he could gaze out across the endless waves.

Do you believe we will find him? Cetus queried, his deep voice resonating through the air like the rumble of distant thunder. Well it was not a voice from the mouth and tongue, but more mental as speech from Cetus’ mouth sounded much more like guttural roars.

“We have to, my friend,” Poseidon replied, his tone firm and resolute. Though Cetus possessed the intelligence to converse with Poseidon, it was a secret shared between the two of them alone. Poseidon knew that revealing this would only hasten their inevitable parting that Zeus had said he wanted for them.

Why? Cetus inquired, his curiosity piqued.

“Zeus intends for us to part ways, but you belong to the ocean. Even if he commands that you no longer answer my call, we can still remain friends as I rule over the seas,” Poseidon explained, his bond with Cetus running deep.

Is that why you seek to rule the ocean? Cetus asked, touched by the depth of Poseidon’s loyalty.

“You were my first true friend. It is only fitting that I strive to protect that friendship however I can,” Poseidon affirmed, a warm smile gracing his lips as he reminisced.

Their laughter echoed across the expanse of the sea, a testament to the enduring connection between god and sea monster. However, their mirth was short-lived as the waters around them began to churn and roil with increasing intensity.

Senses and instincts, which had been hardened by a decade-long war, told Poseidon that the swirling waters were not occurring naturally.

“Ready yourself, Cetus,” Poseidon commanded, drawing his sword forged by the skilled hands of the Cyclopes. Though he left his Trident secured on his back, he knew that they must be nearing their quarry. “We must be close to Pontus.”

Prometheus and Epimetheus continued their meticulous work on the model of Pandora, which Prometheus had named in the dead of night.

Their palace on Olympus buzzed with the energy of creation. They could not stop their excitement from growing more and more abundant. After all, when they created, nothing else mattered. The vast space within their palace resembled what mortals would one day call a workshop, adorned with sketches and blueprints of their various creations – from the majestic birds soaring through the skies to the gentle cattle grazing in the fields below.

Amidst the flurry of activity, Prometheus stopped, feeling a subtle shift in the air. There was a ripple of disturbance that pulled at the edges of his consciousness. His keen senses, honed over millennia of existence, picked up on the faint echoes of a distant conflict unfolding in the mortal realm. He could not be sure of who exactly, but it felt like Hades was in conflict with someone and he was losing.

Epimetheus, however, remained oblivious to its significance, wholly absorbed in their endeavor. Prometheus saw that there was nothing to be done by leaving. If Hades was locked in battle, as he suspected, Hades was not one to ask for, or even accept, help. As such, he returned to his craft as well.

As they meticulously crafted Pandora, the first woman, Prometheus and Epimetheus deliberated over the gifts they would bestow upon humanity.

Epimetheus, titan of hindsight, looked to Prometheus with a suggestion on his mind. “Do you think we should ask Mnemosyne for a blessing to grant humans the gift of memory? This will make sure they can learn from their past mistakes.”

Prometheus considered the question while sipping from a small glass of milk produced by the cattle they had created. He replied with certainty. “If we do seek out other beings for this, we should ask Metis to give our humanity the gift of wisdom,” he suggested, his voice tinged with a quiet confidence. “With that gift, humanity will possess the foresight and intellect to navigate the complexities of this dangerous realm.”

Epimetheus furrowed his brow. While he wanted to make humanity as great as possible, his own memory recalled the deposing of Cronos and Ouranos. His expression reflected a trace of uncertainty. “Brother, if we grant them so many gifts, could they not one day challenge us?”

His question was lathered in concern.

Prometheus paused, considering his brother’s words thoughtfully. He thought of Cronos as well, but he also thought of Zeus and how Zeus was a better leader than Cronos during the Titan War.

“I do not believe so,” he replied with calm resolve. “But should not children aspire to surpass their parents?”

The question lingered between them. There was no easy answer. The only thing that was easy was the work, so they shelved their concerns and returned their focus to their work. Their hands moved deftly as they breathed some life into the clay form of Pandora. In that moment, amidst the flickering glow of their table, they laid the foundation for humanity.

There were other gifts to retrieve for them such as the aforementioned wisdom, memory, and the capacity for growth, but that was a problem for later for them. For them, right then, all that mattered was the work, creating, molding, changing. That was where their bliss lie.

In the heart of the sea, Poseidon and Cetus found themselves ensnared by the relentless onslaught of water in all its forms. Rain lashed down from the heavens, mingling with icy sleet and swirling snowflakes, while towering waves rose and crashed upon them with unforgiving force. It was as if the very elements themselves had risen up in a furious symphony of wrath.

For a time, Poseidon swung his blade at the tempest that was brought down upon him.

Realizing the futility of his sword against such overwhelming power, Poseidon sheathed the weapon at his side. He clenched his jaw in determination and drew forth his Trident with a resounding cry of defiance.

“Enough!” he bellowed, his voice echoing above the cacophony of the storm.

With a swift motion, Poseidon raised the Trident high, its gleaming form pulsating with an otherworldly energy that resonated with his mastery over the seas. In an instant, the tumultuous waters lost all of its violent vigor. Everything around Cetus and Poseidon seemed to stand still, bending to the will of Poseidon’s ancient weapon.

In his futility, Pontus materialized before them, poised to strike. Poseidon stabbed out the Trident, pointing it at the Primordial. The weapon’s power coursed through him, suffusing him with a sense of commanding authority as he met the gaze of the Water Primordial.

Pontus froze in his motion. He quickly found himself unable to move under the weight of Poseidon’s magical dominance.

“Have you come to kill me, servant of Oceanus?” he questioned, his voice tinged with wariness.

“I am no servant of Oceanus,” Poseidon answered quickly. He raised his voice to be heard over the sounds of the water. What he did not realize was when the water stilled, the only noise was from Pontus’ watery form and movement from Cetus and Poseidon.

With a deft motion, Cetus lifted Poseidon aloft on one of his massive tendrils, allowing him to behold Pontus in all his watery form.

“I am Poseidon, son of Cronos, grandson of Ouranos, brother to the King of Olympus. I have come to rule the seas, and I mean to broker a peace between you and Oceanus.”

The declaration reverberated through Pontue. He stared in confusion at the statement, astonishment at the courage of the action, and apprehension of a being who meant to rule over him.

In the stillness that followed Poseidon’s declaration of intent, Pontus, the embodiment of the sea’s relentless power, spoke with a sense of unyielding defiance. “I am one with the Sea,” he declared, his voice resonating with the boundless strength of the ocean itself. “No one has the right to command me.”

Poseidon suppressed the urge to respond with impulsive retorts. If he was to be a good king, he could not give into his temper or his more childish desires. If for no other reason that Prometheus’ disappointment.

Instead, Poseidon regarded Pontus carefully and exhaled to release his anger. His gaze shifted from his Trident to the Primordial. As he focused his attention, he glimpsed the true form of Pontus nestled within the vast expanse of swirling water.

With a subtle motion of his Trident, Poseidon beckoned forth the smaller, more vulnerable body of Pontus, exposing him to the world and, perhaps for the first time, his vulnerability.

“I could harm you, but I do not intend to,” Poseidon stated plainly, his voice carrying a note of sincerity. “I would much prefer that we find common ground and live in peace, Pontus.”

Pontus regarded Poseidon with a mixture of skepticism and resignation, his gaze flickering between the Trident that could end his existence and the genuine intent reflected in Poseidon’s words. “Kind words, but you just mean to destroy me,” he countered, his voice tinged with bitterness.

In response, Poseidon gestured to his Trident, a silent reminder of the power he held over Pontus and the ocean itself. “I mean it,” Poseidon affirmed, releasing Pontus from his grasp. “While I could harm you, I want to find a way where we can all exist. I have no desire to imprison or oppress beings of great power.”

Beside him, Cetus, the loyal sea monster, offered a nod of support, a silent testament to the sincerity of Poseidon’s intentions.