Chapter 2: The Birth of Wisdom

The vast, surreal expanse of the innermost parts of Zeus’ spiritual realm had been empty until the final day of his battle with Typhon. On that day, he had consumed Metis as easily as he might drink a cup of water. From that day one, Metis existed within him. She was a shell of her former self. Her wisdom and transformative powers were at his disposal, and her divine might had all but doubled Zeus’ impressive strength, but she was unable to tangibly influence the King of Olympus tangibly.

She had resigned herself to only having finite scope and power over the Lightning Lord. It helped that she had been able to restrain him from his worst tempers as she once had in life. This gave her some semblance of peace because she recognized that it was entirely possible to be much worse. Zeus might have had access to all of her powers while she had no effect on him whatsoever.

At that particular moment, however, Zeus was not the center of her focus.

Metis floated gracefully within this unusual existence of hers. Her physique mirrored the strength of a seasoned warrior with hair falling in soft waves of golden brown. As a child of Oceanus and Tethys, her titanic origin as an Oceanus could never be denied.

While she hovered, she recalled her parentage along with that of her once-lover. Zeus was the child of Rhea and Cronos. The four parents were all rightful children of Gaia and Ouranos, two Primordials birthed by Chaos.

Her gaze softened as she looked upon her own progeny. Compared to Metis, this slumbering being was a towering figure within Zeus. She appeared similar to Metis when she was a sixteen-year-old girl. On the cusp of awakening, her daughter was of a true line of Chaos and the Primordials. She might not be seen as the heir apparent to Zeus, but if Metis could prevent Zeus’ worst habits, she would be able to help his best when it came to their child.

The child’s skin carried the warmth of a deep olive tan. Her hair was dirty-blonde, but unlike the yellow of her mother, it had a glinting whiteness of her father’s lightning. She rested in fetal stillness, cocooned in dreamlike preparation, clad in armor of bronze and gold that pulsed with latent divine power.

Metis circled her daughter, floating beside the enormous child that would soon awaken. She spoke in a voice that felt like a current running beneath still waters.

“Your father uses what was mine,” she whispered bitterly. While she was still hurt by Zeus’ betrayal, her words were woven with a mother’s love for her unborn child. “My wisdom, my foresight, my strategy were meant to be mine, but they were taken away so that Zeus might preserve his crown. He wields them as tools for his rule.”

Her fingertips brushed her child’s armored brow with a mother’s tenderness. “But you, my daughter, my wonderful Athena ... will be so much more.”

Metis stalled. Tears were flowing against her will. She would not be able to be with her daughter in the living world. What mother would want to exist in a prison when she knew that she could be raising her daughter? She shook her head and wiped away her tears before continuing.

“He may keep me here, but you will walk the world free, the truth to his lies, the sharpness in the dullness of arrogant kings.”

Athena’s eyelids fluttered briefly, stirring at her mother’s words. Her breathing was steady but the promise of awakening was going to come to pass soon. The Oceanid knew that much of it.

Metis floated closer to her daughter. Her voice dropped to a near-whisper with all of the intimate understanding of the child that was growing into her own.

“The time is near for your birth, my child,” She whispered, moving a single strand of hair back into place. “Prepare yourself. Your father will mean to wield you as a weapon, but you are not his to command. The world will come to revere you for who you are, not what he intends.”

The glow of Athena’s bronze armor brightened briefly as a pulse of a heartbeat rang out in the stillness. Metis smiled in a quiet, knowing triumph. She would remain hidden within the king, but Athena would soon rise.

She could be all that Metis had not been. Athena would be a beacon towards the future. While Metis had not carried a child that would usurp Zeus, the Oceanid believed that Athena was meant to play a part in arranging the world for a time without Zeus.

Time would tell, of course, and Metis could be wrong. She could not see the future as the Moirai, Chaos, or even Gaia, but she could prepare her daughter for what could come to pass. Conflict, strife, kingdoms would come and go, but her little Athena would survive it all. This was Metis’ great wish.

She prayed that Chaos would grant it.

In Hera’s palace on Olympus, the golden light of the room bathed everything in warmth. Zeus stood in there with a familiarity he might not have less than half a year ago. How funny that something as simple as marriage could change the perception of so many.

Had he tried to enter Hera’s home before, he might seem intrusive or rude, but with their wedding being so public, his appearance felt caring, loving, and downright the actions of a good husband.

He had enjoyed the depths that Hera had made her palace her own. There was a garden off to the side with the daughters of Atlas. He had already sworn not to touch them, and he meant to keep that promise to his wife. It was not for her benefit or even a promise of fidelity, but rather, he knew that if he were to have a successful marriage with Hera, he would have to make compromises here and there. When it truly mattered to him, however, he would not simply surrender.

With his new access, he explored the palace until he found a room with a single occupant within. Zeus walked in and found a baby in bed.

He loomed over the crib, gazing down at the small, swaddled figure of a baby. It must have been Hephaestus, Hera’s attempt at making a baby by herself. If Hades had seen the disappointing creature, he would have been affronted by how many on Olympus assumed Hera’s first child was his. Thankfully, Zeus’ feelings on such a lesser being were those of detachment.

The child was smaller than other newborn gods. His limbs were thin while his face was delicate, lacking the robust aura that Zeus expected. Even Hermes, a thin god by any of Zeus’ standards, had been given more muscle than this unfortunate thing.

Zeus folded his arms. “He looks weak,” he muttered, his voice low and edged with disdain. “Not like the others.”

Hera stepped into the room behind him. “Is this why you have come to see me?” she asked, coming up beside him. Her gaze was steady as ever. Having become queen, she rose to the challenge that was Zeus.

She rested a hand protectively on the crib’s edge. “To mock my son?” she asked as one who would not suffer further insult.

“I came to remind you that others will expect to see you at my side, but perhaps, it is better that you give your focus to your son. He will need all the help you can give.”

“He will perform wonders; you’ll see.” She looked down at her son, shooing Zeus away from the crip. “As for you, I can be ‘at your side’ for whatever ceremonial nonsense you need.”

Zeus’ lips curled into a dismissive smirk. “Perhaps,” he said indifferently. He turned away from the crib and started for the door. “We’ll see.”

“Just tell me when you need me,” Hera said, ensuring that Zeus did not get the final word.

He waved her off, but even she noticed that his purposeful steps lacked their usual thunderous command in his gait. When he reached the threshold, a sudden, sharp pain lanced through his skull. Zeus staggered momentarily before pressing a hand to his temple.

His head throbbed violently. He closed his eyes and tried to not focus on any of the pain.

The sharp bursts of pain that left him feeling off balance were getting worse. As a god, he was not used to feeling vulnerable.

With a frustrated growl, Zeus stormed out of the room. Though she did nothing wrong, Hera was confused by his actions while she was alone by the crib.

The Queen of Olympus did not move. Instead, she looked over her son. Hephaestus was still and peaceful, unaware of his king’s cold dismissal.

Hera lowered her hand to stroke her child’s head. “You will perform wonders,” she whispered again. Unlike Zeus, she believed that truth with every fiber of her being.

The air on Olympus was always magnificently crisp. Some parts were more crisp than others, As Prometheus and Epimetheus strode side by side toward a fractured courtyard, one might see that the area around them had been scarred by Typhon’s attack long ago.

Marble columns split and blackened with some singed markings by the greenery and cracks in the road nearby. Time had softened the scars of battle, but no one had put effort into perfecting this small part of Olympus.

The twins were rarely seen doing much in public anymore. Ever since they were working on their perfect creation of humanity, the citizens of Olympus would be hard-pressed to find them together outside of their workshop. Prometheus was one to be in service to Zeus while Epimetheus was one to smell flowers and do nothing.

Despite their differences in activity, they were nearly identical in appearance. There were notable exceptions of course. Small, subtle differences that had come to truly define them as their own people.

Epimetheus walked with a lighter step, his bright eyes unburdened by sleepless nights unlike Prometheus, who was proving that sleep was necessary even for the divine.

Epiemtheus’ skin bore no sign of hardship. His forearms were smooth and unmarred while Pometheus had once braved the Flame of Olympus and as such, there were burn marks that crawled along his forearms.

Thankfully, time had cooled the damage of the once agonizing scarts. In that moment, the marks on his godly flesh served as silent reminders of the sacrifices he made. Dark circles shadowed his eyes—remnants of nights spent calculating for the moment, planning for the future, and knowing what the consequences might be.

Between them, if one were to choose, the simpler life of Epimetheus was the more enviable of lives. Of course, enviable did not mean successful. Prometheus was sought out to help the sons of Cronos. Both Poseidon and Zeus relied on the insight of the Fire Titan while the Titan of Hindsight was often forgotten.

As they reached the courtyard’s edge, Prometheus stopped pulling his cart. He walked up to his brother and placed a hand on his twin’s shoulder. “This place will do,” he murmured.

Epimetheus tilted his head, curious as to his brother’s thinking but not questioning it. “Why here, Brother? The gods avoid this place.”

Prometheus gave a quiet, knowing smile. “That’s exactly why.”

From his cart, Prometheus pulled out a six foot tall and weighty object wrapped in soft cloth. Epimetheus helped his brother put the statue upright. From the weight of it, Epimetheus knew it to be of bronze material. He looked under the cloth and saw the captured beauty of the Oceanid Metis. Her wisdom was frozen in a gaze that seemed to peer into eternity. Prometheus ran his scarred hands over the sculpture’s surface before returning the cloth over the visage.

“She belongs here,” Prometheus whispered. “Away from the others.”

Prometheus motioned to Epimetheus, who helped him gently position the statue between two ruined columns. They placed it carefully, angled it so Metis herself were surveying the fractured remnants of Olympus. It had been the location of her greatest battle, so of course the Fire Titan would ensure to commemorate her there.

Once the statue stood upright, Prometheus stepped back. He produced a bigger curtain and draped it over the figure from his cart. Until he saw Zeus, he would need to hide her from view. In the cart was also the Aegis, once Zeus’ shield, then Metis, and now his to put on the statue. He was hoping this might endear him to the king. He would need favors for humanity in the future, but until then, he would have to be of service.

Further, until the time was right, Metis was not to be seen by the public. However, she would stand here, waiting, in a forgotten place of ruin and memory.

Epimetheus crossed his arms, watching his twin. “Why do we hide her?”

Prometheus glanced over his shoulder. “Zeus ... He might not like us to bring attention to his fallen partner,” he replied quietly. Looking down, he thought of the queen just then. “And of course, Hera might not enjoy us talking about Zeus’ great love.”

They stood in silence for a moment longer. Epimetheus was no fool despite his relationship from learning more from the mistakes he made than the correct courses he had undertaken. As such, he sensed the gravity in his brother’s actions. This statue was important to some plan his better twin was undertaking. No matter what it was, it was for the good of Olympus.

Prometheus took a step back. His hands rested on the scars etched into his arms, as though feeling the distant pain anew. Prometheus turned to his brother. “Come. It’s done.”

Epimetheus was not entirely sure what was done other than setting the statue up for Zeus to be upset with them over, but then, he did not have his brother’s gift for planning. He would have to wait and see.

The ruined courtyard bore the scars of Typhon’s wrath from long ago. It was the perfect place for Leto to think. After all, she needed places to be alone if she were to give her thoughts the full weight of her focus.

With Zeus being in pain and distracted, she wondered if she was able to leave a lasting impression on him. Leto had heard that Zeus and Hera would be giving an audience to some on Olympus. As such, Leto realized that there would be less of a chance of her being alone with Zeus. Without his undivided attention, she was unlikely to bring her over to her way of thinking.

In her quiet, amid the wreckage, Leto heard a noise. Prometheus and Epimetheus were doing something. The ever-quiet Leto watched as the forms of the twins were up to something.

Together, the twins placed the statue of Metis upright. Leto appreciated the craftsmanship of the perfect likeness of the cunning titaness. Prometheus soon draped a heavy curtain over the statue, concealing her image from prying eyes, but he could not know that Leto was nearby.

As the cloth fell, the twins left. Unseen but ever-watchful, Leto stood. Her golden eyes narrowed as she watched the brothers leave.

Something about that statue and the secretive action of the brothers working in private called to her ambition. Prometheus was being too careful for that thing to be just another stone effigy.

When the twins finished their task and left, Leto stepped forward. Her bare feet glided soundlessly across the ruins. She laid her fingertips on the draped curtain, feeling the stone beneath it before pulling it up to look at the statue.

“This...” she murmured to herself, lips curving upward. “This is important.” She was trying to be sure of herself. After all, if she was wrong, it would upset Zeus. The Thunderer was known for having many qualities, but one of them was a retributive temper, and if this was nothing, she did not want to be the one at the receiving end of his ire.

But she knew Metis had been Zeus’ lover and advisor during the Great War. Most assumed that she was going to be Zeus’ wife, but after her death to Typhon, Zeus chose Hera. That was likely a marriage to appease the masses.