Chapter 3: Metis’ Heir

Nah, don’t be modest, I know you’re a goddess

So let’s be honest, you are Athena (Athena)

Badass in the arenaOdysseus, Warrior of the Mind (from Epic: The Musical), Written and Composed by Jorge Rivera-Herrans, Copyright © Jorge Rivera-Herrans

Zeus led Athena back to his palace. Despite his previous actions, he knew that Olympus would forgive him. After all, he was king.

Once in his palace, he had to take her through the halls until they were in his private quarters. Every step Zeus took reverberated with authority. Without the headache to cripple him, he had regained his natural air of command, and with that, a more breathable composure. His white and gold robes flowed behind him.

Once they reached his private quarters, he made a motion for this young goddess to stand before him. In this vast yet quiet space, intended for his sleep, Athena stood. She did not challenge him, but rather, she seemed confident in herself without concern for what Zeus was doing whatsoever.

She examined the sheer curtains that covered arched windows, the circular skylight in the ceiling let in soft starlight, and even the large resting chair for the king of the gods.

Zeus could not help but admire the confidence of this goddess, whomever she was. She stood in contrast to her surroundings, armored from head to toe. The glow from her golden spear reflected off her bronze cuirass, and her helm framed her calm expression. She was like a lesser version of Metis. While he might have wanted to doubt her claim, and he did, he struggled with it.

She kept her gaze steady in the face of the Thunderer. Very few could do that, yet she did it as easily as breathing. Where he radiated storm-tossed emotions barely contained beneath polished robes, Athena embodied a stillness within the eye of the storm. He wore nothing ready for war, but he was ready to fight, and this new goddess wore the trappings of battle, but maintained an existence of calm serenity.

Zeus gestured for her to sit, but she refused him and remained standing. She planted her spear firmly into the ground with a sharp metallic clang when he tried to be insistent. He found that for all his stubbornness, this new creature might yet be his match.

“All right,” Zeus said after a long stretched out silence.

Zeus seated himself onto his chair.

“I am confused by you, Athena. Who are you?”

“I told you. I am your daughter,” she said. “I would have thought being birthed from your head was proof enough of this.”

“But the daughter of myself and Metis?” Zeus asked.

“Metis was pregnant, by you, with me,” Athena explained simply. “When you consumed her essence, you absorbed her entirely, but I still grew inside of you.”

Zeus blinked. No one had known that he had consumed Metis. Further, his great power did not seem diminished, so it was unlikely that this new goddess was Metis in the flesh. For all of his doubts, he was left with very few options. Either she was lying, which seemed unlikely given what she knew, she was crazy, but she seemed well balanced, or ... and this was the scariest option of all, she was telling him the truth.

“Then ... You’re my daughter...?” he breathed. “By Metis?”

Athena gave him a nod.

Zeus, for all of his mistakes, ran up and hugged his child. His strong arms encased the armored goddess with a love of missing her mother.

“I am so sorry for what I did to your mother.”

“Why did you do it?” Athena asked as he pulled away from the hug.

“There was no other way, or so I thought at the time,” Zeus said. “While we were two distinct people, we were unable to defeat Typhon, but as one being, I had a chance to defeat him.”

“Why not sacrifice yourself for her?” Athena asked with clinical logic.

“This was not a solution your mother would consider,” Zeus explained. Despite his daughter’s recent appearance, despite his own actions as of late, he looked upon her as a way to have a connection to Metis that no one could deny.

“I see,” Athena said, looking away from him. “Where does that leave you and I? Am I to become your prisoner? Will you try to consume me as you did my mother?”

“No, no, no,” Zeus said, running back to her and taking her hands in his. “You are my daughter. My only child by Metis. I would no sooner cut my hands off than harm you, dear one.”

He looked at her with a fierce affection that could not be faked.

“All I ask is your be my daughter, be loyal to me, and not divulge the secret to your birth,” he said, taking her hands into his.

There was a pause as she considered what he had said. Intelligence was as much a gift to her as wisdom from her mother. She could extrapolate that her father did not want his secret cannibalism of Metis to get out. If it did, he would be destroyed as quickly as the news reached the ears of other gods and goddesses.

With that in mind, she nodded in acceptance of him, his love, and his fatherhood.

He would surely construct a lie that was palatable for the other divinities on Olympus, but that was not for Athena to concern herself with. There were other matters and plans for the future that required her attention.

When the two brothers approached the Queen of Olympus, she seemed to know what they were needing.

What Prometheus and Epimetheus did not know was that while Zeus and them had been battling, it was Hera who had thrown up a barrier around their battle so most of Olympus was not consumed by the destruction. In no way did the Queen of Olympus offer explanation to the other gods for the actions of Zeus, Prometheus, or Epimetheus.

After the battle, Hera ushered Prometheus and Epimetheus into a small chamber within the grand throne room. She pulled out a crystalline decanter filled with ambrosia. The liquid shimmered like molten starlight, casting beams of radiant cosmic energy across the chamber.

Its glow promised restoration from any harm. It had always been a priceless treasure, but since the Great War, the divine hosts of Olympus had come to respect the power of the drink all the more.

Taking the delicate container, Hera poured the ambrosia with measured grace into two small glasses for the sons of Iapetus.

First, she handed a chalice to Prometheus. His wounds from the blows and lightning began to seal and heal as the ambrosia coursed through him. His breathing came more easily while strength returned to his form. Handing back the chalice, he offered Hera a grateful nod before rising.

“Thank you, Hera,” he said.

While Hera had opinions on the statue of Zeus’ one great love, she waved it off. Perhaps, this was what Prometheus had meant by his actions would upset her. It was disrespectful to put up a statue of Metis so soon after Hera’s wedding to Zeus; however, Metis was Zeus’ great love. Any of the older gods, who fought in the Great War, would have been able to attest to that fact. Hera was not one to deny it.

If this was to be Prometheus’ great offense, she would forgive him in her mind without ever having to tell him.

“I need to go see the wreckage of the workshop,” Prometheus said. The thought of its destruction weighed heavily on him. He and his brother’s work had been there.

Hera then turned to Epimetheus, who drank the healing drink all too quickly. His expression was one of more open gratitude.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. It means a lot that you actually took the time to see to us yourself,” Epimetheus said.

Hera put the decanter away. “When something matters, the leader should put in the work,” she said with a cordial smile.

“We do appreciate the effort,” Epimetheus said. “I know there were some complicated factors around your rise to be queen, but you are beloved, Hera. Many know what you did during the war. While my brother, myself, and a few others know of your great love of Hades, many on Olympus believe you married Zeus for love and duty.”

“Thank you, Epimetheus. I do not need to know the opinion of the public,” Hera said. Shortly.

Epimetheus shrugged. “Perhaps not, Majesty, but it cannot hurt to know how others view you. Most know Zeus is prideful and self-serving, but he was crowned by Gaia and Rhea, but at your own wedding, so too ... were ... you.”

With that thought, Epimetheus stood up and left.

Prometheus stood in what remained of the workshop. While the battle had been short, Zeus proved why he was so feared. He had decimated the building and the surrounding area. Prometheus looked around and saw less destruction the further he looked

Perhaps Hera was responsible for that. He was glad that she sat beside Zeus as Queen of Olympus. His shoulders were weighed down with the sight of splintered wood, twisted metal, and shattered glass scattered across the floor. It had been his and his brother’s life’s work. He scrambled, looking around for the one piece of perfection he was missing. Everything else about the work could be replaced.

The wreckage of tools and half-finished projects were nothing compared to the statue of Pandora. Humanity was the future. Epimetheus had once shared in the sacred pursuit of creation. It was all for nothing if Prometheus could not find that stupid statue. His plans, his forethought, all of it hung on the idea of humanity being created.

Dust clung to the air, swirling around Prometheus as he carefully shifted through fragments of broken artifacts. He was quickly coming to realize that the statue might have been destroyed or lost. A swirl of sorrow welled up within him. So much of him wanted to scream, yet he could not because his plans for humanity were secret. First Cratus destroyed one model, and then Zeus destroyed the most perfect. Perhaps ... he sighed. Perhaps humanity just was not meant to come into reality.

Shaking his head, Prometheus knew he was playing with forces he had no right to. He was not the Great Progenitor, Chaos. He was not meant to create life as he saw fit.

The sound of footsteps interrupted his thoughts.

Prometheus looked up to see Zeus standing where the doorway might once have stood. He wanted to bring his anger to bear against the king of the gods, but Prometheus knew that the outcome of their battle would be the same. For all the struggling Prometheus and Epimetheus had gone through, Zeus barely had a hair out of place.