Chapter 2: The Work Begins Anew

“In the sea the shining fish were set to swim; the land received the beasts, the gusty air the birds. A holier creature, of a loftier mind, fit master of the rest, was lacking still. Then man was made, perhaps from seed divine formed by the great World’s Creator (Origo Mundi), so to found a better world, perhaps the new-made earth, so lately parted from the ethereal heavens, kept still some essence of the kindred sky--earth that son of Iapetus moulded, mixed with water, in likeness of the gods that govern the world--and while the other creatures on all fours look downwards, man was made to hold his head erect in majesty and see the sky, and raise his eyes to the bright stars above. Thus earth, once crude and featureless, now changed put on the unknown form of humankind.”

— Ovid. Metamorphoses, Book 1, lines 82–88. Translated by A.D. Melville, 1986. Copyright © Oxford University Press.

“Where is Apollo?’ Leto asked as she sipped her goat’s milk with her tray of grapes, fluffy pita bread, side of butter, and a small block of feta cheese.

“You know he has to guide the sun chariot, mother,” Artemis answered.

“Oh yes,” Leto said. “Your father’s gifts to him. Just like you were given gifts. Your father let you keep your bow to be an example for strong women and a protector of the weak ones.” She let out a laugh. “Weak like me.”

“He also vowed that I would never have to take a husband,” Artemis added.

“You did not want to end up like me,” Leto scoffed.

“Mother, it is not like that!”

Leto waved her daughter off. “No, no. I understand. I was discarded by Zeus. It makes more sense that those would be the gifts you would want from your father.”

“What about yours?” Artemis wondered.

“Your father gave me my own palace as a mother to two Olympian, but my request for your grandparents to be freed from the Underworld has gone unanswered.”

Leto stared off into the distance. She shook her head.

“I guess what matters is you both are happy,” she said. “Are you?”

Artemis nodded. “We are. Apollo loves being the center of attention. I enjoy my freedom. You should too, Mother.”

“It is ... difficult, daughter. I was a daughter of two of the twelve Titans. And now my children are two of the twelve Olympians. I feel...” she struggled for words. “I feel lost, floating into an abyss outside of my control.”

Artemis put a hand on top of her mother’s hand on the table.

“You are honored, Mother. You are venerated. Do not give into despair. I am sure Father will grant your wish soon enough.”

Leto smiled gratefully to her daughter. “I hope so, my sweet girl.”

He was the son of Iapetus and Clymene. He had chosen Zeus over Cronos during the Great War. It was a decision he had felt good about in the moment. During the ten years, his loyalties had been rewarded by victory in the final days.

Prometheus felt as though while Zeus was flawed, day after day, the fire titan had been rewarded for putting his faith int Zeus. Even after discovering Zeus’ betrayal and destruction of Metis, Prometheus knew it would be foolhardy to remove Zeus from power. He was entirely too unifying for the gods.

With events after, from the marriage to Hera to Zeus’ consolidation of power to Prometheus’ conversation with Chaos, Prometheus was no longer sure of the future, nor his hope to create humanity, but with Zeus’ new hope for mortals, it was clear that their birth might be possible.

He was sat in his palace. He had this perfect mold of humanity in Pandora.

However, Prometheus knew he could not retrieve her from Hephaestus’ forge without tipping off the smith god to her origin. This led Prometheus to this single most terrifying thought: He would have to believe she would be created as he and his brother had planned.

She was a unique, one of a kind being. She had received many secret blessing from himself, his brother and multiple goddesses, including Metis and Hestia, so replicating that would be nearly impossible.

Bronze had been her form, not dirt or clay. Those lesser substances were not good enough for her.

As he continued to think about the creation of humanity, Prometheus saw a rhythm to the pattern of the temporal chain that was cause and effect. When one decision was made, another could be done, and so on and so forth. He did not need Pandora to exist at that moment. She only needed to exist eventually. That just required time and maneuvering.

He was an immortal titan. Time he had in abundance. With his exemplary mind, he could maneuver just fine.

Dirt ... Dirt and water. That would be the foundation for Zeus’ version of humanity. Prometheus’ design would not need to be perfect in the moment.

Just as Ouranos had fallen to Cronos and Cronos had fallen to Zeus and surely Zeus would fall to another, it was a chain. A sequence of events that led from one to another. He only needed Pandora to come about into the sequence of events. If she somehow bred with these other, lesser mortals, they would be elevated to be like her.

And not within one generation, but many, they could expand and be better than what Zeus had in mind.

Now ... There was an answer.

In her pavilion, Athena sat. Like every palace, she had a garden, a throne room, and private quarters. She was not one for those sorts of luxuries.

For her, the daughter of Metis simply needed a bed to sleep on, a courtyard to train in, and herself. Of course, it was apparent to her why her father elevated her.

He had consumed her mother, taking both her wisdom and power. By Athena’s estimation, Zeus favored her, not because she was capable, but rather out of fear and placation. Her perspective might have been jaded.

She could not help but laugh at that idea. It was the most obvious course of actions for her to be cynical. Her very birth came from an act of duplicity from her father. Her position had been handed to her out of the terror her father had about Athena revealing his consumption of Metis.

Nothing of hers was earned. Hermes joked about inheriting his Olympian status because of entitlement and nepotism, but Athena felt the granted titles was more appropriate for her life more than anyone else’s.

Shaking her head, there was no easy answer.

There was no path outlined for her. Options existed, to be sure, but which could she take.

She was left to be supplicating to her father, who was despot in private and beloved in public. Another choice was to try and overthrow him, but another god war would not end with victories for anyone. Prometheus had some scheme in mind; however, she was not privy to his inner workings of his mind, which made any belief in that plan difficult.

She let out a sigh of exhaustion.

What she knew for certain was that her father could not be allowed to stay in power.

Every palace on Olympus was beautiful, ornate, large, and personal to the gods who lived within them. Because of this, when Poseidon started to solidify his home in his underwater city, he made sure that his palace was even larger, more personal, and more beautiful than the ones on Olympus.

While fewer gods would see his home, those that did would be jealous of his home. In his younger days, he did not much care for the seriousness of power. He enjoyed the waves of life, the ups and down, the give and take, the push and pull, and all of the adventures of life. However, rulership had changed Poseidon’s perspective on the world.

Having slept with Tethys, the Titan wife of Oceanus, former queen of the seas, and Poseidon’s aunt twice over ... It was apparent to the sea king that he needed to practice some restraint, be more serious, and only practice having fun on occasion, rather than letting his carefree demeanor be an everyday activity.

The dim corridors of Poseidon’s palace were long and had coral-encrusted walls. There was a heavy scent of salt and distant brine.

Poseidon walked deliberately. He did not allow his trident to tap or drag against the polished stone floor. Instead, he made sure to lift the symbol of his power.

The Olympians had symbols for themselves. Poseidon had the trident obviously. Zeus had the thunderbolt, Demeter had a cornucopia (which held food), and Hestia had her little flame, but those were the sigils that marked the outside of their palaces on Olympus as well as the interior’s design.

His wife, Amphitrite, followed close behind. Her silver-blue hair fell like liquid moonlight down her back. Her expression was calm and serene, as a good wife should be. However, her eyes betrayed a storm of thoughts.

“You should not have sent them away, Poseidon,” she said with reproach. “Aegis and Eletheia could have been useful in the future. With them indebted to us, you have gained two powerful allies, but you turned them away. They are two children to the King of Olympus”

Poseidon’s pace did not falter as he replied.

“Maybe,” he said with consideration. “They are alleging that they are the children of my brother.” He let out a laugh. “While being a child of Ouranos or Cronos was not only a blessing but a rarity, but without how my brother gets around, that lineage is neither rare nor a gift.”

“How does that make any sense?” Amphitrite asked, entirely confused and frustrated. “They would be a prince and princess of Olympus!”

“My brother does not always elevate his children. Those nine singing daughters of his are goddesses, but not seen as princesses,” Poseidon pointed out. “And after the Olympians, I think he does not plan to raise up any more children. Some will be seen as powerful and useful, but if they are not one, or both, of those things to my brother, I believe he will discard any protection or favor he might give them.”

“Is that it?” Amphitrite asked.

“Hera might also come down and try to bring down her own fury,” Poseidon commented. He stared out into the distance. “Those two have become unbelievably powerful since they ascended.”

His frustration at that gap was palpable. He was always so fun, but the reminder that his fun came at a cost, and not one person, but two, could take that away from him, was too much to bear sometimes. If nothing else, that had helped motivate him to take his throne more seriously.