There was a strange stillness in the workshop.
The air hadn't yet recovered from Zeus's presence. It clung with heat and static, humming with the last breath of lightning. You could still smell the ozone—sharp, metallic, sour like a struck anvil. His voice was gone, his arrogance with it, but the echo of divine pride still hung in the stone walls like a stain.
I stood in silence, eyes fixed on the object he'd left behind.
A wooden box.
Unassuming. Splintered at the corners, the carvings unfinished in places, as though the hands that shaped it feared what it held. But I already knew the truth. This wasn't a container.
It was a coffin.
Or a cradle.
Depending on what came next.
Prometheus approached it like a man stepping into sacred ground. His face had none of the usual smugness, none of the wry sarcasm he liked to wrap around himself like armor. He looked older now. Not in years, but in wear. Worn down by waiting, by failing, by hoping too many times.
His fingers hovered over the lid, hesitating.
"I never thought that someone would actually take it," he whispered.
I didn't answer right away. My gaze was fixed on the wooden box as I clenched my fist slightly.
"You and I both know how important that stuff is," I said eventually. "You seriously need to hide it when you are not using it."
Prometheus gave a half-smile, brittle at the edges. "You are right, I just didn't expect that I would have had it ripped from my hands by a glorified thundercloud."
A quiet chuckle escaped me. Short-lived.
I folded my arms, the weight of what had happened—and what was coming—settling like a cloak across my shoulders.
"Well, at least we know why your new mortals kept breaking apart like wet paper."
He grunted, bitter. "I was using river clay. Literally. Scraped mud from banks and wondered why it didn't work. 'Why won't they hold shape, Prometheus?'" he said, mocking Zeus's voice. "'Why do they fall ill? Why do they have all these problems?' Because you swapped my clay with filth, you damn idiot."
I raised an eyebrow. "Still holding back, I see."
He exhaled slowly, then opened the lid.
Prometheus gazed into the clay like a man staring into a mirror that could still show hope. His voice dropped.
"This… this will work."
"You're sure?"
He nodded. "I'll need to shape them again from the start."
A pause.
"I know that Adam and Eve will surely have children and yet, the two can't populate the earth. I promised years ago... that I would create a far superior species, but maybe instead I should hide that species deep inside the mortal body and make sure that they only come out when the world truly needs them."
"A safe measure?" I asked, crossing my arms as I leaned against a pillar.
"You could say that. You never know what great danger the future would bring." He responded, a tone in his voice seemed to hint at something he was worried about.
I looked at him, wondering if he knew of the Great Devourer. "So, these new humans? How long do you believe that they would actually last longer?"
He grabbed a pair of tongs and carefully lifted the clay from the box, placing it on the anvil at the center of his workshop. "With the correct clay, they should last for over a thousand years as long as they do not corrupt their bodies."
"Corrupt their bodies? What exactly do you mean." I was interested now as in the future nobody lived longer than 100 years.
"Simple, the act of sins weakens the body. Although us Divinus are not affected, a mortal will cut down their lives through every single generation until they live barely a hundred years."
I turned, ready to leave. My job here was done. But Prometheus called out—
"Wait."
I stopped.
He didn't look up. His gaze was locked on the clay, fingers twitching slightly.
"…Wanna help?"
There was a silence between us. Me, a god of death. Him, a Titan of foresight and flame. Rebuilding mankind.
I exhaled slowly, then shrugged. "Why not?"
The next few hours passed in a rhythm that soon became comfortable as I got used to working around the mess. And although it was weird and I did struggle at first trying to figure out where everything was, it did not take too long to figure it out.
Prometheus was in his element. He moved like a sculptor possessed, his mind sharp, hands precise. I took the role of assistant, though I had my own insights. Shadows obeyed me without word or motion—sweeping tools to him, mixing ingredients, regulating the heat of the workshop. But this was his world. I merely walked through it.
"Mixing Adam's DNA with this clay is going to be delicate," Prometheus muttered, holding up the veil I had brought.
I raised an eyebrow. "Right, so what exactly will you do with the blood?"
"Infuse it," he said simply, already moving with that manic kind of purpose that always made me uneasy. "The clay already has the divine blueprint—it remembers form, remembers breath. But it needs a mortal signature. A personal stamp."
He turned toward the granite mortar sitting at the center of the workbench. I recognized the other items laid out beside it from the inventory we'd collected: dried scarletroot herb, star-thistle pollen, powdered bone ash, a corked vial of ichor stolen from the veins of some forgotten minor god, and, most curiously… a small, tightly sealed jar labeled in red wax:
"Simia Saliva: Do Not Ingest."
Prometheus uncorked the vial of blood I had retrieved—the last remaining drops from the ancient veil that once covered Adam's remains—and tipped it into the bowl. The red liquid swirled atop the polished granite, gleaming like wine in moonlight.
"One part blood," he said aloud, more for himself than for me. "Two drops of ichor… just a touch—any more and the mortal brain will fry itself before it takes its first breath."
I passed him the golden vial. He uncapped it, sniffed it once, recoiled, then poured carefully.
Next, the herb paste. I handed him the green-brown mixture, thick and pungent.
"Now this is the tricky part," he muttered. "This stabilizes the spiritual tether to the body. Too much, and it dulls the soul. Too little, and they unravel into screaming fog."
"Charming," I said dryly.
Then came the monkey saliva.
"Why a monkey?" I asked, frowning as I passed him the jar.
"Cognitive bridge," he replied. "Monkeys are the closest thing to us without actually being us. Their essence helps the clay learn how to think. Plus, it keeps the instincts sharp. Don't ask how I figured this out."
"I wasn't planning to."
He uncorked the jar, sniffed, winced, then added a few gelatinous drops into the mixture. "I hate this part," he muttered, reaching for the pestle.
Prometheus began grinding.
The mortar groaned under the pressure as he crushed the ingredients together. The paste turned from crimson to rust-red, then to something darker—like blood and bark. The scent was overwhelming: metallic, herbal, slightly… primate.
He dragged a long, stained finger through the thick mixture and approached the clay form laid across the altar. The shape was crude—humanoid, neutral, still blank like uncarved stone—but the features were starting to show hints of something almost real.
Prometheus whispered a short phrase in a language I hadn't heard since the stars were young.
Then, with great care, he pressed the paste to the center of the clay's chest.
A moment passed.
The body exploded.
I flinched as wet fragments of enchanted mud splattered across the workshop walls, hissing as they hit hot stone. Prometheus blinked, stunned, flecks of clay sliding off his cheek.
"Okay," he said calmly, wiping his face with his sleeve. "Not the herb paste. Definitely not the herb paste."
I sighed. "Too much ichor?"
"No, no… that was balanced." He frowned. "Monkey. I underestimated the monkey."
"You always underestimate the monkey."
He grunted. "More saliva. Hand me the jar."
I did.
He mixed quickly this time, adjusting ratios by eye like a mad apothecary, then reformed another humanoid shape from the reserve clay. This one had better structure—more detail in the hands, the brow, the curvature of the spine.
Prometheus rubbed a smaller amount of the revised mixture across the chest of the new figure and stood back.
The body twitched.
Then again.
The clay darkened. Cracks ran through its surface—not of breaking, but shedding—like old bark falling away. The dull stone hue softened into tones of warm bronze. The fingers curled slightly. A chest rose with the faintest breath.
"There we go," Prometheus breathed.
The clay had become flesh.
Still. Silent. But no longer lifeless.
A pulse flickered beneath the skin.
"Success," he whispered. "Finally."
I stepped closer, arms crossed, watching the quiet rise and fall of the chest, the still-closed eyes, the perfect stillness of a body on the edge of awakening.
"So," I said, voice low. "Now what?"
Prometheus exhaled, exhausted but triumphant. "Now… we start increasing the human race!"
Prometheus and I worked in tandem, side by side. Days passed—maybe more. Eventually, we stood before them—one thousand sleeping humans, all different shapes, sizes, and colors. Every single one of them was human.
We stood in silence for quite a bit before Prometheus spoke up.
"I think we made far too many."
"You think?" I muttered as with a sweep of my hand, the shadows surged forward—wrapping around the new humans like a wave.
One by one, they vanished, as I simply sent them to earth, kind of just spread them everywhere. I will make sure to send a prayer to Gaia and ask if she can guide the humans across the world.
So now... only Prometheus and I remained.
He slumped into a chair looking exhausted. "Well… now I can finally take a break."
I nodded. "Let's hope that they don't start dying out too quickly, it makes it far too much work for everyone."
He chuckled. "They will. That's part of the pattern."
I leaned against the wall, staring into the coals. "But maybe this time, they'll rebuild afterward."
Silence settled between us. A comfortable one. The kind born from real work, real exhaustion. But there was more I needed to say.
"…You know, there's space in the Underworld for you."
He blinked. "Huh?"
I turned to face him fully. "You could move there. Brontes has a full workshop in Upper Asphodel. I bet that he would love the help and you won't have to deal with Zeus down there."
Prometheus rubbed his chin, considering. "And a home?"
"Yeah, wherever you would want it. Elysium is really beautiful and relaxing, and it does overlook the gardens so you would have a great view."
He grinned at me. "Are you offering a Titan refuge in the land of the dead?"
I nodded. "Well you are a friend, and I just thought that you would like somewhere nice to live."
He stared at me for a long moment.
Then he stood and extended a hand.
"I'm in your care then, Lord of the Underworld."
I clasped his arm.
"Then I gladly welcome you to the House of Aidoneus, Titan of Foresight."
🙛🙚🙛🙚🙛🙚⯡🙘🙙🙘🙙🙘🙙
The castle doors swung open as I walked toward it as I headed inside. Ready to finally take a break and rest. But of course, I didn't have such luck.
Hecate was waiting for me before the doors had even finished parting, bowing low enough that her black hair brushed the floor.
"My lord," she said, her voice carrying that familiar mix of reverence and sly amusement. "You have finally returned."
I stepped inside, brushing off some dust that was clinging to me from Prometheus's workshop. "I'm sure the kingdom didn't fall apart in my absence, Hecate. What's the damage?"
She straightened, hands clasped behind her back as we walked. The scent of ash and cold iron followed us through the vaulted hall. "While you were gone, the mortal souls have been organized and seeing as they have not lived long enough to accomplish much they have all been sorted and placed in their new homes in the Lower City. Out of the 25,000, a total of 550 have offered themselves into working for you. I have already gone ahead and organized them into fitting jobs."
I nodded as I kept walking. "Alright, thank you. And what of the nature spirits from the disasters caused by Neptune?"
Her lips twitched. "They have also all been accounted for."
We turned down a corridor lined with obsidian pillars carved into spiraling scenes of life and death.
"And Cerberus?" I asked.
Hecate coughed delicately. "Currently… digging holes in the gardens and chasing dead rodents in Arcadia. The beasts don't seem to mind, though the gardeners are petitioning for you to intervene."
I smirked despite myself. "Maybe it is time that I actually try to get him trained."
"I will see about getting him a trainer. And lastly… Brontes."
"What about him?"
"He wishes to mine the mountains to the west. Claims the ore there could forge armor to withstand even a god's wrath. He's waiting for your approval before beginning."
"Tell him to mine whatever he wants." I said, waving my hand dismissively. "And maybe you should take a break, I have been keeping you quite busy lately."
We passed beneath the towering doors to the great hall, the marble gleaming in the flickering light. I was already imagining myself sinking into one of the couches—preferably with a drink in hand—when the calm was shattered.
The sound of feet pounding against stone.
Oizys came flying into the hall like a shadow with her hair on fire, her wide eyes shimmering with something I rarely saw in her—fear.
"My lord!" she cried. "You— you have a visitor!"
My muscles tensed instantly. "Who?"
Before she could answer, the air shifted. The scent of brine and rot swept into the hall. Water sloshed over the marble as something heavy and wet dragged itself forward.
Neptune stepped through the archway. He left a trail of mud and seawater across my hall with every step.
"Brother," he said, his grin a jagged maw. "It's been too long."
I didn't move from where I stood, though my fingers curled slightly at my sides. "Brother. You look… like something dredged from the bottom of Tartarus."
He laughed, the sound bubbling like something drowning. "I am changed. Freed. And I've come to offer you the same freedom."
I raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you're calling this? Corruption looks more accurate from where I'm standing."
He ignored the jab. "I'm here to convince you to join me in bringing Olympus down. The reign of Zeus, although short, is over. Under my new lord and master—Typhon—we will establish a new order. A better order."
My eyes narrowed. "Typhon. The Father of Monsters."
"Yes," Neptune hissed, leaning forward like a predator about to strike. "The true ruler who will sweep away the pretenders. You and I, side by side—"
"Are you a fucking moron?" The words came out flat, sharp, without even a flicker of hesitation.
His grin faltered.
I stepped closer, my voice low and edged with iron. "We just barely crawled out of a war with our father. Do you remember that? Or has the rot already eaten through your skull? And now you throw yourself into the arms of the one being who could make Cronus look merciful?"
"You don't understand—"
"Oh, I understand perfectly," I cut him off. "You've let yourself be controlled. You've traded your will for power. You're no better than a puppet dancing on a monster's claws."
His shark teeth bared again, but this time the smile didn't reach his burning eyes. "You'll regret this. When the seas rise and Olympus drowns, you'll wish you stood beside me."
"I'd rather be crushed beneath the waves than bow to Typhon."
The temperature in the hall seemed to drop. Water slithered across the marble, pooling around my boots. He was close now, the stench of decay rolling off him in waves.
For a moment, we just stared at each other—two brothers, separated by a chasm far deeper than the sea.
Then he stepped back, the water receding with him. "Prepare yourself, Hades. The greatest war of your life is coming."
He turned, the sound of wet footsteps echoing through the hall until the gates slammed shut behind him.
Only then did I exhale.
Oizys was still pressed against the far wall, watching the puddles of foul water eat into the marble.
I glanced at her. "Get someone to clean this up before it stains my beautiful floors."
Her lips quivered faintly, though her eyes stayed wary. "At once, my lord."
I turned away, but the echo of Neptune's warning followed me into the shadows.