Crete, lying in the Aegean Sea, is Greece's largest island. Long and narrow, it stretches across the southernmost edge of the world.
As the cradle of the Cretan-Mycenaean civilization, the very origins of Greece trace back to this land.
In the Age of the Gods, when the Twelve Titans ruled, the young Zeus was raised here, and Athena bore the title of "Cretan Maiden Earth Goddess."
The labyrinth of the Minotaur, Zeus's encounter with Europa—many of Greece's myths were born on this island.
All these stories prove Crete's foundational role and immense importance.
And soon, perhaps, another great turning point in the progress of civilization would be etched into its history.
On a broad plain, ringed by mountains and cut through by rivers, Prometheus the prophet crouched on the ground. His sheer, gauzy robe revealed one side of his powerful Titan form. He frowned in concentration, hands ceaselessly shaping the clay at his feet.
No! Still no good!
Prometheus stared at the figure before him—tall as himself, yet still a vague, unsatisfying prototype. With a disappointed shake of his head, he tossed it aside.
Behind him lay heaps of discarded rough shapes, each more flawed than the last.
Stretching his stiff limbs, the seer lifted his gaze toward the distant Olympus Mountains, their peaks piercing the clouds above the continent.
Banished to Earth to shape and enrich the world, he bore the weight of a prophecy—an oracle from fate itself—that he would bring to Greece a creation to rival the gods.
Yet for months, his efforts had come to nothing. It always felt as though some invisible membrane lay in his way, an unseen barrier he could never break through.
Scooping a handful of clear river water, Prometheus splashed his face, driving off some of his weariness. His deep eyes shifted toward a nearby ravine, and he murmured softly.
"You've watched long enough. Come out."
The air rippled. From the ravine, four figures appeared—one man and three women.
The man walked at the center. Long black hair fell over his shoulders, and scarlet serpent-like pupils flickered as they opened and closed. His handsome features bore a gentle smile, though his limbs were slender and refined, nothing like a Titan's.
Of the three women, one stood to his left, one to his right, and one followed behind.
The girl on the left had flowing purple hair, bright and supple as if alive. Her white gown swayed in the breeze, carrying a quiet, reserved aura tinged faintly with death and the abyss.
On the right, silver hair cascaded down her back. Her bright eyes and flawless features shone beneath a serene and elegant presence, yet hidden beneath it lay a destructive majesty. Her half-smile carried a knowing, worldly amusement.
Main Gods? Two of them?!
It was true that Greece had no shortage of Titans and divine beings who defied Olympus while feigning obedience.
But to see two such existences—each radiating power nearly equal to Apollo, Artemis, Ares, and the other younger Olympian Main Gods—was enough to give him pause.
And the two goddesses stood to the man's left and right, guarding him in a subtle wedge formation. Their presence carried meanings he could not decipher.
Wait… was the man himself also a Main God?
As the group drew closer, Prometheus's gaze returned to the serpent-eyed man at their center. The longer he looked, the deeper his astonishment grew.
Unfathomable. Completely unfathomable.
Like gazing at flowers through mist or the moon reflected in water—he seemed unreal, unreachable, impossible to grasp.
In truth, after devouring a golden apple and undergoing a new transformation, Samael had already ascended as a Main God, gaining clearer mastery of the divinity of fate and time within him.
Yet what he had bled and struggled to achieve, the two girls beside him had reached with shocking ease—one by a pat on the head, the other by sitting under a tree for a few days. It was enough to break his spirit.
As for Tina, even Samael himself couldn't say where her level stood.
When Prometheus's gaze moved past the three and landed on the last figure—bearing verdant horns and curiously glancing around—he rubbed his aching temples and let out a helpless smile.
What was going on today?
Four beings in a row whose destinies he could not perceive. His title as seer felt painfully hollow.
While Prometheus studied them, Samael too was examining him.
This one was sharp.
It seemed he had noticed something unusual in them.
"Tina and I are companions of Themis. We heard you were sent down from Olympus to shape life in the mortal world. At her request, we came to see if we could be of help."
The ancient serpent chuckled lightly, deliberately invoking the name of the impartial and highly respected goddess of justice.
Seeing goodwill shown, Prometheus eased a little.
In general, the title of "Main God" carried both rank and divine authority, yet the strength behind it varied greatly—sometimes as vast as heaven and earth.
Take the Nine Muses, for instance. They each held divine authority and sacred offices, and by all rights were Main Gods. Yet their combat strength didn't even measure up to a single Nymph attending the huntress Artemis.
Their mother, Mnemosyne—the Titan goddess of memory—was herself a Main God. But even if all nine Muses stood together, they likely wouldn't withstand so much as a flick of her finger.
Similarly, the six thousand river and current-born offspring of Oceanus were all technically Main Gods, each presiding over one or two waterways, countless in number.
Yet even if more than five thousand of them were combined, they still might not rival the strength of the Goddess of Wisdom Metis alone.
Such imbalance was normal. Some were born weak, some strong. Whether one could fight depended on the individual, their divine power, and above all, the nature of their authority.
Of course, Prometheus himself was a Main God—one of a very special kind. As the "god of foresight and prescience," his ability was so formidable even Zeus regarded it with caution.
And with the combat prowess inherited from his Titan lineage, he believed himself second only to Zeus among the Olympian Twelve.
But the three Main Gods before him—judging from the aura they gave off—were all hardened fighters.
And then there was the strange one with emerald horns. His true strength was unclear, yet he evoked the strongest sense of danger of all.
Three against one—if conflict broke out, Prometheus couldn't say for certain he would prevail.
Better, then, to confirm directly that they bore no ill intent.
As for whether they could help with creation—that, he cared far less about.
Samael's gaze drifted to the ground, where misshapen figures lay discarded—bodies with awkwardly twisted limbs, a single eye, two heads, distorted proportions. He shook his head slightly.
Humans don't look like that, friend.
The ancient serpent muttered the thought, then raised his head, formally addressing the Titan who pioneered mankind's creation.
"Oh, I nearly forgot."
"Athena and Medusa—both are subordinate deities of Gaia, the Earth Mother. They've come to aid you in perfecting your creations."
"So then, when shall we begin?"
Samael blinked, smiling faintly. In the depths of his eyes lingered a meaning not easily read.