On the island of Crete, three goddesses worked together. Medusa and Tina shaped pairs of men and women, Athena granted wisdom, and Samael instilled sin at the end.
After seven days and nights of creation, humanity had grown to nearly ten thousand. Led by the prophet Prometheus, the newborns carried stones to build a simple altar.
When the final stone was polished and set in place, the three goddesses, sensing the eager, expectant gazes of the newborn humans, stopped their work in unison. With approving eyes, they stepped forward.
"You… are good…"
Hearing this praise, the new humans proudly straightened their backs, gazing up at their Mother Goddesses, their creators, like soldiers receiving inspection.
Medusa stood on the left, Athena on the right, while Tina was quietly pulled aside by Samael, her merits hidden away.
Under Prometheus's lead, the humans presented their offerings at the altar in turn—fruit, game, pure water, gemstones, and more—then knelt in reverent worship.
When all was ready, a jeweled crown symbolizing the authority of the earth appeared above Medusa's head. In her hand, she summoned the scythe of time and struck the ground lightly. Esoteric vibrations rippled outward, sinking into the layers of the earth.
Moments later, the ground answered in harmonious rhythm as the runes and magecraft patterns around the altar lit up and began to operate.
Within the altar's pillar of light, a vast humanoid form took shape—woven from verdant vegetation, earthen tones, and the luminous shadows of living creatures. With gentle satisfaction, it looked down on its surroundings, nodding as it accepted humanity's offerings. Through the authority of the earth, it acknowledged their existence.
Then Gaia, Mother Earth, softly raised her hand toward this new species. Countless motes of starlike light rose from the ground, drifting into the humans' bodies. Their limbs and bones glowed as disease was warded away. They were granted long lives, strength, and the blessing of the earth.
At the same time, the light patterns spreading from the altar crossed the Aegean Sea, spreading across the entire Greek mainland. Under the influence of the earth's authority and the concept of humanity, the "bones" of Mother Earth—stones along riverbanks and scattered across wild mountains—softened and reshaped, taking on form and life.
Creating humanity, of course, could not be achieved by crafting each one by hand like figurines, relying only on the labor of Medusa, Athena, and Tina. Now, this newborn species had received Gaia's recognition and blessing, formally inscribed into existence.
From here, humanity's presence would naturally diffuse across the land in conceptual form, gradually establishing settlements and civilizations.
Once the Origin Goddess completed humanity's registration and bestowed her blessing, the runes on the altar faded. Gaia's form dissolved and vanished, returning to slumber within the mountains.
Seeing the most crucial step accomplished, Samael let out a breath of relief. The gathered gods exchanged glances, nodding to one another.
Samael and the four Divine Spirits quietly withdrew. Under Prometheus's command, humanity was reorganized for the next round of offerings.
The divine authority of the earth resonated in unison, and all humans across the land felt the call at once.
Wherever they stood, they raised altars, offered fruit and game, lit bonfires, and cast spices into the flames.
As countless humans performed these rites together, the world's Ether converged, flowing through their newborn bodies. The power of ritual spread in resonance, faith overflowing from their hearts and pouring into the divine cores of the gods of Olympus, further strengthening their divinity.
At the same time, humanity's desires—for tools, for marriage, for knowledge—gave rise to new authorities and divine roles among the gods.
This sudden shift astonished the Olympian gods, who turned their eyes to the earth, studying this newborn species called humanity.
The increase of their divine power and godhood filled them with delight. They gladly accepted the worship and offerings of these new creations.
Yet at that very moment, within the royal bedchamber, the God King Zeus's pupils shrank sharply. He leapt from his bed, his face twisted with shock and fury.
"Damn it! Prometheus, look at what you've done!"
The roar, stern and murderous, thundered like a thousand lions bellowing to the sky, shaking the heavens above Olympus.
In an instant, storm clouds smothered the skies. Blinding bolts of lightning cracked and spread across the firmament in branching arcs, lighting up the darkness.
Under this crushing pressure, the gods dwelling on the sacred mountain shivered instinctively.
"My King, why such anger? This is merely a simple creation."
As Zeus's rage boiled over, a soft, lily-white arm slipped from behind the gauze curtains, resting on his chest and tracing it gently.
The voluptuous goddess Hera, with bright sapphire eyes and golden curls spilling from beneath her jeweled crown, reclined gracefully on the bed. Radiant and dignified, she giggled softly as her white arm caressed him.
But Zeus's forehead throbbed with bulging veins. He glared darkly and snapped,
"What do you know!"
This species called humanity, through their swelling numbers and the power of sacrifice and worship, was recklessly draining the world's ether.
The divine sweetness the gods now savored from human faith was nothing but borrowed against the future—it would only hasten the decline of the Mystery!
And had these fools never stopped to think?
Humans may seem to please and revere the gods through sacrifice, empowering them in return. But the moment you taste that sweetness, craving more faith, you begin to serve humanity instead.
Once accustomed to this shortcut, how could any god willingly abandon the convenience of strength drawn from belief?
Since when did divine duty depend on what humans bestowed? Since when did the greatness of gods require human acknowledgment? Since when did the essence of ether need to be redistributed by mortals?
The God King, armed with the wisdom of Metis, remained clear-headed. He had long seen through Prometheus's ploy—to use humanity to bind the gods and undermine their authority.
A fine son of Iapetus! A fine prophet indeed!
Zeus's eyes burned with fury, aching to drag his cousin back to Olympus and punish him. Humanity, too—this blasphemous, unstable element—had to be wiped out.
But as his expression darkened further, the white-armed goddess Hera leaned close, whispering with a soft laugh at his ear.
"Your Majesty, humanity's existence has already received Gaia's approval and blessing. And the order for Prometheus to go to the earth and create—it was your own decree."
Zeus faltered. The storm on his face dissipated at once, replaced by a casual smile.
"Very well. Since they are a creation permitted by the world, I shall pardon this offense."
With that, the God King rose lazily, striding toward the chamber doors.
Yet the instant he stepped outside, his face turned ashen, his clenched teeth grinding audibly.
Did the gods truly not understand humanity's threat? Impossible.
He nearly forgot—faith itself was also a shortcut for the gods, a way to break through their limits. Whoever controlled the bulk of that belief could overturn the current order, perhaps even challenge the throne itself.
So even if he called for humanity's destruction, even if he punished Prometheus, his brothers and sisters—his own children—would surely scheme in secret or openly stand in his way.
From the moment humanity appeared, the absolute authority he had painstakingly built had begun to waver. The gods were fracturing, driven to battle each other for faith.
Prometheus, you damnable wretch!
Having suffered this unseen defeat, Zeus ground his teeth, his eyes glinting with icy malice.
He had to find a way—something that could silence the gods while erasing the threat of humanity once and for all.