Athena fell silent for a moment, her gaze sweeping over the gathered gods—calm and cold.
"Let me try."
Prometheus shook his head slightly, his expression tranquil.
"Wise Athena, I understand your goodwill and your intentions.
But even if you step forward or act from the shadows, it won't change Zeus's suspicion.
I may avoid his wrath this time, but there will always be another.
Only when I am gone will Olympus lose its reason to keep striking at humanity.
Zeus may wish to destroy mankind—but not all gods share his will."
The seer paused, looking toward the towering heights of Mount Olympus, a trace of mockery flickering across his face. Zeus was scheming, but so was he. They were no different from each other.
After a moment's silence, Prometheus smiled faintly at Athena, his tone low and sincere.
"Though we both trouble Zeus, Olympus, with its endless intrigue, will only bury your wisdom.
And besides, for the sake of mankind, you are far more important than I."
The Goddess of Wisdom pressed her lips together, unwilling to accept it.
After years together, Prometheus had become, like Chiron, both her mentor and friend. Since her birth, she had rarely known the taste of loss—and she refused to accept defeat.
"Let's wait a little longer. There must still be another way!"
Seeing the stubborn, proud look on her face, Prometheus fell silent for a while. He gazed solemnly at his timeless friend, his tone earnest.
"I am exposed, with nowhere left to retreat. But your existence remains a secret—it shouldn't be revealed for nothing.
If you truly wish to help, then should Zeus insist on humanity's destruction, I ask you—preserve their fire."
Athena bit her lip hard, her expression shifting between defiance and hesitation, unwilling to yield.
"Enough. The humans, your son, and your brother—we'll protect them."
From the shadows, Samael stepped forward, arms folded, his voice calm.
Athena froze at his words and turned, startled.
"You weren't here to stop Prometheus?"
"Nonsense. Medusa and I came for you."
Samael shot her a cold glance and gave a short, irritated snort.
This girl had been spoiled by him. Having never faced Olympus's treacherous games, she was proud and sharp-tongued, never knowing when to hide her edge.
The moment he sensed her emotions shift, he and Medusa—who also foresaw the future—had followed Prometheus's trail. Their goal was simple: wait for Athena to appear and bring her back before her recklessness caused even greater trouble.
"Then I entrust the future of humanity to you, old friend."
Hearing his greatest concern lifted from his shoulders, Prometheus nodded with a relieved smile.
"Regret it? Had you refused this task, you could've enjoyed a few more carefree days."
The ancient serpent sighed, lifting his gaze to ask softly,
"Be it human or divine, once one recognizes the inevitability of absolute power, they will endure whatever fate decrees."
Prometheus replied with calm composure, but as his eyes turned toward Mount Olympus, a faint crease appeared between his brows, shadowed by worry.
Before he could speak, Samael waved his hand casually.
"Don't worry. The gods' gifts always come with a heavy price. I'll keep watch."
Only then did the seer exhale, his inner anxiety easing at last. He nodded to his companions in farewell, drew a deep breath, and strode toward Olympus with firm resolve.
Watching the figure of her mentor and friend disappear into the deepening night, Athena turned to the hand resting on her shoulder. She bit her cherry-red lips, anger rising in her eyes.
"Why won't you let me try again?"
"Face reality, Athena. Against absolute power, some struggles are meaningless—and some retreats are necessary."
Once certain that the Goddess of Wisdom could no longer catch up to Prometheus, the ancient serpent patted her shoulder lightly and spoke in a low, measured tone.
"I won't retreat. Not a single step!"
Athena slapped Samael's arm away and shouted, her chest heaving.
"Athena, you're the goddess of wisdom and reason. When did you become so rash and quick to anger?
Seems my way of raising you has failed, giving you the illusion that you're invincible."
Samael frowned, sighing with disappointment. He gestured for the hesitant Medusa to follow, intending to return to Mycenae and reconsider their next move.
Snap!
Just as the ancient serpent turned, pale fingers gripped his shoulder tightly, knuckles whitening. Athena bowed her head, her voice low yet filled with defiance.
"I don't want to retreat. Not one step…
If I retreat now, Prometheus will be the one to fall;
Next time, it might be Chiron, our teacher;
And after that—it'll be Medusa, Tina, or you!"
Was Athena intelligent? Incredibly so.
She knew full well what a temporary compromise meant. Trading Prometheus—already a target—for humanity's continued progress and for the safety of her secret was a reasonable bargain.
But she also knew this: as long as she and humanity existed, Zeus would never let them go. Divine punishment would return sooner or later.
Chess was something Athena excelled at.
Whether it was righteous Themis or cunning Samael, anyone could become a pawn to protect her, if she willed it so.
But once she took that first step back—once that line was crossed for the sake of the "greater good"—the next step, and the next, and countless more after, would all come easier.
That coldly logical future made her tremble whenever she imagined it.
Wisdom without emotion was nothing but a formula for calculating gain and loss.
To hell with reason. To hell with wisdom.
As the goddess confessed her fear and confusion, two pale arms wrapped gently around her. Like when she was a child, the hands softly patted her back, and a familiar voice whispered beside her ear.
"So that's what's been troubling you…
I take back what I said earlier, little one. I'm proud of you."
Samael looked at the Goddess of Wisdom—now more human, more alive—and felt a quiet pride stir within him.
Beside them, Medusa's eyes softened. The last trace of resentment in her heart vanished completely at the sight of Athena's vulnerability and resolve.
Now, she was certain that no matter what, she and Athena would never end up as enemies.
Held in that comforting embrace, Athena's panic and unease slowly faded away.
When she had calmed down, Samael reached out and ruffled her silver hair with playful roughness, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips.
"You little brat, don't think you're the only clever one around. As your foster father and teacher, we're not too shabby ourselves.
I'm not done living yet—and Prometheus is doing just fine."
Athena's head snapped up. Her eyes widened, and realization struck like lightning.
"This… was part of your plan too?"