As the fire was once again scattered across the land, light and warmth returned to human settlements. People could once more drink hot soup and eat cooked food.
Each morning, Apollo, the god of light, drove his sun chariot as usual, guiding the celestial bodies into their proper orbits. Mount Olympus remained quiet and solemn, as though the gods had no intention of reclaiming the fire.
But a few days later, a public trial was held to announce the fate of the fire-stealer.
"Prometheus, you have arrogantly insulted the gods and desecrated the sacred flame we kindled together on Olympus! Since you stubbornly refuse to repent, very well—then the gods shall bind you with the strongest chains upon the Mount Caucasus. The scorching heat of day, the freezing cold of night, and the utter solitude of the summit shall torment your defiant body and spirit until you yield!"
Zeus sat high upon his throne, his expression dark and voice cold, pausing briefly as though awaiting an answer.
"Zeus, the time is not yet right. Not yet.
To tell you that secret now would be meaningless.
The future, full of both opportunity and challenge, will come in its own time."
At the center of the divine assembly, Prometheus—his knees bent, body bound by glowing restraints—spoke calmly from within the encircling light.
"Good! Very good! Despicable thief of fire, it seems the punishment we gods have given you is far from enough! In addition, I shall send forth my divine eagle to tear at your flesh and peck out your liver day after day! As an ancient Titan, such wounds will not kill you, but that pain will teach you the price of angering a god!"
Zeus could no longer contain his fury. He burned with impatience to uncover which goddess would give birth to his destined nemesis. Yet after days of interrogation, the wretch refused to speak, leaving Zeus restless and sleepless.
When the day of the trial arrived and all the gods were gathered, Zeus had no choice but to bring the matter before them. Still, the outcome did not change.
In anger, he intensified the punishment, venting his wrath.
But at that moment, the gods' expressions subtly shifted. They whispered among themselves, their gazes flickering with unease as they glanced between Prometheus and Zeus.
The wise God King immediately understood—his punishment had gone too far. It had stirred discontent and quiet rebellion.
The god of foresight still had many allies on Olympus. Some admired Prometheus's vision and wisdom, while others were drawn by the promise of faith's rewards. Many had long exchanged silent, knowing looks with the fire-stealer.
Though this trial had just cause, few gods could speak openly in his defense. Their silence, however, did not mean they harbored no resentment.
Zeus swept his gaze across the assembly, noting the shifting expressions on each divine face. He frowned, forcing himself to calm before addressing the court with a cold snort.
"Since you choose to suffer for the sake of your beloved humans, then let humanity itself be the one to free you from your torment!"
The gods exchanged looks, then nodded in silent agreement before raising their hands to approve.
This was likely the limit of Zeus's concession. Though the idea of fragile humans freeing a mighty god seemed laughable, at least it offered some hope.
Looking upon the clearly divided assembly, the God King felt a violent urge to unleash his divine might, to strike down every god in the hall who dared stand in his way.
But to avoid repeating the disaster of Mount Othrys, he forced himself to remain restrained.
To hell with wisdom. To hell with reason.
Zeus watched as Prometheus was led away by chains forged by the god of craftsmen, Hephaestus. The seer's expression was calm, almost heroic. Zeus's own face darkened like soot; disgust welled within him, as though he had swallowed a fly. He silently cursed the very two traits he had once taken pride in.
"BOOM!"
As the gods dispersed from the hall, the God King of Wisdom sat alone in silence before suddenly slamming his powerful arm against the table, roaring in fury.
"Prometheus! Prometheus! You'll never make this king bow!"
In an instant, thunder exploded around Zeus. Silver-white arcs of lightning crackled and darted through the air, tearing apart nearby tables, chairs, and relics into splinters.
Before long, word of the divine council's verdict and its sentence spread among humankind.
The ants of the earth gazed up at the distant peak of Mount Caucasus—shrouded in divine winds and godly might, forever beyond mortal reach. Sorrow filled their hearts for their fallen mentor, the one who had brought them fire. In secret, they prayed for him.
But at that moment, Prometheus, bare-chested and bound to the jagged stone, stared at the crimson fruit before him and the massive eagle crouched nearby, preening its feathers. His mouth twitched.
"Hey, can we skip eating this thing?"
"Pfft!"
The black-feathered, golden-eyed eagle raised one talon and carved several bloody gashes across Prometheus's abdomen.
"Hiss!"
The prophet sucked in a sharp breath, his facial muscles twitching.
That really hurts.
Forget it. Guess I'll just accept my fate.
From its perch above, the giant eagle let out a piercing screech. Prometheus sighed, shaking his head, then grabbed the bright red fruit at his feet and shoved it into his mouth in a few quick bites.
Immediately, a sour, numbing sensation spread from his mouth, rippling through every inch of skin and muscle across his body.
Prometheus flexed his limbs, feeling as though he had been encased in a living suit of flesh and armor—his pain dulled, his senses muted.
All right. Showtime.
The eagle, having gauged the moment, spread its wings wide, feathers bristling. With a furious cry, it swooped down upon the bound Titan, talons raking his flesh, beak snapping bone, digging deep into his abdomen to tear out his liver.
"Zeus! You'll never get a word out of me! I've accepted my divine mission! Threats and torture won't work—give up!"
Prometheus roared through the agony, his muscles trembling, face twisted in pain, yet his will remained unyielding.
Half a day later, the God King himself appeared atop Mount Caucasus, gazed down in silence, and left with a grim face.
When night fell, Prometheus lay slumped weakly on the ground, his throat parched. His horrific wounds and mangled liver slowly regenerated, reforming before his eyes.
Between labored breaths, the seer glanced toward the eagle, who was fastidiously scraping the blood from its talons with visible disgust.
"So," Prometheus asked wearily, "what's for dinner tonight?"
"Fruit again? Seriously? I don't even know where Chiron finds this stuff. Just looking at it makes me sick."
"Meat! I want meat! Go catch a few rabbits and roast them!"
"Can't light a fire. So you're eating it raw?"
"Ugh... then how about a fish? Didn't your snake teacher mention something called sashimi?"
Bathed in moonlight, the giant eagle opened its beak and shot the prisoner behind it a long, exasperated look.
Wasn't it supposed to be the executioner? Since when had it become a babysitter?
Grumbling under its breath, the great eagle of Caucasus spread its wings and, with reluctant flaps, descended toward the river below.