Ch. 55: The Chains of Prometheus (I)
“Lord Hades!” The voice of the winged guard, draped in gleaming golden armor, snapped me out of my thoughts. We stood before a massive structure surrounded by crumbling pillars, nestled deep in the desolate region of Olympus. Few dared venture here, a place long abandoned by the gods. Shadows crept across the landscape, long and twisted, cast by the eerie twilight that bathed the sky. The atmosphere itself felt heavy, almost suffocating. “This way, my lord,” the guard urged, his wings fluttering briefly as he gestured for us to follow.
I glanced at Hecate. She had her usual calm, mysterious expression, but her eyes sparkled with quiet intensity. We were both aware of what lay ahead, but the path still felt foreboding.
The space opened into a lush, mountainous region, a stark contrast to the decayed ruins we had passed. Tall, ancient trees loomed above us, their leaves a rich, otherworldly green, as if the mountain itself harbored some untapped power. Birds flitted about— golden creatures with wings that shimmered like fire in the fading light. They let out melodic calls, filling the air with a haunting, ethereal tune. Guards stood at intervals along the path, watching us carefully, their faces tense as if waiting for something to go wrong.
Ahead, the mountain loomed tall and menacing, its jagged peak clawing at the heavens. I felt a pang of annoyance; it looked as if we’d have to climb it. The thought made my legs ache in anticipation.
“Lord Hades, over here!” the guard called out again, his voice tinged with amusement. “We’ll take the mountain climber. No need to wear yourselves out unnecessarily.”
I glanced at him, somewhat surprised. For a moment, I had forgotten the conveniences Olympus had developed in recent times. Climbing? That was a relic of the past. I followed him to a sleek vehicle that resembled a buggy, designed to navigate the steep terrain. Hecate and I slid into the back seat, and the engine roared to life, the sudden jolt pulling us forward.
As we ascended, the mountain path wound narrowly, the rocky edges giving way to steep drops that plunged into mist-filled abysses. The wind picked up, cold and biting, carrying the scent of rain and earth. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting it whip against my face.
“Guard,” I said, breaking the silence. “Tell me about Prometheus.”
The man hesitated, glancing at me through the rearview mirror as though weighing whether it was his place to speak. “Who, me?” he stammered, before realizing I was serious. “Ah… Prometheus, right. Well, he’s been… quiet. No one has seen him for some time now. But when he was first brought here—” he paused, lowering his voice— “he used to chant your name. Over and over.”
I raised an eyebrow. “My name?”
“Yes, Lord Hades. It was as if he was… waiting for you. He kept muttering about something, something like ‘the right time’ and being ‘grateful.'” The guard’s voice dropped further. “I don’t know what crime he committed, nor do I care. But one thing was clear— after he was bound here, something strange happened.”
“Strange?” I prompted.
The guard swallowed nervously. “He started screaming. Not just cries of pain from the birds tearing at his flesh, but real screams. Screams of terror. He kept shouting that someone had come for him, that he had come.”
The tension in the vehicle thickened. Hecate, her interest visibly piqued, leaned forward. “Who did Prometheus believe was after him?” she asked, her voice low and sharp like a knife.
The guard’s eyes flickered to her, then back to the road, his knuckles white on the wheel. “Kronos,” he whispered.
The name hit the air like a thunderclap.
Hecate’s face drained of color, her usual stoic demeanor momentarily faltering. Even I felt an involuntary shudder ripple through me. Kronos— our father. The titan who had devoured his own children, the ruler who once dominated the heavens and earth before we, the Olympian gods, rose up to overthrow him in the war known as the Titanomachy. He had been imprisoned in Tartarus, the deepest pit of the Underworld, and bound in chains that even he could not break. Yet now, Prometheus had uttered his name, a name that had no right to resurface.
The thought gnawed at my mind. Why would Prometheus, bound here in his own torment, fear Kronos? The old tyrant was locked away, far from this world, and far from power. Was there more to this than I had anticipated?
The buggy ground to a halt near the mountain’s peak, interrupting my thoughts. The guard, clearly eager to end the conversation, pointed ahead. “This is as far as we go, Lord Hades. You’ll need to continue on foot from here.”
Hecate opened her mouth to object, but I raised a hand to stop her. “It’s fine,” I said. “I prefer it this way besides it’s my business with him.”
I stepped out into the open air, the cool breeze swirling around me. The path ahead narrowed, twisting up toward the summit where I could just make out the silhouette of the pillar that bound Prometheus. Hecate stayed behind, her presence a shadow at my back, but I continued forward alone.
The summit opened into a wide plateau. In the center stood a towering stone pillar, its surface cracked and weathered from ages of wear. Chains as thick as my arm coiled around it like a serpent, wrapped fourteen times over. At the base of the pillar, hunched and broken, was the figure of Prometheus.
I circled around, my steps slow and deliberate, until I stood before him.
He was not the titan I remembered. Time had worn him down, eroded his once-mighty form into something ragged and frail. His hair, streaked with white, hung in tangled strands around his gaunt face. His clothes— a sackcloth torn to shreds by the talons of the birds— were stained with fresh blood. His skin bore the marks of their relentless assault, scars that ran deep from where they had feasted on his organs, day after day, century after century.
His head hung low, his breath ragged and shallow. “Haa…” A weak, throaty moan escaped his lips. “Who… who is there?”
He lifted his head, and for the first time in ages, his ancient, haunted eyes met mine. There was something in his gaze— something between recognition and despair.
“Ah… Hades.” His voice was dry, cracked, but the words still carried weight. “You’ve come… finally. But you’re late, as always.”
I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me or if the years had simply frayed his mind beyond repair. “Old man,” I said. “I’ve come for answers.”
Prometheus chuckled weakly, a sound that was more like a wheeze. “Answers? I’ve no answers left for you, Lord of the Underworld. Only regrets.”
“I’m not here for your regrets,” I growled. “Tell me about Pandora.”
At the mention of her name, Prometheus looked genuinely confused. “Pandora? Who… who is that?”
I froze. He didn’t know? The very name that should have haunted him— the one woman crafted by the his own hands, the bringer of chaos— was unfamiliar to him? Prometheus had been the one responsible for mankind’s creation. If not him, then… who?
Something was deeply wrong.
And I feared we were already too late to realize it.
If I revive a magic castle I will mass release 10 chapters
