The Story of Prometheus and the Humans

Everything was dark. There were no words to describe the feeling. The utmost horror realizing that part of your life had been stolen from you. The once lively world plunged into an abyss of nothingness. This morning's events played through his head on a loop, Prometheus doubted he would ever forget them. Even now he could feel the slithering cold along his spine as he clutched the letter demanding his presence at Olympus. 

‘Masking his fear with a confident stride Prometheus entered the Olympus courtyard, the gods' usual meeting place. Several seats were occupied, but Prometheus’ eyes drew directly to Athena. Refined and elegant as ever, seated with a tight expression on her face and to her left, the renowned king of the gods, Zeus. You didn't even have to look at the gold, engraved throne he was perched on to know that he ordered this room. Waves of authority flowed right off his muscled, bronze frame.

“Come forth, Prometheus.” Zeus commanded, in that imposing tone he took when he talked to those beneath him. Which to him, was everybody. 

Prometheus paced forward until he was at the center of the impressive room. It was the only empty spot on the floor, the rest were covered with mosaics. Depicting the birth of the gods, to creatures only found roaming the deepest parts of the Underworld.

“Now, I’ve heard that you and my daughter have taken on a project. A new specimen to worship us.” Zeus thundered. 

Prometheus nodded. Athena and him had taken to studying and experimenting together, finding that their minds weren’t all too different. 

“But do you believe they are to worship us Prometheus? If you had, perhaps you wouldn’t have done what my daughter here says you have.” Zeus paused for a moment, searching for a reaction. But Prometheus would refuse to give one. He refused to even glance her way. Athena had been his partner since the war had ended. Yet the betrayal wasn’t an unexpected one. All these gods were the same. Power and glory, no matter who was destroyed in the fray. He would refuse to let this hurt him, they didn’t deserve the satisfaction.

“The ‘humans’ were ordered to be simple beings of worship. Care to explain, why are they being taught trades and survival?” Zeus continued in anger, as Prometheus carefully kept his expressionless mask in place. 

“You are stirring the pot for a revolution Prometheus. You may have sided with us during the war, but that means nothing to defying us.” Zeus threatened. 

Seeing that Prometheus still proudly kept his head up, Zeus continued infuriatedly. “You care too much Prometheus, for beings that are not to be cared for. You forget your place, you are blinded by what they are to you. Do you show remorse for your actions Prometheus?” 

Prometheus could recognize stepping over the line, but he also knew that the gods did it themselves often. Yet they received no repercussions, and he was beyond tired of it. So despite the air radiating the aura of a bad idea, Prometheus held Zeus’ gaze and shook his head. 

Zeus’ stormy gray eyes darkened. “You refuse to see what this could lead to Prometheus. Thus, that will be your punishment. Your vision will only hold the darkest of nights, for if you are blinded in your heart, so will be it for your eyes. You want to provide humans resources, so they could overpower us?” Slowly, a sadistic smile forms on Zeus’ face. “Then your job will be to sustain our resources instead. Betrayal to yourself isn’t it? Your task will be to sustain the Flame Of The Gods.”

The few gods in neighboring thrones grinned, and clashed their wine goblets together, proud of their ‘cleverness’.

“I-” Prometheus stopped himself, taking all his willpower to hold his tongue, not give them what they wanted. But the effect had already been done, they had gotten to see the amusement they could have with their power and control. Always granted to the wrong people. 

“Take him away.” Zeus ordered with finality.

Every word he had said was imprinted in Prometheus’ brain. 

“You refuse to see what this could lead to Prometheus. And so that will be your punishment. Your vision will only hold the darkest of nights, for if you are blinded in your heart, so will be it for your eyes. You want to provide humans resources, so they could overpower us? Then your job will be to sustain our resources instead. Betrayal to yourself isn’t it? Your task will be to sustain the Flame Of The Gods.”

It echoed around his head, reminding him of what had landed him here. Not his creation, Prometheus would never feel regret for scientific evolution. It had been the gods that had gotten them here. The dictators playing with power, were threatened by him. Prometheus would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy that, he longed to teach them a lesson. Put them in their place, when they tried to force Prometheus into what they said was his place. Prometheus was determined not to let his newfound blindness deter him. He resolved to adapt, to find his vengeance even in a world now shrouded in perpetual night. 

The feeling of hands tightly gripping the underside of his arms startled him. Unaccustomed to the loss of one of his senses, he let the arms guide him, hauling him to the ancient temple, a sacred place that housed the Flame of the Gods. Rumors spoke of a divine fire that had burned for centuries, a beacon of hope and light for the people. It was said to be an artful work of magic, and so it was fed with magic as well. Ichor, the substance found in immortals, was the best source for the flame, and now that Prometheus was connected, his ichor would be tethered to it. And while he would have enjoyed defying the gods by doing his best to ruin the flame, he had another plan in store. 

While his vision was stolen, the black abyss he was condemned to seeing allowed his other senses to be heightened. Focusing on what he could feel and hear, guided only by the echoes of his surroundings and the whispers of the wind, he mentally stored away the pathway to the temple. The journey was treacherous, filled with uneven paths and hidden obstacles, he could feel the guards clutching him grunt and pant. It was impossibly more difficult for Prometheus, forced to use his other senses to make his way up, being forced to let go of what he had relied on for as long as time. Each passing moment injected a bitter feeling into his chest, as the darkness that he could practically feel was a reminder of what was taken from him. However, while Prometheus’ world may have been devoid of light, his heart burned with an unyielding determination to disobey them, turn around their rule and show their faults to the world. They were comparable to toddlers given all they could've ever asked for, misuse is assured.

At this point, Prometheus could feel the guards hauling him up the flight of stairs.  ‘Exactly thirty.’ Prometheus counted, storing away the information for later. 

He felt the guards use their bodies to push open the door, it opened slowly, he speculated that it was heavy, marble likely. They took him further into the room before dropping him to the floor, presumably in front of the fire as he could feel licks of heat nipping at his skin. 

‘Should we lock the door?’ One guard asked the other.

“It’s not likely he could find it, lets just head back,” The other guard snickered.

How foolish they were. Underestimating him would be their befall.

Feeling around in front of him, Prometheus came in contact with a deeply engraved wall with a deep oval groove carved into it, where the heat was radiating from. Lowering his hands into it, he rested his hands on top of the flame. He felt the flames flicker and dance on his calloused hands. He had heard myths that the flame was of odd colors and moved unusually. Something that he wouldn’t get to see, another bitter reminder, but also another reminder of his plan for vengeance. The flame rose in temperature on his palm, he felt a slight tremor rock through his body and he knew that it had just consumed energy from his ichor. 

This process continued as the days turned into weeks and months. Prometheus found himself often bored, and missing the pleasures of the outside world. He found himself reminiscing about his days in the workshop, listening to the clatter of metals and the rustle of map paper. Soon however, Prometheus noticed he was building a connection with the Flame of the Gods. It became a project to him, as everything did. He wanted to figure out the extent of what he could do. His days passed quickly as his experiments continued, he could manipulate its shape to adhere with his thoughts, feel its warmth even when he was not near, sense its flickering dance in the air, and even discern its moods. The longer he had gone without his once important sense, the more he was able ‘to see’ with his other senses. He was building his strengths that the gods thought they had taken. And soon enough, what he had hoped for happened. His plan was falling into place. 

Every week the guards bring Prometheus ambrosia and nectar. Consistently, they had been taking his previous dish, and bringing him a new one, often sternly reminding him of the consequences if he pulled a stunt with the stone platter and copper bottle he always received. But they had begun to let their guard down.

It was an alarmingly stormy night, as thunder roared and rain battered against the ivory temple walls, Prometheus knew this was the work of an angered Zeus. his theory was confirmed as the guards entered frantically.

"Hurry brother we must leave quickly, Zeus is full of wrath today. Hera has learned of Io's birth, happening in a fortnight.” One guard urged his brother, a frightened tone in his voice.

Prometheus slowly smiled with his back to them, he had found the day he could sneak away, and truly defy the gods. 

It was the night before that fateful day when the guards arrived to collect the platter that Prometheus spoke to them for the first time.

“Kind sirs, do you mind leaving the flask, this flame is sapping my energy. I would prefer a container if the sickness worsens.” Prometheus groaned, lying through his teeth.

He felt the vibration as one of the guards startled at his voice. He could hear loud and clear as they muttered, asking each other the best decision. And even through the force of two minds, they still did not choose the right one.

‘You are permitted, but we will retrieve it next time’ The startled guard told him in a no-nonsense voice, as if Prometheus hadn’t just heard his anxious whisperings.

By next time Prometheus wouldn't be here, he could laugh at the sheer thought of it. Prometheus nodded his thanks and as they left he heard one laugh about how the ‘blind fool’ would miss the flask completely. It was ironic who was laughing now, for soon their ignorance would cost them. They would remember their stupidity in this moment and regret it. And how Prometheus would love to witness it.

Prometheus stayed up that entire night, in wait of what would come the next day. He finally felt the warmth of the sun's rays glaze his skin through the small window upwards of the fire. Dawn had arrived, and so had the day. His plan might earn him death but it would also earn him remembrance, recognition, reverence perhaps. Blind or not.

Guided solely by the rhythmic heartbeat of the flame, Prometheus gathered his flask and eased the flame into it, he tucked it inside his worn sheep skin vest. He could not lose it, the flame was the most crucial part. Prometheus paced the temple with anticipation, he thought over every miniscule detail on how he would execute this. He had to. This was no longer about the vision they had wrongfully stolen from him, now it was about their misuse of dominance for years. Their narcissistic beliefs, how they were always right, and any who challenged their ego simply had to be punished. And today, Prometheus would challenge their ego to its extent.

As midday crept, hints of a storm began to form, Prometheus could hear the patters of water as they bounced along the temple walls. It was a clear sign that Zeus had left to deal with the complications of his affair and Hera. Zeus unknowingly was contributing to a plot against him. As the rain began to fall heavier, and a clap of thunder reverberated somewhere far away, Prometheus began to leave.

As he stood, he drew a long breath. He silently acknowledged that as soon as he exited the temple, a likely torturous fate would befall him. But regret wasn't something that came easy to Prometheus. Arms stretched in front of him, he used the steps he would hear the guards take as a reference. Feeling with his fingertips Prometheus rans his hands along the walls until he came to the one with a crevice down the middle, the temple door. The door that would lead him to an uncertain fate.

Turning to his side, he pushed open the massive door with his shoulder, and stepped out into the damp earth. Prometheus could've fallen to his knees right then and there. He had almost forgotten what the mud and grass felt like under his feet, what the fresh rain smelt like, he could imagine it so visually he felt like his blindness was cured. He allowed himself another moment to revel in the simple beauty before continuing on his journey. Thankfully, the path there was completely memorized, for the countless times he had been to his human's village before. Pausing to make sure he couldn't hear any footsteps, Prometheus patted the lump in his vest, steeled his nerves, and started down the path. He had everything he needed and there was no one here to stop him.

This was his victory, although he would remain blind, forever bound to the darkness that had become his world, he would become a symbol of resilience. Prometheus, condemned to the shadows, would show he was not going to be prey for the gods. He would show how not even their punishments could deter him, he would defy the gods and their dictatorship whether it be the last thing he does.

He would give the Flame Of The Gods to the humans.