While the God-King was in the temple savoring the Ocean's Daughter's exquisite sweetness, another Oceanid he loved as well finally received Prometheus, who had been waiting outside the hall for quite some time.
This famed god of foresight and foreknowledge, son of Iapetus, was not very much like his stubborn father.
Though a restrained pride also lay deep in his divinity,
at least he was not so intransigent and, when necessary, was never short on a smooth sense of timing.
So the moment he saw Metis's figure emerge from the hall, the brightest, sunniest smile was already on his face.
He even hurried forward in a nearly humble posture and, in a voice both sonorous and sincere, declared:
"Most noble first wife of His Majesty Zeus, illustrious daughter of Oceanus, Your Excellency the most revered Goddess of Wisdom in the cosmos—lowly Prometheus offers you his highest respect!"
As he spoke, Prometheus had already come before Metis and bowed deeply, displaying irreproachable deference.
Yet the wisdom goddess, now perfected in divinity and ever more clear and pure, at once saw what was amiss.
She could plainly feel that in this god of foresight's divine thought, the excessive enthusiasm and humility rang less than true.
Even if he truly had something to ask of her, it was not in Prometheus's nature to be this effusive, nor did his station require such abasement.
When a god suddenly comes with unimaginable warmth and humility to ask for help, it often means there is a problem!
And a big one!
The humbler and more deferential, the bigger the problem!
Metis quietly raised her guard, but showed nothing outwardly.
She only inclined her head in return and, in a voice gentle and warm as jade, replied, "Illustrious son of Iapetus, my honored friend. His Majesty entrusted you brothers with the charge of creating life and making the world flourish."
"For one so busy to find time to come to me—what matter could be so pressing?"
At her words, Prometheus immediately let out a deeply heavy sigh, and his handsome face was at once covered with a matching weight of sorrow.
In an exceedingly grave tone, he said, "Honored Goddess of Wisdom, by entrusting such a heavy charge to us brothers, His Majesty has shown how highly he regards us."
"For His Majesty's favor we are endlessly grateful; we regard His Majesty's commission at every moment as the most sacred mission of our divine lives, not daring to forget it in the least."
"In these recent days, under our great Majesty's holy guidance, we have indeed created some new lives for His Majesty, only—"
"Only that we two brothers are truly dull of aptitude and narrow of vision."
"Even racking our brains, we still cannot imagine what sort of life we must fashion to truly, truly bring this world to prosperity."
"For this we have pondered day and night, yet always without an answer."
With that, Prometheus sighed again—long and laden with powerlessness.
"And for this my brother and I have been uneasy with guilt, our hearts restless, feeling deeply unworthy of our great Majesty's regard and favor."
"After much thought, we concluded that in all the cosmos, seeking your help is the only right path!"
"Honored Goddess of Wisdom, only you can help us!"
"Yes—only you, Your Excellency the supreme Goddess of Wisdom! We have no recourse but to seek your aid!"
Prometheus suddenly lifted his head, his voice rising in ardor, his eyes even flashing with earnest appeal. "You are the great God-King's first wife! You are the greatest embodiment of 'Wisdom'!"
"All the gods know there is absolutely nothing in this world that can stump your all-knowing wisdom!"
"And there is absolutely no deity who knows better than you what sort of life our great Majesty wishes to appear in this world!"
"The gods also know that you, like our great Majesty, are of one heart, and possess the most merciful, most generous greatness of spirit! Whatever hardships the gods encounter, you are ever willing to lend a hand!"
"Honored Goddess of Wisdom, only you! We two brothers know well that only your help can solve the problem we cannot solve no matter what we do!"
"And only with your help can we hope to do and accomplish the immortal deed that will truly delight His Majesty!"
"Great first wife of Zeus, radiant and merciful Goddess of Wisdom—lowly Prometheus begs you: grant us your greatest wisdom, bright and lucent as the stars!"
"Please let the light of your wisdom shine upon our dull minds. Let us, with your merciful help, bring prosperity to this world and fulfill the most sacred supreme charge from our great God-King, His Majesty Zeus!"
As his words fell, Prometheus once more bent deeply at the waist, putting himself at the very lowest posture, bowing to entreat her.
For a moment, the place fell into utter silence.
However, the more impassioned Prometheus's speech, and the more humble his posture, the more abnormal the matter seemed to the wisdom goddess!
The higher the hat of praise he tried to place on her, the more wary the clear-sighted wisdom goddess became!
Metis did not immediately accept Prometheus's request; instead, with those golden eyes that could see through all things—eyes the very same hue as Zeus's—she scrutinized the god of foresight before her, her mind plunging swiftly into deep thought.
She was a gentle and benevolent goddess—that much was true.
But she was never one to dispense mercy without principle, nor one who did not know bounds or measure.
She was the God-King's beloved first wife—this was also true.
She indeed possessed power so great ordinary gods scarcely dared to imagine it.
But she was never one to abuse that power, much less to overstep the majesty and order of the God-King she loved!
When to advance and when to retreat; what may be done and what may not—
in all the world's comings and goings, gains and losses, the wisdom goddess had always seen with clarity and penetration.
So long as a matter did not touch upon Zeus's love, she was in no way unworthy of the name "Wisdom."
Nor was today the first day she had known Prometheus; she understood him to some extent.
This god of foresight and foreknowledge was indeed clever and quick, thoughtful, rational, and rather far-sighted.
Whatever he did, he was accustomed to planning ahead, advancing step by step, warding off trouble before it arose.
He was absolutely the type to think first and act later, doing all he could to avoid unnecessary risk.
But this by no means made this second-generation Titan a vacillating god, timid and slow to act!
Once resolved and well-planned, he could be boldly decisive in execution.
Compared to process, he prized results and even had a marked streak of adventurism.
Once a plan was set, he was willing to shoulder the corresponding risks, even at any cost.
In years past, when his father and brothers were still resolutely loyal to the old God-King,
once he judged with precision that the God-King he loved would, in all probability, win in the end, he decisively chose to go over to her beloved.
For this he did not hesitate to go personally to war and cross blades with his own father and brothers.
He was indeed a clever and highly capable mighty deity, worthy of his title "the one who foresees."
But after knowing him so long, she could also see his flaws.
Because of his extraordinary cleverness, this god of foresight had always borne a hard-to-hide self-conceit—indeed, an arrogance rooted deep in his divinity.
At times he relied overly on his cleverness and acted too boldly and aggressively.
Though he planned in advance for everything, once the plan was laid, he often ignored the potentially disastrous consequences if it failed.
In theory his plans were often perfect.
But his excessive confidence habitually led him to overlook the world's chaotic complexity, making his plans low in tolerance for error.
Those overly risky plans of his, once they failed, always had very serious consequences.
One could only say that at times he was too "far-seeing," and for that he neglected the realities.
To be half a step ahead is genius and often wins great success; to be a whole step—or two, or three—ahead can be fatal.
And that was his most lethal flaw.
In this respect, he was in fact inferior to his famously slow-on-the-uptake, foolish little brother.
Epimetheus, the god of afterthoughts, could be rash and impulsive, but he clearly knew he was not clever, and so his heart often held humility and awe.
Though at times he still caused all sorts of trouble through haste and naiveté,
the things Epimetheus stirred up were usually from carelessness and the limits of his wisdom and understanding, not from self-conceit and arrogance.
When Epimetheus erred he knew it, and he knew to correct himself at once, and to learn so as not to make the same mistake again.
Prometheus was different: he would only feel that his plan was not good enough, his execution not deft enough—and after revising the plan next time, he would dare just the same.
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