Another day dawned upon Mount Olympus, draped in the shifting hues of divine radiance. Exotic flora bloomed in eternal cycles, exhaling a fragrance that hung heavy and sweet in the air. Upon the throne of the Great Temple sat the King of Gods, Zeus, his towering and peerless form exuding an air of leisurely indifference.
"O Great King of the Gods, Master of the Thundering Skies—I wonder if the devout mortals upon the earth might receive your blessing? Might you bestow upon them the undying Flame of the Thunderbolt, that they may be shielded from the ravages of the monstrous beasts?"
For the sake of the fledgling human race, the wise Forethinker, Prometheus, had once again entered the halls of the temple. He knelt before Zeus, petitioning the King to take a spark of the eternal fire from his divine weapon and grant it to mankind.
"Prometheus, Master of Wisdom," Zeus began, his voice echoing like distant thunder. He toyed idly with the Thunderbolt in his hand—a masterpiece of craftsmanship gifted to him by the Cyclopes, the sons of Gaia. "I could indeed grant the spark to the humans below. Yet, the divine flame is a treasure of incalculable worth. If they wish to possess it, they must first demonstrate a level of piety and devotion that satisfies me, their King."
Prometheus's eyes flickered, but his expression remained as mild as a spring breeze. His posture was the picture of humble reverence, betraying not a single ripple of his inner thoughts. "Great Zeus, pray tell: how shall these new mortals demonstrate the depth of their devotion to you?"
"It is simple," Zeus replied with an easy smile. "Within a single year, let the humans offer a thousand bulls as a sacrifice to my name. If they show such piety, I shall deem them worthy of the undying flame."
Even for Prometheus, whose composure was legendary, this exorbitant demand caused his brow to twitch.
A thousand bulls?
The new humans had only just begun to walk the earth. Their productivity was barely enough to sustain their own lives, let alone rear a thousand bulls for slaughter. Even if it were physically possible, humans were not like gods. Though they enjoyed Hebe's blessing of eternal youth and immunity to disease, hunger was not part of the reprieve. They still needed to eat. To sacrifice a thousand bulls would mean the entire race would starve to death.
Furthermore, there were other gods who required their own offerings.
Zeus's demand was not a challenge; it was a calculated impossibility. If Prometheus did not realize by now that Zeus had no intention of granting the fire, he might as well trade titles with his brother, Epimetheus the Afterthinker.
"..."
Prometheus lowered his head, suppressing the smoldering fury in his heart. He calculated rapidly, weighing his options. After a moment, he looked up, his face restored to its usual mask of polite gentleness. "Great King, if this is your will, the humans shall do their utmost to fulfill it. However, seeing as they are so devoted to you, I beg a single mercy: allow them to retain a portion of the sacrificed bulls to sustain their own lives."
Zeus raised an eyebrow. He had not expected Prometheus to concede so readily. Very well, he thought. He didn't want to push the Forethinker to the brink of true enmity just yet—after all, Prometheus still held the secret prophecy regarding which of Zeus's children would eventually overthrow him.
"Wise Prophet, I am not a god of ice and stone," Zeus declared magnanimously. "I grant your plea. The humans may keep a portion of the offerings for their sustenance."
I truly thank you for nothing, Prometheus thought bitterly, mentally cursing Zeus's lineage back two generations.
"My thanks for your mercy and generosity. When the time comes, I shall have the humans divide the sacrifice into two portions. You, Great King, may choose whichever you prefer. The remainder shall be your gift back to mankind."
With the "bargain" struck, the two deities parted under a veneer of peace, each harboring their own schemes. Prometheus descended to the mortal realm to announce the King's decree.
The news spread like wildfire. Soon, every corner of Olympus knew that Zeus had demanded a thousand bulls in exchange for the undying flame.
"A thousand bulls? Do the humans even have such a capacity?" In the Temple of Life, Hebe sighed and shook her head upon hearing the news. Her father was truly as capricious as ever. She recalled the legends from her past life—tales of the God of Wisdom tricking the King of Gods—and felt a pang of worry for Prometheus, who was both a mentor and a friend.
She wished to help him, but Zeus had already issued a decree forbidding the gods from using their divine power to assist the humans in this task. Even as a Primary Goddess, Hebe could not openly defy the King's command.
However... as she thought of the artifact she had recently acquired, the purple-eyed goddess felt she could provide a subtle hand.
Time flowed on. The night was governed by Leto, the goddess of the starless and moonless dark. When the blackness faded, Eos, the Dawn, arrived as scheduled.
In the far east, the horizon turned the color of a fish's belly. Eos, bathed in a rosy light, drove her white-winged chariot across the sky. Her rose-tinted hands scattered light across the firmament, turning the morning glow into clouds as vivid as roses and as bright as fire.
A single speck of that morning light fell silently into the mortal world, landing within the temple of Prometheus.
"Lord Prometheus," Hebe's voice whispered softly from the light.
The statue of Prometheus glowed. An invisible domain expanded, sealing the space and shielding it from the prying eyes of the gods. The morning light on the floor erupted in brilliance, taking the form of a golden-haired, purple-eyed goddess. Since Dawn and New Life shared a common origin, Hebe had used the power of Eos's light to project herself, slipping past the celestial surveillance.
The statue of Prometheus shifted, and the god's true form stepped down from the dais. The scholarly, handsome God of Wisdom looked at Hebe with a trace of a warm smile.
"Noble Goddess of Life, beautiful Lady Hebe. I did not expect you to brave the command of your domineering father to meet me. It seems our friendship is sturdier than I imagined."
Prometheus was genuinely moved. In a pantheon often defined by cold selfishness, Hebe was a rare exception.
"My father knows of our rapport and keeps a close watch on me. My true self is too conspicuous; this is merely a projection."
Only then did Prometheus notice the slight, almost imperceptible translucence of her form. Had he not looked closely, he would have assumed she was there in the flesh. Her mastery over the domain of Life grows deeper by the day, he noted silently.
"Lord Prometheus, we must be brief. The gods are all talking of your wager with the King. A thousand bulls is a price that would break the human race. I have come to offer a small measure of aid."
Hebe raised her hand, and divine light flared. A scepter appeared, carved with intricate patterns and adorned with ears of wheat and fruits forged from pure gold.
"The Scepter of the Golden Grain!?" Prometheus's eyes widened in shock. "This artifact hasn't been seen since the fall of Ceres... You have received his legacy?"
He looked at Hebe with newfound respect. This legendary goddess never ceased to surprise—constantly growing, constantly ascending. Her resilience reminded him of his own most perfect creation: humanity.
"A stroke of luck," Hebe said with a faint smile, offering no further explanation. She admired Prometheus, but he was too clever; a few careless words might allow him to deduce her larger plans. "With this scepter, the fodder grown upon the earth will mature at twice the speed. Even in winter, there will be a steady supply of grass. With this, raising a thousand bulls before next year is no longer an impossibility."
If Zeus ever questioned her, she could plead ignorance. Even Demeter, the Goddess of Agriculture, had no idea the Scepter was in Hebe's possession.
"...I shall remember this kindness to me and the humans forever," Prometheus said, taking the scepter solemnly. "I swear it by the River Styx: if the opportunity arises, I shall repay this debt."
"There is no need for such oaths. If you hadn't lent me the Vase of Life to contemplate the Laws, I would not have condensed my Godhead so quickly. I am merely returning the favor. Besides, I am also a creator of these humans. I cannot bear to see them suffer for the King's whims."
Though a large part of her motivation was strategic, the benefits Hebe had reaped from their association were real, and she was not one to ignore a debt.
"My projection is fading," Hebe said, pausing to look at Prometheus one last time. "Lord Prometheus, now that we have a solution, please... whatever you were planning to do originally, reconsider it."
"..."
Prometheus merely smiled and said nothing.
Hebe sighed. She had done all she could. The rest was up to him. Her projection dissolved into specks of morning light and vanished.
Prometheus gripped the scepter and looked up at the vast sky beyond the temple. A cold sneer touched his lips. Lady Hebe meant well, but she underestimated the pride and the fury of an ancient god who had existed since the age of the Titans. From the very beginning, he had intended to make Zeus pay.
Back in the Temple of Life on Mount Olympus, Hebe opened her eyes. She reflected that even with the scepter, raising a thousand bulls was a heavy burden. Furthermore, winter had now appeared on the earth, a season that slowed all living things.
Fine, she thought. I was human in my past life, and I am their creator in this one. I'll give them one more push.
"In the name of Hebe, Goddess of Life—my followers, your piety has moved me. For the coming year, you need not offer me the sacrifice of cattle or sheep. Flowers and prayers shall be your greatest offerings to my name."
The Goddess's voice rang through every temple on earth. The humans, receiving this divine amnesty, wept with gratitude. Their prayers and faith rose in a massive, surging tide toward Olympus, flowing into Hebe's Scepter of Life.
Wait, you can do that?
The other gods were stunned. Was harvesting faith really this easy?
"In the name of Hestia, Guardian of the Hearth—I waive all animal sacrifices for the coming year..."
Following Hebe's lead, Hestia, the eldest daughter of Cronus and Rhea and Zeus's own sister, issued her decree. Hestia occupied a unique position on the mountain. Weary of the pursuits of male gods, she had dedicated her love to the living things of the earth and sworn an oath of virginity by the Styx. She was one of the few who truly cared for humanity. She had been incensed by Zeus's demand but felt powerless to act—until Hebe's declaration gave her an idea.
She couldn't help the humans directly, but she could lighten their load from the side.
I'm in a good mood today, so I'm waiving my offerings. Since it concerned a deity's own faith and tributes, even Zeus could not easily interfere. Hestia didn't even bother with a clever excuse like Hebe; she simply stated it, giving her brother the King absolutely no face.
"In the name of the Goddess of Wisdom and Craft—my followers, for the next year, let the green olive be your offering to me..."
Athena followed suit. The clever goddess was willing to risk her father's ire for two reasons. First, Prometheus had promised her the right to create human women, meaning she had a literal stake in the survival of the race. Second... that surge of faith was simply too delicious to pass up.
Sorry, Father. Let's not talk for a while. I wouldn't want the humans to get the wrong idea.
"In the name of the Sun God..." "In the name of the King of the Seas..."
One by one, the declarations echoed across the heavens and the earth.
Some gods acted out of genuine pity. Others were annoyed that Zeus had only demanded sacrifices for himself. Most, however, were simply greedy for the massive influx of faith the humans were now pouring out in gratitude.
As they watched the faith stream into their Godheads, the deities narrowed their eyes in satisfaction. It was rare to get such a windfall.
It couldn't be helped. It all came down to the contrast provided by their peer.
Great King Zeus, we are truly sorry. But your sacrifice is the happiness of the entire divine family.
In the Great Temple, Zeus's face was as black as the bottom of a scorched pot. He glared at the horizon, his hands trembling with rage. These rebels... one day, there will be a reckoning!