While the Goddess of Prayer and Hope was born in silent obscurity, upon the slopes of Mount Parnassus, Deucalion and Pyrrha finally deciphered the hidden meaning within Zeus's oracle. The two brilliant children of the gods realized that the "mother" referred to in the divine message was actually the Mother of All—Gaia—and her "bones" were the stones scattered across the earth.
Following the oracle's instruction, the pair threw stones behind them simultaneously. A thunderclap echoed through the heavens as the hard stones began to soften the moment they struck the ground, stretching and molding themselves into human forms.
The stones thrown by Deucalion became men, and those thrown by Pyrrha became women. In pairs, they manifested, marking the return of humanity to the world.
In the Underworld, the silver-haired, grey-winged Primordial God of Death, Thanatos, looked at the sudden explosion of the sea of souls before him, his teeth nearly grinding to dust.
How long had it been since the last peace? Had it even been thirty years? And now the entire human race was extinct? The heavenly gods of Olympus were truly taking their divine bullying too far!
Just you wait, Thanatos thought, his eyes burning with resentment. Once I finish processing this mess, I'm going straight to Mother Nyx to lodge a formal complaint. This isn't over!
He was not alone. Every deity in the Underworld shared the same sentiment. Once the immediate crisis was managed, they intended to seek justice from the Primordials.
"Enough! All of you, get in line!"
"Quiet! Anyone who makes another sound gets tossed into the River Acheron!"
The newly deceased souls, having been infected by the earthly shadows before their death, possessed far more vices and were significantly harder to manage than the previous two generations. Some even had the audacity to try and strike the Underworld gods.
The Underworld deities, already possessing short tempers and currently fueled by irritation, did not hesitate. A single lash of a divine whip sent the rebellious souls into immediate annihilation, eventually bringing a semblance of order to the chaos.
However, a new problem soon surfaced at the Stygian Bridge. The spirits were unable to cross because they had all perished in the Great Flood. No one had performed their funerary rites, let alone placed a silver coin in their mouths. A massive, dark tide of souls was now bottlenecked at the bridgehead, unable to pay the toll.
Charon was dumbfounded. Where did this army of paupers come from? On the very first day of his new bridge's operation, someone wanted a free ride? Where would his face as the Guardian of the Bridge be then?
Just as the situation reached a boiling point, two deities radiating a soft, ethereal glow arrived.
"Charon, let the souls pass," said Phagos, the dark-haired god with the obsidian-gold wings. Beside him stood Hecate, the Moon of the Dead, clutching her torch. "Record the debt. A deity shall eventually be held responsible for the payment."
Who would pay? These humans had died because of Zeus and Poseidon; naturally, the toll belonged to them. If the minor spirits couldn't collect it, there were gods who certainly could.
"Very well." Since Phagos had spoken, Charon lowered the barrier of the bridge and allowed the spirits to stream across.
"Lady Hecate, I leave the guidance to you," Phagos said. "New humans are already being created on the earth; I must stand watch over the Archway of Reincarnation to ensure no accidents occur."
"Go," Hecate nodded. The Moon of the Dead flared with cool radiance as she flew to the head of the column, her torch burning bright. "Souls of the threshold, follow the light of the Moon and the Torch. It shall lead you through the journey ahead."
Under Hecate's guidance, the spirits proceeded toward the Temple of Hades. The King sat upon his throne of bone, surveying the grey expanse of the dead and the dozens of human spirits he had recently promoted to act as clerks. He felt a surge of relief; had he not had the foresight to take Hebe's advice, the current administrative load would have been catastrophic.
Phagos flew to the Temple of the Cycle, where the Archway of Reincarnation glowed with gold and blue light. Soon after, Hypnos arrived on white wings.
"Guardian of the Archway, Phagos," Hypnos said. "In accordance with the oracle of Lady Nyx, I have brought the souls ready for transmigration."
Due to his authority over the Sun of the Dead, Phagos possessed the widest vision in the realm. In Hebe's absence, Hades had appointed him to guard the Gate.
"Thank you for the toil, Hypnos." Phagos took the clusters of souls. These were the spirits of the first Golden Race, their memories washed clean by the Trele Spring (Lethe), restored to their original purity. After checking them, Phagos looked at the God of Sleep—a deity with whom he shared a good rapport. "Would you like to witness it? The first grand activation of the Cycle?"
"It would be my pleasure," Hypnos smiled. Returning to the main hall meant being drafted for paperwork by the King; he was more than happy to "hide" in the Temple of the Cycle for a while.
Phagos nodded and released the souls. They fell to the floor like tufts of white cotton, transforming into translucent humanoid forms. They had no faces, no gender—they were simply pure spirits. Their new identities would be forged only upon entering a new physical vessel.
The process was automatic. The souls were instinctively drawn to the life-giving majesty of the Archway. The first soul approached the vortex, and the moment it touched the light, a surge of gold-blue power—the essence of the Resurrection Grass—infused its form. Using the residual death-energy as fuel, the Fire of Life was ignited. The soul was sucked into the vortex and vanished.
Following the first, the others followed suit, diving into the shimmering light.
Upon the earth, the foreheads of the men and women standing behind Deucalion and Pyrrha suddenly glowed. The spirits from the Underworld infused their bodies. Their lashes fluttered as they opened their eyes—gazing upon the world with a pure, unclouded curiosity.
"Hahahaha! Excellent! This generation shall be the perfect servants of the gods."
From the clouds, Zeus watched the new race, which now bore a trace of his own divine essence. When he had granted them life through his lightning, he had tinkered with their nature. These humans would be naturally inclined toward him, viewing him as their Great Father. In the contest for Faith, who could possibly compete with the King now?
Zeus personally led the gods down from the heavens, manifesting miracles before the new race.
"Great King Zeus, we thank you for the gift of life!" Deucalion cried, leading his wife and kin in a deep bow. His face, weary from his trials, was a mask of devotion. The newborn humans followed his lead, though they did not yet understand the significance of the gesture.
"Very well," Zeus declared. "The sins of the earth have been purged. Soon, the clouds shall break and the floods shall recede. The earth shall welcome you once more. Deucalion, Pyrrha—as leaders of men, guide them in their new lives. Teach them to revere the gods, and the gods shall provide you with protection."
Zeus waved his scepter, gifting them a torch and restoring the use of fire. The power of flame would allow them to stabilize and rebuild civilization quickly, ensuring a swift return of Faith to Olympus.
"We thank you for your bounty, Great King..." Deucalion took the torch, his head lowered to hide the flicker of fear and hatred deep within his eyes.
On Mount Caucasus, the shackled Forethinker, Prometheus, looked down at the world. Years of exposure and torture had turned the deity into a figure of weathered stone. He saw the disaster and the replacement of his race, yet he remained expressionless, showing no trace of the fatherly love he once held for humanity.
"You don't seem as concerned with them as the gods imagined, Lord Prometheus," a familiar voice spoke.
A smile touched Prometheus's lips. "You finally came, my most brilliant student—the clever Hebe."
Gold light flashed, and the Goddess of Life manifested.
"Since you foresaw their extinction, what was the purpose of all your previous efforts?" Hebe asked, looking at him. "To trap yourself here and endure Zeus's torment... that doesn't seem like something the wise Forethinker would do. Tell me, Teacher: what is your true goal?"
Prometheus remained silent for a moment, his divine gaze piercing the distance to watch the new race led by Deucalion. He did not answer directly. Instead, he asked: "Lady Hebe, you and I created the previous generation together. Did you think they were perfect?"
"Well..." Hebe considered the question. "We used the finest materials. I considered every biological variable to give them perfect physiques, and you gave them beautiful, wise souls. By all accounts, the generation we created was flawless."
"Heh... Indeed. They were too perfect," Prometheus laughed, a hint of self-mockery in his voice. "But Hebe, my friend—have you not seen the essence of this world? The Laws of the World drove the Earth to birth the Sky; Night birthed the Day. Goodness is always accompanied by Evil. What does that tell you?"
Hebe fell into a deep silence.
Prometheus continued: "Perfect bodies, perfect souls—they were absolute positive constructs. Their potential was fully tapped the moment they were made. Even with my constant enlightenment, they reached a ceiling they could never break. I realized then that Perfection is the most merciless imprisonment. It was humanity's greatest flaw!"
Prometheus's green eyes blazed with a manic light. "Humans should be like this world: a contradictory fusion of dual natures! My first creation was a failure. Therefore, I had to correct my mistake."
"So... everything you did to provoke Zeus was part of your design?"
"My office allowed me to see the future," Prometheus explained. "Epimetheus would provide the floor of stupidity. Pandora's Box would provide the shadows of evil. These 'lower' bounds are what allow the 'upper' bounds to rise. This contradiction and uncertainty are the keys to their evolution. Through the constant correction of errors, the Fire of Wisdom will burn brighter. Through hardship, they will gain resilient spirits and bodies. That is the perfect creation—a creature of infinite possibility!"
Hebe was stunned. She stared at the shackled, brilliant madman. Truly, the line between genius and insanity was non-existent.
"Why so surprised, my dear Hebe? You have already grasped this essence yourself," Prometheus noted, his eyes shimmering. "I can feel the unique power within you—the perfect fusion of two extremes. You continue to surprise me. This path is the correct one; stay on it, and you shall reach a peak that no one can predict."
"...Your wisdom is terrifying, Prometheus," Hebe whispered. "I hope I never find myself as your enemy." Compared to him, Zeus's "stolen" wisdom seemed amateurish and unreliable.
"Rest easy, glorious Hebe. If only for her sake, I would never move against you."
They both knew who "she" was.
Prometheus's expression darkened slightly at the thought. "Your 'mighty' father likely doesn't realize he is plagued by more than one curse. One is already lurking, ready to erupt. Be prepared, Hebe. It will not just harm him. Your mother, the Mistress of Marriage, will lose her Authority the moment this curse is complete. Her Godhead will shatter. I trust you will not sit idly by."
"I know. I have prepared," Hebe replied.
She knew the curse was the birth of Eros. The new human race, born in pairs, would procreate rapidly, providing Eros with a flood of power. And with his birth would come the twelve Golden Arrows. Zeus would fall into twelve affairs with the race he had personally guided, and these infidelities would strike a lethal blow to Hera—the symbol of the marriage bond.
Nyx had warned her of this as well. Hebe had already made her arrangements. As long as she stood, she would ensure her mother's glory remained untarnished.