CHAPTER XXVI

CHAPTER XXVI

When night fell, Prometheus stepped out of his workshop in Olympus, dressed in the black and gold gilded armour Tyche had seen him working on the last time he was here. He hadn’t known then what he was going to use it for, but one like Prometheus would never admit to being under the influence of one of the nefarious Muses. Many had invited themselves into his dreams ever since he met Amara. He was usually adept at ignoring them.

Unwilling to admit he was grateful for their interference this time, he stroked and surveyed his handiwork. It was made of the finest leather, rather than metal, given where he was going. It didn’t even look like armour at all, more like a second skin. One that contoured to Prometheus’ body, that allowed him freedom of movement and maximum protection against the heat. It also blended him so well into the night that even the glints of gold-threaded lining wouldn’t be picked up by anyone, not even if he were to be followed by Zeus’ eagle.

The road to where the fire was kept was a treacherous one, given how few ever climbed it. Indeed, Prometheus thought back to the only time it had been used − when he and Zeus had returned the fire after heating the furnace for the first humans.

Born of earth, water, air, and fire. The only species like it.

The climb began like any other in Olympus, simply a dusty road leading to nowhere. But as Prometheus pierced the cloud layer, the terrain became harsher. Craggy rocks jutted out and if you didn’t know where to place your feet, you could cause a boulder to fall, a broken ankle if you fell into a crevice, or simply a slip that would have you tumbling down a jagged, rocky mountainside. Prometheus could afford none of these options. It wasn’t that he couldn’t feel pain, but because no one could know he was here.

Thankfully, being a man of his hands, he used most of his senses to feel his way up through the mountainside, relying on his memory to guide him up the least treacherous path to the white fire. Several hours had passed by the time he made it to the mouth of the cave and sweat was dripping down his temples, a fine sheen of perspiration covering the rest of his toned body. But, given his impeccable workmanship, the leather had not chafed but glided smoothly. Sweat didn’t even cause it tosqueak.

His forearms bulged as he used the weight of them to carry him up to the lip of the small cave. He knew it was the right one, for just beneath the lower lip was an olive branch, completely out of place in this terrain, precisely why he had left it there last time. Should he or Zeus have need to come up again, his foresight had foretold, he would use the olive branch as a guiding post. Sometimes his gift was useful.

Hoisting himself up by his leathered forearms, he crouched and crawled on his belly into the heart of the cave. There, at the back, was the white fire. The cave was much deeper than it appeared, the white fire a mere speck down a long, dark caved corridor devoid of light.

Prometheus wondered if this was what the humans meant when they said they saw ‘a light at the end of the tunnel’ when their human remains returned to Gaia. He wondered if some imprint of the fire that had branded them was etched into their DNA. Some ancient knowledge, some part of the fire crackled throughout them, longing to be reunited.

Reaching the back of the cave, he could feel the heat searing off the white fire. It crackled over the three branches. Those branches had come from the first tree Gaia had sprouted. The tree of knowledge, some had called it. It had transcended across all religions in some form or another. The burning bush, the tree of knowledge ... the humans had a multitude of stories for it. All true. All missing details. Funny, how they still argued over those details while missing the facts. It was the only tree that could contain the everlasting white fire that never burnt out. So he and Zeus had trimmed three branches, with Gaia’s permission, and hidden the white fire here so the mortals and gods alike would never find it. Except now they needed it. Amara needed it.

Teeth gritted in determination, Prometheus reached in and grabbed one of the branches. Though it scorched his skin to do so − for God of Fire he may be but this was no normal fire − the agony was just about bearable with the leather protection. With the white fire in his grasp, he didn’t have long to get back down the mountainside and into the human realm. Carrying the white fire would attract the attention of many should they see it. The way the white flame danced into purple, with glints of gold and blues and greens ... it was unmistakable.

Making his way as carefully but as quickly as he could back down the mountain track, Prometheus paused only twice. Both times when he suspected he was being watched by something or someone. Luckily, there were plenty of large boulders to obscure him, and the fire, from view. Eventually he made it back down the mountain, through the still-sleeping Olympus before Apollo set the sun in the sky, and over the rainbow bridge provided by Iris.

The rainbow bridge − the connection between the heavens in Olympus the gods resided in and the Earth the humans inhabited. Separated only by the fact that the humans couldn’t physically see the bridge. That would begin to changenow.

For with the white fire, the humans would have access to all the same knowledge that the gods held. To look into the white fire was to burn away all hidden secrets. Any human who looked into it would have their memory restored ... to the beginning of time. To when they were created. They would know exactly their role on Earth once more.

It was a dangerous gift. Not one that could be given to everyone. It would cause carnage and chaos in the wrong hands. But for Amara, it would unlock the memories she needed to be freed from a human prison and restore her alchemy. It was the only way. The challenges had failed, her alchemy lost. Even his love hadn’t burnt away the fear that resided in her even now. This was the only way to save her. He just hoped that by presenting her with it he would redeem himself, for all the months of deception, in hereyes.

Prometheus stepped over the threshold, white fire in hand.