The God of Underworld

Chapter 107 - 7: The Prison Visit

Chapter 107: Chapter 7: The Prison VisitFar away from Olympus, across wind-scoured cliffs and wastelands soaked in silence, there existed a land the gods no longer tread—a canyon carved by wrath and fire, where thunder never ceased rumbling deep below the crust of the world.

It was here, bound upon the jagged rock of a mountain, that Prometheus remained chained.

Years passed. Centuries, even. And still he endured.

Each morning, the eagle came—its wings blotting out the sun as it descended with shrill cries to tear at his divine flesh.

Each evening, the Titan regenerated, pain-wreathed and defiant.

His chains were divine and old, forged by Hephaestus himself at Zeus’s order—so ancient now they shimmered with time-forged rust and power.

But on this day, before the eagle could arrive, two goddesses approached.

The winds parted. The skies grew momentarily clear.

From the horizon walked Athena, goddess of wisdom and war, her eyes sharp with thought and her steps brimming with purpose.

She wore no armor, only her usual flowing robes and a silvery cloak that flickered with starlight—an illusion that hid the polished bronze plate beneath.

At her side was Themis, the embodiment of divine law, walking tall and serene, her presence balanced and unshaken despite the rising dread in the world.

They walked in silence for some time—until Athena broke it.

"I didn’t expect you to be thinking the same as me aunt Themis," she said, glancing at the barren rocks. "The others only think of revenge, they haven’t even thought of asking for advice. How dumb they are."

Themis offered her a faint smile.

"I’m not like those brutes, I know how to prepare for war, and right now we need any knowledge from the Titan of Forethought."

Athena nodded, "Yes, when it comes to prophecies, only the Fates can claim to be better than him...but those three only serves Lord Hades, so yeah, we can’t really ask them for help."

"True. There’s a certain irony in Prometheus. He knows how to shape what seems hopeless. He did it with men. Perhaps he can do it with gods."

Athena huffed softly.

"Speaking of men," she said, her expression warming slightly, "I guided one recently. A mortal. Just a child when I found him—barely knew how to hold a spear. But now? He slew a chimeric beast with only a shattered sword and his wit."

Themis gave a nostalgic chuckle. "You always had a soft spot for mortals."

Athena waved her finger at her, "Not mortals, heroes. And you can blame Herios for that, aunty. He ruined me. He was the one who made me obsessed with heroes."

Themis chuckled, "Seems like you’re quite fond of him."

"Absolutely!" Athena smiled softly, "If he didn’t die. I would’ve made him my husband. Even now, I’m still

He stretched his arms, as if yawning despite his imprisonment.

"I think my visit hours are over."

Athena stepped forward, fists clenched. "Prometheus—"

But Themis touched her shoulder.

"Leave it," she said quietly. "He’s said enough."

They turned to go.

"Oh, come now!" Prometheus called after them, pouting like a child denied a sweet. "You’re not even going to say goodbye? No farewell? No ’we’ll bring you nectar next time’?"

Silence.

They didn’t turn back.

Prometheus exhaled and leaned his head against the cold stone, staring at the vast grey sky.

"Hmph," he murmured. "Gods. No sense of humor."

Far above, the eagle shrieked.