It had been no easy task, discovering the whereabouts of the godly teen. In the last twelve years—while not engaged in his demanding duties of raising Epimethius—Prometheus had searched from the farthest shore of the western coast to the insanity that was the east and even farther through a land apart which was filled waving fields of grain. For the last four months, ever since Cronus had found Epimethius, Prometheus had redoubled and tripled his efforts. He had literally searched the farthest corners of the earth—a feat in itself, even for the god of sticking his nose where it didn’t belong (as Prometheus was sometimes called by his siblings) to find corners on the sphere that was the planet. He looked so far south that it got cold and so far north that the only place to go was south again. He found a large island where all of the creatures to which he had given the surprising or the dangerous gifts had gone. He even checked the trenches in the ocean. The heavenly child had been in none of these places. Finally, while going fishing off the coast of Greece, he had heard it. The ocean was especially loud there but a wave had gotten itself stuck on a rock. For just a moment, it couldn’t crash like it was supposed to; that’s when Prometheus had heard the cracking voice of a teenage god. He had been singing, of all things, to himself. At first, Prometheus had been unsure what he had heard. Zeus was not the first god to ever go through puberty, there were a number of minor gods who had done that, but he was the first god to sing to himself during puberty and in all of eternity-before, it was the first voice crack Prometheus had ever heard, personally or by hearsay. Then the wave had got itself unstuck and hurried on to finish its task, and Prometheus had been left functionally deaf once again. When it finally dawned on him—later that evening after he had returned to the home he shared with his own teenage son—exactly what he might have heard, he was unsure whether to be impressed with Rhea’s cleverness or disappointed with her stupidity. He had searched all over the world and had not even stopped to consider that the child could be so close to Olympus as the island of Crete. It was too close, too prone to discovery. But then, Prometheus had searched for twelve years and hadn’t found him, so perhaps it was a brilliant ploy. He wasn’t sure. Now that he thought about it, however, the sea around Crete had always been especially loud—a phenomena for which there wasn’t really a good explanation. He supposed that had been Rhea’s doing, a special measure to hide the child from the outside world. Godly lungs were, after all, capable of producing a staggering level of sound.

Whatever the reasons for Zeus’ presence on Crete, Prometheus was not going to pass up the opportunity. To this end he was now dressed as a old, bent stranger in a dark cloak. He hobbled across the island, following trails that may have been game trails and may have been god trails. He was more certain than ever that Zeus was here. As soon as his feet touched the ground of the island, he had felt a presence—a godly aura more powerful than anything he had experienced before.

He had, of course, ensured that Rhea was engaged on Olympus before coming. He didn’t know whether she would object to his being here, but he felt just a little like he was encroaching on her parenting space, and preferred to do so with anonymity.

After nearly five hours of picking game trail after game trail, he finally followed one higher and higher into the Cretan mountains, fingering the vile in his pocket all the way. Finally, the path ended at a cave. He knew he had chosen well when he heard a teenage groan coming from the recess in the mountainside.

Putting on his best old man appearance, Prometheus called out, “Eh, what’s that? What’s that?”

In a flash, the teenage god was before him, standing in the mouth of the cave.

“Well,” Prometheus continued in his contralto voice to give the impression of age. “Speak up m’boy. Some of us can’t hear as well as we used to.”

“Oh, gods! I am so glad you’re here! I swear, this rock of an island is so boring!”

Prometheus thought the boy’s enthusiasm for an old man was a good sign.

“Ey. And what are you doin’ on this rock?”

The teenager gave a shrug that conveyed all the all-I-know-is-I-don’t-deserve-this in the world, but said, “Come on.” and ushered Prometheus into his cave.

For the next hour, Prometheus got to know this boy. He seemed amiable but unpredictable—hardly a surprising circumstance to Prometheus as his own teenage son was as unpredictable as the flight patterns of a mayfly at mating season, even to Prometheus who had raised him from infancy. He discovered very little about the Zeus’ daily life on the Island, as the boy seemed curiously reticent to talk about that, but generally found the interaction to be intriguing and the boy god to be pleasant and congenial, if odd.

Finally, Prometheus steered the conversation into his purpose in coming. “You know,” He said. “I’ve met your father.”

“My father?” the boy seemed genuinely surprised.

“Yep, big ugly brute, that one is.”

“My father?” The boy repeated the words as if they were an entirely unfamiliar concept. Then, “I have a father?” he said.

So, it was an entirely unfamiliar concept. Now it was Prometheus’ turn to be surprised. It was almost enough to make him break character. That could have been disastrous. He was, after all, in the depths of treason here.

“Of course y’have a father.” He said. “What did ya think? That ya sprang from a grape vine as a tiny babe?”

“I guess…I don’t know.” The teen seemed unsure how he was expected to react. “I just never thought about it before.”

“Well, now you have.”

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“A father?”

“Thought about it. But yes, that too. You’ve got a father and I’ve seen him and that should be enough to curdle any man’s milk twice over.”

“Why?” Zeus asked.

“Because he’s a mean brute of a god.” the old man that was Prometheus snapped.

The revelation that a strange old visitor thought his father was mean didn’t seem to surprise Zeus as much as the previous revelation that he had a father at all did. Still, it peaked his interest.

“Is he mean to everyone, or just to you?”

Prometheus wheezed a laughed. “Everyone, lad. In fact, I should rather say, he’s never been kind to anyone.”

He was surprised that Rhea hadn’t already started poisoning Zeus’ mind against Cronus. If he was going to overthrow the king of heaven one day, after all, then he should be taught young to have the will to do it. What, he wondered, had that woman been doing with the boy all this time? It left him with a world of extra work this visit, but he was here now and could hopefully rectify the oversight in quick order.

“Have you known my father long?”

Prometheus knew that was a loaded question depending on the outcome of all this. If he answered yes, then any investigation that may result from a failed coup, would be narrowed down to just a handful of gods. For Epimethius’ sake, Prometheus could not afford to take that risk. However, if he answered “no”, then he would destroy any credibility needed to convince young Zeus of the need to stop his father.

“I” Prometheus spoke slowly so as to let his thoughts formulate, “have known of him for many thousand years.” He said. “I doubt he even knows I exist.”

Though this was a flat out lie for Prometheus, it was true for several individuals he could name—so not wholly unbelievable.

“I have watched him,” Prometheus continued, “murder the innocent and reward the corrupt. He has never shown kindness and hungers only for authority over others.”

“What position is he in, that he can do so much wrong?”

“He is the king of the gods.”

Zeus cocked his head to one side. “The gods have a king, then?”

“Hades, what has your mother been teaching you on this rock for the last decade? Yes the gods have a king and he’s a cursed tyrant and he’s your father.”

“Wouldn’t that make me…” Zeus didn’t seem to mind Prometheus’ tirade.

“In a mortal hierarchy,” Prometheus snorted, “That would make you a prince. In an immortal court with a selfish bastard like Cronus as king. That just makes you oppressed like the rest of us.”

Zeus seemed to mull this over for a time before he said, “Will he always be king of the gods?”

“Not if we can help it.” Prometheus gave the boy a conspiratorial wink. “If he’s ever going to be overthrown, then you would have to be the one to do it. No one else, god or mortal, would ever be strong enough.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“But, I’m just a kid on a rock.”

“Yes.” Prometheus smiled at the description, “but you’re also a god, the son of the strongest Titan and Titaness in the universe, and the sole heir to the sky prophecy.”

“The sky prophecy?” Zeus gave Prometheus a quizzical look.

“Yes the sky prophecy.” Prometheus reminded himself to give Rhea a good talking to about the boy’s lack of education. “When Cronus overthrew the skyfather, Uranius. Uranus prophesied that a child of Cronus would do the same to him. Before you, there were many children born to Cronus, but he swallowed them all at birth so that they couldn’t fulfill the prophecy. You are its sole heir.”

“What good will that do me?” Finally, Zeus began to manifest some emotion at what Prometheus was saying. He shook, though with fear or with anger, Prometheus could not tell and his voice had started to crack.

“Prophecies are powerful things. Once made, if it’s a true prophecy, it can reshape the very fabric of reality to come to full realization.”

“I see.”

Prometheus wondered if Zeus did see.

“This is all a lot to take in.” The teen looked distraught. “I have discovered my siblings and lost them all in the same conversation.”

Prometheus smiled, they had finally come around to his original reason in coming here, “Not lost, m’boy. Just separated for a bit. You can’t kill a god that easily, not even an infant one. Your siblings have all been trapped in Cronus’ stomach, unable to expand, unable to act, possibly even, for the time, at least, left without a will, their own having been absorbed into your father’s soul. But, they’re all still there, and they’re all still very much alive.” Prometheus didn’t actually know whether this was all true. But he had to make theories about something and this had seemed a credible one. He felt he owed it to Zeus and to the universe to try. Additionally, he knew that just replacing the King of the gods would not be enough to ensure Epimethius’ safety. He needed a whole new generation of gods to help Zeus rule if they were to achieve the stability conducive to his goals.

“I have here,” he said producing a vile from a pocket in his sleeve, “a tincture distilled from the spores of a mushroom that grows in the foothills of the eastern mountains. It’s an old family recipe—” another lie. The recipe was only as old as Prometheus’ indigestion. He had spent weeks trying different combinations of deadly herb, root, and mushroom testing each one on himself . This most recent concoction had left him vomiting things he hadn’t even eaten for nearly a week. When he had recovered, he knew he had succeeded in his goal. “—from which even a drop will melt the stoutest stomach. With this, you may yet recover your siblings.”

Zeus took the vial almost reverently.

“Who are you?”

It was a question that Prometheus had been expecting.

“A concerned party.” Prometheus replied.

“No, I mean who are you? It doesn’t seem like your coming here was an accident.”

“Do you believe in accidents?” Prometheus asked.

“No.”

“This world was built on belief. It only exists inasmuch as we experience it, we only experience what we believe. Who do you believe I am?”

“You’re relief on a summer’s day.”

“Then, no, it was no accident. Every day seeks interruption, for beings like us, every interruption is a relief.”

“You got that right.” Zeus said. “I sometimes wonder what I did wrong.”

“You did nothing, lad, it was your father’s fault that this happened to you. But you won’t always be here, one day you will rise up to overthrow your father, and then you will rule the heavens and the earth and will travel freely and converse openly.” Prometheus prodded the boy with his walking stick. “I have looked in the stars and seen it.” That wasn’t true in the least bit. The last time Prometheus had looked in the stars, the only thing he’d seen was the underside of indigestion and something called twerking.

The boy god seemed to be lost in thought.

“Well.” Prometheus picked himself up off the ground. “Can’t sit around here gabbin’ all day. I should really be getting my old bones off to an early grave.” He actually could have sat there gabbing all day, except that he was worried he’d be caught by Rhea. He really should be getting back to check on Epimethius anyway. The boy was self sufficient, but for being self sufficient, he certainly did get in a lot of trouble. He didn’t fancy leaving the teen for too long with those scandalous nymphs traipsing about the spring woods in search of seductive prey.

“Wait.” The boy god sounded desperate. “Stay a little longer. I can show you my collection of—”

“I wish I could,” Prometheus gave the boy what he hoped was an understanding shrug. “But, really, I must be going.”

“But I could—” Zeus started to say, but Prometheus was already gone.