Prometheus never would have expected to have stuck to such a job for so long. In the last two-and-a-half months he had variously felt his task harder than Atlas’ and…

Prometheus bounced the child in his arms and softly said his name:

“Epimethius.”

The infant turned his head toward the sound and—when his eyes landed on Prometheus’ face—smiled a smile that would have made Gaea herself move from her place in the heavens. For just a moment he held contact with Prometheus’ eyes. For that same moment, Prometheus himself felt held, suspended in the stark blue of those eyes. Never did sapphire shine with such radiance. The very ocean itself could not contain its depth. Then, as he gazed at those captivating pools of blue, Prometheus saw the future. He saw concourses of people building walls and houses and palaces and temples. He saw wheels and carts populate the streets. He saw plows and irrigation grow across the fields. He saw gifted ones crushing pigments and making paint. He saw beautiful landscapes captured on walls and canvases. He saw stone shaped by patient men so that the statues which emerged looked almost more real than the sculptors. He saw men lie and cheat. He saw hate and greed. He saw men grow angry and women weep. He saw the making of blades, the working of metals and skins and lumber and rope into terrible tools of death. He saw great fields of men—striving for dominance, dying for pride. He saw rivers of blood and filth separating the corpses, making each man an island in a sea of despair. He heard the cries and curses of wives and daughters. He felt nations crack and families tear. He saw prejudice and distrust. He saw a boy, on a hillside. He saw the wind playing with the grass at the boy’s feet. He saw a reed flute in the boy’s hand. He saw twenty or thirty goats wandering aimlessly around the boy, occasionally coming to nuzzle his hand, mostly eating grass contentedly around the clearing. He saw the boy raise the flue to his lips and heard as a simple melody echoed off the surrounding cliffs and brushed the water in the golden twilight. He saw peace.

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He saw Epimethius’ soft blue infant eyes blink as they gazed back into his.

There was a long way to go yet. The sound of a goat somewhere down the valley made the infant look in that direction.

“You will be terrible and beautiful.” Prometheus whispered. “You will be more than the gods.” it was the first blasphemy he had ever uttered against himself.