Prometheus punched the mountain face; it split in two.

It was day five and his experiment was…doing absolutely nothing. That wasn’t quite it exactly. After all, he had designed the creature to be this way. He knew it would grow more interesting in time, but then…he hadn’t expected it to take so much work right at the start.

Currently, the thing refused to even recognize his presence. It would “goo” its satisfaction and would cry the reverse, force Prometheus to feed or clean it constantly, and sometimes just cry for no discernible reason at all until Prometheus was nearly ready to leave the little beast in some valley and go back to live in the opulence of Olympus with his siblings. In fact, he had actually tried to do just that, once—thinking that a life of boredom surely must be better than one of drudgery.

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His conscience had compelled him only so far as first thinking he should find a sheltered place to leave the boy. Then he thought it would need accessible food. Fourteen steps of abandonment later, he was a fully melted emotional puddle apologizing to the helpless child for even considering such a thing.

The baby, of course, had been sleeping the entire time. His little breaths came quick and soft, arms occasionally waved tiny fists in the air above his peaceful face as if in his dreams he were knocking on his father’s chest—or rather, the door to his father’s heart.

So Prometheus had stayed. Even now, three days later, he was not sure why. He loathed the creature for its constant neediness and total inability to do anything, but simultaneously loved him for…what? Prometheus didn’t know.

The child began to whimper softly and Prometheus hurried to feed him.