With Poseidon neutralized, Zeus turned his gaze to Prometheus, the foreseer among the second-generation Titans. It was he whom Zeus truly found troublesome. The Titan's actions left no trace, and despite long surveillance by the stellar deities, Zeus had yet to find grounds for condemnation.
Summoning both Prometheus and his brother Epimetheus, Zeus addressed them:
"Sons of the God of Souls, your elder brother Atlas now bears the sky at the westernmost edge of the world, widening the space between heaven and earth. Yet the land below remains barren and lifeless. I command you—go forth and breathe new life into the world. You may draw from the gifts of the gods to complete this divine task."
Though the Silver Race fared better than the Golden in terms of reproduction, their numbers remained few. With the rise of Typhon and his monstrous progeny, their population had dwindled further, fading from the prosperity of their early days.
Prometheus dared not defy the decree. Together with Epimetheus, he descended from Olympus to the mortal realm.
In those early times, the distance between earth and sky was but a whisper; from the highest peaks, one could almost touch the stars. When Tyche claimed dominion over the heavens, the emergence of the celestial dome added weight upon the firmament. Only through the Cosmic Law's dissolution of the primordial Chaos did the sky gain strength and rise ever higher.
Then came Atlas, lifting the heavens upon his shoulders. The gap between worlds widened beyond measure. As the boundaries of the earth expanded, vast tracts of land remained desolate, swept only by wind and rain.
Nymphs and giants roamed these lands, while remnants of monsters prowled under cover of night, clashing in endless conflict.
Athena offered materials imbued with noble virtues. Upon contact, Epimetheus's divine power—aegis of all things past—awoke. An unquenchable surge of creation filled his spirit. Inheriting his father Iapetus's gift of invention, he shaped abundance into sacred white cows, keenness into gray-feathered eagles, and even summoned back what had once perished!
For nothing that had existed was hidden from him. Every structure, every essence, was known to his mind. Of all deities, Epimetheus alone possessed the wisdom to restore the earth's lost vibrancy.
From the echoes of the world's memory, he drew ancient patterns and laws. With Athena's offerings in hand, he sculpted life anew. From the heights of Olympus, the gods watched in astonishment, unable to conceal their wonder.
They had long dismissed Epimetheus as foolish and inept, yet now he stood as the Creator of Beasts. From Kronos's swiftness sprang the panther, from Apollo's music arose the songbirds. Each deity marveled at what their own contributions might yield, showering Epimetheus with praise.
Yet Zeus alone remained unmoved. His eyes never wavered from Prometheus.
Unnoticed, the materials gifted by the gods were soon exhausted. By the time Epimetheus realized it, nothing remained.
With a sigh, Prometheus took qualities from the beasts his brother had created, blending them with iron to forge the first of the Iron Race—tall, strong, and fierce.
Born of animal essence, these humans bore an instinct for flesh. They scorned the toil of sowing fields or plucking fruit from trees. Fueled by fertility's lingering power, they multiplied swiftly, growing in number.
Already living in fear of the monsters, the gentle Silver Folk welcomed the mighty Ironborn as protectors, embracing them with open arms.
Thus ended the age of Silver, its twilight swallowed by the rising tide of Iron.
Yet alas—the Ironborn were wild and untamable. Their boundless energy found release only in quarrels, born from the smallest of disputes.
Among the worshipped gods, only Hera, goddess of fertility, still received reverence. Once-thriving fields lay fallow, and across the land, feuds spiraled into bloodshed and lamentation. The gods grew weary of their cruelty.
Angry deities beseeched Zeus to punish these godless mortals—but each plea was denied, at Prometheus's quiet request.
Upon the earth, Hera, bearer of fertility, traveled alongside Menoetius, god of courage. Now marked as Echidna's enemy, the marriage goddess found herself shadowed by her protector, who had long sought in vain the Mother of Monsters.
Perhaps through proximity, perhaps through fate, affection bloomed between them. In the embrace of love and valor, Hephaestus was born—god of craft and flame—spurred by the Ironborn's hunger for weapons. Under his guidance, blades and spears multiplied, fueling ever more violent strife.
Then came Ares, god of war, born amidst the chaos of blood and fire. This savage deity thrived on battle's ecstasy, swiftly growing in strength through the fervor of the warring masses.
One by one, the gods lost their worship, driven back to Olympus by the unbearable din of war.
Deprived of the faith that sustained them, the deities grew restless, uniting to pressure the Principal Gods.
To appease them, Zeus summoned Prometheus, commanding him to deliver a divine edict to mankind—that great rites be held in honor of the gods, ensuring each deity received its share of devotion. Thus, the gods were momentarily calmed.
But the Ironborn were too consumed by slaughter to spare time for labor. Only aging Silver Folk tilled the soil, barely eking out sustenance for themselves—let alone offerings for the gods.
Even Prometheus, wise as he was, could find no solution. He journeyed to the temple atop the waters where Tyche resided, seeking her aid in restoring the land.
The temple doors remained sealed. Only his voice echoed across the silent waves.
"Master of earth and sky, sovereign of the sea," he pleaded. "I once aided you in shaping the Sirens—grant me now a glimpse of fate's design!"
At last, the temple doors creaked open. From within, Tyche's voice resonated like thunder across the void.
"Foreseer, the debt I owe you is not to be spent so lightly. Return to the world above. Walk among your creations. If you can guide them away from the beastly nature they inherited, there may yet be hope."
With a heavy heart, Prometheus left Tyche's temple. Returning to the mortal realm, he devoted himself to guiding the warlike Ironborn, teaching them the arts of calculation and animal husbandry, interpreting the stars and dreams that shaped their lives. He gave them everything he knew—wisdom, knowledge, and compassion.
Epimetheus, the After-Thinker, and Hephaestus, god of craft, taught mankind to forge tools and vessels. With the invention of ships and sails, the Iron Race took to the seas, surviving famine through abundant fish.
Prometheus's efforts bore fruit. Life flourished as humanity multiplied and spread across the land. The world, once barren, now thrived with vitality.
Yet the appointed time for the sacred rites demanded by Zeus drew near. More troubling still was the knowledge that the beastly nature inherited by the Ironborn had only been subdued by hunger—not eradicated.
The last of the Silver Folk had recently answered Thanatos's call, returning to the Underworld. In his final moments, the aged soul had thanked Prometheus with a smile, embracing death with grace. The grief-stricken Titan mourned deeply—his second creation had slipped from his grasp, just like the first.
A desperate thought seized him then—a reckless, forbidden notion. He could not bear the loss of yet another generation. If this agony struck a third time, it would surely break him beyond repair. There was but one solution—to grant mortals the gift of immortality!
Thus, Prometheus sought an audience with Pontus, the Primordial God of the Sea.
Pontus's domain was in turmoil. Poseidon, bearing Zeus's decree, demanded fealty from the Conceptual Sea Gods—an insult they could scarcely stomach. By bloodline, they traced their lineage to the First Titans; how could they bow before a mere descendant?
Yet the Oceanid line stood behind Poseidon. Though most of Okeanos's children were lesser deities, their sheer numbers tipped the balance. Since Tyche wrested dominion over rivers, lakes, and springs from Pontus's grasp, the Oceanids had broken free of his rule, encroaching upon the very essence of the sea.
Now, with Zeus ascended as King of Gods, Okeanos's offspring grew bold, repaying old humiliations with interest. Even Thyone, the Icebound Sea Goddess, whose domain bordered the abyss, harbored resentment. Once, to conceal the birth of Aphrodite and her intoxicating aura of desire, Pontus had hidden the love goddess within Thyone's frigid waters.
Exposed to unchecked eros, she had suffered greatly. Only her icy nature spared her from disgrace. How could she not seethe? Dione had not even promised aid—yet she sent Thyone forth to oppose Poseidon's support for Atlas's rebellion. Clearly, the Ice Goddess had reached her limit.
Thus, the battle among the sea gods began in earnest—with Poseidon and Eurybia at its center.
Nereus, the kindly Sea Elder, found himself overwhelmed. Once a mediator between factions, he now saw both Electra, the Calm Sea, and Thaumas, the Wondrous Sea, withdraw entirely from involvement. Forced to resume his role as messenger, he wandered ceaselessly, seeking to quell rising tensions.
Upon seeing Prometheus arrive, Nereus eagerly sought his counsel.
"Forgive my intrusion, Lord Nereus," Prometheus replied calmly after hearing the elder's plea. "Pontus's title as Deep-Sea King has lost its meaning. Do not forget—Zeus's mother herself is a sea deity. Water itself has not abandoned her merely because she claimed dominion over earth. Pontus's influence in the ocean no longer holds the same weight."
Nereus sighed bitterly. "If Tyche were to openly claim sovereignty over the sea, matters would be far simpler. We would gladly obey her. She has long been the unchallenged Queen of Tides, her wisdom commanding our loyalty."
But instead, the throne had fallen to Poseidon—who ruled not through wisdom, but force. To assert dominance, he accused Keto and Phorcys—Echidna's parents—of tainting the sea with monstrous blood.
Poseidon knew well the stakes. Should he fail to subjugate the Conceptual Sea Gods now, Zeus would cast him aside without hesitation. Still driven by ambition, he sought true mastery over the deep. Unless these ancient sea deities swore fealty, the conflict would not end.
After careful consideration, Prometheus offered a suggestion:
"The title of Deep-Sea King cannot be preserved. To minimize losses, you must submit—but not to Poseidon. Submit to the King of Gods Himself. That way, the Oceanids will have no grounds to press against you. Your struggle will become an internal matter among Conceptual Sea Gods. Only Eurybia may intervene—but she will not fight wholeheartedly for Poseidon. Without true power to match his title, you need only offer him surface-level respect."
Nereus, ever wise, understood this was the best path forward. With a resigned sigh, he summoned his kin to discuss swearing fealty to Zeus.
Prometheus politely withdrew, wandering the coral gardens and drifting among jellyfish, leaving the sea gods to their deliberations.
What followed mattered little to him. Once the meeting ended, he returned to Nereus.
"I seek an audience with your father," he said plainly.
Nereus hesitated. "My father has entered slumber in the deepest straits. He forbade us from disturbing him."
Seeing Prometheus's crestfallen expression, Nereus softened. After all, the Titan had aided him.
"I do not know when he shall awaken. But if you wish, I can carry your question to him."
Prometheus hesitated, then spoke carefully. He wished to find a means to grant mortals eternal youth.
To his surprise, Nereus nodded.
"There exists a spring in the hands of Tethys, the Sea Goddess of Fountains. Those who bathe in its waters regain their youth."
Hope flickered in Prometheus's eyes—until Nereus shook his head.
"But alas, it does not extend life itself. That lies within the domains of Life and Death."
"If you truly seek a way to transform mortals, then only the Moirai—the Fates—can offer true guidance."