After much effort, we got Prometheus to speak the full prophecy. Now I finally understood why Metis seemed familiar to me, even though I didn't recall legends about her. In mythology, Zeus—afraid of the prophecy—swallows her, and from his head is born Athena, his and Metis's daughter.
I don't remember if she dies inside him or remains alive guiding him. But now that I'm here, all I can think is how "wise" Zeus is. After all, this was his brilliant idea:
"We cannot risk a new war. Our pantheon is still structuring itself. I believe the best option is for Metis to become a small animal and for me to devour her." Zeus didn't seem happy about it—perhaps he truly liked the Titaness.
"Perfect! Then in a few years, someone can make you vomit Metis out, like what happened with us and Kronos. That way we'll have a reason for an actual war," I shot back at Zeus.
"Even so, we cannot risk it. Metis is a danger to all of us," Hera argued. "As long as we keep our eyes and ears open, I don't believe we'll have problems."
"I can't pretend I'm not hearing this conversation about being devoured," Metis said. Her voice trembled, and she avoided Zeus's gaze. "I could simply distance myself from Zeus and swear that I and my children will stay away from the throne of men and gods."
"It's too late," Prometheus interjected, his eyes losing focus for a moment as if seeing distant threads. "To prevent the prophecy from being avoided, conception occurred today. Even if you don't lie with another, the child will be born."
Zeus looked defeated as he stared at the Titan. Hestia, standing nearby, seemed ready to offer an idea but fell silent. Demeter broke the quiet:
"Perhaps we need to look at this from another angle. We could summon Poseidon and other allied gods and Titans to ask for ideas." Before anyone could argue, she added: "Of course, this way everyone would learn about the prophecy—a risk in itself."
Silence fell again. Metis seemed to be seriously considering things. I could feel her divinity working furiously, seeking a way to escape unscathed, a way to evade the prophecy. During this time, she glanced repeatedly at me and Hestia before focusing on Hera and Zeus.
The daughter will be equal to Zeus in strength and wisdom. The son will become the new king of men and gods.
No matter how I look at it, the daughter refers to Athena. So even if he devours her, the first part of the prophecy occurs—just like in my memories. If I could make Metis an Underworld Titan, I might mold the energy of death so she can't have more children after the first. But if they're twins, Zeus would go to war.
"Hestia," Metis's voice was resolute, though tinged with exhaustion. "Can you give us your opinion?"
"I…" Hestia hesitated, but Demeter's hand on her shoulder seemed to steady her. She looked at Prometheus. "Prometheus said the prophecy was accelerated by nine moons. He didn't say it would be concluded in nine moons. So I believe only the first part of the prophecy will occur: a daughter equal to Zeus in strength and wisdom."
Everyone fell silent, seriously considering her words. Hidden from the others, I smiled at Hestia.
"It could work," Prometheus agreed. "The prophecy would be partially fulfilled, minimizing its impact on destiny."
"Then Metis must swear purity after this birth," Zeus commanded, "thus preventing the prophecy from fully manifesting."
Metis didn't look happy with the outcome, but at least she'd escaped being devoured. Will this truly be enough? I wondered. Eras in the future, she could simply adopt a mortal, becoming his mother, and he might fit the prophecy's criteria.
Having one's future destroyed by Olympian actions seems a recurring theme in mythology. Metis now, Medusa later, and countless others. It makes sense there'd be another war—we collect enemies, not allies. I vividly imagined Metis on the front lines, hatred for Zeus burning in her eyes, marching with her son to tear off the head of the one who cursed his mother—condemned to resist her own impulses.
I could have stayed silent. But looking at her reminded me of other victims in Greek mythology. I may not be King of the Gods, capable of ordering punishments for all, but I am Lord of the Underworld. Even the skies must heed the realm of the dead sometimes.
"Metis," I said, my voice cutting through the tension. "I invite you to become a deity of the Underworld. You will be blessed in its waters and flames, becoming infertile—but free to walk as you wish." Agency. The choice to shape her own destiny. That's what I extended to her.
***
POV: Zeus
Hades's words made my hands clench in fury. I felt the Master Bolt screaming in the recesses of my mind, and hidden within the palace, our father's scythe began releasing energy, ready to be summoned to my hands.
I'd always known betrayal from one of my brothers was possible. I'm not blind—Poseidon's desire for the sky throne was visible. But I never imagined the first to bare his fangs would be Hades.
I hadn't spoken much with him; after all, during the war he was trapped by our father. Not only I, but many allied Titans question his legitimacy in taking the Underworld throne. The fact that he was key to our escape during the first battle with Kronos silenced them—but whispers remain. I know of at least two Titans and four minor gods who tried contacting Primordials in the Underworld, arguing Hades's rule shouldn't be valid.
But hearing him openly say he wants Metis—that he desires a weapon against me? I didn't expect this.
Disrespect. Pure and simple.
Perhaps he doesn't understand: I, Zeus, was crowned King of the Gods. He will obey my orders.
"I, Metis, daughter of Oceanus and Tethys, accept the offer of the Lord of the Underworld." Damn him! How Hades manipulated her into saying those words, I don't know. But she'd also refused a king's command.
Perhaps I should punish her. Perhaps it's time Hades learned who leads—regardless of him being the eldest, I, as Lord of the Skies, am the most powerful.
"I accept her gladly," Hades declared. I felt his Sovereignty violating the sanctity of Olympus—my territory—as he transformed Metis.
Her greenish skin took on a near-translucent hue, revealing veins of ichor running beneath. The scales adorning her body thickened, and small horns sprouted at her temples.
Everything was happening too fast. The situation spun out of control—like the first battle against our father all over again. Too much happening, my efforts futile.
I felt a light touch—Hera's divinity reaching me. I opened my mind to her message:
"Calm yourself. Be magnanimous. You can still shape history for others."
More traitors, was my first thought. But then I realized her meaning: Hades is already a pariah among minor gods and Titans. I could claim he kidnapped Metis, that he fell in love at first sight. That I, as Lord of the Gods, was magnanimous and permitted the union—gifting the Underworld a Titaness "loyal" to our cause.
Later, I'd execute the true retribution. First, I'd remake Kronos's humans. Splitting them in half would weaken their forms, making their bodies fragile—mortal. No longer immortal playthings, they'd age, sicken, and die. Their souls would flood the Underworld in relentless waves. Let Hades drown in work and wailing ghosts. His precious kingdom would choke on their numbers.
I'd ensure their propagation. Send bountiful harvests one season, gentle rains the next—let them multiply like rats. After their numbers swelled, I'd unleash targeted calamities: plagues to cull the weak, floods to wash away rebellious cities, droughts to fuel their desperation. More births, more deaths—an endless cycle to bury my brother under the weight of mortal frailty.
Then, the true brilliance: I'd mold their fear into devotion. Let them build altars screaming our names. They'd kneel in temples, begging for mercy. Their prayers would become our sustenance, their faith a golden cage.
"Brilliant, Hades," I said, a false smile straining my face. "Perhaps you should hurry. We wouldn't want anything to affect the prophecy. Bathing in the rivers beforehand might be essential."
Hades bid quick farewells. Demeter said she'd visit him soon and stay in the Underworld until the birth—another one I'll need to watch. Hestia added she'd visit after finalizing preparations for the Olympic Pyre and fulfilling a promise she'd made. What promise? I'd need to find out. Hera and I gave curt goodbyes.
Seeing Aphrodite also saying goodbye, I decided: once Hades stopped staining my domain, she'd be mine. I'd release my frustrations.
Flames erupted from a fissure in the floor, swallowing Hades and Metis. I felt a weight lift from my shoulders—only for fresh frustration to surface. I looked around for Aphrodite. She wasn't there.
"Hades took Aphrodite to the Underworld," Demeter answered before I could ask. "He said he needed her help to deal with gargoyles, apparently."
Thunder and lightning echoed across Olympus's sky. Demeter and Hestia were beyond my reach. But Hera stood close. Perhaps only another Olympian should sit on the queen's throne. And she seemed the only loyal one left.