Thanatos only stroked the soft hair of the child in his arms, gently and silently, and looked at Prometheus.
He knew what this second-generation Titan, the god of foresight and foreknowledge, truly wished to say next.
Sure enough, Prometheus came to the point. In a tone of pleading and grief, he entreated:
"Illustrious Thanatos! You are the son of the great supreme sovereign, the merciful Father of all beings—the God-King Zeus."
"Though you hold dominion over 'Death,' you must surely be one of the kindest of gods."
"You are also the son of the great Mistress of Night, the boundlessly loving Great Mother of Night. In your origin lies gentleness and love."
He pointed to the woodenly staring mother on the ground and said in sorrow: "Honored Lord of Death, please look at the lovely child in your arms; and then please look closely at his poor mother."
"These pitiful mortals are not like us undying gods."
"This child grew in his mother's womb for a full ten months before he could be born."
"This child was exchanged for with ten months of her flesh and blood, ten months of pain and hope carried by this mother."
"His mother cried out in agony for a long time in labor before she brought him into this world."
"And his very first cry at birth brought tears to his mother's eyes."
"Not from the pain of childbirth, but from that most sacred bond of blood; because her life had found continuation."
"Because this was a piece of bone and flesh grown from her own body."
Prometheus looked with pity upon that mother who still sat like wood and stone.
Within that mother's mortal soul rolled a storm of terrifying pain, which even a god like him dared not probe lightly.
Thanatos listened earnestly to Prometheus's words, and together with his gaze turned toward the pitiable mother.
In his eyes was an indescribable complexity.
Prometheus went on.
"When this child was born, he was so very small." He held out his hand to show.
"Nor was he like us gods—born knowing, born strong. At that time he understood nothing."
"The loving goddess of guardianship and the loving goddess of nurture—these two great goddesses—bestowed upon humankind the clumsy arts of rearing."
"They taught humans how to raise and how to feed, so that this frail infant body might take shape and grow."
"And this mother—who knows how much hardship and heart she spent—at last enabled a naive, fragile, tiny child to live on, with difficulty, upon this vast earth."
"Watching over him day and night without rest, guarding him through sleepless nights; from watching him only cry, to watching him crawl on the ground."
"From the first time he wobbled to his feet, to the sprouting of his first tooth; from teaching him to utter a first muddled syllable, to when he finally cried out clearly 'mother'…"
"The care and love within, the heart and hardship spent, defy words. Every step of this child's growth is steeped in her sacrifice and deep affection."
"But this mother has never felt the least aversion for it."
"Because when this child first called out the word 'mother,' she was already willing to give him everything of herself."
"She is a true mother; for this, she gave all her love to this child."
"As a mother, when she sees her child suffer even a little, her heart aches beyond bearing. When her child is hurt by accident, her heart all but shatters."
Prometheus's voice already carried a trembling catch, but he still strove to keep it solemn. He drew a deep breath and continued:
"To rear a child is to endure an immense pain!"
"That pain does not arise from herself, but from her love for her child, which sets the child above herself in all things."
"Any suffering the child bears will be returned to her heart tenfold, a hundredfold."
"And now this lovely child has finally learned to run upon this beautiful earth; finally learned to speak sweet words; finally uses his little arms to embrace his mother."
In a tone near to entreaty, Prometheus said: "Honored Thanatos, under the sacred twelve-month cycle, this child has lived only five cycles."
"He is still so small; this little person is so very tiny!"
"Of all upon this vast earth, he has had no time to see; of all that is beautiful, he has had no time to try."
"Even his mother's greatest love—he has not had time to enjoy it for long."
"And his poor mother—just so, on a day so ordinary and plain—has lost forever her most precious treasure."
"The continuation of her life, the anchor of her soul, her bone and blood… all of it shattered utterly in this instant."
Prometheus prayed with the most devout words, his voice hoarse, each word almost bleeding:
"Merciful Thanatos, please look once more at that poor mother. She cannot even shed a single tear now."
"Her everyday life has been silently torn apart. In the long years to come, how do you mean for her to go on?"
"Have pity on this mother and child, please. Grant your precious mercy and pardon him this once."
"He is still so small, with such a long future. He should not lose everything because of one small accident."
Thanatos slowly stroked the small soul wrapped in night, sleeping in his arms.
His voice was as calm as the unchanging wind of the Underworld: "Honored son of Iapetus, illustrious Prometheus, I understand all that you have said, and I also understand the grief in your heart."
"But please believe me: no being understands 'Death' more than I do."
"Because I am 'Death' itself."
Thanatos's voice was level, yet like the echo of an abyss, it folded every plea of Prometheus's in the air.
The God of Death did not love the pains of the world, but he never shunned them. He continued:
"You should also know that the road life travels is not conjured from air, but forged together by countless pains and cruel choices."
"I have a mother who loves me as deeply as his mother loves him, so I can understand a mother's love for her child. I revere that love greatly, and I mourn this loss."
Thanatos did not avert his eyes, still looking steadily at Prometheus: "Yes, this newborn child is very young. Perhaps he might have had a brighter future, perhaps a splendid life."
"But, Prometheus, death cannot be undone. Death, though merciless, is absolutely equal."
"The moment a being is born, he begins an irreversible march toward death."
"Aside from those great gods who truly exist as 'sources,' even elemental deities and the natural nymphs will one day meet the extinction of their divinity."
"The solemnity of death springs from its equality to all beings."
"Equal in its coming. Regardless of station, of age, of rank; whether he possesses much or owns nothing, death descends equally."
His tone grew firmer: "Precisely because of this absolute equality, death deserves reverence!"
"And it is this very reverence that constantly warns all mortals to cherish every living day, to live well, to keep caution and humility toward all things, to strive on and live better."
"Today, if I could, for the love of a mother, because a child is still young, overturn this death that has already become fact,"
"then what of tomorrow? How many mothers love their children in this world? What age would no longer count as 'young'?"
"And what of the others? A chief of a tribe might bear a heavier burden, shoulder the lives and futures of more people. Should I spare them as well?"
"Have you considered? If 'death' were no longer equal—if I could indulge favoritism at will—"
"what would this entire cosmos become?"
Thanatos looked at Prometheus earnestly and put forth the gravest of questions.
His voice was not loud, nor his cadence quick, yet the question was like an unmoving mountain that Prometheus could not answer squarely.
As the god of foresight, how could he not understand these truths?
But truth is cold, and the despair of the mother before him was searing hot.
He opened his mouth to speak, and yet fell silent again.
In the end, the fatherly love born of a "creator" still overcame reason.
He persisted, pleading softly: "Honored Lord of Death, I understand your sacred duty. What you have said is the cosmos's highest principle. But… but could you… just this once?"
"Take pity on him, and pity his mother as well. This one time—let him remain…"
"Spare his mother this once; draw her back from this moment's despair. There are many souls—you can choose those who should depart more than he."
At these words, Thanatos actually smiled faintly.
But that smile made his stern features turn, in an instant, colder than ice a myriad years old.
He said coldly: "Prometheus, my meaning for existing is the most solemn meaning in this world."
"Death is the most solemn thing."
"Death cannot be swayed by favoritism. Must not, and cannot—not even once—absolutely not!"
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