If not for the exalted origins of the first generation of humans, whose constitutions far surpassed those of ordinary mortals in later ages,
then even if these millions all died, a work like this would still have been impossible to complete in a mere half year.
Though such an undertaking is nothing to speak of for the great gods, and this spectacle still appears too shabby,
for humankind as they are now, this is already the mightiest work they can create by pouring in all their strength.
Indeed, to present-day humans, this temple and altar before their eyes already count as a true miracle.
They themselves could not have imagined that relying on nothing but human strength they could create so grand a work!
Before they truly did it, it was something they did not even dare to think.
If not for the gods' personal guidance and constant encouragement, they would not have attempted it, let alone accomplished it.
Only—the price of doing all this was unspeakably painful.
For the sake of today, some were crushed to death by great stones in the quarries; some fell off cliffs during transport and died; some simply worked themselves to death; some died of wounds that could not be treated; and far more still starved to death—so that an extra mouthful of food could be saved and given to the laborers…
As for those who were injured and maimed because of this—the number is beyond counting.
But Prometheus knew that all the brutal sacrifices before him were worth it.
If humankind were unwilling to bear this solemn sacrifice with their own blood and sweat, they would never be able to call themselves worthy of protection before the gods.
Many would pay with their lives, but if it could win ten thousand generations of shelter—win the race's survival and flourishing—then this was a price that had to be borne.
Prometheus believed that humankind's pouring out of all their strength would surely move the gods, and certainly move the merciful God-King.
All that was being paid now was for a brighter future, so that the whole tribe could live on better.
Even so, he could not help but ache for it.
To watch beloved children die before one's eyes—there is no pain rarer and greater in this world.
Especially death by hunger, the most agonizing form—its torments before the end defy imagination.
He looked to the full hundred pure-white, robust adult bulls.
Just to gather these hundred pure-colored bulls that met the ritual's standards, who knew how many had died, and how much human effort and resource beyond reckoning had been spent.
How many lives were cut short by this? How many hands, plucking and gathering fodder, cracked and bled? How many were skin and bone and still gave all to feed them?
They had been carefully tended, and next they would be offerings.
Behind the sacrifice were countless more still going hungry.
And these bulls steeped in human blood and sweat were now to be slaughtered and dismembered, then cast into the blazing sacrificial fire.
The altar's flames would stain the sky red; all their warmth and breath would be devoured by the tongues of fire.
If only these hundred bulls could be divided among those on the verge of starvation…
at least a thousand vibrant lives could still be saved.
Prometheus watched quietly, his face without expression, his body without motion.
Only in the deepest depths of those dark eyes did a weighty pain surge in silence, like an undercurrent of the Underworld.
Suddenly, the wind rose.
Prometheus slowly lifted his head and looked to the horizons.
What he saw were the signs that the God-King was about to descend to the mortal world.
The clouds were heaving, and even heaven and earth's breath trembled.
The four illustrious winds of the quarters were setting the air of heaven and earth in motion, opening the way with gales, sweeping the dust of the mortal world for the supreme God-King's coming.
After the howling winds, the boundless auspice that signifies the holy descent soon came into the sight of every being before the altar.
Those human delegates who had been resting and readying themselves to take part in this fate-deciding rite fell into a flurry.
Their hearts were filled both with the joy and honor of seeing the supreme deity, and with that uncontrollable tension and fear born of life's instinct.
Even humans knew who the true Sovereign of the cosmos is.
He is the Father of the nine bright Muses, He is the King of the gods of foreknowledge and afterknowledge, of limitless might.
He is the great Father of Thanatos, the most fearsome God of Death.
He is the one and only, eternal, absolute, supreme Sovereign!
The God above gods—His Majesty the God-King Zeus!
Those humans permitted to attend this rite knew well the importance of the day.
They also knew how heavy the responsibility was upon their small shoulders.
It concerned not only life and death of individuals, but the fate of their race and the hope of their future.
Facing this cosmic Sovereign who holds everything and decides their every fate and life, no matter how brave and resolute they were in ordinary times, no matter how clever and discerning, at this moment they could not be unmoved.
Before the God-King, any courage seemed small, any composure would shatter at a touch.
In nameless fear, many cast pleading looks upon that solitary figure standing before the temple—their creator and protector—Prometheus.
Prometheus only raised a hand to them.
A simple, steady motion seemed to hold boundless strength.
The humans who had been in a panic at once found their backbone.
They swiftly, silently began to act according to all Prometheus had taught them.
They gathered in neat ranks and arrayed themselves behind Prometheus.
This was the holiest, most important day.
But it was also shrouded in the heaviest, most oppressive air.
Before the God-King had truly descended, the gales raised by the four winds were already howling, nearly blowing people off their feet.
At the edge of the sky, endless auspicious clouds of inexpressible and extraordinary beauty were surging in like a tide, borne by those majestic winds.
The dazzling, prismatic radiance drew ever nearer.
Before any divine figure could be seen, the most bewitching heavenly music—hymns and canticles, the true music of heaven—had already reached human ears.
It was the God-King's beloved nine daughters, the ever-bright and joyous Muses, and the three most lovely and gracious Graces, who embody the cosmos's "truth, goodness, and beauty."
Together they were raising sacred hymns that rang through the world, lauding the supreme glory and majesty of the Sovereign of the universe!
In the human ranks, soft, stifled sobs slipped out.
In that heaven-sent sound, they heard the voices of the Muses.
That familiar divine music made many feel close and warmed, and at last their minds, which had been on the verge of collapse from tension and fear, settled a little.
After the immortal music came the pure celestial rain that dispels all filth and fatigue, falling like the softest gauze.
And the sacred petals of every hue that strengthen the body and heal wounds and sickness scattered across the sky, following the dance of the 1,200 floral nymphs.
Humans at the sacrificial site, and others scattered across the land—everyone received, equally, His Majesty the God-King's most generous grace.
All their hurts were healed in an instant; any taint of poison was driven out; illnesses hiding in their bodies were cured completely.
All weariness was lifted, and every pang of hunger erased.
Their life-force was greatly strengthened, their souls' resilience deeply replenished, and even the upper limit of their lifespans was greatly raised.
On this day, even the God of Death, newly set to His office, would not spread His arms.
For when the God-King arrives, the boundary of life and death is veiled by the God-King's holy radiance.
Last of all, the calming light of the tranquil moon spilled down, soothing the complex surges in human hearts.
It let these finest among humankind at least restrain themselves, not losing decorum before the God-King.
At last, the gods above the clouds reached the sky over the altar.
High on high they stood with the God-King at the highest heaven.
The divine light was so blinding that all humans bowed their heads deeply, not daring to look up.
Their frail mortal eyelids simply could not bear the gods' too-dazzling glory.
With a voice that rang through heaven and earth, Zelos—the one who symbolizes the God-King's "Glory of Courage"—proclaimed:
"Supreme God above gods, Lord of the Highest Heaven, Merciful Father, Sovereign of the Cosmos, Incarnation of Thunder, Father of All Beings, Lord of Wind and Rain, Lord of Order, Fate's Great Father, Father Most Good and Most Fair, Source of Wisdom, Source of Strength, the one eternal and supreme above all! King of all gods—His Majesty the God-King Zeus arrives!"
"Rrrr-ummmm—"
A deep, solemn thunder, like the heartbeat of the cosmos, fell resoundingly from the ninefold heavens, rolling and echoing between heaven and earth, with thunder declaring the God-King's formal descent!
Prometheus drew a deep breath, hesitated not a moment, and bowed in great prostration.
Behind him, the more than three thousand human delegates knelt together, performing the full-body obeisance.
Their brows pressed to the ground, dust and sweat mingling, they paid their respects to the supreme God-King with the most respectful, most devout bearing they could attain!
Gods and men cried out together in one voice, a flood strong enough to shake heaven and earth:
"We pay homage to the most high and most supreme, the most exalted and most noble, the God above gods, the Eternal Sovereign, the King of all gods, the Eternal Lord of all that exists! Long live His Majesty!"
"Rise."
A single, simple word—yet carrying infinite majesty—fell like something of weight upon every kneeling being.
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