“When will I be born?”
Prometheus let out a long, helpless sigh.
He curled up in a warm, cozy place, surrounded by darkness.
It was a place where he felt completely safe—like a mother’s womb.
Oh, so this is Mother’s womb.
Then everything’s fine.
Prometheus had lost count of how long he had been in the womb, because the world was not yet perfect, and for the gods, time barely mattered.
The good news: he had been transported to a mythical world and had become a high-ranking second-generation god.
The bad news: this was Greek mythology, and he had become the famous fire-stealer, the father of humanity, who ultimately met a tragic end—eternally tormented and imprisoned by Zeus!
Prometheus didn’t know if this was a blessing or a curse, but he hadn’t even been born yet, so there was nothing he could do.
At best, he could only tease his brother, who slept next to him.
That brother was a curled-up infant with half-closed eyes, radiating a faint divine glow, looking incredibly sacred.
Epimetheus, Prometheus’s twin brother, only learned about things after they had already happened.
The so-called “hindsight” meant knowing everything that had occurred—nothing in this world could be hidden from him.
He was the god of afterthought.
Prometheus reached out his small hand and gently placed it on Epimetheus.
A strange, inexplicable light danced in his pupils, accompanied by a mysterious rhythm.
The divine glow emanating from Epimetheus slowly flowed toward Prometheus, amplifying his aura.
Epimetheus seemed to sense something and stirred nervously, but there was too little space, and he had no way to escape from that overbearing influence.
Their movements caught the attention of the body’s owner.
She was a gentle and graceful ocean goddess, Clymene, whose face was as beautiful as a flower.
Her prominent belly only enhanced her maternal tenderness.
“He’s acting up again,” Clymene murmured softly, her eyes filled with fondness.
“He seems like a very lively child.
I wonder what divine role he’ll take on.
I can already sense the divine power he radiates.”
A sturdy middle-aged man carefully supported Clymene by the waist, anticipation shining in his eyes.
His name was Iapetus, the god of life and soul, Clymene’s husband, and one of the twelve great primordial gods.
“I wonder how much longer until he’s born—whether he’ll make it in time for the upcoming coronation of the King of the Gods,” Clymene said with some anticipation.
The coronation of the King of the Gods was the first and most crucial step in the chaotic world of Chaos, moving from disorder to order.
It symbolized that the world was gradually becoming more perfect.
Years ago, in the chaotic world of Chaos, five primordial gods were born from cosmic collisions.
Thus, the world broke free from chaos and gained earth, the abyss, darkness, and love—the symbol of life.
With the birth of each new god, the divine authority and power they represented became the original order of this world.
The Great Mother Earth, Gaia, gave birth to three deities representing the sky, the sea, and the mountains.
Only then did the earth have mountains, rivers, and oceans—only then did the distinction between heaven and earth appear.
But this was a brand-new world, and not all orders were yet perfect.
So the Earth Goddess united with her beloved son, Uranus, the sky god, and together they bore twelve powerful first-generation gods.
The first generation consisted of six males and six females, who mated with one another and produced even more gods.
Since goddesses had no right of succession at the time, Uranus, as the head of the “patriarchy,” the source of all gods and the great father, earned the recognition of the chaotic world and the praise of all creation for his immense power!
He rightfully became the King of the Gods!
And soon after, the time for his coronation would arrive!
Without a doubt, it would be an unprecedented event, eagerly awaited by all the gods.
Clymene gazed expectantly at the distant horizon, where the highest mountains on earth stood—where the land came closest to the sky.
Uranus would descend there to rule over all living beings on earth as the Lord of the Heavens.
“I hope he is born in time for this great event, under the blessing of the Father and the gods,” Iapetus said with a smile.
“Well then, we should also head to the sacred mountain.”
Clymene nodded gently, a tender smile playing on her lips, and hand in hand, they made their way toward the distant sacred mountain.
Prometheus, who had overheard their conversation perfectly, curled his lips and could only silently pray in his heart.
“Please—don’t let me be born right under Uranus’s nose!”
As an outsider in this world, Prometheus could clearly feel the rejection emanating from the world of Chaos.
He was only grateful that Chaos itself had no personal consciousness—it was just chaos and the world itself—so it wouldn’t send a giant hand from the sky to crush him, this little alien insect.
But that vague sense of rejection prevented Prometheus from being born.
He felt that his divine authority and laws were already complete, yet the world held him back, refusing to let him emerge.
Now, however, Prometheus thought it was better to be born later.
He believed that, as an outsider, he should not linger before the King of the Gods, who had been recognized by the entire world.
If the Lord of the Heavens ever found out about Prometheus, his fate would likely be extremely tragic.
It was entirely possible that Zeus wouldn’t even get the chance to imprison him—Uranus, Zeus’s grandfather, would deal with him first.
“We still need to become stronger, Epimetheus.
Don’t blame me—this is always how it goes in the struggle for succession.”
Prometheus sighed helplessly to himself and, placing his other hand on his twin brother Epimetheus, drained his divine power even faster.
Epimetheus struggled desperately, but he was too young, lacked consciousness of his own, and could only be taken from and plundered.
The divine aura around him grew weaker and weaker.
Correspondingly, Prometheus’s aura grew stronger and stronger.
Perhaps because he was a time-traveler, not a being of this world, and knew the entire course of Greek mythology, he possessed not only the prophetic laws that Prometheus originally held but also the divine power to change fate.
Thus, his true divine function was actually this:
God of Fate and Prophecy.
But this fate was not fate in the traditional sense—if you analyzed it carefully, it was actually a branch of destiny.
In a world where everything was predetermined, he, as an outsider, was the only variable—the only one who could change what had originally been fated.
Therefore, he actually personified the change of fate.
This stood in direct opposition to the laws of a certain predetermined goddess of fate.
However, his current source of destiny was extremely weak, completely overshadowed by the laws of the prophet.
But it was precisely this faint thread of destiny that made Prometheus realize he could alter the fates of others.
So, with nothing better to do, he practiced on his brother next door.
He encroached upon Epimetheus’s divine authority and stole his rightful resources.
By changing Epimetheus’s fate, Prometheus felt that his own extremely weak source of destiny seemed to strengthen a little.
However, since the changes were so minute, the fundamental nature of fate was reinforced very little—almost imperceptibly—but it undoubtedly gave him a direction to think about…
You could become stronger by changing the predetermined fates of others!