Prometheus knew that only speaking half the prophecy was irresponsible on his part.
But Uranus was arrogant and self-conceited.
If he had actually delivered the entire prophecy at once, he might have gotten himself entangled in the matter.
In this situation, let the gods share the burden, and let him take the blame.
Besides, if everyone was guilty, it was the same as no one being guilty—unless Uranus wanted to sit on the throne of the gods alone, the gods were still safe.
Uranus glanced at the gods but said nothing, and the gods didn’t dare to respond either.
The entire mountain fell into an ominous silence.
In the end, it was the Mother Earth, Gaia, who spoke up, breaking the eerie atmosphere.
“It’s just a prophecy; it might not be unchangeable,” she whispered to Uranus, her worried eyes resting on the children.
Uranus remained silent, pondering the prophecy.
Honestly, Uranus didn’t believe anyone could threaten his power.
Although his children were powerful, they still couldn’t compare to him.
But right after Prometheus finished speaking, he felt that predetermined aura—a force that even the King of the Gods couldn’t resist.
So he had to figure out which child would be the traitor who would betray him.
His first suspicion fell on his eldest son, Oceanus.
The reason was simple: Oceanus, through his fertility and rapid reproduction, had already approached the peak of divine power, becoming the most powerful of the twelve primordial gods.
But he didn’t rush.
He would wait until Prometheus named a specific name before taking action.
Uranus didn’t consider this prophecy difficult to resolve—he had even already come up with a solution.
Whatever name Prometheus uttered, he would split that god into four parts, leaving only one in the world to maintain the laws, and cast the other three into the abyss, the darkness, and the depths of the earth.
That way, the child could never become his enemy.
Although he had found a solution, the thought that someone would dare challenge his power in the future still troubled him greatly, and the aura emanating from his body grew increasingly oppressive.
Oceanus, who had been under his scrutiny the entire time, broke out in a cold sweat.
This usually calm and unruffled Lord of the Ocean could no longer bear the oppressive atmosphere and the cold, piercing stare of the King of the Gods, and stepped forward.
“Father, I would never betray you.” Oceanus knelt and said, “I swear here and now that I have absolutely no desire to claim the throne of the gods!”
As his solemn voice faded, the world responded to his call.
But Uranus remained silent—he didn’t believe in such so-called oaths.
The God of Oaths had not yet been born, although the world would punish those who broke their vows.
Divine power would be greatly diminished, and some authorities might even be revoked—but as long as one ascended to the position of King of the Gods and received the blessing of the world’s will, none of that mattered.
When Oceanus knelt, the other gods immediately followed suit, also kneeling and swearing that they would never betray Uranus.
In an instant, all the gods were on their knees—but Uranus remained silent.
However, the oppressive aura emanating from him grew even more terrifying, as if he was deliberately trying to warn the gods.
Uranus, symbolizing patriarchy, represented absolute unquestionable authority in the presence of his children.
This suppression stemmed from their status, not just the difference in divine power.
Under the weight of the King of the Gods’s authority, the gods felt as if their souls were being torn apart.
Fear overwhelmed them, and they trembled in terror.
If they, as the first generation of gods, felt this way, one could only imagine what their descendants, the second generation of gods, must have felt.
Prometheus felt as if his heart was being squeezed—the terrifying pressure made it hard to breathe—but he was, after all, a powerful god and could still resist.
Epimetheus, born alongside him, had turned pale with a bluish-purple tint to his skin, and probably would have suffocated if not for his divine nature.
Atlas, Iapetus and Clymene’s eldest son, Prometheus’s older brother and a god of moderate power, was also pale and sweating heavily.
And yet, no one dared to beg for mercy.
Everyone could see that the King of the Gods was in a very bad mood, and no one dared to provoke him.
All they could do was endure.
The merciful Mother Earth, seeing this, could no longer bear it.
She pitied her children and tried to soothe Uranus:
“Your Majesty the Great King of the Gods, my beloved—they are our children, not our enemies.
Perhaps things aren’t as bad as they seem.
How could you treat them so cruelly?”
At that time, Gaia was still a very kind mother.
She was gentle and loving, and deeply cherished Uranus and her children.
Naturally, she didn’t want to see them fighting each other.
After the Mother Earth’s repeated pleas, Uranus finally suppressed his aura.
Gaia breathed a sigh of relief, seeing the gods seemingly granted forgiveness—but before she could fully relax, she heard Uranus finally speak.
“Since there are traitors among you, traitors are naturally unworthy of living in this world, and unworthy of leaving behind any lineage.”
He paused, his sharp gaze sweeping over the alarmed gods, and said coldly: “Since we don’t know who the traitor is, from this moment on, by the authority of the King of the Gods, I decree that no one shall conceive new offspring.”
This was the solution Uranus ultimately proposed.
Since all gods grew stronger by bearing offspring, no one was allowed to have children until the traitor was found.
By cutting off the gods’ path to power, Uranus—even if all their divine power combined—wouldn’t have to bother with them and could suppress them with a single wave of his hand.
He even thought that even after the traitor was found, the gods would no longer need to reproduce—only then would his divine position be eternally secure!
And what about the imperfections of the world that required new laws to emerge?
What did those things matter compared to his divine reign?
Not to mention that he could continue to reproduce—and as he grew stronger while other gods stagnated, he would become even more secure.
But before the gods could react, the gentle and kind Mother Earth was the first to change her expression.
“No!”
Gaia spoke resolutely and firmly.
This was the first time she had disagreed with Uranus since they had united, and the first time she had opposed Uranus’s actions.
“This violates the laws of reproduction—you can’t do this!”
Despite Gaia’s refusal, Uranus insisted on his decision, which led to their first argument.
Hearing Gaia’s angry accusations, Prometheus—the instigator of it all—took a deep breath.
He had wanted to steer Uranus back to his original path, to try to change fate—but now it seemed he had only accelerated the course of events.