Chapter Text
Prometheus.
The third son of Iapetus and Clymene.
The Titan who created humans, and stole fire for them.
The one who was punished by Zeus to be bound in chains on a mountain, and for an eagle to eat his liver every day, as every night, it grew back.
Until the hero, Heracles, was allowed permission from Zeus to kill the eagle and thus, end Prometheus of his punishment.
Ironic, Prometheus thought. I helped him secure a victory in the Titanomachy, and this is how he repays me?
Humanity, for a while, called him the Fire-bringer. Their creator. The one who made them as they are. He noticed. He had hope for them, his creations, who grew to be so smart, so crafty, so different from other creaturs and animals. They're just like him, intelligent, creative, yet still exploited by the other gods.
He felt bad. But he couldn't do anything. He knew what Zeus' wrath is like, and he would rather not go through that ever again.
But he had hope, hope that humanity would have an at least fair place, not treated as mere objects by the other gods.
He believed, that they'll continue to advance, and become a better people as time passed.
Turns out, he was wrong.
Wars.
Weapons of mass destruction.
And many others.
Slowly, he started to lose hope. Humanity might have advanced, but they've become worse in almost every other way.
He knew there's still humans that were good at heart, but he knew they're a minority.
Prometheus didn't loathe them. Not all of them. Just the ones that spread hate, discrimination, and war. The rest? He almost didn't feel anything for them, just longing and regret, for the people they've become.
Most of the pollution on earth, aka Gaia, were caused by those people.
He felt empty, but decided to try and see how it actually is, in the different countries the humans made.
And maybe, just maybe, he'd regain hope.
Maybe the fire was worth it after all.