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Here he is.
The demigod son of Zeus, cheekily named Heracles as though the Queen of the Gods would be appeased by simple flattery. She made his life hell, and his own father did nothing to stop her. This man has been cruelly mistreated by the gods. And they do not realize that he knows it.
The mercenary looks down at Prometheus’s bound form, his face overshadowed by the maw of the Nemean lion, whose pelt he wears like a gruesome helmet. “You,” he says in a gruff voice. “Flame Thief. You made my exalted father very angry, a very long time ago.”
Prometheus answers, “I did. Although if you have ever warmed yourself by a hearth, then you, half-mortal son of Zeus, should appreciate why I did what I did.”
Heracles’s lip curls. “Don’t call me that.”
It is not difficult for Prometheus to hide the satisfaction of hitting his target.
Heracles is the gods’ workhorse, their attack dog. They regard him as little more than dumb muscle, and he has fulfilled that role for many years. But it is unfair to consider him a complete idiot. He did not fall for Atlas’s trickery all those years ago, and so Prometheus’s brother still bears the weight of the heavens. Only foolish Epimetheus escaped a fate of eternal punishment at Zeus’s behest.
Until—
Prometheus’s knowledge keeps stuttering. He has foreseen his role here, but his mind keeps being drawn to the more immediate matter of what is about to happen. For so long he has held fast to the knowledge that this day would come, and now that it is here, every iota of his body is aflame with painful hope.
First, though, he casts his glance at the sky. “Do not harm the bird,” he says to Heracles.
Heracles follows Prometheus’s gaze and sees Aetos wheeling overhead. He scoffs. “What, do you think I’ve come to keep your torturer from its work?”
“I know that is why you are here,” Prometheus answers. “I know that you have been sent to free me. And I also know that the gods are in need, and that they want my aid in the battle against the Titan of Time.”
Heracles sends him a long, narrow-eyed stare. Then he snorts. “So they do,” he confirms. “You’re saving me a lot of trouble explaining all this, Titan.”
Aetos lands then, his talons curving into the flesh of Prometheus’s chest. Prometheus barely flinches. The eagle is not carving him open just now, only protecting a meal from a potential rival. He batters his wings at Heracles, to the demigod’s utterly nonplussed stare. “Out, bird,” Heracles growls, and kicks vaguely in his direction. Pain flashes through Prometheus as Aetos pushes off from his body, hissing his irritation. But what is important is that Aetos can see that he is overpowered. Good; then this will follow the path that Prometheus hoped. For aeons, this eagle has been Prometheus’s only companion, and he does not want him to die.
Indeed, Heracles shows no further interest in Aetos. Instead, he takes hold of the chain that binds Prometheus to the rock face and pulls—not at full force yet, but enough to stretch Prometheus’s arms to a painful angle. He leans in close and speaks in an undertone.
“Suppose I free you,” the demigod says, “and you put yourself at my Lord Father’s disposal. This may end. But the gods’ demands never do. That’s what I’m letting you out into, here, you understand me?”
The stench of Heracles’ tanned lionskin washes over Prometheus, untempered by any divine sweetness. Without flinching, Prometheus tells him, “I know more about the machinations of the gods than you can begin to imagine.”
“Then you’re fine with it?”
“I am not afraid,” Prometheus says, as he has foreseen himself saying. He finds that it is not as true as he expected it to be: hope burns like fear does. But he will withstand it. He knows that he can withstand anything.
Heracles shows his teeth in an expression that bears no relation to a smile. And then, without another word, he clenches both fists around the chain and begins to pull it apart. He growls with the effort it takes, and that turns into a long, guttural roar, and Prometheus watches his muscles bulge and then—with a feeling in his head like a silent thunderclap—the chain snaps.
He is free.
There is a second chain securing his feet; Heracles disposes of that one as well, with the same show of strength and that same thunderclap feeling, but Prometheus is not paying attention. He is moving his arms. He is pushing away from the rock face and, soon enough, standing on his feet for the first time in aeons.
He is free.
The worst thing he will ever experience is at last behind him.
Heracles waits silently while he gets his bearings, only grunting in surprise as Prometheus drags the wrought adamant cuff off of one wrist and then the other. They take a not-insignificant among of flesh with them, but he will heal. Only when Prometheus turns his way again does the demigod say, “So. Are you ready to go see my Lord Father?”
Prometheus looks him straight in the eye. “I am not going with you, Heracles.”
The mercenary raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”
“I am not. Your father was a fool to think that I would ever serve him again after what he did to me.”
Prometheus’s heart is pounding harder than he could have imagined. He has foreseen this moment and clung to it for aeons, and it feels as headily triumphant as he always knew it would. But he has foreseen no scorn on his face, so instead he watches Heracles with keen impassivity as the demigod narrows his eyes.
“So you are a traitor, then,” Heracles says slowly.
“Olympus decided that I was a traitor years ago. Although they have not realized it of you.” A precisely targeted strike. Alarm and confusion pass through Heracles’ body, and his hand twitches for one of his weapons, but Prometheus has foreseen such a reaction and does not flinch. He only muses, as though he is truly curious instead of reciting a line he has foreseen countless times, “Have you realized it yet, I wonder?”
He knows what he’s looking for, so he sees it: the disbelieving hope that strikes this ill-used son of Zeus like a bolt from the blue.
But then Heracles stifles the feeling. His hand closes over the hilt of his machete, deliberately and threateningly, and his lips curl in a sneer. “What are you talking about, Titan? And answer carefully.”
“Not yet, then,” Prometheus murmurs, and he watches his certainty unsettle the demigod. He shakes his head as if dismissing the entire thought. “Never fear, big man, you and I will meet again when we need to. For now, though, I know that you do not intend to drag me unwillingly into your father’s service.”
Heracles’s jaw works. But of course there is only one course of action he can follow: he hates to serve the gods’ whims, and Prometheus’s surety is a lifeline to him (or it will be, soon enough). At last, he releases his grasp on his blade. “No, I don’t,” he agrees, and he leans negligently on his massive club. “I happen to be very familiar with all the rewards of serving the gods. Far be it from me to keep you from re-learning what happens when you defy them.”
“Then we’ll meet again,” Prometheus promises him. Heracles grunts, and then he shoulders his club and turns to trudge down the mountain, his work here done.
But Prometheus’s work is only beginning. He is free, standing on his own two feet. He could go anywhere in the world. There is only one place he can go from here, a single course of action he has foreseen.
Glancing upward, he finds Aetos riding a thermal overhead and gives a short whistle through his teeth. It is the same whistle he has been making for months now, each time Aetos approaches, in preparation for this moment. The eagle does not dive, but he glides slowly to the ground and eyes Prometheus, looking curiously at his favored prey, now unbound.
“Here, Aetos,” Prometheus says, and he whistles again and raises his left arm. After another moment of consideration, the eagle gives an ungainly hop and a flap of his great wings and closes his talons around the fist Prometheus makes of his left hand. “Good,” Prometheus says, accustomed to the bird’s weight and unaffected by the pain.
He has been alone for many long and tortured aeons, but he will not be so any longer. For now, he sets out for the Underworld, ready to reintroduce himself to the Titan laying siege to the mountain of the gods.