Chapter Text
Apollo slipped the bridle over Sterope's head.
"There you go, girl." He rubbed his knuckles against her beak. "Good job today."
Bronte honked from her stall, bumping her beak against Apollo's shoulder hard enough to stagger him.
Apollo chuckled, turning to rub Bronte's beak. "I'm not going to forget you, girl."
Bronte huffed as Apollo pulled the bridle from her head as well.
Sterope craned her neck towards Bronte, nibbling and clacking her beak against her partner's.
Bronte returned the gesture, running the side of her bill across Sterope's before turning her head to the side.
The two alternated between turning their heads to opposite sides and clacking their beaks together in a synchronized dance.
While they continued their evening ritual, Apollo hung their bridles from the rack next to their harnesses. Pulling out a soft bristle brush, Apollo brushed Bronte's right wing, sweeping away the fine solardust covering her feathers.
Raucous laughter reached his ears and Apollo turned just as Ares materialized in a flash of bright red shortly followed by blinding gold as Athena appeared by his side.
Ares had recently returned from a war, if the blood and viscera covering his hands and splattered against the side of his neck were any indication.
Apollo was well aware of the conflicts the humans were waging. They were always at odds with one another and to him, it seemed they wouldn't ever stop fighting each other. All over petty things. To them, though, he supposed they weren't petty. He was just glad none of the wars had ever reached Athens or Delphi. He would do whatever it took to protect Elena—the current Oracle of Delphi—from the horrors of war.
Ares never seemed to care about the bloody trail he left in his wake, staining jagged red lines against Olympus' bright marble tiles. The floors would always be cleaned before the next day, though Apollo had never figured out who would take the time to do it. Most likely it was Demeter, who liked everything to be neat and orderly, or Hera. Though if it was Hera, she would not clean it without bitching first.
"What a glorious battle that was," Ares said, stretching his arms above his head. "A shame it didn't last long. I would have loved to spill more blood."
Beside him, Athena hummed. She supported her helmet under her right arm while staring at a piece of parchment in her left hand. "Looks like they're moving troops farther north. We should alert Father; see if he wants to sway the war again."
"Yeah, you go have fun with that." Ares flapped a hand.
Athena huffed, rolling up the parchment and attaching it to her belt. She strode towards the palace, pausing briefly when she passed the stables and noticed Apollo. "Apollo." Athena inclined her head before she continued on her way.
Apollo returned the greeting. "Athena." He glanced back at Ares to see that Dionysus had made an appearance, talking amiably to the war god with an arm slung across his shoulders. Shaking his head, Apollo finished brushing the accumulated solardust from the feathers of both his mounts.
"Hey, hey, Polly!" Dionysus greeted, waving his free arm as he leaned against Ares more. "Want to come celebrating with us? Dite's coming and Pheasty and—"
Ares scoffed, elbowing Dionysus in the ribs. Dionysus pulled away from him to rub his wounded side. "I don't know why you continue to ask him, Dionysus. You know his answer never changes."
"Hey, you never know," protested Dionysus. "He could surprise you!"
"Sorry," Apollo said, setting a hand against the back of his neck. "I already promised Aunt Demeter I'd help weed her garden. I also agreed to assist Aunt Hestia in moving some coals for an old Salamander."
"See?" Ares muttered, rolling his eyes as Dionysus predictably wilted at Apollo's answer. "He's such a goody two-shoes."
"Well, you now where to find us if that changes," Dionysus said, shooting a pair of finger guns at Apollo with an easy smile. He gave a single wave as he walked away before chatting with Ares about drinks and inviting some Satyrs.
Apollo raised his hand in farewell as the two turned a corner before he sighed. He knew he was the friendlier one in his family, always willing to lend a helping hand to his aunts or siblings. Ares, of course, considered his kindness a weakness, but it wasn't like he could just change who he was.
Apollo would never hurt anyone like that again. He was not going to be like Zeus.
Apollo ran a hand through his hair before gathering it into a low ponytail.
His thoughts were turning to shadow and he was not going to allow that. After all, he was the sunshine for Olympus. Sunshine spread its rays everywhere.
Apollo bound his hair with a golden band then tapped his cape, causing it to disappear in a flash of light. While he didn't mind getting dirty aiding Demeter in her garden, the cape around his shoulders was difficult to clean. His armor and the glittering silver scales draped down his right thigh were easy to wipe down.
Demeter's garden was in the northern portion of Olympus. Frost coated the ground, creating a chill in the air befitting the goddess of seasons. All of her flowers were hardy and resilient against the cold, tough like their caretaker. Snapdragons, cornflowers, starflower, hellebores, tundra hyacinths, snowdrops, and lily of the valley shrub added vibrant color to the frozen landscape. Right in the center of the garden was a massive witch hazel shrub, yellow flowers adding a spray of gold, like a miniature sun.
Apollo always steered clear of the snapdragons, as they disliked bright sunshine and he was not about to get on Demeter's bad side by accidentally killing her flowers with his natural warmth.
Kneeling in the permafrost by the snowdrops, Demeter was already hard at work pulling weeds worming their way between the green stalks. She looked up when Apollo's foot crunched in the snow, smiling as her nephew kneeled to her left, right in front of the hellebores.
"There you are, young daystar. I was beginning to think you would never show."
Apollo knew she was teasing as he rarely abandoned his promises, especially to his aunts, whom he respected.
"I had to finish brushing Bronte and Sterope." Apollo spread apart the hellebore, searching for weeds trying to sneakily grow between their stems. The hellebores seemed to lean into his touch, soaking up the warmth. "Then I ran into Dio and Ares."
"I expect the young vine asked you if you'd like to go drinking," Demeter guessed. "You said no, and Ares reacted as he always does."
"It's nothing new," Apollo said, shrugging. "It's not like he goes out of his way to help you or anyone else, especially if it has nothing to do with blood or violence."
"You cannot fault him for acting on his nature," murmured Demeter, pulling another weed from the ground.
Apollo frowned as he continued pulling weeds from the patch of hellebore. He and Demeter always worked methodically when weeding, working on the left row of flowers before moving to the right. This also meant that Apollo was more than always faced with weeding the tundra hyacinth. Unlike its warm weather cousin, this special breed of hyacinth had white flowers that bloomed in deep winter.
"Let's play a round of discus, Apollo!"
"I don't know. Something feels wrong."
"What, scared of losing?"
"Hyacinthus!"
Touching one of the hyacinth's flowers, Apollo stared at the blood dripping from the petals. The blood was only in his memory, but he could still feel its warmth and smell the acrid iron. "Is it acting on his nature or is it just the result of having his blood flowing through us?"
Demeter stared at Apollo, expression melting as she understood Apollo's words. Standing, she moved to his side and kneeled next to him. "My dear. You are more like your mother than you let yourself believe." She tipped his chin up so he would look at her. "You are kind not because you choose to be, but because you want to be."
Apollo pulled out of Demeter's touch, turning his head to the side. "I also cause a lot of pain for those I get close to."
"Through no fault of your own. The Fates enjoy disrupting the lives of mortals and gods alike. Some interference may benefit the lives of those their weavings touch, but many of it only amuses the Fates."
"Is that why I'm their voice?" Apollo folded his arms across his chest. "Because it amuses them?"
Demeter shook her head. "Who knows. Perhaps it is amusing for them, or perhaps it had to be you. Some things are not for us to know."
"I'd rather it not be me, some days," Apollo muttered, staring at the thawed patch of ground spreading around him from his warmth. "I've outlived too many Oracles."
"All mortals die, Apollo, you know this."
"And if there was a way to prevent Hades from touching Elena, I'd do it." Apollo pushed himself to his feet. Frost began to coat the ground again, halting inches from his feet. "I care about her a lot. She's the first to know that the priest guarding the Oracle of Delphi is the Apollo." He sighed, closing his eyes as his hands clenched. "I also know if I get too close, she'll get burned. If not by me, then whatever the Fates deem most amusing to them."
"Daystar." Demeter stood and set a hand on his shoulder. "All of these thoughts, always in my garden. I know winter is hard on you, as it is on me. I want you to know that no matter your nature or who your blood is from, you are always free to choose who you want to be. I'd rather you be no one but yourself, however you choose that self to be."
Apollo threw his arms around Demeter. The action seemed to briefly startle her before she returned the embrace. "You always have sage advice, Aunt Demeter."
Demeter patted his back before pulling away, giving him a gentle smile. "Now, why don't you go ahead and assist Hestia?"
"Are you sure?" Apollo asked, looking at Demeter's garden. They had barely gotten a third of it weeded. "The weeding hasn't been--"
Demeter flapped her hand to dismiss Apollo's protest. "I'd rather you go warm up with her flames. I am not so ancient that I can't finish weeding on my own."
Apollo knew better than to continue arguing with his aunt lest he get blasted by snow, or worse.
As he turned to leave, Demeter set a hand on his shoulder. He looked at her, about to ask if she required something else from him, but the question died in his throat as Demeter pressed her forehead against his.
"Remember, Sunflower," Demeter murmured, "turn your face towards the sun and the shadows will fall behind you." Demeter pulled back, giving Apollo a faint smile. "Understand?"
Apollo did, though he knew that it was difficult some days to follow her advice when the sun's distance had widened and its light became weaker, its warmth faded.
"I understand, Aunt Demeter." Apollo nodded once before he left Demeter's garden and made his way towards Hestia's hearth, situated in the main area of Olympus.
Her hearth was combined with Hephaestus' forge as their domains mildly overlapped. It was an added bonus to have the coals left over from Hephaestus' forge to feed the lounge of Salamanders Hestia cared for.
The lounge resided in a hidden lava grove. Hestia supplied them with leftover coals and cinder to feed their fire crops and sustain their flames. Out of the Salamanders, her favorite was an old Salamander, whom she affectionately called Soot. Soot was the eldest of the group, riddled with arthritis and lacking several teeth. Sensing his weakness, the younger Salamanders had begun to nip at Soot, attempting to drive him from their lounge where he was taking up needed space and food.
After seeing Soot's ripped scales from the bites, Hestia had transported him from the grove to her hearth to live out the remainder of his days in peace and comfort.
Stepping into Hephaestus' forge, the smith god's anvil and furnace were empty. Hephaestus was gone for the day, likely cavorting with Aphrodite or drinking with Dionysus and other gods Dionysus had roped into his party lounge. Probably both.
The forge had cooled off with the furnace extinguished, making the area more comfortable. Apollo was used to heat, but Hephaestus' forge was an entirely different level.
"Aunt Hestia?" Apollo called, entering the room off to the forge's left side where Hestia mainly resided. Whenever she was deep into her work—crafting specialized ambrosia and nectar snacks, making kettles, or feeding Soot—she rarely responded back to someone calling for her.
As expected, Hestia was beside her hearth with Soot laying on the other side, mouth wide open as Hestia shoveled in smoldering coals.
"There you go, old friend." Hestia rubbed the side of Soot's head when the Salamander closed his mouth. She looked up when Apollo approached. "Little Spark. Already done with aiding my sis?"
"She let me go early." Apollo kneeled so he could rub Soot's neck.
Soot grumbled, exhaling smoke through his nose.
Hestia barked a laugh. "What did you do to offend her? Thought it was hard to do that."
"I was just thinking out loud," grumbled Apollo, searching for parasites that had a habit of nestling themselves between Soot's scales. "I guess they got a bit...dark."
"Ah." Hestia nodded in understanding. "You smolder in the cold, aye. She sent you here to get that flame back. Always was a sharp one."
Apollo sighed, stretching himself across Soot's back. He knew the image was likely pathetic. "I just don't understand why Ares doesn't like me. It's not like I don't try to be nice to him."
"Spark, that boy doesn't like a lot of people," Hestia said. "What is kindness, he considers weakness. It's just—"
"His nature," Apollo grumbled. "I know."
Hestia's poker lightly smacked Apollo's head. The strike didn't hurt, but it did startle him enough to push off Soot and rub his head.
"What was that for?"
Hestia shook her poker at him in threat. "No dark thoughts in front of my hearth, young man."
Releasing a short huff, Apollo got to his feet. Hestia always had a strange way of cheering him up. "Does Soot need a dust scrub?"
"I'd say it's time for a refresher," Hestia agreed, resting her poker against her shoulder. "Kill off those nasty buggers making him itch."
Soot released a pleased grumble as Apollo threw a bucketful of ash across his back.
Using stiff bristle brooms, Hestia and Apollo worked the ash into Soot's scales to suffocate any parasites nestled beneath them. The ash also acted as a polish, smoothing the scales' rough surface to a shine.
Soot enjoyed his weekly dust baths, always splayed out on the floor, smoke trailing from his nostrils with every breath. His tail thumped against the warm stone.
As they worked towards Soot's rear and tail, a sharp pain made itself known in Apollo's temple. Headaches weren't that uncommon for him, cropping up due to stress, so he ignored it. For a moment, the pain subsided before it returned tenfold, piercing his head as if he'd been shot by an arrow. The arrow splintered into a vision.
Mountains rose up before him, caps painted in snow. Metal rattled and scraped against rock. An eagle shrieked in the distance.
"Little Spark?"
Hestia's hand falling on his shoulder startled Apollo. The mountains vanished, replaced by Hestia's hearth. At some point he had dropped the broom, stepped away from Soot, and dropped to his knees.
Hestia kneeled by his side, hand on his shoulder, gazing at him in concern.
"Oh, Little Spark," she murmured, "that must have been quite the vision you endured."
Some days, Apollo wished the Fates would be kinder about how they went about showing him visions. Or gave him visions that were less than vague. There were plenty of snow capped mountains in Greece.
"I'm fine." Apollo managed a smile, covering Hestia's hand with his own. "I was just surprised."
After all, the Fates rarely bothered slapping him with visions when he wasn't at Delphi. However, they had contacted him on his day off. That meant those mountains were important, somehow.
Hestia nodded before getting to her feet when Apollo stood. "Aye, well, perhaps that is your cue to wind down for the day."
"I suppose so," Apollo relented. The vision had left him tired; another unusual event. "Tell me when Soot needs another cleaning."
Soot grumbled from his spot on the floor as Hestia said, "You know I will. Now off you pop."
Apollo hummed as the wind ruffled his hair. It was always quiet so high in the atmosphere, the only sound being the beating of Sterope and Bronte's wings and the chariot's creaking wheels. Trailing behind him, the sun crackled with heat and energy. Its corona flickered, a multitude of waving tendrils.
Spread out before him was the vast and beautiful land of Greece. Even from his height, Apollo's sharp eyes could see the towns and settlements and farms the mortals resided in. He could see the piles of wood posts, clay tiles, and rectangular stone, indicating new buildings would soon be erected.
Humans were fascinating creatures to Apollo. Perhaps because he interacted with them on a regular basis through Elena's prophecies. Unlike Zeus or Hephaestus, Apollo was around humans a lot. Perhaps not as much as Ares or Uncle Hades, but he still dealt with them a fair bit.
To his left, snow capped mountains slowly rose in the distance. Mountains were not uncommon in Greece, so Apollo ignored them as he continued on his path. Something caught his attention. He looked at the mountains, spotting one of them angled a peculiar way.
Yanking on the reins, Apollo jerked Sterope and Bronte to a stop. The two swans honked in annoyance at the rough treatment.
Apollo stared at the mountains. In his mind's eye, he saw them rising up, the one mountain's strange curve like the talon of an eagle. Or, perhaps, it was more apt to say the mountain top was aquiline.
These were the mountains he had seen in his vision. Glancing at the sun crackling behind him, Apollo wondered if he should revisit the mountains once he had finished pulling the sun for the day. Could he find the mountains under Selene's light?
No, he had to be exact. The vision had taken place during the day. He couldn't fathom why the Fates would let him abandon his duty for their vision, but he didn't want to find out what would happen if he ignored them.
It was around midday, the longest time of the day, when the sun was at its zenith. Perhaps it would be a good opportunity to find the chains.
"All right, girls," Apollo said, unlatching the massive, heat-resistant chains supporting the sun from the back of the chariot. "We're just going to take a small detour."
Sterope and Bronte looked at the mountains before Bronte honked, staring at Apollo with an expression that asked if he was serious.
"Come on." Apollo tapped the reins against the swan's backs. "To the left."
Exchanging a glance, Bronte and Sterope flapped their wings, banking to the left. The two did not seem too excited to break out of their routine.
They passed the aquiline peak.
Apollo searched the mountain's peaks and slopes for any sign of chains or links. Any kind of disturbance to give him a clue about where to go or what to look for. Everything looked normal.
As he rounded the side of another mountain, Apollo abruptly pulled on the reins to stop Bronte and Sterope.
Directly across from him was a Titan. A Titan that Apollo had only heard of in stories. Stories that spoke only of his thievery, cunning, and punishment.
Prometheus.
Latched around his ankles and wrists were dark gray shackles. Connected to the shackles were heavy chains, sunk deep into the mountain's side. The chains were short, allowing minimal movement and preventing Prometheus from grabbing the eagle tasked with the daily torture.
Prometheus' eyes were closed, short teal hair hanging in his face. Despite the eagle's sharp beak buried deep in his side, the Titan's face was lax.
An ancient scar ran down the Titan's side, starting at the top of his left shoulder and trailing diagonally towards his right hip. The scar split by Prometheus' midsection, ripped open by the eagle. The dull scar and bloody, gaping wound was a startling dichotomy.
The eagle stopped moving then raised its head, beak dripping with golden blood and viscera, staring directly at Apollo with bright blue eyes.
Prometheus slowly opened his eyes, locking a fiery red gaze on Apollo.
Apollo tensed, unsure how the Titan would react with a visitor after so long in solitude. It wasn't as if Apollo was scared of Prometheus—he did work alongside Eos and Astreaus—but it was the first time he had seen a Titan in their full size. It was a little bit intimidating.
Prometheus said nothing, continuing to stare at Apollo with a strange look that was caught somewhere between curiosity and annoyance.
Urging Sterope and Bronte closer to Prometheus, Apollo cleared his throat, raising his voice so the Titan could hear him. Continuing to gawp like Prometheus was some sort of festival attraction was sure to make a bad impression.
"Greetings, great Titan. My name is Apollo, son of—"
"I know who you are," Prometheus' quiet voice cut Apollo off. "Apollo, God of Prophecy and Sun. Son of Zeus."
He spat the name Zeus like it was acid on his tongue. Apollo agreed with the sentiment; Zeus was a piece of work.
"Why are you here?" Asked Prometheus. "Am I not punished enough?"
Apollo tightened his grip on the reins, breaking eye contact with Prometheus. "I am not sure. I saw these mountains in a vision given to me by the Fates."
"They are meddling again," growled Prometheus. Chains rattled as he shifted position. "Why can they not just mind their own business?"
"There must be a reason that I was brought to you. It must be important enough for them to bring us together."
Prometheus rolled his eyes at Apollo's protest. "Or this is amusement for them."
The eagle squawked, as if it were agreeing with Prometheus' sentiment, rubbing its beak into its wing before preening the blood off.
"I—" Apollo huffed. Continuing to yell at Prometheus just to be heard above the howling wind swirling around the mountains was becoming a pain. Setting a foot on the side of the chariot, Apollo leapt off.
Prometheus watched the god sail from the chariot to perch on his left shoulder. He growled, rolling his shoulder to try and shake Apollo off. "I did not say you could perch on my shoulder like an annoying bird chirping in my ear. Get off."
"It's much easier to speak to you like this," Apollo insisted, catching balance to avoid being thrown. "I would speak with you, if you will permit it."
Prometheus scowled before he looked away. He stopped trying to shake Apollo off.
Apollo took it as permission to speak.
"Titan, the Fates can be cruel, yes, but their prophecies are not ones to be taken lightly. There is a reason we're meant to meet, even if it's not obvious right now in this moment." Apollo paused, waiting for a reaction from Prometheus. "Did you not see anything?"
"My foresight is...spotty, at best. What could it be used for here, trapped on this mountain anyway?"
Now that Apollo was closer, he could see some sort of mark hidden beneath Prometheus' hair. A scar in the middle of his forehead?
"So, you did see something?"
Prometheus fell silent for a few moments before he exhaled. "I suppose I saw the sun shining brighter than usual."
"The mortals won't mind an extra hour or two of sunlight."
Prometheus glanced at Apollo out of the corner of his eye before looking away once more.
Apollo wasn't sure what else to talk about. The Fates had got him here, but was there supposed to be something else? An urge to do something?
What are they thinking? Apollo wondered, crossing his arms and resting his chin in one hand. Why bring me here?
Was he to free Prometheus somehow? No, surely the vision would have shown the chains broken. Yet, in the vision, they were whole.
What could the purpose be, bringing the Titan of Foresight and the God of Prophecy together? Surely, the Fates didn't want Prometheus to be freed by his hands. Though, Apollo could see the irony in it if that was the Fates' plan: Prometheus, the Titan, punished by Zeus yet freed by one of Zeus' sons.
Apollo almost anticipated another vision showing the chains being broken by his arrows, but nothing happened. If Prometheus was not to be freed, why have them meet?
Frustrated, Apollo ran a hand through his hair.
He supposed he'd never understand the thought processes of the Fates. Perhaps this was just another point of amusement for them as Prometheus said.
"I heard you play the lyre."
Apollo started when Prometheus spoke. He had forgotten that he was standing on the Titan's shoulder, so lost in his thoughts.
Prometheus glanced at Apollo. "Is that true?"
Offended, Apollo summoned his lyre to his hands in a flash of golden light. How dare Prometheus doubt his instrument skills. He was also a God of Music. Though, he supposed the whole Prophecy and Sun thing was more well known than his other attributes. "Would you like to see?"
Prometheus released a noise that sounded like agreement. At the least, Apollo took it as an acknowledgement to go ahead.
Apollo hummed softly, plucking the strings in a slow rhythm. A gentle, haunting melody echoed around the mountains.
The wind seemed to quiet into a gentle breeze, soothed by the lyre's melody, and even the eagle watched Apollo quietly, head tilted slightly.
"I saw you across the stream, that summer day, the sun's rays sparkling on the water's surface and reflecting unto you," Apollo sang, closing his eyes.
Larkspur and sunflower swirled in the stifling heat, mingling with the sweet scent of the fruiting mulberry trees.
"Your royal heritage, Spartan son, belied your gentle nature. A pacifist, born among warriors. Our eyes locked and I knew we were meant to be, my sweet summer symphony." Apollo picked at the lyre a little faster, raising his voice slightly. "Let's play in the cool creek waters, play a round of tali, and just for a moment, forget the world doesn't exist. It's just you and me, under the Grecian sun, chasing each other through grape vine fields and lounging beneath the shady boughs of olive trees. Sweet summer symphony."
Apollo's fingers slowed to a stop, resting against the lyre's strings to silence the final note.
"So, your music skills are as amazing as I've heard," Prometheus murmured, glancing at Apollo as the lyre vanished in a flash of light. "I suppose I should have expected nothing less from you."
For a moment, Apollo didn't respond, eyebrows furrowed as if he were lost in thought, before he shook his head.
"I suppose I should depart," he said. "I have outstayed my welcome, I'm sure."
"Certainly the humans have grown weary of having the hot sun hanging over them for so long?"
It was almost a tease, Apollo was sure of it, but he didn't want to ask. Whatever guard Prometheus shrouded himself in had lowered, if only slightly. Questioning if his tone of voice was playful would throw the shield back up.
Apollo jumped from the titan's shoulder to his midsection. He steadied himself when Prometheus tensed, stomach lurching like Prometheus was instinctively trying to jerk away from Apollo.
"What are you doing?" Prometheus asked, not taking his eyes off Apollo as the god moved towards the gaping hole in his side.
Shrieking, the eagle briefly opening its wings in threat. It lowered them when Apollo shot it a look, glowing blue eyes narrowed.
Kneeling, Apollo set his hands above the exposed muscle and flesh. Moving his hands outwards, a faint glow lit up his palms, drifting downwards like pollen. He lowered them and—without fear or flinching—touched the bloody, serrated edges of the wound.
Above them, the sunlight flared briefly, its light seemingly angling in Apollo's direction, as if attracted by his power.
Prometheus watched Apollo's movements, unsure of what he was doing. It didn't look like he was making things worse or enchanting the wound to never close. In fact, it appeared the god was doing the opposite.
Prometheus's skin began to stitch together with invisible thread, layer by layer, until it was a pink line connecting to his older, larger scar.
Apollo stared at his work, satisfied it had closed well. It was a less than complete healing, but he knew he couldn't interfere with the eagle's job, at least not permanently and without inciting Zeus' wrath.
"You." Prometheus stared at the pink skin blending with the old scar. "You healed me."
"I figured since I bothered you for so long that I'd repay taking up your time by giving you some relief," answered Apollo, glancing at Prometheus with a brilliant smile.
Prometheus gaped at the tiny god, not sure how else to react to the bestowed kindness.
"Well." Apollo gave a single wave. "Farewell, Titan."
Bronte and Sterope dipped down, flying towards Prometheus. They leveled out a few feet above the Titan's stomach. Without telling his steeds to stop, Apollo leaped onto the chariot as it raced past.
Prometheus watched the god and his steeds depart before he stared at his newly healed side.
The eagle even seemed confused by not having access to the Titan's liver, pecking the skin before staring at Prometheus accusingly as if he had asked Apollo to heal him and deny the great eagle its snack.
Prometheus rested his head against the mountain's rock side, sighing. This had to be some form of new torture from Zeus.