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There are two of us. We can take him, I think hopefully. Though I know that this is hopeless.
Pissing off a god then shooting him with an arrow sounds like a painful way to die to me. He’d likely tear us apart, limb by limb.
Towering above us, he is easily seven feet tall. “Hiding in amongst the mortals, I see?” the god states with a tone of distain.
Dad remains silent. Ignoring the taunts. Instead, he chooses to make jabs of his own. “I thought the twelve locked you up years ago.”
The god stalks Dad, each of his movements were as smooth as silk. His darkness laced voice is even smoother than his movements. “Ah yes. At one time, I was, but I suppose that they’re preoccupied with everything going on in their world. When you only have time, it makes it easier to plot your escape. At least I didn’t hide myself away, wasting my time in the human world picking pomegranates while our world goes to shit.”
Raising his voice, Dad warns, “If you think that’s all I have been doing, you're in for a rude awakening.”
Wait, the god knows Dad and Dad knows the god.
Watching skeptically, the god looks right through me. His lips pressed into a thin line.
“Now hurry off and return to your prison. Your cell is getting cold.” Playing with the flower pinned to his jacket. The one I gave to him over a year ago.
It was odd. Even though it was plucked so long ago, it looked as vibrant and alive as it once was still in the ground, ready to be plucked. One would have thought it would have withered a way to dust by now. When I had asked Dad about it a couple of months ago, he said he wasn’t sure, but it’s now his ‘lucky flower.’
I feel powerless. Forced to sit silently and watch as the god toys with an object that Dad cares so much about. I want to scream, to weep. Anything to keep us safe, to have the god leave us alone. Let’s go along with our lives. “Pretty little flower on your coat. Who gave it to you?”
Silence.
“Your wife?”
Dad’s gaze is fixed on the ground.
The unnamed god pauses, before asking, “Your daughter?”
Quietly, Dad keeps his stare fixed straight down. Rigidly so. Almost appearing to be more of a statue than a man.
The god is so close that I can smell the stench of rotten and burning leaves. Almost like a tree was caught on fire by a stroke of lightning. “I feel your pulse quicken. You can't deceive me, Prometheus. How old is your daughter now?”
How can someone make such a normally innocent question, so monstrous?
Gulping, Dad shakes his head. Gripping down on my fingers so tightly, that his nails dig into my palms. Blood collecting in my hands. “I don’t know what you mean. I don’t have any children.”
“Mhmm.” Skeptically, the god affirms as he stalks around the pomegranate tree. Dad shakes. He knows what gods are capable of. Knowing someone’s power capabilities can be a blessing and a curse all wrapped into one.
The god circles us.
One.
Two.
Three.
Circle after circle.
Pretty soon the path will be etched in the grass around us.
“I'm looking forward to your face when I bring you back to Tartarus–” Pausing in front of us, he eyed the grass. “Where’s your hunting partner?”
Dad goes rigid. Pushing harder against the tree, almost like he is trying to push me inside the tree. “It was a large haul.” He states nonchalantly, “I carried two separate bags so that I could bring more back with me.”
The god was not buying it.
Hades, I wouldn’t buy it if I was in his shoes. Those packs were huge and heavy. There’s no way my dad could’ve been able to carry them both and be able to navigate the unlevel floor of the woods.
