As for Prometheus, he had not been idle during this time.
If anything, he was busier than before, and more anxious.
After all, while the gods' procession was vast and awe-inspiring, that was merely the natural display of their own domains and power, something they could do easily at any time.
But to have mortals—still at the very dawn of civilization, in its most ignorant stage—prepare a grand ceremony fit to "welcome" and "behold" the gods was anything but simple.
Compared with the towering gods, humankind's present condition could only be called extremely hard, extremely impoverished, extremely humble, and extremely small.
And this time, Prometheus dared only to teach and direct from the side.
All other preparations had to be carried out by humankind themselves.
In this, he did not dare to help as he had in the past.
If he intervened, the nature of this sacrifice would change completely.
This was the most significant—and perhaps the only—chance for humankind themselves to show the gods whether they were worthy of love, worthy of protection.
If even this required the gods' personal aid to accomplish, it would only prove that humankind were not worth the gods' love at all.
It would also prove that humankind had no claim to receive the gods' protection.
If the gods personally completed any important matter on their behalf, the meaning of "offering" would vanish in an instant.
It would no longer be the people's wholehearted tribute to the gods, but a performance the gods put on for themselves.
To be harsher, it would be a profanation of the God-King's majesty and honor!
What the God-King wanted was the attitude of mortals, not another god's flimflam.
This measure, after the lesson of death, Prometheus had at last learned.
This sacrifice did not need to be flawless or resplendent.
Indeed, the offerings need not be rich, nor the rite itself lavishly beautiful.
But humankind had to show their whole heart, their utmost effort.
This was a matter of attitude.
Like a child's handmade gift—no matter how crude—it will delight the parents.
But if it is cheating, made by getting another "adult" to help, then it is hard to move the parents.
Only—what is simple to say is hard to do.
Humans were still at the most primitive tribal stage, living entirely by hunting and gathering.
To be blunt, going hungry was almost the norm.
The food a tribe could store day to day barely supported the group for a few days.
If weather or anything else delayed for a few days so they could not forage, people would starve at once.
This was not the old time when "no one starved."
And to prepare such a grand ceremony—whether drilling those complex rules of conduct or preparing offerings of sufficient weight—
all this meant the tribe's fittest laborers would stop their daily work and stop gathering food, while resources that were already stretched thin had to be spent continuously.
Under such conditions, life for humankind was bound to be extremely difficult.
And teaching these still-ignorant humans to drill complex rites and chant sacred ceremonial hymns was likewise enough to make Prometheus's head split.
For if it was to be grand enough, it needed many people, and scale.
More is grand; great is beautiful.
But such large-scale collective activity—especially a sacrifice requiring highly rigorous, uniform ceremony—was truly beyond the scope of humans who did not yet even grasp what "discipline" was.
In this period, countless humans suffered for it.
All human society poured its every effort into it; the whole of humankind put all their energy into this "high-stakes gamble" on the future.
For it, many had to endure hunger.
To save each bite for those taking part in the rite and building the temple, the elderly and the weak in the tribe would silently give up their food to those who needed it more.
Even in the drills and temple construction, many accidents and deaths occurred.
Taken together, humankind's casualties were heavy, their hardship profound.
Prometheus looked upon it with unspeakable pain.
But he could only steel himself and watch, using no divine aid.
Indeed, he had to demand and instruct all the more strictly and sternly.
For he knew: the greater the price humankind paid for this welcoming sacrifice, the better it would prove their devotion and respect.
And this "devotion" and "respect" were all that humankind could offer the gods now.
Only by paying a weighty price could they prove their devotion was not empty; only respect forged in hardship could truly move the gods.
So long as… so long as they could move the gods, so long as they could move the merciful God-King, then all the price paid now—all the sacrifices—would be worth it.
Even if many had to pay a terrible price, even with their lives.
Still, it was worth it.
This was the unavoidable, necessary price.
At present, the total human population was about a little over two million.
More than half of them were still infants, children, and youths.
For now, those who truly supported human society were the first generation—strong of body and rich in experience.
After the advent of death, their pressures of survival had already been great.
Yet for this greatest, first sacrifice in human history, even as people had begun to starve, thousands of tribes still forced themselves to gather one hundred of the strongest pure-white adult bulls.
These were to be sacrificed to the supreme, eternal sovereign, the King of all gods—Zeus.
This was the Hecatomb.
Note that with no agriculture and no means of long-term storage, offering so many adult animals—raised in fine condition—was a feat.
It meant that for each bull, at least twenty people had to die for it.
Moreover, it was impossible to have everyone attend.
Given humankind's present social structure and organizing capacity, no one could assemble a gathering of over a million.
Without divine power, no one could do it—not even Prometheus.
In the end they could only select carefully from each tribe, sending those most brave, most wise, most quick, most humble, and most learned.
All told, just over three thousand.
Even so, under Prometheus's personal direction and leadership, this was the largest collective activity humankind could barely muster.
For this sacrifice, Prometheus set down the most intricate, rigorous, and solemn code of rites.
The site of the sacrifice, the standards for the grounds, the identity and attire of participants, every behavior, every movement, the order of the ceremony, the kinds and placement of offerings, the content of prayers, the melodies of hymns—
all of it had extremely strict rules.
For these rites were not just for this one time.
After the covenant of gods and men was established this day, humankind would follow these sacred rites in the endless ages to come.
It would become an indelible mark, a symbol of the "relationship of gods and men!"
In the six months since returning from Olympus, Prometheus had spent all his heart and mind to barely ready everything.
At the site, he looked with a deep gaze upon the humans, both busy and tense.
His heart, too, was filled with unspeakable tension and weight.
Humankind's future fate would be decided here.
His heart, too, was filled with sorrow and grief—indeed, it felt cut by knives.
For to reach this day, his "children" had paid too heavy a price.
No one knew how many lives had been spent in this preparation.
He slowly raised his head and looked upon the altar and temple which, to gods, still seemed quite crude.
It was a temple without a roof, seated north and facing south—always toward the place of greatest light.
The temple was one hundred twenty meters long and eighty meters wide, with floors paved in polished white marble.
Around it stood one hundred twenty massive limestone columns twenty meters high and three arms' span around.
Upon the columns were carved the beautiful, mysterious patterns Prometheus had taught them—symbols of flame, wisdom, and hope.
In the very center stood a vast altar.
The altar's largest base was forty meters in diameter, rising in twelve tiers, narrowing as they climbed, to a height of twelve meters at the crown.
Before the altar were one hundred twenty broad steps, building a platform twenty-four meters high.
On the platform sat a great divine throne, exquisitely carved from a single block of white marble.
This had been prepared specially for His Majesty the God-King.
Remember: humankind were still in the most primitive Stone Age.
All these grand works were made with the simplest tools—chipped by hand from hard mountain rock, then tapped, shaped, and polished, bit by bit.
Every slab was steeped in sweat and blood.
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