The Promethean Crown
It shone like the love a father has for his children, and I remember feeling warm, and at peace when I saw it held aloft that first moment out of the forge. It was an alien thing, that wide band of iron and gold, and some among the gathered throngs recoiled visibly from the sight of it. These worms of the living were scorned and while some fled and others driven from Arcturus that day, some steeled themselves and thought to hide their wickedness. When Prometheus placed the crown upon his brow and gazed out among the cheering crowd, even the traitorous among them could hide no longer, and they burst into flame and dust, their screams not merely ignored but their very existence meaningless to those around them. I knew at that moment that the crown was a thing beyond mortals, with an inertia that would warp the story of its existence, the very weight of it a curse. What man would not seek it out, to use its power for selfish ends? Even now as Prometheus sang the praises of the artisans and mystics who helped in the making of the crown, I wondered what seeds grew in that man’s heart…what would he become…?