"Even if death did not come easily before, if the suffering incurred could not be reversed, then all beings would still remain cautious and careful."
"It is you, Prometheus. You who always intervened excessively, who always too easily removed the pain they suffered for their own mistakes."
"Among these, some erred unintentionally, some from ignorance, but quite a number were merely careless, even utterly nonchalant."
"Just like this drowning—within this one small tribe alone, right under your nose, how many times has it already happened?"
"What kept them from learning their lesson, from slighting death's danger again and again? Why did they treat past lessons with indifference?"
At these words, Prometheus's face turned even paler, the last trace of color nearly gone.
Thanatos's words were like a cold, heavy hammer shattering Prometheus's final luck and self-deception.
And Thanatos went on:
"Ignorance and frailty are not obstacles to survival; arrogance and recklessness are."
"I believe that from today on, in this tribe, and after the news spreads to all tribes, far too many accidents and tragedies that should never have happened will be greatly reduced."
"When wrongdoing brings painful consequences—even the final end of death—only then will beings feel fear and refrain from acting lightly."
"Precisely because of death's pain and eternal loss, 'life' is the more to be cherished, and so are all who still live."
"Only by knowing how death comes will beings understand how to avoid it."
"Only by truly bearing irreversible, searing consequences will they earnestly reflect."
"My sister Keres has also begun to fulfill her duty. In her way, she will tell the world what reverence is, and what the preciousness of life is."
Thanatos concluded: "Prometheus, gods can do many things; they can help mortals, or harm mortals."
"But all such acts must be carried out under my great Father's sacred and righteous order."
"I will firmly hold to the sacred duty my Father gave me, for I am the god least permitted any favoritism. I represent the most solemn law in the cosmos—like Fate itself—admitting no profanation."
With that, Thanatos's figure vanished without a trace, leaving in the void one last piece of counsel, and a final touch of tenderness:
"Prometheus, every being should have the road it must walk. Do not let beings place all their hope upon begging the gods."
"In the end, it should be left to them, to rely on themselves."
"What gods ought to grant is necessary guidance and crucial illumination, not endless, all-detail direct aid. This, perhaps, is the truest compassion and love."
"I promise you one thing: I will make this child's passing peaceful and without pain; I will give his soul a haven of calm in the Underworld."
"Go and tell his mother: in the Underworld, this child will receive the gentleness he is due."
This final thread of tenderness brought Prometheus some small comfort, but was far from enough to wipe away the immense loss and sorrow in his heart.
He stood there, dazed, for a long time.
The prostrate humans beside him knew nothing of the sacred debate about law and feeling that had just taken place in another dimension.
They only saw that the great god they had always thought all-powerful grew darker and darker of face,
like a sky turning ever blacker and colder after the sun sank below the horizon.
They did not know that the deity they worshiped and relied on was, at this moment, deeply sunk in self-doubt and endless remorse.
If… if only he had taught humans earlier, and more sternly, how to revere life and live with care, then perhaps today's event would never have happened.
But in this world there is no if, and there will never be a perhaps.
The birth of new life always comes with a loud cry.
That is life's way of announcing its arrival to the world.
But death's coming never has any warning.
It is equal and cruel, pitiless and resolute.
And by just such abruptness and finality, it warns all who still live: revere, learn to revere, learn to be prudent, learn to be careful. Only thus can you live longer, live better.
Prometheus slowly looked back, gazed at the humans around him who lay prone and trembling, and breathed a long, heavy sigh.
In a tone of unprecedented solemnity and gravity, he proclaimed in a loud voice:
"The Lord of Death has arrived! From this day on, death will be unavoidable and irretrievable!"
"Do not vainly hope to reverse death, for the God of Death is supremely fair and just! Under the sacred Heavenly Order, he will treat every being equally!"
"You must truly learn to revere death, to face death, and above all to learn how to avoid death."
"Those who have gone, have gone. Those who still live in the mortal world should all the more cherish the present and the future, cherish all who yet live around them."
"Those who have departed—place them forever in your hearts. Forever keep them in those most beautiful memories."
"Praise the great Mother of the Muses! Praise the all-knowing goddess of memory, Mnemosyne!"
"Pray to her mercy, that she will forever preserve all this in the boundless sea of memory."
"Let all the beautiful memories of the departed live on for the sake of the living."
"With this memory, go on living! Live for him, in his stead! Let the trace of life be carried on forever in your hearts and in your bloodline!"
When Prometheus finished speaking, all humans still looked at him blankly and helplessly.
Their eyes brimmed with an indescribable dread and grief; many had tears on their faces without knowing it.
At last they truly realized: one day, those dearest and most indispensable by their side would, like this child, inevitably and completely leave them.
When the first second-generation human was born, humanity, in a powerful shock of feeling, had its first experience called "joy."
Then they understood and learned what the most precious feeling was.
And now, at the passing of the first human, they had to learn what, among feelings, is the heaviest—"sorrow."
The first and most precious joy in human feeling is the coming of new life.
Therefore the deepest first pain in human feeling is the passing of life.
Cruel reality was forcing all humans to learn at once one thing—parting.
And a more cruel reality was that they finally knew for certain: though they were the gods' favorites, before "death," the final fate, they were no different from other mortals.
In fact, in everything, there was no difference at all.
The pain of this "shattered illusion" even surpassed that of death itself.
Looking upon the mother who still sat stupefied, Prometheus felt the same sorrow in his heart, and the deepest guilt.
If he had taught humans better, helped them become independent faster, then perhaps this would not have happened today.
If he had come a step sooner, perhaps he could have arrived before the God of Death and continued the child's life.
But now, all he could face was a mother whose heart was ash and who was broken with grief.
Prometheus slowly came to the mother, bent down, and gently breathed upon her a breath of divine, clear power containing "stirring" and "solace."
That clear breath restored her consciousness on the verge of collapse from grief and nourished a body already torn with heartbreak.
He set her into deepest sleep.
In sleep, the God of Sleep would wrap her in his soundless tenderness, letting her temporarily flee this pain she could not now bear.
Prometheus knew that his era of "overindulgence" had to end.
He looked to the crowd again and said in his sternest voice: "Death cannot be reversed, and parting cannot be avoided. The living must remember the dead and carry their hopes, and live better!"
"One day, perhaps you will meet again in the Underworld. Then, speak together of boundless longing, and tell him of your splendid life and all that was beautiful."
"So, to live better is the greatest comfort to those who have passed!"
Prometheus, after all, placed a thread of hope and vision into human understanding—for these were his children.
"Now! In my name, Prometheus, I set for you the sacred rites for the coming of 'life' and 'death'!"
He said loudly: "When new life arrives, greet it with songs and dancing, with fine food and fragrant fruit!"
"When a precious life departs, with the utmost solemnity and dignity, commit the body to the embrace of the Mother of All, and send the soul onto the road that leads to the Underworld!"
A man with a rugged, steadfast face—eyes once lively but now filled with sorrow—stepped forward from among the many who were lost and afraid.
He bowed and, mastering his inner pain, asked in a hoarse, respectful voice: "Great god! Honored god! Please grant revelation to us ignorant ones!"
"As mortals, how should we return our departed companion to the embrace of the great Mother of All?"
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