With Great Power
A man must learn to bear the weight of one before he shoulders the weight of the world
“A wish fit for the gods,” he murmured, gazing towards the constellation that formed their home.
“The gods listen to no man,” I replied.
“Oh, their bloody games require it. They act as they see fit, but they must listen to rob a hero of his luck or trick a maiden into their bed!”
“Hmph.”
“They need not care to listen, nor act in our favour to hear.”
“Wish as you want old man, it’s easy to philosophise while we laborers suffer and toil.”
“You’re no laborer, you’re a king among men,” said Zephastra, his wistful milky eyes clear and piercing now.
“Says you! I carry you up this hill, to gaze at the fires of the gods, so that they may hear your wishes. For what? So they may in their boredom choose to help rather than hinder.”
“You think me a fool?”
“A fool! No, your wisdom is plain as the years on your face.”
“So you think me old?”
“Hah! You’re as old as these hills, Zeph, why else would you need to be carried?”
“I don’t need to be carried, you need to learn to carry.”
“What are you speaking of now?”
“I’m speaking to my son about the responsibility of his strength.”
“Son?”
“Herakles, I am your father, and no old man idly wishing to the gods,” said Zeph as his age fell from his face, his hair turned silver, and his stained toga shone white with power, “You will be a god among men.”
This story is a response to this inspiring prompt:
I changed a single letter from “A dish fit for the gods.”
