The God of Prophecy (2)
"You who covet the fire of Olympus—"
"Prometheus, who divided the gods' power among mankind."
"So the herald of that foolish god sets foot upon Olympus."
"Pray that Zeus's lightning does not burn you to death."
There's no way a moment requiring me to carry the sacred flame won't come. Damn it.
The word "fire" written on the Leaflet already seemed to be flickering before my eyes.
"Jisan-hyung. We need to head down, quickly. Retracing the path we climbed is going to take a long time."
"Right. I don't think going further up is an option, so… yeah, we really do have to go down."
Yang Myeonghyeon, having checked the quest details, urged us to get moving.
The cliff where Prometheus was bound was impossibly, endlessly high — no matter how hard we scrambled, we would never reach the top.
If we had the right item, maybe. But we're still early in the quest, and we've got nothing on us.
Looking down the steep rocky mountainside, the ground far below came faintly into view. It was so distant I could hardly believe we'd climbed up from there at all.
"Lord Prometheus. Thank you. Well then, we'll be on our way."
"Wait."
We had bowed our heads in farewell and were about to hurry off when—
"To humans who press on through adversity, I shall grant a prophecy."
A prophecy. Yang Myeonghyeon's feet and mine stopped at the same instant.
"A prophecy, you say?"
"Yes. A prophecy for the two of you."
Prometheus's eyes swept over us. He was a god with the gift of foresight, and it felt as if the mere act of looking at the two of us let him see our futures laid bare.
But he already tells us the quest in riddle form — what could a prophecy amount to? Probably nothing but empty husks.
A god that exists only inside this tower — it was hard to give his prophecy any real weight. Even if he was a made-up god, I was sorry for thinking that to his face, but it seemed fine to just take it lightly, like a cheap fortune reading.
"First, Yang Myeonghyeon."
Without giving us so much as a crack to interject, Prometheus called out his name.
"You will heal humans, and only humans, until your life runs out."
"?!!"
At Prometheus's prophecy, Yang Myeonghyeon's pupils convulsed violently. Anyone could see how badly shaken he was.
…Why is he so shocked?
It hardly seemed like a special prophecy. No — considering that Yang Myeonghyeon's Perk was healing, it barely qualified as a prophecy at all. And yet the man who faced everything with easygoing calm was rattled like this. Against my will, I found myself leaning in to listen harder.
"Unlike Asclepius, god of medicine, your fate flows along your desires."
"…Is desire a bad thing, then?"
"When you heal others and give of yourself, you harbor private desires. That is when fate reaches its limit."
"So you're telling me to abandon my desires? Am I a being forbidden to want anything at all?"
Worse, Yang Myeonghyeon actually talked back — practically cross-examining a god. He knew perfectly well that if Prometheus's judgment soured even slightly, the god would fly into another rage.
He's taking this awfully seriously.
Yang Myeonghyeon knit his brow and stared bluntly up at Prometheus. Unexpectedly, the god did not flare up in anger. Instead, he turned to me with a gaze that seemed oddly troubled.
"Next — Kim Jisan."
Ugh.
The moment my prophecy came up, Yang Myeonghyeon clicked his tongue and made no effort whatsoever to hide his displeasure. Prometheus, indifferent to that, continued.
His hard, unyielding gaze bored straight through me. Being scanned by a god was… not exactly a pleasant feeling.
"While you climb this tower, your soul, your pride, your faith will be torn to shreds. The destruction of this moment is only the beginning."
"…!"
The destruction of this moment is only the beginning…?
The prophecy was crude and unhelpful in its phrasing, but I could roughly grasp what it meant. When I'd left the dancers behind — that agony. The moment my own framework, the one I'd built so I could somehow keep watching, was shattered completely. To survive, to act selfishly, I had torn apart my own faith with my own hands.
"It is apart from your deeds. If you do not hold fast to your heart, the true you will collapse in the end. Remember this well."
The true me…? And what exactly is that?
I couldn't help reciting a sullen, pubescent-boy line in my head. In a tower where survival meant laying your barest self open, what use were pride or faith? And besides — I was trash who strove to protect human lives while inwardly appraising their worth.
I don't even know the true me, so who else would?
"See with truthful eyes."
Prometheus's prophecy was maddeningly difficult to interpret properly. And yet the vaguer the words, the worse they made the listener feel. Was that why Yang Myeonghyeon had clicked his tongue earlier?
"Visitors. Good fortune to you. Go forth."
Having finished his prophecies, Prometheus smiled at us. Neither Yang Myeonghyeon nor I was in much of a state to smile back.
"Fire is not mere heat. It is your will, and your freedom. Carry on my lineage — reclaim the fire."
Will? Freedom? Since when does fire have any of that? It burns, and then it's gone.
Snarking inwardly, I turned and started walking.
***
The road to the place Prometheus had named was every bit as punishing as the way in. The saving grace was that while the stone path was rough, it wasn't a steep uphill climb.
"If we want to get close to Olympus, we should be heading for the summit. You don't think this path is wrong, do you? We're just walking straight ahead."
"……"
Was my prophecy somehow easier to swallow than his, at least? All the way down, Yang Myeonghyeon kept his mouth clamped shut, wearing nothing but a dark expression.
No, of course not. I got told my destruction was just beginning, that the true me would collapse. That's hardly better.
Still, he'd been lectured that his desires ran too large, so he had every right to be in a foul mood.
"He's just a prophet the tower made up — a fake god. Don't take the words too seriously."
"……"
Out of character for me, I tossed out a bit of banter to coax him into conversation, but Yang Myeonghyeon stayed stubbornly silent.
What's gotten into him? Is he really this worked up over nothing?
I'd extended a hand a time or two already. My willingness to keep trying to lighten the mood was running dry.
"Healing humans is what you wanted, isn't it, Yang Myeonghyeon-ssi?"
Since he's the one who cares so much about people.
I'd slipped into a faintly snide tone without realizing it, and Yang Myeonghyeon's gaze snapped toward me. His small, black eyes swept over me as if to pin me down — dull, lightless eyes, dark as glazed beans.
"Jisan-hyung, you're terribly clumsy at this. Like a man who's never once offered anyone comfort in his life."
I scratched my cheek, embarrassed. Well, it's not like I ever had friends or family left to comfort.
"Jisan-hyung. When I heal everyone and give them aid, am I really forbidden even the pettiest desire of my own?"
"…I never said that."
"Prometheus did."
"Yang Myeonghyeon-ssi. Right now, the first thing we need to do is pick the right object and clear the mission safely."
"……"
"We don't have the luxury of worrying about prophecies."
One of Yang Myeonghyeon's virtues was that even in dire circumstances he never let go of the thread of reason and maintained his own brand of unhurried ease. It was why I'd thought he'd be good company. Talking to the Yang Myeonghyeon of right now, though, felt like soothing a sulking child — quietly exhausting.
"Aren't you afraid of your prophecy, Jisan-hyung?"
"……"
"It also seems there's something you fear just as much as the prophecy itself."
"And what would that be?"
The irritation bled through the voice I finally let out. "…If we're going to poke at each other and have these uncomfortable conversations, then let's just not talk at all. As you guessed earlier, I'm hardly gifted at conversation with other people."
"Understood."
Why did he suddenly get so touchy? He was the one lounging around being easygoing a second ago.
That damned prophecy. So I'm supposed to ignore mine entirely and coddle his mood instead?
Yang Myeonghyeon's immaculate, neatly-kept appearance had come loose somehow, too. Muttering curses under my breath, I walked on in silence.
The awkward quiet stretched on, and still — both of us kept our mouths shut. We simply fixed our eyes on the ground ahead and pushed toward the place Prometheus had described.
I suppose this is it.
We'd been walking a long while, breathing rough and wordless, when at last we came face to face with the items Prometheus had spoken of.
Resting atop what looked like a display table sat a box, a ceramic vessel, and a sculpted bust. And carved small into the very front of the table were words:
"Foolish humans, unafraid of death."
"No mortal body may set foot in the world of the gods."
"Choose the offering to be dedicated to Olympus."
I brushed my fingers over the box placed at the far left. A golden chest studded with jewels of every color glinted and shone. I lifted that beautiful box as if spellbound — and in that instant—
"O human, who holds me."
"?!!"
"Jisan-hyung, did you hear that? The box just spoke."
At the quiet voice suddenly rising from the box, Yang Myeonghyeon flinched and turned to me as well. An androgynous, mysterious timbre — impossible to tell man from woman — drifted past my ear.
"I am a jar. A body that once held everything. But now I hold only a single thing. You who wish to see the truth — beware, for truth is painful."
Only a single thing….
The moment the box finished speaking, Yang Myeonghyeon lifted the ceramic vessel. It was a large jar with twin handles, its surface covered in intricate painted detail. The instant his hands touched it, this one spoke too.
"What lies within me overflows without end. But it is labor that creates it. The hands of labor shall be the road."
And then, after Yang Myeonghyeon set the vessel back on the table, he lifted the sculpture from the last spot on the right. It was a white plaster statue carved from the upper half of a human body — a bust.
"I am a shell molded in someone's likeness. What lies within me, even the gods will take note of."
That was all. The box, the vessel, and the bust had each had their say. Nothing reacted no matter how long we held them, so this was apparently the moment of choice.
We placed the items back on the display table and sank into deliberation.
"I'll admit the bust sits easier with me, since it has a head attached. Doesn't remind me of that bastard Curator quite so much."
"Haha. Jisan-hyung, you've got a surprisingly foul mouth."
Looks like he's finally forgotten about the prophecy.
Seeing Yang Myeonghyeon laughing easily again, I found myself able to relax into conversation too.
"The box, the vessel, the bust. If we have to choose one, we first need to deduce what's hidden inside each of them."
I ran my hand over the box again, trying to restrain the excitement creeping into my voice. More than a mere box, it looked like a treasure chest. Was this dazzling craftsmanship — the gems, the ornate metalwork — really modeled on actual artifacts from antiquity?
"It's beautiful…. The metalwork, the jewels. Isn't it incredible? I've never seen anything shine like—"
"Jisan-hyung."
At the sudden return of Yang Myeonghyeon's grave voice, my head jerked up. Had I done something else to tick him off?
"Wh-what is it?"
"Put it down. Now."
Huh?
Only then did I realize my face was practically pressed against the box.
"Lose yourself in a piece like that, and you may end up caressing it a touch too thoroughly — and be counted as having made your selection."
"…Ahem."
Flushing with embarrassment, I hurriedly set the box back on the table and shoved my hands into my pockets. Snatching a person's soul clean away with a moment of beautiful art — what a wicked tower this was.