His shackles fell, and the Titan, freed by the son of Zeus, did not turn his wrath on the young man whose father had condemned the seer to torment, nor did he seek revenge from Zeus himself. Instead, he made his way to the river at the foot of the mountain. The sound of the river's flow and the birdsong in the nearby forest seemed deafening compared to the silence up above. How many nights would it take to get used to it again?

In the uneven reflection of the river, he saw his face: an unkempt beard and long hair gave him the appearance of an unhappy wanderer, but in the distant memories of the future that he saw back on the rock, he remembered his face as before. And taking a flint from the shore, he split it into sharp fragments with which he began methodically removing his beard, leaving small cuts on his cheeks and neck that immediately healed.

Soon, the long-haired man, who seemed to have become ten years younger without a beard, turned his attention back to the river. As he submerged up to his waist, the water washed away the centuries-old dust that had settled on the titan's body, as well as the dried blood that had once flowed from the wounds inflicted by the eagle's sharp beak.

It seemed that the coolness of the river carried away all the troubles, and after wiping his face dry, he closed his eyes to listen. To hear your footsteps. The footsteps of the mortal who, despite the wrath of Zeus, returned to Prometheus on the mountain to keep him company. Prometheus remembered the disbelief in your eyes when he asked you to come to the river at the foot of the mountain in the evening. A slight, barely noticeable smile appeared on his lips as he imagined your surprise at his release, which he could have predicted but chose not to. Sometimes, there's nothing better for both a god and a mortal than the here and now.