Hera's gaze flickered. She did not dare look at Theron again and simply turned to leave.
"Lord Theron, I dragged you into this."
Once everyone had left, Prometheus immediately apologized guiltily. "When they come back, hand me over. With Athena persuading him, King of the Gods Zeus probably won't take his anger out on you."
"Why would I hand you over?" Theron looked surprised. "When they come back, it will be to thank you. Should I hand you over to receive their gratitude? Then go yourself."
Prometheus froze at those words. He had no idea what Theron meant, just as he did not know that Theron had already gained control of lightning.
"Could lightning really strike the sacred fire tonight?" Prometheus could not help asking.
Though it was an incredibly hard thing to believe, based on his trust in Theron, Prometheus felt that even the most unlikely things were not impossible.
The reason he had not foreseen it must have been because his ability was still insufficient.
Theron shrugged at him. "Originally, there wasn't."
Prometheus nodded somewhat disappointedly, but quickly realized there was something off about those words.
What did he mean, originally?
But before he could react, he saw the white-robed figure before him produce an exquisite scepter wrapped in lightning from nowhere and point it slightly toward the sky.
The next moment, countless dark clouds churned, and blinding bolts of lightning flickered in and out among them.
Theron leisurely waved the scepter, and the thick clouds began rolling toward the sacred mountain of Olympus in the distance.
Prometheus stared blankly at the sight, rooted to the spot, his eyes filled with disbelief.
He recognized it. That was the Thunder Scepter that had once belonged to the King of the Gods—the Thunder Scepter that Typhon had destroyed in the