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Titanomachy. They were not like the Olympians, as you well know. Kronos and his Titans were tyrants who enjoyed exercising their power over the mortals, simply because they could. Back then, the Titans guarded the secret of fire. If the mortals wanted fire, they had to petition Kronos and his brethren and give them many offerings.”
         “...and Prometheus showed the mortals how to make fire on their own, which meant no more obeisance to Kronos, at least for this particular commodity?” Persephone deduced. Fire was precious. It was difficult to start, but with enough efforts and the right ingredients, just about anybody could spark a fire, especially if they had a good flint. The general practice in Enna at nights was to bank the fire to ensure that there would be embers in the morning to refresh the fire or create new ones. Nonetheless, Iasion had taught her how to spark a fire on her own with not just a flint, but also with the older and more time-consuming process of rubbing wood, saying that such knowledge was valuable.
         “Indeed. They chained him to an open spot on Olympus so that the eagles could feed from him day after day. Since he was a Titan, he could not die, and so his flesh regenerated every night.”
         Persephone swallowed thickly as she imagined herself in that position. That poor man!
         “He is not among those down here,” Kampe hissed with what appeared to be a small smile on her reptilian face.
         “I would hope not.” Persephone quipped.
         “Zeus broke his chains and freed him. However, he is not one of those who wish to be recognized. He lives somewhere among the mortals, and has been lost to us for many years. But his legacy remains, though the tales that the mortals tell of him are now mangled.” Hades shook his head.
         Persephone nodded in rapt interest, absorbing everything that Hades or Kampe told her.
         “If some of these tales are wrong, then why not set them right? Why not tell the mortals what really happened to Prometheus? The mortals think he is still being punished for teaching them the secret of fire.” If Mother knew the truth of these tales, why didn't she share them with her daughter?
         “It is the nature of humans to embellish the myths to make them more interesting. Just you wait,” Kampe said, wagging her finger in the manner that a stern grandmother might, “In a thousand years, the tales you know today, and the tales that will be created will change again. Humans have the tendency to change history to suit their own purposes.”
         “That seems rather... deceitful.”
         “Sometimes, yes. There are those who deliberately change the stories, especially to benefit themselves. But at other times, such as with old stories, they change in subtle ways, without any deliberate twisting around.”
         Persephone nodded before glancing at Hades. “Thank goodness for your library, then!”
         “Indeed.” He grinned down at her, and Kampe noted the glint of affection and appreciation in his eyes. This young goddess was indeed special if she could draw out such a reaction from the taciturn Lord of the Dead.
         “Who is that?” Persephone asked as she pointed just past Kampe's arm, seeing a steep and jagged hill in the distance surrounded by a moat of fire-water. The silhouette of a man was illuminated against the vermilion-hued sky, and she could make out his struggle against a large boulder that was nearly at the top of the hill.
         “That is Sisyphus, now a prisoner of his own avarice and prideful cleverness.” Kampe replied.
         “Will you tell me about him?”
         “Certainly. In life he was a proud king who founded the city that mortals now known as Corinth. He was the son of a king of Thessaly, but was so prideful that he wanted a kingdom of his own. He was a clever man and managed to accomplish it, but he was so arrogant as to consider himself