Maybe Prometheus was wrong. Maybe the chance to undo the totality of suffering wrought by such a blight upon history was worth whatever price she’d pay for changing the Fates’ designs. In fact, fuck the damn Moirai. That they would weave a fate that hinged upon the existence of such rank evil meant they were themselves, if not outright evil, so apathetic as to amount to much the same thing. Should she offer obeisance to goddesses of fate who worked their will by permitting such egregious breaches of all decency?
Raping, murdering Zeus had made himself king of the World. And Pandora would not stand for it.
Nor could she, however, contend with the Titan in any sort of physical confrontation. He was faster, stronger, and tougher than any Man, even if he had not yet developed his ability to harness lightning or command the winds. And for all she knew, he already had those abilities, even as a teenager.
Instead, she set up gathering up vines from the wood and twining them around her wrist. She’d read of snare-making, though of course had never tried it. If she could catch his ankle up, it might distract him long enough for her to strike. Oh, she had only a simple knife on her, not a dagger meant for war in the least. But driven up under the chin, it would end even a Titan, of that she had no doubt.
So, she needed but catch him off his guard long enough to close the distance and land the blow.
Her lover had warned her this course would mean they never met, that her precious Pyrrha was never born. To kill Zeus now would mean he and Hekate would never abduct Pandora, would never kill the Pleiades—and that Pandora would never travel back in time with the Box. Everything she knew and loved would unravel. She knew it for truth … and still. How many thousands, tens of thousands, would flourish in a life in which Zeus never ascended to the throne? Prometheus would never languish in Tartarus, Europa would never find herself dragged from Agenor’s court.
The thought of losing Prometheus and Pyrrha ripped her soul to pieces, even as she worked. As if she contemplated driving her blade into her own throat as well as Zeus’s. But wasn’t such a sacrifice worth it? How could she truly relish her happiness if she knew she had bought it with the suffering of countless generations more? With the torment of her own lover in the future?
Was she to make that choice, to condemn so many others for her own sake, she would be guilty of the same selfishness as Zeus himself. This path was all that lay before her. A chance to make the World better, even if it cost her all that mattered most.
So she cut vines, setting the snare just as old diagrams had shown. Pandora had never thought to need such skills, but then, she tended to remember almost aught she ever read. And she read quite a lot.
A stick crunched behind her and she froze. He’d found her! Not daring to breathe, she turned about, looking over her shoulder.
It was not Zeus who stood there, however, but a woman. Or a Titan in a woman’s shape. Clad in an aureate breastplate with a matching helm that concealed all but her vibrant blue eyes, the woman stood there, glinting in the radiance of the setting sun. Golden-hued wings stretched out behind her, filling up the space between the trees.
The only winged Titan Pandora had heard of was Nike, though stories had not mentioned this gilded armor. Or the sheer presence of her, one that stole thought and breath and demanded rapt attention. Demanded, in fact, that one prostrate oneself and beg forgiveness for all missteps.
That last Pandora refused to do. She would not kneel or beg. If Zeus had sent another of his lackeys to apprehend her—or Kronos had, perhaps, in this time—she would meet her fate with dignity.
“Who are—” she began.
The woman surged forward with the speed of a peregrine falcon, snared Pandora’s peplos with one hand, and heaved her around backward. The World whooshed by as Pandora flew out from the tree line. She hit the grass with an oomph, rolled a dozen times, and crashed onto her back on the mountain’s edge.
Her vision dimmed even as her stomach clenched.
Pandora could do naught save moan. Every muscle in her body felt bruised, and she could only pray no bones had broken.
Groaning, she tried to sit. A single beat of the Titan’s wings carried her across the distance between them. The golden-armored figure landed in a crouch before Pandora, caught her up again, and heaved her to her feet.
“You would think to thwart Ananke?”
Pandora gaped, and not only from the pain lancing through her sides and head. This creature knew? She knew what Pandora had intended for Zeus?
Catching her bearings at last, Pandora realized they had reached a plateau on the mountainside. The ground beyond dropped away nigh a hundred feet to the sea. She might survive a dive from this height, might escape thus. If she could clear the rocks that broke the surf just off the island.
Rather than look and risk giving away her plan, Pandora kept her gaze locked upon her golden adversary. Had an agent of the Moirai come to stop her from attacking Zeus? Did that mean she actually might have succeeded in changing the timeline?
The Titan seized Pandora once more, this time using one hand to heft Pandora off her feet by the back of her neck. She carried Pandora several steps thus. The realization hit and hit hard. Her attacker intended to cast her off the cliff, using the very means of escape Pandora had intended as the method of execution.
Shrieking, Pandora seized the knife
