I marvel at the mortal inability to remember. It is hard for a God to comprehend death, and the frailties involved. Men take all of their memories to Pluto, leaving sons with but memories of conversations. I recall forging the molten core of the world as vividly and vibrantly as the flame of yesterday’s sunset.
It is because of this, I suppose, that mankind has such trouble retaining the faith of the old days. In man’s attempts to discover the facts of science, they forget the faith of the Gods. The petty knowledge man has gleamed has made them think they no longer need faith, and even the faith of the most faithful man today is eroded and cankered by what they call science.
I used to blow the furnaces of Rome with blistering heat, and now they stand cold, and ruined.
I melted the metal for a million swords, and am now replaced by the inventions of man’s own mind.
I kept volcanoes from destroying mankind, now let them do what they will, taking no hand in the randomness of nature.
I, who was praised and worshiped at the Volcanal by thousands every year, am now scorned and almost completely forgotten.
I have the power to blast man to the farthest star, and yet, their mightiest efforts using their own feeble knowledge can barely put a man on the moon.
It seems that the miracles of my sibling Gods are no longer needed by the greatness of man’s arrogance.
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