Atlas

There, at the end of the world, stood Atlas. Mighty Atlas, bearer of the heavens, trapped for all eternity by the creative and cruel judgment of the gods. 

 This day seemed no different than any other. The titan winced and groaned beneath the weight of the skies, shifting its massive pressure from one shoulder to the other. As the familiar black spots began to dance in his vision again, one seemed more tangible than the others. Atlas began to fear the worst – that his body had finally quit, and the darkness would take the whole of his vision soon. As the shape breached the horizon line, though, he realized it was not a trick of the eye, but a ship. 

The water lapped against Atlas’s sore calves as the vessel approached. The ship sidled up along the shore, mooring its anchors only a few yards from the imposing figure. No one had dared to come this close since Atlas began to bear the burden of the skies. He was thrilled to have the company. 

The drawbridge fell, and out strode Heracles. The hero was known so far and wise that even Atlas, trapped here at the edge of the universe, had heard echoes of the boy. So what was he doing here?

“I’ve come to offer a deal,” called Heracles, barely steps from his ship. 

“Business already?” Atlas managed, wheezing under the weight of the world. “I’ve been here so long, all by my lonesome. Can’t you spare a moment to share news of the world with me?” 

“Well, that’s why I’ve come. You miss your daughters, Atlas?” 

Though his face was flushed with effort, the color seemed to pale in Atlas’s face. “Has something befallen them?” 

“No, no, I wish for you to reunite. Like I said, I’ve come to offer a deal.” 

“Well, share your request, boy. Don’t play coy with me.” 

“I seek a golden apple.” 

Atlas groaned. “And you’ve come to ask for my advice? You must well know that the only ones who can pass the dragon’s guard are my daughters and myself. The tree is too protected. There is no advice I can share that will allow you to pass through safely. I can’t help you.” 

“Oh, but I think you can. The dragons won’t let me get close enough to pick one myself, and even if I could, your daughters won’t let me leave the gardens with it. You said yourself, the dragons won’t touch you. Those girls adore you, and after all this time, they would give you anything in the world. I’ve come to ask you to fetch the apple for me.” 

“And how do you suppose I do that?” chuckled the mighty titan, for he had not been able to move in millenia. By now, even the idea had left his wildest dreams. 

“I will shoulder your burden.” 

The words were so insane, Atlas almost laughed. The sound caught in his throat as his eyes scanned the hero’s face for any hint of a joke, but came up blank. Heracles was adamant – he would shoulder the sky in exchange for the golden apple. The chance at a reprieve was too good to pass up, and in a moment, the two had swapped places. 

Atlas stood tall for the first time in centuries. He stretched and bent in all directions, feeling so light he might float away. He cracked his aching joints again and again, shaking off a millennia of stillness. Atlas boarded the ship Heracles had so thoughtfully brought, and as quickly as they approached, the ship disappeared over the horizon. 

Heracles stood. What else was there to do? He knew the weight of the skies would be impossibly heavy, but he had not thought of the crushing boredom. Days passed. The sun rose and set, and rose and set, and still, Heracles stood. On the dawn of the third day, his faith in Atlas began to falter. As dusk approached, he came to accept that he had been a fool. 

On the fourth day, though, a black dot appeared on the horizon. Atlas had returned, bringing with him the ship, the men, and the coveted golden apple. Heracles breathed a sigh of relief, ready to return the weight to its rightful owner, but Atlas would not be so easily trapped a second time. 

“I won’t take the skies back. I can’t. I had resigned myself to an eternity, but now that is not so,” Atlas informed Hercules bluntly. “My freedom tasted too sweet, I will not let it go.” 

Heracles felt his muscles start to give. His legs shook, his shoulders screamed with pain. Though he wanted nothing more than to throw the heavens back at Atlas and wash his hands of this whole thing, he understood. No one else could pity the titan better than Heracles, himself crushed by the weight. And so he began to think.

Finally, a plan came to the two men. A way for them both to be free. Atlas, in the greatest act of trust he had ever made, agreed to lift the burden from Heracles. When Atlas once again held the weight, Heracles began to build. He piled stones together and cemented them with the mud of the shoreline. He built two pillars, climbing higher and higher until they, too, held the heavens. When he was sure they would not fail, Atlas took a deep breath and bent his knees, stepping out from his post. The pillars groaned and strained under the weight, and for a moment, the men feared the sky would come crashing down. 

They held their breath as the pillars settled, but the sky did not fall. The world did not end. Atlas was free, and the pillars would hold – A gateway at the edge of the universe. A door to whatever came next.