Without releasing too much, one thing I want to make clear is that Hephaestus, by technicality, is a demigod. One of the things that I found incredibly fascinating with Riordan's work was the use of the term "half-blood" and that names held power. The term "half-blood" will be delved into further in the modern day, a reason for the use of the term instead of the general term "Demi-God". Hephaestus is a demi-god in the respect that he is both God and Mortal. There have been many demigods whose parents are both not human yet are still classified as a Demi-God. Hephaestus is one of them. As we know, EMIYA is an existence that has transcended mere flesh and has become something more akin to a divine spirit. He is also a counter guardian, adding even more to the mix as little as it does. Hephaestus, like Kintsugi, is unique in the means that he is a demigod. Hopefully, that cleared things up! Can't clear up everything this way, obviously.
In other news, WE HAVE AN EDITOR/BETA READER!
This chapter has been edited by the good grace of one Will S. LaVi! Their continued support, both on the written page and the storyboarding process has been an instrumental addition to this story, helping bring past and future chapters to even greater heights! Welcome them aboard!
Anyway, ON TO THE CHAPTER!
Kintsugi Chapter 7:
While going from the palace and through the city had been a novelty, the once bright and beautiful scenery had dimmed to Hephaestus. The idea of giving Poseidon's army "unbreakable" weapons, wasn't an issue. The truth of the matter was that Celestial Bronze was naturally strong, inhumanly so compared to the mundane material equivalent. But nothing, no matter how well made, was ever truly unbreakable. For instance, he could make something withstand impossible pressure. Consequently, it might be weak to magical force. Though he was a God and smithing was his domain, the laws of equivalent exchange always reared their head…for now.
There was also a simpler truth. Poseidon never asked for indestructible weapons, just more resilient ones. Sure, the word was thrown around, but no proper agreement was made. Besides, the lackadaisical attitude of the whole thing was putting him on edge…and just might be what ruined his first walk through the city. Well, that and the flashes of blue that edged at his vision. The denizens stared whenever he tried to track the sliver of color, but that was nothing new to him.
From the city, there was a path, one he remembered Thetis carrying him through. He had only "walked" this road once, but his memories were as clear as any. After all, it was the beginning. What he saw that day echoed within him, even amidst all the pain of his fall, and the rocks that he had been speared to. For years he had seen it, and was inspired by it!
When Thetis had reached the depths, he saw them, working in unity. The Cyclops had seemed so…mighty, so majestic even. He thought of them as heroes…so alike to him in appearance but sharing the spark of creativity. He thought he had found his people, his tribe.
Hephaestus reached the lower city, the place closest to the magma that ran hot beneath the seabed. He closed his eyes, letting his weight slowly drag him down further. It was a longer way, a distance from the city itself. He knew each drift and ebb in this pathway, the sentimental feeling more than enough to ease his way back into it. A right, a left, forward. Eventually, his eyes opened softly as his mechanical feet hit the bed of the ocean.
There was no one around. Instead, he was on a cliff, looking out at the compound of the Cyclopes. It was like looking at a temple on the upper floors, the white marble almost glowing in these dark depths. Interlocking between the segments of the temple-like building was roiling magma. Contained and brought forth by the magic of the Cyclopes. Hundreds of them are there working in unity. And yet, solitary.
"Funny," muttered Hephaestus as he looked at them wearily, "how things change and yet stay the same."
He didn't want anything to do with them if he could avoid it. But he had no idea where Skilros was.
"I could analyze the area," he thought, "but that would risk alerting whoever is involved in this. It is one thing to be here to forge Poseidon's symbol of power. It's another to be actively hunting Skilros."
That wasn't to say anything of Poseidon being in league with them as well. He doubted it, but it was something he accounted for anyway. The least obtrusive method was to simply ask the cyclopes themselves. He could feel Ifrit roil within him, the heat moving through his body. It was cute, the way his friend was trying to keep him warm. Ifrit could not manifest at this depth; the poor bird would be crushed. Even Hephaestus could feel the cold of the ocean, though it was more akin to a fresh breeze than the actual frigid temperatures. A part of him knew that this was twofold. Mainly that his domain of fire was dampened in Poseidon's domain, and simply how his strange divine mortal shell interacted with the environment.
Something to test for later. He was getting distracted more easily as of late. As he reached the forges of the Cyclops, their work went silent. Dozens upon dozens of them, hard at work, ceased as he entered. He gave none of them the time of day…just as they did to him. Was it right? Perhaps not, but it felt good. He wasn't there to waste time indulging in pettiness though.
"Where is Skilros?"
His voice echoed through the entirety of the forge, rumbling the walls with the energy he invested. He didn't want any excuses from them. Sound didn't travel well in water, but with magic, communication in this way was possible, simple even. He narrowed his eyes at their inability to answer. They all remained silent, comradery for a brother. It was honorable…but stupid.
"Typical," he muttered.
He swam through them as they gave him a wide berth, yet he was not going to strike or maim one. He had his grievances, true, but that did not warrant an unprovoked attack. The idea of protecting one of your own was something that Hephaestus knew well. Besides, the respect of the cyclopes was not something he wanted anyway. He decided it was time to risk it. He placed his hands on the ground, his energy echoing through the ocean, searching for Skilros. If whatever ally he procured was paying attention, they were certainly aware of what he was here for now.
Every Cyclops felt a shiver echo through them, the sheer power they felt from the new "Lord of Blacksmiths" made every assumption they had to go down the aphedron. They had assumed the God was broken, a thrown-away thing. WEAK. He was an insult to their very profession with the way he looked, the broken shell a representation of his lack of power. The power they felt was anything but. One of them seemed to finally get their head on straight, as they approached.
"He's at the upper housings, a distance in the north!"
The desperation of the Cyclops was a strange medley with a deep voice that echoed through the oceans and a strange youthful tremor. Hephaestus stilled, his scowl growing deeper. There was an apprehension before…but also an arrogance to them. One that had died, replaced with fear. Was this all that was needed? A show of force? Pathetic. He didn't thank the Cyclops, didn't even look at them. Instead, he tore through the oceans, appearing before Skilros' organic home in short order. He had gotten the home's location by the time the youth had spoken.
He closed his eyes, quelling the emotions within himself. Hecate and Poseidon, both had shown him his attitude was not entirely blank like it used to be. EMIYA was effectively nothing more than emotional embers within, making the management of his emotions a simpler affair bar the more volatile situations. Hephaestus was a God, his emotions were already more volatile than the average human. He needed his head clear. He needed to do this right.
…so, he just blew the door apart and walked right in. What? At least give him that.
Still, he was a little taken aback when he saw the Cyclops themselves. Skilros was massive. Easily thirty meters tall, his singular eye bloodshot from what he presumed was alcohol. He was strewn on the floor, groaning from his intrusion, the bottle shattered, the contents floating aimlessly around them. The home, if one could call it that, seemed more like a workshop, filled with etchings on stone. They were all drivel, nothing resembling any sort of blueprint. Hephaestus could see the anger, the incompetence. Still, that wasn't why he was here. He floated forward, his eyes narrowing in their hate. He could only bring himself to say one word.
"…Skilros."
He knelt, sitting right in front of the Cyclops' eye. Chains of metal appeared, grounding Skilros to the ground and locking their head in place. The growl was a surprise but expected.
"FUCKER!"
Oh, quite the mouthy one. The balls on this beast to say such a thing to him. He wouldn't lash out at smaller offenses like this, but that wasn't exactly well known. By all accounts, Skilros only had other Gods to compare him to. Doubtful that he talked to them in this manner.
"YOU DARE ENTER MY DOMAIN!"
Skilros was drunk, made more obvious as he clamored on and on. He looked around the home. Using his Structural Analysis, he investigated the entire place, even the area around here. He found nothing worth moving away from Skilros, aside from a strange hammer. One that was taken from a young Cyclops by the name of Arges. Something about the tool being inferior, taking the hammer in fear of Arges' talent.
"I've come to ask a few questions," said Hephaestus, his ire growing, "answer them."
The Cyclops had the audacity to chuckle.
"If you're here for my skills, I'd rather die than have you pilfer them, thief. G…get out!" he slurred.
Hephaestus blinked, he saw the way the Cyclops staggered, attempting to rise. The sheer alcohol he consumed must have been staggering for this level of drunkenness. He had to pause as he took the sight in and it soon unearthed emotions that he kept a lid on like Pandora's Pithos. There was a lot of anger about Calliope, her family, and the village they lived in. A professional dislike for this Cyclops in particular and their thieving ways. But this? Well, now it just got petty. This somehow drove that nail into what should have remained untouched.
The water began to bubble as the heat from his body became too much for even Poseidon to quell. He gripped Skilros by the cheekbone, his hand digging into the bone. The creak was muted by the water, but the bone did not give way to his light grip. Not yet anyhow and not that he would let it until he got his answers. The Cyclops seemed to sober up, the fear settling in. Yet…he remained silent.
No.
Skilros' throat was bulging, but no sound came out. The heat within flickered as Hephaestus chuckled a bit.
"So that's the play."
If what he heard was true, then killing something like a Cyclops was absurdly difficult. Monsters were of the domain of Tartarus. When they died, the Primordial of the Pit took claim to them, absorbing them in a shower of golden sand. The only exception simply being those born of other deities. Skilros, as far as he could tell, was most certainly not a son of Poseidon. In the depths of the primordial, general monsters were able to duke it out, rising to leave the Tartarus' cesspool. The fact that the cyclops could effectively be resurrected made silencing him a moot issue. Hephaestus studied the Cyclops, trying to see if there was a tether of some sort for this curse. It was obvious he was under one. Nothing he could sense indicated that it was anywhere beyond his throat.
Now that he had a good look at him, Skilros was rather pudgy for a Cyclops, yet undeniably potent in magic. Skilros was bald, a rarity amongst his kind, but the eye he had was milky, run ragged by the magic he focused through it. The idea that the Cyclops before him used his own body as a focus was intriguing, but ultimately not worth it, as the damage attested to.
"Perhaps?"
He reached forward, a shimmering blade coming forth. It was beautiful, jagged edges and all. It had no place being a weapon, but then again it never was one. It was a tool. One of subterfuge. One of magic. One of murder. The ultimate general anti-magic tool in his possession. Rule Breaker. This moment seemed the perfect time to test and see if it could sever divine curses. It had, after all, bathed in the blood of a demi-titan in legend, there was no telling what it could truly be capable of. Not to mention, Hephaestus' divine energy had created this copy, reinforcing the legend within even in a different world entirely. There were so many changes that could be possible. He gripped the knife, hovering over Skilros' throat.
He waited, looking around, ignoring the strange look Skilros gave at what was basically a sliver to his massive throat.
"…nothing? Even now?"
Skilros was chained, threatened, and obviously in distress. Yet…Poseidon was nowhere. If a human being had told him that Skilros was up for grabs, Hephaestus wouldn't question it.
"But Poseidon is a God. A promise of protection is not one easily ignored."
The thought bugged Hephaestus. Hestia had been a wealth of information, the key one being the nature of words when it came to gods. Verbal agreements, such as the one Hephaestus had made for arming Poseidon's army, were weak compulsions at best. Ignoring them only had temporary consequences, such as difficulty controlling your divinity for a period. Hestia had been thorough about the power of names and words with Gods. Their very voices carried power, which is why they had epitaphs and titles to describe each other. For instance, Atlas was the Titan of Endurance. The immovable. If one wished to talk about him without invoking his name and his attention, that was how you would do it. So, while the agreement wasn't ironclad, Poseidon knew exactly what was happening to Skilros.
"He's letting this happen…why?"
Neither Poseidon nor the other God were here to stop him. Perhaps the God at play here was fully confident their curse could not be broken? Arrogance was not an uncommon symptom of divinity. Hephaestus looked into the eye of the cyclops, the wrath within him bubbling to the surface and intensifying once more the longer he looked.
He needed to hurt!
He needed to bleed!
A fraction of the despair he inflicted on Calliope and her family wasn't enough to settle things. But…the dagger disappeared, and he stood. The chains dispersed as well. Poseidon swore to Skilros to protect him…he was under Poseidon's protection, yet the God was not here. The lackadaisical attitude, the freedom to go where he wanted unimpeded…the fact that Poseidon even heard him out, even though he was intruding on his kingdom. There was something at play here. Hecate had made a fool of him, using his lack of knowledge against him…but she had also done so without malicious intent. He realized now, after Hestia's lessons, that things could have been a lot worse. He would have fought against it, easily, but the political ramifications were immense in doing so.
The divine laws were simultaneously flexible and unmoving. Gods could twist the laws of divinity to their advantage but were powerless to stop the repercussions of breaking these laws.
"…I guess I owe her one, strange as it may," he muttered. "I'll need to keep talking with Aunt Hestia."
He didn't mean that in a literal sense, but more in a way that he wouldn't be as confrontational as he might have been before with Hecate. Hestia would wait, invoking her name would let her know his intentions. She would come to him in time.
The event with Hecate kept replaying over and over in his head. Poseidon seemed confident he would play into his hands regarding Skilros. He would not. But he would still not leave empty-handed. He would leave with his vengeance sated. In his hands, shimmered a crystal, a familiar one. The thought of Hecate brought forth the memory of this strange rock and its enchantments. He brought it to Skilros, the cyclops smartly judging not to move.
"Which God did you invoke?"
Skilros remained silent, but the curse budded up again. It was easy to coax a few fragments of divinity into the crystal, the runes glowing. Now, for vengeance. The best sort was always the kind that killed eight birds with one stone. The kind that brought maximum efficiency.
"I hoped you enjoyed your life," Hephaestus grumbled.
Skilros stilled, smirking slightly. He knew now that he was going to leave. Hephaestus let Skilros taste the sense of victory, it would be the last sweetness he'd have left. If he couldn't banish Skilros to an ever-living hell…well, he'd just bring an ever-living hell to him.
After all, Skilros invested everything into his reputation, and his pride at being the best. What sort of life might one live, if they became the worst? A fall from grace so heavy in a life that would never end. For that...he needed them.
Hephaestus turned to the direction of the complex. He didn't need to be careful anymore. He had what he needed to track the God who did this. He concentrated, trying to invoke the ability of the Centaurs to bend space. It was, once more, a failure.
"Damn," he muttered.
He understood the entirety of the phenomenon, he could invoke it. Yet, in the true world, it just would not happen. In realities made by other Gods, it was easy enough. But here? He decided to give up on the ability, for now. Perhaps he could create something to compensate in due time.
The water churned as he pushed forward, his mind creating means to teach these cyclopes what they needed to destroy Skilros. There was one problem though.
He really didn't want to teach them much of anything. Still, the hollow ringing of work that abruptly stopped echoed in the compound. He walked through, ensuring that all were paying attention.
"What do you call yourselves?" he asked.
Surely, they had an organization of some sort.
"….what?"
…ah…right…cyclopes. They were not stupid, by any measure. But the means by which they generated thought was…simplistic. Binary even. Innovation wasn't much of a concept for them, nor inferencing it would seem. Which is why their skill in smithing had impressed him so much in his youth. By all accounts, they should have been simpletons, yet they rose to become a cornerstone of Greece's technological development.
"As a group, who would you say is your leader?"
They all pointed towards the direction of Skilros. He merely gave them an empty stare. Eventually, an older Cyclops rose forward. Their height was even greater at a solid 45 meters. The amount of mystical energy this cyclops had dwarfed Skilros entirely. It wasn't until he saw their face that he understood why they were not spoken of. Their eye…it was gone. He saw the staff the Cyclops used to meander through the small crowd and rubble.
The construction of the inner sanctum was not complex. Rows and rows of neat organized workstations, complete with a pit of roiling magma, gave the idea of organization. But it was mired underneath a torrent of tossed-aside metal and rubble. It was a disorganized mess, one that seemed to work for them.
He analyzed the staff, grimacing slightly. The one that stood before him was Brontes, one whose story garnered sympathy even from Hephaestus.
Years before he had been born, Skilros and Brontes, the cyclops who had stepped forward, had been brothers. At least, brothers in the sense they were work partners, their partnership solidified with blood.
Skilros' magic and Brontes' skill. They were a perfect combination. Until the discovery that Brontes' magical talent dwarfed Skilros completely that is. It was a simple agreement, teach each other their skills and become even greater! He had performed Skilros' magic better than even the Cyclops himself. Yet, it mattered little to Brontes, who kept his partner, his brother around and intent on keeping his promise.
And for this kindness, he was rewarded with his eye gouged out in his sleep.
The eye of a Cyclops was a powerful mystical specimen. Without it, Cyclops cannot perform even the slightest bits of magic, not even those native to them. A smaller Cyclops was guiding Brontes by the shoulders. He knew this one to be Steropes. Talented in magic, hiding it from Skilros. This one had been casting the spells needed for Brontes to be heard in these depths.
"I am Brontes," rumbled the massive giant.
The grimace he had, his distaste for this situation was obvious.
"We…"
The Cyclops' resolve confused Hephaestus, making the God of Fire tilt his head. Why were they so solemn now? He had read the staff's history but didn't bother reading past his relationship with Skilros.
"If my head may console you…please let my brothers live."
He blinked. Oh. The blinded giant kneeled before him, and even one of them followed. Hephaestus didn't recognize that one. Now that he thought about it, he didn't recognize a great deal of the many cyclopes that worked in this complex. He could sate his petty vengeance here…the death of Brontes would matter little. He could get away with it, make them watch. But that wasn't who he was anymore…wasn't who he swore to be. He gestured for Steropes to lift his leader up and have the other one follow suit.
"I am not here to harm…I'm here to teach."
The silence echoed in the chambers. He swore even the churning of the seas went silent at his proclamation.
"I'll be honest," muttered Hephaestus, "I am teaching you to satisfy Poseidon and destroy Skilros. I refuse to teach all of you individually, so select your three best."
He felt his inner vindication become satisfied, watching the way they all but near tore at each other. There were no fists, nor hammers. But the words spoken were dark, bleak, tainted with betrayal. He stared at Brontes, getting a measure of the giant. He analyzed the staff as the cyclopes talked amongst themselves. It was eye-opening, truly. His skill…even after all these years from Skilros' betrayal, Brontes was one of their best. That was how great his skill was even blind.
Brontes was the original recipient of the position on Mount Olympus, with Skilros meant to become his assistant on Mount Olympus. Jealousy, hate, he didn't know which, but Brontes had been assaulted in his sleep by his "friend", his eye torn out and destroyed. Without the ability to use magic, only Skilros could ascend to Olympus. Brontes had agreed with Skilros to keep their magical methods to themselves, a way to make their wares even more enticing. It was a shame that such a promise was enforced on the Styx, or Brontes would have leaked their methods long ago. It went to show how little the Gods cared about the situation. They didn't bother to investigate. Or worse, they didn't care. But it was the more recent memories that caught him.
Hephaestus had always wondered where his materials came from when he experimented in his youth. Crafting the throne was not easy, requiring rare and outright difficult-to-obtain materials for a God in his situation. He always assumed it was some spirit or servant that Thetis left for him that gathered what he needed, leaving it at the foot of his residence. He had tried for years to trade or work with the cyclopes. It would always end negatively.
Yet, the history he was now analyzing in full showed a different story, at least in the background. One in which Brontes felt a kinship…one broken shell to another. Every trade he tried to initiate that was rejected, Brontes would acquire what he needed with Steropes' help. They would leave it at his residence, fearing ostracization by their own kind. He saw it, the way that Brontes detested the hypocrisy of his people, how Steropes would attempt to convince them to get their heads out of their asses. Of the day that Arges had stolen his hammer. But it was not to pass it off as his own, as he had assumed, but rather to show that Hephaestus was like them, that his skill was undeniable.
He had been forced to work in the forge without leaving for his stunt. What was that if not imprisonment?
"I've made my decision," he echoed.
Letting them argue over the best was never going to work out. But it was nice to see them dispute their skills with one another, it showed him just how cutthroat some of these cyclopes were. The group stopped arguing. He still detested how they all argued and fought…but as he had seen with EMIYA, no singular species was ever uniform. No race, creed, or perspective ever had a truly uniform representation. He hated these cyclopes, but that was just this group, the specific individuals that did him wrong. Besides, fuck 'em, they all sucked anyway. Didn't matter what three he picked. Might as well go with those he knew would be the least problematic.
"Brontes, Steropes, and Arges. I'll take those three."
They all fell in line as the three chosen stepped forward. The word cripple echoed, but for once it was not directed at him. Hephaestus swam upwards to Brontes' face. The healing of an eye for a Cyclops was not possible. Sure, maybe Apollo could do it. But that was with literal divine intervention. He doubted Brontes had the means nor the desire to invoke a God like him to heal his old wound.
He had a Noble Phantasm that could do it, but they either required skills he just didn't have (like Asclepius' Staff) or were too foreign to be a good idea to use. Instead, he decided to depend entirely on his nature as a God. He willed what he wanted.
It was what allowed the Gods to form weapons and armor with their power. It was limited by the nature of the God in question. Athena could create better weapons and armor than Demeter for example, due to her domain as a Goddess of War and Crafts. For Hephaestus however, he merely used crystal. It allowed perfect transmission of power, allowing energy to flow uninhibited. Physics wept at the creation of what was basically a superconductor for mana. Then, a small enchantment for sight and vision. Funny, so long as he worked this way, it all came naturally to him. The moment he tried to learn it for himself, it went downhill. Figures. The crystal formed with a blue iris, shaped to be a perfect size for the empty socket in Brontes' head.
"Open your eye Brontes, a gift…for all you have given me."
Brontes stilled, the murmuring echoing through the complex. He hesitantly opened them; the dry socket filled with seawater and could only be described as obscenely uncomfortable. He willed the water to move, a difficult task for only a bucket's worth. His hand shook slightly, forcing the water away. But his other hand remained steady, slowly inputting the fake eye carefully. Once inserted, Brontes reared back, the first sight he had in decades near overwhelming.
"Brontes!"
Arges and Steropes stood forward, but the elder giant held a hand up, a single glowing blue eye glaring through the ocean.
"I…you…"
He looked upon Hephaestus and stood shocked. This was not the boy he remembered. The cleft lip, the shifted eyes, the malformed skull. This was a man fully formed…a God. He noticed Hephaestus' legs, knowing immediately they were not simply armor. Did he…did he sacrifice his legs to repair his upper body? It didn't matter, what mattered was what he heard. Magic began to flow through Brontes again after years, a surge of energy that made the other cyclopes sweat a bit. He stood, towering over them, and nodded to Hephaestus. His confidence surged forward as his own impediment had been removed.
"You mentioned destroying Skilros?"
Hephaestus nodded.
"Good. Show me how."
The three would trail behind Hephaestus, as he led them elsewhere. He would not show these…others how to craft as he did. When he was done, his three students would do so in his stead. Besides, he didn't have forever to do this. He may be immortal, but he had better use of his time.
As he approached his old home, Hephaestus felt…little. The forge was maintained, the home left untouched. The forge had been recently used, out in the open as it was. The history of the setup was easy enough to discern. Arges was using this place to experiment. He was usually the territorial type, but this did little to irk him. After all, he did abandon the place and had no desire to return to it. Admittedly, the idea of Arges using it brought a smile to his face.
"Arges, get the forge heated up. I'll teach all of you how to reinforce the constructs you create. Skilros' method depends entirely on the strength of your eye to focus and enforce your will. But I'll be teaching you a means that is far more reliable and potent. But it will take time and practice to master this completely."
The three Cyclops nodded. He could tell that Steropes was only here for Brontes, but that was alright. He cared little for that. All that mattered was that they learned. Each of them was skilled and talented even with the savant-like nature of the cyclopes. Time was no longer an issue, not with this. Feeling within his reality marble, Hephaestus ensured that the crystal was stable.
Using the crystal filled with the divinity he took from Skilros' curse, he could simply keep it on hand and wait to come across the God, forming his plans as he needed to. Lying in wait until he could strike. His biggest hope was that the crystal would react without him having to take it out, but he doubted that would be the case.
But those were thoughts for later. For now, he became consumed by the task at hand. He knew they were talented, but still, he was astounded with their progress. They were incredible. In comparison to human talent, these three were beyond the ken of men. They required different means of explanation, but they got the concepts down rather quickly.
While innovation was difficult for cyclopes, they absorbed teachings like his with fervor bordering madness. He watched the way Brontes began to invest himself into his work, the knowledge that Brontes was having the time of his life was infectious to even Hephaestus.
For days he spent time honing their skills. Teaching them how to mold their energy into the weapons they created. How the act of forging was itself a ritual. How to hammer and cool properly in the depths of the ocean. The use of other materials like oil and minerals. It took eight days of constant work, but the three students finally reached a point where they were content. The only thing they needed was time and experience. Any innovations that developed beyond this were theirs to discover. Skilros, for all the hype he received, was not actually that impressive. It was an incredible innovation to imbue magic into the creation by the standards of a Cyclops. But, Skilros simply crammed it in there, depending on luck to create reinforcement.
He never bothered experimenting as Brontes did, the elder Cyclops having developed the fastest among his temporary students. Each of them had taken his teachings and developed the methods into their own.
With their new methods in hand, they surpassed Skilros. It wasn't that major a hurdle, as their basic smithing skills were greater to start, simply lacking the knowledge of including magic. Skills deteriorated if not maintained. Skilros certainly did little to maintain his and the culmination of this eventuality was his dependence on his apprentices. The only thing Skilros had that made him a "better" smith, was magic.
Even if he didn't realize it for years, the Skilros of today had long since died. Hephaestus called upon Poseidon on the ninth day.
Though, that made it more grandiose than it sounded. Instead, he traveled to the palace on his own, but not before saying his goodbyes. Brontes, Steropes, and Arges bowed to him. Though, this was not a bow of worship, but of respect. He liked these three, they were strong, independent, and witty. They were a joy to teach, that much he would admit...though only to himself.
"Will we see you again?" asked Arges.
He had come to learn that he and Arges were, in fact, the same age. Considering that the cyclopes became more mystically powerful as they aged, it stood to reason that Arges had the most potential. He stuttered a bit, here and there, but his skill was right up there, to the point that Brontes had officially made Arges and Steropes both his apprentices.
"I'll stop by, once in a while. Until then, feel free to use this forge. It's yours now."
Arges blushed a bit, a disturbing sight.
"I couldn't, sir!"
Hephaestus smirked.
"You were using it already, weren't you?"
Brontes scowled at the younger Cyclops. Arges had the decency to look aside.
"...right."
"So, use it. I'll stop by after Poseidon and before I head out. I'll give that blade you're making one last look."
Arges gave a wide grin.
"Thank you, sir!"
He rushed off, intent on continuing the work he had put aside. Brontes rubbed his brow.
"I apologize for his behavior lord. He's...young."
"We're the same age, you know?"
The eldest of the three merely bowed. Brontes was respectful, but somewhat dull to talk to, unlike Arges. Steropes...was Steropes. Hephaestus had yet to hear the Cyclops utter a single word. The attendant of Brontes merely bowed to him.
"Until next time. I expect you'll be busy teaching the rest of your brethren these methods."
For them...he may very well come back if only to check their progress. Was this what it was like to have work colleagues? It was nice. Temporary, but nice. Ifrit was happy to fuel that feeling within him as she smothered him in her affection.
Imagine Hephaestus' embarrassment when he realized "He" was, in fact, a "She". For a moment he had considered naming Ifrit something different, but...they didn't like that.
Ever felt your heart getting pecked? Weirdest feeling ever.
He left it as it was, going to the palace. As he moved through the city, he was shocked to see more of its denizens looking at him with...strange looks. He wasn't entirely certain what it was about, though he waved to a few nymphs swimming by. He stilled, feeling a flash of blue echo in the edges of his vision.
He grimaced, looking around.
"Again?" he thought, "no, it doesn't matter, focus on the task at hand."
He wasn't that far from the palace, and it wasn't hard to find a guard near the palace grounds. A simple request and they were off. Their speed was commendable. He moved closer to the entrance, floating away.
At the foot of the palace, he waited patiently. He expected Triton to arrive but was greeted by Amphitrite instead. Once again, she was nude, a fact that he was distinctly uncomfortable with. Though...for reasons he couldn't really decide on.
"My lady," he spoke, bowing deep.
"I see you bring news Hephaestus."
His head remained bowed, but he noticed the lack of a moniker to his name. He cared little for titles, but he knew disrespect like this had its uses.
"They want a reaction. Why?" He thought.
Instead, he merely rose, a smile on his face.
"I have to fulfill my promise. Both for weapons and the Symbol of Power."
He had acquired the perfect materials. One that remained at his old home, and one that the three cyclopes introduced him to. A material referred to as a primal stone. Impossibly rare orbs that were born from Ley lines deeply entrenched in specific ideas. Two had been found and both had been given to him. One came directly from Brontes, a tribute to him for the knowledge he had bestowed and the restoration of his sight. He rejected the offer at first but was quickly scolded, SCOLDED, by the elder Cyclops.
Honestly, it was like a grandpa scolding their grandkid for trying to be respectful in rejecting a gift. To prove a point, he searched through the oceans, using the Structural Analysis spell on a massive scale to eventually find it.
He returned, intent on giving Brontes his treasure back. All he got in response was being ignored by him. Every other moment, Brontes treated him like the God he was, carefully and purposefully. But he could be unreasonably stubborn as well.
He absorbed the primal stone into his body, discovering why they were so rare to begin with. They were the discarded shards of primordial power, shed off from the source every so often. One he would use for Poseidon's trident, the other had taken root within him...it felt different than the other times though...almost like it had been repurposed instead of left alone.
It required investigation when he had ti-
"Nephew?"
He turned to her; his eyes wide. She had a beautiful smile on her face, mistaking his absent-mindedness for studying at her home. The proud smile echoed in her words.
"I know, my work is excellent. I wish Poseidon would appreciate as you do."
...Roll with it.
"Your home is beautiful," admitted Hephaestus freely, "it's given me ideas regarding Poseidon's symbol."
She blinked.
"Truly?"
"Yes. I hope to request some of this material for that use specifically."
He was laying it on thick, but the truth was that it didn't matter what he used as a base. He may have been playing along, but the fact remained that the stones that made up this palace were more akin to coral and were incredibly dense in divine energy. Not to mention the aesthetic quality and the richness of the sea within them.
The form of something wasn't that important, not for the type of smithing he performed. The qualities of its nature were what mattered.
Besides, he hoped the flattery would assist him in some way. Better to be thought of as an airhead focused on her art than someone spacing out for no reason. She merely smiled at him, swimming ahead at a faster speed. He cleared his throat, making sure to keep pace as best as he could. He wasn't exactly suited for underwater movement if one were to compare.
"You took some time," discussed Amphitrite.
"I did, yes?"
She led him to the now-closed doorway. A massive set of double doors. There was nothing obtuse about it, it was just made of solid black stone, heavy and intense. Amphitrite hesitated. She turned her head, her hair caressing her back and curling around her rear.
"...be careful."
...Well, that wasn't foreboding at all, was it? The doors opened. A torrent of ambient energy swirled and Hephaestus knew power. When one discussed the Big Three, there was always the whisper, about whether Zeus was truly the more powerful of the three. In this moment Hephaestus knew the answer. Zeus was...but it was not by insurmountable difference. Honestly, it was barely perceptible. But in a battle between Gods...that was all that was needed.
There was no aggression, merely stature. It was a reminder. Poseidon held himself differently as well. Before, he was relaxed but now he stood before him more seriously. His beard was not a mess, he was not late, and strangely enough, was adorned with a rich blue toga. The history of the clothes showed it had been weaved with a method unique to Amphitrite...that...he just...stole. Oops. He'll have to get her to teach him that, if able. It had loads of applications.
"Lord Poseidon," bowed Hephaestus.
Poseidon stood before him, nodding in turn.
"Lord Hephaestus. I've underestimated you. I will not do so again."
He had a feeling he knew what that was about. But he kept quiet.
"My arms?" asked Poseidon.
The Lord of the Seas flowed from his throne, his entire ensemble and beard made it seem he was ethereal, even in human form. The somber attitude was a stark difference from just over a week ago.
"I have taught three of your craftsmen the means to produce weapons of greater quality than Skilros can achieve. They will be unbreakable to mundane threats, capable of withstanding great pressure."
Poseidon stared at him stoically.
"I believe I asked you, specifically?"
Hephaestus responded without hesitation.
"Perhaps, but there was no agreement."
Poseidon raised an eyebrow. Then his eyes widened as realization struck him.
"I've taught these Cyclopes for your benefit, and because you asked for an improvement in your arms. Now, their skills will develop, and your armies will benefit."
For a moment, the seas churned violently. Amphitrite moved between him and Poseidon. The God of the Seas blinked, giving his wife a mirthful smile. The seas stilled and Poseidon let a breath release. The room turned outright frigid at the action.
"I heard about your debacle with Hecate," admitted Poseidon, "this is my fault for trying to swindle you nephew."
He smirked even more at his wife, the more distinctly uncomfortable expression giving Hephaestus pause. What was going on here? Suddenly, he was wrapped up in a shoulder hug by Poseidon, his grin slowly growing. The sea becoming slightly warmer.
"I should have figured! Hera was always better at statecraft or whatever she called it! Stands to reason you're more like her than your dull brother!"
Vocally, it was all jovial, but the slight malice underneath was apparent to Hephaestus. A small way to get a stab in. Hera was not one for hiding her...displeasure.
He felt in that moment, Poseidon's true nature. He was pissed...but he wouldn't lash out at him. As he mentioned, he had set himself up for this, assuming Hephaestus would do something stupid to bind his service even further to his uncle. To get swindled out even more. There was joy as much as anger. Pride as much as hate.
God, this was exhausting. It was difficult to hate a man who wore his emotions so clearly. Say what you will about the Lord of the Seas, but where you stood with him was always clear. Poseidon's mood went even brighter. He noticed that Amphitrite was glowing, rather, some parts of her were. It was like looking at a bioluminescence fish. Was this the normal means of communication in the seas?
"Yes, yes, don't worry. I won't take up more of his time."
He looked at Hephaestus with a knowing grin, shaking his head. If there was an inside joke going on, he didn't know what it was. Poseidon dragged them out of the palace, shifting the water to bring him closer to his original home.
"So, you're finally ready to create my trident!"
Hephaestus nodded.
"I just needed the components and the form. I should be done within the day."
Poseidon held his hand out. The blood of a God was an incredibly potent mystical regent. And said blood slowly pooled from Poseidon's fingers, maintained in a shroud of water. It was like a golden orb, about the size of a baseball.
"This should suffice."
Hephaestus turned to his old home; the three Cyclopes already gone. It was strange, he wasn't gone that long. Was he?
"I'll be checking in on the progress of my cyclopes. I expect you to be hard at work as well, Nephew."
Considering the lazier nature of Gods in general, it was a fair critique for someone who didn't know him. So, the moment he left, Hephaestus began to move. It was easy enough to procure the stone he was discussing with Amphitrite. He had come across a sample during the time he was locating a primal stone. The core of the metal would be Celestial Bronze, though of a far more potent variant than some would be accustomed to. Forging beneath the ocean would be a pain though.
So, he moved it.
The ocean began to expand and move in a circular motion. Willing the water to move as he wanted was beyond his abilities. Expanding his divinity outward to push the water away was not far off the mark though, especially when the Lord of the Sea didn't fight you on the matter.
The stone beneath him began to quake as he approached the first anvil he had created in his life. Then he absently gripped his side, a hammer fizzling into being. It was a decent thing, formed entirely from his divinity. It would do the job he needed it for. His symbol of power would be last, to ensure that when he needed to reforge them all again for a more modern age, it ensured they would undoubtedly be more powerful.
Still, no matter how well the hammer fit in his grip, it never seemed to fit just right. He looked above, the water far enough to do what he needed. He took a single breath, and there was fire. Ifrit screeched out from his inner world, ablaze in a blue fire. The materials were ready and the form was set. It was time to get to work.
He knew not how long he was at it and he didn't care. Time lost all meaning in this beautiful state, the euphoria of feeling like he was doing exactly what he was born to do was sweet beyond measure. The hammer fell, like a singular drum. His ears twitched as he heard something, a rumbling from the Cyclopes.
The song of the forge. Their hammers fell as his own did, their voices ringing out. It was...enthralling. Soon, even he joined. His voice was sweet, deep like thunder, with a growl like fire itself. He felt it. In that moment. Just like everything else he did.
Every action.
CLANG!
Thought.
CLANG!
Emotion.
CLANG!
He thought he had invested all he could into his forging. That he only restricted himself to the basics of his divinity. Yet today he learned. There was another action he could add to his forging. His voice. The song of those around him echoed in the flames surrounding him, his body a pyre for the innovation he embodied.
He could feel a presence waiting at the edge of the water. It felt familiar...it would seem Amphitrite was watching. The toga he wore burned away; the cloth too weak to withstand his fire. His eyes were glazed over, dull, lost in the machinations, in the song. The words were clear and yet seemed to spread beyond mere language.
They say names have power. Their power derived from the very being they called upon. But the words of a God carried its own power. His voice was a material in and of itself now, granting him even smoother access to this state of calm.
But like all songs, even his must end. The blood of Poseidon rippled out, swirling into the black stony trident. The blades sharpened to an impossible edge. The once black, coral-like lattice became gold in color. The blood of Poseidon created a metallic sheen for the coralesque weapon. Edges were smoothed over. And the powerful weapon transcended beyond its form.
A Symbol of Power, of the Seas, has been born. The Second of the Big Three have achieved their weapon...though Hades was likely to be a process to complete. He wanted to make sure that Hades was next on the list to be completed, before moving on to Demeter, Hestia, and–
"Is this it!"
He blinked, watching Poseidon go through the torrent of his flames as if he were just out for a walk. The fire sputtered out, leaving the weapon to shine under its lord's gaze. He grasped the trident and Hephaestus removed his grip. It was a beautiful sheen of gold, but it shimmered like the surface of water in Poseidon's grip.
He swerved the trident lightly to the left, the sea lightly swerving. He slashed to the right, the water beginning to bubble and tear at his command. He ceased every action, trailing his finger across the gilded body.
"...it's beautiful." The Lord of the Seas whispered.
The sea-green eyes of Poseidon glowed with divinity, investing everything into the weapon. The proud smile only grew wider. The trident was as wild as he was it seemed. To him, the trident seemed to be egging him on, almost demanding to be put to the test.
Pure pride, and what could only be the love of an uncle, shone in Poseidon's gaze.
"You've done well Nephew. Consider any grievance between us moot!"
Hephaestus' face went stony upon hearing that. There was a grievance?
"I'll make sure to put in a good word for you with Hades, so...bye!"
He blinked, watching the father of horses simply rush out. The water crashed into him, his divinity no longer pushing it away. It covered his eyes and threatened to put him and Ifrit under. Luckily for Ifrit, she had already dispersed into his reality marble. He himself was not so lucky, though thankfully he was not swept away in the torrent. He felt the pull of the sea as it kept him in place. He gave a casual smirk and a thankful bow once the water settled around him.
"Thank you, Lady–"
His voice stopped, for the sight before him was not Amphitrite. Her hair was a shade of blue, unnatural to man. Her eyes shone with an azure purity no gemstone could match. Her body was like any goddess, a sight any man would lust for. Though, hers was quite impossible for Hephaestus to want for himself.
Mainly, because this was Thetis. His adoptive mother.
"...Lady Thetis," he murmured, bowing once more.
"...Hephaestus?"
She grasped his head as if she had the history to do so. The grasp was motherly as she raised his face. She blinked, trailing down his body. Her eyes shone with confusion. But it was the regret that Hephaestus couldn't see.
"What...happened to you?"
He remained silent. He did not feel the crushing weight of rejection like he did with Hera. There was no hate here, no aggression. She had saved him long ago. Would he have preferred to be loved and raised by her? Perhaps. But that was not her responsibility, nor her inclination.
...or quite simply, perhaps time had made him dull to it all. But regardless, he owed her. She deserved that respect, at least.
"My lady," intoned Hephaestus, "how can I assist you?"
She blinked, balking at his formal tone. Was this the angry child that she had seen? The one who had burned with fire so bright it was near blinding? A fire of hate had burned in that boy something fierce. Yet, the flame burned strong and steady, the hate she thought fueled him absent. His face...his body...his expression was languid. And filled with nothing but respect.
Don't look at her like that. She could handle distrust. Hate...anything but that. She could feel the guilt eat at her, the self-hate. But the vision of her son...she would do anything to keep him alive. The idea that her boy would live only a short two decades was a tragedy! One that she needed to avert no matter the cost. But the words she struggled to open with, just never came. Hephaestus' calm expression struck her deeper than a snarl ever could. They stood in silence for what seemed like hours. Then, the words he spoke, struck her hollow.
"...I take it you're here for Achilles?"
He said it so simply. As if he always knew. She could feel the irises of her human guise shrink to near pinpricks of sharpened lead. If breathing had been a necessity for her, then she would have been heaving in this moment.
"Prophecy is a strange thing," muttered Hephaestus.
"How?" she managed to croak out.
Hephaestus clasped her by the shoulder. The warmth brought her a sick sense of calm. As if to say she deserved it, somehow.
"The history I could gleam from you told me so."
It was bullshit, but Thetis didn't need to know...or rather she couldn't bring herself to know. The sensation of being weightless, like she had been struck beyond her shell...she was still ringing.
Thetis' gift for prophecy was limited, but visceral. She could experience and feel everything her future self could feel, the concept of the oceans waving back and forth between the primordial sea of time embodied within her. It was how she avoided every attempt Kronos made to...seize her. Well, that and her father's protection.
The ever-distant but nearing sight of her little Achilles...strengthened her...even if she hated herself for it.
"If you already know," she spoke tenderly, "then...is it possible?"
Hephaestus gave a smile. This...this was love. Not directed at him perhaps, but he couldn't bring himself to feel jealousy. In myth, Thetis watched her boy die in battle, unable to come between the more powerful Olympian gods. But there was a secondary truth as well. Achilles was destined to die...but what if he could prevent that? That was the biggest reason he was so invested in this, perhaps even the reason he was so calm about it. He had something to gain, something to confirm.
If he could avert the prophecy of Achilles, then fate was not all-powerful. If he could not...then he had just traded one collar for another, however accidental his existence was. He knew not how long he had before Achilles was born, but he was ready. The very design of his legs would become the shield that guards Achilles.
"I swear, on the Styx," intoned Hephaestus, "I will forge Achilles whatever he needs to survive."
He smiled, he meant for it to be kind as he gripped her shoulders. A mother like this deserved to have the life she wanted with her child.
"I promise you. Your true son will survive."
He meant it as an affirmation. He understood where they were standing and what it meant. He said it with all the kindness in his heart. A kindness that tore through Thetis like the poison of the Norse's World Serpent itself. Her face trembled.
He hugged her, a daring approach.
"He'll be safe," he swore.
She trembled, but it was not the happiness that Hephaestus assumed it was. When he separated from her, he merely nodded.
"Call for me, when your son is ready. For now...I'd rather like to get some rest. I've been here for too many days already."
He did not bid her leave. He did not invite her with him. While he had respect for her...she did not have his love. As he rose from the sea to his home, Thetis fell to her knees. To standard denizens of Poseidon's kingdom, the sea clamored with a mournful song, but to Poseidon and his family?
All they heard was Thetis' howl of self-hate, a sundering echo of loathing.
-Eight Minutes Later-
At times like this, Hephaestus desperately wished for a means of true teleportation. He had ideas for rigid transportation (like doors) but nothing so freeform as the Gods employed.
Nearing his destination, he noticed what the passage of time had done in his absence. The beach had been repaired. The creatures that lived nearby it had returned, or were at least replaced. As he walked through the water, the spirits within the beach clamored over him, their soft hands and giggles easing whatever little stress his muscles had endured beneath the ocean.
It was sweet if a little disconcerting. Yet, strangely enough, he could smell the scent of food being cooked. That being meat, in particular.
"Strange, I thought Kassandra was a vegetarian?"
He hopped onto the ground above, bypassing the newly laid path Kassandra must have made from the beach to the house. He nodded, smiling slightly at the now fully grown vegetables and fruits planted around his home. It was like walking through a fantastical forest and then happening upon a cottage in the woods. The image was only made funnier with the idea that Kassandra was, technically, a witch. She called herself a Bruuuuha, but Hephaestus was almost certain it was just Bruha. Then again, that was Spanish, wasn't it? It wouldn't even exist yet for a few millennia to come.
"Kassandra, are you here!" he called.
It took a moment and paranoid thought escaped him, the idea that Kassandra had been attacked again. Thankfully, she trotted from behind his house, her hair slightly disheveled.
"Heph! Welcome back!"
"Don't call me that," he muttered.
She merely grinned, though it was more of a wince.
"I…didn't think you'd be home so soon."
The tone did little to ease his nerves.
"What happened?" he demanded.
"Well...don't be mad!"
He reached for the door.
"Wait! Let me explain!"
The door opened...and he locked eyes with what had to be dozens of spirits, Satyrs, and humans. The food that was cooking in a pot over the fireplace was tended to by a haggard woman, who looked at him blankly. He towered over each of them, their expressions becoming frightful. He turned to Kassandra.
"...What happened?"
She breathed a sigh of relief.
"You're not mad that they're here?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"If their attire is anything to go by, they're not here for something pleasant."
She bit her lip, tapping her hoof.
"...Heph...we have to reinforce the barriers we have, as strong as we can make them."
"Kassandra, what has you so twisted up?"
She stared at him, a hollow hope blinking.
"I tried to call, but the divinity you were surrounded by didn't let me get through, but...oh the fates are looking out for me!"
She trotted a bit, almost jumping up and down.
"Kassandra!"
His raised voice had her focus on him.
"What's happening."
"...There are Titans on this island."
He blinked.
"...and? Not all Titans are-"
"Heph... it's Atlas."
...oh.
Well, Shit.
-END-
For those wondering, the inspiration for the forging song is the song done in Shangri-La Frontier. Look it up, if you want a general gist of the scene! Speaking of, hopefully, this one was to your liking! Usually in Arcane Craftsman, I would go into more detail in the forging (bullshit fantasy technique as they are), to talk more about the process. But I wasn't sure what you guys, the fans, wanted. So, I met in the middle here. Let me know what you guys want for the future chapters, more or less!
Hope you enjoyed!
Current Work Progress:
Fate/Clover: 3,200 Words (possible rewrite, word count not entirely accurate)
Supernatural Love: 4,600 words
Strawhat: 1,200 words
Kintsugi: 2,200 words (I LITERALLY CAN'T STOP! RAAAGGHHH!)
Possible Future Stories: Three more ideas will be posted with the next Supernatural Love chapter, with all final options (in addition to the final batch of new ones) being posted in Kintsugi's next chapter. Be warned, that chapter will have an inflated word count due to the story summaries!