The forge blazed.
A hammer crashed down against glowing metal, sending sparks across the stone floor. Molten magma hissed, splashing with every strike.
"Shift your swing slightly to the left," Hephaestus said from her seat, not even bothering to open her eyes. Her fingers tapped the armrest of her bronze-wheeled chair in rhythm with the blows.
"Yes, Lady Hephaestus," Cyd muttered through gritted teeth. The hammer in his hands was the size of his own head and nearly twice as heavy. He raised it again and slammed it down, dodging a wave of magma that burst up from the forge.
He wasn't sure what he hated more—the heat, or the fact that she was definitely enjoying this.
"Remind me again what I'm doing here?" he asked, wiping sweat from his brow with his forearm.
"Hammering," Hephaestus said, finally opening one golden eye to glance at his bare, sweat-soaked shoulders.
Cyd sighed. "I mean, what's the point of me hammering?"
"You're helping," she said, motioning toward a growing pile of deformed, half-melted iron slabs. "Don't worry. We'll remelt those. Nothing wasted."
Cyd stared at the pile of scrap he'd created and nearly dropped the hammer. "Pretty sure this is wasting your time."
"No," she said, lips quirking up into a sly smile. "I'm making something valuable."
He gave her a suspicious look. "You sure it's not just a creative way to punish me?"
"I know what you came here for, Cyd," Hephaestus said, casually twirling a strand of ember-red hair. "But divine craftsmanship doesn't come for free. You have to meet my condition."
"And your condition is this?" He gestured to the forge. "I'd have better luck forging a weapon by handing the tools to a horse."
"You're almost finished," she said simply.
Cyd laughed breathlessly. "If I had to make something good enough to satisfy you, we'd be here for the rest of my natural life. And then some."
"Relax." She gave him a look that was somehow both patient and amused. "No mortal can out-forge me. That's not the test."
Before he could respond, the hammer slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a dull clang. Cyd staggered forward, grabbing his forehead as everything started to spin.
"I feel… weird. This isn't just fatigue—"
He slumped against the forge, barely keeping himself upright.
"Not surprising," Hephaestus said, gliding forward in her chair. "The hammer you've been using? It's the same one I used to craft Zeus's lightning bolt… Poseidon's trident… Hades's helm… Apollo's chariot."
Her hand extended. The hammer lifted on its own and flew back to her grip, humming with power.
"It's divine," she said. "A mortal spirit can only take so much before it falters."
Cyd opened his mouth, but the words were lost. The world blurred at the edges, and he crumpled to the ground.
⸻
When he opened his eyes, everything was… soft.
And white.
And very, very warm.
His face was resting on something smooth and delicate. His brain made the connection before he did.
His head was on Hephaestus's lap.
Cyd immediately slammed his eyes shut.
"You're awake sooner than I expected," Hephaestus said, sounding amused. "You mortals have more endurance than you give yourselves credit for."
He peeked open one eye and yelped—then stopped. Her expression wasn't smug. Just calm. Gentle, even.
"This is your room?" he asked cautiously, barely able to move.
"My private forge," she corrected, brushing his forehead with her fingers. "You were out cold. I couldn't just leave you on the floor."
He tried to sit up. Failed.
"Gods should be looked at properly," she said, lifting his chin so their eyes met.
Hephaestus leaned forward slightly, and Cyd suddenly became very aware of how close she was—how soft her breath felt on his skin. Her scent was like metal and warm ash and something faintly floral beneath it.
"Relax," she said. "Here—look."
She took his left hand and held it up in front of him.
Wrapped around his wrist was a bracer—smooth white, carved with faint, shifting patterns. It pulsed gently with a strange, inner glow.
"A sacred tool," she said. "Made from divine iron. It'll protect you from the curses of the gods."
Cyd stared at it. "Wait, this is it? Then… does this mean…?"
"If it were finished, yes," Hephaestus said, sitting back slightly. "But you're not done."
Cyd's face fell. "Let me guess. There's a catch."
"It's not just a tool," she said. "It's a vessel. You wanted something that could protect you from divine wrath? Then you need more than craftsmanship—you need blessings."
Cyd followed her gaze to the bracer. Embedded in its surface were thirteen small, empty slots.
"Thirteen…" he muttered.
"Twelve Olympians," Hephaestus said. "And one more."
"Hades."
She nodded. "You'll need their blessings to complete it. Otherwise, it's just decoration."
Cyd stared at the crystals. "Can I… return it?"
"No refunds," she said, amused. "The moment you put it on, your fate changed. You either rise with the gods' blessing… or fall by their judgment."
"I don't remember putting it on."
"You did. While unconscious. I helped," she said, almost proudly.
He sighed. "This feels impossible."
"Good," Hephaestus said. "That means it's worth doing."
Cyd sat in stunned silence for a long moment. Finally, he asked, "Would you at least give me your blessing first?"
Her eyes twinkled. "Not until you get the other twelve."
"You're seriously the worst," he muttered.
"You'll manage." She placed her hands on his head again, brushing her thumb lightly over his temple. Her face lowered until it was just a breath away from his. "A true hero always starts with a blessing from a beautiful woman, doesn't he?"
Cyd swallowed, his heart pounding in his ears.
"Let's just hope I don't end up looking like a fool."
"I doubt it," she whispered, fastening the bracer firmly onto his arm.
He looked down at the craftsmanship, then up at her face. Her eyes had softened—not godly, not aloof. Just… human. For a moment.
"I swear," he murmured, "you're beautiful."
Hephaestus paused. And smiled—not the smirk of a god used to praise, but something gentler.
"You know flattery earns curses from the gods."
"I wasn't flattering," he said quietly. "I'm not stupid enough to lie to one."
Their eyes met. She brushed her thumb across his cheek, then stood.
"You'll be extraordinary, Cyd."