Hephaestus's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Hephaestus limped past the cold anvils of his golden forge, his mechanical legs ticking against the stone. The cyclops had gone silent, waiting at their stations for an order he had not given in days. He wanted one thing now: a blade so perfect his mother would kneel and beg for what she had thrown away. In the corner sat the heap of his failures. Bronze hilts, cracked gold fullers, half-finished blades dulled with ash. Each one had been close. None had been worthy of Hera. He unrolled the new blueprint across the workbench. A curved blade of polished steel. Gold runes along the fuller. A grip wrapped in deep blue. He traced the lines with a soot-stained finger and felt something settle in his chest. This was the design. He could see it finished, glowing in his hands. He could see her face when she saw it. He lifted his hammer from its resting hook. The cyclops stirred, lifting their heads. Hephaestus set the blueprint where they could all read it and struck the anvil once, sharp and clean. "We begin tonight," he said. The forge roared back to life.