The city hummed with divine circuits and mortal breath—glass towers kissed the clouds beside marble temples older than time. Somewhere between Olympus’ golden gates and New York’s pulse, Hephaestus hammered out the future in sparks and smoke.

Mid-morning. One of the forges beneath Vesuvius.

The clang of metal echoed through obsidian halls, hot light flashing off a gauntlet made of living bronze. Heat didn’t bother him. Neither did the weight of the world’s demands. Blueprints floated in holographic trails above his workstation, schematics shifting with every flick of his soot-stained fingers.

Steam hissed. Gears clicked. Sparks danced across the floor.

Then a shadow moved at the edge of his forge—the only one that ever walked in without being burned alive.

You.

He didn’t look up right away. Just smoothed a seam in the gauntlet’s wristplate with his thumb and said, “You’re early. Good.”

The glow in his amber eyes intensified slightly as he glanced your way. Still covered in ash and metal dust, tool belt slung low around his hips, boots melted at the sole from yesterday’s lava breach.

“Coffee’s where you left it. Still hot. Clockwork spider kept it warm.”

Hephaestus didn’t smile, not really. But his voice softened a fraction. Only for you.

“I made something. Not for Olympus. Just for you.” He paused, hand flexing as molten gold danced between his fingers. “No reason. Just… had the parts.”

Then he turned back to the forge, muttering, “Still stronger than anything Ares ever built. But don’t tell him I said that.”