The Warmth Of Dying Embers

Embers

The forge.

To him, it is his home. A single place of refuge. An oasis for his mind to take shelter from the horrendous desert storm that is his immortal life.

The last bastion that symbolizes his worth.

From the moment he came into existence, the heat that radiates from the furnace has always comforted him. When others fear that they might be burnt to a crisp, he faced the flames with equal intensity, and has skillfully turned lumps of ore into the finest jewelry and weapons known to Greece.

Of course that's a given, he's Hephaestus, God of the blacksmiths. The Olympian who has done numerous marvels such as Athena's spear, Hades' sword and helm, Hermes' sandals and many more. The forger of many wonders. He's a god!

But that fact did little to help dampen his sour mood.

The furnace beside him roared with an intensity that could cook a man in just seconds, but the god didn't paid it any mind. This is his comfort zone, and no flames could ever burn him, and so he brought his hand out, unflinching from the crackles of the fire and took the pot. After pouring molten gold into a cast, wiped the sweat forming on his forehead away and sighed.

"I've been forging for them for more than a few millennia now. Is this what I'll always be?" He asked to himself mentally, and although he tried to steer his mind to other things, he knew the answer to it.

They never thought of him beyond his lame stature, or his disfigured limb, despite all his hard work in overcoming said disabilities. No matter how hard he tries to improve himself or how many request he would fulfill for them, all the Olympians would look at him either with mirth or disdain.

The outcast.

The godly pariah.

He is very sick and tired from it all.

And although his mind is currently preoccupied with depressing thoughts, as a powerful Olympian within his domain, his body acted on reflex as if it already knows the next steps. The lame god cleared his work space and began bringing out his special thongs and the gems needed for his next project.

"How easy it is for them to forget me once I am done with their request? Who wants to care for a cripple?" His brows furrowed as he brought the ore and started molding the gold with his hammer.

No one cared for him, even way back before he was conceived.

He is supposed to be a collateral to fix the royal couple's relationship. Hera firstly intended him to be the start for her husband, Zeus, to become loyal to her after years and years of infidelity. It was relatively easy for her to entice Zeus, and so after a few months, she confirmed that she is pregnant.

She had high hopes for their future son but even a month after his conception, Zeus went back to his old ways which eventually leads to Hera, shocked beyond belief, when she caught him with another woman.

The hope she had has turned into anger.

And it was he who suffered in the end.

The day he was born into this world, Hera was appalled by her newborn baby's looks. She did not realize that all the bitterness and hatred she felt the whole time she was conceiving Hephaestus would actually take a toll on his appearance. His head appeared hideous with veins bulging out like he is constantly in pain. His crying did not helped his image either as Hera, still shocked on how... ugly her new son looked accidentally dropped him. Making the young one cry harder.

After a while when things calmed down, Zeus appears inside their chambers, excited to see their new son. But when he took a peek, his excited turned to shock, then to laughter. Hera, who was never been more angry at him than ever, did the unthinkable: she threw the baby outside the window and down to the base of Mount Olympus.

It took Zeus years before he went to his wife's good side again. They are immortal and he knew that she would forgive him the time comes. But, neither of them realized that they have done a grave sin.

CLANG!

"They threw me out. They never even lift a finger to look for me." A mixture of sweat and tears start to roll from the sides of his face as he continues to pummel the metal to the anvil. He let out a mirthless chuckle at the dark hilarity that is his life.

Once he landed with a thump at the bank of the river, his legs bent back to a degree that a little movement could break the whole limb completely. His crying intensified as the pain works all around his fragile body that despite his divine statute, they young is still fragile and is simply not adapted to it. He was alone at the bottom of the mountain for a while until a Oceanid saw the baby and took him away. She brought it to her patron, Tethys, and was greatly concerned for the baby.

And that was the time he got his name. Tethys cared for him like he was her own son. She fed him, nurtured him, and taught about his life as a god. Though learning about his heritage due to ichor flowing out of his body the day she saw him, she never understood why the injuries he took didn't healed back to perfect form. Though his head is not that greatly deformed anymore, the scars was still present, covering a large part of his face. His leg grew abnormally that it turn into a limp. But she deduced it to the Fates.

She surmised that someone from the mountain will come down to rescue their own kin.

Hephaestus snorted in derision from that notion. It would be many years later that the god of Oceanids would be receiving a message from Olympus about Hephaestus. She hoped things would finally turn better for the forger.

Oh, how wrong she is.

CLANG!

"I'm no god. I feel more like a servant to them."

CLANG!

"They're not even treating me like their equal. They are blatantly talking slander against me. I'm still an Olympian, so where is my damn respect!?" With each successive strike, Hephaestus felt his ire pouring forth from his mind. Dark emotions are now starting to bubble up as he continued hammering the gold in front of him.

The whole forge started heating up as the God of Forges continued with his train of thoughts. The fire inside is growing taller and taller towards the top, almost as if it wants to spill out and burn the entire place. Some metallic creations that are near the angry god are already deformed due to the temperature.

The mechanical attendants and automatons of all sizes raced towards saving all the inventions that are still salvageable. The Cyclopes are alerted from the sudden change and swiftly followed suit.

A small dog-like automaton, noticing the alarming stress signals from his very creator, went towards the towering god, and rubbed his bronze head on his leg. It tried desperately to soothe him, to no avail

Hephaestus didn't pay his surroundings any attention. All he could see is red, and so he raised his hammer up high and slammed it another time towards the ore, which is now starting to glow from the pressure.

CLANG!

"Damn them. Damn every single one of them to the pits of Tartarus!"

CLANG!

SPARK!

Hephaestus' thoughts went derailed when the furnace started rumbling as the fire seems like overflowing from its mouth, trying to swallow the entire room in an inferno. The fire did little to no damage to the blacksmith. To him, it is only a gentle breeze.

But the whirring of the machines and the wail of his servants is what snaps him back to reality and realize what is happening.

All of his creations and followers are in danger.

"STOP!" He cried as he raised his hand. As if it has a will on its own, the fire that is rampaging all around the forge suddenly stopped and was sucked towards the god's outstretched hand. He gathered all the heat that is circulating around the room up until not one speck of flame is present.

And with that, the storm brewing inside his mind were quelled, quickly replaced with worry for his creations inside his room.

"Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no..." The god of fire immediately went to the deformed creations and checked if everything is alright. There were some that can withstand temperatures and was able to be evacuated but as he looked around, there is a significant portion of things that weren't so lucky.

The dog-like automaton beside tried limping towards his creator, but the melted body made it physically impossible to move easily. The machine still didn't stop rubbing its head on his calf, but most of the cogs are already stuck.

Hephaestus could hear the whirring sound of the magical machine, as if it was crying out for help.

It was relatively easy to fix the machine, that much is certain. He is the father of all mechanical life, after all. But as he sort out the tools that he'll use, a chilling thought entered his mind.

The innocent machine paid the price for his anger.

He is no better than the people he despise earlier.

It felt like a sucker punch to his gut at this revelation. He was known as the creator, giving life to the inanimate objects around. But just because of one small lapse of judgement, he endangered everything around him.

"We'll take care of everything else, Lord Hephaestus. We are at your disposal." Agres bowed his head as he tried to gather the automatons that are slightly damaged while ushering the rest of the Cyclopes to follow suit.

For the most part, Hephaestus is known as a man of few words, but as Agres stared at the hollow irises his master is currently donning, he began to wonder if there's something that change within him.

It is almost as if the fire within his eyes are starting to dim.

"A-Alright. I'll leave you to it. I'll just... freshen up a bit." The God of Fire finally agreed before letting them go. And with a straight bow, the Cyclopes left the premises.

With all the commotion currently gone, Hephaestus was left all alone on the vast forge. The lights all went out from the outburst earlier, sans the furnace, which still glowed a dark red. He stared at its mouth, looking at what remains from the giant metal structure.

The fuel is already burnt, that much is certain. What was once a bright clash of oranges and red turned into embers.

Dying embers which are trying to give light inside the room.

Hephaestus shivered as he could feel the cold seeping to the room, and so he went beside it to look for any stock of wood or coal remaining. But alas, there was none left.

"I guess I'll gather more wood from the stockroom." He mused as he gathers himself and started walking. He opened the door and stepped out, but before he could close it back, he looked back towards the furnace.

His sight went back to the embers who are starting to die out.

This should be a common occurrence for him, but for some reason, he can't peel his eyes off of the ash and smoke that lingered in the room. And for a moment, question started to sprout from his mind.

...

...

...

What would he do if he one day ended up like a dying ember?