Kitsugi Prologue: The cripple who is whole.
CLANG.
All of existence, at one point or another, struggled to answer a single question.
CLANG.
A simple enough question really. Nothing unusual about it.
CLANG.
It did not ask of the on high the secrets of the universe.
CLANG.
It did not ask the make of sound or color.
CLANG.
It was simple, short, and sweet.
CLANG.
Why was I born? What was my purpose. Why…am I here?
CLANG.
For many, that was an answer that they strove to discover throughout the rest of their lives. For others, it was a question whose answer defined their life.
CLANG.
Mortals only had so much time, so their rush was understandable.
CLANG.
But a God was different. They were immortal and ageless. The concept of time held little meaning. Their very existence was defined from the very beginning. They knew precisely what they were, precisely what they represented.
CLANG! CRUNCH! CLANG.
But he was different beyond even the gods, very much so in comparison to their perceived perfection. Hephaestus was simply the God that should not have been born.
CLANG!
This was not a statement born from a deep-seated depression, or a disgust of the self. It was merely a fact. A genuine one. All gods, no matter their origin, were formed from a spark, a core!
CLANG.
The shape, color, design, and even make of the core itself was always unique to the God in question. Some could argue that it was the equivalent of the soul for the divine. But it was always perfect…or at the very least free of any imperfections. A god could not live any other way. Their forms, power, even their ability to heal was all derived from that core state. They were polymorphic entities, beings made of pure "energy", though not of the energy known to man.
To alter that state was to damage them. Kronos was a brilliant example. He had been shattered, bruised, and eviscerated to the point his core became a brittle twisted thing. Barely able to form any strength because of it, not to mention his broken pieces were spread across Tartarus. So, when one such as he was born…it was a given. To even see an imperfect core within a child was impossible, because the child could not be born from such a thing. It was like fire without fuel. A child of divine origins could not survive without a stable core, any injuries sustained to it would result in their immediate death. It was why divine children grew so quickly and were sheltered so thoroughly. He shouldn't be alive, for nothing should have formed from his barren broken core.
CRUNCH!
…and yet here he was. Thrown away simply because he was different. He was the impossible made possible.
The metal of his hammer screeched at the pressure of his grip. Hephaestus, as one would imagine, was not the healthiest god around. Unlike the other gods, Hephaestus could not take a non-corporeal form. He was solid. A human form was his default state, any other form required concentration to maintain. Yet, such a form came with its own problems. His back ached and his shoulders could never rotate fully. His lungs burned whenever he breathed, his legs a malformed twisted amalgamation of flesh, and his face…well. To call his face a walking bruise was giving bruises credit. There was no other way to describe it. He was, even by human standards, ugly. He knew that. He knew all of that…but even so he wouldn't buckle…he would not yield to the hand destiny had seen to give him. He would bring down the woman that made him suffer, if nothing else! The woman who had abandoned him! The woman who decided it was alright to do the impossible and then toss him aside when he wasn't to her standard.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
He hit the throne he was building with as much strength as his twisted body could handle. Considering the fluctuations the sea around him tremored from, it was substantial. Secluded in his underwater forge, the God worked his master plan. Yet, he fell for his guilty pleasure, of the contentment that came with wallowing in his strife. He imagined it, the idea of the imperial Goddess reduced to a trapped and helpless woman. Her façade of perfection stripped with a vengeance that would taste oh so sweet. He should have known even that slight reprieve was too much to ask for in this life. He struck a little too hard at just the right angle. A shard, more a sliver, shot off his grand creation and pierced him through the chest. If this was any other divine metal, it wouldn't have stung nearly as badly, but the truth was that this was an original metal of his own creation. Potent enough to restrict the core of the gods.
By proxy, this also implied its ability to do harm to said cores…as Hephaestus could attest. He coughed, a bright crimson flowing from his chest. He screwed his eyes shut at the sight, a permanent reminder of just how far his imperfections ran. He couldn't even bleed right for chaos's sake. He held his hand over his chest, concentrating on his core. Due to its fragmented nature, the process of healing was a more involved process. It was akin to a computer program, a series of steps that needed to be completed for the operation to execute. Because his core was…the way it was, his divinity instinctively sought out its "missing parts", as if he was incomplete, rather than a disgusting mess. It always-
"URK!"
Something just shot inside of him, something mortal…something powerful. It melded with such ease that Hephaestus couldn't stop it even if he wanted to. His mind exploded as his existence melded with the fragments. He roared as he bled from the eyes, his core twisting and churning with his broken flesh, the skin bubbling and cracking. The water began to boil from the surge of heat that escaped him. His inner fire, the one source of pride that he had as a God. None among the Olympians could compete against the heat he could generate, not even Helios. Because of this Hephaestus never let it release under any circumstances, for fear of the damage it could do to the environment around him.
Cracks lined his body, spewing a blue fire that burned with otherworldly energy. Was it hours? Days? He couldn't tell. His body was still twisting in a painful attempt to realign with his core. His mind was no better, living each new experience within him at a rapid pace. Shirou Emiya…no…this…he…they…they…he was not that man anymore. They, he, cast that name aside. He remembered the fire, of a promise given to a man that inspired him…dear gods, he remembered a father. A school? A battle between figures of legend. A life lived in the service of others, enforcing his justice across his short-lived life…only to be chained forevermore after death. He began to despise his dreams, despise himself. He wanted to end it, to die…even nonexistence was preferable to the complete desecration of the dream he carried. No….perhaps it was more simple than that. He had lost all autonomy. What semblance of free will he retained was merely the choice of how to execute the mission given…rather than reject or accept the mission itself. He could gripe all he wanted to, but in the end, he acquitted to the will of Alaya. Even if he agreed with the will of humanity, how was he to know that agreement was even his, and not some form of subtle brainwashing or something.
Hundreds and thousands of repetitions, millions of missions, trillions of years. It would have destroyed any sane mind…but the man he was…he was anything but sane…he was anything but WEAK. Eventually in the sea of memories, Hephaestus endured his final memory. The final mission…Chaldea. For most Heroic spirits it was another day to live outside the throne and be heroes once more. For Hephaestus, it was a never-ending loop that allowed him the greatest expression of freedom in his unending existence. It was like a time loop. Each iteration of the Chaldea missions he completed; he was resummoned to a different time with similar parameters. As usual there was a strong memory block at first, subtle mental reminders not to discuss his previous summonings, but it was Chaldea all the same. Some were identical, others so vastly different it was a joke to refer to it as Chaldea. Chaldea was…it was perfect. It was here he was honed to the peak of his power. His saint graph evolved to his complete state. Here, he was summoned to a loss belt where the Greek Gods were machines…wait…what?
"ABSURD!"
The word echoed through the chambers with the force of a missile. The water shuddered at the force he was now able to exert, the memories settling. His eyes opened and his body settled. He looked at his unmarred hands. His muscular arms. He could rotate his upper body completely, his lungs comfortable even without air. He was an existence not too dissimilar to Gilgamesh of his memory, a man more akin to a God than a mere mortal, but still a physical being rather than a spiritual one. They were not the same, but the comparison was the closest that he could make. Hephaestus looked down at his legs. They were still marred and twisted. More muscular perhaps, but still marred beyond use. A remnant of his birth perhaps. What he once looked at with revulsion was now…indifference.
"Interesting," he whispered, touching his face and feeling his leg as he floated in his underwater forge. There was a human saying that he…remembered. Time healed all wounds. In the last few moments, he had lived countless lifetimes. They say with age came wisdom…but Hephaestus was wise enough to know that it was not with age that wisdom was born...but rather with mistakes was wisdom forged. By that logic, he must be the wisest to have ever lived with the mountain of mistakes that were perpetrated by his hand. There was no we, no concept of me or you. This…fusion was so utter and complete that Hephaestus was certain. His concept of self had overtaken the one known as EMIYA…but that did not mean that EMIYA was consumed. Rather, it was merely that Hephaestus divine core was too great for EMIYA to overwhelm, and EMIYA was too powerful to be destroyed. If EMIYA's spirit core was non-compatible then this would be a different story. However, their level of synchrony was nothing short of miraculous. Their compatibility was perfect, resulting in his core becoming a solution, rather than a mechanical mixture. A Pseudo Servant…yes…that was the closest that he could call what he had become. An existence like the one once known as Mash.
Changed forever by the spirit within…but that too would imply there was a spirit…a second other. There was no such existence within him. He was complete, one and true. He looked towards the throne…it was once so sweet the idea of his vengeance…he destroyed it without a second thought. He had been a slave to his ideals, a slave to a higher power, he would not be a slave to his vengeance. To the other him that had lived…he promised this much.
He would not bend the knee…no matter who it was. The stories of the gods across the various heroes were useless here. His old world was too different, too…distinct to allow the mistake of following his weapons history to a t to dictate his actions. Come what may, he would suffer the consequences of the choices he makes and the responsibility for them. His hammer was cool to the touch, fitting perfectly into his non calloused hand. He glared at it, detesting this new untested flesh. As a true God, he could in theory simply will callouses on his hand. Yet, the polymorphic power that came as naturally as breathing to Gods was not his to command.
Much like this other self, Hephaestus was geared to specific abilities, tied to his domains. In this case, the ability to create. The walls around his forge cracked with the weakened power of their sigils, he sighed at the idea of how to fix such things, as the creation of his forge was done by the Cyclops and their brethren. While his power surpassed the cyclops collectively, his knowledge was lacking. Gods were geared towards a singular or collection of concepts. Anything within that domain, a God could learn instantly and quickly. However, that did not mean they were talented. Oh no, it went beyond that. With a miniscule amount of effort, a God can learn their domains, improving and enhancing it with something as simple as a breath. They embodied it, are an aspect of it, the concept itself interwoven into their very existence. But that was the catch. They did not improve in the absence of effort, merely in the barest application of it. It was like dealing with a savant. They were, without question, otherworldly in the means of their skillset…but if they did nothing with it, someone with effort would surpass them. It was difficult, mostly impossible for the vast majority, but it was technically doable.
It was something that had happened to Athena, in a world beyond this one. Arachne, a woman from ancient Greece, had surpassed some variant of Athena in weaving. This was not because she was, somehow, more talented. No, it was because Athena rarely entertained her craftsman aspect and instead adhered almost stringently to her aspects of war and strategy. As such, the effort and talent of Arachne surpassed that of the Goddess. The sad truth was that it was barely a win. A little trick that allowed Arachne to apply new patterns and weaves that Athena did not know was what allowed her the victory in truth. The myth of that world portrayed the Goddess having lost handily in most variants of the story; the truth was that it was far closer than humans likely wanted to portray. In the very end, Athena had outstripped Arachne of her skill, showing a second round to display as such. Using her loss to fuel greater inspiration and skill growth, she leaped far beyond Arachne. She cursed the woman than for her Hubris. Hephaestus would not fall short of the same lesson that Athena failed to learn.
He would not be so arrogant to assume that he somehow had surpassed the centuries of knowledge the Cyclops had amassed…wait. Hephaestus closed his eyes and felt within himself. In his core, was a world filled with blades and weapons. Their history carried the knowledge of thousands, perhaps even millions of craftsmen of both the current age and beyond. He tried analyzing a weapon. It was a sword, made in the Mesopotamian era. Their resident god crafted the blade…the history of it absorbed into his consciousness. EMIYA could not retain the knowledge and history of his blades continuously. It was simply too much for a mortal's brain to handle, Heroic spirit or otherwise.
Hephaestus was different. He didn't know how long he was there, but he had relieved the entirety of that experience crafting that blade. He looked at his hand, feeling within it the ability to reenact that entire experience at will without recalling the blade itself. All that skill and knowledge at the tip of his fingers…ready to be used and twisted to whatever he needed it to be. Two things struck him at that moment. The first was that he needed to disappear, at least for a while. He needed to ensure that he had an absolute understanding of what had just happened to him and what he was now capable of. He didn't want to pressure or strong armed into making something that he wasn't fully prepared for. This was the age of Gods and Hephaestus, while strong, was by no means the pinnacle of divine power.
Second, he had knowledge. Suddenly a thirst washed over him. A drive to experiment and hone his skillset. As EMIYA, he felt no pride in his creations. They were, after all, mere copies. They were tools for a greater purpose…and even that purpose was nothing more than a hollowed-out sham. A Faker was an appropriate title for what he was. Yet…this feeling spread from within with such warmth and fever that he could be swept away in a second if he let it. It was…to call it satisfying was not accurate. No…this is what it must feel like to be whole. He…he needed to leave. The nature of his experiments would attract the attention of the divine. The creations he wanted to make would certainly bring him to the doorsteps of Olympus…a consequence that the god wanted very little of. To be an Olympian would not be the worst thing…but at the same time he had utter freedom as a nameless smith. No…he needed to leave and find a secluded enough place that he would be unbothered for the most part. If he didn't…this feeling would overtake him, and he would start right here and now. This…reality marble was effectively a portable forge. The very nature of it lending itself well to a mostly spiritual existence as he was now.
But the Gods were not blind, nor stupid. While the use of a reality marble was mostly undetectable to mages, the divine would sense his encroaching reality upon theirs in seconds. For a moment, the thought of the Nymph that raised him echoed through Hephaestus head…but it was a thought that was only brief. She had not seen him in eight years now. He was effectively twelve years old in human terms when she left him here, in the hands of the Cyclops. One would think that the broken God would find some comradery with the Cyclops, considering their similar reputations and comparisons in appearance…but no. The Cyclops merely looked at him with disdain, one that he now understood. The idea that someone could simply learn what they did in mere moments…was probably a betrayal of their own efforts.
No…the Nymph known as Thetis had ample opportunity to show motherly affection. Thetis was famous for her slight precognitive abilities. That and the judgement of fates is what pushed Thetis to dip her son into the river stix. He didn't know what kind of relationship Thetis had with the fates, but it was enough to at least challenge her son's destiny. There was a genuine possibility that Thetis only raised him as a means of procuring protection for her sons' ankle. A complete stretch by any logical measure but considering the beings that he was dealing with here, an all too genuine possibility. She had the means to communicate with him, so he would leave the ball in her court so to speak. The Cyclops were much the same, in the regard that Hephaestus felt little for leaving them. Yes…it was time to leave!
His legs barely functioned as they should, but the power of a God was not merely within one's flesh. With an application of pure divine power, Hephaestus shot forth from his forge, taking with him every tool and power held therein. He was not as fast as an ocean nymph, but he was more than sufficient to travel through the ocean. But as he left, he did not notice the strangeness that overtook the domain of Poseidon. The great God of the sea stiffened as he felt a surge of divine might. He stared in the distance, his sea green eyes glowing as they narrowed in the general direction of Hephaestus. For a moment the god lifted his hand to destroy the interloper…but stopped. The being was leaving, and the feel of their power held no malicious intent. There was little point in starting a feud for something so small. Still, the memory of a God was not something to be underestimated. As he forced himself through the ocean, Hephaestus felt for the first time utterly free. His first goal…to find a place secluded from the Gods…a place that was far easier said than done.
Chapter One: A Place called Home.
Her name was Calliope. Her two children, Agatha and Adamantious, followed behind her in a stricken haste. Their cloths were disheveled and torn, their skin dirtied and cut. Their village had just been destroyed and her husband died fending off the bandits that attacked it. To say that their day was going horribly was sufficient, to say the least. They had retreated into the forests at night, a death sentence. But she would rather her family die here at the hands of nature than at the hands of men. There were fates worse than death. But…if there was even a sliver of a chance that they could live…if even a sliver of that! She would take it. Her dry eyes began to well up again, at the thought of her family. Her husband was a drunk bastard, complained daily about his pains, and did little to show her love and affection.
He always had something negative to say about her and her daughter. She never gave him enough sons, as he was too keen to point out. Then the fucking bastard gave her clothes, food, and a small dagger when they heard the others screaming. He rushed back from the forge, throwing their children at her. He told her to run, take the children, that he would remain behind. She remembered looking back, seeing him speared through the chest but still roaring and slashing at the bandits that surrounded him. As the trees began to block their vision, she still saw him moving…or at least she hoped it was him. The longer he fought, the more time they had.
She hated him. She hated him for making her love him at that moment, or at least whatever this feeling was if not that. The tears flowed, but she kept moving. Her daughter did not complain, and her son was vigilant. Both were only seven summers old, twins. It was a miracle that she had survived their births. It was another miracle she was banking on. The fact that they had not been attacked by predators was a miracle in and of itself. She needed shelter…but how far was far enough? They couldn't fight those men off, not just her with a measly knife. Her son perked up.
"I smell smoke mother."
She began to pale. No…they didn't find them already? Did they? Her daughter, her beautiful and STUPID daughter, rushed to in the direction of some smoke without a thought.
"AGNES NO!"
She tried to grab her, but she was of course too fast for her. Adamantious rushed behind her, trying to catch up. It was a fool's errand, that girl was faster than anyone if she put her mind to it. There wasn't a thought in her actions. She drew the knife, dropping the clothing and food. She rushed forward, right behind her son, intent on stabbing the bastards. She burst through the foliage, coming face to face with a…hooded man? She assumed it was a man. The clothes it wore was…strange. As if someone had tailored multiple parts together. He wore a different pieces of clothing like those savages she had heard about. No…that wasn't entirely correct. It may have looked as such, but in truth it was just a large toga, elaborately wrapped around him to create the image of a cloak and hood. The material looked soft and extremely well made. Did they happen upon a king, hiding from his subjects?
No…in the middle of these dangerous woods? They most likely came across an affluent bandit or a well-off mercenary. She gripped the small shabby knife, ready to lunge at the man…only to lose her strength as she watched him hand her daughter food off of some kind of disk.
"Eat," his deep voice rumbled, hoarse from smoke. She recognized the raspiness…after all her husband had been a blacksmith for the village. His hours breathing in the smoke had left a raspy tinge to his voice. A tinge she was missing. She sucked in a harsh breath, she turned to warn her son, her own exhausted state showing, as if she had just realized the danger. But of course, she had to have birthed another idiot. For the boy was now sitting beside his sister, eating away at the leg of a boar. The creature was of usual size, but the man was spinning the creature over a large fire, spinning it on some kind of metal contraption, and placing grass and weeds on it like a madman. Only the lower portion of his face was visible, showing a sparsely grown beard growing on his chin. She stared at it, amazed at the shade of red. She had never seen hair so crimson before, regardless of how splotchy the beard looked. Considering his flawless skin and youthful tone…this man must have been young and well off. She didn't care anymore. All this thinking was exhausting. He was sitting on a fallen log, her own children crouched on the grass, chewing their food ravenously. She stared up, noticing for the first time that it was STILL dark out. They had run from their home hours ago…it may have been night, but she knew they had run long enough for Helios to bring the day. She tried to move quickly, but her exhaustion began to weigh on her heavily. She slumped behind her children, the knife still at the ready, no matter how much her body rebelled.
"You seem distressed," murmured the man, his hood still obscuring most of his face, "and injured. I do not know what brought you to this point, but I promise safe sanctuary for as long as I remain here."
She scoffed internally…but another one escaped as she noticed the man in full. His legs were twisted ugly things. She had seen such deformities only once in her life, when a neighbor had given birth to a child with a curled and twisted lip. It was unable to feed from their mother…so he had been abandoned into the woods. Now she knew for certain that she was dealing with a foolish noble who knew nothing of the world, sheltered by parents who had the resources necessary to raise such a crippled child. The woman took a deep breath, letting the tears flow from her eyes. This man was giving her food, warmth, and sanctuary. No matter how brittle it was…this was a kindness a "normal" person would not likely give anyone like her. She felt her heart relax as she looked at the man with all the sincerity she could muster. Her cruel thoughts had no place here.
"I….thank you," she whispered. She didn't know where he produced the food, but he held out to her another disk with pieces of boar meat cut and ready. They were cut into thin slices with a strange viscous liquid atop it. She didn't care. She popped it into her mouth and felt her tongue and cheeks explode with sensation. It hurt for a moment before she was able to taste the food. Shew whimpered a bit, the taste beyond anything she had ever had in her life. The tears flowed stronger.
"I apologize," said the man, "I do not mean to come off as…unfeeling. But…do you happen to know the location of the one called Leto?"
The name struck a chord with her. She was a worshipper of the Titan Leto, one of the original Greek deities of motherhood. She had prayed to her and the impossible happened. She had survived the birth of her twins and more impossibly, healed completely and utterly. Most women would have been left exhausted, with one she knew of never being able to walk properly after surviving her harrowing son's birth. Not all went as such, but enough happened that it was a genuine concern, one great enough that women searched desperately with the Gods for such an outcome to not pass. Not that her husband gave a shit.
"I know she lives upon this land," said the man, "unseen by both god and man. If you happen to know of a temple or some such, I would appreciate the direction."
If that was all the man wanted…than she would give him the location.
"In the far north of our Island, the main temple for her is maintained by the priestesses. I make the pilgrimage every year. Simply follow the north path with the river…you'll make it there."
The man gave a hum. The food was more revitalizing than she assumed, because her cloudy thoughts cleared quickly. She felt more energetic than in the last three days they've been running. Yes, three days. The passing of time had been as such that she didn't even register it as she and her children kept running. The man held out a horn to her. It was massive, easily the size of her arm. Within it was water, clear and without smell. She gave it to her children who drunk it carelessly. She smiled as her daughter gave it to her, the two having only taken half. She caressed their heads, appreciating their thought. The man smiled.
"You seem like a good mother."
She jolted a bit, surprised at the comment. Also, what the fuck? Who said that in the middle of something like this.
"I…this is what a mother does. There's no need," a hand interrupted her thoughts.
"You'd be surprised how many would care less about the children they bring into this world. Be proud."
She realized that this man was large. Larger than any person she had seen in her life thus far. Her husband was a tall man, 5'7 in height with muscles built from time in his forge. This man dwarfed him. He was easily 6'5 in height, and his frame was wide, his hands thick and calloused from work. She struggled to match the upper body of this man to his lower broken shell. Suddenly voices could be heard. She screamed as another man came charging in, one of the bandits from the village rushing her. His eyes were alight with a madness and zeal of the hunt. A savage grin she knew all to well. Was it too much to ask for a life free of th-
SQUELCH.
She stared at the molten spear of rock that pierced the man through the chest. The ground was hot as the molten earth sunk back below the surface, leaving a charred surface behind. With a snap of the hooded man's fingers, the corpse was blown apart by a surge of fire. For the first time she saw his eyes…and she saw gold. Pure, and seamless but completely human. His eyes shone with power, framed by crimson hair that could not belong to a human being. It was the color of blood, rich and deep. He turned to her, giving a warm smile.
"I promised you sanctuary, no? If you stay, no harm will come to you."
He turned his head and whistled. A bird of some sort cawed in the distance.
"You are being hunted it would seem."
"You are a God," she whispered.
He rose an eyebrow.
"I assure you I am just a warlock. A magic user if you wi-"
She glared.
"I have seen the face of the divine. I know what your kind feels like."
He nodded, removing his hood. He was handsome in a human way. She had seen a god only twice in her life. The first was Leto. She had been stunning, otherworldly. Her blonde hair and blue eyes were completely alien to her, with a tan skin a few shades lighter than her own. Her body was wide and made even her, a woman, had some lust for her. The other…had been Ares. The God of War. He had been a brute, an absolute beast, a savage fighter that had shown up on the battlefield to slay a beast that had come from the depths of Hades. She had been escaping Sparta, leaving her ancestral home, sick of the practices held within…and the death of her first son at their hands. She had expected him to smite her. But instead, he had protected her, savage grin and all. She had locked eye with him, his swirling red eyes promising bloodshed…but protection at the same time. Ares was well known for being a battle junkie of the highest order…but he was also known for being a protector of women. Many would flee to his temples and find sanctuary; she had done the same on the journey to this island. The gods were cruel and mischievous. Jealous and hateful. But they could also be helpful and kind. Only a fool sought happiness with the Gods…but desperation had a way of motivating others. Most prayed to all, but as an individual she only ever paid attention to Leto and Ares.
Yet here stands a third that deserved the same, broken as he was.
"May I ask, for your name?"
She tried to bow, but he used a walking stick beside him to stop her from a distance.
"None of that. I do not find worship helpful in any capacity. My name is useless for you. Once we go our separate ways, I doubt we'd see much of each other again. Still…"
The god seemed to decide. Unlike the others she had come across…he was warm. He felt natural to her, as if he was someone she could meet in the village. There was an aura of power to him that wasn't present with the other gods she had met…but it was not as overwhelming…it was if it was contained. Without it, she couldn't believe he was a God. Even his unnatural eyes and hair would have been ignored by her. Unusual, but not godly. His face was handsome, but human, his upper body was beautiful, but human. To a human he would be highly sought after for his face, if not his body. But compared to the other gods she had seen…he was normal. Maybe that was why she agreed to his offer?
"If you are being hunted, then it stands to reason that you may need some assistance. If you wish to come with me to the temple of Leto, you are welcome to travel with me."
Her son grinned, his eyes shining in earnest.
"REALLY!"
The god nodded, far more patient than she had ever given credit for a god. While she had only ever seen two, she knew of others who had discussed and even had…relations with them. They were never…so easy to talk with. So human.
"I…thank you," she said. Hephaestus raised an eyebrow and looked her over. She fell asleep. It was almost instant; the sheer stress of the last three days crashed into her and forced her into a slumber. Her children followed suit not soon after. Hephaestus looked upon them with quiet pity. Gods were not omniscient, that was why prayers rarely went answered. If they knew who was talking to them, they could hear from them during rituals and the like. It was funny in a way. The head priests of most panthodic faiths were capable of speaking with the gods, the problem lied in how often said god listens. Sacrifices were necessary in such practices to ensure that the gods could hear them. Most simply shut it off, uncaring of the mortals that worshipped them.
Hephaestus understood why, most humans simply begged for things, rarely asking for anything of substance. There was also the fact that the Gods cared little for mortal trivialities. A mortal's life was temporary, before transferring to the afterlife. Whatever difficulties they had in life would be washed away in the underworld or whichever afterlife they ended up in. But that mattered little here, not in the moment. This woman had been through a lot and considering the bandit that came rushing after her, it was best he be made aware of whatever it was she was facing.
He looked at the woman's knife, the history of the blade revealing her recent troubles. A true God, the kind these humans thought of them as, would certainly be aware of her struggles. But they were not that kind of gods. Surveillance was possible but limited in scope. So long as a God was focused on the person, knew of them by name and general appearance, a God could indeed be aware of every minute movement. Truth was, most Gods cared too little to even bother.
Still, he would not ignore what was in front of them. He would take responsibility for their safety until they were truly safe. In for a penny as some in the modern era would say. He needed to find Leto, she alone knew of the secrets of hiding from the gods. While Hera knew of her husband's deceit, she did not in fact hunt Leto down as the myths would reveal. The murder of demi-gods was not such a simple task that monsters could handle it, as the myths implied, she did. In this era, at this time, they were simply far too powerful. Not to mention extremely volatile. No, monsters always waited until they were older and more stable before consumption.
This myth also required that Hera even cared about Zeus' children in the first place. Imagine Hephaestus surprise when he learned his birth mother's horrid personality and abhorrent treatment of children were all the fabrications of men and a product of these times. After all she was the Goddess of Motherhood, successor of Leto herself. The idea that she would attack children at all was, quite literally, impossible. It completely went against the domains she represented. No Hera's powers and personality were far more than merely being "Zeus' Wife".
It was why finding Leto was proving to be such a pain, but a one well worth the effort. Leto hid herself from the world to protect her children, not from Hera, but the remnants of the Titans that would slay her and her children for the blasphemy of bedding with Zeus. According to the nymphs and air spirits that he had come across, Hera was instrumental in constructing the very realm that Leto had locked herself away in for the remainder of her pregnancy, a realm that obscured even the most powerful of divine energies. It was perfect, exactly what he was looking for! If it wasn't for the vast stores of information within the noble phantasms in his possession, Hephaestus would never have figured out her general location. Neither Apollo nor Artemis had been born yet, and as such her general area was unknown at the time. He knew where he was, knew that he was in the proper vicinity, but the specific area in which her closed dimensional gap existed, that was another matter altogether.
Still, the thought brought a small smile to his face. One filled with mirth and a sense of self-pity. To learn that Hera was considered a pretty good person was amusing. Considering the distance between myth and reality, Hephaestus had assumed there was more to the story of his supposed abandonment than meets the eye. The sad truth was that he simply didn't care all that much about it anymore, not really bothering to get to the bottom of it. Whatever her reasons, nothing would change. He had been left to die and now he was here. His focus was on the now. Now all he wanted was a place to sit down and hone his craft his way, without the eyes of the gods boring into him from on high all the time. It was impossible to think he could simply be left alone forever, but he was certainly going to try and be left alone for as long as he could be. The less people knew of his actual talents the better. His journey to find a place the old-fashioned way was slow, especially with his disabilities. But the fact was that by simply walking and boating where he needed to go, he limited the amount of divine power that leaked from him. Thus, he was not tracked or hunted. He had been travelling for over three years this way…and it was beautiful. Every night under these stars was simply another gift. The echoes of war and battle that live within him from EMIYA, was starting to settle. He was here. He was safe. He was free. A black bird, tinged with blue flames settled on his shoulder. He chuckled a bit at the bird.
"You're still here, hmm?"
The bird on his shoulder was an unusual beast. A phoenix, one that had bound itself to him and become his proxy. The gods would refer to them as a "Divine Animal", a specter of their power. The truth was they were simply in an overpowering familiar contract, one that granted the bird immense power, but at the cost of their freedom. The cost seemed too little for Ifrit to care about now. Especially since he did not reciprocate the bond, leaving it incomplete. Hephaestus rarely called upon it, wanting to limit his power over the poor birds' will. Still, it had its uses, especially now. The Phoenix is usually associated with Helios or Apollo, but that was merely by conjecture and stories, rather than being a sacred animal of either of those gods. Ra was a far more obvious choice for this creature to bond to…but it chose him. He didn't really know why.
"Thank you Ifrit. Scout ahead for me, if you find any more of these bandits. Kill them."
With Emiya's memories, he found that he grew to detest individuals like these bandits. Some would argue they had their reasons, but he found that most of the time, it was simply because they couldn't hack it working to make their living. They had to steal it from the people who did the work. Perhaps he was being belligerent, but he didn't care. He had his principles, and we would stand by them no matter what.
Ifrit, the phoenix, shuffled quietly and flew. The night began to become chilly, so the god summoned a blanket of thick clothe. It floated from the sky in blue particles, wrapping around the family before him. Hephaestus sighed, feeling regret that he had not patrolled the area or something similar. But that…that was too like his old life. To how he was as EMIYA.
He…he was not ready to be a guardian again of anything. Not with it simply reminding him of the shackles that once held him. Still, while he would not seek to right the wrongs of the world as he once did in another life, he would not shy away from it either. If evil ever presented itself to him, he would destroy it, with extreme prejudice. He would not stand idle…but he would not hunt for it any longer.
As he stared into the night, Hephaestus began to recenter himself. He was distracted, he needed to focus. His primary goal…was to request sanctuary with Leto. It was a long shot but there he could divest himself entirely in his craft without concern. The itch to create had become nigh unbearable. Without the hate and rage to center his desires he was left with nothing but designs and ideas screaming in his head. EMIYA once suffered a similar ailment it seemed, in the form of the overwhelming amount of data concerning their Reality Marble. But Hephaestus was a different breed altogether, and the pain he was experiencing was the idea that he could enact his desires to create right at this moment. An emotional pain, rather than one born from the sheer amount of information. But soon, that would change.
The trip across the island proved…uneventful. Hephaestus followed the family along astride his humble mule. It lumbered forward at a brisk pace, the sheer idea that it could maintain this speed without food and water, escaping the notice of the escaping family. All they cared about was surviving. At their human pace, it had taken the group several days to get to where they needed to go. The mother seemed to become more and more animated as they went. It was funny watching her struggle with the reality she was facing. That a God was escorting her family. The humans of this world and era were surprisingly tough. They were little like the ancient humans of EMIYA's reality, not sharing in the concept of divided mystery. Yet…they could feel and sense things. The gods were relevant here, visible and real to the people of this era.
Revered and worshipped. So, Hephaestus didn't think anything of the family keeping their silence and distance from him. He didn't blame them, one wrong word to a God and a normal mortal would find themselves dead. Eventually someone spoke amongst their little group. Though, he admits he was surprised at the person who did.
"So…you're a god?"
Hephaestus gave a grunt as a response, as Agnes walked beside him on this beaten path. Her large brown eyes stared right at him, hood and all. He was not ashamed of his face. To mortals he was quite normal looking, save for a few things. The issue was his eyes and hair. Far too noticeable. The magic needed to masque them would simply alert anyone who was looking for him to his presence. Paranoid? Absolutely. Did he care? Not really. His face being visible or appreciated was far from a concern. Still, the girl was the first too keep peaking under his hood so obviously. She had the odd look or two over the last few days, but today she was insistent. He looked down at her, raising an eyebrow. She looked at him, walking backwards to keep her pace.
"The only thing weird about you is your eyes. You sure you're a God?"
She said it so matter of fact that Hephaestus just smiled. She had courage…or was dumb. Either way, she was funny and brought a smile to his face. He was more social than EMIYA was he founded, a by product of a craving for healthy social interactions maybe. Still though, that was a small desire.
"I am a God," assured Hephaestus, "is that all?"
She blinked, looking at his legs and shifting her head.
"What happened to them?"
"Born that way."
"Bummer."
Hephaestus smiled.
"Quite."
She even had the audacity to gesture to poke them. Her poor mother looked horrified but kept silent. Probably worried that she would set him off. She jerked her hand back at the feeling of his hard, twisted, flesh. The incline of his knee melding with his shin must have been horrific to see, but difficult to look away from. The fascination was shared by her brother. He didn't understand why, but he chalked it up to being a creature of magic. While common knowledge, magic was something that was out of reach for the majority of the mortals. Some priests were capable of it, but it was the rare magi who could work with it. Demigods, as far as Hephaestus was aware, were not at all common in this time period. He hadn't even heard of one yet and as far as he knew none of the famous heroes had been born yet. Perseus for example, was most certainly not born yet. The Gregorian calendar was also not a even a concept at this point, not that it wouldn't be for a long time. Perhaps…hmm…maybe he'd implement one, for his own sake. The girl was still staring. It was starting to become annoying.
"Are you done?" he rumbled; his patience bringing awe to the mother. She nearly died when her son rushed back as well, embolden by the daughter. Hephaestus began laughing at the choking sound that escaped her throat. It had a growl to it that brought a tingle to Calliope's ears. A pleasant one...a nice feeling considering what had happened.
"So…what are the God of?" asked the boy.
Hephaestus tilted his head.
"Why does that matter?"
The boy balked a bit at the direction he took the conversation.
"Uh…because you're a God, right?"
The older man laughed as he shook his head.
"I find such a thing unnecessary. You need not have to know my name; it won't do you any good."
Perhaps he felt more pity than he thought for the children, for the poor boy's disappointed expression made him answer.
"I am the God of Fire and Craftsman."
It was true enough. The specifics of his domain shifted when he became whole with the inclusion of EMIYA. The inclusion of the concept of "SWORD" brought within him the divinity of steel, of innovation, or rather made it more defined? He wasn't entirely certain. There were also the gifts his mother granted to him, by virtue of her bloodline. As the Goddess of the Heavens there were certain forms of magic that he could technically be capable of. Hilariously he had become more diverse in magic than EMIYA could ever become but would still be considered limited by other Gods. How much things changed and yet stayed the same.
"….but isn't that Hes-"
His eyes glowed, making the boy stop talking. He gave a kind smile in response.
"Names have power, I'd rather you not call attention to us at the moment."
Invoking the names of Gods would invite their eyes on you. Names were certainly powerful seals in this world. Hephaestus for instance was a place holder name. In truth, he was Nameless, having never been given a proper name by his birth mother. In ancient Greece it was considered to be Taboo to not name even your children who died in childbirth, for it would damn them to the shores of the underworld for eternity. Most Gods ignored it whenever their names were invoked. He was sure Zeus found it hilarious that his name was used in vain all the time, was the only explanation Hephaestus could think of for why more mortals were not getting smited daily over it. With that said, the likelihood that Hestia would care was quite high. She had a soft spot for young children. Considering the rarity of children invoking her name, she would likely peer and see what was occurring. The boy nodded. Hephaestus decided to throw him a bone, so to speak.
"To answer your question, yes. There is another deity who can lay claim to the domain of fire. But the concepts that we govern are different. The Goddess you think of refers to fire that is used every day. In homes, in cooking, for warmth, and for security. The fire I embody leans towards industry. In short, she embodies a very specific variant of the domain of fire, whereas I encompass a good deal more of the concept itself."
The child stared at him and spaced out. Figured. Considering the knowledge level of the era, it was understandable that humans of this age would have difficulty grasping such concepts. Well, most of them anyways. Hephaestus himself cared little for understanding the full intricacies of divinity. He himself was far from a normal case anyways, so using himself as a test case was foolish. Still, he knew more than most, shaky as it was.
"So…why are you trying to find the Goddess Leto?"
Agnes looked at her brother as the idiot he was, speaking the names of a Goddess when the God right in front of them just told him not to. She heard the tales her mother and father would spin. Some of the stories were fun! But many…it made her scared. Made her weary of the divine. He was going to hurt them now, like the other bad men. She felt little at the loss of her father. He was…cruel. He never hurt her…but he was always mean. Made her feel…small and unwanted. Always spent time with her brother, rather than her. Not that her brother seemed to appreciate it. The way he'd come back with bruises…it was obvious how their time together ended up. Still…this one seemed nice while it last-
Pat, pat.
She blinked looking at the God who placed a warm hand on her brother's head, as the mule walked beside him. The smile, the ease of his body language. Everything about him seem to carry a warmth was absent from most of the adult men she knew of. They were callous and tough. Most were not like her father. Many were always willing to help her and her mother whenever they were done their own things, but there was a sense of absence in their actions, a distance. Yet…this strange guy seemed approachable in a way even her mother was not. Calm, collected, easy to speak to. It didn't feel as if he was speaking down to her. She grinned and began to ask question after question. To be honest, her interest had little to do with him or how he felt. That was more superficial. He was a distraction from what happened, from the friends killed, from the nice adults taken. She dreaded when he would leave…because than she wouldn't be distracted anymore. So, she wanted him to stay, even if only a moment longer. The strange thing was, she was pretty sure he knew that.
Eventually, to the absolute mortification of her mother, they were all riding on the unusually powerful mule, meandering their way through the old beaten path to the temple of Leto. Were they higher off the ground now? The girl didn't notice, nor care if that was the case.
"Mister, what's your name?" she asked eventually. Her brother perked up at the question.
"Why do you need to know something like that?"
The girl shrugged, unwilling to say it clinging to his back. It was warm…and felt safe. Her brother spoke up, quietly.
"I don't want to forget."
"…if I told you that it was Outis (Nobody/Nameless), would you believe me?"
The boy chuckled a bit. The girl squeezed harder. The God turned to her, his golden eyes looking at her with warmth.
"…would it help?" he asked, his tone somber and quiet.
She gripped harder as she nodded. If she didn't have a name…she would forget this little moment of peace. She didn't want to lose something else…not so soon.
"…very well. My name is Hephaestus. Toxotis (Archer) is another and of course you already know Outis. But the name I've known since the beginning, is Hephaestus."
She felt her eyes burn a little. Not at the name. But rather, at the sight of the temple in the distance. It was over…and the memories of what came began to swell up.
"Does it get easier?" she croaked.
"No. But eventually it will not be as sharp and vivid."
His honesty was like a balm for her. Her brother on the other hand seemed to want a lie at that moment. Her mother was quick to lift her off the mule. She blinked, staring now at the large black war horse with a white mane. It was like looking at a steed made of iron. She gawked at him and looked back at Hephaestus. The god had the audacity to wink.
"You didn't think Axiópistos (Reliable) was simply just a mule, did you?"
The mule was never a mule. Rather, it was a construct of mana given the shape of an animal. He usually used a mule simply to attract less bandits. If he rode what seemed to be a large and fast war horse, he was more likely to be targeted. A great exaggeration? Most certainly. But the truth was he really didn't want to stand out. The sad fact is, that his whole attempt at it was not going well, as while his face and name were not known to the Gods…to mortals it was different story. He couldn't help himself, not really. No matter what he said about not getting involved, he always did. Agnes and Adamantious both separated from Hephaestus and entered the temple with their mother. Eventually they were left together with her, with other survivors from their village and beyond, as Hephaestus met with the head priest. The rumors of the bandits being dead was quickly spread to them, new as they were. Across the island were what seemed to be dozens of other survivors from other small villages, flocking to the one place they knew for certain might give them sanctuary.
Agnes didn't really take much stock in the news of the bandits' deaths. She just wanted to curl up and cry…until one of the people asked how they survived. She grasped at the distraction like a lifeline and she told the story, making sure not to mention any names. Imagine her surprise to learn of other stories involving the nameless, of Outis. Of a man or God with hair flaming red and eyes as gold as molten honey. She heard tales of a time when he stopped a flood from taking one priestess home. Another tale in which he dispelled a great fire and quelled a volcano! She felt a warmth in her chest…and the remembrance of his words.
"Why pray to Gods when you can handle your own fate? Don't depend on Gods who can never truly answer, and you will never be disappointed."
What he said made sense. Gods didn't answer every prayer, so worshipping a God was kind of a gamble. But how could she listen to him? How could she when she knew within her heart that a God that was just and good lived amongst them? The story of Hephaestus has already changed beyond any scope of the original. This was a world forever altered…as one Hephaestus would eventually learn. Speaking of, the God himself was currently leaving the temple, insured of their protection thanks to Ifrit. His little fire bird disposed of the bandits, ensuring that their reign of terror ended. The temple as it would turn out was the proper choice after all. It was saturated in Leto's divinity and as such was a beacon to help him locate the crack in the dimensions that he needed, or rather eliminate all places in which it wouldn't be. She existed in a subspace now, a mirror dimension. It had taken quite a bit of time to parse out the details, but he managed to learn that Leto and the other gods and goddesses were, at best, pale reflections of the myths he knew. Their powers and abilities aside, it was their character that astounded him. They were all so different and yet so alike in the myths that were told of them.
He travelled, now unencumbered, and his steed roared through the plains of the island. The space underneath it began to twist, as Hephaestus applied a little trick, he learned from the centaur Kassandra. She was such a lively girl, more than willing to help him after he stopped that volcano from erupting. The fact he learned about how Centaurs bent the fabric of space as they ran to increase their speed was BULLSHIT, but highly applicable in his given circumstance. It would have made tarvelling a lot easier if he could use the trick, since the signature would come off more like a centaur than a god. He found himself at a waterfall, a rather cliché location. Then again, he was so early in the concept of sentient life, was being hidden by a waterfall really cliché? The man shrugged. With a reality marble, Hephaestus was especially sensitive to the shimmering fabrics of reality. He didn't know how normal gods would react, but he knew that most probably lacked the same senses that he did. Finding the weave before him was easy enough. A simple pulse of his energy may be enough to get her attention. He touched the gate…and slipped through. No, he was pulled through. Hephaestus felt reality around him twist and churn, before he was standing upon flowers and grass that were not there before. He was disorientated, but eventually realized that he was before the Goddess herself. Her skin was a darker shade, showing a Mediterranean tan. Yet, her hair was blonde and her eyes a strange amythest purple. She was shaped…perfectly. Embodying the image of a beautiful motherlife figure with wide hips and full breasts. Hephaestus narrowed his eyes at her stomach, noticing that she was far from pregnant. She locked eyes with him, her surprise giving way to a more on guard expression.
"You are not Ares."
"…what?"
Leto growled, her voice a throaty and sensual sound.
"How do you carry Hera's scent? She should have sent Ares if there was something wrong!"
First off, Hephaestus could at least write off that Ares had been born. Sparta, or at least some earlier analogue of it, must be around. That meant that Athena would be born very soon or had already been. She was born after him after all. A few more pieces and he would have the timeline figured out…probably…or at least as much as a person could figure it out with a different reality's timeline as a guide. God, his life was weird.
"I have come to bargain," stated Hephaestus. He raised his hands.
"…Bargain?"
"I seek Asylum, for a period, away from the world. I am not an outlaw nor am I on the run from God or Titan. I merely wish to hone my craft without interference. Your…cage, allows just that."
As beautiful and plentiful as it was, this place was a cage. It was temporary, but a good way to describe it. Leto's eyes glowed.
"…what are you?"
"No clue," stated Hephaestus honestly, "I do not think there are any comparisons as of yet."
Leto's narrowed her eyes and snapped her fingers.
"A mother knows," was all she said as she stared at him. Was that some sort of chant or spell? He didn't feel anything as she blinked. Her expression went wide as she nodded.
"What do you bring me in return for allowing your stay?"
This was far too easy. But he didn't really care, he would state his terms.
"I heard you were pregnant with a child. Whomever they are, I can craft a divine weapon for their use that is greater than any of the cyclops' creation."