Hephaestus stood before the glowing forge, the newly crafted scissors resting upon the anvil. The blades shimmered with a spectral light, their edges sharp enough to slice through the unseen. Even though the Fates had not yet been born, Hephaestus felt their presence in the making of this weapon.
It was an odd feeling.
Destiny had always been an unspoken law among gods and mortals alike. Yet, as he turned the scissors in his hands, Hephaestus realized something—destiny could be defied.
A Weapon Before Its Time
The gods spoke of the Moirae, the Three Sisters of Fate, as if they had always existed. But in truth, they were yet to be born. The threads of destiny were still in their infancy, not yet woven into the grand tapestry of existence. The world still operated under chaos and will, not preordained fate.
And yet… he had forged a weapon that could cut destiny.
That meant the concept of Fate was already present, simply waiting for its caretakers to arise.
"This weapon is not for now," Hephaestus murmured, his voice carrying through the empty forge. "It belongs to an era yet to come."
But that did not mean it was useless. Even without the Moirae, destiny still lingered in the world.
If wielded, it could sever divine decrees, undo binding oaths, and perhaps even free those who were meant to be chained.
Hephaestus exhaled. Such a weapon was too dangerous to leave unchecked. If Zeus or any god caught wind of it, they would either demand it for themselves or destroy it out of fear.
With that in mind, Hephaestus acted.
He took a shard of celestial stone, one of the rarest materials known to gods, and forged a sealed box—one that no god, titan, or primordial could open easily. It bore no keyhole, no seam. To any outsider, it looked like a simple slab of smooth white marble.
Yet within, the Shears of Fate Unborn slumbered, waiting for the day they would be needed.
With a final stroke of his hammer, Hephaestus sealed the box with divine script, ensuring that only when the Moirae themselves were born would the weapon be accessible.
The moment he finished, a shudder ran through the air.
It was subtle, almost imperceptible. But Hephaestus felt the world acknowledge what he had done.
A future was set in motion. The day would come when three sisters, each bound by the duty of weaving destiny, would reach for the weapon crafted before their time.
Until then… it would remain hidden.
No other god felt what Hephaestus had done. Not even Zeus, the ruler of Olympus, nor Hades, the lord of the underworld. The Shears of Fate, their very existence an impossibility, remained a secret.
And so, without another word, Hephaestus took the sealed box, walked to the deepest chamber of his forge in the serpent cave, and placed it upon a pedestal of obsidian.
There it would remain. Untouched, unseen, and unknown.
But one day, when the Moirae were born, Atropos who represent the end of fate shall take it and use it to it's full potential.
---
As Hephaestus continued his adventure, Hephaestus soon wandered through the ruins of a battlefield long forgotten by gods and mortals alike. This was no ordinary land—it was a place where titans fell, their bodies becoming part of the earth itself.
As he walked, his sharp eyes caught sight of something half-buried in the ground. A bone, massive and unyielding, yet metallic in texture. The remains of an unnamed titan, one who had fallen in the ancient war against Olympus.
The gods had stripped this titan of name and memory, erasing him from history. But the remnants of his power still lingered.
Hephaestus took the bone and brought it to his forge. As he worked, he could feel something staring back at him. A consciousness. A fragment of what once was.
He melted the bone in divine fire, shaping it into a sleek, single-edged blade. Unlike the massive weapons of the titans, this was a warrior's sword—meant for precision, for war, for an unrelenting assault.
The moment the final hammer strike fell, the forge trembled.
A presence emerged from the blade. From the molten energy of the forge, a figure rose.
A tall man, clad in fractured bronze armor, with ashen-white hair and golden eyes that burned with ancient wrath. His body flickered, as if not fully formed, but his will was undeniable.
"I... live?" His voice was deep, rough, filled with confusion and rage.
"You are reborn," Hephaestus said, gripping the sword. "As a spirit of the weapon forged from your remains."
The titan's spirit clenched his fists. "Who am I ? What am I ? Who was I ?"
"You are now Xiphos," Hephaestus declared. "Born from a fallen titan. You are a new existence, unbound by the past. The Titan's Fang. You will cut down all who stand in your way, a blade of unyielding war."
The spirit was silent for a moment before a slow grin spread across his face. "I see".
Hephaestus said to Xiphos. "Rest for now, Xiphos. Your time will come."
With a gesture, he opened the Gate of Hephaestus, and the blade drifted inside, its spirit still expresionless as it vanished into the vault.
Another masterpiece. Another weapon waiting for the right moment.
---
Weapons Created :
1. The sheer of Fate, Waiting for it's rightfull ruleer.
2. Xiphos, the sword of the forgotten.