Hephaestus wandered far and wide, his forge ever burning within the Gate of Hephaestus. His journey brought him to a land of storms, where the sky roared with Zeus' fury, and the earth trembled beneath his feet. Here, amidst the whispering winds and the crackling thunder, he found inspiration for a new creation—one that would stand the test of time, a bow worthy of a king.
As he traversed the storm-swept peaks, Hephaestus came upon the carcass of a mighty Aetostryx, a mythical eagle-beast born from the very essence of Zeus' thunder. It had perished in battle against a primordial serpent, its body charred with divine lightning. But Hephaestus did not mourn; instead, he saw the remnants of its tendons, still humming with the power of the storm.
"A bowstring from the beast of Zeus… unyielding, eternal. No mortal sinew could compare."
He carefully extracted the strongest tendon, watching as it sparked with latent thunder. This would become the string of his greatest bow, one that could channel the wrath of the heavens.
Next, he sought the body of the bow. Deep in the heart of an ancient valley, he found a lone tree standing against time itself—its bark as hard as the strongest metal, its roots entwined with the bones of fallen titans. Legends spoke of it as the Titan's Yew, a tree that had survived the Titanomachy, absorbing the power of fallen gods.
"This wood shall never splinter, never break. It shall endure, just as the will of a true king endures."
With his divine hammer, Hephaestus cut the wood, shaping it with precision, reinforcing it with adamant dust from his forge. The bow took form, a masterpiece of nature and divine craftsmanship.
But a mere bow was not enough. Hephaestus engraved runes of strength and kingship upon its limbs, ensuring that only one worthy of leadership, wisdom, and strength could wield it. As he traced the symbols into the bow, his voice echoed across the land:
"May whoever have strength to command and wisdom to rule,
They shall hold this invincible bow,
Unseen by false kings, untamed by the unworthy,
Only the rightful hand shall bend its will."
With this enchantment, the bow would remain invisible to those unworthy, an artifact hidden from the hands of tyrants and pretenders.
Hephaestus gazed upon his work, satisfied. He named it "Astrapheon"—the Thunder-Forged Bow, a weapon fit for a ruler.
Knowing that such a bow must await the right wielder, he traveled to a remote island, one untouched by war or the greed of gods. He embedded Astrapheon deep into a sacred grove, its power hidden until destiny called for it.
This island, bathed in divine mystery, would one day be called Ithaca, and the bow would find its rightful master in an age yet to come.
Far above the mortal realm, within her grand temple upon Olympus, Athena, the goddess of wisdom and war, stood in quiet contemplation. Her gaze often wandered across the world, watching over the rise and fall of kingdoms, the ambitions of mortals, and the crafting of destiny itself.
Then, she felt it.
A shift in the fabric of fate. A whisper in the wind that carried power not born of prophecy, but of pure creation. It was subtle, yet undeniable—a relic had been forged, one that could shape the course of kings and warriors alike.
Athena closed her storm-gray eyes, reaching out with her divine senses. The call of runes, the hum of thunder, and the weight of hidden authority resonated through the world. Her vision was drawn to a secluded island, where in the heart of a sacred grove, a bow unlike any other lay in slumber.
Astrapheon.
"Hephaestus… so, this is what you have wrought."
A knowing smile graced her lips. She did not need to descend, nor claim the weapon for Olympus. This was not a tool for the gods, nor a gift to be squandered. It was a challenge—one meant for the future.
"Someday, a mortal shall rise, worthy enough to bend its will. Until then… I shall watch."
With that thought, Athena turned away, returning to her eternal vigil, but in the depths of her mind, she marked the bow's presence. It was a piece of fate yet unwritten—one she would ensure remained untouched, until the day destiny demanded its wielder to rise.
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As Hephaestus wandered the land in search of materials, his travels led him to a sacred place—Dodona, the land of oracles. The very air hummed with divine presence, and the great Sacred Oak of Dodona stood at its heart, its branches reaching toward the heavens as though it spoke to the gods themselves.
But something was different.
The Oak was dying.
Its once-magnificent leaves had turned golden, flickering like embers before vanishing into dust. Its roots trembled, not from decay, but from the weight of time and fate itself. This was no mere tree; it was something beyond the understanding of gods or men. A remnant of the world before the Olympians.
Hephaestus approached, placing a hand on the bark. His soul resonated with its presence. He saw visions—glimpses of forgotten wars, of men and gods locked in battle, of victors and the defeated alike. The Oak had seen countless ages of struggle, and now it would fade into obscurity.
"No."
Hephaestus would not let it vanish. If this Oak was meant to die, then he would forge its legacy into something eternal.
With reverence, Hephaestus cut away a portion of the Oak—not too much, just enough. The wood was heavier than any metal, carrying the weight of uncountable fates. Sparks of divine energy still flickered within its grain. He knew this was no ordinary material; this was the essence of victory itself.
Hephaestus did not rush.
Within his Gate of Hephaestus, his mobile forge roared to life. The ancient wood was refined, strengthened, and merged with the remnants of a mysterious golden ore that had fallen from the stars, found buried beneath the roots of Dodona.
A weapon that would always lead its wielder to victory.
This was no mortal spear. It would find the path to triumph, no matter the odds. Wars would be won, empires built, legends forged—all through its power.
Then, as Hephaestus shaped the tip, something stirred. A voice, ancient and knowing, spoke from the flames.
Hephaestus watched as a figure emerged from the heart of the spear—a radiant warrior, his body shimmering like golden laurels in the sunlight. His eyes held the wisdom of a thousand battles, his presence commanding yet calm.
This was no mere spirit.
This was Victory itself.
"I am Nikeon," the spirit intoned, his voice resonating through the forge. "Born of triumph, bound to the will of fate. You have crafted me, Hephaestus, and I shall guide the worthy to greatness."
Hephaestus smiled. The first weapon to embody the very concept of victory. This was his first true Divine weapon other than the shield of Uria. This weapon holds a concept just like the gods making it technically a god just in a weapon form.
As the forge cooled, Hephaestus ran his fingers over the weapon's surface. The wood of Dodona pulsed with divine energy, and the golden metal gleamed with an otherworldly light. A name came to him.
Argo - the spear of Victory
Its power was absolute—as long as its wielder fought with purpose, they would never falter. The spear would find openings, break through defenses, and strike at the very moment that would ensure victory.
But there was a price. The spear did not favor the unworthy. Those who fought without conviction, without true belief in their struggle, would find its weight unbearable. It would reject those who sought victory for selfish gain.
With a nod, Hephaestus stored Agoníarchos within his Gate of Hephaestus, knowing that one day, a great warrior would claim it and change the world.
Elsewhere… Athena Watches. Far above, on Mount Olympus, Athena, the goddess of wisdom and war, paused.
Her gaze turned downward, toward the land below, sensing a force unlike any before. It was not just a weapon—no, it was a declaration.
The weapon of victory itself had been born. And one day, it would shake the very foundations of the world.
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Weapons Created
1.Astrapheon
2. The Argo's Spear