The forge was nearly complete.
Vulcan stood atop the stone arch, the final brick in hand. It was smooth, dark, and etched with a symbol he hadn't seen since the dreams began a spiral of flame wrapped around a hammer, the ancient mark of Hephaestus. He didn't know how he remembered it. He only knew it belonged here.
He pressed the stone into place, sealing it with molten iron and whispered runes. The symbol glowed faintly, pulsing with warmth. It wasn't magic. Not yet. But it was memory. Identity. A piece of something older than himself.
He stepped down, the forge quiet now, the Ember Forge reborn.
Exhaustion took him. He collapsed into a chair, arms heavy, eyes burning. The heat of the forge still clung to his skin. He meant to rest for a moment. Instead, he slept.
---
The Next Morning
Knock. Knock.
Vulcan stirred, groggy and stiff. The sun had risen, casting pale light through the soot-streaked windows. He opened the door to find a young woman standing there red-haired, freckled, with eyes like his sister's.
"I'm Maeryn," she said, voice soft but steady. "You don't remember me, but I remember you. I'm your niece. My mother Serenna she's your sister."
Vulcan blinked, surprised. She looked like Serenna, but younger, gentler. "Dinner," she added. "Tonight. Everyone's coming. You should too."
He nodded. "I'll be there."
She smiled and left, her cloak fluttering in the morning breeze.
---
Later That Evening
The forge was clean now. Tools hung in their places. The furnace hummed quietly, the runes etched and sealed. Vulcan bathed, dressed, and stepped into the cold streets of Winter Town. He passed the bakery, the old well, the crooked alley where he once scraped his knees.
The house was warm, filled with laughter and the scent of roasted meat. His sister Serenna greeted him with a tight hug, her husband nodding politely. Around the table sat his other siblings Thoren, Jessa, Bram. All red-haired. All tall, but not like him. They were built like men and women of the North. He was built like something else.
The children ran to him Bentley, the youngest, climbed into his lap without hesitation. Vulcan smiled, speaking softly to the boy, asking about his toys, his dreams. The boy spoke of swords and dragons and wanting to be a knight.
Then the room quieted. The adults began to speak.
"We didn't know how to reach you," Thoren said. "You were always… distant."
"You were different," Jessa added. "Not bad. Just… hard to understand."
Serenna looked at him, eyes wet. "We were scared. Not of you. Of what you reminded us of. Of what happened to Mother."
Vulcan said nothing. He listened.
"We didn't hate you," Bram said. "We just didn't know how to love you."
The silence stretched. Vulcan looked around the table at the children, the warmth, the flickering firelight.
"I didn't know how to be loved," he said finally. "But I'm learning."
Serenna reached across the table and took his hand. "Then let's learn together."