31. Nyssa
Nyssa
The Parthenon’s marble pillars gleamed in the morning sun, light refracting off every divot and carving. The architecture truly was a masterpiece — a dedication to meticulous craftsmanship — having stood the test of time, weather, and godly outbursts alike.
Such a structure could only have been erected by one being: Hephaestus.
The god was a genius. Whatever he envisioned, his hands crafted more ingeniously than any concept diagram could convey.
Hephaestus had forged the majority of the Primal Council’s trademark weapons: Poseidon’s trident, Artemis’ and Apollo’s bows, Ares’ golden spear — even my father’s helm of invisibility.
Now, the behemoth god stood in the centre of the chamber, waiting as council and competitors arrived.
“Champions,” Hephaestus boomed, his deep voice rumbling like hammer against steel — gritty, low, and ringing with unwavering force. “Your trial today will be twofold.” He took the time to make eye contact with each of us, expression inscrutable.
“First, you will accompany me to my forge, where you will attempt to craft your own weapon. Fail at that task and your second will prove much harder.” A slight smile tugged at his lips, causing the silver beads in his long, dark beard to twinkle in the sunlight.
Ares stepped forward to join him. His amber eyes burned devilishly, notably icier than his son’s usual smouldering heat.
“Your second trial will cut you in half — figuratively, of course,” Ares drawled with a disconcerting grin. “Maybe.” A half-hearted shrug.
“This Rite is taking far too long in my opinion. War isn’t fair, so why should I be?
” Ares sneered. “After crafting your weapon in Heph’s trial, you’ll show us what it can do in mine.
You will be allocated a duelling partner from within your cohort.
The winner moves onto the next trial. The loser is eliminated. ”
Gasps sounded across the room. Our animals responded in turn: a flap of feathered wings, a canine snarl, a dragon’s growl.
Woah. Half of us gone in one fell swoop.
You will win. Velira spoke in my mind, her conviction leaving no room for doubt.
I had to give it Ares — this was an ingenious way to cut down the competition. It ensured that only the strongest contenders, in his humble opinion, remained.
The primals all turned to the gateway as Hephaestus pressed his gigantic hand against the marble frame. The air within it shifted, still invisible but warped.
A wave of heat blasted out, so intense that I was instantly soaked in sweat despite ever setting foot in the legendary forge. The urge to shrug out of my leathers was intense, but I knew better — it would put me at a greater risk of getting burnt.
My eyes flicked towards Caelus’ imposing form.
Burnt in more ways than one.
“It’s one thing to simply create a weapon from metal and flame,” Hephaestus rumbled, standing almost too close to the open fire, “but to craft a weapon that serves you and only you — you’ll need to give it more than that.”
He seemed thoroughly unaffected by the relentless heat. I, on the other hand, was already a dripping mess, as were most of the other champions. Archimedes, of course being the only exception. He glanced around at us all, his lips twitching up into a smug smirk.
“To forge something as loyal and infamous as Poseidon’s trident or Hades’ helm, you must give the metal part of your blood; part of your power; part of your soul.
” The gargantuan god scanned our group slowly.
“What that looks like is for you to determine. I will not hold your hand. You will need to choose which weapon best suits your needs and decide how much of yourself to give it.”
Hephaestus paused, his eyes resting heavily on each of us — especially his son.
“I will say this, however: weapons with too little power will obey anyone. But weapons with too much will take what you give it and always demand more. It will consume you until you are spent. And only the Fates know just how much devastation you will wrought before that occurs.”
With a wave of his large, scarred hand, nine workstations materialised in front of the enormous furnace.
Each station was fully equipped with a hammer, an anvil, and a wealth of other tools I couldn’t even begin to name.
A sheet of parchment with instructions sat at each and one glance confirmed I was undoubtedly in way over my head.
I inhaled deeply and looked upwards, trying to gather my wits as I mapped out a plan.
I would have to learn by observation.
Ignoring the parchment entirely, I kept a close eye on Archimedes. Since he was Hephaestus’ son and apprentice, I was willing to bet he knew his way around a blade — in both forging and wielding.
He approached the eastern wall where stone shelves housed rows upon rows of various metal blocks. They were sorted by colour but cut into all different sizes and shapes.
Archimedes selected a block of bluish-grey metal and took it back to his chosen workbench at the far end of the room.
I picked a slightly smaller block and followed suit. The raw metal was heavier than I expected, almost gritty in texture. But if this was to be my weapon, I would need to get adjust to the weight of it.
I ignored the other seven floundering champions — even my friends — and moved to the empty station next to him.
A static hum at my back and an odd tugging sensation in my chest drove me to look over my shoulder. Caelus had chosen the station beside mine and was also watching Archimedes intently. I smiled to myself, moving slightly sideways, to give him a better view of the blacksmith’s son at work.
When I chanced a second glance, Caelus was already looking right at me. He shot me a small smile and mouthed thanks, then nodded back to Archimedes, who had picked up a set of long handled tongs and gently placed his block of metal into the forge.
Caelus and I mimicked him. Together, we watched the blocks transform — bluish-grey to dark red, then a glowing scarlet. I squinted into the fiery blaze, wiping sweat from my brow as the blocks, at last, turned a bright yellow-orange.
Archimedes removed his block and carefully placed it atop the anvil.
I hurried to retrieve mine. The fires were so scorchingly hot they’d easily melt the skin from my bone, so I was careful not to brush up against any part of the stone or flame.
Velira had no such fears. She was curled up in front of the open furnace, asleep between mine and Caelus’ stations, snoring softly and wearing flames as her blanket. I stifled a perplexed giggle.
Barring Archimedes’ little red fox, the other bonded animals had remained behind, instinctively knowing a sweltering workshop was no place for their thick hides or flammable feathers.
“Fuck!” Aros swore from further down the line, followed by a metallic clatter.
Caelus huffed a laugh from behind me, coaxing a smile to my lips.
His amusement triggered my own, and when I turned to look at him again, I found him already grinning.
I bit my lip as my heartbeat stuttered, and if it were at all possible, my cheeks would have reddened further — though they were already hot and slick with sweat thanks to the stifling fire.
“Are you two watching or flirting?” Archimedes chided softly, startling us out of whatever it was we were doing. He peered down his pointed nose and gestured to the hammer in his hand.
“You need to hammer the steel into shape while it’s hot and malleable enough to do so.”
He demonstrated on his own piece, and we watched as the rough outline of a sword took shape.
Frowning, I attempted to replicate the method and immediately discovered it was a much harder task than Archimedes made it look. He came over to my workstation, sighing deeply before stepping up behind me.
“Take note, Sparks,” he said to Caelus, earning a scowl that promised violence.
Archimedes proceeded to wrap his fingers around my own, guiding my hand. Together, we hammered the steel block into an elongated rectangle, tapered at one end.
My chest tightened uncomfortably. I rubbed at my sternum with my free hand, though unfortunately, all I accomplished was drawing the attention of the two males in my immediate vicinity to my breasts.
Two pairs of eyes looked straight down my half-unbuttoned shirt, appreciating my mediocre cleavage, before darting away sheepishly.
I scowled, wrenching my hand from Archimedes’ and resumed hammering the steel as he’d shown me. I lost myself in the steady ting, ting, ting of the hammer as it made the shape of a sword appear upon my anvil.
“That’s good, Nyssa. Now you’ll have to hammer the tang into shape,” Archimedes instructed.
“What’s a tang?”
He smiled kindly. “It’s the part of the blade hidden within the hilt, forming its base and ensuring a sturdy weapon.” He gestured to his own sword, where a rough outline of a blade met a narrower outline where the handle would be.
“Oh. Okay. Thank you.” I paused. “Archimedes, why are you helping me?”
“Please, call me Arch. It’s less of a mouthful than something else.”
A scoff escaped me, my brows lifting in unexpected amusement.
“Because I’m not without a soul — as you suspect.
I know why you punched Leander — and it was well deserved.
What he did to those mortal soldiers…” Arch’s joviality had disappeared entirely, replaced by a stark solemnity.
The mutilation of those men would haunt me as long as I lived, and it appeared the same would be true for Hephaestus’ son.
“I played no part in that,” he spat. “But an ally in these trials wouldn’t hurt, would it? I suspect they’re about to get even harder.”
We shared a grimace. I had no doubt he was right. I was dreading Ares’ trial. I was a well-trained fighter, but only the Furies knew what the god of war had up his sleeve.
I extended a pale hand.
“To temporary allies.”
The god laughed and grasped mine in return, his overly large fingers dwarfing mine once more.
“What next?” I asked, pulling it back.