Chapter 9 Hephaestus’s Dagger
Relief was the first thing I felt.
It washed through me the second Bronte’s posture softened, allowing the tension that had taken hold of me to ease as she stepped closer. She turned the blade in her hand so that the hilt faced me.
“This,” she said calmly, “Is a gift.”
I hesitated before taking it, my fingers closing around the obsidian-black hilt.
The dagger was beautiful, unmistakably so.
Its grip was wrapped in ancient, scaled leather, worn smooth with age, and the pommel housed a clear crystal that caught the light in a way that felt almost alive.
The guard had been forged into the grasping talons of a beast I didn’t recognize, curved protectively, as if it had been made to shield the hand that wielded it.
Etchings spiraled down the length of the blade; celestial runes worked so finely into the metal, that they mirrored the scars etched into my own skin.
“The King wanted you to have it,” Bronte said quietly. “Atlas, he… he left it for you.”
My breath caught at not only her words but the tone of them. As if this was a great honor bestowed by a King.
But it was strange, because I felt as if I had seen this dagger somewhere before. I was almost sure of it. There was that moment when I touched the sphere, when a demonic voice had told me to choose and called me fated, this blade had been there… glowing… vibrating… waiting for blood.
I pushed the memory aside and instead focused on what this was. A gift from Atlas I could trust.
“A gift,” I echoed softly. “This is…” There really wasn’t a word for it, but I tried to find it all the same. Unique. Incredible. Surreal. Beautiful. Romantic. None of them were enough, yet all of them fit.
As my hand settled fully around the grip, the dagger responded.
Light flared along the runes, each one igniting in the same soft glow that traced my own markings, answering me as if it had been waiting. All of them lit, save for one.
The rune that no longer existed on my skin and the one that had been scorched off my back.
An injury that still ached, and not just with the memory of how it came to be.
My smile faltered as my gaze caught on it, the place where the symbol should have been was now nothing more than a vicious burn scar, a reminder of what Riley had taken from me.
Bronte noticed immediately, her hand coming to rest gently on my arm.
“It was always meant to be like this,” she said softly.
“This blade was never finished without you.” I frowned in confusion, hoping she would say more, but she withdrew her hand, studying the dagger now as much as I was.
Her expression was thoughtful, awed. “And there’s one more thing,” she added after a moment.
“Something it will need before you step through the Rift.”
I looked up at her in question, finally able to drag my gaze from the deadly masterpiece in my hands.
“You need to take some of my lightning with you.”
I pulled a confused face. “This dagger, though… it’s, well, it’s incredible, what has it got to do with your lightning?”
“This sword was forged by Hephaestus, the God of Fire and Forge. Hephaestus’s weapons can absorb powers from gods until they are needed.”
“Wait… so are you telling me that you’re, you’re a god?” My tone was understandably high-pitched, trying to wrap my head around it all. Though if she answered me with a ‘yes’, I wouldn’t be surprised at all. There wasn’t much that surprised me anymore these days.
“Not exactly. I’m not sure what has been passed down in your history about our world. Do you know the story of Zeus and the Cyclopes?” she asked.
“No, I mean, I know who Zeus is, and I have heard of Cyclopes, but I don’t know much about either,” I replied honestly, wishing now that I did.
“That’s okay.”
She smiled, and I was glad that my lack of knowledge didn’t offend her.
“There were three Cyclopes. Arges, known as the Bright One, Steropes, known as the Lightning Flash, and Brontes, known as the Thunder. Three guesses for which I was named after?” she said with a laugh that had me smiling too.
“Born of the primordial gods Uranus and Gaia, they were imprisoned by Uranus in the depths of Tartarus, not only because of their monstrous appearance, but also because he feared their immense powers. When the Titanomachy, the great war between the Olympian gods and the Titans began, Zeus freed the Cyclopes from Tartarus.”
“Why?” I asked, lured in by her story.
“Because he needed their help to win the battle. In gratitude for their freedom, they forged weapons of great power for the Olympians.”
“Weapons? Like what?”
She grinned at this and named a few that most people would know.
“Poseidon’s trident, Hades's helm of invisibility, and, of course, Zeus’s thunderbolt,” she said with a wink.
“Each Cyclops contributed uniquely. Arges gave the weapon its bright light, Steropes fused it with a deadly flash, and Brontes shaped its thunderous core,” she said with a grin, and I could tell she was proud of her divine heritage.
“The Olympians won the war, and before long, Zeus and Hera gave birth to a son, Hephaestus. As he was born lame and imperfect, he was cast down to Earth from Olympus.”
“Wow, harsh much,” I commented dryly.
“Yes, indeed, but then, the gods aren’t known for their mercy, nor are they known for accepting anything but perfection in their bloodline,” she said, likely in response to the face I pulled.
“He landed on the island of Lemnos, where the native Sintians took him in. Lemnos became Hephaestus’s home, and in its volcanic depths, he met the Cyclopes,” she said.
“A match made in heaven or not… no pun intended?”
She chuckled. “They found solace in each other. The Cyclopes taught him the secrets of metalwork. As he grew, he worked beside the Cyclopes, fusing their ancient craft with his divine gifts of fire control, craftsmanship, and inventiveness. And of course, the blood of an Olympian.”
“Handy,” I mumbled.
“Indeed. This enabled him to forge tools worthy of the gods, just as the Cyclopes could, but his weren’t mere replicas of theirs.
No, they were unique creations of his own.
Yet he knew he could go further. Word of his mastery reached Olympus, and the gods recognized his power and potential, welcoming him back as one of them. ”
“Oh, I bet they did.”
She scoffed, agreeing with this comment. “There, he was granted permission to undertake his most ambitious work yet; to forge a weapon unlike any before it. And so, with divine flame and forging mastery, Hephaestus created the dagger you now hold.”
I gasped, looking down at the weapon in my hand, now seeing it in an entirely different light with the knowledge of its history and the divine power it must have held.
But not just that, I didn’t dare even think of how priceless it was.
Which meant suddenly it was no longer just a stunningly crafted gift.
No, it was so much more.
“It is a dagger capable of absorbing and holding the power of a god, locking it away until it is needed once more,” she said, and suddenly, what she spoke of earlier, about needing her lightning, was starting to make sense.
I admired the dagger in my hand again after I had absorbed the story she told me.
I couldn’t quite believe I was holding something forged thousands of years ago by a Greek God.
The dagger felt so right in my hands, like a limb I had been missing.
But oddly still, my markings matched it, like I was meant to hold this dagger. Like it was fate.
And it only added more questions than offered answers. One question that stuck out more than the rest… why me?
“Because I am a descendant of the Cyclopes, the powers are passed down through generations. I hold not only thunder but lightning too, and these powers were passed to the gods in our weapons. Therefore, the power of the gods is the power of the Cyclopes. That is why the dagger can hold my power, as really, this power is only borrowed by the gods.”
Bronte had said that her ancestors were sent to Tartarus because of their monstrous appearances, but here she was, one of, if not the most beautiful creature I had ever seen in my life.
“What about the engravings?” I asked, examining them further.
They were basic symbols, and I had seen them before, of course, on myself and on the King, but like a light switch had come on in my head, I finally realised something.
“These are the same as my scars.” Though one was no longer lit up, and as I fingered the dull engraving, it seemed like I could feel my touch where the marking used to be, too.
“The dagger will know your intent, so you can wield it as a weapon, and it will hold the lightning.”
I was about to ask for more details, but Aster finally caught up with us, and I could instantly see the strain in his amber eyes.
Which instantly told me two things. The first was that whatever he had going on with Tiff was serious, and the second was that saying goodbye to her was painful.
Which was why I couldn’t tease him about it, despite the fact that I could still see traces of her lipstick on his lips.
“I see you gave her the dagger then,” Aster said, nodding down to the weapon still held in my hand like I was holding some priceless artefact forged by the gods… oh wait, yeah, that was exactly what I was holding.
“I did, but she will need a way to carry it,” Bronte replied, making Aster grin.
“Lucky I brought this along then,” he said, holding up a belt that looked to be made from thick, soft leather and was embossed with beautiful swirls and interlocking patterns. It had two sheaths that had me frowning in confusion, but then my eyes lit up.
“My knife!” Sure enough, in one of the sheaths was my knife, the one which Atlas had taken off me what seemed like a lifetime ago.
“Atlas wanted you to have it back.” Aster said.
I pointed to the sword hanging by his side. “I can see you’re packing.”