Page 2 of Hephaestus
The old man kneeled on the ground so that he was at eye level with me. “Tell me, boy, what is your name? Your mother failed to mention it to me.”
I was reluctant at first to say anything to this stranger who I had never met before, but as I glanced up, I could see a grin now on his face and suddenly I could sense a warmness radiating from his body. I decided to answer him. “She is no mother of mine. But they call me Hephaestus.”
***
Kidalionas was not the same person I had anticipated him to be. He was a phenomenal mentor and extremely caring and nurturing towards me. It was the first time in my life where someone spoke to me so…decently. My first few days spent on Lemnos Island with him were quiet. It was difficult for me to open up to him after having spent some time in Zeus’s palace. I had been keeping to myself and trying to avoid everyone like they were contagious with some terrible disease.
“Tell me, Hephaestus. What is it you like to do?” Kidalionas asked me that very first night I spent on the island. We sat on the rough ground of the cave around a warm fire.
I had no words to say to him. I was still shaken up from this whole experience. One minute I was up on Mount Olympus, preparing to accept the fate I had of being an Olympian God. The next minute, Hera stripped all that privilege right from me. She was forcing me to live on an island in isolation from the rest of the world and Mount Olympus until I grew to bebetter-looking. I had felt completely abandoned and had no one in this world I could trust. Therefore, I closed myself off, trying my best just to avoid having any sort of discussion with anyone, period.
My rendered silence prompted Kidalionas to speak up once again. “If you’re going to be spending the next ten years with me, I suggest we start becoming more acquainted with each other. It’s inevitable.”
Still, I was in no mood to carry on a conversation. I was trying to digest all that had happened and what this current situation was that I was now in. For the next decade I would be alone on this island, spending most of my time in this cave with a strange mortal, shut out from the outside world. My ego was bruised from the very moment I was born. My mind, fragile as ever from all that I had endured by living with Hera and Zeus.
“Although your mother…” he began to say, before I briskly cut him off.
“Hera!” I quickly corrected him with.
“Yes. I forgot you don’t want me to refer to her as your mother. My apologies,” Kidalionas said with what I could sense was sincerity behind his tone. “At any rate,Hera, referred to your legs asweak, but I can see you more than compensate for that in the strength of your arms.”
This was an accurate observation from the old man. My arms were thick and wide. My biceps were bulging, which was fairly unnatural for a male god my age. The second he told me this, my eyes shot right up at him, no longer gazing into the flames, but staring directly into the fiery glow that was in his eyes.
I realized that he just paid me a compliment. It was unheard of to my ears. No one had ever offered me any form of praise, no matter how small, since I’d been on Mount Olympus. This was the very first time I’d ever experienced such a remark, and I could instantly feel my insides practically melt with warmth. The traces of dirt on my cheeks could not conceal the redness that they now displayed from hearing Kidalionas admire the size of my arms.
“T-Thank you,” I found myself eagerly replying back to him.
The old man further offered me a wide grin. I could perceive the torridity that he was eliciting. He was definitely trying to make me feel comfortable, but I had to wonder if there was an ulterior motive for his kindness. Did he have an allegiance to Hera of some sort? Clearly, she must have trusted Kidalionas enough to leave me here to grow up under his care. The fact that Hera found any mortal reliable or let alone even had the time to meet and converse with any of them, was completely unprecedented. But still, even if he were close to the repulsive Queen of the Gods, he didn’t have to show me any bit of respect or altruism, yet here he was, doing so.
“You’re quite welcome,” he said. “Now, let me restate my earlier question. What is it you like to do? Do you have any hobbies, skills, talents, or even passions?”
I softly shook my head. “No. I’m not good at much. I do like building things, though.”
“Building things?” Kidalionas repeated back to me. “Such as what?”
“I used to take spare clay and molding I could find around the palace and create cities and landscapes with it.”
“I see,” he said. “Have you ever thought of building other things?”
“Not really.”
“Well, what if I told you I could help you build things far more extravagant than some clay buildings? What would you say to that?”
My eyes lit up at the mention of this. “Like what?”
“Finely crafted weapons, garments, you name it.”
“I mean, I could try it out. I can’t promise I’ll be any good at it,” I stated, doubting my own capabilities.
“Nonsense. With those arms, and the godly strength you have, I’m sure you will have no trouble at all. Come…” Kidalionas instructed, rising to his feet. “Follow me.”
I stood and followed behind as he led me deeper into this cave dwelling of his. There were tons of different turns. We met so many forks in the path that I feared I would never get used to the layout of this labyrinth.
Eventually, we arrived at a fairly open space. A tiny crevice at the apex of the ceiling let a trace of glossy blue light from the glimmer of the moon pierce through. It shone directly on an obsidian structure directly in the center of the room. It looked to be like some sort of obscure altar or table of some sort.
Surrounding it were tools—metallic hammers, tongs, long rods in various shapes and sizes.
“It’s called an anvil,” Kidalionas stated, reading my mind.
