Page 57 of Where Darkness Bloomed
The forests of Olympus whispered with ancient leaves, the scent of cedar hanging in the air. Aglaia’s feet moved swiftly on the narrow path, her heart still drumming in her ears.
Ahead, she saw it.
A great door embedded in the mountainside. It loomed larger with every step until it filled her vision—a towering entrance of hammered bronze.
Fitting for a forge.
Her fingers trembled, hesitating on the latch. Then, she pushed.
The heavy door groaned, protesting a moment before finally giving way. Heat unfurled from the opening, fire-scented air rushing to meet her as she stepped inside.
Before her, a forge sprawled inward, carved into the heart of the mountain. Hot air thrummed with the pulse of creation. Shadows danced against stone walls, thrown by a furnace’s blaze, and tools glinted in the firelight. Half-forged creations filled every surface—fearsome metallic beasts, weapons waiting to taste battle.
He stood at the heart of it all—
Hephaestus.
Aglaia’s breath caught in her throat.
A heavy hammer was gripped in his fist, hovering over an anvil in a moment of tension before he swung it down. Sparks erupted, flaring bright and wild, casting his broad-shouldered silhouette in stark relief.
Tousled auburn hair, damp with sweat, brushed his shoulders, and a dark, cropped beard framed his hard jaw. Sweat slicked his soot-smudged skin, glistening as it traced arms corded with muscle. Beneath a leather apron, his bare chest rose and fell in the rhythm of exertion, each movement a testament to raw strength.
Unlike the polished beings of Olympus, the god of the forge was rough-hewn. A being of fire and bronze, honed into something more visceral than Aglaia had ever encountered among the others.
As if sensing her presence, his ash-dark eyes flicked up.
The air grew heavy with his gaze, unreadable in the shadows that half-veiled him.
The hammer fell again. The crash reverberated through the cavern, rattling Aglaia’s bones. But she fought the instinct to step back, rooting her feet to the ground.
Hephaestus straightened to his full, towering height, and lifted the glowing bronze from the anvil. Calloused hands turned it with ease, and he inspected it with a craftsman’s critical eye. With a decisive motion, he turned and plunged the hot metal into a nearby barrel of water.
Steam screamed, billowing around him in thick clouds.
Then he turned to her, arms folding across his chest. Silent and imposing, he waited.
On her.
He was waiting on her.
She flushed at the realization, fingers lacing before her as composure threatened to abandon her.
“Lord Hephaestus.”
She dipped her head respectfully. Her voice was mercifully steady, despite her frantic heartbeat and dry throat. “I bring a message from Lord Zeus.”
His silence was palpable. Dark eyes cut through the steamy haze, pinning her.
“He tasks you to forge new armor for Achilles,” she continued, quieter. “Son of Thetis and King Peleus, Greece’s great warrior.”
A muscle jumped in Hephaestus’s jaw, but his expression remained unchanged. One large hand rose to drag against his beard as his gaze left her, sweeping the forge.
Without a word, he turned, revealing his muscular back as he reached for a shield lying nearby. He lifted it with a casual grace that belied its weight, his fingers exploring the polished surface.
Uncertainty pricked at Aglaia. The urge to retreat pressed in, chafing against her resolve. She shifted back a step, her fingertips brushing the door latch behind her.
“Why are you here?”
