“Great Zeus.”
Though reluctant, Hephaestus greeted the King of the Gods respectfully as Zeus approached.
Poseidon also gave a slight nod.
The King of the Gods wore a white chiton.
His features were somewhat similar to Poseidon’s, but softer and more refined—like a well-read scholar.
Looking at Zeus, only one phrase came to Hephaestus’s mind:
A wolf in sheep’s clothing.
“See here, Hephaestus, my nephew.
You don’t have to be so nervous.
We’re family.”
Zeus laughed warmly.
He subtly positioned himself between Hephaestus and Poseidon, patted Hephaestus’s shoulder with practiced kindness, and wore the expression of a benevolent elder.
That elder, however, had set quite a precedent.
He had led a rebellion against his own father and imprisoned him for eternity.
A truly devoted son.
“Great Zeus, thank you for your kindness.
But I’ve already made peace with it.”
Hephaestus repeated what he’d told Poseidon.
Zeus’s brow furrowed slightly.
He glanced toward Hera with a hint of reproach, then turned back to comfort Hephaestus.
“Poor child.
Your mother has been too harsh on you.
But it’s all right.
I will treat you as my own son.
So hold your head high and enjoy tonight’s banquet.
This honor belongs to you as well.”
Hephaestus shook his head.
Beneath the mask, his voice was calm, with only the faintest tremor.
“Forgive me, great Zeus.
Please allow me to return to my temple.
I wish to be alone.”
“Ah, Hephaestus… you are too sensitive.”
Zeus sighed sympathetically.
“Go, child.
If you find it so painful here, then go and rest.”
“Thank you, great Zeus.
Your glory illuminates the world.”
Hephaestus nodded respectfully, then turned and left without hesitation.
He was done.
He didn’t want to stay there another second.
After he turned, Zeus watched his retreating back.
A faint smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
He looked pleased.
Poseidon, however, watched his brother blocking the way—and his expression was far from pleased.
Hephaestus was far more sought-after than anyone realized.
One look at the lightning scepter in Zeus’s hand and the trident in Poseidon’s was enough to understand Hephaestus’s true value.
That wasn’t even counting the countless weapons and equipment he had supplied during the war against the Titans.
Even the chains that bound the Titans—Hephaestus had forged those.
All of them knew how exceptional this junior—the only one of the Twelve who wasn’t of their generation—truly was.
The only pity was that the previous Hephaestus had been utterly devoted to Hera.
The mother who had abandoned him.
He did whatever she asked, always exceeding expectations, coming and going at her beck and call.
Truly, blindly loyal.
If Zeus or Poseidon had a son like that—looks be damned—they’d have been overjoyed.
Having something useful in hand was what mattered.
They would never have behaved like Hera, loathing Hephaestus for his appearance, calling on him only when he was useful and refusing to see him otherwise.
A textbook example of a terrible mother.
Now, good.
Hephaestus had given up his illusions about Hera.
That meant he could be truly won over—and not controlled by her.
Because Hera was no simple goddess.
Her ambitions ran deep.
Zeus’s eyes narrowed slightly.
His gaze drifted toward the goddesses not far away.
At that moment, the radiant and beautiful goddesses surrounded his wife, Metis—the Queen of the Gods, the only one who could share his authority.
Every goddess looked at Metis’s slightly swollen belly.
Their expressions were either surprised, envious, or curious.
Only one goddess had a hint of jealousy and resentment in her eyes.
Her name was Hera.
Golden hair like spun gold.
A figure of breathtaking grace and curves.
An air of noble elegance.
Zeus watched Hera, who was offering blessings along with the others.
Then he looked at the happy Metis.
A faint ripple of emotion passed through his eyes.
He turned back to Poseidon, raised his golden goblet, and smiled.
“Poseidon, my brother.
Let us drink another toast—to our victory.”
Poseidon smiled as well—brightly, heroically, showing no trace of his earlier gloom.
He laughs heartily and raised his goblet, clinking it against Zeus’s.
“Oh, Zeus!
To our victory!”
“To our victory!”
***
The Sea – Lemnos Island – Temple of the Forge God
The moment he returned to his own domain, Hephaestus finally relaxed.
He removed the mask from his face, revealing a visage as terrible as a dried corpse.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.
This face really is dreadful.”
Studying his reflection in the bronze mirror, Hephaestus marveled—but felt little indignation.
Because when his past-life memories had awakened, he’d also learned how to deal with the problem afflicting his body.
It was just a hollowing curse.
He didn’t have a purging stone in his hand.
He didn’t have a gentle, serene Fire Keeper wife by his side.
But he had something else.
Hephaestus raised his arm, palm upward.
A tiny flame—barely visible, as if a single breath could snuff it out—flickered in his palm.
This was his greatest gain from his previous life.
His proudest achievement.
Its name was:
The First Flame.