I burst from the steaming hot spring, droplets of scalding water trailing down my arms as I clutch my wet gown to my chest. My pulse drums in my ears. “I’m sorry, I must go!” I stammer, cheeks aflame
“It’s okay, darling… take your time,” she replies softly, voice lilting like wind through willows. “ I’m sure we will see each other again.”
I glance back one last time, trying to memorize her perfection the way the steam curls around her like a living thing, how the water droplets catch the ethereal light and make her skin shimmer like mother-of-pearl, Part of me wants to dive back in.
Down the corridor’s stone floor, I sprint, water spraying from my gown in shimmering arcs. I pause at a marble alcove and sweep my hand through my hair, roughing at the strands as steam rises from my skin. The warmth of her touch still smolders along my spine, as if she had mapped my body by heart like ancient territory newly explored. My fingers slip into the folds of my ebony gown, smoothing the fabric over my quivering limbs.
I round the next corner and Bump!
“There you are, little one! I was looking for you!”
I look up at my mother, my expression akin to a child caught with their hand in the honey jar. My face, which had just started to cool, flares hot again.
She places a hand on her hip, unwavering and authoritative, but there's a knowing glint in her eyes that makes my stomach drop. "Veil, what have you been up to?"
Gosh, I can’t hide anything from you.
I open my mouth, then close it again. “I umm… I was just walking around and kind of stumbled into one of the hot springs.”
“That’s all?”
“Umm… someone was there already…”
Her expression shifts into a sly grin. “So who was it?”
“Umm...” I clap my hands together and start swaying side to side. “Aphrodite.”
My mother’s eyes widen, and her hand flies to her mouth as she bursts into laughter.
“That’s not funny, Mother!”
“Oh yes it is! Let me guess: she had you join her with the greatest of ease, and had her way with you?”
I feel my face turn a deep shade of red probably the color of ripe pomegranates as I stammer, "Umm… I ran away…"
This time, she doesn’t bother hiding her amusement as giggles escape her, to the point where tears form in her eyes.
"Stop laughing!" I whine, but there's no real heat in it. Seeing her this amused is actually... kind of nice, even if it's at my expense.
“Darling, that’s just how she is the goddess of love, beauty, and passion for a reason.”
“I’m surprised you had enough strength to leave; many have succumbed to her charms.”
She pulls me into a comforting hug, patting my head gently. “There there… it’ll be alright.”
“That explains why Hephaestus is here…”
“Let’s go to the armory. Your weapon should be ready.”
We pass beneath towering columns and enter the armory. My breath catches at the sight of wall after wall lined with weapons that gleam like captured starlight. Eternal spears stand in silent ranks, bows carved from moonwood arc against the ceiling, and swords of every size glint with runes that pulse softly. Each blade seems alive, humming with stories of battles won and lives saved.
A massive war hammer rests on a pedestal, its head inscribed with runes that glow faintly red. Beside it, a shield that looks like it was forged from a fallen star. Daggers that seem to drink in the light around them. A bow that whispers promises of arrows that never miss.
As we make our way deeper into the armory, toward the forge at its heart, the rhythmic clank of hammers striking mythical steel echoes throughout the chamber. The sound reverberates in my bones, primal and purposeful. Heat begins to wash over us in waves, and I can see the orange glow of the forge ahead, like a miniature sun contained within stone.
I raise my hand in a small wave, feeling dwarfed by the huge figure standing before me. He's massive, easily twice my height, with arms like tree trunks and hands that look like they could crush stone
“Hey there, little lady!” he greeted, his voice deep and warm.
“Oh, stop that,” Hecate playfully slapped him on the shoulder, drawing a chuckle from him.
He just smiled and waddled away toward the blazing fire of the forge.
“I heard you had a run-in with Aphrodite. How did that turn out?”
I placed both hands over my face, trying to hide my embarrassment. “Do all of you know about this?”
“There’s no privacy in the Underworld, Lady Veil.”
“Where’s Cerberus?”
“No, he’s not going to eat you. Stop it!”
“Fine…” I let my hands slide down to my sides in a dreadful manner.
“Alright, little lady, let’s get that weapon forged, shall we?”
He moves to the forge with surprising grace for someone his size, taking up clamps that look delicate in his massive hands. He extracts a piece of long adamantine steel from the molten lava-like liquid produced by the earth itself the primordial fire that burns at the world's core.
The metal is breathtaking. Rich veins of red and gold pulse through it like living blood, like the heartbeat of the earth made visible. Heat radiates from it in waves that make my skin prickle, and I can smell the sharp, metallic tang mixed with something ancient and primal like lightning and stone and the moment before creation.
"Now," Hephaestus says gently, "just drop a few drips of your blood, and we can get started."
I took the tip of my finger and bite it gently, squeezing to let a few drops of black ichor, laced with golden flakes, fall onto the steel. The moment my blood touches the metal, it hisses and steams, the adamantine drinking it in hungrily. The red and gold veins flare brighter, spreading like roots seeking water, like my essence is being woven into the very fabric of the steel.
My mother took my finger and kissed it softly, her warm lips against the small wound. “There, all better!”
“You do know I’m not a child anymore, right?”
She gasped dramatically, the kind of performance worthy of a stage. “You were only born eight months ago, according to mortal time!”
“Eight?” I sighed. I would never get used to how time works down here. It felt like I had been here for years already, so I won’t complain.
“Alright, stand back!” He grabbed his hammer, which was embellished with gold and adorned with various colored rubies. And just as he was about to take the first strike
“Wait!”
“Umm… is it okay if I try?”
He looked over at my mother, then back at me, his expression thoughtful. “By all means.”
He passed me the hammer, and somehow, it shrank to a size that fit perfectly in my hands.
“Before you begin, you must envision what you want, since you are the one wielding the hammer. Usually, the essence you drip into it takes shape, so this should turn out uniquely. You must strike without hesitation; be true to yourself. Every feeling you have will push through.”
I nodded in agreement, adjusting the hammer in my hand. Strangely, it felt heavy, as if gravity were determined to weigh me down. I lifted it, aiming it down toward the steel.
Tenng!
With each strike, memories flowed through my mind like a torrent thoughts of loss and regret.
“Why?” Tenng! “Why would they do this to me?” Teng! “*We fought together…”Teng! “We laughed together…” Teng! “I loved them…” Teng! “I love her…”
Each strike echoed with my heartache; I heard a sinister laugh in my mind as the memories haunted me.
“He held his sword to my head…” Tenng! “She plunged a dagger into my heart!” Teng!
Black tears slide down my cheeks, hissing as they meet the scorching metal.
The sound reverberates through my bones, through my very soul. The steel flattens slightly under the blow, sparks erupting in a shower of gold and crimson that dance in the air like fireflies. My arms vibrate with the impact, the shock traveling through my shoulders and into my chest, and suddenly.
Memories...
“He laughed at my death...” Teng! “But there was one person…” Teng! “She tried to save me…” Teng!
But WHY can't I remember her name?
My voice vibrated through the entire room, the sound waves visibly pulsing as I raised my arm high for one final strike. “TENNG!”
Fire erupts in colors of black and gold, a pillar of flame that reaches toward the ceiling like a prayer, like a scream, like a rebirth. The heat is so intense I have to cover my face, my skin feeling like it might blister. The flames roar with a sound like a thousand voices crying out at once all my pain, all my love, all my broken pieces being forged into something new.
“It hurts, Mother... it hurts so much…”
“I know… I know it does.” She comforted me. “Soon, I promise you will get your answers, but sometimes knowing the truth can hurt just as much. That’s what I’m trying to prepare you for.”
I cling to her as if she might vanish at any moment, as if she's the only solid thing in a world that keeps shifting beneath my feet. "Please, Mother, don't leave me!"
She tilted my face up, gazing into my eyes. “Dear, I would never.” She leaned down, placing a delicate kiss on my head.
Hephaestus rushes over, giving us a moment before pulling a lever. Water cascades from the ceiling in a thunderous waterfall, splashing down onto the fire and extinguishing the flames with a roar of steam that fills the entire chamber. The sound is deafening, primal the hiss of creation and destruction meeting.
And there, emerging from the dissipating haze like something from a dream, lay two sickles.
My breath catches.
They're beautiful. Terrible. Perfect.
Their chains are intertwined like lovers' hands, like two halves of a whole that can never truly be separated. The black chain resembles ice, frost seeping from each link and creating a thin mist that coils around it like a living thing. It's cold, I can feel the chill from here.
One sickle glimmers with a faint teal and black hue, intricately designed with webbing that seems to shift and move in the light, like shadows given form. It boasts a teal gem that seems to contain the very essence of a living soul. I swear I can see it pulse, see shadows moving within its depths like trapped spirits. The blade itself is wicked, curved like a crescent moon, sharp enough to cut through reality itself.
The other sickle shines with a radiant gold, pulsating as if it has a heartbeat of its own, as if it's alive and breathing. A golden gem is embedded in its hilt, carved from what appears to be an angelic wing, each feather etched in perfect detail. The blade gleams with an inner light, warm and fierce, like captured sunlight.
“Give it a name,” Hephaestus said, looking between me and the weapons.
I stepped closer, black tears still dripping down my pale face.
My hands hover over the black sickle, and I can feel the cold radiating from it, feel it reaching for me like it recognizes something in my soul. I don't know why, but a name springs to mind as if it's whispered by the universe itself, as if the weapon is telling me what it wants to be called.
"Wraith."
The moment the name leaves my lips, the steel vibrates, a low hum that I feel in my teeth, in my bones. It accepts the name. It accepts me.
Suddenly it's drawn to my hand as if magnetized, the handle slapping into my palm with a satisfying weight. The metal is cold so cold it almost burns but it feels right. The frost from the chain creeps up my wrist, not painful but intimate, like a lover's touch claiming me as its own. It wraps around my forearm in delicate spirals, beautiful and deadly.
hover my other hand over the golden sickle, and the gold shimmers around it like molten lava, waves of heat distorting the air. This one feels different warmer, fiercer, like hope refusing to die.
"Dawn."
The name comes easier this time, feels more certain. Because even in my darkest moments, even when I wanted to give up, there was always that small spark of light that refused to be extinguished. The person who tried to save me. The love that persisted despite everything.
The chains wrap around my arm the moment I speak, moving like living serpents, coiling up my forearm with purpose. The sickle attaches itself to my left hand, and I gasp at the sensation it's warm where Wraith is cold, a perfect balance. The golden chain pulses with each beat of my heart, and I can feel it all the love I poured into the steel, all the hope, all the desperate need to remember and to honor the one who tried to save me.
I stood there, holding the sickles; it felt instinctual, it felt right… it was mine.
“Death and life,” Hephaestus whispered.
"They are yours now," he says gently. "They will answer to your will. They are bound to your soul, forged from your essence. No one else can wield them. No one else can even touch them."
I took a moment to focus, envisioning wielding them with purpose. The chains tightened around my arm, almost melding into my soul as they formed into beautiful, multi-layered chain-link bracelets in colors of black and gold.
“Thank you, Hephaestus!” I exclaimed, rushing over to give him the biggest hug I could muster. My arms barely reach around his massive frame, but he chuckles warmly and pats my back with surprising gentleness.
He chuckled in response. “It was all your doing.”
“Thank you, God of Smiths,” Hecate gracefully bowed.
“Of course, Goddess of the Moon.”
She took my hand gently. “Come, child. There is more to do.”