Aine lifted the glowing, cherry crimson blade from the bellowing fire and burning coals, her eyes drawn to the wavy superheated air as it rolled of the blade. A fluid, half-practiced, half-instinctive movement placed the blade on a glossy, pitch-black obsidian anvil, embellished with silver inlayed script and marred only by soot and ash. The moment the blade and anvil touched, like lovers in lust, passion sparked and burst, the anvil lit up with life and heat to match the blades’ own, gaining a golden vermillion hue.

She lifted her hammer in one hand and held the tongs in the other, eyeing the glow of the blade and anvil, before hefting her hammer and bring it down on the lovers, sparks flying upon contact, even as they writhed in the pain and pleasure of becoming. The blade thinned and lengthened under her hammer’s forceful and firm pounding, the perfect combination of rough motion, precise technique and instinctive need to reach the climax of the moment. The culmination and meeting of present and future.

Time stretched, minutes rolled by slowly, painfully, as the momentum built between the threesome, the moment drawing closer, the screeches and groans of hot metal colliding resounding within the forge’s back workshop. Aine obverses the repeated collisions of metal on red-hot metal, waiting, before she suddenly lifts and thrusts the blade into the room-temperature oil, contained within a stone barrel beside her. The explosion of smoke, moisture and heat, fire lighting up the surface of the oil, even as it begins to boil, in that moment, in a split second, the momentum breaks, the thrill of that perfect moment, the rush of ecstasy, the peak and beginning of creation.

She lets out a long sigh, finding erotic innuendos and sexual connotations in metalworking is a sure sign that the six months of zip while she was undertaking an apprenticeship under her father’s watchful eye for the Domain of Crafting, was unhealthy.

Still, at least she was exploring her powers getting to know her father was awesome, learning his skills, listening to his stories and gossip of the past.

He was mellowing. He was even letting himself be happy, really happy, not just his usual illusion of it.

The dark emotions, his regrets and fears, they are taking a backseat, not gone, maybe they will be with him forever. But at least he can let his guard down, seeing as I promised to stay out of the thick of the coming conflicts. Aine knew that he was holding back, not just about the rest of the powers she inherited from him but also her mothers, but she could wait. She had the time apparently, not to mention she had plenty on her plate with her shop opening up soon.

Drawing the blade from the still-boiling oil, Aine smiles as she sees the faint script marking the length of the blade, only faint, but still there, the blade now had the beginnings of a name, of a soul of its own. Aine knew that only with time and actual use will the soul of the blade grow any more than it is now. Only when it finds its destined partner, its soulmate, will it become complete, to have the chance to become great. Even legendary.

Anything is possible if given the right circumstances.

Not willing to rush the finishing touches of her baby of forge and fire, nor the finishing touches of its twin, its sheath, Aine took her time, with it being late afternoon by the time she had finished both, even with a touch of magic to help the process along and give it a beautiful polish.

Carrying the sheathed sword, Aine walked out of the work area of her shop and into its storefront.

The forge in the back, the shop and all its trimmings in the front, the vast and wild forest to the right, the bottomless mine in the basement, her living area above and a locked door to the left. Her father had told her that this place was connected to all her domains, even those she had yet to awaken, they were still there. The left door was a symbol of that connection and their continued sleeping presence and potential.

All of it was hers, her mystery to solve, expand and enrich, hers alone.

Her Divine Territory.

The physical representation of her Divine Domains.

Which, for now, was her Major Domain of Crafting and her Minor Aspects of Wealth, Fertility, Skill, Art, Oaths, Law and Truth, inherited from her father. She also inherited the Major Domains of Life, Death and Rebirth and the Minor Aspect of Hearth from the Cauldron of Rebirth.

Sounds impressive right? Well it would be if she had earned and mastered them all. Inheriting them just means that she has the needed talent to learn and master those Domains, which is why she has to learn all forms of the Domain of Crafting from the ground up. Until now Aine had focused on her Domain of Crafting, along with her Aspects of Wealth and Hearth coming second.

Why those two? Well Wealth because she was currently broke having quit her job to learn from her father, mostly due to his dire warnings of doom and conflict in the near future. Opening a shop that sold weapons and armour during a conflict seems a solid, if a tad mercenary, plan to make a living. Hearth was because she wanted a home, she wanted it to be welcoming and warm, but most of all she wanted it to be safe and healing for her father and her future customers. Plus, there is a special magic within the Domain of the Hearth, a magic that draws those that have a need of something she can willingly provide.

Whether that need was her knowledge, such that it was, her talents and skills, her craft or even just a place to rest, her Domain of the Hearth, and thus her shop, would draw their feet though streets and alleyways to arrive before her storefront.

Seemed like a good business opportunity in her mind.

Breaking away from her thoughts she glanced around the storefront for her father and her mentor in the Aspect and Domain of Crafting.

Her eyes quickly found her father seated at the customer waiting area, next to a cheery hearth and a mug of chilled cider on the small table beside his lounge. He was holding a trashy romance novel in one hand while holding his head with the other, leading his elbow on one of the lounges’ armrests. He told her it was for research purposes, the trashy romance novels that is, but she thought he simply enjoyed how simple everything seemed to be in them, that basically all of them had an ending that was perfect and happy.

Not something he had much experience with personally, but she guessed that meant you had to find it where you could then. Even if it wasn’t your own.

“Alright, old man, time to admire and reflect on the perfection that is my baby, not that I don’t see why a gun or something a little more modern wouldn’t have worked just as well.”

Her father glanced up at the sound of her teasing voice, his expression distasteful of her mention of guns, as he placed his book on the small table, while rising to his feet in the same fluid moment.

“Because my Alannah Aine, you will be hard pressed to find any gun with a soul, from any era, let alone in these modern times of mass-produced and manufactured junk and scrap-metal. Even master and grandmaster gunsmiths, those that have spent decades making dozens, even hundreds, of guns will have little if any True-Named examples. Guns are just far too . . . modern and changeable. Not to mention wasteful.”

Aine rolled her eyes, smirking as she rebutted in a calm and familiar tone.

“Bows are just as wasteful in terms of ammunition, not to mention slower to fire, harder to learn and less compact.”

Her father looked like he had eaten shit at her line of argument, it was the same face he always made when guns were compared to bows, even crossbows where not so reviled, though he disliked them as well, it wasn’t at the same level as his dislike of guns.

“The simply elegance and vast history of the bow is incomparable, thousands of years and hundreds of dynasties, nations and cultures, all perfecting and refining the Art of Archery. And that is not even mentioning those individuals that relied on it to ascend to godhood, the possibly the greatest achievement a mortal can achieve in any discipline. “

Aine stared at her father’s grumpy expression, tickled at his insistence and dogged belief that old ways were best. She didn’t necessarily disagree, but neither did she agree. Aine had the feeling that things were changing, and that was not just the obvious changes that came with the coming of the alien demi-gods. She had the feeling that these new demi-gods would bring a change, an evolution even, to what it meant to be a hero, from how they fought to how they lived.

Why did she feel that way? Because of the budding inspirations for weapons and the beginnings of new and strange ideas for armour that where appearing in her head. They where growing more and more frequent as the fated arrival of the foreign demi-gods approached.

She had even given into the compulsion to make a suit of leather armour.

A prototype if you would.

It was rudimentary and untested in comparison to the ideas in her head, flawed and lacking something important. It was as if she lacked that last important key inspiration that would complete that idea she had in her mind.

As if each should be unique, individual, to the one that would wear it. Instant recognition of who they were should follow the sight of the armour, without even looking at their face.

It was frustrating to say the least, being practically stymied from the onset.

Aine glanced down, catching sight of her newborn sword, sheathed and awaiting inspection. Not that she was worried, which is probably why she so easily got distracted from getting her father to review it. She was confident. This was her graduation sword.

Why?

Because instinct.

Aine lifted it and stopped her father’s lecture before it could really pick up steam. He paused and stared at the sheathed sword in her hand. She smirked to herself, he was making that expression of pride and sorrow he always made when she performed above and over his expectations.

He made that face every time.

Aine knew he had wanted her to learn quickly, knew he had high expectations and knew he would not let her skate by on mediocracy. But he also wanted more time teaching her, to be with her, after all the time he had to spend in the background and at a distance.

The fact that her Major Aspect was Crafting, that she was his daughter and that he devoted himself to teaching her, made absorbing and applying knowledge that should have taken years to learn and decades to master, happen in mere months.

But even then, this was just an apprenticeship.

Her father could only teach her so much of the basics, to only help her form the basics of her foundation of knowledge and skills. The rest she would have to discover for herself.

Those secrets of the craft were what made the difference between a master like her father and a grandmaster like Hephaestus, a true Divine of the Domain of Craft. Unlike her father who was mainly a champion and secondly a king, Majoring in the Aspects of Heroes, War and Rulership. Not to say her father was not a powerhouse in terms of his skill in Craft, just that he did not devote himself to it as Hephaestus and others like him did.

She as a guppy in comparison to both or either of them.

But that just meant she had so much more to learn and to master.

Aine looked forward to it. Just like she eagerly looked forward to learning the rest of her Divine Domains and Aspects already discovered within her and those still hidden.

But most of all, her scarcely controlled impatience to meet her mothers, to know them, to learn from them, to see that same look of pride her father currently wore, on their faces. She fervently promised herself she would see it. She would prove that she was worth the cost. She was not a mistake or accident. She is and always will be, worthy of their pride.

She was worthy of their love.

Aine continued to look at her father, waiting for him to take her minor masterpiece, understanding his reluctance to confirm her apprenticeship, had indeed drawn to a close. Still, her father was a brave being at his core, willing to face the majority of his fears and confront them head on.

Even if he was on the verge of tears at the prospect that his little girl had grow wings and was starting her solo flight. Aine’s smile softened from a smirk to a smile of hope and comfort at the sight of her father’s throat bobbing with emotion as he reached to take the sheathed sword from her hand. His left hand closed over the hilts’ grip, while using his right to draw the sword from the sheath to observe the blade of the sword in the open light.

He pointed the tip of the sword to the fire, his arm extended straight while his eye followed the length and breath of the swords’ blade searching for imperfections. His gaze lingered over the faint magic script that flowed down the middle of the blade, confirming that it was innate and natural.

The sword held a True Name and thus it contained a Soul.

He sighed, tinged with both pride and joy, but also a reluctance and melancholy.

It was a perfect example of a sword, encapsulating all the techniques of mortals and enhanced with her use of her own magic to awaken the innate and natural magic within materials of the sword. Honed to an edge, but not so thin as to make the blade easy to chip and weighted to have perfect balance between the blade and the hilt to allow for both greater control over its movement.

Breaking your wrist trying to control an overly and/or awkwardly weighted blade is an unpleasant experience and an often fatal one if it happens while you are in the thick of battle. A moment of lapsed concentration, for any reason, let alone breaking the wrist of your sword hand, is a good way to get killed.

He turned his gaze to his daughter, to his Alannah Aine.

“Who could have asked for a better student, for a better daughter. Certainly not I. My Alannah Aine, you have surpassed all my expectation, virtually flown over all obstacles and tasks I put in your way, swallowed whole all the lessons I could teach you. With this sword you have proven that you are ready to hone your craft without anyone’s care or guidance. You have proved yourself ready to walk your own path.”

He sheathed the sword and handed it back to her even as his arms swept wide before embracing her and planting a light kiss on her brow, his face and voice thick with more emotions than just pride.

“Congratulations my apprentice, congratulations my talented and skilled little daughter, all grown into her own and ready to face the tasks and duties ahead of her. Congratulations on earning your place amongst the Gods of Forge and Craft.”

Aine felt a hum in her chest and a lightness of body, hearing those words of pride and love from her father was something she always dreamed of, from childhood all the way to adulthood. But soon she noticed her shop and the lounge area were glowing, though the greatest light came from her forge area.

She glanced at her father, questions in her eyes.

He smiled with fatherly devotion and love, holding one arm around her shoulder he swept the other before them, indicating the whole of her Divine Territory.

“You did not just prove yourself to me, my Alannah Aine, you proved yourself to your Major Domain and to your Divine Source. Your territory changes and advances to match your inner self, your skills, your experiences and your feats, growing and evolving as you do. This is just one small step forward, but still an important one, your territory changing proves it.”

He stared down and beamed at her, his heart beating fast with his wild hope and belief that his Alannah Aine would be safe and well, her feet set upon a different path to that of her siblings.

His lost and fallen children. His eyes dimmed for a moment, before brightening fiercely, his gaze turning to his daughter’s apprenticeship graduation sword.

“It deserves a given name don’t you think?”

Aine followed his gaze to the sword held in her hands. She closed her eyes, trying to capture the idea and inspiration that she used to create this very sword, trying to find the connection back to the need that helped form the inspiration for the sword.

There!

Her eyelids snapped open, the name appearing like a fiery brand in her mind’s eye.

‘Solemn-star!’

Aine looked at the entrance of her territory, her connection to the need, one that called for a weapon, a sword, that would reflect a distant and unbiased judgement, was so strong, so clear and so . . . near.

Her father followed her gaze and was surprised by her next words.

“Its name is Solemn-star, the one that holds it is clearheaded and logical, unaffected by passions, fears and desires. They who hold it becoming a supremely dispassionate judge, most distant spectator and the keenest critic. They remember all that they see and hear, knowing the truth from any lies or embellishment within their memory.”

Aine’s gaze drifted to the handle of the door to her territory as it began to turn.