Hephaestus, emerging from the smoldering crater he had just created, looked upon the world he was alien to. A world so different yet so familiar. Like a replica of some ornament, a fake relic with just enough blemishes and imperfections that it was innoticeable. But he could see the intent. This world, at a glance, seemed unblessed by the presence of the gods, untroubled and unburdened by the calamity that had plagued it once before. The trees had grown in vibrance, the land unscarred and teeming with life. But he knows better. He could see it, the remnants of his old empire. He could see it in the turbulence in the winds. The land had been scarred and torn apart again and again. It doesn't even resemble what it once was underneath the façade. It was a fake of the most disgusting kind, a plight upon what had come before it. It was like they completely tried to erase what had come before it.

He climbed out of the rubble that had been the mountain of his birth. Now, it was a smoldering crater still filled with lava that cooled under a cold sun. The skies were still cloudy and filled with dark ash, and he could feel the disturbance within the earth that growled in irritation. The memories of the human he inhabited bounced around inside his mind. Puny thoughts of power and emotions of anger that somehow melded into his own. It was a strange state he was in. He retained some of his own memories but felt cold and empty, like he had been robbed of something valuable. He stood, shaking off the ash and looking around at the darkened environment. On the fringes of his destruction, he sensed humans. They worked to halt the further devastation of this land. He did not understand that. Why would they wish to stop something so beautiful? The destruction of this land shall leave the way for new life to propagate. That is what happened to this world. The devastation left room for something else, something more to fill it. But why did this bother him? He felt anger, such anger that it struck his core and reverberated through his being. He wanted to destroy what new things have come, decimate the world the new gods have built through their rebellion. It was their arrogance, their improper appropriation of their predecessors that destroyed a world the gods have built and ruled for a hundred millennia. All to be destroyed in not even a fraction of that time. It was only right, only fair to return that favor. But the question still remained as to how he was here. What happened in his absence, and where is his kin.

"They are dead, maker."

The voice was a sudden, fleeting thought. But he heard and acknowledged it. IT was different from the anger and the rage and the pain that had been there before. This carried a portion of the concern and of purpose.

"Why have I returned?" he whispered to himself.

"Destroy," said the voice earnestly. It was small and dry, like a little fiend whispering in its ear. It spoke with earnest. "Destroy."

"I remember. They . . . killed my brethren, haven't they," he remembers little, but he does remember the war, the conflict between old and new gods. Of thunder and lightning and fire. The laughter of thirsting gods. It came to him, slowly. "My brethren. Lost and scattered against the thralls of order and chaos. Is this your cause, Fate? Have you sought to destroy us all this time?"

"Power," the voice nearly whined. "Power of gods. Power, and the spirit. You are spirit. Power is given. Those who destroy the spirit. Godslayers"

"Godslayers," he sneered at the mere notion. "They stripped us of our powers to give to mortals. How dare they. How is it that we have been turned to mere remnants, and they sit on our thrones?"

The voice in his head was silent, sensing the danger that surrounded him. He growled this curse to the heavens. He knew what force he speaks of, but he knows he may never find revenge against Fate itself. His vengeance, his anger must be placated some other way into whose hands worked his demise and the demise of the former Olympians. This world, he shall work its destruction, work its end himself. But how must he do this? If what this sad creature tells him is true, these so-called godslayers will prove his demise sooner or later. The new gods will not allow him to propagate in this world, and no doubt they will try to destroy them. He is naked here. He feels drained of his might, left naked. He is without weapons and powers. But, he had always been without these things. Unlike his might brethren, who controls the skies and seas, the very sun, he has been the lamest and has taken the domain within the liquid fire and the craftsmen. He will find his strength there. And he could feel it. Within these scarred lands are the remnants of his crafts, and he can find his forges and use them. He is the god of the forge. He creates his weapons and is the maker of the most powerful weapons ever brought to this world. He can create more, enough to strike down those false gods from the heavens, and remake his kin in newer forms and newer bodies. He can create his own body if needed. He could sense the nearest forge, far north. A faint memory, more of an instinct now. There, he will find his tools, what is left of his domain, and he shall craft a nail to strike into the heart of this world. He will rise yet. And perhaps, he may be able to revive his own brethren. Somehow.

Hephaestus began walking. His revenge shall be swift.

(X)

Gray carefully looked at the herms that marked their exit from Arkouda. They were officially halfway to Liontari at this point, but he doesn't believe his sanity won't degrade further with these three women at his back. But to understand this degradation, there are a few instances that must be mentioned first. He was a man of patience. All blacksmiths are patient men because if they weren't, they would have put a pike through their skull for every misshapen or failed blade. Failure comes with the territory, and because Gray refuses to give himself too much credit, he has become very patient with the world. However, while on this journey, he wished to be home more than anything.

They had just been attacked by a few basilisks, not really a worry for two knights. These large reptilian, poison-spitting, and petrifying monstrosities attacked at the very end of a long day. They were now entering into the waving plains that had turned to their autumn attire for the winter. Snowfall had just begun as well. Hopefully, it shall be another brief winter coming, as it was often in the southern. No doubt they expect far heavier and brutish weather the further they travel. But as they came into the plains, the more challenge they will encounter. As before, they set up their watches in shifts, using the cart and a tarp as a shelter for Celia and her daughter, who had become far more alive in her dreams. Ever since that day, when she spoke in her dreams in such a haunting tone, Celia won't even leave her side for a moment. She is troubled at the thought that they had already lost her, that the spirit of the Makhai had already taken what remained of her, and they were now harboring a killing machine that could awake at any moment to attack them in their sleep. However, they came to think this mere conjecture and gloom. They have to trust that they made it in time. Anyhow, the watch now rested upon both Gray and Elena, as it often did. They made sure to keep their senses active, and their aura stretched out at all times to alert them of nearby trouble. Elena was far better at this than Gray, but he kept his eyes peeled the entire time. They decided that he should take the first watch while she got her sleep for half the night. Gray was contempt watching the moons pass overhead, casting the slightly purplish tones upon them and the occasional flash of a falling star. The crackle of the warm firelight had a somewhat soothing rhythm, and he nearly drifted off several times.

Thankfully, he was horridly alarmed by a danger that rapidly approached them. He immediately sprung up, narrowing his senses in that direction. He could feel aura being disturbed by several creatures rapidly approaching, some a few hundred meters away. He quickly woke up Elena, and together they had to take care of the four-foot-long reptilians. It was an arduous battle, but one all the more assured. Elena drew forth a saber from her magical scabbard, something to stab through the thick scale of these beasts while Gray survived with his own. There was no moisture nearby, but he did well enough with his sword skills to not die at their claws. Besides minor nicks, they came about unscathed. They carried the carcasses a good distance away from the camp to draw whatever other creature would be attracted by the fresh aroma. They returned to their camp, but this time Elena insisted on being the one to take watch.

"Come on, and you still have at least another two hours or so; get your rest," he said while he wrapped some gauze around a cut on his forearm. It was pretty minor and most likely will be mended by the morning.

"It's not like I've had a long day sitting and watching the hills pass," Elena said. "Come on, and you need rest as well. We all need to be at our best out here in these plains. Who knows what else we may encounter, Gray."

He sighed. But relented. He just wanted to rest his backside from the bumpy ride. The carriage inside had the luxury of actually having cushions, while the coach was treated with a bare wooden plank to steady himself upon. He settled into his tent and drifted off to sleep for the next day, which came far too quickly. He was not treated to a dream, and he woke up only slightly more rested than when he laid upon his blankets. Elena was already packing all of their gear, and now they were off once more to track the plains.

He was tired and grumbling this morning. He wanted a soft bed, and he wanted to eat something not drenched in salt and preserved. They haven't come across a single town, and they meant to not stop at one until absolutely necessary. Well, Gray wished for a nice inn to be necessary, anywhere they didn't have to worry about a Nemean lion sneaking into their camp at night and murdering the lot of them. At least he had a lot of time to talk to himself, grumbling about Lyse and Edlund taking it easy as they coast their way north while they have all of the dangers the plains can offer at their necks. And he admits, he got a little childish during these internal monologues, wishing to still be in Silondras, never meeting Lyse or Edlund, and not agreeing to go on his oh-so-grand adventure through the unknown dangers of gods and whatnot. He was tired.

He just wanted a bed, just for a night.

From behind, he heard the sliding window they use to communicate to him on infrequent occasions slide open. It was Elena.

"How far away are we from the borders to Koraki?" she asked him.

He grumbled, taking out the wrinkled map from his pouch and spreading it on his lap. "If we are on course, We should be passing a lake by the end of the day. If that is correct, we'll be another week out from the border, and we'll be in Liontari."

"Feeling all right up there?" she asked him.

"As great as I'll ever be," he said sarcastically. "At least I get wonderful scenery, you know. Lots to look at in these dusty accursed hills."

Elena considered for a moment. "How about some songs then? Would that cheer you up?"

He scoffed. "I'm no Vora Sister, so I doubt it would be enjoyable."

"More enjoyable than nothing at all then?" she asked him.

He shrugged, but she began to sing anyway. She wasn't the best singer in the world, but it was pleasant enough to make him follow along. It wasn't like there was much to keep him occupied anyway. He urged the horse once more and began to sing. While he did so, he wonders if Lyse had ever met the Vora sisters. They were all talented singers that lived not far off from Broken Arrow. Knowing enough about Lyse by now, he guesses he already courted one. They were renowned singers in Liontari, a treasure really that can be seen at some of the most extravagant festivals across the Clans. And he remembers back to when he was a boy, when he first heard their mother, Alicia Vora, perform at the coronation of King James. His memories were ague at these events, but it was the last few moments he had enjoyed with his mother before she died and something he holds close to his heart. Singing the songs he heard brought him a bit closer to her, closer than even his dad could ever bring Gray when he spoke fondly of her.

After they had sung a good bit, he felt in a better mood. Thinking about his mother often did achieve this. He is sure that Elena knew this as well and knew what exactly to do to cheer him up. He is grateful of her for that.

"What do you want to sing next?" she asked him.

Gray noticed a tear forming on his eye and was gracious that he was turned away. He cleared his throat. "The Little soldier."

She seemed a little perplexed but took the offer. He even heard Celia hum along inside. Little soldier was a war hymn sung before a battle with a dangerous enemy. It wasn't very fitting alongside travel hymns or work hymns.

Soldier on hilltops, soldier up high, see us as a worthy opponent.

With shield tucked in under and spears to the sky, engage with us all as a motive.

Pound the ground in heavy feet, send your cries to us all

Make the sounds buffer the heat, Tell us your victors in the halls

Today of all days, tonight of all nights, see how to fight is to love

Remember that pain is only a sign that you are virtue of us.

After they had finished, Elena looked at him with even more questions built-in. "Why that one?"

"I don't know," he said. "A nice war hymn never hurts, does it?"

"It's still a bit strange, though, thinking about fighting something?"

"You're digging in too deeply, he said. "Come now, am I supposed to have some deep philosophy on songs and the nature of war. It's built into us, isn't it? What is there to explain."

She shrugged. "I guess you are within reason. Keeping an eye out there?"

He gave their surroundings another scan. He could sense nothing out of the ordinary besides the occasional beast that roamed the lands. No Nemean lion packs, no chimera, and no Basilisks to ruin this peaceful ride along. It was a grace that blessed Gray, and he accepted it. He could forget just a bit of the weight set upon his shoulders. But it could also be that whatever stalks them can evade these senses. There are monsters like that, isn't it? Like those Makhai that ambushed them, for instance. They were right on top of them; they could have killed them all. In fact, if Lyse weren't there, if he may have gone with his mother, they would be dead. They would have killed them without a second thought. He would have died, Elena would have died, and there was nothing-

"No, nothing much, how bout you?" he said softly.

"Thought I did," she said. "But it must have been nothing, don't know what it was."

"Well, how about another song then, not a war hymn this time," he said. "How about a story then?"

"I bet we know all the stories," she said. "And I'm no bard or jester, so you expect me to know everything?"

"Then what good are you," Gray sighed. "How about you, Mrs. Opal. Anything to regale us from your days killing these gods, eh."

"I doubt they will be of much meaning to you," Celia told them. She was stroking her daughter's hair carefully. "It is so much; I wouldn't know where to begin."

"Stories tend to start at the beginning, Mrs. Opal," he said. "I believe that is an excellent place to begin. Like how is it that you are Hath royalty living life as a lowly farmer's wife? How do you know the king, and how did you got involved with all this insanity?"

"Excellent questions," Celia told him. "But I doubt you would want the burden of this knowledge. Even knowing of my existence puts you all in danger."

"Oh, I think we are past the point of no return," Gray chuckled sadly to himself. He felt like he needed the distraction, whether it was from Elena or Celia. He felt his thoughts were growing too heavy for his tastes. "Come on now. Give me something, anything. There has to be something."

"I wouldn't think you had fond memories, Gray," Elena jested.

"So, how about it?" Gray ignored her comment, looking back at Celia.

She sighed, looking down at Massua's tense face as she turned in her sleep. "Godslayers often served for life. But for our generation, Fate has decided that we were no longer necessary after only ten years of service. I was pregnant with Lyse Three years into that service, so you must understand that my stress had bombarded me through it. I was staying at a manor of one of Jame's most trusted advisors at the time. We were still largely unaware of how Talin operated, but during this time, Wilbur was off with my sister and James in finding one of the other pendants, so I was left alone to study further the one Wilbur had given me."

"Can't imagine being alone during that time," Elena said. "My sisters have all wished to be surrounded by family at all times in case they would give birth."

"I envy them," Celia sighed to herself. "Unfortunately, Wilbur was not there when Lyse was born. The manor was assaulted by whom we assumed were mere thieves but turned out to be the very enemy we fight now. They set the manor ablaze in an effort to kill a godslayer before they prove a threat to them later on. I nearly lost both my own life and the life of my child that night. If it weren't for this pendant and what I had gained from it, we would have died, for certain."

"I can't imagine myself like that," Gray snapped the reigns again, turning back to the road.

"What happened next?" Elena urged her.

"Well, I barricaded myself in my room, and then-"