The forge of Hephaestus burned with divine fire, the rhythmic sound of hammer against metal echoing through the vast workshop.
Sparks danced through the air like stars, illuminating the countless artifacts that lay scattered across the chamber—each a masterpiece, each holding power beyond mortal comprehension.
Prometheus stood at the entrance, his gaze taking in the domain of the forge god. He had always admired Hephaestus, not just for his craft, but for his independence.
Among the gods, Hephaestus was the only one who created without war or ambition. He built for the sake of creation itself.
Hephaestus turned from his work, wiping sweat from his brow. His crimson eyes met Prometheus' with curiosity. "You've come with news."
The Titan of Foresight nodded. "The gods have extended an invitation. Olympus wishes for you to take my place among the Twelve."
Hephaestus chuckled, setting his hammer down. "Now they acknowledge me?" His voice held no bitterness, only amusement. "After centuries of exile, after forging their weapons, their palaces, and even their very symbols of power… now they decide I am worthy?"
Prometheus smiled. "The gods are slow to change, but they do change. You have done what none of us could—you have given mortals a future beyond death. Even Zeus cannot ignore that."
Hephaestus crossed his arms, considering the offer. His mind drifted back to his past—to the island of Lemnos before it was reforged, where he had lived in exile, to the moment he was granted divinity through his craft, and to the countless years he had spent forging weapons for gods who barely acknowledged him.
And now, they offered him a seat among them.
"I will accept." His voice was firm. "But I do this on my own terms."
Prometheus nodded. "That is all I expected."
A silence settled between them before Prometheus spoke again. "There is something else."
Hephaestus raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
The Titan's expression grew serious. "The world has changed. The gods rule over it, but what of mortals? They live, they die, and now, through you, they are reborn. But they are still… incomplete."
Hephaestus' gaze darkened. "You wish to remake humanity."
Prometheus did not flinch. "Yes. The first humans made by my Father Lapetus died during the titan war. Now, with what we have learned, we can create a new human race—stronger, wiser, more in tune with the divine."
The forge god remained silent for a long moment. Then, without a word, he turned and walked toward a sealed chamber deep within his forge. Prometheus followed.
Inside, on a pedestal, rested an artifact unlike any other—a lantern, its surface etched with constellations that shimmered as if reflecting the night sky. It pulsed with cosmic energy, its golden light warm and eternal.
"The Lantern of Coeus." Hephaestus' voice was reverent. "Born from the severed head of Coeus, the Titan of Intelligence. It holds the remnants of his wisdom, his foresight, his understanding of the cosmos."
Prometheus' eyes widened. "Coeus agreed to this?"
A deep voice echoed from the lantern, ancient and knowing. "I have seen the path of mortals, Prometheus. If you seek to reshape them, then let them be guided by wisdom, not just strength. Take my light, and may your creation surpass even the gods."
Hephaestus lifted the lantern and placed it in Prometheus' hands. Its warmth spread through the Titan's body, filling him with knowledge beyond even his own foresight.
"Go," Hephaestus said. "Forge your new humanity. But remember this—true creation is not in shaping bodies, but in giving them purpose."
Prometheus nodded, gripping the lantern tightly. "And with this, they will find their way."
As he departed from the forge, the flames of Hephaestus' workshop burned ever brighter.