“A gift,” I echoed softly. “This is…” There really wasn’t a word for it, but I tried to find it all the same. Unique. Incredible. Surreal. Beautiful. Romantic. None of them were enough, yet all of them fit.
As my hand settled fully around the grip, the dagger responded.
Light flared along the runes, each one igniting in the same soft glow that traced my own markings, answering me as if it had been waiting. All of them lit, save for one.
The rune that no longer existed on my skin and the one that had been scorched off my back. An injury that still ached, and not just with the memory of how it came to be. My smile faltered as my gaze caught on it, the place where the symbol should have been was now nothing more than a vicious burn scar, a reminder of what Riley had taken from me. Bronte noticed immediately, her hand coming to rest gently on my arm.
“It was always meant to be like this,” she said softly.
“This blade was never finished without you.” I frowned in confusion, hoping she would say more, but she withdrew her hand, studying the dagger now as much as I was. Her expression was thoughtful, awed. “And there’s one more thing,” she added after a moment. “Something it will need before you step through the Rift.”
I looked up at her in question, finally able to drag my gaze from the deadly masterpiece in my hands.
“You need to take some of my lightning with you.”
I pulled a confused face. “This dagger, though… it’s, well, it’s incredible, what has it got to do with your lightning?”
“This sword was forged by Hephaestus, the God of Fire and Forge. Hephaestus’s weapons can absorb powers from gods until they are needed.”
“Wait… so are you telling me that you’re, you’re a god?” My tone was understandably high-pitched, trying to wrap my head around it all. Though if she answered me with a ‘yes’, I wouldn’t be surprised at all. There wasn’t much that surprised me anymore these days.
“Not exactly. I’m not sure what has been passed down in your history about our world. Do you know the story of Zeus and the Cyclopes?” she asked.
“No, I mean, I know who Zeus is, and I have heard of Cyclopes, but I don’t know much about either,” I replied honestly, wishing now that I did.
“That’s okay.”
She smiled, and I was glad that my lack of knowledge didn’t offend her.
“There were three Cyclopes. Arges, known as the Bright One, Steropes, known as the Lightning Flash, and Brontes, known as the Thunder. Three guesses for which I was named after?” she said with a laugh that had me smiling too.
“Born of the primordial gods Uranus and Gaia, they were imprisoned by Uranus in the depths of Tartarus, not only because of their monstrous appearance, but also because he feared their immense powers. When the Titanomachy, the great war between the Olympian gods and the Titans began, Zeus freed the Cyclopes from Tartarus.”
“Why?” I asked, lured in by her story.
“Because he needed their help to win the battle. In gratitude for their freedom, they forged weapons of great power for the Olympians.”
“Weapons? Like what?”
She grinned at this and named a few that most people would know.
“Poseidon’s trident, Hades's helm of invisibility, and, of course, Zeus’s thunderbolt,” she said with a wink. “Each Cyclops contributed uniquely. Arges gave the weapon its bright light, Steropes fused it with a deadly flash, and Brontes shaped its thunderous core,” she said with a grin, and I could tell she was proud of her divine heritage.
“The Olympians won the war, and before long, Zeus and Hera gave birth to a son, Hephaestus. As he was born lame and imperfect, he was cast down to Earth from Olympus.”
“Wow, harsh much,” I commented dryly.
“Yes, indeed, but then, the gods aren’t known for their mercy, nor are they known for accepting anything but perfection in their bloodline,” she said, likely in response to the face I pulled.
“He landed on the island of Lemnos, where the native Sintians took him in. Lemnos became Hephaestus’s home, and in its volcanic depths, he met the Cyclopes,” she said.
“A match made in heaven or not… no pun intended?”
She chuckled. “They found solace in each other. The Cyclopes taught him the secrets of metalwork. As he grew, he worked beside the Cyclopes, fusing their ancient craft with his divine gifts of fire control, craftsmanship, and inventiveness. And of course, the blood of an Olympian.”
“Handy,” I mumbled.
“Indeed. This enabled him to forge tools worthy of the gods, just as the Cyclopes could, but his weren’t mere replicas of theirs. No, they were unique creations of his own. Yet he knew he could go further. Word of his mastery reached Olympus, and the gods recognized his power and potential, welcoming him back as one of them.”
