In the morrow, Minea did the Grecian equivalent of sleepover pancakes; in fact she did one better by doing a quick run to the market for fresh bread and ingredients. To Ginrius, the breakfast he woke up to was better than its Olympian counterpart, simply because it was garnished by a waifu chef who appealed to both sides of his appetite.
After the meal, the couple headed to Minea's house, where her mother restlessly waited. But the supposed dramatic confrontation got retconned for something more mainstream, upon discovering that her daughter spent the night with a god—mayhap the only one with the decency to actually meet the parent. She of all people should know how the male divinities were with their women. It also helped that the god in question was Ginrius, who had always proven to be an outstanding neighbor.
"Forgive me, great godsmith," Minea's mother bowed. "I was so worried that I didn't have time to cook breakfast."
Ginrius reacted by raising her back up, reassuring her that all was well. "It is I who should be asking for pardon—we should have notified you of our plans and saved you the worry… The concluding part of our engagement just went a tad out of context." He then produced a wicker basket that contained bread, fruits, and a fresh bottle of milk. "As for the breakfast issue, we at least had the mind to cover it."
The mother looked at Minea, who seemed content and only mildly flushed. She accepted the offering with the same level of courtesy from before, which again, Ginrius corrected. "If you don't mind, ma'am, may I assess you for my next project?"
"He's planning to build something for you, mother, to help you move around," Minea explained.
Upon receiving her consent, Ginrius went ahead and ran his estimates. He did not even require the help of measuring aids and the like, he simply paced around her for the requisite statistics. There was immediate inspiration that branched between a wheeled, mechanical chair and leg braces that enabled her to stand. In the end he decided to settle with both. "I think I got it." He flashed the ladies a smile.
After a bit more of the cordialities, Ginrius parted ways with Minea, who was needed back at the Orphanage anyway. The former also intended to renovate a portion of his father's estate. If he was to stay on earth, he needed his own smithy, something that worked in the same capacity as his Olympian workspace. Even with his maxed skill set, he knew it was going to be a very long day.
***
Before returning home, Ginrius took a quick trip back to the nexus volcano from before, where he extracted veins and veins of sundry ores. On his way back, however, he was intercepted by Hermes, who arrived as though they were in an actual race. He let out a sigh before getting on with it. "What is it now, Hermes?"
"You are needed in Olympus—you never returned from your descent last night," the messenger said.
"Already?" At this point, Ginrius could not hide it any longer, his irk manifested as literal steam rising out of his skin. "I've only been gone overnight—didn't time flow differently between here and Olympus?"
"What made you think that?"
Ginrius' brows collided, and before he even responded with words, he had the leaner god hard in the ruff. "I don't know… maybe the three years I lost while hanging out with your lot? My father is dead, by the way, and I didn't even know!"
Hermes looked confused. "Don't you mean that your father is the lord of the dead…? Oh, your adoptive one… I see..."
That lagging reaction, worked to cull Ginrius' anger a bit. He let him off with but a minor shove.
"May I ask why you're bringing this up now? You were fine with the arrangements last night as I recall," followed Hermes.
"I was with Minea—she didn't have to see such aggression," Ginrius said. "Besides, I wasn't sure how our confrontation will end up. The last time I had one, the sky in Olympus was bent out of shape; who knows what would happen if the same happened down here."
"That's actually quite wise," Hermes concurred. "Divine wars never end well—at the very least, a wonderful evening with the lady could have been ruined. Also, I would like to be clear on the matter about time—it's not different from that of this plane at all."
"But how did I lose all those many years just on a banquet, a night's rest, and a couple of errands?"
Perhaps knowing that it would be a lengthy explanation, Hermes perched himself cozy over the fence. "You should understand that you are an immortal being now—the way you perceive time is vastly different than that of mortals." He fixed his attire as he spoke, ironing out the unwanted creases with a wave of that serpentine staff. "For instance, the banquet you shared with the pantheon felt like a few hours, when in mortal standards, it took at least a couple of weeks. When you slept afterwards, you actually did so for a month, instead of the overnight argument you keep insisting on. As for the rekindling of forges, you took no less than eight months for completion, and finally, our little adventure in the void taking a little over a year."
Ginrius' reaction was of lasting silence and utter shock, an ode to the modern effects of receiving a credit card bill. It took a while before he got his bearings back. "Do you mean to say that I have to spend weeks sleeping going forward? That everything I do will take that much time?"
"You know, when Hades pitched you for the next godsmith, he was quite adamant about your prodigal wit," Hermes scoffed. "You just spent a normal cycle with your ladylove didn't you? Under normal circumstances, you don't even have to sleep at all—you're a god!"
He was right. It was all about perception, perception that was gravely affected by one's environ. Finding the balance between his two lives was the key, but if he was to clearly distinguish the lines, he needed something that would help him do so. He had an idea for just the tool, with which he required a workshop to complete.
Unwilling to risk another time skip, Ginrius asked Hermes' help for his satellite smithy, alongside the time tool he designed impromptu. The senior god of course lent his support—after being coaxed that there were no faster pair of hands in the cosmos.
***
The workshop, along with the time tool was completed in a jiffy. The resulting item was reminiscent of a sundial, only it kept its own light source bottled within glass, and told time by the second. Ginrius wore it on his wrist, doubling as a light but resilient armguard. Now he would never lose track of time again, or misread its passing.
At Olympus, Hermes led their tour towards the lowest bowels of the mountain, where a group of giants toiled on various contraptions. The ones who sported arms by the hundreds were called Hecantoncheires, and they were the skilled blacksmiths who forged godly tools before even Hephaestus. Supporting them were the Cyclops, who were famed for their lone but all-seeing eye. Hermes confided that part of Ginrius' duty was to supervise this workforce; he was to be their direct supervisor, which meant guiding them through jobs like utility maintenance, weapon crafting—even commanding their ranks during wartime.
"Greetings, master godsmith!" the giants chorused.
"There is no need to for titles," Ginrius assured all of them. "You were master forgers before I ever was—before even Hephaestus himself. Let us be cordial and work towards excellence… We are all friends here."
The rest of Ginrius' day was spent in that Olympian boiler room, more so on getting acquainted with his men than anything else. Worried about Minea missing him, he thought he'd go back to check on her. He forgot to leave a note before leaving, and as far as romantic relationships go, that amounted to an indefinite stay in the doghouse.
But even before he could twirl his hammer for takeoff, another fellow god approached him. This time it was his father, Hades, who didn't come to congratulate or tuck him in for the night. As it was slowly becoming clear, these folks were all about the urgent, cataclysmic side of it all.
"Come, my child…" the dark god beckoned him. "Would you care to join your father on an evening stroll?"