Calypso and I walked in silence through the village, the streets bustling with life around us. I stole glances at her as we passed vendors calling out their wares and children laughing, but she remained focused, her expression unreadable. I hesitated, debating whether to break the silence, but then I remembered something Jacob had mentioned on the plane.
"Hey, can I ask you a question?" I ventured cautiously.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced over at me. "What is it?"
"I, uh… I heard this rumor that you were once petrified by Medusa. So how are you here… alive?"
Calypso's expression darkened instantly. "First of all, it wasn't Medusa. It was a Basilisk," she corrected sharply. "And second, don't ever mention that backstabbing, lying gorgon in front of me again. Understand?"
"Yes, ma'am!" I yelped as she smacked the back of my head, the impact making my ears ring. So, the rumor had some truth to it, after all, but I clearly needed to tread more carefully. There was serious history there.
We continued walking in tense silence until we reached a small building near the outskirts of the village. A painted sign above the door read, Carriage Rentals & Deliveries. Calypso stepped up to the counter and exchanged a few curt words with the attendant before tossing a handful of Silver Ardents onto the counter.
After a few minutes, we were seated inside a sturdy-looking carriage, the driver nodding as Calypso gave him our destination. The ride cost us about ten Silver Ardents, and I glanced at her curiously as the carriage rolled forward, rocking gently over the cobblestone roads.
"So, where exactly are we going?" I asked hesitantly.
"Training grounds outside the village," she replied flatly. "There's someone I want you to meet."
I bit back further questions, sensing that she wasn't in the mood to answer. Instead, I looked out the window, watching as the village melted away into rolling hills and fields, dotted here and there with small farms and cottages. The air grew warmer as we moved, and before long, I could see a sprawling open field in the distance, lined with tall wooden posts and fenced off by stone walls.
The carriage came to a halt at the edge of a wide dirt path, and I climbed out, my nerves twisting uncomfortably in my stomach. The field stretched out before us, filled with dozens of people training in various weapons. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and the sharp sound of clashing blades. Some warriors were sparring in pairs, while others struck at training dummies or practiced complex forms.
My stomach churned with anxiety as I stepped onto the grass, feeling completely out of place. This was an arena for seasoned fighters, and here I was, a scrawny, untrained rookie.
"Stay close and don't wander off," Calypso ordered, her tone clipped. She led me forward, weaving between training groups until we reached a clear area near the center of the field. There, overseeing a group of warriors who were swinging practice weapons with precise, fluid motions, stood the largest centaur I'd ever seen.
His chestnut body clad in weathered leather armor that hugged his muscular frame. Leaning heavily on a sturdy wooden cane, he moved with a slow, deliberate grace as he oversaw a group of eager students training under his watchful eye.
His long white hair flowed down his back, and his face was lined with deep wrinkles, each telling a story of wisdom and experience. His piercing green eyes sparkled with intelligence and a hint of mischief, as if he could see through to the very core of those he taught.
Calypso cupped her hands around her mouth and called out, "Hey! Chiron!"
The centaur turned, his massive form moving with a grace that seemed impossible for someone of his size or age. He trotted over, and I couldn't help but gape. His body was that of a Shire horse—thick, powerful legs, and a broad chest covered in a smooth coat of rich, dark brown. His human half was equally impressive, with a muscular torso and shoulders that looked strong enough to crush boulders. His face was weathered, framed by a mane of silver hair that fell to his shoulders. Despite his age, his sharp eyes were vibrant, watching us with a curious gleam.
"Calypso," he rumbled in a deep, warm voice that vibrated through the ground. "What brings you here?"
"This kid," she replied, jabbing a thumb at me. "He's a new recruit for Vanguard, but he doesn't know a damn thing about combat. I need you to figure out what kind of weapon he should be using."
Chiron's gaze shifted to me, and I felt like a mouse being scrutinized by a hawk. He tilted his head thoughtfully, then beckoned me closer. "Step forward, young one," he commanded gently.
I hesitated, then obeyed, standing awkwardly before the towering centaur. Chiron studied me for a long moment, his gaze sweeping up and down my frame. Then he stepped back and pointed to a row of practice weapons lined up on a nearby rack.
"Show me your stance," he instructed.
"Uh… which one?" I stammered, glancing between the swords, spears, axes, and other weapons.
"Any," Chiron said with a small smile. "I want to see your natural instincts. Pretend you're facing an opponent."
I swallowed nervously, then picked up a wooden longsword, gripping it awkwardly. I tried to plant my feet like I'd seen in movies, holding the sword out in front of me. Chiron hummed thoughtfully.
"Hmm… Interesting," he murmured. He had me try a few more stances, testing my balance, strength, and reach. After what felt like an eternity of stumbling around, he nodded slowly, stroking his beard.
"You have a good natural sense of movement," he remarked, surprising me. "But you lack strength and stability. For you, speed and precision are more important than raw power."
He turned to Calypso. "I have a few options in mind. He could train with a spear — it's versatile, good reach, and allows for quick strikes. Another option would be chain sickles. They require more finesse, but with practice, they can be devastating. Or…" His gaze returned to me, thoughtful. "He could use a double-edged glaive. It's a bit unconventional, but I think it would suit him."
Calypso raised an eyebrow. "And if he wants to go heavier?"
"A longsword," Chiron replied without hesitation. "It's straightforward, powerful, and gives a solid mix of speed and strength. But…" He looked back at me. "I'd recommend starting with something lighter until you build up more muscle. So, what will it be, Adrian?"
"What do you think, Calypso?" I asked, glancing at her for her opinion. I mean she probably had more experience with this than I did.
She shrugged, her expression thoughtful. "Why are you asking me? It is your choice that matters after all. If you want to stand out, maybe try one of the more unique weapons. But if you want to blend in with the knights, the longsword is a safe choice."
I could feel the weight of my decision pressing down on me. They were all good weapons but I already had one. "I'll train with my longsword," I said finally, my voice steady. "I got it a week ago, I just need to get it reforged."
Chiron tilted his head. "Oh you already have a weapon, can I see it?"
I nodded and reached into my back where I had the old longsword wrapped in its cloth, I had taken it to carry it everywhere with me. For some reason I had this feeling that if it was stolen, it would not be good at all. I unwrapped the weapon and handed it to the old Centaur.
"Well, I'll be damned. To think I would see it here, of all places." Chiron mused as he gently looked it over and held it to the light. "I'll tell you that the sword is quite special, and it is not my place to say what it is."
"Oh, thank you I guess." I replied. "Do you happen to know where I can get it fixed?"
"Take it to Mount Vulcan, one of the Forgemasters there can help you."
"Oh, so when can I expect to get started in my training?"
"Go get that sword reforged, and then come back and we can start your training." Chiron responded as he trotted back to his class.
☉☉☉
The ride to Mount Vulcan was long and silent. Every attempt I made to ask Calypso about where we were going or what we were doing was met with a flat glare and a curt, "Shut up and wait." So, I leaned back against the wooden seat, watching the landscape shift as we left the village behind and began our ascent. The road became steeper, winding higher until the air smelled of sulfur, and the sky turned a murky shade of orange from the smoldering clouds that shrouded the mountain's peak.
We arrived at the entrance of the volcano, and I couldn't help but feel a mix of dread and awe. The immense cave mouth yawned open before us, hot air wafting out in waves. Calypso led the way inside without a word, and I followed, struggling to keep pace.
The cavern opened up into a massive forge that looked as if it were built by giants. Everything was crafted from black iron and shimmering obsidian, the entire structure pulsing with the faint red glow of molten lava. The forge itself dominated the center of the cavern, with an enormous anvil the size of a small house set upon a raised platform. Flames from countless forges flickered in the distance, and rivers of molten metal ran through channels carved into the floor like fiery veins, feeding into different workstations. Metal chains and pulleys crisscrossed overhead, carrying enormous chunks of ore and raw materials to various stations.
Everywhere I looked, I saw blacksmiths and forgers working tirelessly. The sound of hammers striking metal, the hiss of steam, and the roar of flames filled the cavern, creating a symphony of creation and destruction. Walls of volcanic stone were etched with runes that seemed to dance with power, and high above, the ceiling glowed a brilliant red where the magma flowed just below the surface, casting everything in an eerie, fiery glow.
"Gods, it's hot in here," I muttered, wiping the sweat already gathering at my brow. My clothes felt like they were sticking to my skin.
Calypso shot me a look, rolling her eyes. "We're inside a volcano, genius," she said dryly. "What did you expect, a cool breeze?"
Before I could respond, a burly dwarf approached us, his face smeared with soot, a pair of protective goggles pushed up onto his forehead. "What do you want?" he asked gruffly.
"We need to see the Forgemaster," Calypso said, ignoring his tone.
The dwarf raised a brow but gestured for us to follow. We wove our way through the maze of workstations, passing smiths shaping weapons, crafting intricate armor, and pouring molten metal into massive molds. The deeper we went, the more intense the heat became until I could feel my skin prickling uncomfortably.
Finally, we arrived at a grand workstation separated from the others by a low barrier of obsidian bricks. The tools here gleamed as if freshly polished, and the forge fire burned a vivid blue-white, hotter than any I'd seen. Standing there, hunched over a blade, was a man who radiated authority and power. He turned as we approached, wiping his hands on a thick leather apron.
"Master Vulcan," the dwarf said with a bow. "These two wanted to speak with you."
I blinked. This was no ordinary blacksmith. The man before us was enormous, easily seven feet tall with muscles that looked as if they had been forged from the very rock around us. His skin was bronzed, his face covered in a thick, neatly trimmed beard, and his eyes gleamed like molten gold. His hair, a wild mane of dark curls, was tied back with a strip of leather. But what truly marked him as special were his arms — mechanical constructs made of enchanted metal, runes glowing faintly along their length. The sight left no doubt in my mind.
This was the Falor of Hephaestus, the greatest forgemaster in all of Ogygia.
"What do you want?" he rumbled, his voice like distant thunder. "I'm busy."
Calypso stepped forward and unceremoniously took the old sword off my back. "We have a project for you," she said, handing the rusted weapon over.
Hephaestus eyed it skeptically at first, then slowly, his expression shifted to one of curiosity as he examined the blade. He ran a hand along the pitted steel, turning it over in his massive hands. "Well, well…" he murmured, almost reverently. "This is… something else. Ancient. Velian craftsmanship, from before the War of Armageddon. Where did you get this?"
"It was in a barrel of scrap," I said, still feeling a bit defensive about the sorry state of the blade.
"Scrap?" Hephaestus barked a laugh. "Someone didn't know what they were tossing away." He looked back at me, his eyes alight with something akin to excitement. "You want this restored, then?"
"Yes, sir," I said. "If it's possible. How long would it take?"
"Restoration of something this fine?" He pursed his lips, studying the blade. "A couple of weeks, at least. Maybe more, depending on how damaged the core is. And as for the cost…" He glanced at me with a calculating look. "That'll be a hefty price, lad. You're looking at no less than three thousand Ardents, maybe more if we need rare materials."
My heart sank. Three thousand Ardents? I barely had a fraction of that. "Is there any way to lower the cost?"
Hephaestus narrowed his eyes. "This isn't some regular sword, boy. If you want it done right, it's going to cost. I don't skimp on my work." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "But… if you're willing to wait a bit longer, I might be able to cut it down. You see, blades like this — they have a way of wanting to be fixed. They respond to a true smith's touch. And I'm curious to see what secrets this one holds."
I swallowed hard and nodded. "I understand. Thank you, Falor Hephaestus."
"Don't thank me yet." He gave me a crooked grin. "Come back in two weeks, and I'll let you know where we stand. And bring the Ardents. This beauty's going to be worth every coin."
I glanced over at Calypso, who was watching the whole exchange with a smirk. "So how are you going to get all that Ardent?"
"You could have warned me," I muttered, shaking my head as we made our way out of the cavern. "I don't have a clue, by the way… Why is he so huge? That man looks almost like some god or something."
Calypso glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, her lips quivering into a faint smile. "That's because he is, in a way. He's an immortal like me, and many others," she explained. "Though he started as a mortal — a man named Simon Vulcan — he later became the Falor of Hephaestus. And after centuries of forging legendary weapons, he made a choice few can comprehend. He permanently fused with the Celestial power of Hephaestus, becoming the embodiment of the divine blacksmith himself. Now, he's more than just a man. He is Hephaestus."
I blinked, trying to process what she'd just said. "Wait… So, he gave up being human?"
"Yes," Calypso replied, her voice softer than usual. "To live forever, crafting and creating. But that choice came with a price. The power of a Celestial changes you. Your body, your mind… your very soul." She looked back toward the forge, where Vulcan's silhouette was still visible, hunched over my sword. "He's as much a part of the metal and fire now as he is a man. He built that forge by hand. In fact, he built about ninety percent of the stuff in Ogygia, from the castle walls to the weapons used by its greatest warriors."
"Wow, that's… that's insane." I could feel my eyes widening in awe. "And here I was thinking I'd be lucky just to get him to fix a rusty sword…"
Calypso laughed, the sound light and unexpected. "If Vulcan's working on it, you're not just getting a sword, Adrian. You're getting a masterpiece. Something that will be bound to you and your fate forever. So… don't screw it up."
I gulped, my gaze drifting back to the forge one last time. A man who'd become a living legend. An immortal forgemaster who could shape metal as easily as a poet weaves words. And he was going to restore my sword?
"Yeah," I whispered, more to myself than to Calypso. "No pressure."