The forge in Hephaestus's workshop continued to blaze, bathing the room in red.
The unfinished longsword on the anvil had gone completely cold. Its blade reflected the fire with a dull crimson gleam, like a sleeping snake.
The smell of metal and coal filled the air, accompanied by the sound of their quickened breathing.
Hephaestus leaned against the anvil, still trembling slightly. Her fingers gripped its edge until her knuckles whitened.
She could still feel the lingering touch of Genichi's fingers on her lips. Cool air brushed the exposed scars, a sensation she wasn't accustomed to.
She had asked the question in a trembling voice, afraid of what his answer might be.
"Don't you think it's ugly?"
Genichi watched her without a flicker of emotion in his eyes.
He didn't answer immediately. For a moment, he seemed to consider how to begin, searching for the right words.
"If I said it wasn't, I'd be lying."
His voice was calm, without the slightest attempt to soften the truth.
Hephaestus's gaze dimmed.
The light in her left eye went out like a lamp extinguished by the wind.
Her lips trembled. She wanted to say something, but nothing came.
She had known the answer all along. She had known since the day she first put on the eyepatch.
No one could look at those scars and think they weren't ugly. No one could find that face pleasant to look at. Even the gods recoiled.
She simply hadn't expected Genichi to say it so directly, without the smallest effort to spare her feelings or offer comfort.
She lowered her head, unable to look at him.
Her fingers slipped from the edge of the anvil, her hands falling to her sides.
Her heart sank like a stone into the depths of the sea, descending into ever greater darkness and cold.
Then Genichi leaned closer.
Suddenly, his face was right in front of hers, close enough for her to see the curve of his lashes and catch the faint, clean scent of him.
Her eye widened in disbelief.
Before she could gather her thoughts, he kissed her.
The kiss was soft and gentle, yet utterly certain.
She felt the warmth of his lips, the rhythm of his breathing, the light brush of his tongue against her teeth.
Her mind went blank.
She went rigid, her fingers curling until her nails pressed into her palms.
Only one thought echoed in her head.
He's kissing me.
He's kissing me.
He's really kissing me.
Genichi slipped his arms around her waist and drew her against his chest.
Her hands rose to circle his neck, and she returned the kiss, awkwardly but sincerely.
She had no idea how much time passed. A minute? Five? Ten?
All she knew was that when he finally drew back, her face was burning, her lips were slightly swollen, and a mist had gathered in her left eye. She sagged against him like a crumpled sheet of paper, her strength gone.
"I'd rather show you how I feel than tell you."
His quiet voice held amusement, satisfaction, and a tenderness she couldn't quite describe.
Hephaestus leaned against him, struggling to catch her breath.
Her thoughts were still a jumble, circling around the same impossible fact.
He kissed me.
He really kissed me.
She raised her head. Embarrassment, uncertainty, sweetness, and a relief she hadn't yet recognized mingled in her left eye.
"But didn't you say it was ugly?"
Her voice was soft and unsteady, carrying a stubborn note and, without her realizing it, a hint of a pout.
Genichi looked at her, his expression unchanged.
"It's certainly not pretty."
He said it as plainly as any other fact.
"But that doesn't mean I can't accept it. Besides, it's all the same with the lights off. You have a fantastic figure, and those long legs are great too."
Hephaestus turned scarlet.
The flush spread from her cheeks to her ears and down her neck.
Her left eye filled with mortified anger. She opened her mouth, wanting to call him a lecher, tell him he was shameless, or demand that he take this seriously.
But she couldn't seem to make herself do any of it. She remained against him, clutching the front of his clothes with trembling fingers.
"You... you... you...!"
She couldn't get a complete sentence out. Her voice tangled with embarrassment and alarm, along with a sweetness she hadn't noticed.
Genichi couldn't help laughing.
It was only a faint smile, but there was something disarming about it.
He raised a hand and gently stroked her cheek, his fingertips passing over the severe scars.
His touch was slow and careful, as though he were stroking a damaged flower or soothing an old wound.
"Hephaestus."
His quiet voice grew serious.
"I'll find a way to heal your face. That's a promise."
She jolted.
She looked up at him, disbelief filling her left eye.
She could tell he wasn't lying. He wasn't brushing her concerns aside or offering empty comfort.
He meant it. He truly wanted to heal her face, and he truly believed he could.
But how could that be possible?
She was the Goddess of the Forge, a deity born of the world itself. Everything about her had been fixed at the moment of her birth: her power, her authority, her body, her appearance. None of it could be changed.
Her face bore an imperfection she had been born with, the mark of divine fire, a symbol of her identity as the Goddess of the Forge.
It wasn't a disease or an injury. No outside force could alter it.
It was part of her essence, proof of her existence, a past she could never erase.
"That's impossible."
Her quiet voice held bitterness, self-mockery, and a resignation born of countless disappointments.
"I'm a god born of this world. My appearance is fixed. It can't be changed. You can't heal my face."
Genichi met her gaze steadily.
"Maybe."
His voice remained calm.
"But I'm going to try."
Hephaestus fell silent, studying him.
She didn't know where his confidence came from, what method he intended to use, or whether he was simply making a grand claim.
But she wanted to believe him. She was willing to give him a chance.
She was willing to wait.
Because she saw something in his eyes that she had never seen in anyone else's. There was no pity, no sympathy, no sense that he was bestowing a favor. He met her as an equal, with a firm resolve that left no room for doubt.
"All right."
Her voice was soft, carrying relief, anticipation, and a trust she had never dared place in anyone before.
"I'll wait."
Genichi smiled, a small expression filled with reassuring warmth.
He bowed his head and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.
It was as light as a dragonfly touching water, as soft as a spring breeze against her skin.
Hephaestus closed her eyes and let herself feel its warmth.
Something warm unfurled in her chest and spread through her body, driving away the cold and loneliness that had accumulated over hundreds of millions of years.
She knew that from this moment on, she would no longer be alone.
The workshop fell quiet. Only the crackle of the forge and the sound of their breathing remained.
Genichi leaned against the anvil with Hephaestus in his arms, watching the dancing flames.
She rested against him, her eyes closed, listening to his steady heartbeat.
"Genichi."
Her voice was quiet and hesitant.
"Hmm?"
"You really don't think my face is frightening?"
He looked down at her, a trace of amusement crossing his face.
"Frightening? No. Once the lights are off at night, your figure's all I care about."
Hephaestus immediately flushed with embarrassment and anger.
(End of Chapter)
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