Reis
Member
Hephaestus felt his brows furrow at Apollo's vision. He had recognized that they were in one, as it was rather odd to see things through what Apollo called his 'observer.' And what Apollo was shown just now was...disturbing.Why did Hermes look so strange? He was appalled by Hermes' head, barely resting atop his neck with a tenuous link of stitches. And where were his shoes? When the god of blacksmiths gifted those shoes upon Hermes, there was hardly a moment when they were taken off. This vision was surely telling them all something terrible, but Hephaestus just couldn't make sense of it. He concluded that his brother's visions were simply far too abstract for him.
By the time he set aside these questions, Hephaestus realized that he was in a new location--somewhere dark, the blackness enveloping enough to hide everything from even a god like him. He tried summoning a flame, but was shocked to find that his powers weren't working. And that's when he noticed two new things about this place. Firstly, an unruly clanging noise was being made, over and over again, echoing on the walls of the empty darkness. Secondly, that it was hot. Almost unbearably so.
At this point, Hephaestus started to worry. He was the god of fire, completely resistant to flames and almost any high temperatures known to man, yet still he felt the heat of this place sear through his bones. There was no way of knowing what creature could send a god into such a powerful vision. So when his eyes adjusted to the darkness and made out a distant light, he approached it with caution.
With each step the clanging grew louder, and a silhouette slowly revealed itself within the light. A forge, he realized, was the source of the light. A forge with a weapon placed upon its hard surface, the bare beginning of some sort of staff from what he could tell. As Hephaestus stepped near the forge, the shadows behind him flickered with the motion of the staff's hunched creator. The figure looked up from his work and stared into Hephaestus' eyes.
Hermes. Several emotions shocked Hephaestus' body all at once. His words were trapped in his throat as he tried to call out to his brother, to tell him how much his death hurt. “I need to finish up this staff as a welcoming gift for a new friend of mine,” Hermes explains before he can say anything. “But I just can’t get the top right - it’s got this intricate cross design and everything,” he mumbles. “Mind helping me out a little bit here?" Hermes departs from his bench and holds the staff in front of him.
Hephaestus frowns at Hermes. Welcoming gift? A friend? Hephaestus looked down at his brother, questions arising from these details. But he decided to accept Hermes' invitation--after all, there was no reason to deny his brother even in death.
After realizing the scope of his words, however, Hermes hangs his head low and turns away from him. “Oh, that’s right… you didn’t help me when I needed you the most.” He shakes his head and stands up, dropping his makeshift staff on the ground. It makes an abrasive, deafening sound as it collapses to the floor, splitting into two.
Grief struck Hephaestus' body with the sound of the staff breaking. I'm sorry--I wanted to help--I should have done better--what could I have done--! Thoughts flew through his head, and he wanted to say them out loud, but they were all trapped inside his throat, stuck before they could form a coherent thought.
Hermes approaches him, before placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, it’s not your fault,” he says. “You’ve already given me so much--I’ll take the blame for this one.” He moves his hand from Hephaestus' shoulder blade over to his own chest. “Sorry for turning our whole family situation into a mess.” The Messenger God then bends down and unstraps his signature winged sandals, leaving them on the floor before their original crafter.
“I couldn’t escape,” he starts, before turning around and subjecting him to the pitiful view of his backside. “You can have those back,” he explains as he starts breaking into a run away from him. “Maybe you’ll have better luck.”
"You fool!" Hephaestus finally shouted, but he knew that he wasn't heard. As Hermes went further and further away from him, the forge seemed to move away as well. All but the broken staff and Hermes' shoes were shrinking back rapidly, disappearing into the empty darkness. "What happened to you wasn't your fault! I was to blame!" The distance between them grows ever larger with each passing second and it isn’t long until he disappears into the darkness entirely, though Hephaestus is still left with the resonating sound of his footsteps. Hephaestus tries to follow Hermes, but his legs refuse to move. He tries everything he can think of, but nothing would defeat the endless darkness, travelling through his body and killing the fire within him. Faced with the cold of death, he could do nothing but shout Hermes' name into the abyss. And when he could no longer do that, he submitted to the dark, images of his poor brother flashing through his mind.
The echoes of his distressed voice still ring in his ears, and only fade when the vision subsides and he finds himself back in the WPC Conference Room. He listened to the other gods and goddesses recite their visions, and after a few moments he spoke. "Hermes was working on a staff--he couldn't get the intricate cross design right. He said it was some kind of welcoming gift for a 'new friend.' And he...he left his shoes behind. With me."
