### Chapter 3: Hephaestus Familia
(As mc's soul was on its blink on end so the mc's personality come from this life's experience, and he only remembers few things about his past life and remembers his past life anime knowledge as inspiration when needed.)
The Tower of Babel dominated the skyline of Orarion like a spear driven into the heart of the world. Its crystalline spire caught the morning light and scattered it into rainbows that danced across the city's rooftops—a beautiful deception that masked the primordial darkness churning in the depths below. Aelarion stood at the city's threshold, craning his neck so far back he nearly lost his balance, his mouth hanging open in pure, unfiltered wonder.
"Whoa," he breathed, eyes the size of dinner plates. "It's even bigger than Gornol said!"
He stumbled forward a few steps, still staring up, and nearly walked straight into a merchant's cart. The man shouted something rude. Aelarion just laughed, spinning in a circle to take in everything at once—the crowds, the buildings, the sheer *noise* of it all. His village had been quiet, just the ring of his hammer and the whisper of wind through pines. This place was alive.
But as he wove through the streets, weaving between legs and dodging packages, he started to notice something strange.
Everything was... grey.
The buildings were drab stone. The awnings were faded. The people moved with their heads down, shoulders tight, like they were waiting for something bad to happen. It wasn't the colourful, chaotic adventure-city Gornol had told stories about. Not at all.
Then he remembered.
The old dwarf had spoken of it once, late at night when the fire was low and his voice got soft. The Zeus and Hera Familia's. The Black Dragon. The fall. Aelarion hadn't understood most of it—he'd been more interested in the monster-fighting parts—but he understood sadness when he saw it.
"Well," he muttered to himself, puffing out his chest, "guess I'll just have to make things more fun around here!"
He darted forward, spotted an adventurer with a dented breastplate and tired eyes, and jogged up to him with a grin.
"Excuse me! Mister! Where's the Hephaestus Familia headquarters?"
The man blinked down at him, clearly not expecting a kid to come bouncing up like an excited puppy. "Northwestern district. Follow the main road and take a left at the fountain with the dragon statue."
"Thanks!" Aelarion was off before the man could say another word, his pack bouncing against his shoulders, his boots slapping against the cobblestones.
---
The headquarters, when he finally found them, made him stop dead in his tracks.
It was huge. A whole complex of buildings—workshops, smelters, houses all clustered around a central hall that looked like it could fit his entire village inside. The air smelled like Gornol's forge had come to life and multiplied a hundred times over. Coal smoke. Hot metal. It smelled like *home*.
He all but ran to the main entrance, skidding to a stop in front of a polished wooden desk where a woman with her brown hair in a neat bun sat watching him with amused eyes.
"Welcome to the Hephaestus Familia," she said. "How may I help you?"
Aelarion fumbled with his pack, nearly upending the whole thing before he found the letter. He thrust it onto the desk with both hands, beaming. "I've got a letter! From Gornol! He said to give it to the goddess herself!"
The receptionist's eyebrows rose as she read the first few lines. She glanced at him, then back at the letter, then rose from her seat with a strange expression on her face. "Please wait here. I'll need to consult with the goddess."
She disappeared through a door, and Aelarion immediately started looking around.
The walls were covered in weapons. Swords, axes, spears, things he didn't even have names for. Each one was incredible—the kind of work Gornol could only dream about in his best years. He drifted toward a glass case containing a longsword with a blade folded so many times it looked like flowing water, his nose practically pressed against the glass.
"I'm gonna make something like that someday," he whispered to himself. "Something *better*."
He caught his reflection in the glass and grinned. A smudge of soot was still on his cheek from the road. His hair was a mess. He tried to smooth it down with his palm, gave up after three seconds, and decided the goddess would just have to deal with it.
---
**Hephaestus**
The door to her private study opened with a soft knock, and Hephaestus looked up from the commission proposals spread across her desk. Her single eye fixed on her receptionist with mild curiosity.
"Lady Hephaestus," the woman said, bowing slightly. "A boy has arrived with a letter of recommendation. It's from Gornol Longrock."
Hephaestus set down her quill. The name stirred a memory—a dwarf smith who had served in her familia decades ago. Talented. Unlucky. She had heard he left the city after an injury ended his adventuring career. "Gornol? He's sending an apprentice?"
"With respect, Lady," the receptionist said, placing the letter on the desk, "the letter is written as if Gornol knew he would not survive to deliver it himself. The boy is young. Perhaps ten years old."
Hephaestus read the letter in silence. Gornol's handwriting was rough, but the sentiment was clear: this boy was something special. Gornol had never been one for exaggeration. If he said the boy had talent, then the boy had talent.
She set the letter down and rose from her chair, her wooden leg making a soft *thump* against the floor. "Bring him to the main hall. I'll see him myself."
---
**Aelarion**
The receptionist came back and led him through a maze of corridors. Aelarion tried very hard to look only forward. He really did. But there were so many *things*—weapons on the walls, half-finished projects on workbenches, metal shavings glittering on the floor like treasure. His fingers itched to pick something up, to test its weight, to see how it was made.
*Be cool,* he told himself. *Be cool. Gornol said to be respectful.*
They stopped before a set of heavy oak doors. The receptionist knocked once.
"Come in," said a voice from within.
The doors opened into a hall so big Aelarion felt tiny. Iron beams crisscrossed the ceiling like the skeleton of some great beast. And at the far end, seated at a desk that looked like it had been built for someone shorter, was a goddess.
She wasn't what he expected.
He'd pictured something... grander? More distant? But the woman watching him with one sharp eye—the other hidden under a black eyepatch—felt solid. Real. There was warmth underneath the authority, like a forge fire banked for the night but still glowing hot.
The goddess nodded to the receptionist. "You may return to your post."
The woman bowed and left, and then it was just Aelarion and Hephaestus staring at each other across the long hall. The goddess spoke first.
"How is Gornol?"
Aelarion's grin faded a little. He scuffed his boot against the floor. "He died last winter. His old injuries finally caught up with him. But he went peaceful. He talked about you a lot. Said you were the best goddess a smith could ask for."
Hephaestus's expression flickered—a brief shadow of sorrow that she mastered almost instantly. "He was a good smith. Better than he gave himself credit for." She leaned forward, her gaze sharpening. "Now. Tell me about yourself."
Aelarion perked up immediately. "Well, Gornol found me when I was a baby! Just showed up at the village entrance in a basket. He said I was probably dropped by a griffin or something, but I think he was joking. He taught me everything about the forge! I started working when I was four—just holding stuff at first—and I made my first real sword when I was eight! It wasn't very good, but it *worked*. Also, he taught me fighting because I said I wanted to be an adventurer and go into the Dungeon and fight monsters and—" He paused to take a breath. "Anyway, that's me!"
"You intend to be an adventurer," Hephaestus said, and there was definitely amusement in her voice now.
"Yes!" Aelarion said, bouncing on his heels. "I'm gonna be the best one ever! Well, maybe not the *best* best, but really good! And I'm gonna make the coolest weapons while I do it!"
Hephaestus studied him for a long moment, her eye tracing the sharp points of his ears, the unusual blend of features that didn't quite fit any race she knew. *Half-human, certainly. But the other half... something old. Something rare.*
She filed the observation away for later. "Gornol's letter speaks highly of your skill. He claims you can already forge a weapon worthy of an adventurer's hand. Do you believe that?"
Aelarion puffed out his chest. "I know I can!"
The goddess's eyebrow rose. "Confidence. Or arrogance?" She rose from her desk, her wooden leg striking the floor with each step. "Come. Let's see which it is."
---
**Hephaestus**
She led the boy through the familia compound, watching him from the corner of her eye. Most children his age would be overwhelmed—staring, fidgeting, asking foolish questions. This one did all of those things, but there was something underneath it. When they passed the masterwork display cases, he pressed his face against the glass with an undignified *squeak*, but his eyes were sharp. He was learning. Cataloguing. Even as he bounced and chattered about everything he saw.
*Gornol trained him well,* she thought. *But there's something else. Something in his blood.*
They entered the workshop of Tsubaki Collbrande, her captain and finest smith. Tsubaki was at the forge, her massive frame hunched over a blade in progress. She set down her hammer when she saw her goddess enter.
"Lady Hephaestus," Tsubaki said, wiping sweat from her brow. "What brings you here?"
"I need to borrow your forge for a test," Hephaestus replied. "This is Aelarion. He claims he can forge a weapon worthy of an adventurer's hand. I want to see if he's right."
Tsubaki's eye—the one not covered by her own eyepatch—scanned the boy with open curiosity. She was half-dwarf, half-human, and she recognized something familiar in his mixed heritage. "A young smith, eh? Alright, I'm curious. The forge is yours, kid."
She gathered her own tools and stepped outside, but she didn't go far. Leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching.
Hephaestus settled onto a stool as the boy surveyed the workshop. His gaze moved across the racks of raw materials—iron, steel, mithril, orichalcum. She expected him to reach for something exotic. That was what most young smiths did when they wanted to impress.
Instead, he grabbed a bar of common iron and dragged it to the forge with a grunt.
Hephaestus felt a smile tug at her lips.
"You're not going to use something more impressive?" she asked.
"Nope!" He was already pumping the bellows, getting the fire roaring. "I don't have a falna yet, so I'm not super strong. If I mess up something expensive, that'd be dumb. A good iron sword is better than a bad steel one anyway. That's what Gornol always said!"
*Middle of the pack,* she thought, watching him work. *In my own familia, with a falna, he'd rank somewhere in the middle. At ten years old. Without a falna.*
That was not merely talent. That was exceptional.
She exchanged a glance with Tsubaki, who had one eyebrow raised so high it nearly disappeared under her bangs. They both watched in silence as the boy got to work.
---
**Aelarion**
The fire was *amazing*. Tsubaki's forge was the best he'd ever seen—the bellows perfect, the coal burning so hot and clean it made his old forge back home look like a campfire. He fed the iron into the heat and let his body take over.
*Clang. Clang. Clang.*
The rhythm came back like it had never left. The heat on his face. The weight of the hammer in his hand. The sound of metal on metal that was better than any music. He was making a simple sword—nothing fancy, no time for fancy—but every strike was exactly where it needed to be. Gornol had drilled that into him. Fancy was for when the basics were perfect.
Sweat dripped into his eyes. His arms started to ache. He didn't stop.
He worked the edge until it was straight and true. Filed the tang until it fit just right. Shaped the cross guard from a separate piece of iron, hammering it until it was smooth and even. When he finally plunged the finished blade into the quenching oil, steam hissed up in a great cloud that made him cough and wave his hands around.
He pulled the blade out, wiped it clean, and held it up.
It wasn't fancy. It wasn't a masterwork. But it was solid. Balanced. A weapon that would work.
He turned to show Hephaestus, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt.
She was watching him with an expression he couldn't quite read. There was approval there, definitely. But something else too. Something that made him stand up a little straighter.
"Well, done," she said simply. "Come. We'll finish this in my office."
---
**Hephaestus**
She led him back through the compound, her mind racing ahead of her feet. Behind them, Tsubaki had picked up the iron sword and was examining it with a low whistle.
"Kid's got hands," the half-dwarf muttered. "Really good hands. Lady—are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Probably," Hephaestus said without stopping. "We'll discuss it later."
In her office, she closed the door and gestured to the couch. "Remove your shirt and lie on your stomach."
Aelarion's eyes went wide. "Do I get the falna now? Really? Right now?"
"If you stop bouncing long enough to lie down, yes."
He practically threw his shirt off, folded it with the kind of messy care that showed Gornol had taught him manners even if he didn't always remember them, and flopped onto the couch face-first. His legs kicked up behind him for a moment before he remembered to be still.
Hephaestus sat beside him and drew out her needle. She pricked her finger, letting a single drop of ichor fall onto the space between his shoulder blades.
"Hey!" Aelarion yelped. "Those tickles!"
"Be still."
The divine script ignited.
Light bloomed across his back—lines of sacred text, glowing faintly in the dim room. She began to read, her eye moving across the characters as they formed.
*Strength: I0*
*Endurance: I0*
*Dexterity: I0*
*Agility: I0*
*Magic: I0*
The base stats were nothing. He had just received the falna; they would grow with time. She began to read the section below, where skills and magic would appear if he possessed them.
Her breath caught.
*Magic:*
**Spirit Summoning:** *Allows the user to call upon spirits, commune with them, and form binding contracts. The strength and nature of the spirit summoned depends on the user's will, magic stat, and the depth of their bond.*
Spirit summoning. An art thought lost to the ages. The ancient heroes had wielded such power—heroes like Albert Waldstein, who had fought alongside spirits against the Black Dragon. In the modern era, such magic was the stuff of legend.
*His blood,* she thought, her mind racing. *His unknown lineage. It must be. There's high elf in him—I can see it in his ears, his features. But the blood is locked. Sleeping. And yet this...*
She forced herself to continue reading, her eye moving to the skills.
*Skills:*
**Path of the Prodigy:** *Accelerates growth. Experience gained from all sources—combat, crafting, exploration—is significantly increased. The user's potential is unshackled, allowing them to rise faster than the natural limits of their race would permit.*
Her hand trembled slightly. She steadied it against her thigh.
**Legacy Unbound:** *Upon each level up, the user may choose five (5) Development Abilities from those available, rather than the standard one.*
Hephaestus's eye widened.
Five.
Five Development Abilities per level.
The implications crashed over her like a wave. Development Abilities were the cornerstone of an adventurer's growth beyond raw stats. Most adventurers received one per level. The truly exceptional might earn two in a lifetime.
This boy would receive five. Every time.
*Five,* she thought, the number echoing in her skull. *At Level 2, he will have five. At Level 3, ten. At Level 4...*
She did not finish the thought. Her mouth had gone dry. Her single eye was fixed on the glowing script with an intensity that bordered on reverence.
Below the skills, she saw a final note in the divine text, something she had never encountered before:
*Bloodlines: Sealed.*
*High Elf lineage detected—locked.*
*High Human lineage detected—locked.*
*Requirements for unlocking unknown.*
She stared at those lines for a long moment. High Elf. High Human. Two bloodlines that should not exist together in this era, both sealed away behind barriers she could not begin to understand. The boy's pointed ears, his sharp features—they made sense now. But why were they locked? And by whom?
Aelarion shifted beneath her gaze, his legs starting to kick again. "Goddess? Are you done? What'd I get? Do I have anything cool? Can I see? Can I—"
She opened her mouth to answer, to explain, to say something measured and goddess-like.
Instead, a sound escaped her throat. It was not quite a shout—but it was louder than she intended, a sharp exhalation of shock that turned into something like a laugh. She clamped her hand over her mouth, her composure cracking for the first time in centuries.
"Uh," Aelarion said, twisting around to look at her. "Is that a good laugh or a bad laugh? Because Gornol used to do this thing where he'd laugh and then I'd be in trouble, and I really don't want to be in trouble on my first day—"
"Sit up," Hephaestus said, and her voice was not quite steady. "Sit up and let me look at you."
He scrambled upright, shirt still hanging open, hair a mess, soot still on his cheek, looking at her with the bright, eager eyes of a ten-year-old who had no idea what he was.
She reached out and gripped his shoulder, her fingers pressing into his skin as if to make sure he was real.
"Aelarion," she said, her voice quieter than a whisper. "We need to talk."
"Did I do something wrong?" His face fell. "I know I talked too much in the forge, but Gornol said—"
"No." She shook her head slowly, a smile pulling at her lips despite herself. "No, you didn't do anything wrong. You did everything right." She reached for a sheet of parchment to record his status, her fingers trembling almost imperceptibly. "Tell me something. When you were growing up, did you ever... hear things? See things that others couldn't?"
He blinked. "Sometimes. There were these little lights in the forest sometimes, when I was alone. They'd dance around. Gornol said I was imagining things."
Hephaestus's hand stilled on the parchment.
"No," she said softly. "You weren't."
The divine light continued to pulse against the boy's skin, revealing secrets that would change everything she thought she knew about the child who had bounced through her doors not an hour ago. And somewhere in the depths of his sealed bloodline, something ancient stirred in its sleep.
---
**End of Chapter 3**