It started with a hammer.

Well. Technically it started with Dionysus winking at me over breakfast and Astronaros nearly choking on a grape, but I’m choosing to emotionally repress that and focus on the hammer.

“This is for you,” Hephaestus said, handing it over with both hands like it was some sacred relic.

The weapon was sleek—silver, runes along the handle glowing with quiet light. Not loud or showy like Zeus’s thunderbolt or Apollo’s lyre-turned-crossbow. Just… efficient. Thoughtful. Beautiful.

“It’s keyed to your temporal signature,” he explained, eyes flicking up to meet mine, then quickly darting away. “It only works for you. I made it last night.”

“Last night?” I said, stunned. “But we just got here—how did you—?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, blushing slightly. “Sometimes I work fast. When I’m inspired.”

Oh.

“Oh,” I said aloud, much less smoothly.

Astronaros cleared his throat behind me, watching this whole exchange with narrowed eyes and a jaw that had definitely tightened.

“Come on,” Hephaestus said, turning to the forge yard. “We’ll train privately today. The others will get in the way.”

Dionysus made a pouty noise in the background. “If you mean I’m a distraction, just say it with your chest, honey.”

“Please don’t encourage him,” Astro muttered.

I followed Hephaestus, still holding the hammer like it might disappear. The forge yard was warm, smoke curling from anvils and runes glowing in the stones. It smelled like metal and cedarwood. Somehow, it was calming. Like him.

“Do you always make weapons for people you just met?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“No,” he said simply.

Beat.

“I made yours because… I wanted to.”

I froze for a second. Just a second. Then focused on the hammer so I didn’t combust.

We started training with slow, deliberate movements. Hephaestus taught with gentle patience, correcting my grip with warm, callused fingers. He never lingered too long—but he didn’t pull away too fast either.

“You’re overthinking it,” he said, guiding my hand again. “The hammer’s tied to your time energy. Let it flow with you.”

“Time energy,” I said, swinging and missing the practice dummy by several inches. “Right. Super intuitive.”

He laughed—a low, quiet thing that made my stomach flutter. “You’re doing better than most gods did their first try.”

“Really?”

“No. But you’re cute when you’re frustrated.”

My grip slipped.

He caught the hammer before it hit the ground, their fingers brushing mine as he handed it back, eyes wide like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

We both stood there.

Silence.

Thick with something unspoken.

“…Did you just call me cute?” I asked.

Hephaestus’s face turned so red I thought he might overheat. “No. I mean. Yes. I mean—”

Before he could implode, Astronaros walked up, arms crossed. “Everything okay over here?”

Hephaestus coughed. “Fine. Training.”

“Looked like flirting.”

“It was training,” I said too quickly.

Astronaros didn’t say anything. But he didn’t look away from Hephaestus either.

Hephaestus met his gaze—just briefly—then turned back to me. “You want to try again?”

“I—yeah.”

I did.

Because the truth was… I liked being close to him. He didn’t push. He didn’t tease (well, not like Dionysus). He saw me.

Not Time's Demigod.

Just… me.

We trained a little longer—until my arms ached and sweat ran down my back. And even then, I didn’t want it to end.

As we finished, Hephaestus offered me a water flask and asked quietly, “Can I… show you something after dinner? In the forge?”

“Yeah,” I said, too fast. “Yes. Of course.”

Astronaros was silent the whole walk back to camp.

And that silence was louder than any hammer strike.