The sun gleamed off the marble hall of Olympus under the afternoon light, columns casting long shadows across the polished floor. I stood at the far end of the council chamber, hammer resting against my shoulder, watching my family filter in with their usual self-importance.
Zeus took his throne first, naturally. The king of the gods never missed an opportunity to sit highest. Hera glided in beside him, her chin lifted in that perpetual expression of superiority she wore like a crown. Athena arrived with a scroll tucked under one arm and already reading. Ares slouched in, blood still on his gauntlets from whatever pointless skirmish he'd been enjoying. Aphrodite drifted past without looking at me and enjoying the leering of the other gods.
Apollo and Artemis entered together, arguing about something. Hermes appeared in a blur of motion, grinning like a loon. Dionysus stumbled in last, wine cup in hand, because of course he did.
"Son." Zeus's voice boomed across the chamber. "You called this gathering. Speak."
I shifted my weight, feeling the familiar ache in my leg. For centuries, that discomfort had been a reminder of how this family worked. Hera throws you off a mountain, Zeus pretends it didn't happen, and again Zeus throws you of and again everyone expects you to keep making their weapons and jewelry like nothing matters. Twice you were thrown off the mountain and they seem to think was okay.
But Michael's memories sat in my head now, strange and foreign and absolutely fascinating. A mortal who'd spent his short life cataloging stories, arguing with others and now I have understanding that there were infinite worlds beyond this one. Worlds where I wasn't the ugly stepchild. Worlds where craftsmanship mattered more than beauty or war or manipulation.
Worlds where I could actually enjoy learning new things.
"I'm done," I said.
The chamber went quiet. Even Dionysus stopped mid-sip.
"Done?" Hera's voice dripped with disdain. "Done with what, exactly?"
"All of this," I gestured broadly, my voice dripping with equal disdain. I had helped her once long ago but all she ever returned was scorn," The endless council debates that go nowhere. The way you demand my weapons to fix your own self-inflicted disasters. Even the family gatherings, where we play-act at being whole. It's exhausting."
Ares leaned forward, eager interest sparking in his red eyes. "You're finally throwing a tantrum?"
"I'm retiring."
Zeus's expression darkened. Thunder rumbled somewhere distant. "You cannot simply retire from being a god. You are one of the 12 Olympians! even if hades and Poseidon are not currently here"
"Watch me." I planted my hammer on the ground, the ring of metal on marble reverberating through the chamber. "I've spent millennia making your armor, your weapons, your pretty little trinkets. I fixed Olympus after every war. I built the bronze giants, forged the chains that hold Prometheus, created Pandora because you lot needed someone to blame for mortal suffering."
"Hephaestus," Athena said carefully, setting down her scroll. "What brought this on?"
I almost laughed. Athena, the wise one, always analyzing. She probably had several theories already about my motivations and a contingency plan for each.
"What brought this on is that I'm tired. Tired of being the tool you pull out when you need something fixed. Tired of pretending I don't notice how you all look at me. Tired of being married to someone," I glanced at Aphrodite, "who treats our marriage like an inconvenient formality between affairs."
Aphrodite had the grace to look away. Ares smirked.
Hephaestus turned his gaze directly to Aphrodite. She sat with perfect posture, radiant even in her discomfort, fingers tracing idle patterns on the armrest of her seat.
"Which brings me to my next point," Hephaestus said. "Aphrodite, I want a divorce."
The chamber erupted. Gods spoke over each other in a loud noises of disbelief and outrage. Ares actually laughed, a sharp bark that cut through the noise.
Aphrodite's expression shifted through surprise, indignation, and finally settled on neutral "A divorce?"
"Yes. A dissolution of our marriage. An ending to this farce we've maintained for appearances." Hephaestus kept his voice level, conversational even. "What's the point of being married to someone who sleeps with anything on two legs? I'm tired of pretending this arrangement has any meaning."
"How dare you," Aphrodite said, though the words lacked heat. "I am the goddess of love and-"
"And you've loved everyone except your husband. That's fine. I've made peace with it." Hephaestus gestured broadly at the assembled gods. "You've bedded Ares more times than I can count. Hermes on at least several occasions that I know of. Dionysus during that festival in Athens. That mortal prince whose name escapes me. The list goes on."
Hermes had the decency to look embarrassed. Dionysus raised his wine cup in acknowledgment.
"I have never hidden my nature," Aphrodite said, lifting her chin. "You knew what our marriage was when we wed."
"I knew it was a joke. A compensation prize for freeing Hera from her throne." Hephaestus met her eyes. "But I tried to make it work. I crafted jewelry for you. Gorgeous things that made you even more stunning. I never demanded fidelity because I understood you didn't choose this either."
Silence fell. Aphrodite's fingers stilled.
"So yes, I'm asking for a divorce. Not out of anger or spite, but because continuing this charade serves neither of us." Hephaestus turned back to Zeus. "Unless you're going to argue that my marriage to Aphrodite is somehow essential to the functioning of Olympus?"
Zeus opened his mouth, closed it, then frowned. "The marriage was meant to prevent conflict between gods competing for Aphrodite's affection."
"Didn't work," Ares said cheerfully.
"Now all I want is to leave and maybe find a place that wants me. A places where I'm not defined by being the god who got thrown off a mountain for being ugly."
Hera's face went rigid. "That was-"
"Millennia ago? Yes. And you've never apologized. Not once." I met her eyes, unflinching."I only came back because Dionysus got me drunk. That's our relationship in summary. Cruelty and coercion."
Zeus stood, his presence filling the room with oppressive weight. "You would abandon your duties? Your family?"
"My duties?" The word tasted bitter. "My duty was surviving being cast out as an infant. My duty was learning to forge beauty from a cave in the ocean because nobody wanted me around. My duty has been thankless labor for people who've never respected me. and the only two people I've ever respected have faded are Eurynome and Thetis."
I looked around the chamber, meeting each of their eyes.
"So yes, I'm abandoning my duties. Find another smith. Ask Cyclopes to make your weapons. Commission mortal craftsmen. I genuinely don't care anymore."
"This is absurd," Hera snapped. "You cannot simply leave Olympus."
"I can, actually. I am a god. I can do whatever I want." I lifted my hammer back onto my shoulder. "The forge under Etna will keep running without me for a while. Centuries maybe. The automatons know their work. After that?" I shrugged. "Not my problem."
Hermes whistled low. "Damn, Heph. Didn't know you had this in you."
"Neither did I," I admitted.
"You're having a crisis," Apollo said, sitting forward. "We can help with that. I know some excellent-"
"I'm not having a crisis." I turned toward the chamber entrance.
"If you walk away," Zeus said, his voice dangerously quiet, "there will be consequences."
I paused at the threshold, looking back over my shoulder.
"Consequences? What are you going to do, throw me off Olympus again? Already survived that once." I smiled, and it felt strange on my face because I couldn't remember the last time I'd smiled and meant it.
"Hephaestus!" Hera's voice cracked like a whip.
"Bugger off," I said pleasantly, and walked out of Olympus for the last time.
The volcanic heat of Etna welcomed me like an old friend. My automatons paused in their work, golden faces turning toward me with mechanical curiosity. I'd built them to be beautiful because I'd always appreciated beauty, even if I'd never embodied it.
"Change of plans," I told them, moving through the forge toward my personal workshop. "Half of you will be leaving. Follow me."
The automatons didn't question. That's what I appreciated about them. No judgment, no expectations, just reliable competence.
Michael's memories flickered through my mind as I gathered materials. He'd been obsessed with stories of parallel worlds, alternate dimensions, the idea that somewhere out there was a version of events where things went differently. He'd died angry and alone, convinced the world had cheated him.
Maybe we weren't so different, he and I.
I pulled out the tools I'd need: Celestial Bronze, Stygian Iron, a few other materials most gods had forgotten existed. If I was going to travel the multiverse, I needed equipment that could handle it. A forge that could move between realities, weapons that could adapt to different universal laws, armor that could protect against threats I hadn't even imagined yet.
This was going to be interesting.
For the first time in millennia, I felt something like excitement. The kind of anticipation that came from standing at the edge of something new, something unknown, something that wasn't just another day of fulfilling everyone else's expectations.
I was Hephaestus, God of the Forge, Master Craftsman, Creator of Wonders.
And I was finally going to build something for myself.