a simple blacksmith in greece

After the smith god teleported us to the volcano, I steadied myself and glanced around at the overwhelming heat of the forge. The molten lava below radiated an intense orange glow that made the air shimmer, but my attention was drawn to the imposing door with the note:

"Don't disturb, or you're getting nothing."

I walked toward it, the god trailing behind me at a leisurely pace, his limp barely noticeable now. Without hesitation, I pushed the door open.

The cool air that hit me was an immediate and unexpected relief. The temperature inside was surprisingly mild—not hot enough to make you sweat, but not cold enough to be uncomfortable.

I glanced back at the god, who gestured with a wave of his hand for me to step inside. "Go on," he said with a faint smirk.

I crossed the threshold, half-expecting the door to slam shut behind me, but it didn't. The interior of the forge was unlike anything I had imagined.

Shelves lined the walls, each one filled with tools, glowing artifacts, and weapons that hummed faintly with magical energy. The room was illuminated by a soft, golden light that seemed to emanate from no particular source. The forge itself dominated the center of the room—a massive anvil surrounded by workbenches, each covered in strange materials and half-finished creations.

"Not what you expected, huh?" the god said, stepping in behind me. He moved to the anvil with an ease that belied his earlier limp, running his hand over its smooth surface.

I crossed my arms, taking in the sight. "Not really. I thought it'd be more… molten lava and unbearable heat."

He chuckled, the sound deep and resonant. "That's just for show. A real forge has to be precise, controlled. Heat and chaos may shape the materials, but it's the craftsman who gives them purpose."

I raised an eyebrow at his philosophical tone. "So, what now? You brought me here. What's the plan?"

He turned to face me, his expression serious. "The plan is simple. You work with me. I'll craft the items you asked for, and in return, you'll show me exactly how you created your technique. Every detail."

I hesitated, my instincts warned me against trusting a god so easily. But looking around at the tools and the forge, I realized there might be more to gain from this than just magical items.

"Fine," I said, stepping forward. "But I'm watching your every move. One wrong step, and this deal's off."

The god smirked, the corner of his mouth curling upward. "Fair enough. Now, let's get to work."

"Wait. Before anything else, I want a contract," I said, crossing my arms. "There's no way I'm doing anything with you without one. A god's word might have power, but their writing? That's binding."

The god sighed dramatically, running a hand through his ginger hair. "You mortals and your demands. Fine." He reached into nothingness, pulling out a shimmering sheet of parchment. It wasn't ordinary paper—its surface glinted like hammered gold, radiating a faint divine aura.

He conjured a quill from the air, its tip glowing faintly, and began to write with swift, precise strokes. The scratching sound echoed in the cool room.

Before he could finish, I interrupted. "The contract will be enforced in the name of the Night. If either of us breaks it, we'll face her judgment."

His hand froze. He looked up at me, his fiery eyes narrowing slightly. "The Night? Are you sure about that?" His tone was incredulous, almost amused. "One misstep and you'll be swallowed whole. Even if I were to break it, I might find a way to escape her grasp someday. You? Not so lucky."

I met his gaze, unwavering. "I'm sure. She's one of the few entities even the Olympians tread carefully around."

He raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. "Your funeral. Fine by me." He returned to the parchment, his quill scratching again.

Once finished, he turned the parchment toward me. "Here's the deal: ten sessions. You craft something, and I'll observe. Afterward, I'll create the magical items you request. One session every five days. Agreed?"

I frowned, considering it. As much as I disliked the idea, there wasn't a better option. "Agreed."

"Good. Now, your blood," he said, holding out the parchment.

Summoning my dagger, its zigzag blade glowing faintly, I pricked my thumb. A bead of crimson welled up, and I pressed it firmly against the parchment.

The god conjured his own blade, its edge jagged and sharp, cutting his thumb to release a gleaming stream of golden blood. He pressed his mark beside mine, and the parchment glowed with an intense light. When it dimmed, intricate runes were etched into the surface, binding the deal.

"It's done," he said, tucking the parchment into his cloak. "Now, let's see if you're as impressive as you think."

I glanced at the forge ahead, already calculating the work to come. "You'll see soon enough. Let's get started."

Borrowing the god's forge, I began the work in earnest. The metal he handed me shimmered faintly, a material I wasn't familiar with. As I placed it in the blazing forge, I poured my mana and intent into it, focusing on shaping not just a weapon but a piece of art imbued with meaning.

Taking the heated metal out, I struck it with the god's hammer. Sparks flew with each impact, and the forge seemed to hum, responding to the mana coursing through the metal. I repeated this process—heat, strike, cool—each cycle gradually bringing the shape to life.

But just as I thought I was making progress, the metal shattered in a bright blue glow. My mana was too volatile, overwhelming the material.

Frustrated but determined, I grabbed another piece of metal. Heat. Strike. Repeat. Again. And again. Hours passed, and I could feel the god's unblinking gaze on me the entire time.

By the seventh hour, I stood over a completed blade. Its silver surface gleamed, interrupted by crimson veins that pulsed faintly, alive with latent energy. I held it up to the light, admiring its sleek, deadly design.

"Clarent," the god said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence.

I turned to him, eyebrows raised. "How did you know that?"

He smirked. "I'm a smith god. I know these things."

"Ah, right. Because that explains everything," I muttered, shaking my head.

Setting the sword aside, I faced him. "I guess it's your turn to make me an item."

He grinned, a little too eagerly. "What'll it be?"

I took a moment to think, then smirked inwardly. If he wanted to test me, I'd return the favor. Pulling out a scrap of parchment, I sketched a rough design of a motorcycle—a sleek, futuristic machine that wouldn't look out of place in the year 2000 AD. I added notes on its functionality: speed, endurance, and a few magical enhancements.

Sliding the parchment across the table, I said, "This. I want this."

The god studied the sketch, his expression unreadable. Then he looked up, grinning confidently. "Alright. I'll have it ready by our next session."

As he tucked the sketch away, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd pushed too far—or if he'd underestimated me. Either way, the Night's contract loomed over us both.

The god teleported me back home, and as I materialized in the familiar space, I immediately noticed Pluie pacing around my living room. Her expression was a mix of worry and panic, and the moment she saw me, she ran straight at me, practically yelling.

"We have a problem! There's this thing—it chased me—and, and—"

"Calm down," I said, gently taking her trembling hands in mine. I started rubbing them softly, trying to soothe her. "Take a deep breath. You're safe now."

Her breathing slowed after a moment, her frantic energy gradually dissipating. "Okay," she said, her voice steadier now.

"Good," I said. "Now, tell me what's going on."

"It's bad," she began, her voice low and strained. "There's a dragon in the forest. Deep in the woods near your place. Twenty people have been killed, and forty more are injured. It's been attacking lumberjacks."

A dragon. My grip on her hands tightened slightly. "Are you sure it's a dragon? Not some rogue monster or an illusion?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "It's a dragon. I saw it—huge, black scales, glowing yellow eyes. It was burning everything in its path. I barely got away."

I let go of her hands and ran a hand through my hair, my mind racing. A dragon wasn't just dangerous; it was a herald of chaos, a force that could reshape the land if left unchecked.

"Alright," I said, standing up straighter. "We'll deal with this. But first, I need you to stay here. Don't go anywhere near that forest."

Her eyes widened. "You're not going to face it alone, are you?"

"I don't plan to," I said, grabbing my sword, Clarent, from the corner of the room. "But I need to find out what we're dealing with. If this thing is killing people, I can't just sit around."

She looked like she wanted to argue, but instead, she nodded reluctantly. "Be careful. Please."

"I will," I promised. And with that, I stepped out into the fading light, the forest—and the dragon—looming in my mind.