A narrow tunnel leads from the forge through
the base of the mountain to the western edge of the island. Off the
tunnel are caverns, rooms Hephaestus calls home. Even here he feels
the fire’s heat trail after him. The farther away he gets from the
furnace, though, the more tired he grows. It’s the source of his
strength and energy, as tangible a part of him as the blood in his
veins. With each step he feels the pangs and pains of this mortal
form settle into place. His bones ache. His muscles throb. His leg,
gods! If he could manifest into another shape without his deformity
following him like a bad dream he would, but no matter what body he
selects, he is always lame. At least the human body is strong
enough to bear his passion for his work, dexterous enough to create
his inve
