The morning sky was still bruised with the last remnants of night when the forge cracked open with heat. The flames inside were already roaring, alive and ravenous, casting flickers of orange against the soot-dark walls of the cave. A young man stood before the anvil, muscles roped with tension, his skin glistening with sweat despite the early hour. His hands, calloused and blackened, moved with practiced precision. Sparks flew with each hammer strike, bright enough to etch brief ghosts onto the stone.
He said nothing as he worked, but his mind churned with memory.
It had been years. Decades, perhaps. Time bent strangely on the island. Seasons shifted, but the routine did not. He forged. He climbed. He wandered. He listened to the fire. The only voice he missed was hers.
The last time Thetis visited, the tide had been low, and the stars unusually bright. He had just finished cooling a set of bronze tongs and found her waiting on the shore, her silver hair trailing behind her like sea foam.
"Where are you going?" he had asked, uneasy.
"Poseidon calls," she had said, her voice unreadable.
He remembered clenching his jaw, the frustration rising in his throat. "You said I was not a prisoner."
"You are not."
"Then why am I still here? Why can't I leave?"
She had walked toward him, slow and sure, her bare feet silent on the rock. "Because the world is not ready for you yet. And you are not ready for it."
"I can protect myself."
Her gaze had softened, but there was something else in it. Pity, maybe. Or fear. "It's not you I'm worried about," she had whispered, placing a cool hand on his chest.
That had been the last time. She vanished into the sea, and he had not seen her since. Only her absence remained, woven into the tides.
He grunted and drove the hammer down once more, flattening the glowing metal with a sound like a thunderclap. His leg, bound with tight straps of reinforced kelp and bronze, trembled beneath him, but he did not stop. He never stopped.
The cave that served as his forge was cut deep into the mountain's flank. Black stone walls glistened with veins of metal, the floor worn smooth by years of footfall. Rows of tools lined the shelves: pliers, molds, chisels. Many were of his own invention. In the far corner, bellows the size of a man sighed gently, feeding fire into the heart of the forge.
And yet, despite the work, the mountain, the fire, he was bored. Not the simple boredom of idleness, but the kind that settled into bones and whispered of something missing. Something beyond this island, beyond this routine.
He stepped outside, dragging his bad leg across the scorched stone. The sun had risen fully now, throwing jagged shadows across the ridges. He stood at the peak and let his eyes wander over the black sand beaches, the sharp cliffs, the sea that spread out like a sheet of hammered silver. Every rock, every slope, every cave was etched into his memory. He could walk this island blind.
But today, something was different.
A line of smoke curled into the sky far on the horizon. Thin, black, unnatural. It did not spiral like the plumes from his forge. It was too straight. Too deliberate.
He narrowed his eyes. Not smoke from a volcano. Not lightning, not storm. Something else.
Curiosity bloomed like fire in his chest.
He dropped to the shore quickly, limping but fast, his brace clicking with each step. By the time he reached the water's edge, he had made up his mind. If the gods would not bring the world to him, he would find it himself.
The sea welcomed him like an old friend. As he dove in, the salt stung his eyes briefly before they adjusted to the dim green-blue world below. His body cut through the water with ease, his arms strong, his strokes silent. Kelp waved lazily as he passed, tangling briefly around his leg before releasing. Schools of fish scattered at his approach, silver flashes of movement. Rays glided beneath him, their wings stirring up sand.
The deeper he swam, the calmer he felt.
He moved toward the smoke, guided by instinct and wonder. It took time. Even with his powerful strokes, the distance was great. But he kept on, lungs steady, muscles fluid.
Eventually, he saw it.
The steamboat.
It loomed above him like something from a dream. It was massive, black-hulled, crowned with a single tall smokestack that belched smoke into the sky. Iron rivets lined its sides. Its underside churned the water with paddles and clanging gears. To his eyes, it was unnatural, alien. A thing made not of nature, but will.
He circled beneath it, hidden in the deep. His mind raced. How could something so heavy float? Iron should sink. This ship defied reason.
He drifted closer, watching the hull as it cut through the sea. Chains rattled, gears clanked. Above, he saw shadows; figures moving, shouting, laughing. People.
Humans.
He stayed low, following the ship from a distance as it surged forward. The journey took hours, but he did not tire. Instead, he observed. Every bolt, every plank, every sail and rope. His mind stored it all.
And the humans, so similar to himself in form, yet so strange. They wore clothes stitched from cloth, not woven seaweed or hide. Their voices lacked the resonance of gods. Their gestures were clumsy, animated.
Were they lesser creatures, as Thetis had always claimed? He wasn't so sure. There was something raw about them. Unfinished, perhaps. But not unworthy.
The ship finally approached a port, a crescent-shaped harbor nestled at the edge of another island, its name unknown to him. He remained submerged, just far enough to see but not be seen.
Buildings rose in uneven rows beyond the wooden docks, their walls whitewashed and sun-worn. Nets hung from beams. Crates were stacked high. Human voices echoed over the water, shouts in a language he didn't yet understand, though it stirred something familiar in him. The scent of oil and fish mingled in the air, drifting out toward the sea.
He watched as the boat docked, its engine coughing to a stop. Ropes were flung. Boots hit the wooden planks. Children ran to meet returning fathers. Old women waved from open windows. The port was alive, buzzing.
And he was still.
He hovered just beneath the waves, only the top of his head and his eyes breaking the surface. A strange fear gripped him, not of harm, but of change. Of stepping into a world that did not know his name.
He lingered there, heart pounding.
Then, slowly, he sank back beneath the surface, vanishing into the quiet blue.