“Damn it, why couldn’t this girl have chosen a more central planet to hide in? This trip is taking a month! A month!”

“Calm down Athena. This is time well spent, if we can find another godling. And besides, I was unaware that the trip was taking such a toll on you, who have not had to do anything with your power for the last few weeks.” Said Heimdal somewhat sarcastically

“But it’s so boring! There’s nothing to do, nobody to see on the way! It’s just hop from one planet to the next, and then the next, and then the next, only stopping to sleep or eat.”

“Would you rather have chartered a ship? That would have had us in cryo-sleep for at least a year, and maybe even two.”

“Well, it would be better than…”

“Um…no…I-it wouldn’t have been.” Chimed in Isis. “Cyro-sleep sucks.”

Athena looked taken aback.

“What do you mean, ‘it sucks’? I thought you just get put to sleep, and it’s like no time passes at all during the voyage.”

“Oh, it is not the act of sleeping that makes the experience uncomfortable. It is what happens when waking up. Athena, trust me when I say that you will likely not enjoy it.”

“But....Wait…Aren’t we taking a charter ship back to the Centrifuge?” Asked Athena.

“We are. You will not enjoy it. None of us will.”

“Then why can’t we just teleport all the way back?” Athena asked, sounding slightly panicked now at the thought of cryo-sleep.

“Because I do not like draining myself of power every day, as a means of transport. It means that I am never at peak condition, and more vulnerable than I wish to be for it. While it may be convenient, my method of travel is by no means preferable. It is only due to our time constraints that we are doing this. Otherwise, cryo-sleep would be used, no matter an individuals objection.”

“C-can we find a hotel please? P-p-people are staring….” Said Isis, finally bringing up the fact that Athena and Heimdal were having their argument in the middle of a crowded city square, since they had been attempting to find suitable accommodations after their latest jump.

Their loud words had obviously drawn some attention, since passers-by where throwing them furtive glances. People are normally drawn to drama, and this was not an exception.

Well, it might also have something to do with the trio’s charm. To be frank, Heimdal, Athena, and Isis seemed to all be studies into different types of beauty.

Heimdal stood tall, towering over all others in his vicinity. His icy blue eyes seemed to vibrate with warmth—and those that knew him well were fully aware of the volcano lucking far beneath his surface, tightly bound by rules and a moral code so deeply engrained that it’s become his god. He was wiry, his muscles compact and efficiently built for speed alongside dexterity. A mass of dirty blond hair cascaded around his ears. His entire atmosphere screamed one of two things.

* I’m dangerous, stay away from me.

* I’m sexy as hell, and you want to jump me.

Those two things end up coinciding more than you’d think, really.

Athena was a straight up amazon. While not as tall as Heimdal, she stood far above other women, and walked in a way that bespoke years of martial training received and internalized. She was rash and brash in the sort of way that proved she knew her own charms and power, but hadn’t yet learned her limits.

She was inexperienced, but not stupid.

Isis…well, she would be surprising behind all that shyness and hesitation. It’s fairly well known that she’s one of those who should not be pushed, under any circumstances. Because, once her switch flips….

Suffice to say, Athena is too new to know the depths of Isis, though Heimdal is fully aware. And she scares him quite a bit.

“Why should we go argue in a hotel room? Let the people stare. It’s not doing us any harm.” Said Athena, responding to Isis’s proposition with haughty confidence.

Heimdal responded completely differently.

“I apologize for any discomfort we may have accidentally caused you, Isis. Athena, come. Let us find accommodations for the night, and cease our chatter. We can discuss the charter ship once we’ve arrived on Jor, and met with the supposed godling. There is no point in doing anything until that point.” He said.

“But…”

“No buts, Athena. That is what we will be doing.”

“Fine.” Snapped Athena. “This trip better end up worth it then.” She said, speed walking away.

Heimdal sighed.

“Remind me why we are bringing her along, again?”

“B-because she needs experience? Which…which can only be gained doing t-things. This…is an easy mission—better to start small.” Said Isis.

“Was I ever like this? When first introduced to the Pantheon?”

“You were a farmer’s son. She i-is the daughter of a High-Family. You had purpose she does not.”

“I would think you being my teacher also had quite a bit to do with how I turned out. Perhaps I’m not treating my own student correctly?”

“D-don’t doubt yourself Heimdal…she is too proud.”

“I know. But I suspect you would have been able to strip away all her pride, and added another among the ranks of Isis’s great students.”

“N-no…n-n-not with this one. She…needs neither you nor I to take that pride away. Only time, and maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

“We…shall see. Only a week until the journey ends.” Said Isis in her shy and soft-spoken way.

----------------------------------------

Godard paused in the middle of his forging.

His arms were beginning to feel a bit like jelly, and he could feel the grip in his hands weakening. Part of that might have to do with the fact that he’s been at the hammer and anvil for six hours straight now—a feat you’d think impossible with his weedy looking physique and thin arms. Even more so when you consider the fact that he isn’t touching his Awakening at all. Not even a little bit. He didn’t do anything to ease his burden, or put some mana behind his swings. It was all done with only his own physicality.

He didn’t like using his Awakening. It was too…different. Too outside his comfort zone. And there were other things to consider...

Anyway, Godard didn’t think he needed it. As proven by the still glowing bit of metal resting on the anvil in front of him.

It wasn’t anything special looking, what he’s forged. In fact, it looked wholly utilitarian in nature, with no embellishments that would make the sword ‘fashionable’, or ‘stylish’.

To Godard, this was a sword. No more, no less.

He had followed the Old Earth European longsword for his template, as that was the type of armament he thought the sturdiest and simplest to wield.

Stretching his arms out a little, he ignored the heat and strain from his exertions, and continued on. Godard wanted this sword done, as soon as possible. Every minute wasted was a minute in which the blade might never be used.

Off to the side, Godard’s family watched him work.

“It’s still a wonder to me, that boy’s endurance.” Said his father, Geralt.

“Ha! He was practically born with a hammer in hand—What did you expect, Dad?” Laughed a man who looked like a younger version of Geralt. The was the eldest brother in the house, Dannaver. He had graduated college, and returned to help his aging parents run their smithy workshop.

Stolen story; please report.

“Still. I wonder where he get’s the strength, without any mana and with that body.” Remarked the middle child, named Midas. He was simply a younger version yet of his older brother and father. Seeing the three of them lined up was like watching a progression of a single, sturdily built and tall man aging.

“Oh, that’s easy to answer, as he get’s his stubbornness from me!” Said a woman from the side, walking out of the family’s house. The grey streaks in her hair did nothing to diminish the stateliness inherent in her disposition. In fact, it likely added to it. This was the mother, Lina.

“That he does.” Said Geralt, looking fondly upon his wife.

“Just thought I’d come out and let you boys know that lunch is ready, whenever you want to eat. I know everyone’s been working hard out here.” She said.

“Sure, I think we’ll be along in a few minutes. Right now, we probably want to see what Gordard’s going to end up with as a sword blank. He’s been working on this since before we woke up. Don’t even know when he started.”

“Okay, the food’s ready whenever you all want some.”

Geralt and his two other sons continued to watch Godard, somewhat in amazement.

“He’s more skilled than any of us, isn’t he?” Asked Midas.

“Yeah, he is.” Answered Dannayer simply.

“Don’t even know when he went and passed us by.” Chimed in Geralt. “Hell, I’m sure that whatever he creates when actually using his Awakening will be amazing.”

“Yeah. Shame he’s so shy about it.”

“Well, wouldn’t you be hesitant to use it, what with the side effects?”

“No, you’re right. I’d hate to be burdened with something like that. I’m fine with how I am right now, thanks. Besides, the ladies fall over for a bit of muscle like mine!”

“Shh! You know Godard’s sensitive about that!”

“He can be sensitive all he wants. Won’t change a damn thing. Mom knows that—she gave him ‘the talk’ as soon as he turned fourteen. What to expect and all that.”

“He won’t have none of it, though.”

“Yeah yeah.” Sighed Dannayer. “Still think he needs to just bite the bullet though. No use in dwelling on things. It’ll only make the eventual more painful.”

“What, you think it’s gonna happen regardless?”

“Please. Do you see how he treats what he forges? This current level of his isn’t enough. It only makes him hunger more for better, for greater levels of skill. He wants a mastery not possible only being human. He’s already better than me, his Dad. The one who taught him how to pound metal. But, he has to bring his Awakening into this sooner or later. Otherwise, he’ll hit a wall, and forever remain 'just' a better than average smith.”

“He doesn’t want to be ‘better than average’, does he?” Asked Midas.

“No. He probably won’t even be content with being the best.” Replied Dannayer.

“This son of mine is destined to eclipse us all. But that’s something that can only be done with the power of an Awakening. So long as he rejects it, he’ll remain frustrated.”

“So then, he’ll use his Awakening eventually?”

“Doubtless.”

“We’ll love him anyway.”

With the conversation over, the three of them turned back to watch Godard, who was wholly unaware of them, so intent on the sword was he.

Six hours. That’s how long it had taken him to shape the blade of this particular sword, using only a hammer, anvil, and the heat of the forge. Well, and a pair of tongs, along with lot’s of sweat, and even some tears. No blood though. He had stopped accidentally injuring himself while working years ago, once his dexterity had gotten to the point where the hammer never hit anything other than what was intended to be hit. That excludes fingers.

But now, six hours after he’d started early in the morning, the blade was shaped. It was ready for the next few steps.

Godard carefully lifted it off the anvil, and levered it to a tank of brackish oil sitting off to the side. He lowered the heated blade into the tank, and large billows of steam erupted in the workshop as the oil met hot metal.

He let the sword sit for a few seconds, before pulling it back out, and checking for any imperfections developed during the dunk. There were none.  

Next, he let the blade rest for a while.

Most smiths would do things in a different order, first forging the blade, then annealing it so that they could easily grind off the extra metal and give the blade it’s final shape. Only after that would they harden the blade by dunking it in a liquid of some sort, causing it to cool rapidly. Then they would heat the blade at a moderately high temperature to introduce flexibility and make it so that the blade wouldn’t be too hard, and brittle.

However, Godard was able to cut out some middle steps.

He didn’t have to grind off any extra material, since he had forged the sword to exacting dimensions anyway.    

In other words, he had shaped the sword to precisely with hammer and anvil, that there was absolutely no need to take any material off. The blade was already ready to accept an edge, though he would hold off on that until the tempering process had been finished.

Which was the next step anyway. He took the blade, and set it in an oven of sorts so that it would be heated consistently for the next few hours or so. Godard carefully watched the blade the entire time, keeping a careful eye on the color of the metal, and judging the heat based on that.

Upon seeing the blade turn a specific hue, he pulled it out of the tempering oven, and dunked it into the oil once more. But where that action had produced billowing clouds of steam before, it only caused a few thick wisps to rise this time, due to the lower heat of the blade when compared to the initial quenching.

The sword was mostly done now, and only needed to be polished and sharpened. Godard would also have to kit it out with a pommel, handle, and sheath.

But, considering these things, he immediately realized something and groaned aloud.

“Fuck me. It’s too big, isn’t it?”

He thought a while, before determining that it would have to be good enough. Hopefully the size wouldn’t be too large an issue. Godard had heard that bigger isn’t always better, and he was inclined to believe that. Or, he hoped it was true.

Well, in this case, there was nothing to be done about it. If the sword was too big, it was too big. But still better than nothing—and so long as it was still sheathable, things should work out.

Somehow.

----------------------------------------

I didn’t bother with an appointment to meet with Jvorg, thinking he would just turn me away. Instead, I decided to simply show up, and tell his secretary that Revy Snow was here to see him.

Either Jvorg would deny me entry without saying anything, or he’ll just let me in, and possibly might even give me some answers.

There’s always a chance, right?  

Walking into the building was a breeze. Nobody was trying to keep anyone out, since the receptionists would filter out those that don’t belong or are showing up without setting any appointments up. Like me.

So, that’s my first hurdle. Getting the receptionist to take me seriously enough to inform Jvorg of my arrival.

Walking up, I try to appear as confident and haughty as possible. Which is really fucking difficult when you’re so damn short. Means you have to make up whatever height is lacking using sheer presence.

So, the receptionist saw me enter the building, and walk up to the desk in a refined, poised, and elegant manner—and the aura I exuded spoke of confidence, and regality. There would be no stopping such an important guest—and I am important. She would have to immediately see that I’m one of those people you should drop everything for, who could easily hold the entirety of your life in the palm of their hands.

I walked up to her, and opened my mouth.

“Aw, such a cute little lady. Are you here to see your parents?”

And there go my dreams….shattered…on the ground…then stepped on so viciously...

I sighed internally.

“Here to see Jvorg? Important.”

“Ah yes. Might I know your name, so that he knows who’s coming up?”

“Revy Snow. He knows me.”

"Sure thing sweetie. I’ll go ahead and ring Mr. Jvorg up, see if he’s free to receive you.”

Nodding, I waited for the woman to connect to his office via phone.

“Mr. Jovrg? There’s a little lady here to see you, by the name of Revy Snow. Do you want me to send her up?” Asked the receptionist.

I couldn’t hear his answer, but judging by the long pause in conversation from this end of things, and the confused face of the receptionist, my guess is that Jvorg is currently thinking things over. Wondering whether he should toss me out, or let me up.

The receptionist perked up, letting me know that Jvorg is responding.

“Okay. Yeah. Sure, I’ll go ahead and do that. Yes sir. You too.”

She put down the phone.

“Alright, Mr. Jvorg is willing to see you Revy. Just take the elevator to the left—it should lead right to his floor.”

I nodded, and followed the woman’s instructions.

After entering the elevator, it’s doors automatically closed behind me, and it started rising in the air quite quickly. It went up anywhere from fifteen to twenty floors before slowing down, and opening up into the hallway leading towards that large desk of Jvorg’s, with the city skyline rising up in the air behind him, outside that massive set of windows.

However, the hallway itself was bland and drab, with no decorations at all, and nothing which foretold of the scene awaiting whomever entered his office. You just went from dark interior to brightly lit room without anything warning of the transition. I somewhat expect something like that to be intentional on the part of Jvorg. He seems to take enjoyment from keeping people guessing—myself included. Unfortunetly.

And just like I remembered, blinding light flared in my eyes upon opening up the door to Jvorg’s office. And of course, he’s sitting behind that desk of his.

“Revy, I am glad to see you again. I just had not expected it to be so soon. But, in understand why you have come. My explanation was found lacking, no? You want for answers.”

“Yes.”

“Then you will be disappointed. I cannot give you what you want.”

“Why?”

“Because. Do you really wish for me to say what it is? I am afraid the reasoning behind my reluctance may upset you.”

“Want to know.”

“Are you sure about this? I am giving you this one last chance to leave with only disappointment and frustration at my unwillingness to share what has been seen. If you stay, and insist on finding a reason why I may not tell you, then things will only end with you in pain and emotional turmoil, no?”

“Still want to know.” Give me your best shot, bastard. I’ll show you how strong I am, and how my determination will not waiver. I’ll spit in the face of your reasons, and learn what you know.

Jvorg sighed.

“You are not ready.”

“But…”

“No. Listen to me. Right now, you are not ready. In a week, still not ready. A year, maybe a little ready. But now?” Said Jvorg, pausing. “You are like child. Not mature enough to face what must be faced. You do not know yourself, in that heart of hearts. I said that you were a person of contradictions. That was not a compliment. Your life is so twisted and knotted about, that you are a mess. Even worse, you still do not understand what makes you so flawed.

“For all your intelligence, you are an idiot. For all your strength, the coward within holds you back. You want to live an ‘ordinary life’. You would have to sacrifice humanity for such an end. If I tell you what is going to happen, you would run, Revy. I have seen it, in many futures involving you. We are all consigned to the grave based on your decisions. So, I will not tell you what is going to happen, until you are ready. And to be ready, first you must go to the Pantheon. They can prepare you. But that means leaving most that is here behind.

“So, I will tell you this.”

“Unless you want this ‘normal life’ of yours to disappear forever, you must go with the Pantheon. Tell them you are Freya. Observe, and grow. When you are ready, take that which is rightfully yours and defend your thrice-damned ‘normal life’. Got it, Revian?”