"You did what?!"
Hestia's voice shattered the quiet night like a thunderclap, echoing off the stone walls of Hephaestus's workshop. She stormed out from behind the counter, fists clenched, eyes blazing with fury—and fear.
Bell winced as he closed the door behind him. His armor was scraped, his cloak torn, and soot stained one cheek—but his smile was soft.
"I fought a Minotaur," he said gently.
"Why is that the first thing out of your mouth?!" she snapped, voice trembling. "You just finished training, and you're already picking fights with Minotaurs?!"
Welf stepped in behind him, dropping a cloth-wrapped bundle onto the workbench with a heavy thump.
"He didn't pick the fight," he said. "It found us. Armed. But Bell handled it."
Hestia's gaze flicked between them. The anger in her face faltered, giving way to rising panic.
"If it was armed, you should've run—or called for help! Look at you!"
"I'm not hurt," Bell said quickly, raising his hands. "Really. Just scrapes."
Her breath caught. The lamplight shimmered in her glassy eyes.
"You idiot…"
"I know."
She rushed forward and pulled him into a tight embrace, burying her face in his chest.
"You absolute, reckless, stupid, brave idiot…"
Bell chuckled quietly and returned the hug.
"I'm sorry for scaring you."
She held on a moment longer before stepping back, wiping at her eyes.
"Next time, I won't forgive you so easily."
"I'll keep that in mind."
The door at the back creaked open. A single heavy bootstep echoed.
Welf glanced up, already guessing.
"You're making a lot of noise at this hour," Hephaestus called down, voice calm but edged with dry amusement.
Hestia straightened, quickly wiping her cheeks.
"Not my fault. I couldn't leave the shop before you came back."
"About that—sorry," Hephaestus said as she stepped down into the room, coat slung over one shoulder. The scent of oil and metal clung to her. "Watching Luthar work... I lost track of time."
At the mention of the name, Welf's expression soured.
"So that's where you were."
She raised a brow but didn't respond.
Welf folded his arms. "Did he finally cough up the materials he's been hoarding? Prices are still sky-high—blacksmiths can't keep up, and honest shops are going under."
Hephaestus sighed and brushed her fingers through her hair. "The shortage is easing, slowly. New shipments are coming in few days, but prices won't return to normal anytime soon."
"Great," Welf muttered. "Guess we'll all just stop making weapons,it's not like we can make any profit in current situation."
"Welf—" Hestia began, but he raised a hand.
"No. I'm just tired—tired of watching good smiths go under while he floods the city with weapons he build inside that damn church."
Welf's voice was low, but seething. He turned to Hephaestus, eyes hard.
"You know what he is. Why are you still standing by him?"
Hephaestus met his gaze evenly.
"Because most smiths have grown complacent. As long as they can forge a blade that cuts, they think that's enough. But he's different. He builds things with everything he has—every thought, every breath. While trying to figure out 'How can this be better?'"
Welf's voice cracked. "So now you think people like me have no will to improve?"
"You want to improve," she said gently. "But you've also accepted your fate. You made peace with what you are."
She stepped closer.
"You chose not to make magic swords—but you've also chosen to live with that limit."
Welf's jaw tightened. His voice dropped.
"Limits aren't a weakness. They're a choice. A principle."
Hephaestus nodded slowly. "And I respect that. But don't mistake principles for progress." She looked toward the workshop's hearth, its coals long since cooled. "Luthar tears everything down if it means building something better. That kind of mind is dangerous—but it's also creating miracles."
"Miracles for what?" Welf asked bitterly. "For war?"
Hephaestus met his gaze again.
"For survival."
Her voice softened.
"Welf. You have talent. And heart. Don't let bitterness drown you."
Silence began to settle after her final words. Welf's fists slowly unclenched at his sides, the weight of frustration pulling him down.
Sensing the shift, Hestia cleared her throat.
"All right," she said, voice light but deliberate. "That's enough gloomy talk for one night."
The tension cracked slightly.
She glanced at Hephaestus and added with a subtle smile, "So… where's Tsubaki? Don't tell me you lost her."
Hephaestus huffed a short laugh. "She's at the Church. Probably sleeping—hasn't gotten much rest these past few days."
Welf gave a tired snort, shaking his head. "I guess she won't be coming back soon."
Hephaestus turned to him, her tone gentler. "Yes. She's quite interested in what she's learning."
Welf didn't answer, but his silence was less barbed than before.
Hephaestus adjusted her coat. "Anyway, I should rest. It's been a long day."
She looked at Hestia and offered a nod of gratitude. "Thanks for waiting. And for taking care of the workshop."
Hestia waved her off with a grin. "No need to thank me."
Hephaestus smirked faintly and stepped toward the rear hallway. As she passed Welf, she paused briefly—then disappeared behind the door, her footsteps fading.
The workshop fell still again.
Hestia moved toward the hearth and gently stirred the cold ash with a poker. "Have you thought about what you're going to do next?"
Bell glanced at his gauntlets. "I'll rest for a few days… after you update my status."
Welf exhaled slowly, running a hand over the Minotaur horn. "I guess I'm going to build a dagger from this."
"Then good luck," Hestia said, more serious now. "Just… don't take any more risks."
It was advice she knew they would ignore.
And she could do nothing to stop them.
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