Daedalus stared at the ingot of Starmetal. The celestial light it emitted bathed his soot-stained face in a holy glow, reflecting a maelstrom of emotions in his eyes. For a full minute, the only sound in the dilapidated workshop was the silent hum of the impossible material and the ragged, disbelieving breaths of the artificer.
His mind, which had been clouded with despair for so long, was a raging torrent. An illusion? was his first thought, a desperate shield against a hope that felt too painful to accept. He reached out a trembling hand, half-expecting his fingers to pass through a phantom light. But the touch was real. The Starmetal was cool, its surface impossibly smooth, and it pulsed with a dense, latent power that made the divine energy in his own body sing in response.
It's real.
The confirmation sent a jolt through him, a surge of pure, unadulterated hope so potent it almost brought him to his knees. With this... with this material, he could create a true masterpiece. He could forge an artifact that would embody every theory, every dream, every ounce of passion he had poured into his craft. The thought was so intoxicating it made him dizzy.
But just as quickly, the cold, bitter reality of his life rushed back in, dousing the nascent flame of hope with a flood of suspicion. He looked from the celestial ingot to the calm, powerful demigod standing before him. No one is this generous, the cynical part of his soul whispered. The guilds promise resources, but they demand your soul in return. This offer is a thousand times grander. The price must be a thousand times steeper. What was the real price? His craft? His will? His very being?
His pride warred with his desperation. To serve another? To be a tool again, even one gilded with Starmetal?
He finally looked up, the storm in his eyes settling into a desperate, intense plea for the truth. He had to know.
"Why?" he asked, his voice hoarse and trembling, not with fear, but with the weight of his decision. "Why me? I am nothing. A failed god in a forgotten alley. And protection... you speak of erasing those who threaten me. That is the language of a tyrant or a True God. What is it you're fighting that you need an arsenal forged by someone like me?"
Su Cheng saw the final walls of Daedalus's pride crumbling, revealing the terrified, hopeful soul within. He chose not to answer with logic or a display of power. He gave him a piece of the truth, a truth he knew the heart of a true creator would understand.
"I am fighting against an inevitable future," Su Cheng said, his voice quiet but resonating with an unshakeable certainty. "A war against beings who see us, this entire city, this entire world, as nothing more than dust to be swept aside. To win a war like that, I need more than just strong soldiers. I need legends. I need masterpieces that will allow my champions to defy a fate that has already been written."
He looked at Daedalus, his gaze piercing. "I'm not just hiring a smith, Daedalus. I'm recruiting an artist to help me forge a new destiny. Your work will not be mass-produced garbage. It will be the very foundation of our victory."
The words struck Daedalus harder than any physical blow. A new destiny. The phrase echoed in the empty chambers of his soul. His craft wouldn't just be a product; it would be a purpose. A real purpose.
With a final, shuddering breath, he made his choice. He bent down and picked up the heavy smithing hammer he had dropped. He held it not as a weapon, but as a symbol of his craft, his very soul. He walked before Su Cheng and knelt on one knee, a gesture of profound submission from one god to another.
"I have no believers left to offer. My divine power is weak. My forge is cold," Daedalus said, his voice raw with emotion. "I have nothing left but this hammer, and the skills it represents."
He held the hammer up to Su Cheng.
"I, Daedalus, swear my hammer, my forge, and my soul to your cause, Christon Al. Grant me the means to create, and I will forge for you an arsenal that will make the gods themselves tremble."
In his divine realm, Su Cheng felt a new, incredibly potent thread of faith connect to his own, a connection forged not of fear or simple gratitude, but of shared purpose and rekindled hope.
[Log]: Daedalus, the God of the Forge, has pledged his faith to you!
[Log]: Due to his absolute conviction and the monumental shift in his destiny, his faith has been directly established! You have gained a new Apostle-rank believer!
Su Cheng nodded. "Rise, Daedalus, Master Artificer of my pantheon."
He then immediately made good on his promise. "Your first task is to re-arm my Saints. We begin with their defense." A pile of evolved, impossible materials appeared in a corner of the workshop—Obsidian Dragon Scales, Frost-Giant Hide, Adamantine Ore—enough to make any other craftsman weep with joy.
Then, a sphere of pure, white light containing ten million Faith Power flew from Su Cheng's hand and into Daedalus's body. The artificer gasped as he felt the divine energy, warm and life-giving, flood his starving divine core.
"This is for your believers," Su Cheng said. "A craftsman cannot work if his own tribe is starving. Rebuild your tribe. Recruit the best. Pay them what they are worth."
That final act—the concern not just for his craft, but for his people—shattered the last of Daedalus's doubt. He looked at the pile of mythical materials, then at the surge of power filling his divine core, and for the first time in years, tears of pure, unadulterated gratitude streamed down his face, washing away the soot and despair.
He turned to his forge and, with a roar of renewed purpose, slammed his hand into it. A torrent of divine power erupted, and the dying embers exploded into a brilliant, white-hot flame, the soul of the forge roaring back to life.