Luthar watched Tsubaki go limp, fatigue overtaking her as her head lolled against Liliruca's shoulder. A faint snore betrayed the illusion of composure. Liliruca, however, stubbornly fought the creeping drowsiness that threatened to take her.
Hephaestus exhaled softly, pushing herself up from the bench with a grunt. "They need rest," she murmured.
Luthar rose wordlessly, stepping around the table. He knelt beside Tsubaki, slipping one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her shoulders effortlessly.
Hephaestus approached Liliruca, who blinked blearily at her. "Come on," the goddess said gently, crouching down and offering her arms. "You can thank me later."
Liliruca grumbled something about being "perfectly awake"—then slumped forward into Hephaestus's embrace, her arms dangling. Hephaestus smiled faintly, lifting her with the same care one might lift a sleeping child.
The two women were carried out.
Luthar nudged open the door to one of the rooms—a small, functional space with only the bare essentials.
Tsubaki was heavier than she looked, but Luthar barely noticed the strain. Her body was warm with fatigue, and it was a perfect opportunity to do something—if it weren't for the constant pressure he felt, he might have entertained the thought.
He paused for only a moment longer, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders before stepping back into the corridor.
Hephaestus emerged from a neighboring room, brushing a strand of red hair from her cheek. "She's out," she said quietly.
Luthar nodded once.
They returned to the chamber. The benches groaned faintly as they sat. Hephaestus reached across the table, retrieving the unfinished cup. Luthar did the same but reached beneath the bench, retrieving a hidden case. A hiss of pressurized release signaled its opening.
From within, he withdrew a small bottle. He poured two fingers' worth into each cup and passed one to Hephaestus. "Synth-fruit variant. The original recipe was lost," he said.
Hephaestus raised her cup with a faint smirk. "Cheers to lost things, then."
They drank.
The flavor was sharp, with a cloying sweetness that lingered oddly, but it was cool—and it was quiet.
The chamber fell silent again, save for the distant thrum of the activated core, pulsing like a heartbeat beneath the floor.
Luthar leaned back, setting his cup aside. "Now you've seen what I'm doing. What are you going to do?" he asked, his voice steady.
Hephaestus's gaze shifted to the wall, where the pipes were still exposed. "If I wanted to stop you, I wouldn't have come alone."
She took another sip, then set her cup down.
"I've seen fools try to create miracles and blow themselves halfway across a forge, but you're different. You knew this thing might blow up from the start, and yet you still pressed on." She paused, remembering the instructions Luthar had given before starting the generator—how being blown up by your own creation seemed almost like a normal part of the process.
"That's just part of the creation. Now, this thing didn't blow up the church, but we don't know if the safety measures are working or not," Luthar said, his tone flat. There was no pride in his voice.
Hephaestus's thoughts lingered on the idea of knowledge. As a goddess of blacksmiths, she was confident she could replicate most of Luthar's work. The problem was she wanted more.
She didn't want to create things she didn't understand. She needed the knowledge—and the tools Luthar possessed. Simply watching from the sidelines wasn't enough.
Picking up her cup, she met his gaze. "Have you ever thought that if you teach us, we could help you better?"
"In my case, knowledge is power," Luthar replied simply. "Without certain relationships or restrictions, it's hard to trust someone."
Their eyes met over the cold steel of the table. Silence hung between them, before Hephaestus spoke first.
"Then what about me? I don't see a reason to go against you."
Luthar's lips thinned. "That's because you haven't seen the dark side of these creations."
"I think I'm starting to see it." She studied him, her gaze thoughtful. "I have to say—you need to change. Not the machines. You."
"Change into what? A fool who gives away the only edge he has left?" Luthar's voice was sharp, but Hephaestus didn't flinch.
"You have to stop building walls to keep people away from you. If you can't share the knowledge, then share something else," she said softly. "Take Liliruca, for example. You give her all these tools, but what about the trust?"
"I'm not that stupid. I'm building the trust slowly," he muttered, almost to himself.
"You're calculating," Hephaestus pointed out, her voice steady. "Why don't we try working together, without any limits? Stop calculating and stop holding back from the little girl."
Luthar exhaled through his nose, a dry sound, and rose from the bench. The steel beneath him groaned softly as he stood.
"You still think she's just a little girl," he said, stepping away from the table with measured calm.
"Liliruca is more calculating than half the people in Orario. She sees further than most adults."
He paced slowly, stopping at Hephaestus's side. He didn't look at her directly—his gaze drifted toward the wall, the silent pipes, the unseen mechanisms humming beneath the floor.
Then he turned, facing her fully, and extended his hand—this time, toward her. Not forcefully, not pleading, but with deliberate calm. It was an offer, quiet and dangerous.
"If you want to get involved with me," his voice lowered, tone unreadable, "then be prepared. You won't be able to leave."
A pause. "I'm a rather greedy person."
---
Hephaestus stared at the outstretched hand, gaze unwavering, weighing not just the gesture but the man behind it.
Then, slowly, her fingers brushed against his. She clasped his hand—firmly, without hesitation—and allowed herself to be pulled upright.
She stood, facing him fully now, a subtle, knowing smile on her lips.
"Greedy, huh?" Her voice was quiet, laced with dry amusement. "Sounds almost like a proposal."
He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowed with thought.
"We can discuss that," he said, voice low, almost contemplative.
She pulled her hand back with deliberate slowness, stepping away to collect herself.
"I have no interest in a relationship with someone who might die in a few hundred years," she added, tone casual but laced with something deeper.
"You're in luck," he replied without missing a beat. "As a tech-priest, how long I live depends entirely on my mood."
Hephaestus let out a soft laugh.
"Then you should tell Freya," she said, half-teasing, half-serious. "So she can finally stop looking for her destined one."
Luthar gave a dismissive shrug, then turned slightly, gaze . "Forget it Freya's after all she is too busy because of rabbit season."
She blinked. "Rabbit?"
"Freya's have found a rabbit and now she hunting through the Dungeon, probably thinking how many monsters should she throw so it can level up"
Hephaestus exhaled, lips curling into something between concern and amusement. "I almost feel bad for the person whose been targetted."
But Luthar was already elsewhere—his gaze distant, mind shifting beyond the chamber. Thoughts of reconstruction, of systems and circuits and scale. The machine that had brought him here would need to be rebuilt. Resources would have to be harvested. Armors forged. Weapons calibrated. Perhaps even a battleship—small, but functional.
There was still much to do.