The forge had long since quieted. The rhythmic clinks of Tekto's tools that echoed through the trees, had silenced, allowing the songs of the local wildlife to once again travel through the station. Lucas had retreated to the northern ridge where the old tracks curved and disappeared into the woods, a half-buried bench nestled among the vines, he sat there looking over the station; almost like he was seeing what it would become. Hecate joined him soon after, unannounced, though he had a feeling she would come to join him eventually.
They sat in silence for a while. The air was cool, smelling faintly of flowers, a side effect of the wards Hecate had laid yesterday.
"You've always found silence comfortable," Hecate said at last, her tone light but not without weight.
Lucas gave a quiet hum. "It helps with sorting out my thoughts, I guess. It also allows me to see more than I normally would."
She tilted her head, watching him with an amused look. "You're becoming more like your father in that way."
He didn't reply immediately, hesitating to ask what has been weighing on him for a long time. "Do you love him?"
That caught her breath, if only for a second, she understood who he was talking about. She looked toward the trees, reminiscing of her lover. "Yes. One of me does."
Lucas frowned. "One of you?"
Hecate didn't avoid the question. She turned to him, and though her expression was calm, her eyes shimmered with deep layers, revealing a glimpse of her true self - powerful, ancient.
"I am the goddess of the crossroads, Lucas. Of thresholds, choices and transitions. Mortals of old used to say I have three faces. That isn't a metaphor. There are three of me; three truths, three selves."
Lucas blinked, seeing her with new understanding.
"I loved Steven," she said. "I still do, with all my heart. But another loved Alabaster's father, Edward Torrington. And the third… she once loved a young man named Balthasar."
Lucas stilled. He hadn't expected a third. Does that mean he has another sibling he doesn't know about?
"Balthasar Stuyvesant," Hecate continued, her voice no longer one of love but one of guilt, but careful, measured. "A wonderful man full of vision and adventure. I fell in love with him and bore him a son, Peter. This was before the law to restrict interaction with demigods during their youth, so I visited him often, helped raise him when I returned."
Lucas said nothing, knowing this was not a tale meant to be interrupted.
"He was brilliant. Driven. Talented beyond measure. I thought… I thought he was the one," she admitted softly. "The one who would inherit the Fool's legacy, fulfill the prophecy so I pushed him to his limits. Taught him magic before he was ready. Burdened him with a great destiny before he had a chance to choose his own."
She exhaled, the sound almost fragile.
"It broke him. The pressure was too much, the destiny too great. He changed from a talented witch to an inquisitor, wanting to eliminate my influence not just on him, but on this world. He saw magic as a corruption, a plague on the world, on civilization and wanted to burn away the contamination, cleansing the world of such heresy. Especially me. He believed me to be the root of such atrocity and vowed to destroy my legacy, purge my influence from the world."
Lucas frowned. "He hated you that much?"
"Yes," She said. "I was the cause of all his suffering, that I do not deny. Even death could not soothe his hatred of me. When he died, he asked to be buried in Manhattan, not to be close to me but to guard his city from me, a testament to his commitment against paganism and magic, and a reminder to me of what I had done to him."
A silence hung between them, deep and unbroken.
"He was my son. As are you and Alabaster, I care for all my children and would have loved to be there for both of you except I wouldn't influence you, I have learnt my lesson. I decided after Peter I would always be there when they called in need but I would always stay back and let them make their own choices, regardless if it pains me to witness the outcome. I guess that decision is why you became the one chosen in the end. Freedom, choice, such things which I never gave Peter you had."
Lucas nodded slowly. "I think I understand."
Hecate's eyes softened. "And you carry both paths now. You're the bridge between what I got wrong and what I still hope for."
The moonlight filtered through the trees, settling on her shoulders like silver. Lucas studied her and saw her, not as a powerful goddess, but as a mother, complicated, fragmented, and still trying.
"Do you regret it?" he asked.
"I regret losing him," she answered. "I regret what I made him become. But I do not regret loving him, I do not regret ever bringing him into this world, even if it cost me dearly."
"Is that why he is considered a mortal in history and not recognised as a demigod? For all the chaos he caused during his time?"
Hecate let out a sad laugh "Yes, he sought to wipe me from history but in the end, Olympus believed his memory to be too problematic and thus purged any mention of his demigod qualities from history instead, turning him into a mortal with delusions like many others at that time."
Again they embraced silence before Lucas spoke out., changing the topic "What of my father? Why did you choose him?"
She turned slightly, her tone becoming gentler. "Steven? That love was different. He was quieter. He had no ambitions. He just wanted a family."
Lucas smiled faintly. "He still does."
Hecate gave a warm smile, one which contrasted heavily with others descriptions of the goddess. She reached out, brushing a hand through his hair, tucking a loose strand behind his ear as if he were younger, as if he were still that child she had to leave behind. Then she stood.
"I'll let you rest," she said. "There's more building to be done tomorrow."
Lucas remained on the bench, listening to her footsteps fade into the night.
But he did not sleep for a long time.