The Path Of Glory (Annabeth Chase x Male Reader)

68. On Fire

His beard burst into flames and his black eyes glowed.

"Uh, yes, sir, please," she said.

"Humph. You're wasting your time." He frowned at something on his worktable and limped over to it. He picked up a lump of springs and metal plates and tinkered with them. In a few seconds he was holding a bronze and silver falcon. It spread its metal wings, blinked its obsidian eyes, and flew around the room.

Tyson laughed and clapped his hands. The bird landed on his shoulder and nipped his ear affectionately.

Hephaestus regarded him. The god's scowl didn't change, but Annabeth thought she saw a kinder twinkle in his eyes. "I sense you have something to tell me, Cyclops."

Tyson's smile faded. "Y-yes, Lord. We met a Hundred-Handed One."

Hephaestus nodded, looking unsurprised. "Briares?"

"Yes. He—he was scared. He would not help us."

"And that bothered you."

"Yes!" Tyson's voice wavered. "Briares should be strong! He is older and greater than the Cyclopes. But he ran away."

Hephaestus grunted. "There was a time I admired the Hundred-Handed Ones. Back in the days of the first war. But people, monsters, even gods change, young Cyclops. You can't trust 'em. Look at my loving mother, Hera. You met her, didn't you? She'll smile to your face and talk about how important family is, eh? Didn't stop her from pitching me off Mount Olympus when she saw my ugly face."

"But I thought Zeus did that to you," Percy said.

Hephaestus cleared his throat and spat into a bronze spittoon. He snapped his fingers, and the robotic falcon flew back to the worktable.

"Mother likes telling that version of the story," he grumbled. "Makes her seem more likable, doesn't it? Blaming it all on my dad. The truth is, my mother likes families, but she likes a certain kind of family. Perfect families. She took one look at me and . . . well, I don't fit the image, do I? My new . . . brother . . . is much more suitable."

He pulled a feather from the falcon's back, and the whole automaton fell apart.

"Believe me, young Cyclops," Hephaestus said, "you can't trust others. All you can trust is the work of your own hands."

It seemed like a pretty lonely way to live. Plus, Annabeth didn't exactly trust the work of Hephaestus. Once in Denver, his mechanical spiders had almost killed her and Y/N.

The god focused on her and narrowed his eyes, as if he were reading her thoughts. "Oh, you don't like me very much," he mused. "No worries, I'm used to that. What would you ask of me, already?"

"We need to find Daedalus," she said.

"There's this guy Luke," Percy said, "and he's working for Kronos. He's trying to find a way to navigate the Labyrinth so he can invade our camp. If we don't get to Daedalus first—"

"And I tell you, boy. Looking for Daedalus is a waste of time. He won't help you."

"Why not?" Ethan asked.

Hephaestus shrugged. "Some of us get thrown off mountainsides. Some of us . . . the way we learn not to trust people is even more painful. Ask me for gold. Or a flaming sword. Or a magical steed. These I can grant you easily. But a way to Daedalus? That's an expensive favor."

"You know where he is, then," Annabeth pressed.

"It isn't wise to go looking, girl."

"My mother says looking is the nature of wisdom."