The afternoon light had that particular golden quality that transformed even ordinary moments into something memorable as Elias arrived at Webb's construction office. The building was a modest affair—functional rather than impressive—but it spoke to the kind of practical efficiency that had built Webb's reputation over decades of reliable work.
Webb emerged from his office before Elias had fully crossed the parking lot, his face breaking into the kind of genuine smile that couldn't be manufactured. "Right on time," he called out, extending a calloused hand in greeting. "Melissa been asking about those rings every day since I told her they were finished."
"I think she'll be pleased," Elias replied, producing the small velvet-lined box from his jacket pocket. The rings nestled inside caught the afternoon light beautifully, their polished gold surfaces seeming to glow with inner warmth.
Webb lifted the smaller band first, examining the flowing script inscription with the careful attention of someone who appreciated fine craftsmanship. "Always together," he read aloud, his voice carrying a note of approval. "The lettering is perfect—looks like it was done by machine, but I know it wasn't."
"Hand-engraved, every letter," Elias confirmed, watching as Webb examined the larger ring with equal care. The script maintained its elegant flow despite the increased circumference, each letter positioned with mathematical precision yet retaining the organic quality of handwritten text.
"These are exceptional work, Elias. Melissa going to be thrilled." Webb closed the box carefully, but before tucking it away, he paused. "There's something else, isn't there? You have that look of someone with a surprise."
Elias smiled, reaching into his other pocket to produce a smaller box. "I had some silver left over from another project, thought Sarah might appreciate something for the wedding day itself."
The earrings were revealed as Webb opened the second box—simple teardrop shapes that caught and reflected light with understated elegance. They were the kind of jewelry that would complement any style without overwhelming it, sophisticated enough for a wedding but versatile enough for years of future wear.
"You didn't have to do this," Webb said, but his tone carried genuine appreciation rather than protest. "She's going to love them. What do I owe you for the extra work?"
"Consider them a wedding gift," Elias replied, waving off the offer of additional payment. "I enjoyed making them."
Webb studied the earrings for another moment before closing both boxes and securing them in his jacket pocket. "You know, this kind of work—this attention to detail—it reminds me of some of the craftsmen I knew in the service. Military people, they appreciate functional beauty, if that makes sense. Things that work perfectly and look good doing it."
"Where did you serve?" Elias asked, he knew Webb was in the military but not where he served.
"Marine Corps , twelve years. Saw a lot of the world, worked with some of the finest people I've ever known." Webb's expression carried the particular mix of pride and nostalgia that came with military service. "Still keep in touch with quite a few of them, actually. Good people, most of them. They tend to appreciate quality work when they see it."
The conversation drifted naturally toward military experiences and the kinds of tools that soldiers valued—functionality above all else, but with enough craftsmanship to inspire confidence and pride of ownership. Webb mentioned several friends who had started businesses after their service, men and women who understood the value of well-made equipment and weren't afraid to pay for it.
"If any of them are looking for custom work—something personalized but functional—I'd be happy to take on the commission," Elias offered as their conversation began to wind down.
"I'll keep that in mind," Webb replied, his tone suggesting he would indeed remember the offer. "Military folks, they're particular about their tools, but they're also loyal customers once they find someone who does good work. Could be good business for you."
The handshake that concluded their meeting carried the weight of mutual respect and the promise of future collaboration. As Elias walked away from the construction office, he found himself thinking about Webb's words regarding military customers and their appreciation for functional craftsmanship. It was exactly the kind of market that would value his work without asking too many questions about his methods.
The late afternoon had settled into that perfect temperature that made walking a pleasure rather than a necessity, so instead of returning directly to his workshop, Elias decided to take a longer route through Prospect Park. The decision was partly practical—he needed time to think—and partly indulgent. The crisp autumn air and changing leaves provided a mental backdrop that seemed to encourage contemplation.
As he walked the familiar paths, his hand drifted unconsciously to his chest, where the storage necklace rested beneath his shirt. Three of the twenty-five beads now contained his enhanced tools: the bone-dissolving kukri that had started everything, the favorite buril, and the enhanced barbell. The weight was barely noticeable, but the knowledge of what those inconspicuous silver spheres contained made him feel like he was carrying a arsenal disguised as jewelry.
The question that had been nagging at him for days crystallized as he paused beside the park's small lake, watching ducks paddle across the dark water. What should he do next? He had several paths open to him, each with its own appeal and challenges.
The academic approach beckoned strongly—diving deeper into the mythology and historical context of Hephaestus, understanding the theoretical framework that might govern his abilities. There were books to read, research to conduct, patterns to analyze. The scholarly part of his mind found this option intellectually satisfying, promising the kind of systematic understanding that appealed to his engineering background.
But there was also the practical approach: simply continue creating enhanced tools, building his capabilities through hands-on experimentation rather than theoretical study. He had dozens of ideas waiting for implementation—concepts for tools that could solve specific problems or enhance particular aspects of craftsmanship. Each successful creation taught him something new about the process, providing empirical knowledge that no amount of reading could match.
The internal debate continued as he completed his circuit of the lake and began walking toward the park's exit. Both approaches had merit, but his instincts were pushing him toward the practical path. Theory was valuable, but at this stage of his development, he suspected that hands-on experience would teach him more than books ever could.
By the time he reached his workshop, the decision had crystallized into a specific plan. He would continue expanding his collection of enhanced tools, but with a new strategic focus. If he was eventually going to attempt something as ambitious as recreating Hephaestus's hammer, he needed to understand how mythological concepts translated into practical enhancements.
The plan that took shape as he unlocked his workshop door was both ambitious and methodical. Instead of inscribing abstract concepts like "sharp" or "store," he would experiment with mythological names and concepts—words that already carried associations with power, function, or divine craftsmanship. The research would be part of the process rather than separate from it, each tool requiring him to study the mythology behind its intended enhancement.
Standing in his workshop as the evening light faded beyond the windows, Elias found himself surveying his equipment with new eyes. Which tool should he tackle first? The decision would set the tone for this new phase of his work, establishing the pattern for future projects.
After several minutes of consideration, the answer became obvious: blacksmith's pliers. Every metalworker needed a reliable pair of pliers, and his current set, while functional, was showing signs of wear after years of daily use. More importantly, pliers were fundamental tools that would benefit from enhancement in ways that would improve all his future work.
But first, routine demanded attention. He hadn't exercised that morning, too focused on preparing for the delivery to Webb, and his body was already reminding him of the missed session. The enhanced barbell emerged from the bead with familiar ease, the assembled weight providing exactly the kind of resistance his strengthening body craved.
Ninety minutes later, after the characteristic warm glow of supernatural recovery had begun spreading through his muscles, Elias returned his attention to the materials selection for his new project. This wouldn't be an ordinary pair of pliers—if he was going to use them for years to come, they deserved the finest materials he could afford.
X55CrMo13 steel caught his attention immediately. The designation indicated a composition that included chromium for corrosion resistance and molybdenum with vanadium for enhanced toughness and edge retention. It was the kind of steel used for high-end knives and cleavers, more expensive than the spring steel or 1045 carbon steel he might normally choose for pliers, but worth the investment for a tool that would see daily use.
The decision reflected his evolving philosophy about his craft. Why settle for adequate when he could create exceptional? If he was going to be using these pliers for potentially decades, spending extra on superior materials was simply practical.
The design came together quickly in his mind: flat-nose pliers with clean, functional lines and perfectly mated gripping surfaces. Nothing ornate or decorative, just pure functionality elevated to the level of art through superior materials and craftsmanship.
He selected a sheet of the X55CrMo13 steel from his carefully organized material storage, calculating the dimensions needed for both halves of the pliers. The steel had a particular density and color that distinguished it from lesser grades, a subtle richness that spoke to its quality and composition.
Working with practiced efficiency, Elias marked the cutting lines on the steel sheet, ensuring that he would have enough material for both plier heads with minimal waste. The cuts themselves would require precision—any deviation from his planned dimensions would cascade through the entire project, potentially compromising the tool's final performance.
As he prepared his cutting equipment and positioned the first piece of steel for separation, Elias felt the familiar excitement that came with beginning a new project. This wouldn't just be another tool—it would be the first step in his exploration of mythological enhancement, the beginning of a journey that might eventually lead him to recreate the impossible.
The forge began heating as he made his first cut, dividing the steel sheet into two carefully measured pieces. Tomorrow would mark the real beginning of the work, when raw material would begin its transformation into something both functional and magical. But tonight, as he heated the first piece of X55CrMo13 steel to working temperature, watching it glow cherry-red in the forge's flames, Elias allowed himself to anticipate the possibilities that lay ahead.