[DanMachi/Percy Jackson] Prytaneum

Interlude: The Flame (7)

"Welf! Welf Crozzo!" A voice shouted, so shockingly near that it made his heart jump in his chest. He was focused on his work, pouring his heart and soul into it—he had to, if he was going to do this right. If he wanted to help Percy, wanted to stop a powerful Floor Boss, he couldn't hesitate and half-ass this, but he also couldn't take too long. If he hurried and made something fragile and weak, it might shatter without slaying the monster, and this might all be for naught. If he took too long, it was possible everything would be over by the time he was done. This had to be his best work as a smith and also his fastest.

And, to top it all off, he couldn't allow himself to be distracted. Focus was important for any smith and that might be even truer here, while crafting a magic sword. He had no way of being sure if his feelings had any influence on the resulting blade's power, but if it made even a slight difference, then he'd do everything he could, focusing all his wishes into this sword. In place of seconds, he counted the swings of his hammer, knowing his own pace better than the hands of any clock, and knowing the progress of his work better still. In comparison, the world around him was barely even real—so it came as a surprise to have someone unfamiliar suddenly shouting at him.

When he looked up, pausing briefly in his work and shifting it such that it wouldn't be affected by his distraction, he saw a small girl. His instinctive assumption that a sound in the Dungeon meant danger caused him to stiffen as he tried to make the pieces fit, but he forced himself to relax and look her over. She was tiny by anyone standards, except perhaps a Prum's. Welf thought himself fairly tall, to the point that had taken some getting used to when it came to looking up at Percy, but this girl was tiny; four and a half feet tall, give or take an inch. As an adventurer, he knew better than to judge someone by their appearance, but she wasn't wearing any armor, nor did she seem to have any weapons; all she had was a white dress, a ribbon that seemed to serve as...support, and two hair ties that shimmered in a way he'd come to associate with Undine Silk.

Wait, in that case—

"That's you, right!? Hephaestus' child, Welf Crozzo!?" She shouted, probably to be heard over the roar of the forge. He was so used to it now that he barely noticed it anymore.

"Lady Hestia?" He asked slowly. She fit the description Percy had given of her and the Undine Silk stood out, but she was different than he expected, not standing out the way Hephaestus somehow always did. You could look at any god or goddess and you'd know that was what they were, however they looked—but Hestia...right now, she just seemed like a normal person.

Also, she was in the Dungeon. On the eighteenth floor. So, um, what?

She stepped into the forge, holding her hair away from the flames to make sure they were safe, and then met his eyes.

"I'm suppressing it!" She said, apparently guessing his thoughts before looking down at his work. Her voice was lower now, but still loud. "Are you almost done? Percy, he's...he's still fighting out there!"

Her words reminded him that he had more important things to worry about than goddesses breaking the law and somehow reaching the Middle Floors, and he quickly turned back to his work.

"Almost!" He said back, raising his voice in turn as he went back to hammering. Luckily, it was true. While he wouldn't say that magic swords were necessarily easier to make, the process required less waiting; the metal that went into their forging was transformed by the process and didn't need to be left be for any major amounts of time, as long as it was done right. "How are you here?"

She lifted her arm and his heart sank at the sight of the shadow curled around it. He wasn't sure how he recognized it, how he could so easily associate this tiny thing with the behemoth that was Mrs. O'Leary, but then, there were only so many living shadows to go around. The sight of her in that state was enough for him to put together the rest—she must have shadow traveled down here to help.

"I updated Percy's Status," She said, worrying at her lip but keeping her eyes focused entirely on the crystal blade. "Hephaestus, Loki, and Freya already know, but the plant monster you fought before emerged in the city. When they're done here, they'll be on their way, but...!"

A little goddess traveling into the Dungeon to give a member of her Familia a better chance? Small size or not, there was no questioning Hestia strength.

"I'll be done in a moment," He tried to assure her, but it came off somewhat distracted because he was...well, he was distracted.

"How long?" Hestia asked, voice falling until it could barely be heard over his work. "Until it's done?"

Judging by the state of his work, it had probably been at least twenty minutes—and he didn't feel too arrogant saying that making so much progress in twenty minutes should have, in and of itself, been considered amazing. Even for a smith of the Hephaestus Familia, home to the greatest smiths in the world, and using materials from a Dungeon equipped forge, making a sword in minutes instead of hours or days was already exceptional. Frankly, the fact that he'd managed to do this much in twenty minutes surprised even himself, seeing as it should have taken two or three times as long; he'd have liked to take credit for that, but without a doubt, Bors Elder had a magnificent forge. At the rate he was going, it should only take ten more minutes before it was usable as a magic sword.

"Five minutes," He told her, which seemed to make her shoulders tense.

"If...do you think it will be enough?" She asked.

"It will," He said, trying to convince himself more than her. If it was a normal Goliath, it should be enough, but it clearly wasn't and there was just no way to say for sure.

"If it's not," She continued, probably seeing that. "If it's not, then...tell me now. I...came her to make sure you and Percy reached the surface safely, whatever the cost."

He almost stopped again and looked towards her, but forced himself not to at the last moment—as if looking at her and seeing her face would make those words real, instead of something he must have just imagined hearing over the flames. Because the meaning behind those words was clear; if he couldn't do this, she'd use her divine power. From the perspective of those left behind, it was the same as dying—they'd never see her again, at least not in this lifetime. Whether they'd see her ever depended on how their death's shook out in the end and who was in charge of them. For all intents and purposes, that would be it; Percy would be left without a goddess and need to find a new Familia, assuming he could even take such a thing.

He thought of Phobos, the goddess who'd first given him a Falna and how she'd sacrificed herself for his sake, so he could have a chance for freedom. He couldn't let that happen again.

Five minutes is too long, He thought, picking up the pace despite the pain that had long since filled his arms and shoulders. If he'd tried moving like this without Undine Silk, odds were he'd have exhausted himself a while ago; as is, he was getting there anyway. And all the while, he very deliberately avoided answering her.

The goddess looked at him and then at the wall that faced the cliff and lake, as if expecting some kind of sign while he worked, but he focused on the crystal steel as clouds of silver and light rose with every strike of his hammer. He counted the strokes, watched the progress, and thought to himself, one minute, two, three—

Enough.

He didn't so much drop his hammer as he threw it away, picking up the sword in gloved hands and running from the room as fast as he could. The goddess released a yelp and was left behind, mortal speed unable to keep up with an adventurer's, and he rushed across the small town to reach the edge of the cliff and look out over his friend's battlefield—

But nothing was there. There was no one fighting on the lake, no one near it but some monsters on the shore, watching the waters. He looked around quickly, desperately searching for the giant that would stand out, for some signs of Percy's fight, but there was nothing like that, across the floor. Had he won? Had he lost? Or...

No. The water.

He focused his gaze on the lake and saw the surface churning oddly, rippling like someone had smacked the water in a pool, and yet it seemed off somehow. It was as if something within was trying to escape, but couldn't.

Percy, He thought. It made perfect sense for his friend to try and take things to the water, where he'd have the advantage—but he couldn't attack something underwater, not without risking Percy and reducing the power of the attack. But how could he signal Percy or get within range?

He sucked in a breath as he realized the truth, considered it, dreaded it, grew resigned to it, and then regretted it, all in the space of about a second.

By that point, he was already falling.

All the reasons falling six hundred some-odd feet into the water was a bad idea filled his mind, but he accepted that for what it was and did his best to angle himself properly for the fall, a part of him hoping that Percy would see. He was an adventurer, one of the strongest of the Level 1s, and a fall like this probably wouldn't kill him—at least, not the fall alone. Everything after that...he'd just have to cross his fingers, but he'd already wasted enough time.

About the same time he thought that, he hit the water. Something snapped and cracked and broke, maybe several somethings, but he was careful to make sure the sword was safe and to not let go. The impact drove air from his lungs and water flowed into his mouth, but when he tried to swim, he found himself too stunned to move properly—and then an arm wrapped around him and pulled him to the surface.

"Welf!" He heard Percy shout and he was drawn up onto solid...water? That seemed weird, but okay. "Welf, are you okay!?"

"Fine," He slurred slight, getting his feet under him somehow. One of his arms and a few ribs were broken, but nothing too important. Not bad, for a six hundred foot fall; maybe Percy had done something after all. "How...how's your fight going?"

Percy was silent for a moment as the water shook beneath them, making a gesture towards it with a finger.

"Not bad," He said, voice a bit too plain to be conversational. "It can take an asskicking, I'll give it that—but I've done some damage to it. It's hard to hurt, though; even after what Hestia did, it takes some effort to give it more than a papercut."

He nodded his hair and it was only then that he realized there was no water on him. He was bone dry, despite his recent plunge.

"Brought you a present," He said, spitting some blood into the water and then lifting the magic sword. "Sorry for the delay but...you can't rush miracles. If you need some help putting it down, this should do the trick. Here."

Percy looked at him and then glanced down at the sword, green eyes and focused and resolute as he'd ever seen them.

"Can you still fight?" He asked.

Welf swallowed, looking at him and tensing.

"Y-yeah," He said, straightening and somehow managing to stand on his own power. "Are you...do you...?"

"Let's kill this thing together, Welf," Percy said with a smile, adjusting a shield he'd never seen before. "You know, since you're here anyway. You play offense, I play defense?"

"Yeah," He said, nodding quickly.

Somehow, he'd been waiting to hear those words.