Nirvana

The forge roared around him, its fires licking at the air, consuming everything in their path. Sparks danced like tiny stars, illuminating the shadows of Olympus.

Hephaestus stood at the heart of it, his hammer resting in his hands. His body ached with divine imperfection, but his mind was clear. He was a smith, a creator. That was what they wanted from him.

Then he would forge.

But he would not simply craft weapons and armor for the gods. No, if they demanded his skill, he would give them greatness beyond their comprehension. If they wished for him to forge, then he would forge the very world itself.

He closed his eyes, feeling the pulse of his divine essence. Fire and forge—it was what he was. It was his domain, the foundation of his very being. But deep within him, in the abyss of his soul, something older stirred.

A whisper. A power waiting to be understood.

He sat upon the heated stone of his forge and breathed. The flames did not burn him—they embraced him. He felt the heat travel through his veins, into his bones, into the core of his immortal soul.

And then he saw it.

A cycle.

A power that had been with him across every reincarnation, hidden beneath the layers of forgotten lives. It was the power of endings and beginnings, of destruction and rebirth. It was not merely the power of creation, but the power of transcendence.

From it's glimses. Hephaestus realized a power from one of his past life, Nirvana.

It was not a thing of Olympus. It did not belong to the gods of Greece. It was a truth beyond even this world, beyond the divine ego of Zeus and the fickle desires of Hera. It was his, a tiny part of the true nature of his existence, the hidden treasure buried within his soul.

To embrace it, he would have to let go.

He opened his eyes, and his decision was made.

For the first time in his divine life, Hephaestus sacrificed.

His Fire Divinity—the very essence that made him the god of the forge—he offered it to the flames. His forge blazed higher, brighter, consuming his divinity in an inferno unlike any before. The fire twisted, changed, and became something new.

The Concept of Nirvana was born.

Across the world, the ripples of this moment spread. The Greeks would come to fear and worship this new fire, calling it the sacred flame of rebirth. And from the heart of this divine transformation, a new existence emerged.

The first of her kind.

The Mythic Beast known as the Phoenix spread her wings and let out a cry that shook Olympus. She was born of his sacrifice, the first daughter of Hephaestus, Nirvana. She was fire given purpose, flames that would never die, forever cycling between death and rebirth.

And Hephaestus himself?

He burned.

His body was consumed in the flames of Nirvana, reduced to nothingness, every imperfection, every weakness incinerated. He had lived a thousand lives before this one, but this was the first time he had chosen his own rebirth.

And when he emerged from the flames, he was transformed.

Gone was the twisted, crippled form. His body was whole—strong, powerful, and unyielding. Though he was not as beautiful as Apollo, nor as radiant as Ares, he no longer cared. His flesh was forged anew, sculpted by his own hands, a body worthy of a creator.

He took his first step, feeling the strength in his limbs, the power in his hands.

He was no longer simply Hephaestus, the crippled smith.

He was the god who forged Nirvana itself.

And Olympus would soon know the true fire of his rebirth.