The bow of A King

Hephaestus wandered far and wide, his forge ever burning within the Gate of Hephaestus. His journey brought him to a land of storms, where the sky roared with Zeus' fury, and the earth trembled beneath his feet. Here, amidst the whispering winds and the crackling thunder, he found inspiration for a new creation—one that would stand the test of time, a bow worthy of a king.

As he traversed the storm-swept peaks, Hephaestus came upon the carcass of a mighty Aetostryx, a mythical eagle-beast born from the very essence of Zeus' thunder. It had perished in battle against a primordial serpent, its body charred with divine lightning. But Hephaestus did not mourn; instead, he saw the remnants of its tendons, still humming with the power of the storm.

"A bowstring from the beast of Zeus… unyielding, eternal. No mortal sinew could compare."

He carefully extracted the strongest tendon, watching as it sparked with latent thunder. This would become the string of his greatest bow, one that could channel the wrath of the heavens.

Next, he sought the body of the bow. Deep in the heart of an ancient valley, he found a lone tree standing against time itself—its bark as hard as the strongest metal, its roots entwined with the bones of fallen titans. Legends spoke of it as the Titan's Yew, a tree that had survived the Titanomachy, absorbing the power of fallen gods.

"This wood shall never splinter, never break. It shall endure, just as the will of a true king endures."

With his divine hammer, Hephaestus cut the wood, shaping it with precision, reinforcing it with adamant dust from his forge. The bow took form, a masterpiece of nature and divine craftsmanship.

But a mere bow was not enough. Hephaestus engraved runes of strength and kingship upon its limbs, ensuring that only one worthy of leadership, wisdom, and strength could wield it. As he traced the symbols into the bow, his voice echoed across the land:

"May whoever have strength to command and wisdom to rule,

They shall hold this invincible bow,

Unseen by false kings, untamed by the unworthy,

Only the rightful hand shall bend its will."

With this enchantment, the bow would remain invisible to those unworthy, an artifact hidden from the hands of tyrants and pretenders.

Hephaestus gazed upon his work, satisfied. He named it "Astrapheon"—the Thunder-Forged Bow, a weapon fit for a ruler.

Knowing that such a bow must await the right wielder, he traveled to a remote island, one untouched by war or the greed of gods. He embedded Astrapheon deep into a sacred grove, its power hidden until destiny called for it.

This island, bathed in divine mystery, would one day be called Ithaca, and the bow would find its rightful master in an age yet to come.

---

Far above the mortal realm, within her grand temple upon Olympus, Athena, the goddess of wisdom and war, stood in quiet contemplation. Her gaze often wandered across the world, watching over the rise and fall of kingdoms, the ambitions of mortals, and the crafting of destiny itself.

Then, she felt it.

A shift in the fabric of fate. A whisper in the wind that carried power not born of prophecy, but of pure creation. It was subtle, yet undeniable—a relic had been forged, one that could shape the course of kings and warriors alike.

Athena closed her storm-gray eyes, reaching out with her divine senses. The call of runes, the hum of thunder, and the weight of hidden authority resonated through the world. Her vision was drawn to a secluded island, where in the heart of a sacred grove, a bow unlike any other lay in slumber.

Astrapheon.

"Hephaestus… so, this is what you have wrought."

A knowing smile graced her lips. She did not need to descend, nor claim the weapon for Olympus. This was not a tool for the gods, nor a gift to be squandered. It was a challenge—one meant for the future.

"Someday, a mortal shall rise, worthy enough to bend its will. Until then… I shall watch."

With that thought, Athena turned away, returning to her eternal vigil, but in the depths of her mind, she marked the bow's presence. It was a piece of fate yet unwritten—one she would ensure remained untouched, until the day destiny demanded its wielder to rise.