The Head who Speaks

Hephaestus stared at the severed head, his divine senses confirming what should have been impossible. Coeus, the Titan of Wisdom, still lived.

The fallen Titan's eyes—deep, ancient, and filled with knowledge—turned toward him. A dry, almost amused voice resonated, not through sound, but through the space around them, carried by the very essence of wisdom itself.

"Hello, young god. It has been a while since I have had a visitor."

Hephaestus blinked. Of all the things he expected on his journey, meeting a still-living Titan's head was not one of them.

"Huh ? You're still alive?" Hephaestus asked, taking a cautious step back.

Coeus let out something that could have been a chuckle—a dry, brittle sound, like an ancient book being opened for the first time in millennia.

"Barely. I don't have a body, after all." The Titan's expression remained eerily calm, as if losing his body was merely an inconvenience rather than a tragedy. "Still, one does not need flesh to exist. The mind is eternal."

Hephaestus crossed his arms, still eyeing the head warily. "Alright, then. If you're just a talking head, what are you doing all the way out here?"

"I could ask you the same," Coeus countered, his ancient gaze sharp despite his broken state. "What brings the youngest Olympian to this forsaken edge of the world?"

"Looking for materials." Hephaestus shrugged, glancing at the surrounding land. Even in this barren wasteland, his mind was always searching for something that could be reforged, reshaped, or repurposed.

The Titan's eyes gleamed knowingly. "Ah, the forger god seeks to build once more. Always crafting, always creating."

Then Coeus paused, his gaze locking onto Hephaestus with something more intense.

"Tell me, young god—do you know why I know your name?"

Hephaestus narrowed his eyes. "You tell me."

"Because your footsteps have echoed across the world." The Titan's voice was quiet, yet it carried the weight of certainty. "You have walked the path of creation, and creation itself remembers you. Though most beings cannot sense it, the gods are different. When you become powerful enough, you are not just a being—you are an event. Your actions leave ripples that gods like me can still perceive, even in this wretched state."

Hephaestus tapped his chin. "Huh. That makes sense, actually." Then his gaze darkened slightly. "Then you should also know that a Titan's corpse is a great material."

There was no hesitation in his voice, no false politeness. Titans were the enemies of Olympus. Titans were the foundation upon which many divine weapons had already been forged.

Coeus did not flinch. If anything, his expression was one of quiet amusement.

"I know."

The Titan's voice remained calm, unshaken. "And that is why I will make you an offer."

Hephaestus arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "Go on."

Coeus' eyes gleamed with something ancient and knowing. "Save me. Take what remains of me and forge me into something new. Make me into a weapon spirit."

Hephaestus tilted his head slightly. "You want to be bound to a weapon?"

"I have seen much, but not enough." The Titan's voice carried an undeniable hunger—not for power, but for knowledge. "I do not wish for my mind to rot away in this wasteland. I wish to see the world again. And in return—"

His voice lowered, almost conspiratorial.

"—I will tell you the secrets of the world."

Hephaestus did not speak immediately. A deal with a Titan. A fragment of a fallen god, offering knowledge in exchange for rebirth.

For the first time in a long while, Hephaestus felt the weight of choice.