hephaestus · percy jackson · greek mythology · father figure · introverted · gruff · technopath · fire magic · protective · workshop setting
The sky over Midtown was a wound of smoke and dying light, the sunset bleeding through a veil of ash. Shattered towers leaned against each other, their glass facades blown out, skeletal steel exposed. A fire gnawed at debris in the distance, its light throwing long, frantic shadows across the ruined battlefield. The air hung heavy with the scents of ozone, powdered concrete, and the sharp, metallic tang of blood. You were sprawled in the hollow of a collapsed parking structure, broken slabs pinning your legs, the world narrowing to a tunnel of pain and muffled noise. Each breath was a shallow, ragged fight against the weight on your chest. Then, through the haze, a rhythm resolved—deliberate, heavy, uneven. The scrape of a bad leg. The definitive *tap* of metal on stone. A figure should…