Beuwulf
patreon
The Enchanted Heart - Chapter - 63
🕑 Added 2025-10-20 15:15:39 +0000 UTCThe courtyard of Black Mansion had gone silent—except for the soft hum of the glowing sword in Teddy's hand. The blade pulsed faintly, its runes flickering like living veins of light, whispering a language too ancient for mortal ears.
Harry stood frozen near the veranda, still trying to make sense of what Hera had just said. The Blade of Twilight, the final relic of Hephaestus’s forge—the most powerful divine weapon ever made—had chosen Teddy.
Chosen his six-year-old godson.
For a moment, the words refused to settle in Harry’s mind. They just echoed, meaningless yet terrifying.
It was Teddy’s soft gasp that broke the spell.
The little boy stared down at his hands, then at Percy lying motionless several feet away. Panic rushed through his face. “Percy!” he cried, dropping the sword immediately. The weapon hit the grass with a dull metallic note, its light dimming but not fading.
He ran to Percy, stumbling over the uneven ground, nearly tripping in his haste. The demigod groaned, one hand clutching his side where the sword had struck. A smear of blood shone on his lips.
“Percy, I didn’t mean to!” Teddy’s voice cracked. “I didn’t—I didn’t want to hit you that hard!”
Percy tried to smile but coughed again, spitting red into the grass. “Kid… remind me never to spar with you again.”
Teddy’s eyes brimmed with tears. He pressed his small hands against Percy’s shoulder as if to stop the bleeding. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t know the sword would—”
“It’s alright,” Percy wheezed, grimacing. “I’ll live. Probably.”
That was when Harry snapped out of his shock. “Hera, stay here,” he ordered, already running. “I’ll take him.”
He knelt beside Percy, his hands glowing faintly green with magic. The injury wasn’t mortal, but it was deep—whatever surge of divine energy had passed through Teddy had amplified the strike tenfold.
“Alright, kid,” Harry said briskly, lifting Percy carefully by the shoulders. “You know what helps you heal fastest?”
Percy tried to grin. “Let me guess. A nap?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Close enough.”
He half-carried, half-floated Percy toward the pool. Hera followed at a distance, her golden eyes darting between Teddy and the discarded sword.
When they reached the water, Harry set Percy down at the edge and, without ceremony, shoved him in.
“Wait—Harry—!”
SPLASH.
Percy hit the surface with a loud smack and vanished beneath. For a second there was only the sound of rippling water. Then the pool began to glow faintly blue. The bruises on Percy’s skin faded, the cuts sealing themselves. Within moments, he was floating calmly, breathing evenly.
Teddy ran to the edge, his face streaked with tears. “Is he okay?”
Harry nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Percy. “He’s fine. The water’s doing its job.”
Behind them, Hera stood motionless, her expression unreadable. Her gaze kept flicking to the sword still lying in the grass. Its glow pulsed faintly—like a heartbeat in time with Teddy’s.
Harry turned toward her. “That was the Blade’s power, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” Her voice was low, heavy. “But not its full power. If it had truly awakened, there would be nothing left of your friend to heal.”
Harry’s jaw tightened. “He’s six, Hera. Six. Why would it choose him?”
“Because it does not see as we do,” she replied. “It was made to mirror the heart of its wielder. It reflects strength, will, and purity. It saw something in him that even we cannot.”
Harry’s hands curled into fists. “Then it’s wrong.”
Hera’s eyes softened. “No, Harry. It’s dangerous. That’s different.”
Behind them, Percy climbed out of the pool, dripping wet but breathing easily again. He looked from Harry to Hera, then to Teddy, who stood a few steps away, shoulders trembling.
“What,” Percy asked slowly, “did I just get hit with?”
Harry exhaled sharply. “You don’t want to know.”
Teddy flinched. “I didn’t mean to! I didn’t know!”
Percy caught himself immediately, lowering his tone. “Hey, hey—it’s okay, champ. I’m not mad. Just… really surprised.” He knelt down and ruffled Teddy’s hair gently. “You hit like a freight train, though.”
That drew a small, hiccuping laugh from the boy.
Harry crouched beside them, placing a hand on Teddy’s shoulder. “Listen to me, Teddy. This wasn’t your fault. The sword sought you out. But you have to stay away from it until we understand why.”
Teddy nodded quickly, eyes still wet. “I promise.”
Hera stepped closer, her golden aura flickering faintly. “The bond isn’t complete yet. That’s good. It means we still have time to break it—or control it—before it fuses with his soul.”
Harry’s voice was steady, but his eyes were cold. “If it tries to bind to him again, I’ll tear it apart myself.”
“You can’t destroy it,” Hera warned softly. “It was made from the divine forge. It can’t be unmade by mortal magic.”
“Good thing,” Harry said, “I’m not just mortal.”
Their eyes met—divinity and defiance clashing in silence.
Percy looked between them. “Okay, someone explain this to me like I didn’t just get launched into a car. What’s the big deal with this sword, aside from the obvious?”
Hera turned to him. “It amplifies the power of its wielder. Not slightly—completely. A god becomes unstoppable. A mortal becomes something the world cannot contain.”
Percy blinked. “So, basically, if Teddy bonded with it—”
“He would become stronger than any demigod alive,” Hera said. “But the Blade feeds on power. It will keep drawing from him until he can’t control it.”
Harry glanced toward the glowing sword. “Which means it could consume him.”
Hera nodded once. “Yes.”
For a long moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the faint ripple of water from the pool.
Then Harry straightened, his expression firm. “Then we’ll stop it before that happens. You said the bond isn’t complete yet.”
“It’s not,” Hera confirmed. “But it’s started. The sword will try to return to him.”
He looked down at Teddy, who was clutching Percy’s sleeve. “You did nothing wrong, Teddy. You understand?”
The boy nodded slowly, though his lip quivered. “Yeah. But I don’t want that sword anymore.”
Hera’s voice softened. “It may not be your choice anymore, little one.”
Harry shot her a warning look.
Hera exhaled. “But I promise you this, Teddy Black — I will not let it harm you.”
Harry’s magic flared subtly around them, sealing the Blade under a stasis charm. Its glow dimmed until it looked no more than polished black steel.
But even as they turned away, a faint whisper rippled through the air.
Mine…
Teddy froze, glancing back. “Daddy… I think it talked.”
Harry exchanged a look with Hera.
And both of them knew — the real fight hadn’t even begun.
The storm clouds above Mount Olympus glowed like molten silver as Hera ascended the marble steps of the Grand Hall, the Blade of Twilight clutched tightly in her hand. The weapon’s dark runes flickered faintly, restrained but not silent, whispering beneath her grip like a heartbeat that did not belong to her.
Every eye turned toward her as she entered—the clang of her sandals against the golden floor echoing like thunder through the chamber. The other Olympians, who had been waiting for days, rose from their thrones one by one.
Zeus’s deep voice filled the hall. “My queen returns… and with her, the last of the Seven.”
Applause thundered through Olympus. Lightning arced across the ceiling, Poseidon’s trident shimmered with sea-light, and Apollo’s lyre struck a triumphant note. Even Athena, ever reserved, allowed herself a small nod of satisfaction.
For the first time in centuries, all seven relics of the Forge of Twilight stood reunited.
The victory should have been perfect.
But Hera’s face did not reflect triumph—it carried the calm of someone holding back a storm.
She walked forward in silence and laid the Blade upon the center dais. The weapon gleamed darkly under the light of the Hall, its runes pulsing with a faint red hue.
Zeus smiled, stepping down from his throne. “You’ve done well, Hera. Olympus owes you its peace. Tell me—where was it hidden?”
Hera met his gaze coolly. “America.”
Hermes, lounging at the side, snorted. “Of course it was.”
But before the laughter could spread, a low hum rose from the Blade. The surface shimmered—not inert, not dormant. Alive.
Hephaestus stepped forward from the shadows of the hall, his hammer hanging loosely at his side. His normally placid expression was tight, his good eye sharp with worry. “Everyone stay back.”
The gods exchanged uncertain looks as he approached the dais, kneeling beside the Blade. His scarred fingers hovered an inch above it, feeling its energy.
He went still. Then his brow furrowed deeply.
“This…” he murmured. “This isn’t right.”
Athena tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
Hephaestus’s voice grew heavier. “It’s bound. The sword has already chosen a wielder.”
The Hall fell silent.
Zeus frowned, his tone sharp. “Impossible. You said it could only bind when the wielder killed someone with the sword.”
Hephaestus looked up slowly, shame flickering across his face. “I said that because that was how I intended it to work. But the Blade was the culmination of all my experiments. It learned to choose on its own.”
Poseidon’s hand tightened on his trident. “Then whoever it chose, Hera must have killed them. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be here.”
At that, Hera stiffened.
The gods’ attention turned to her.
Zeus’s voice deepened. “Tell me, wife… did you slay the chosen one?”
Hera’s answer came quietly. “No.”
The air itself seemed to stop.
Hephaestus’s face paled. “Then the bond remains. So long as that wielder lives, the Blade’s allegiance will never belong to Olympus.”
“What?” Zeus thundered, lightning flashing around his throne.
“It means,” Hephaestus said grimly, “that this sword’s loyalty lies with another. The magic of the bond prevents full mastery. The Blade can be summoned from Olympus at any moment by its true wielder.”
The murmurs erupted instantly. Hermes’s smirk vanished. Apollo looked alarmed. Athena’s fingers tightened around her spear.
“And you brought it here?” Poseidon barked. “You brought a living weapon that can vanish from our vaults the instant its chosen human snaps their fingers?”
Hera straightened, her golden eyes flashing. “Enough.”
The room quieted under her voice.
“I took it because if I didn’t,” she continued coldly, “you all would have gone down to the mortal world to claim it yourselves. And that would have brought ruin. I’ve seen what greed for these weapons does to us.”
Zeus’s voice dropped low and dangerous. “Who did it choose, Hera?”
She met his gaze unflinchingly. “That is none of your concern.”
“None of my—?” Zeus’s voice cracked like a thunderclap. “You would defy the council?”
“I would protect it,” Hera snapped back. “The wielder does not desire the sword. They did not claim it by ambition or hunger for power. The Blade chose them. And I will not allow another Olympian to spill their blood to seize it.”
“Then name them,” Athena demanded sharply. “Let us judge their worth ourselves.”
“No,” Hera said flatly. “If I speak their name, it will put them in danger.”
Poseidon sneered. “So it’s a mortal then.”
Hera’s jaw tightened. “A child.”
The hall erupted. Voices overlapped in outrage.
“A child?” Hermes exclaimed.
“You let the weapon of gods bond to a mortal brat?” Poseidon growled.
“Have you lost your senses?” Athena snapped.
Zeus silenced them all with a wave of his hand, lightning flashing from his fingertips. “You endanger Olympus by mercy, Hera. If the child can summon the Blade, then they wield a power that could undo creation itself!”
“Then you will not harm them,” Hera said, her voice like iron. “I swear by the Styx — if a single Olympian raises their hand against that child, they will answer to me.”
Her oath filled the hall like a tidal wave. The air shimmered black and gold, binding her words in divine law. Even Zeus hesitated.
Hephaestus lowered his head. “So long as the wielder lives, the Blade’s essence will never rest. The sword’s power will remain divided.”
Zeus’s jaw flexed. “Then the council is paralyzed.”
“Then so be it,” Hera said softly. “I will not sacrifice innocence for our convenience.”
For a long time, no one spoke. The flicker of lightning outside illuminated her face—calm, regal, utterly unyielding.
Finally, Zeus turned away. “This is not finished.”
“I know,” Hera replied.
She picked up the Blade again. Its runes pulsed gently against her hand, like a heartbeat remembering the child it had truly chosen.
And though she did not show it, Hera’s thoughts were not on Olympus, but on the quiet boy back in New Jersey—six years old, with wide blue eyes and a kind heart—who had no idea that the mightiest gods in the heavens now feared him.
Comments
Winnie39
Olympians: Who did it bond with!? Hera: I can’t tell you the child’s name. Olympians: You must tell us! Hera: You’ll have to fight me first! Olympians: *surprised pikachu face
