As Hephaestus wandered the land in search of materials, his travels led him to a sacred place—Dodona, the land of oracles. The very air hummed with divine presence, and the great Sacred Oak of Dodona stood at its heart, its branches reaching toward the heavens as though it spoke to the gods themselves.
But something was different.
The Oak was dying.
Its once-magnificent leaves had turned golden, flickering like embers before vanishing into dust. Its roots trembled, not from decay, but from the weight of time and fate itself. This was no mere tree; it was something beyond the understanding of gods or men. A remnant of the world before the Olympians.
Hephaestus approached, placing a hand on the bark. His soul resonated with its presence. He saw visions—glimpses of forgotten wars, of men and gods locked in battle, of victors and the defeated alike. The Oak had seen countless ages of struggle, and now it would fade into obscurity.
"No."
Hephaestus would not let it vanish. If this Oak was meant to die, then he would forge its legacy into something eternal.
With reverence, Hephaestus cut away a portion of the Oak—not too much, just enough. The wood was heavier than any metal, carrying the weight of uncountable fates. Sparks of divine energy still flickered within its grain. He knew this was no ordinary material; this was the essence of victory itself.
Hephaestus did not rush.
Within his Gate of Hephaestus, his mobile forge roared to life. The ancient wood was refined, strengthened, and merged with the remnants of a mysterious golden ore that had fallen from the stars, found buried beneath the roots of Dodona.
A weapon that would always lead its wielder to victory.
This was no mortal spear. It would find the path to triumph, no matter the odds. Wars would be won, empires built, legends forged—all through its power.
Then, as Hephaestus shaped the tip, something stirred.
The Birth of the Weapon Spirit
A voice, ancient and knowing, spoke from the flames.
Hephaestus watched as a figure emerged from the heart of the spear—a radiant warrior, his body shimmering like golden laurels in the sunlight. His eyes held the wisdom of a thousand battles, his presence commanding yet calm.
This was no mere spirit.
This was Victory itself.
"I am Nikeon," the spirit intoned, his voice resonating through the forge. "Born of triumph, bound to the will of fate. You have crafted me, Hephaestus, and I shall guide the worthy to greatness."
Hephaestus smiled. The first weapon to embody the very concept of victory. This was his first true Divine weapon other than the shield of Uria. This weapon holds a concept just like the gods making it technically a god just in a weapon form.
As the forge cooled, Hephaestus ran his fingers over the weapon's surface. The wood of Dodona pulsed with divine energy, and the golden metal gleamed with an otherworldly light. A name came to him.
"Agoníarchos" – "The Ruler of Struggles."
Its power was absolute—as long as its wielder fought with purpose, they would never falter. The spear would find openings, break through defenses, and strike at the very moment that would ensure victory.
But there was a price.
The spear did not favor the unworthy. Those who fought without conviction, without true belief in their struggle, would find its weight unbearable. It would reject those who sought victory for selfish gain.
With a nod, Hephaestus stored Agoníarchos within his Gate of Hephaestus, knowing that one day, a great warrior would claim it and change the world.
Elsewhere… Athena Watches
Far above, on Mount Olympus, Athena, the goddess of wisdom and war, paused.
Something had changed.
Her gaze turned downward, toward the land below, sensing a force unlike any before. It was not just a weapon—no, it was a declaration.
The weapon of victory itself had been born.
And one day, it would shake the very foundations of the world.