Hephaestus: The Forge of Sound

(low harmonium drones rising, metallic rhythm awakening)

(whispered)

The fire remembers form

before the hand commands it

I strike the pattern from silence

heat folding into tone

Each spark a syllable

each beat a breath of stone

(percussive engines interlock — piston rhythms converse beneath harmonium hum)

Iron dreams in red geometry

The hammer counts its prayer

Sound takes shape in the dark

and the dark begins to care

(industrial percussion surges — layered strikes, rotating tempo cycles)

No god above the rhythm

No word beyond the flame

We build what we remember

and burn what we became

(harmonium breath expands, matching the forge’s pulse; mechanical beats duel and merge)

Creation shudders through me

The metal hums my name

I am the maker and the made

the spark within the frame

(hammerfall slows, harmonium exhales fading warmth)

The sound cools into form

and the silence holds its shape