Among the swarm of everyday tourists and sightseers making their way along the ancient Athenian acropolis, there was a hulk of a man that was gathering quite a few wayward glances and outright stares as he made his way slowly towards the large stone stairway of the Parthenon itself. The man in question was spending the majority of his time either shooing away anyone who attempted to help him or ignoring the bewildered (and far more annoyed) onlookers while he continued to lean almost all of his weight onto his cane. There was one thing Hephaestus refused to do, and that was confine himself to a wheelchair. Fates knew how often he was ridiculed for that on Olympus. If the draw to the archaic temple dedicated to his sister weren't so enthralling, Hephaestus probably would've just made a trip to his own temple at the Agora and called it a day, but alas, he knew exactly where fate wanted him to be, and so he walked, one step at a time.

The Blacksmith of the Gods was quite the sight indeed, it wasn't often you got to see the juxtaposition of a man who looked to be crafted out of metal and fire who had such a glaring imperfection and deformity of body.  He'd decided to hide his grotesque left leg with a pair of faded blue jeans to go with his gray t-shirt, a puzzling decision considering the sweltering heat of the Athenian sun, but what was heat to the fallen God of Fire? He gripped the handle of his transfigured hammer of a cane in order to brace himself for the last stretch of the walkway.

He'd pondered what it would be like to meet his extended family once more after what felt like millennia apart. Assuming all of the Olympians were being drawn to the Parthenon like he was, that'd mean he'd inevitably have to cross paths with his vehement brother or contemptuous mother. If there was one thing that could be said of the Gods, it was that they could hold extremely petty grudges for an incredibly long time. Stopping a dozen or so feet in front of the steps of the ancient temple to the goddess of wisdom, Hephaestus reached his right hand into his pocket, a grin flashing its way across his face when he felt the small container within.  

It didn't take him more than a few moments to locate his divine relatives. Even if it weren't for their innate ability to recognize one another, Hephaestus could've just as easily singled out Aphrodite's mortal form in no time. She was the only Olympian he had bothered to pay attention to after their fall, checking up on each of her mortal facades whenever she'd changed from one to the next. You could say he had a feeling in his gut, something beyond divinity that transcended their mortal gazes. Granted, she didn't make it easy to forget her existence when she asserted herself near the top of human society. 

He didn't pronounce his arrival to his brothers and estranged wife, but rather allowed himself to dissolve into the background after giving his male contemporaries a rudimentary nod in greeting. He was used to being left in the background, and he presumed that wasn't about to change with a once-in-a-millennium family reunion, but even then, he couldn't help but let his eyes linger on Aphrodite with the slightest hint of longing and remorse. He silently hoped she wouldn't notice his gaze and that Ares wouldn't arrive for a few hours, or maybe days, yet.