AT THE SAME TIME
VESTA
Moments later, as he walked inside a room, I saw it. Nestled against his chest, cradled far too carefully for something mundane, was the stone. At first glance, it looked like a lump of cooled magma dark, veined with faint red light. But the moment my eyes focused on it, my divinity answered. The hearth symbol at my collar flared hot, intricate loops glowing like living embers. Ignis Stone. My breath caught. The world narrowed until there was nothing but that stone and the boy holding it like an offering.
"No." I whispered.
Michael stiffened, his shoulders went rigid, like a child caught with a knife in hand.
"You went that deep." I said.
The stone pulsed once, warm and slow, like a heart. Ignis Stone didn't just burn, it remembered, fire born where the Dungeon itself pressed closest to the world's core. To restore hearths thought long dead, to rebuild temples. My hands trembled, and I hated that they did.
"You fought a floor guardian." I said softly. "You bled for this."
"Vesta, I-"Michael swallowed.
I took a step closer, then another. Every instinct screamed to grab him, to check his wounds, to scold him, to shake him until sense rattled loose, but my eyes stayed on the stone, on how naturally it resonated with my divinity, it belonged to a hearth.
"You risked your life." I said, voice low, dangerous. "For fire."
"For you." He corrected quietly.
That was worse, the anger I had been holding cracked.
"You leveled." I said.
He flinched as I reached out not to him, but to the stone. The moment my fingers brushed its surface, warmth surged up my arm, not burning, not wild, obedient. Like it had been waiting, the hearth symbol blazed. The old, ruined hearth, buried in memory, ash, and grief answered across the city. I felt it like a distant ache finally eased.
Hestia sucked in a sharp breath behind me.
"Vesta… that stone…"Hestia began."
"Can restore it." I said hoarsely. "The hearth, the heart of my temple."
"Then it was worth it."Michael's voice shook lighltly.
I looked at him and saw it, bandaged hands, bruises hidden under torn cloth. Eyes too tired for his age, yet burning with stubborn devotion.
"You foolish." I whispered. "Reckless, brave-" I closed my fingers around the Ignis Stone. "And absolutely impossible child."
The stone glowed brighter in my palm and for the first time since my temple fell, the hearth felt warm again. "Sit."I ordered.
"What?"Michael blinked.
"Sit. Down." I said, already reaching for him.
"I am fine." He protested weakly. "Really, it's just a few scratches-"
I grabbed him by the collar and pushed him onto a chair.
Hestia snorted into her cup.
"Vesta-!" Michael yelped as I shoved his shoulder back. "Hey! I can stand!"
"No, you cannot." I snapped. "And if you try, I will personally introduce your skull to my ladle."
He shut up. I knelt in front of him without ceremony and seized his bandaged hands, he hissed.
"Vesta! That hurts!"Michael whimpered.
"Good." I said flatly. "That means you can still feel them."
I unwound the cloths, ignoring his muttered complaints.
"They are already treated." He said. "Eina fixed them up."
"She stabilized you." I corrected. "That is not the same as checking you."
The moment the wrappings came off, my jaw tightened. Scrapes layered over older cuts, knuckles swollen, skin split in places where claws had raked too close. His hands, hands that should have been holding bowls and cleaning counters, were the hands of someone who had fought for his life. My chest ached.
"You gripped the stone too tightly." I said quietly. "You didn't let go even after the fight ended."
"Didn't want to drop it."Michael looked away.
Of course. I pressed my thumbs gently into his palms, divine warmth seeping out without permission. He flinched.
"Hey-! You're using divine powers!"Michael gasped.
"I am a goddess." I said. "Endure it."
The wounds knit faster than mortal healing, not vanishing, but closing cleanly, soothed by hearth warm power. Then I moved on, I pushed his sleeve up.
"Vesta, you don't have to-"Michael began.
Bruises bloomed along his forearm, dark and deep, some shaped like fingers. I inhaled sharply through my nose.
"A floor guardian grabbed you."I said.
"Briefly." He muttered.
I shot him a look that could curdle milk. I checked his other arm. His shoulders, his ribs.
"Vesta, I swear, if you keep poking there-"Michael began.
I lifted his shirt.
"Oh wow. Yeah, no, he is dead."Hestia choked.
"H-Hestia!"Michael turned red instantly.
His torso was a mess of half healed cuts, claw marks, and bruises layered like a map of bad decisions. One slash had come far too close to his side. My hands stilled.
"That one." I said softly. "If it were a finger width deeper…"
"I know." He whispered.
Anger surged again hot, protective, divine. I pressed my palm over the wound, warmth flooding out in a steady, controlled flow. The hearth symbol burned bright, responding to my will. Michael sucked in a breath as the pain ebbed.
"Vesta." He murmured. "You don't need to-"
"Yes. I do."I said.
I moved to his legs next, ignoring his increasingly desperate protests.
"My knees are fine!"Michael whined.
"They are shaking."I said.
"That's just exhaustion!"He added.
I checked every scrape, every bruise, every trembling muscle. I brushed grime from his hair, fingers lingering just long enough to feel the heat of his fevered skin. When I finally pulled back, my hands were faintly glowing. Michael sagged in the chair, breathing slower, eyes heavy.
"You done?" He asked weakly.
I crossed my arms.
"No."I said.
I reached up and flicked his forehead.
"That." I said. "Was for lying."
Then I pulled him forward and pressed his head against my shoulder, one hand firm at the back of his neck.
"And this."I added more quietly. "Is because you came back alive."
Michael froze.
"I am sorry." He whispered.
I closed my eyes, holding him there despite his stiff surprise.
"So am I." I said.
Ten minutes later, he thought the worst was over. He was wrong. I set the ladle aside and marched into the back room. Michael watched me go with wary eyes, still slumped in the chair, limbs loose from exhaustion and healing.
"What are you doing?" He called weakly.
"Being merciful." I replied.
"Oh, that's a lie."Hestia snorted.
I grabbed fruit, herbs, and honey. A splash of milk, a pinch of something divine that smelled faintly like warm mornings and stubborn hope. I glared at my mixing equipment turning into puree. Moments later, I returned with a thick, ominously pink smoothie.
"What… is that?"Michael squinted at it.
"Drink." I said.
"It smells healthy."He sniffed it.
"Yes."I said.
"That's suspicious."He said.
I held the cup out and he didn't take it.
"I am not really hungry." He tried.
I smiled. Hestia physically scooted her chair back.
"Oh no."She whispered.
"Michael." I said pleasantly. "You bled, leveled, and nearly burned yourself alive gripping an Ignis Stone. Your body is running on fumes."
"I'll eat later-"Michael began.
I grabbed his chin.
"Vesta-!"He shouted.
I tilted his head back and brought the cup up.
"Open."I said.
"No-!"He began.
"Michael." I said, voice dropping into something ancient and immovable. "Open your mouth."
He hesitated. Then, very stupidly, he argued.
"I am not a child!"Michael screamed.
I poured, not all of it, just enough. He choked, sputtered, eyes going wide as the smoothie flooded his mouth.
"Ghk-! Vesta-!?"He caughed.
"Swallow."I ordered.
He swallowed on instinct, coughing, face red.
"Again."I said.
He glared at me, betrayed, but I was already tipping the cup back.
"Vesta this is abuse-!"Michael argued.
"Hydration."I said.
"THIS IS TYRANNY-!"He whined.
"Protein."I said.
I kept going, slow and steady, one hand firm at the back of his head, the other holding the cup like a weapon. He grumbled, spluttered, but his body betrayed him, swallowing every time. Hestia was wheezing with laughter.
"I told you gods of hearths are scary!"Hestia said happily.
Finally, the cup was empty I set it down with satisfaction. Michael slumped back in the chair, breathing hard, smoothie on his lip, eyes glassy.
"I hate you." He muttered weakly.
"No, you don't." I said, wiping his mouth with a cloth. "You hate that it worked."
He swallowed once more. His shoulders relaxed despite himself.
"It tastes good." He admitted quietly.
"Of course it does."I said.
I tapped his forehead again, gentler this time.
"Sleep." I ordered. "You are not moving from that chair for at least an hour."
"Yes, Goddess." He mumbled, already drooping.
I crossed my arms, watching him carefully as his breathing evened out.
"You going to tell him you were shaking the whole time you were blending that?"Hestia leaned over.
"No." I said. "And if you do, I will make you drink one too."
She shut up immediately as I stayed there, guarding him, while the hearth burned warm and steady behind us.
"Honestly." I muttered.
I adjusted him before his neck could cramp, easing his head back, tugging a folded cloth under it like a makeshift pillow. He grumbled in his sleep, something incoherent about soup and rocks, but didn't wake. The hearth hummed softly behind me, warm and steady now, like it was pleased. I sat beside him.
For a long moment, I just watched. Without the tension, without the guilt tightening his shoulders, Michael looked painfully young. Too young to be bleeding in the Dungeon. Too young to be carrying divine fire in shaking hands. His hair fell into his eyes, dark and stubbornly unruly, exactly like its owner. I lifted a hand, then gently, carefully, I ran my fingers through his hair.
"Idiot." I whispered, not unkindly.
I brushed his hair back again, slower this time, thumb lightly tracing his temple. My divinity stayed quiet, restrained no healing, no power. Just warmth. Just presence.
"You scared me." I said softly, knowing he couldn't hear. "You don't get to do that and pretend it doesn't matter."
He shifted, leaning ever so slightly into my touch. My chest tightened.
"I left the heavens for peace." I murmured. "Not to worry myself sick over reckless boys with hero complexes."
The hearth flickered, amused. My fingers kept moving, gentle, repetitive, a rhythm older than temples and prayers, guarding a flame, guarding a life. Michael slept on and I stayed right there, patting his hair, keeping watch because forgotten goddess or not, this was still my hearth, and he was still under my care.