The void was not black; it was nothing. It was the absence of sound, the absence of the smell of cordite and sulfur, and the absence of the weight of a rifle. For a man who had spent his final years in the mud and blood of a battlefield, the silence was a mercy. He was a soldier a brother who had lost his family, a son who had outlived his parents.
In that infinite silence, memories of his youth flickered like a dying candle. He remembered a screen, bright colors, and the name DanMachi. He remembered the goddess with the blue ribbon and the white-haired boy who ran faster than anyone else. He hadn't thought of it in years. Real war had a way of burying fiction.
Then, the void shattered.
He woke up with a gasp that felt like it was pulling in all the air in the world. The smells hit him first rosemary, freshly baked bread, and the heavy, metallic scent of a city built on stone.
He didn't see a battlefield. He saw a mirror.
The reflection was small barely five feet tall. Long, twin tails of raven hair fell over shoulders that felt impossibly light. Deep blue eyes stared back at him. This was the body of a girl, yet it thrummed with a power he couldn't describe a "Ichor" that replaced blood, a divine flame that felt like a sun trapped in a porcelain doll.
"Hestia," he whispered. The voice was soft, melodic, but held the authority of eons.
He no, she clutched at her chest. The panic was immediate. She was a man. She was a soldier who had killed and seen death. Now, she was a virgin goddess, a "neet" of the heavens who had descended to the Lower World with nothing but the clothes on her back and a blue ribbon.
But the soldier in her didn't stay panicked for long. A soldier survives. A soldier adapts.
The Streets of Orario
Orario was louder than any city on Earth. It was a chaotic symphony of clashing swords, the roar of monsters from the central Tower of Babel, and the shouts of a thousand different races.
As Hestia walked through the North Main Street, she felt the eyes of the city. She wasn't just a girl; she was a Goddess. To the adventurers passing by, she was a potential source of Falna the "Blessing" that could turn a farm boy into a hero.
She looked up at the towering Babel. Somewhere under that stone was the Dungeon a living, breathing abyss that birthed monsters. In the anime, Hestia was content to work at a potato puff stand and wait for fate. But the soul inside Hestia now was different.
If I'm going to survive in this world of gods who treat humans like chess pieces, she thought, her soldier's instinct sharpening, I won't be a pawn. I'll be the Queen. My Familia won't just be a home it will be a fortress.
The Hearth's Embrace
She found herself in a quieter district near the walls. While the Loki and Ganesha Familias flaunted their wealth in giant palaces, Hestia was drawn to a modest building. It was a tavern, aged but sturdy, called "The Hearth's Embrace."
Inside, the atmosphere changed. The roar of the city faded, replaced by the crackle of a massive central fire.
"Hello?" A woman emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron. This was Elara. In this world, she was a retired Level 2 adventurer who had spent her gold on a dream. "We aren't quite open for the dinner rush, little lady."
Hestia straightened her back. She used her "Divine Aura" just a tiny bit—enough to make the air feel warm and heavy. "I am the Goddess Hestia. And I believe this hearth needs a spark."
Elara froze, her eyes widening. Gods were common in Orario, but few walked into small taverns looking for work.
"I have no followers," Hestia said honestly, her soldier's bluntness coming through. "No wealth. No home. But I am the Goddess of the Hearth. I know how to make a place where people feel safe. I know how to turn a fire into a sanctuary. You provide the food; I will provide the soul of this place."
The First Blueprint
As they sat by the fire, Hestia began to plan. She didn't just want a tavern; she wanted an information hub.
"We won't just serve ale, Elara," Hestia said, leaning over a map of the city. "We will create a 'Neutral Zone.' In this city, the Freya Familia and Loki Familia are always at each other's throats. But here? Under my hearth? No blades. No spells. A place for the 'small' adventurers—the supporters, the ones who carry the bags—to feel like kings."
Elara laughed, a deep, hearty sound. "A Goddess who wants to work? That's a new one. But I like it. If we can make this the heart of the community, we might just give those high-and-mighty Familias a run for their Valis."
Weeks passed. Hestia worked. She scrubbed floors, she blessed the hearth, and she listened. Her soldier's ears picked up things the "old" Hestia would have missed: rumors of the Evilus remnants in the shadows, the rising price of Magic Stones, and the whispers of a "White Rabbit" who hadn't arrived in the city yet.
She felt her divinity growing. In DanMachi, a God's power is tied to their followers, but it's also tied to their "Concept." As she built a home for others, her own fire grew hotter.
She wasn't just waiting for Bell Cranel to show up. She was building a kingdom for him to join.
I was a man of war, Hestia thought, looking into the dancing flames of the tavern. But in this life, I will be the fire that keeps the darkness at bay. My Familia will be Number One. Not because we are the strongest, but because we are the heart of this world.
Far off, the bells of Babel rang, signaling a new floor had been conquered. The story had begun, but the Goddess of the Hearth was no longer a side character. She was the Commander.
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