In my past life, my morning routine involved the smell of burnt coffee, checking my gear, and a hundred push-ups. Now, I woke up in a small room above the tavern, staring at a set of delicate hands and a chest that made it impossible to lie flat on my stomach.
"Dammit," I muttered, my voice coming out as a soft, melodic grumble.
The sun began to dip behind the colossal shadow of the Tower of Babel, casting long, amber streaks across Orario. I stood on the balcony of the tavern, watching the city breathe.
In my old life, I was a man who lived by the clock and the chain of command. Here, time felt different fluid and eternal. I was beginning to realize that "Hestia" wasn't just a name or a mask I was wearing. It was a fundamental force of the universe.
I needed to stop acting like a soldier in hiding and start acting like the Goddess I now was. A soldier demands obedience through rank; a God inspires it through presence.
The Aura of the Hearth
I descended the stairs into the main hall of the tavern. Elara was busy wiping down tables, and a few early patrons mostly local laborers and low-level supporters were nursing mugs of cheap ale.
I closed my eyes and reached inward. I didn't look for the "soldier" anymore. I looked for the flame. Deep in my chest, I found it a hearth fire that never went out. I let a tiny fraction of that warmth leak out into the room.
I didn't use Arcanum that would bring the Guild's hammers down on me but I projected my existence.
The room went quiet. It wasn't the silence of fear, like when a general walks into a barracks. It was the silence of a cold man walking into a warm room. The patrons straightened their backs, their tired faces softening. They looked at me with a sudden, deep-seated respect that had nothing to do with my stature and everything to do with my divinity.
"Good evening," I said. My voice was no longer just soft it held a resonance, like a bell tolling in a cathedral. "I hope the hearth provides the rest you've earned today."
One of the adventurers, a rugged man with a scarred arm, actually bowed his head. "Thank you, Lady Hestia. It's... it's a good home you keep here."
I nodded to him, treating him with the respect of a brother-in-arms. "Eat well. Tomorrow the Dungeon will ask much of you."
The Unique Gift: The Thread of the Home
As I moved through the room, I noticed something new. Every God has a specialty. Freya sees the "Color" of souls. Hephaestus can see the "Breath" of metal. Ganesha can understand the hearts of monsters.
As the Goddess of the Hearth the center of the home and the family my vision shifted.
I saw the patrons, but I also saw thin, glowing lines extending from their hearts. These lines didn't go toward me; they went toward each other.
I saw two adventurers sitting together; between them was a sturdy, braided cord of orange light. Loyalty. I saw a man drinking alone, his line fraying and grey. Isolation.
I saw Elara looking at the tavern; a thick, golden rope connected her to the very walls of the building. Belonging.
This was my unique authority: Hestia's Vesta. I could see the "Links" of a Familia. I could see who was a traitor, who was a true friend, and who was lost.
To a soldier, this was the ultimate tactical advantage. A unit is only as strong as its weakest link. If I could see the links, I could build a Familia that was unbreakable. I could see the "Chemistry" of a squad before they even stepped into the Dungeon.
The Divine Authority
A group of mid-level adventurers from a minor Familia pushed through the door, laughing loudly and kicking over a stool. They were the type who bullied those weaker than them to feel powerful.
"Hey! Barkeep!" the leader shouted, a man with a heavy broadsword. "Less talk, more ale! And who's the brat in the blue ribbon? Is she the new entertainment?"
The room went cold. Elara turned pale, but I stepped forward before she could speak.
I didn't shout. I didn't draw a weapon. I simply walked into his personal space. I was a foot shorter than him, but as I looked up, I let my "God-Eye" focus entirely on him. I saw his "Link" it was a jagged, ugly black chain connecting him to his teammates, built on fear rather than trust.
"You are in my home," I said quietly. The air around us began to shimmer with heat. "And in this home, we respect the hearth that warms us. You will pick up that stool, you will apologize to the lady of the house, and you will sit quietly. Or you will find that the 'warmth' of this Goddess can also burn."
I wasn't just a soldier threatening him; I was the personification of the Fire.
The adventurer looked into my eyes and saw something ancient something that had seen stars born and die. He saw the "Soldier" who knew a hundred ways to end him, and the "Goddess" who could see his very soul was rotting.
His bravado shattered. He didn't just pick up the stool; he trembled as he did it. "S-sorry, My Lady. We... we meant no offense."
"Apology accepted," I said, my voice returning to a warm, motherly tone. "Now, sit. Eat. There is enough food and drinks for everyone, provided they don't try to put it out."
As the night wound down, I sat with Elara. The tavern was more than a business now; it was a temple in all but name.
"You were amazing, Hestia," Elara whispered. "I've never seen a Goddess act like that. Usually, they're either too playful or too arrogant. you're a god who actually cares about the foot soldiers."
I smiled, looking at the glowing "Links" of the people in the room. "The hearth isn't just a place to sit, Elara. It's where the family is forged. I've realized my goal isn't just to be 'Number One' for the sake of pride."
I looked out the window toward the dark spire of Babel.
"I'm going to build a Familia where the links are so strong that even the gods of the deep won't be able to break them. And I think it's time I found my first 'Flame'."
I remembered the "White Rabbit" from the fragments of my memories. Bell Cranel. A boy who wanted to be a hero. With my "Soldier's Eye" and my "Hearth's Vision," I wouldn't just give him a blessing. I would give him a foundation that would shake Orario to its core.