A FEW DAYS LATER
VESTA
The Primrose Tavern was quieter than usual.
Not quiet like 'business is slow', or 'customers are hungover'. Quiet like me.I kept my back to the room, stirring an already finished stew with the kind of mechanical motions that would've made my old divine attendants faint. Usually, I cooked with intention, heat, soul, purpose. Right now? Just motions. Michael noticed it immediately. He always did. Every time he came downstairs, eyes bright, ready for whatever ridiculous training schedule I planned, he paused. Watched me. Brows pinched in worry. And today, instead of pretending he didn't see it he finally spoke.
"Vesta?" He asked softly.
I didn't turn.
"Wash your hands. Breakfast in a moment." I said sharply.
Too sharply. He froze. I felt it behind my back, like a sting.
"Are you okay?" He asked.
My hand stilled over the pot.
"I'm fine."I said.
The classic lie of Gods and mortals alike.
"Vesta." He stepped closer. "You haven't yelled at me properly in three days. That's terrifying."
Imbecile, sweet, observant, dangerous imbecile. I still didn't turn.
"Go sit." I muttered. "Your training-"
"Can wait."He said.
His voice was firm in that maddeningly earnest way.
"What's wrong?"He asked.
I gripped the ladle harder until it creaked in my hand. Nothing, everything. Old memories and old wounds. Old loneliness clawing at the edges of comfort because comfort was dangerous for a goddess like me. If I got used to it? If I cared too much? Losing it would destroy me.
"Vesta." He whispered again, closer now. "Please talk to me."
I inhaled and stepped away from him.
"No."I said.
Just that one word. Sharp. Final. His expression cracked hurt flickering across his eyes. He opened his mouth again, quiet, uncertain.
"Did I do something?"He asked.
"No." I said immediately. Too fast. "You didn't."
"Then what-"He asked.
"Drop it, Michael."I ordered.
A beat. A long, heavy beat.
"Alright."He said, swallowed, shoulders tense. "If you won't tell me… then I'll find someone who can help."
Before I could ask what he meant, he turned and bolted out the tavern door so fast he nearly took the handle with him. I stared after him, stunned.
"What?"I asked.
AT THE SAME TIME
MICHAEL
The moment the tavern door slammed behind me, cold air hit my face like a slap. I didn't slow down. Couldn't. My heart was still thundering from the way she'd said it. Not the sharpness, Vesta could be sharp and it never bothered me. Not the command, she ordered me around constantly, and usually I respected it. It was the no. The kind that felt like a wall slamming down. A wall she built because something behind it hurt.
My feet carried me faster, almost sprinting through the morning streets, weaving between merchants setting up stalls and adventurers heading toward their morning quests. I barely heard anyone I shoved past. My lungs burned, but the ache in my chest wasn't physical. Vesta was hurting. And she wouldn't tell me. And that terrified me more than any monster in the dungeon.
The Guild was already busy when I shoved the doors open hard enough that they banged against the wall. Conversations dipped. A few people turned. A few winced. I didn't care. I scanned the room for the one person who might know anything. Oranos had once told me: When a god hides something, another God might know why. But Oranos was unreachable, and most Gods wouldn't bother helping a mortal unless they could mock them while doing it.
I spotted Eina first. Thank the Gods. She was sorting papers behind her desk, but when she looked up and saw my expression, her ears flattened slightly.
"Michael? Are you hurt? What's wrong?"She asked.
I stopped directly in front of her desk, palms slamming onto the counter louder than I meant. She jumped.
"I need help." I said, voice strained. "About Gods. About… about a goddess acting strange."
Eina blinked, eyes widening.
"A goddess? Which one?"She asked.
My jaw clenched. Saying her name felt like I was breaking some unspoken promise, but this was important.
"Vesta."I said.
That made the room very quiet. Several adventurers near the registration line turned to stare. One choked on his drink.
"Isn't she reclusive?"Someone whispered.
"Goddess of the Hearth? Why would she be-"Another asked.
"Michael…" Eina's voice softened, the way it does when she's afraid she'll hurt someone by accident. "What do you mean 'acting strange'? Gods don't usually-"
"She's quiet." I said. "Not calm quiet. Empty quiet."
Eina's pen froze in her hand.
"And she told me to drop it. She's never said it like that before."Eina said.
I swallowed hard, feeling my throat tighten. "Something's wrong with her. And I don't know what it is. And I don't-"I started.
My voice cracked, dammit. Not here. Eina stepped around the desk, placing a gentle hand on my arm.
"Sit. Breathe. Tell me everything."She said.
"I don't have time." I said, stepping back. "I need to fix it. I need to, I can't just watch her suffer and do nothing-"
A new voice cut in from behind us, smooth and unsettlingly amused.
"Well now… if Vesta is acting unlike herself, that is interesting."A voice said.
I turned sharply. A God stood there. Miach. The God of medicine. Kind. Honest. Wise. But the way he watched me now was sharp with concern.
"Tell me what happened." Miach said gently. "Every detail."
About the way she stirred stewlike she wasn't tasting it. About the sharp no. About how she wouldn't look at me.
When I finished, Miach hummed thoughtfully, tapping a finger to his chin.
"A deity withdrawing like that… distancing herself suddenly… that is not simple."Miach said.
My stomach sank.
"Is she sick?" I asked. "Gods aren't supposed to get sick."
"Not physically." Miach said softly. "But emotionally? Spiritually?"
His eyes softened with something almost like sadness.
"Gods are ancient beings with hearts far more fragile than mortals ever realize."He said.
That didn't make me feel better.
"Tell me how to help her." I demanded. "Please."
Miach nodded slowly.
"There is an answer." He said. "But it will not be easy for you to hear."
"What?"I asked.
Miach sighed.
"Some gods fall ill when their core domain weakens. When the place tied to their essence begins to fade. A hearth god, especially, she is tied not to power, but to… feeling. Warmth. Home." He paused. "Has anything in her domain weakened lately? Anything tied to her meaning?"
The temple. The ruined, half collapsed temple. The one she brushed off like it didn't matter.
"I need to go." I whispered.
Miach nodded in understanding.
"Then go. Quickly."He said.
I bolted again. Out the Guild doors, down the street, toward the ruins. Towards her domain, towards whatever was hurting her, toward the thing I should've fixed days ago.