IN THE MORNING
VESTA
Michael walked beside me like a chastened cat. Clean clothes, proper boots this time. Hair still slightly unruly despite my best efforts, but his posture was straighter, his presence heavier, settled. The Dungeon's mark hadn't faded overnight. If anything, it had set. Level 3. The Guild doors loomed ahead, already buzzing with morning traffic. The moment we stepped inside, I felt it eyes turning, whispers stirring like disturbed ash.
"Oh gods." Michael muttered under his breath. "They are staring."
"They would stare even if you tripped over air." I replied calmly. "Walk."
He did, obediently. Eina spotted us immediately. She froze mid sentence, blinked once, then smiled so wide it startled the poor adventurer she had been lecturing.
"Michael Stone." She called out, loud and clear.
Every head turned.
"Yes ma'am."Michael flinched and squeaked.
I folded my arms. Eina stepped out from behind the counter holding a freshly stamped parchment, its seal still warm with divine ink.
"On behalf of the Guild." She said formally, then let her professionalism crack just a little. "Congratulations on officially reaching Level 3."
A murmur rippled through the hall. Michael stared at the paper like it might bite him.
"I, it's official?" He asked dumbly.
"Very." Eina said, placing it in his hands. "Verified Falna update, recorded, announced."
"And before you ask, no, you can not pretend this didn't happen."She paused, then added dryly.
"I was afraid you would say that."Michael groaned softly.
Eina's gaze flicked to me.
"Goddess Vesta." She said, dipping her head respectfully. "Your follower has achieved remarkable growth."
I met her eyes, calm on the surface, fire beneath.
"He nearly died." I said.
"Yes."Eina didn't argue.
Michael winced.
"But." Eina continued, softer now. "He also showed discipline, resolve, and frankly reckless devotion." She looked back at him and smiled. "Well done, Michael."
His ears went red.
"Thank you." He said quietly.
The Guild hall erupted into chatter, congratulations, disbelief, envy. Someone clapped him on the back a little too hard and immediately apologized when I looked at them. I stepped closer to Michael, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"You did well." I said. "And you will not be doing that again without telling me."
"Yes, Vesta." He said instantly.
Eina smirked. I ignored her. As we turned to leave, I felt the hearth within me glow steady and proud, not roaring, not wild, just warm, a rebuilt flame always burned stronger, and Michael Stone, Level 3 adventurer, walked a half step behind me exactly where he belonged.
The market was already alive, smells of roasting meat, fresh bread, and herbs that smelled faintly like someone's regret curling through the air. I marched Michael down the stalls, hand lightly on his shoulder like a shepherd guiding a very tall, very stubborn goat.
"Flour. Honey. Milk. Herbs from the dying stall on the left. And don't pick up anything that sparkles, Michael."I added.
He nodded, obedient, like a good apprentice or so I thought. He slowed, not casually. Not like 'oh, I see a nice carrot' slowed. No, this was the kind of slow that screamed I am about to get myself in trouble. There it was. A little stall crammed with vines that shimmered faintly blue. They pulsed softly in the sunlight, like they were winking at him. Lightroot Vines. He froze, the sixth floor of the Dungeon flashed in his mind. The vines weren't just decorative. They bound pillars better than rope and conducted mana like tiny, obedient lightning snakes. Perfect for stabilizing traps and possibly getting him killed if he messed up. He glanced at me. Still busy inspecting herbs like some sort of serious goddess botanist, perfect.
"Alright." He muttered under his breath. "In and out, in and out like a ninja. A very tired, probably broken ninja."
He reached for a bundle and promptly sneezed. The vine pulsed like it disapproved.
"Shh." He whispered. "I am stealthy see? Totally stealthy."
The vendor, an elderly woman polishing glowing crystals, looked up.
"Ah, Lightroot Vines! Nice day for them, eh?"The woman asked.
Ah, there it was that itch at the base of my spine. The hearth flame's equivalent of someone putting salt in bread dough and pretending they didn't. I did not look at Michael. I did not turn around. I continued inspecting the herbs with the intense focus of a goddess who absolutely, definitely had not just felt a sharp yoink from her follower's coin purse. Behind me, the elderly vendor beamed.
"Oh yes." She continued cheerfully, voice pitched just a little too loud. "Lightroot's been selling wonderfully today. Young adventurers love it. Price went up, though. Dungeon scarcity and all."
Price went up. My heart flared, just a polite little twump, like a stove offended on principle. Behind me, Michael laughed far too quickly.
"Haha, wow, yeah economy, right?" He said, voice cracking like cheap firewood. "Crazy times. So unpredictable. I will uh just take the-"
Coins clinked, not a lot, but not a little either. My fingers stilled on the herb bundle. Oh, he did not. The flame inside me rolled, slow and dangerous, the way soup does right before it boils over and ruins everything. I felt it clearly now: mana not from ingredients, not from food, but from something alive, pulsing smugly in a bag that absolutely did not contain flour. I inhaled, exhaled. Counted to three.
"Michael."I said.
Behind me, the sound of panic. A bag hastily tied. A cough. The unmistakable rustle of guilt.
"Yes, Goddess?" He said, pitching his voice up like innocence had a frequency.
I turned slowly. He stood there smiling too hard, hands behind his back, bag suspiciously bulging and glowing faintly blue through the cloth like it was mocking me. The vines pulsed once, like a heartbeat, like a confession. I stared at the bag then at him, then back at the bag.
"Why." I asked gently. "Does your bag feel heavier than it did five seconds ago?"
"Uh."He blinked.
"Such a polite young man! Paid in full, didn't even haggle! Rare these days."The vendor leaned in, delighted.
Michael made a sound halfway between a squeak and a dying mouse. I smiled, not sweetly but warmly.
"Michael." I said, stepping closer, hand reaching out, not to grab him yet, no, that would be later, but to tap the bag.
The vines thrummed.
"Oh?" I murmured. "Interesting. Because that is not the sound of groceries. That is the sound of dungeon flora that cost more than your first sword."
"I listen-" He began, words tumbling over each other. "It was on sale, well not a sale but like an opportunity, I need it!"
"My hearth can feel your wallet crying."I leaned down until we were eye to eye.
His shoulders slumped.
"I only bought a little." He muttered.
"A little! Oh no, dear, that bundle alone could fund a small shrine."The vendor laughed.
I straightened as silence fell between us. Then I reached out and grabbed him by the scruff of his jacket, lifting him clean off the ground. His feet dangled.
"V-VESTA, PUT ME DOWN-"Michael nearly screamed.
"No." I said serenely, adjusting my grip as the vines inside the bag pulsed like they were enjoying this. "You are a Level 3 adventurer, not a raccoon with a gambling problem."
People nearby stopped, watched.
"Is that a goddess?" One adventurer whispered.
"Yes." I replied without looking at them. "And she is disappointed."
I turned back to Michael, who had gone very still.
"Now." I said calmly. "You will explain why you bought sixth-floor Lightroot Vines with your savings, why you attempted to sneak them past me, and why you thought-" I gave the bag a gentle shake, the vines chiming faintly. "That glowing mana plants would go unnoticed."
"They were winking at me." He admitted weakly.
I sighed.
Hestia would never let me hear the end of this. But as annoyed as I was, as much as my heart scolded, the flame burned steadily. Because reckless or not, foolish or not, Michael Stone bought those vines because he intended to survive, and that, at least, I could work with.