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The woods had that soft, in-between kind of quiet where the sun hasn’t fully given up but the dark’s already creeping in. Hestia moved slowly through it, careful, like she didn’t want to disturb whatever peace was left. The cold brushed against her coat but didn’t seem to bite — it just rolled off, like even the air had decided to be gentle with her tonight.

She spotted him before he saw her, a lone figure standing out there with his head tipped up to the sky. The way he was staring at the stars made her pause. There was something lost about it — not desperate or anything, just tired, like he’d been trying to make sense of things that didn’t want to be made sense of.

Looking for something? she said finally, voice calm and a little amused, the way someone speaks who’s seen this sort of thing a million times before. She came closer, slow enough not to spook him, her eyes soft in the fading light. I don't think, whatever you seek, is up there though.

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Skill - Orator

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Hestia didn’t move right away when he turned toward her. She could see the tension sitting in his shoulders, the quick way he stopped breathing, and she just… let him have that moment. No reason to crowd him. When she finally spoke, her tone came out soft, almost amused.

Prophecy, huh? she said, a small breath of a laugh slipping through. Can’t help you there. I left that kind of nonsense behind a long time ago.

It was a joke, mostly. But the words tugged something in her chest all the same. She used to have people begging her for answers — whole crowds of them, kneeling, whispering, crying. Everyone wants something. Blessings, protection, warmth… she tried to give what she could, but after a while it all just… blurred together. The noise of it, the wanting. Gods were funny things in that regard—worship felt like a cage after a couple millenia. You could give everything and still never touch the people you meant to help and sometimes helping just meant breaking a different part of yourself.

She stepped a little closer, her movements easy and quiet, eyes on him. He looked tired, the kind of tired that didn’t come from walking too far either. Didn’t mean to startle you, she said, softer now. You just looked like someone who could use another voice in the dark. And some place warm to rest your head with food in your belly. She offered.

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Skill - Orator

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Hestia’s mouth curved, a quiet smile playing at the edge of her lips. I wouldn’t worry too much about prophecies, she said lightly, eyes glinting like firelight caught in pale blue glass. They only ever tell half the story anyway. The rest’s up to us.

Her tone carried warmth but also something old beneath it, a patience that had learned to wait through storms and centuries alike. She stepped closer, slow and unhurried, her gaze drifting upwards briefly toward the shy in search of his crow, but coming up empty. It’s no imposition and your friend would be invited too, she said simply, the words firm but kind. A hearth’s meant to be shared. And besides— she tilted her head, eyes bright with gentle humor, —every drifter enjoys a warm bed to rest in and a full belly. Especiallywhen its free of charge, dont you agree?

The wind moved through the trees again, scattering a few more leaves between them, and she paused long enough to watch the golden ones spin down. Her voice softened when she spoke next, carrying that faint lilt that always made the air around her feel warmer. I’m Hestia, she said, as if it were an afterthought. And it’s no trouble. I’d like the company, if you don’t mind me saying so.

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Skill - Ghost

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Hestia’s laugh was soft and low in her throat. Something like that, she said, amusement curling gently through her words. Though I don’t think the real one ever had to chase down her own dinner. If only he knew how he'd hit the nail on the head. Would he have yawned and worshipped the very ground she walked upon had he learned just who she was? For some innate reason, she didn't think he would, let alone believe her. In some way, that was comforting.

Her eyes warmed when they met his again, the robin-blue catching what little light was left between the trees. I’ve been called worse things than my own name, so I’ll take it as a compliment. She paused a beat, her gaze flicking over his expression, the careful way he measured his words. She felt kind of bad pressuring him into accepting her help, but, well that was who she was. A Goddess of hearth and home. What would she be if she did not offer weary travelers a place to lay their heads and fill their bellies.

You don’t owe me anything, she said simply, her tone firm but not unkind. You’d be surprised how little I keep, and how much that still feels like enough. A meal shared isn’t a debt. She turned then, brushing past a low branch, her fur catching the fading gold of the last sunlight. Still, she added with a faint smile, if it makes you feel better, you can help me forage in the morning. I don’t turn down an honest hand.

She motioned for him to follow, pace unhurried as the leaves whispered under her steps. There’s a stream not far from here, she went on, glancing over her shoulder. Good water, clean air, and a bit of cover from the wind. It’s not much of a hearth, but it’ll do.

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