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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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