Hestia's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Hestia kept one hand pressed to the crack while the flame above wavered. She could not stay here forever. Every hour she lingered, another mortal hearth went dark. She needed a way to slow the bleeding while she hunted the culprit. She reached for her bronze kettle and poured a slow ribbon of warm oil along the split stone. The oil thickened, sealing the wound like wax. The golden leak slowed to a drip. Inside the gazebo, the great bowl's flame steadied, no longer guttering blue but burning a soft, careful orange beneath the domed roof. Hestia opened her glowing journal across her knees. Pressed leaves marked each family she watched. Dozens of pages had dimmed to gray in a single night. She traced a finger down the cold names and felt her jaw tighten. The seal would hold for a day, perhaps two. No longer. She closed the journal and stood. The oil had bought her time, but time was already spent. Somewhere on Olympus, someone had carved that crack on purpose. Hestia banked the flame, lifted her kettle, and stepped down from the warm marble to find them.