Being born to a goddess was something I never imagined to have happened to me, and really, least of all to a goddess of virginity, so really, Hestia as a mother? I didn’t believe that.
But dad told me he had been at the oven with papa and they had stoked the fire, they poured wine and sacrifices bread and oil and meats to the flame, and begged the goddess to let them have family together to gather in this home, a family to gather around a hearth and to love.
And listen to their prayers she did, sculpting me from embers and ash and blowing life into me with a spark from her flames, kissing my forehead once before she left, leaving me forever with her mark on my face.
That’s what dad told me, and now it all makes much more sense.
I never ran out of s'more stuff, ya know? Even if I had definitely just used up my last chocolate for a cake, there’d be a new perfectly preserved package of it in my cupboard. Marshmallows empty cause of my hot chocolate? No silly, there is still some left in the box somehow.
I also play the guitar, at the campfires I always played and lead the chorus, but never do my fingers turn to blisters, and I never need to rest my voice.
It also explains why I have always been at home anywhere and with anyone, I could sit down, and I was home where I was and the people with me would be my family.
Other demigods mocked me, I am the child of the goddess of the home, of the hearth, a cooking deity they’d call her.
It was…rude, but it was fine, I could deal with it. I didn’t have a cabin full of siblings, but whoever stopped by was family, right?
And it was totally fine to leave me behind when they went into battle, I am no good with weaponry, but I could still follow them, grab some food for them, they’d be hungry after all the fighting.
And they seemed almost concerned when I ran onto the battlefield barefooted and in my hoodie and sweatpants and apron, rushing towards a dragon and a son of Thanatos.
Their screams were scared when the useless child of a goddess ran onto the battlefield, and this boy actually tried to hold me back, even if his arms were shattered and his skin was scorched.
They were shocked when the battle ended with me.
They would’ve known I can’t get burned from all the times I’d stumbled into the campfire or spilled tea.
They should’ve known I can make anyone and anything calm down quickly enough.
They should’ve known I can protect anyone behind me by raising my hand.
A hearth does not burn, it warms and nutures. A family calms and cares, not aggravates. A home does not abandon, it protects.
I am the son of Hestia, and my mother gave me the ability to be a hearth anywhere I went. It is safe with me, for anyone.
I ended wars before, this one was no different.
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