Hers was a lonely existence, Acantha decided. She stood alone, bathed in the fire within the brazier of the vault, and reminisced. Her eyes were affixed upon a statue.
The marble structure glinted in the darkness of the chamber, lit only by the flickering flames she stood within. She looked away from it, raising a fist. She absentmindedly regarded the limb, studying the green plated gauntlet it was clad in. At first glance, the verdant metals and ivory platings seemed anachronistic to a eudaemon such as her, one borne from fire.
She was not always this way, Acantha reflected. She was not always Acantha, the eudaemon. The proud servant of Lady Hestia, a warrior of the hearth. Sworn to protect her domains. She did not always have the strength to battle gods and monsters, she was not always dressed in such resplendence, bequeathed with such awe-inspiring weaponry and abilities.
She was once simply Acantha, the nymph. Two centuries ago, she did not reside below the earth as a lone guardian. She resided on a manor of some English nobleman of vague divine descent.
She was not bound to a mighty tree, a voluminous berry bush, or even a beautiful flowering plant. She was bound to a simple thorny shrub, barely a step above a stinging nettle weed. She was bound to an acanthus shrub. Occasionally it flowered, but never brilliantly, not to the extent of her peers.
For decades, she simply existed, living her life the best that she could. She saw the land change, her owner age, and have a family, while she remained stagnant.
And then one night, everything changed. It started with a scream of fright. A girl ran out of the manor, running past her bush. She was clad in her nightclothes.
She recognized this girl. She was the daughter of the land owner. She had always been kind to the planet. She had a green thumb, and despite herself, she'd always wondered if the girl had any relation to Demeter or some other green deity.
She was fond of the girl, and so, when an unfamiliar man chased after the girl, also barely dressed and sporting a few bruises, Acantha quickly realized the situation.
She was just a nymph. She was weak, and compared to the other denizens of her world, near-powerless.
Nonetheless, she would not stand for what she saw before her. She was fond of the girl.
She stood between them.
It was only then, when the man turned to her, eyes a vivid yellow, the color of the sun, did Acantha realize what she had stepped into.
"Out of my way," Apollo had ordered her to move.
His eyes burned with solar might, and his temperament promised unrestrained wrath. Acantha squared her shoulders, and remained in place.
"So be it." Apollo killed her.
She never stood a chance. She wasn't even sure if her sacrifice accomplished anything. He smited her acanthus bush with a beam of solar radiation, reducing her existence to a pyre.
For her efforts, all she managed was a scratch on his cheek.
As she lay dying in the dirt, a small, child-like figure emerged from the ruins of her residence.
She approached her broken form, amber eyes gleaming with sympathy and righteous anger.
The goddess of the hearth, one of the most powerful residents of Olympus, sat directly on the ground, and clasped Acantha's hand in her own.
Her grip was warm, and comforting.
"Acantha." Hestia sadly smiled. "You were so brave."
She breathed with difficulty, clinging onto life. She didn't want to let go of the warmth of Hestia's presence.
"I didn't do anything."
"You made a stand." Hestia declared. "That is more than most. Were any of your peers out there?"
Acantha wasn't thinking of that at the time, but now that she was, she realized that in fact, despite her stature, despite her lacking the strength of a tree, or the beauty of a flower, she had been the only one to stand.
"No." Acantha returned Hestia's smile with a weak one of her own. She closed her eyes, a pang of pain racking her.
"Can I stay with you?" Acantha blurted. "I don't want to die."
"You don't have to." Hestia softly said.
Acantha might have been a shrub, but she knew the way the world worked. "At what cost?"
Hestia's countenance grew more serious, but no less warm. "Are you prepared to serve me?"
Acantha opened her eyes, staring into Hestia's. She smiled, more strongly this time. That was a low cost indeed.
"Of course, my lady." She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, a child was no longer sitting beside her. A woman sat before her now, clad in flowing amber robes and stygian armour. She wore a helm embedded with polished hearthstones, polished feldspathic granite gleaming in the firelight of her old life.
"Then burn." Hestia said. Her voice was still gentle, but now had an underlining of steel, of suppressed power. She spoke with the authority of the eldest Olympian. "Burn, Acantha, and be reborn."
Acantha burned. She screamed. Her existence as a nymph ended that day. She burned in Hestia's hearth, and took on a new form.
When the sun rose once more, Acantha was a eudaemon, a guardian and guide to both Hestia and those in her charge. She had been granted arms and armour, power and purpose. All Hestia asked of her in return is loyalty, and kindness.
It was the greatest deal she'd ever made. She served her lady Hestia gladly, for the last two centuries.
So, when Hestia's favoured demigod asked her to kill a dragon, she did, with pleasure.
And when Hestia's favoured demigod asked her to go up against a god once more, she did, eagerly.
Acantha was not a nymph anymore. She was a eudaemon. She was a soldier of the hearth, a warrior renowned.
She strode out of the conflagration produced by her arrival, and looked at the god flying at her.
His twin macuahuitls were easily capable of sundering trees and pulverizing boulders. She caught the weaponry in her hands. They found no purchase in the armour Hestia had given her.
She glanced back at Perseus, on a knee behind her. Her eyes softened, and for a moment, she remembered that girl, a girl that had existed two centuries ago.
She studied him, and her eyes hardened at the sight of him wounded so severely. She would not fail to protect another one of her charges. Not again. Never again.
She turned around. She clenched her fists. The wooden and obsidian blades broke in her grip. A clenched metal fist collided with Ehactl's face.
The god flew back, sprawling. Acantha advanced, wings flaring out behind her.
"I am the servant of Hestia." Acantha proclaimed. "And I have no fear."
'Not anymore.'
Hey all.
Sorry for the very long absence. Been busy. Been dealing with a lot. Things are beginning to look up though, I think. I'll update this when I can, and hopefully more frequently. My other stories too.