Percy was exhausted.
Between the cabin debate, the burnt offering confusion, and people still giving him weird looks over his divine gold trident, he was ready to crash. He had just started making his way back to Poseidon's cabin when he noticed something odd.
A little girl was sitting by the campfire.
No one else seemed to notice her. The campers were laughing, chatting, and throwing food into the flames, but the girl just sat there—quiet and still.
That was already weird.
Even weirder was how, the closer he got, the more he realized something was different about her.
Her warmth wasn't like Apollo's. It wasn't the kind of heat that beat down on you like the Sun. It was something… deeper. Softer. It was the kind of warmth that made you feel like you were wrapped in a cozy blanket on a cold night. The kind that reminded you of home.
Percy had only felt this once before.
With his mom.
The girl turned to him and smiled. "You noticed me. That's rare."
Percy blinked. Who was she? He had no idea, but something in his gut told him this was important.
"…Hi?" he said hesitantly, walking closer.
"Hello, Percy Jackson."
Oh. Oh.
The way she said his name—that wasn't just some random kid.
His brain scrambled, trying to place her. He had met a lot of gods lately, and while she didn't feel like a sun god or a sea god, there was still power in her. But not the flashy, dramatic kind. It was something quieter. Steady. Ancient.
And then it clicked.
Hearth. Fire. Home. Warmth.
"Aunt Hestia?" he blurted out.
The girl—Hestia—smiled. "Yes."
Percy immediately sat down next to her. Not because she told him to, not because he felt obligated, but because it felt right.
"…You're small," he pointed out.
Hestia chuckled. "I like to be overlooked. It makes my work easier." She reached out, as if to adjust a log in the fire, but the flames moved on their own, shifting and flickering at her unspoken command.
Percy watched, fascinated. "So, uh… what are you doing here?"
"I am always here," she said simply. "Every fire is my fire. Every hearth is my hearth. I tend to them all."
That… actually made sense. In a godly way.
So, uh." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Do I, like… owe you a burnt offering or something?"
Hestia shook her head. "I do not require offerings. I simply ask for kindness."
Percy frowned. "That's it?"
"That is it."
That was wild. Every god he had met so far had been dramatic, demanding, or both. And here was Hestia, sitting by the fire, asking for nothing but kindness.
She tilted her head, studying him. "You are troubled."
Percy sighed. "Yeah, well. Turns out being a part-time Sun God is complicated. So is Camp Half-Blood. So is being claimed by two gods at once."
Hestia hummed, turning her gaze back to the fire. "You are walking two paths at once. That is never easy."
"You're telling me."
She smiled again, soft and knowing. "But you will find your way."
Percy wasn't sure how she knew that, but for some reason, hearing it from her made him feel better.
He sat with her for a while, just watching the flames. No expectations, no obligations—just warmth.
Eventually, she spoke again. "If you ever need a place to rest, my hearth is always open to you."
Percy wasn't sure why, but that promise made his chest feel warm in a way that had nothing to do with fire.
"…Thanks, Aunt Hestia."
She smiled. And just like that, the moment was over.
The next time he blinked, she was gone.