I was surprised when Hermes found me, if I’m being completely honest. I’ve been keeping a low profile for the last two thousand years, ever since the Legions marched to Anglia and Caledonia – excuse me, England and Scotland, as I’m told. There I was, keeping company with old Chiron (poor love, he’s so old he’s on the verge of turning into a tree, but don’t tell him that), and suddenly my nephew is standing across from our little cottage in the middle of nowhere, and I knew he wasn’t calling to invite me to dinner.

Mostly because no one, and I mean NO ONE, on Olympus can cook except me and Demeter, and I haven’t talked to her in ages. Haven’t talked to any of them – they were all perfectly happy to leave the rituals and the hearthfire to me, good old reliable Hestia. You turn down two gods, and I swear, everyone thinks you’re off the market forever. The perpetual auntie.

Not my fault I preferred men with multiple brain cells to rub together. The ability to tell stories for years on end didn’t hurt either. Not to mention the singing voice…but I digress.

Hermes had finally found me, and that meant that my idyll in Caledonia was over, at least for a little while. He had the good sense to not sass at me, just handed over the scroll case and helped himself to some of Chiron’s whiskey before he zipped off like a bloody dragonfly.

I had been summoned back to help bring Olympus back to relevance, but I didn’t have the first idea where I fit in. I looked at the scroll – yeah, that metal and glass monstrosity was the right address. I was suddenly in dire need of a drink.

I entered a little cafe, ordered an Irish coffee, and pulled out a notebook – Chiron had made me promise I would keep a diary to bring back to him. “So you won’t forget about your old goat waitin’ at home.”

Dearest Chiron,
This city is a madhouse – the mortals are stacked in here like spawning fish in a river. Thunder Boy’s little project lacks soul, but I suppose that’s what I’m for. I could have sworn I just heard a peacock (or maybe it was someone getting murdered), so I’m guessing Hera is still around. She always was the one for organization, even if it was just displacement activity. This place needs trees – it doesn’t feel like there’s a single living thing other than people here. Maybe Demeter is around. At least my sister tends to be sensible. Time for a fresh start, I suppose. I go in peace.
All my love,

Closing my book, I finished my coffee and looked across the street. Pretty enough, in a soulless industrial kind of way. Time to go see what was what, I supposed. I opened the doors to the new Olympus and stepped inside. Somewhere in this place was a hearth and an altar, and I would find it. There was a man behind a desk, smiling at me, and I went over to him.

“Greetings, I’m Hestia, the new catering chef and event planner, according to this. Can you show me to my office?” I handed over the scroll, and he gave me a blank look. I sighed.

No one remembers me. I’m the one who, if you listen to certain people, gave up my seat as one of the original Olympians so Dionysus could have his spot. I know for damn sure they left me off the Parthenon, and that still stings, not going to lie. I’m the first and last of Kronos, damn it. At least Homer got that part right.

Time to get to work. Apparently, Zeus thinks being a ritualist will make me a good event planner, and as the keeper and overseer of sacrifices, I at least knew my way around a kitchen.

I need to find Dionysus, because that boy owes me a donkey and several barrels of good wine. Need to find Hephaestus, because I’ll need a cauldron, for sure, and only one of his will do. I hoped that a few thousand years would have brought him some peace – he really was my favorite of my nephews. Then I need to find my own hearth, my own home, and really get settled into this new venture.

I hoped that for once, Zeus was on the right track.

Retired Scribe
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