The midday sun was already at its zenith when Rane walked Hestia to work. The miniature Goddess, overflowing with enthusiasm and pride for her expanded pantheon, dashed off toward the merchant stalls with a speed astonishing for her build.
Left alone, the young man unhurriedly returned to the abandoned chapel. The heavy wooden door creaked shut, cutting off the city noise. Inside, twilight reigned, along with the smell of dust dancing in the sparse rays of light breaking through the leaky roof.
Rane walked over to the nearest surviving pew and sat heavily on the creaky wood. The perfect posture he maintained in public vanished. He rubbed his face hard with his palms, took a deep, ragged breath, and on the exhale, ran his fingers through his black hair, mercilessly tousling it.
Only now, in absolute silence, did he allow himself to relax. The last few days had felt like a mad kaleidoscope: the bloodbath with the Minotaur, the monstrous physical strain, the clash with Loki's aura, parting ways with Bell, and finally, his initiation into the world of the gods. His endurance was colossal, but even that needed a simple breather.
Having calmed his pulse slightly, Rane opened his eyes and stared thoughtfully at his right hand.
"Magic, huh..." he muttered quietly into the emptiness of the nave.
In this life, he had only heard about magic from children's fairy tales, the stories of drunk adventurers in taverns, and random snippets of street conversations. In the minds of the locals, magic was inextricably linked to long, ornate chants that required the utmost concentration. Elves could spend minutes reciting arias just to unleash destructive flames or bind enemies in ice.
But in his Status, there wasn't a single word about spells. Just a short phrase: "Ability to manipulate the wind element."
Rane closed his eyes. How does the wind feel? It can be a devastating hurricane tearing off roofs, or a light, barely perceptible draft bringing coolness in the summer heat.
He opened his eyes again, extended his open palm forward, and, focusing on the sensation of a directed flow, gave a mental command.
The air before him trembled. A short, elastic gust tore from his fingertips, kicking up a small cloud of dust a meter away from the pew.
A genuine smile touched Rane's lips.
"Ha! It worked."
Feeling that elusive response within himself, he decided to experiment. A light flick of his hand to the right—and an invisible, whipping current struck the fragment of an old candlestick, making it sway. A sharp turn of his wrist to the left—and the dust obediently darted in the opposite direction.
The essence wasn't in controlling some abstract mana through words. The power responded to pure will, requiring only clear intent and visualization. The magic simply executed what the mind gave form to.
Excitement swelled in his chest. A new, unexplored power thrilled his blood. Rane remembered his past life—the dim television screens, the games and anime he had once watched. If visualization works directly here, then the limits are defined only by imagination.
He raised his palm in front of him, focusing his gaze on its center. The air above his skin began to condense. First came a faint whistle, and then a tiny, but absolutely real tornado appeared on his open palm. It spun furiously, sucking in specks of dust and forming a perfect funnel.
"Interesting..." Rane whispered, his eyes shining, watching in fascination as the magic obeyed the laws he dictated to it with the power of his mind.
Evening crept up unnoticed. When Hestia, tired but satisfied, pushed open the gate and ran into the chapel, her joyful shout caught in her throat.
Rane was lying on the old, sagging sofa. His face had taken on a sickly pale hue, and dark shadows lay under his eyes.
"Rane!" the Goddess shrieked in panic, rushing over to him. "What happened?! Were we attacked?! Are you sick?!"
The youth winced at the loud noise but forced himself to sit up. An apologetic smirk appeared on his lips.
"Good evening, Goddess. You worked hard today," he rubbed his temples. "I'm perfectly fine. I just... got a little carried away testing my magic. It turns out that mental exhaustion is an extremely unpleasant thing."
Using abilities without incantations required a colossal expenditure of mental energy. Rane had drained his reserves bone-dry before he realized where the limit was.
He made an effort, intending to get up and cook dinner, but Hestia firmly pressed her tiny palms against his chest, pushing him back into the cushions.
"Sit! No cooking in this condition!" she declared categorically. With a beaming look, the Goddess reached for the paper bag she had brought with her, and with a triumphant cry of "Ta-da!", placed it on the lopsided table.
Inside were deep-fried potato croquettes, generously dripping with oil.
"I brought them straight from work! This is our evening treat!" she proclaimed proudly.
Rane stared silently, with a heavy premonition, at the grease-glistening crust. His young body, enhanced by the Falna, could probably digest rocks, but the memories of his past life were literally screaming about a heavy stomach before bed. An abundance of carcinogens at night felt like a true crime against his body.
"Thank you for caring," he said softly. Rane carefully slipped the light coat off Hestia's shoulders, sat the protesting Goddess down on the sofa, and, ignoring her complaints, reached a compromise. He quickly chopped up a simple salad from their remaining ingredients.
As they started to eat, Rane nodded toward the nightstand by the entrance.
"A courier came by today. There's a letter for you."
Hestia blinked in surprise, set down her half-eaten croquette, and unsealed the thick envelope with a wax seal. Skimming the lines, she wrinkled her nose dismissively.
"It's from the Ganesha Familia. An invitation to their Banquet," she tossed the letter onto the table. "I'll probably decline. I can't stand that pompous show-off."
Rane calmly swallowed his food.
"As you wish. However, it will be harder to avoid things like this in the future."
Hestia froze halfway, bringing her fork to her mouth.
"W-what do you mean?"
"I am completely unsatisfied with the position my Goddess is currently in," the youth said in an even, casual tone. "You won't be huddling in a basement and working for pennies forever."
Hestia hiccuped loudly. At such a declaration, her cheeks flared with a bright blush.
Rane merely closed his eyes slightly. Internally, he understood perfectly well that high status and wealth were the absolute minimum needed to achieve the goals he had unloaded on Bell at the bridge.
Hestia, having calmed down a bit, added modestly:
"You don't have to push yourself so hard just for me... But on the other hand, I will go to this banquet after all! As a Goddess, I'll seek out any connections to support you in every way possible!"
"In that case, I will dedicate tomorrow entirely to the Dungeon," Rane replied. "It's time to test the blessing's capabilities in practice."
Alarm immediately splashed in the Goddess's eyes. She leaned forward, about to voice her concern, but Rane had already stood up, having finished his dinner. He began gathering the empty plates and, looking her straight in the eyes, said with polite but unyielding seriousness:
"Please forgive me, but in matters of the Dungeon, I will act at my own discretion."
It was an establishment of boundaries. He was making it clear that when it came to diving, she knew absolutely nothing, and overprotectiveness here would only cause harm.
Having cleared the dishes, Rane turned back to the quieted Hestia. The inflexibility on his face was replaced by a warm smile.
"Perhaps some tea?"
***
The next morning began with organizational matters. Together with Hestia, they visited the Miach Familia's shop. The Goddess, with unconcealed pride, informed her old acquaintance of the new addition to her ranks, and Rane officially introduced himself as a member of the Hestia Familia, expressing hope for a friendly neighborhood relation. Having bought healing potions and walked the Goddess to work, the youth strode confidently toward the Babel Tower.
Soon, he was already on the upper floors of the Labyrinth.
A swing. A step. A pivot. A short thrust.
The kobold's body slumped to the stone floor with a dull thud, turning into gray ash.
Rane smoothly flicked invisible blood from his blade. His equipment had undergone significant changes. The destroyed heavy two-handed sword had given way to a lighter set. The increased budget had allowed him to purchase reliable medium armor and a high-quality medium sword. The replacement was dictated by logic: working alone, without cover, he couldn't afford to lose maneuverability.
The last kobold, seeing its pack destroyed, threw itself forward with a furious screech.
Rane merely extended his free hand toward the monster. A sharp burst of will. A powerful gust of wind, acting like a press, slammed into the beast from above and mercilessly pinned it to the dungeon stone until it met its death by the blade of the sword.
Magic was incredible. It provided phenomenal tactical control, although it consumed a lot of mental energy. Rane remembered yesterday's nausea and understood: complete exhaustion here was equivalent to death. This trump card had to be used in moderation.
But even without magic, the capabilities of the blessing were astounding. The Falna reconfigured the body itself, granting an incredible surge of strength. It was now crystal clear why even an untrained child could manage to deal with the monsters of the first floors.
And yet, soberly assessing his current capabilities, the youth shook his head. Recalling the battle with the Minotaur, he admitted to himself that even now, with magic and a Falna, he wouldn't be able to handle a direct confrontation with it.
Having finished his self-analysis, Rane checked the space inside his drop-leg pouch. Realizing there was still plenty of room, he readjusted his grip on the sword hilt and stepped confidently deeper into the tunnel.
***
The Banquets of the Gods were always a vanity fair.
Before heading out, Hestia spent a long time twirling in front of the old, chipped mirror in their dusty chapel. She chose a simple white dress—modest, devoid of pretentious lace and gold threads, but it fit her miniature figure perfectly, hugging her waist tightly and flawlessly accentuating her main, undeniable asset—an outstanding, large bust. Casting a cursory glance over herself, the Goddess was satisfied. She might not have silks, but natural beauty couldn't be hidden.
The residence of the Ganesha Familia amazed with its absurd scale. Even on the approach, Hestia saw a colossal statue of the host of the evening in his unchanging elephant mask. It seemed as if the monument was screaming to all of Orario: "I AM GANESHA!"
Passing the security at the gates, Hestia found herself in a massive hall flooded with the light of thousands of magic lamps. Gods in inconceivable outfits swirled around, laughing, clinking glasses of elven wine, and exchanging social pleasantries.
Hestia purposefully ignored this gathering of snobs and moved toward her true objective—a gigantic buffet table groaning with delicacies. Like certain other Gods unburdened by excessive wealth, she occupied the edge of the table. In one hand, she held a plate of the tenderest roasted meat; in the other, a tartlet.
"Careful not to choke," a warm, slightly mocking voice rang out nearby.
Hestia froze with stuffed cheeks and joyfully turned her head. Next to her, gracefully swirling a glass of wine, stood Hephaestus. The Goddess of Smithing looked dazzling. She wore a passionate red floor-length evening gown, completely baring her flawless back, with a deep neckline accentuating her own rather impressive bust. Fiery red hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders, and the black eyepatch over her right eye only added a daring allure to her look.
"Mm-mph! Hephaest-t-tus!" Hestia mumbled, hastily swallowing the food and nearly choking. Washing it all down with juice, she beamed. "I'm so glad to see you!"
"You seem to be in good health," Hephaestus smiled warmly, looking over her friend with her single ruby eye. Genuine care could be read in her gaze—the very same care with which she had once taken the lazy Hestia in, before kicking her out the door for her own good. "You look... different. Your eyes are shining. Did something change?"
Hestia puffed out her chest proudly, shining like a newly minted coin.
"Changed?! I'll say! Hephaestus, I finally have my own Familia! I have a Familia member! A real one, all my own!"
Hephaestus's eyes widened slightly in surprise, and then her face lit up with a genuine, relieved smile.
"Really? I'm so happy for you, Hestia. It seems my harsh lessons weren't in vain, and you've finally come to your senses. I hope you'll be a good Goddess to him. Take care of your child."
"I absolutely will!" Hestia clenched her small fists, feeling a pleasant warmth spreading within her.
She wanted to explain in more detail, but suddenly the conversations around them died down. The air in the hall subtly changed, becoming thick and sweet like floral honey. The crowd parted.
Freya glided through the hall. The Goddess of Beauty, clad in a flowing silver dress, forced both gods and mortals to hold their breath with her mere presence.
She glided smoothly over to their table. Hephaestus nodded politely but reservedly. Hestia tensed internally, though she plastered a friendly smile on her face.
"Hello, Hephaestus. Hello, Hestia," Freya's voice murmured like a mountain stream. She shifted her incredible silver eyes to the miniature Goddess. "How nice to see familiar faces amidst this bustle. You both look wonderful tonight."
"Likewise, Freya," Hephaestus nodded.
"Yeah, hi, Freya!" Hestia replied, trying to sound casual. "Great evening, right?"
"Wonderful," Freya smiled easily, sweeping her gaze across the hall. "Tell me, Hestia, how is life in the Lower World treating you? After Heaven, mortal bustle can be tiring at times, can't it?"
"Oh, come on! I actually really like it!" Hestia waved her hand, still clutching a canapé. "I got a job, frying potatoes. Mortals are so funny and hardworking. It's definitely not boring!"
"Is that so? I'm glad you've found your place in this world," Freya closed her eyes benevolently. "Well then, I won't keep you from enjoying your evening. I'll see you later."
She took a graceful step forward, intending to pass by, but lingered for a moment. Leaning right to Hestia's ear, so close she could smell the intoxicating scent of roses.
"Congratulations on your new addition..." Freya whispered in a velvety tone, and the sound of it sent a stampede of icy goosebumps down Hestia's spine. "How incredibly lucky you are."
Before Hestia could process those words, Freya smoothly pulled back and glided away, surrounded by a retinue of admiring glances.
Hestia shivered, rubbing her forearms.
"Brrr... Creepy woman," she muttered.
"Stuffing your face for free again, Shrimp?"
A familiar, raspy voice with a street accent sliced through the atmosphere worse than a rusty knife. Hestia spun around sharply.
Approaching her, smirking predatorily and squinting her crimson slit-eyes, was Loki. The Goddess of Mischief had dressed up in a form-fitting black evening gown. Except there was absolutely nothing there to fit.
"Loki!" Hestia growled, instantly snapping out of her stupor. "And you, I see, decided to wear a tight dress? Bold choice! Such a pity that you look exactly the same from both sides. Where's the back, where's the front—it's hard to tell at a glance!"
Loki's cheek twitched, her smirk turning even more sinister. Hephaestus merely sighed tiredly, realizing this argument was inevitable, and discreetly retreated to another table.
"What did you yap, dairy cow?!" Loki snapped, planting her hands on her hips. "At least I don't have to lug around two useless bags of fat in front of me! Your back must be killing you, right?"
"Be jealous in silence, ironing board!" Hestia stood up proudly. "True femininity is beyond your reach. You could wrap yourself in gold, and you'd still look like a blank canvas!"
"Who needs your 'femininity', you little klutz?" Loki snorted, stepping closer. "Sitting in the dirt, working as a servant. No status, no pride! A pathetic sight."
They traded barbs, drilling into each other with their glares. Usually, these arguments would drive Hestia white-hot with rage. But today...
Listening to Loki's venomous jabs, Hestia suddenly caught herself having a strange thought. This red-haired Goddess is standing here, trying to wound her with her grandeur, but she doesn't even suspect the most important thing.
Hestia no longer needed to prove anything to Loki. She already had what made her the rightful winner.
Suddenly, all of Hestia's anger evaporated. A light, condescending half-smile played on her lips. She looked at Loki the way one looks at a loud, but completely harmless child.
Loki frowned, not understanding her rival's sudden mood shift. The argument was clearly not going according to her script.
"Hey, Shorty, why so quiet? Run out of comebacks?" she narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
Theatrically, with an incredible sense of her own superiority, Hestia rolled her eyes, turned her head away, and loudly, deliberately delivered:
"Pfft."
A distinct, pulsating vein bulged on the Goddess of Mischief's forehead. She lunged forward, grabbed Hestia by both chubby cheeks, and began shaking her furiously.
"Letff go o' mfe, bfoard!" Hestia mumbled indignantly, trying to break free as her head whipped from side to side.
But the shaking led to unexpected consequences. Due to Loki's intense movements, Hestia's voluminous breasts in the white dress began to jiggle and bounce with a frightening amplitude, obeying the ruthless laws of physics.
Loki's gaze, against her will, drifted downward. She stared at this soft, overwhelming magnificence, which contrasted so starkly with her own absolutely flat chest, stretched taut with black fabric.
Loki's inferiority complex hit her with escalating force. The psychological damage proved to be critical.
The Goddess of Mischief's hands trembled. She slowly uncurled her fingers, releasing Hestia's reddened cheeks. A grimace of utter despair twisted Loki's face, and tears gleamed in the corners of her eyes.
"I-I hate you..." Loki sobbed. "YOU STUPID CO-O-O-OW!"
Bolting from her spot, she spun around and, burying her face in her hands, ran crying into the crowd, leaving Hestia in proud solitude.
Hestia rubbed her aching cheeks. Realizing what had just happened, she melted into a happy smile. Thrusting a small fist into the air, the Goddess with red cheeks declared victoriously:
"Victory!"
***
The return home was far more pleasant than the noisy banquet.
The hum of voices and music faded into the distance. With every step, her heart beat with greater warmth. Before, she had hated returning to her empty, cold church. But now, everything was different.
The old wrought-iron gate gave its familiar creak. Hestia entered the courtyard. The soft, yellowish light of a magic lamp shone through the cracks in the old oak door.
She pushed the door open.
Inside, sitting at the lopsided table, was Rane. He was methodically wiping his sword's blade with an oiled cloth. Hearing the squeak of the hinges, he stopped his movement, raised his head, and looked at her with his calm, deep eyes.
His face softened slightly, and the corners of his lips twitched into a warm half-smile.
"Welcome back, Goddess," he said in an even, velvety voice. "How was the banquet?"
Hestia froze on the threshold. All the superficial fluff of divine society had lost all meaning. Right now, in these ruins, was her greatest treasure. Her home.
She smiled widely, genuinely, feeling happy tears welling up in her eyes.
"I'm home, Rane!" she exhaled joyfully, kicking off her shoes and walking inside. "And you know... it was actually a pretty good evening!"