Your feet hurt.
It's a stupid thing to focus on when you're lost in a fantasy city with no money and no plan, but your sneakers weren't made for cobblestones. Each step sends a dull ache through your soles, and you've been walking for—what, an hour? Two? The sun has nearly set, painting the white buildings in shades of purple and gold, and you still have nowhere to sleep tonight.
The Guild pamphlet is crumpled in your hand. You've read it three times now, trying to memorize the names. Loki Familia. Freya Familia. Ganesha Familia. Big names with dozens—maybe hundreds—of members. The kind of organizations that probably have application processes and standards and reasons to turn away someone who doesn't know which end of a sword to hold.
You need someone smaller. Someone desperate enough to overlook your complete lack of qualifications.
The problem is you have no idea how to find them.
The street you're on has gotten quieter as you've walked. Fewer adventurers, more ordinary people heading home after a day's work. A woman calls her children inside. Somewhere, a dog barks. The normalcy of it makes your chest tight. These people belong here. They have homes to return to.
You don't.
Focus. One problem at a time.
You're about to turn back toward the main street when you notice the bench. And the old man sitting on it.
He's watching you. Not in a threatening way, but with the kind of attention that suggests he's been observing you for a while. He's weathered, face lined with age, wearing simple clothes . Something about his expression reminds you of your grandfather—that look of someone who's seen enough of life to recognize when someone else is struggling.
"Lost?" he asks.
You almost laugh. "That obvious?"
"You've walked past here three times in the last twenty minutes." He gestures at the pamphlet. "And you keep looking at that thing like it's going to give you answers it doesn't have."
Fair point. You fold the pamphlet and shove it in your pocket. "I'm looking for a Familia. One that might take someone with no experience."
"Plenty of those around." The old man leans back, considering you. "the question is whether you want just any Familia, or one that'll treat you right."
Something in his tone makes you pause. The cat girl's warning echoes in your memory: Some gods see people like you as entertainment.
"The second one," you say carefully.
The old man nods, as if you've passed some kind of test. "You've got an honest face." He points down a side street you hadn't noticed before. "There's a small church at the edge of the city, northwest side. Run-down place—barely standing. But the goddess there is kind. She'd probably appreciate the company."
"A church?" You try to remember if your friend mentioned churches. Nothing comes to mind. "Is that normal for a Familia?"
"Some gods prefer 'em. Old traditions, I guess." He shrugs. "This one used to have more members, from what I hear. Down to just the goddess now. Been that way for months."
Just the goddess.
That means she's alone. No followers, no income, no status among the other gods. Either she's terrible at recruiting, or there's something wrong with her.
Or—this feels more likely—she's simply been unlucky.
"How do I find it?" you ask.
The old man gives you directions: follow this road, take the third left, keep going until the buildings start looking rough. "You'll know it when you see it," he says. "Can't miss a church, even a half-broken one."
You thank him and start walking before you can second-guess yourself.
The buildings do start looking rough.
The change is gradual at first—small signs of neglect, faded paint, cracked windows. Then it becomes obvious. You've left the prosperous heart of Orario behind and entered a neighborhood that time and money have forgotten. Some buildings are clearly abandoned, their doors hanging open to reveal empty interiors. The adventurers you pass here look harder, their armor dented and worn, their expressions guarded.
This is where people end up when they can't afford anywhere else.
The thought sits heavy in your stomach. You're about to join their ranks, aren't you? An outsider with nothing to offer, hoping someone will take pity on you.
Then you see it.
The church sits at the end of a narrow street, small and solitary. The stone walls are old—ancient, maybe—and crumbling in places where mortar has given way to time. The wooden door hangs slightly crooked on its hinges. A single stained glass window above the entrance catches the last rays of sunlight, throwing colored shadows across the ground.
It looks like it's one strong wind away from collapse.
It also looks like the only option you have.
Okay. You can do this.
You approach the door and hesitate, hand raised to knock. What are you supposed to say? "Hi, I'm from another world and I need a goddess to adopt me"? That sounds insane. But then again, you're standing in front of a church run by a literal deity.
You push the door open.
The hinges creak—a long, drawn-out sound that echoes through the interior. You wince and step inside, letting your eyes adjust to the dimmer light.
The inside is cleaner than you expected. Simple wooden pews line both sides of a center aisle, leading to a small altar at the far end. Candles flicker in holders along the walls, their warm light dancing across stone. The air smells like wax and old wood and something faintly floral. It's peaceful. Quiet in a way that feels intentional, like the world outside can't quite reach this space.
And kneeling at the altar, hands clasped in prayer, is a girl.
She can't be older than you. Maybe younger. Dark blue hair falls past her shoulders, tied back with a white ribbon that's fraying at the edges. She's wearing a white dress—simple, almost like a shrine maiden's outfit—that's been mended in several places. Her eyes are closed, lips moving silently.
She looks so normal.
This is the goddess?
The door creaks again as it swings shut, and the girl's eyes snap open. She turns, and you see her face fully for the first time.
Blue eyes. Bright, clear blue that seems to catch the candlelight. There's something in those eyes—a gentleness—that makes your breath catch. She looks at you with surprise, but not fear. Not suspicion. Just... curiosity.
"Oh!" She stands quickly, smoothing down her dress. "I wasn't expecting anyone " she says
" I'm looking for someone who runs a Familia. An old man said there was a goddess here?"
Her expression shifts—surprise giving way to something brighter. "That's me!" She clasps her hands together, and there's genuine pleasure in her voice. "I'm Hestia. Welcome to the Hestia Familia."
She pauses, and you watch her enthusiasm deflate slightly.
"Well," she adds, softer now, "welcome to the church that will someday house the Hestia Familia. Once I have members again."
Again!?
The word hangs between you.
"You don't have any right now?" you ask.
"yes ." Hestia walks closer, and you realize she barely reaches your shoulder. She's tiny—even shorter than the cat girl from earlier. But there's something about the way she carries herself that makes her seem bigger. "My last child left to join a bigger Familia a few months ago. Since then, I've been waiting."
Waiting alone. In this crumbling church.
The thought makes something twist in your chest. You know what it's like to be alone. To feel like you don't fit anywhere.
"And you think I might be that person?" You can't keep the doubt out of your voice. "I don't know anything about being an adventurer. I can't fight. I barely understand how this city works."
"That doesn't matter to me." Hestia's expression turns serious, and for the first time, you see something beyond the friendly goddess facade. There's steel underneath. Conviction. "What matters to me is how your Heart feel . Are you willing to work hard? Are you willing to grow?"
Am I?
You think about your situation. Alone in a world you don't understand. No money, no connections, no way home that you've found yet. This goddess is offering you a place. A purpose. A chance to survive long enough to figure things out.
But is that enough reason to commit to her?
"I'll work hard," you say carefully. "I don't have much choice."
Hestia's face falls slightly. Not much—just a flicker of disappointment—but you catch it.
"That's not the same as wanting to," she says quietly. "I won't accept you into my Familia if you're just desperate. If this is only about survival." She takes a breath, and when she speaks again, her voice is firm but not unkind. "I need to know if you'll commit to me. Not because you have to, but because you choose to."
The words hit harder than you expected.
She's right. She's absolutely right. You were thinking of this as a transaction—goddess provides blessing, you get access to the systems that keep you alive. But that's not what she's asking for.
She's asking you to choose her. To commit to building something with her, even though she has nothing to offer except herself and this falling-apart church.
She's asking for faith.
You look around the church again. The mended dress. The old candles burned down to stubs. The empty pews that should be filled with people. Hestia has been here alone, waiting, hoping someone would see past the poverty and the lack of prestige to the person underneath.
She's lonely.
The realization settles in your bones. She's been lonely for months, watching other gods parade through the city with their Familias while she tends to an empty church and prays for someone—anyone—to give her a chance.
You know that feeling.
"I'll commit," you say, and this time you mean it. Not because you're desperate, but because you understand what it's like to be alone . "If you'll have me."
Hestia's face transforms. The careful control vanishes, replaced by pure joy. Her eyes go wide, her hands fly to her mouth, and for a moment she just stares at you like she can't believe what she's hearing.
"Really?" Her voice cracks. "You mean it?"
"I mean it."
"Then let's do this now!" She grabs your hand—her grip surprisingly strong for someone so small—and practically drags you toward the back of the church. "I'll give you my blessing and you'll officially be part of my Familia! Oh, this is so exciting! I've been waiting so long for this! You have no idea how long—"
She's talking so fast you can barely keep up, words tumbling over each other in her excitement. You let yourself be pulled along, overwhelmed but also—strangely—relieved.
At least you're not alone anymore.