The Tower of Babel could wait.
Aestoria tightened her protective hold around the sleeping child cradled against her armored chest, feeling the fragile warmth of the small body that had been so close to death mere minutes ago. Fou chittered softly from her shoulder, tiny paws reaching out to gently pat the girl's matted hair with surprising tenderness. The goddess's golden eyes swept across the street, searching not for enemies this time, but for something far more mundane yet equally crucial—shelter.
There. A modest inn tucked between two larger buildings, its wooden sign creaking gently in the wind. The painted letters read "The Gentle Hearth"—a name that seemed almost ironic in this city drowning in fear and violence, yet somehow appropriate for what she needed now. The building showed signs of better days, its facade weathered but maintained with obvious care despite the chaos surrounding it.
Aestoria dismounted with practiced ease, ensuring the child remained undisturbed in her arms. With a gentle touch against Dun Stallion's neck, she murmured a command, and the magnificent white horse dissolved back into her shadow like morning mist, waiting to be summoned again when needed. Then, adjusting her hold on the precious burden she carried, she pushed open the inn's door with her shoulder.
The interior was warm and surprisingly clean, lit by magical stone lamps that cast a gentle amber glow across wooden floors that had been recently swept. The scent of cooking food wafted from somewhere in the back—simple fare, but honest and nourishing. Behind a worn but polished counter stood a middle-aged man with kind eyes and graying hair pulled back in a short ponytail. His weathered face spoke of someone who had seen both the best and worst of Orario, yet somehow retained his humanity through it all.
The innkeeper looked up at the sound of the door, his welcoming expression already forming—then froze completely as Aestoria's presence washed over him like a tidal wave.
It wasn't threatening, precisely. But the sheer magnitude of her existence, the weight of her divine authority, the overwhelming charisma that radiated from her very being hit him with physical force. His breath caught in his throat. His hands gripped the counter's edge to steady himself. He found himself unable to look away from those golden eyes that seemed to pierce straight through to his soul, yet held no malice—only purpose and an unexpected gentleness as she gazed down at the sleeping child in her arms.
"I need a room," Aestoria said, her voice carrying that same quality of tempered steel wrapped in silk. "One with a proper bed where this child can rest safely. And when she wakes, she'll need food—something appropriate for someone severely malnourished. Soft bread, warm broth, perhaps some fruit if you have it. Nothing too heavy or rich initially."
The innkeeper—whose name was Marcus, though she hadn't asked yet—found himself nodding before his conscious mind had fully processed the request. Then his brain caught up with his instincts, and a practical concern surfaced through the fog of her overwhelming presence.
"Of course, goddess-sama," he managed, his voice only slightly unsteady. "That would be... ah..." He hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. "The room and meal service would normally be fifteen hundred valis per night, plus another five hundred for the special meal preparation..."
"I don't currently possess any valis," Aestoria said with remarkable directness, showing no shame or embarrassment at the admission. "I only just descended today. However, I ask that you extend me credit—allow us to stay now, and I will repay you in full once I've properly established myself. You have my word as a goddess."
Marcus stared at her, his mind screaming that this was absurd. He ran a business, not a charity. In these dark times especially, he couldn't afford to house guests for free on nothing but promises. He should refuse. The practical, sensible part of him knew this with absolute certainty.
Yet even as these thoughts formed, his mouth was already moving, words emerging without his conscious permission: "Of course, goddess-sama. The room is yours for as long as you need it. We can settle accounts whenever it's convenient for you."
The moment the words left his lips, Marcus felt a strange sense of... rightness. As though every instinct he possessed, every intuition honed by decades of reading people and situations, was screaming that trusting this goddess was the correct choice. He didn't understand why. He couldn't articulate the reasons even to himself. He simply knew, with bone-deep certainty, that this being before him would honor her word, that extending this trust was not foolishness but wisdom.
Aestoria's severe expression softened almost imperceptibly, the corner of her mouth quirking in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "Thank you, Marcus. Your kindness will be remembered and repaid, I assure you."
He blinked in surprise—he hadn't told her his name. But of course she knew. She was a goddess, after all.
"Room seven, top of the stairs and second door on the right," Marcus said, retrieving a key from the board behind him with hands that had finally stopped trembling. "It's one of our quieter rooms, away from the street noise. The bed is clean, and there's a washbasin with fresh water. I'll... I'll prepare that meal and have it ready for when the little one wakes."
"Perfect." Aestoria accepted the key with her free hand, careful not to jostle the sleeping child. "I'll return shortly. We have much to discuss about the current state of this city."
The room was exactly as promised—simple but scrupulously clean, with a proper bed covered in blankets that smelled of sunshine and lavender. A small window overlooked a quiet side street, its shutters allowing just enough light to see by without being harsh. Perfect for a child who needed rest and recovery.
Aestoria laid the little girl down with infinite gentleness, arranging the blankets around her thin frame with the care of someone handling the most precious treasure in existence. The child stirred slightly, her small face scrunching up as though expecting pain or cold, but then she seemed to register the softness beneath her, the warmth surrounding her. A tiny, contented sigh escaped her lips, and she burrowed deeper into the pillow, one small hand clutching at the blanket like a lifeline.
For a long moment, Aestoria simply stood there, watching the steady rise and fall of the child's breathing. Something ancient and fierce burned in her chest—a protective instinct that transcended her divine nature and touched something more fundamentally maternal. This child was hers now. Her daughter. And anyone who tried to harm her would learn exactly why she carried the title "Goddess of the End."
Fou hopped down from her shoulder, curling up beside the sleeping girl like a tiny guardian. The creature's eyes—far more intelligent than any normal animal's—met Aestoria's with understanding. He would watch over her while his master attended to other matters.
Satisfied that the child was safe and comfortable for the moment, Aestoria turned her attention to securing the room properly. She began tracing symbols in the air, her fingers leaving trails of faintly glowing energy that solidified into complex magical formulae. These were not the simple bounded fields of standard magecraft—these were the dark, twisted creations of Morgan le Fay, the Witch Queen whose knowledge she had inherited along with her form.
Curses layered upon curses, each more vicious than the last. Anyone who entered this room without permission or with malicious intent would find themselves caught in a nightmare web of cruelty. Their flesh would begin to rot from their bones while they still lived, their minds would fracture into gibbering madness as they experienced every fear they'd ever harbored simultaneously, and their souls would be trapped in an endless loop of dying over and over without the mercy of true death—at least until Aestoria chose to release them, which she might not do for quite some time.
It was excessive. It was brutal. It was absolutely terrifying.
It was exactly appropriate for protecting her daughter.
The magical defenses settled into place, invisible to normal sight but thrumming with barely restrained malevolence to anyone with the senses to detect them. Aestoria gave the room one final inspection, nodded in satisfaction, and quietly closed the door behind her.