Chapter 103
“Hestia!”
Baek-ah quickly dug his paws into the snow and pulled Hestia out from where she had been swallowed.
“Finn! Uncle El! Come out here, quick!!”
Gone was his usual prim and aloof manner—Baek-ah hopped frantically around Hestia, calling for help.
“Hestia’s special! Something like this won’t be enough to harm her!”
Before long, Finn appeared, bouncing lightly over the snow as he checked on Hestia.
“Really, such a nuisance.”
El followed soon after, grasping Hestia’s robe with his massive talons and dragging her into the house.
“Uncle El! This way, the room’s over here!”
Finn guided him naturally, as if he had been here countless times before, and El gave a low flap of his wings, managing to haul Hestia onto the bed.
Every extremity—her fingertips, her nose—was already red and frozen from the cold, but Hestia would recover quickly.
Because Hestia was special.
“We need to light a fire right away! Then she’ll wake up faster!”
Struggling under the weight, Finn covered her small frame with a clean blanket, then hurried to the fireplace.
This had once been the house where Hestia stayed the longest, so Finn moved about as if everything was second nature.
“Uncle El! Tell Baek-ah it’s okay for him to leave now!”
“Ordering me around like I’m some errand boy… you’re just a rabbit.”
In a world where the weak were prey, a rabbit was nothing more than a tasty morsel for a hawk. El’s eyes gleamed sharply, but—
“Ah! And bring some water too!”
“Hmph.”
Without further complaint, El breathed sparks into the embers with a flap of his wings before heading out, carrying along the ever-present water bucket.
“Burn the witch!”
When was it again?
Perhaps fifty years after I fell into this novel. Or was it seventy?
“Come out and confess your sins!”
Elinya and Linus, and even Heron and Clara—everyone who had once stood by my side—had all long since passed into the embrace of time.
“Pay for killing my son!”
All that time, Hestia had not taken a single step outside her mansion.
“You vile witch! Bring my husband back!”
Her gloomy mansion, where a ghost might leap out at any moment, was branded the witch’s house. People pointed fingers, hurled stones, and barged in, hoping to slay a monster.
“It’s all her tricks! That’s why it won’t rain!!”
And so, at last, the townsfolk gathered in front of Hestia’s home, torches raised high, as if they had all come to a firm decision.
Before she realized it, every mishap and calamity in the Empire had become her fault.
“Judge the witch!!”
It should have been a pitch-black night.
Yet the room where Hestia sat was filled with the bright orange glow of torches, flooding in like a dawn she had not asked for.
Still curled up in the corner of her bed, Hestia slowly raised her body and approached the window.
The furious voices of the mob surged around her.
“…This time… will I finally die?”
Burned at the stake. It was not a method she had tried before, but it seemed worth attempting.
She had tried countless ways before, all of them failures. With a sigh, Hestia drew the curtains shut once more and let herself collapse back onto the bed.
“How many attempts has it been now?”
The mansion was soon engulfed in a great fire.
It was far from the last time.
Even in nameless little villages where she had quietly lived for over ten years, the story was the same.
The wrinkled baker’s wife, the fruit seller who came clutching his granddaughter, the neighbor’s daughter who had once dragged her around on her very first day in town—now a mother herself, Rosé.
They burst through locked doors, dragged her out, hurled stones, spat at her. The hateful stares were familiar now.
Sometimes, when she came to, she found herself tied to the stake with those who had once defended her. Their crime? Simply being her neighbors.
Heretics who worshipped the wicked witch, they called them.
And after one more death—however many it had been—when she opened her eyes again, only she rose among the cold corpses around her.
The devastation of that moment was indescribable.
The only thing Hestia could do for the innocent was to dig them small graves.
Even when her nails tore and her hands swelled, she never stopped. As if the act of digging was her only penance.
She shed no tears. Empty despair had long since devoured every last luxury of emotion.
Tak—!
As if the stage lights went out.
As if the page of a novel had turned.
Everything went black. Darkness swallowed all.
Perhaps this was her heart itself: a place where nothing remained.
Hestia slowly lowered her gaze. Her hands were not grotesque or scarred—they were smooth, pale, unblemished.
“A dream…?”
At last, she realized this was a dream.
Yes. Perhaps being trapped here was a blessing in disguise.
“Yes… this might be better.”
Without any will to escape, she sank down again, burying her face between her knees.
And just as she closed her eyes—
“Hestia.”
A voice. Familiar.
A voice she had always longed for.
A voice she would never want to wake from, if this truly was a dream.
“You always nagged me, saying I shouldn’t sleep in places like this.”
Elinya.
“Come on, get up. You’ve got plenty of work to do. Not as much as me, of course, but still.”
The protagonist of the novel. Hestia’s old friend. Elinya’s voice.
“…You haven’t changed, Elinya.”
Her voice cracked, brittle, then softened with moisture. But she dared not lift her head.
If she did, she might return to reality. The dream might end. And that terrified her to her core.
“What’s this? You dare ignore the Empress herself? Heron! Chief Steward Heron, where are you?! Look, there he is! If you don’t get up right now, Heron will scold you again!”
“…Tch. You think I’d fall for that again? Not anymore.”
Even if it was only a dream.
It felt as though she had returned to those days.
Her throat tightened with a happiness so fierce it hurt.
She curled her knees even closer, desperate never to wake.
“Still won’t get up? I’ve got a wonderful gift for you.”
Clink—.
A clear sound rang in her ears.
“Go on, look. It wasn’t easy to get my hands on this.”
Tracing back through memory, she recognized the words. If that was the case, then the gift Elinya had prepared could only be—
“…Imperial Topaz.”
Hestia slowly raised her head, gazing at her empty wrist.
“Oh? How did you know? You! I didn’t think you cared much for gemstones, but I guess I was wrong? Then you must know what topaz means?”
“Hope, patience… and immortality.”
Suddenly, Hestia’s vision flared with light. The darkness was gone, replaced by a brilliance that wrapped all around her.
“Much as I hate to admit it… you are clever.”
Not the biting chill of winter, but the gentle warmth of spring, nurturing life, wrapped around Hestia.
That life-filled warmth made her glance around, almost unconsciously.
“Your life isn’t a curse, Hestia. May every moment of fate be with you.”
Clink—.
It was like being anointed with holy water. Her entire body surged with clarity. Something solid filled the hollow in her heart, making it pound with life again.
“Oh! And my great-great-great-grandson—or was it great-great-great-great-grandson? Anyway! Take good care of him too.”
Before she could even adjust to the blessing, Elinya’s final request echoed in her ears, and Hestia was helplessly drawn into the radiance.
Crackle, crackle.
The sound of flames devouring firewood woke Hestia.
“…Ha.”
A breath rattled from her throat, and at last her eyes, sealed shut for so long, let in the light.
She found herself staring at a strangely familiar ceiling.
“This is…”
Thinking it a hallucination, she blinked slowly several times, but nothing changed. She raised her hand—it was the same pale, unmarred hand she had seen in her dream.
With effort, she sat up against the headboard and let her gaze wander slowly around the room.
“…Unchanged.”
It was exactly as it had been six years ago.
The twin beds placed side by side. The broken vase. The worn curtains. The old candlestick. Even the blanket she had carefully chosen for someone.
Except—
“…It’s clean.”
Everything was spotless, without a trace of dust.
The blanket was warm, the sunlight bright, the vase filled with fresh yellow flowers brimming with life.
Her memory cut off after riding Baek-ah endlessly, so the sight before her was full of questions.
How had she ended up back here? Why was the place she hadn’t visited in six years so immaculate?
Hestia slid her feet off the bed and opened the door.
“Wow! Hestia, you’re awake!”
Finn, who had been busy with something, bounded over in one great hop.
“Finn.”
Hestia bent down, reaching out her hand, and Finn leapt onto it with ease.
“Uncle El fetched the water, I lit the fire, and Baek-ah brought fruit!”
At his words, Hestia’s eyes swept over the house, taking it all in at a glance.
The fireplace blazing noisily. The table piled with winter fruits. The water bucket neatly set beside it.
“…Finn, did you clean the house too?”
It bore all the marks of being lived in, as if someone had stayed only yesterday.
“The house? Didn’t you do that, Hestia? I thought that’s why we came here!”
But Finn only tilted his head, ears twitching.
“…I told you to come here?”
“Yep! That’s what Baek-ah said you told him!”
“…Ah.”
Hestia faltered, unable to reply at first.
“But now that you’re awake, I should tell Baek-ah and Uncle El! Especially Uncle El—he was really worried about you!”
Finn hopped off her hand without hesitation and slipped out through the slightly open window.
“See you later, Hestia!”
Left behind, Hestia sank deep into thought.
“…Then who?”
Who had cared for this place so tenderly?
