A small girl sits beside a fireplace. Her clothes are worn and covered in ashes, and her hair is pulled back with a faded scarf. Her body is small and frail, and her face is hollow and there are shadows around her eyes. Beside her rests a large porcelain jar with images of different gods and a woman on it. The girl sighs as she stokes the dying flames.

“The fire grows colder every moment. As the fighting grows stronger and the bonds grow weaker, so do the flames. They reflect the status of the immortal world. As people forget about us or stop believing in us, then too does the fire die. When no one believes in us, we fade away. When there is no one to keep the spirit going or to fill the halls of Olympus, then where are we? WHAT are we? We are nothing.

Right now, my fellow Olympians are off at war. Even though my brother tries to use politics to maintain control, war is almost always an inevitable outcome. My former fellow Olympians I guess I should say, since I ceded my seat to Dionysus so as to keep peace on the council. He has yet to thank me for doing so, but I am not worried about that right now. I am more concerned with keeping the family together, at any cost.

I am the least of the Olympians. When something is going on, I am left out of the excitement. This can be good during war because it means I would not be involved or threatened. But because of my ‘lower status’, I am not a welcome addition at council meetings. If I am in the room, it is only by my fire. I am seen but not heard.

I watch over the house and home of the Greek people and of all who believe in us. I am the silent peacekeeper among my dueling family. Why? Because I care. When so much has been taken from me – my rank, my throne, my power, my dignity, my voice, and so on – I remain to keep my family together. That is all that remains for me to do, and I do this with all I have.”

She gazes into the flames, watching them spark and dance. For the first time, her eyes are clearly visible. They look like flames themselves, flaming red and flickering in the light. But they are cozy and welcoming and loving eyes.

“I would never do anything to risk war in my family. I have never married, nor will I have children. Demigods always bring trouble between their godly parents, even if they do not mean to, the innocent children. Their parents brought their fate upon them, and they must suffer because of it. These children should be nurtured, not abandoned. They are left out on their own, no hearth to welcome them home. When they lose hope, they lose all. That is why I am here.”

She glances to the jar by her feet.

“This is Pandora’s box, trusted to me by a hero. All that remains in it is hope. He gave it to me as an offering because ‘hope survives best at the hearth’. So I watch over it, keeping it safe and protecting hope for all those who need it. That is why I stay behind, tending the fire. Because when all else fails, when the other mighty gods are off at war, or when someone loses hope, I am all that remains. Hearth. Home. Hope.”

Hestia resumes her place at the hearth, continuing to stoke the fire and keep watch over Hope.

“I am the last Olympian.”