Hestia was outside sweeping, humming a cheerful—slightly off-key—tune when she spotted the two girls approaching.
She blinked.
Then blinked again.
Then dropped her broom.
“Hel?! YOU DESCENDED?!”
The goddess of the dead raised a polite hand. “Hello, Hestia.”
Hestia’s jaw worked in small, panicked flaps. “B-But—BUT—You—YOUR DOMAIN—THE DEATH—THE RULES—LOKI—WHAT—HOW—WHY—”
“Is Hephaestus in?” Hel asked, with the same tone someone might use to inquire about today’s weather.
Hestia snapped out of it with a dramatic inhale. “W–WHY do you need Hephy?! Are you here to bring her to the underworld?! Are you here to—”
“No,” Hel said simply. “Ruby fractured her weapon. She requires tools ranked above ‘primitive.’ Hephaestus is the logical option.”
Ruby held up Crescent Rose like a child offering a broken toy. “It’s… um… in pain.”
Hestia blinked at the scythe. Then at the hairline fractures glowing along the blade. Then back to Hel.
“…Why does her weapon look like it lost a fight with a dragon?”
“That is because it did.” Hel answers
Hestia froze.
Her eyes slowly… slowly… tracked back to Ruby.
Ruby, who stood there smiling like the world’s guiltiest puppy.
“…Floor… eleven…?” Hestia whispered, horror blooming.
Ruby nodded.
Hel added helpfully, “The dragon died instantly.”
Hestia slapped both hands onto her cheeks. “THAT’S NOT A REASSURING DETAIL!! Isn’t she NEW!?”
“It was my second trip into teh dungeon.” Ruby chirps
Hestia froze.
Absolutely, completely, spiritually froze.
Then she turned her head toward Hel with the slow, mechanical rigidity of someone bracing for a divine audit.
“…Second… trip…”
Ruby nodded proudly, like she had just announced getting a gold star in kindergarten.
Hel, ever helpful, added, “She also outran the Loki Familia on her way in. At petal-speed.”
“P–PETAL—?!” Hestia sputtered, eyes bulging. “SHE TELEPORTED INTO THE DUNGEON BECAUSE SHE WAS EMBARRASSED?!”
Ruby fidgeted. “It wasn’t teleporting, it was just… um… moving very fast
They reached the workshop door just as a burst of heat rolled out from the forge—Hephaestus was clearly in the middle of one of her “don’t bother me unless you’re dying” sessions.
Hestia hesitated.
“Uh… maybe we should come back later—”
Hel didn’t bother knocking.
She opened the door.
Inside, Hephaestus turned mid-swing, hammer raised, sparks scattering off molten metal.
Her single visible eye landed on Ruby.
Then on Crescent Rose.
Then widened.
“…What,” Hephaestus said slowly, “is that.”
Ruby froze. “…M-My weapon?”
Hephaestus marched toward her like an inspector about to condemn a building.
She grabbed the scythe, turned it, twisted it, clicked one mechanism—
CHK-CHNK—VRRRRRT—CLACK
The weapon shifted, folding into rifle mode.
Hephaestus recoiled like it had tried to bite her.
“WHO MADE THIS!?” she demanded, staring at the impossible number of moving parts.
Silence.
Ruby wilted.
“…I… did…?”
Hephaestus blinked once.
Then twice.
Then a third time, as if her brain had to reboot just to process the concept of a teenager casually forging a master-grade mechashift scythe in her spare time.
Finally, she jabbed a finger directly at Ruby.
“Hel, I want her.”
Ruby made a noise somewhere between a squeak and a dying kettle.
Before Hephaestus could take a single step forward, Hel smoothly wrapped an arm around Ruby’s shoulders and pulled her firmly against her side — a sudden, possessive shield that radiated the cold certainty of a goddess who did not share.
“No.” Hel said simply. “This is my little reaper.”
Ruby blinked, going stiff as a board.
Hephaestus’s good eye twitched. “Hel, you can’t just— you don’t even forge! You don’t need a prodigy smith!”
“I need Ruby,” Hel responded calmly, as if that settled the laws of the universe.
“It’s not even the smith! It’s the WEAPON!” Hephaestus snapped, pointing at Crescent Rose. “This thing shouldn’t EXIST in this world! It— it transforms, it’s made out of alloys I don’t even RECOGNIZE, the weight distribution is absurd.”
Hephaestus leaned in, eyes blazing. “Ruby. Ruby. Sweet child. HOW did you forge this?”
Ruby swallowed. Hard.
“Um… I… just kind of… used what I had… and improvised…? Until it worked?”
In the silence that followed, Hestia silently inhaled like she was watching a meteor fall toward Orario.
Hephaestus dragged a hand down her face.
“…Improvised,” she muttered.
“Ruby has to fix it, However what if you were to provide a forge and the needed tools for her to make. A new one with better materials? You could watch her make it along with some junior smiths.” Hel states
“I am going to need some precision machines to make it.” Ruby responds.
“We have those. An the ones we dont. If you have the designs I can get them made.” Hephastus states.
“So then are we off to the guild to get some land for my familia and a work shop for Ruby here?” Hel asks
Hephaestus stared at Hel like she’d just suggested relocating Mount Olympus using elbow grease.
“…Land?” the smith goddess echoed. “Hel. You descended five days ago.”
“Correct,” Hel said.
“You have enough money for land?” Hephaestus pressed, mildly shocked.
Hel tilted her head. “Hephy… I am massively wealthy.”
Hestia blinked. “Then why do you keep sending every bill for everything you buy to Loki?”
Hel’s expression remained serenely deadpan.
“Because it’s funny.”
Hestia choked. Hephaestus pinched the bridge of her nose like she suddenly understood the source of several of Loki’s stress-induced migraines.
Ruby raised her hand timidly. “…S-Should we… still go to the guild?”
Hel nodded, entirely unbothered. “Yes. Let’s go buy land.”
“And send the receipt to Loki?” Hephaestus asked dryly.
Hel’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “As much as I want to, I’ll foot the bill this time.”