O mother. O light of my life, light of everything. The hard stone of the floor hurt his knee, but it seemed like a fair arrangement to feel the presence of his goddess. She who had given her body to provide succor for the less fortunate, the warmth of the hearth to throw back the cold. Deserving of your presence I am not, and yet I pray.

“Little brother, I have not seen you in some time. How goes your studies?”

“They go well, sister.” Brenn opened his eyes and smiled softly up at the middle aged woman staring gently down at him. As was their custom, she blessed him with the the touch of her hand about the crown of his head and bowed. He repeated the movement, knelt as he was. It was a beautiful church, one of the larger cathedrals dedicated to his goddess. Vestia was a giving divine, philanthropist and altruist, not one for larger structures. Even so, he was awed by the majesty of the place every time he entered it, feeling so small below that arched roof and the gold leafed relief of her face about the walls. It was truly beautiful, her radiant visage carved into the marble for all to see. “Deus ex gratia.”

“Deus ex gratia.” The sister repeated, but the grace of the goddess. “You appear troubled, little brother. Speak to me.” As the goddess, so was the faith, almost uniformly women and as gentle as ever. Understanding, like true sisters and mothers to him. He loved them, and knew that they loved him in turn. While this was not where he'd been raised, it was no different. The house of light was a place of love and warmth, except for the few more colder gods such as Vanator. Brenn didn't believe he could follow in the footsteps of the inquisitor, more at home beneath the light of Vestia than anywhere else. “For what do you pray?”

“For purity, for guidance.” Brenn replied. He truly loved these priestesses, all so radiant and divine – not as a man might, but as a son. There was no equal to them in any house save Aphrosia, the goddess of love. But as a one-time orphan he'd always valued comradery and familial bonds over the instincts of the flesh. “For succor, a soothing of the soul.”

“You need ask for no such thing.” She smiled, patting his head and bidding him to rise and follow, and so he did. Nodding respectfully to the priestesses and few male faith militant in the cathedral. Walking back to the 'confession' in calm quiet. Unlike some other churches, Vestia's confession was not separated by a lattice. Just two humble stools so as to allow priestess and faithful to see and embrace one another. “You are already saved, little brother.”

“It is not for me, sister.” Brenn seated himself, frowning in consternation. “It is for my friend.”

“Your friend.” She repeated, a twinkle in her eye. The idea that these woman could be so absurdly kind and caring at all times was a great balm to his soul. “Tell me of this friend of yours. Is he of the faithful?”

“He is not.”

“Does he sin.”

“I believe he does.”

“Is he repentant?”

“He is not.”

“Many are not.” She replied, smiling all the while. “But that does not mean they walk in darkness, to be flawed is to be human. To be human is to be loved by the hearth. Tell me of your concerns, little brother. Know that I feel both pride and joy that you would so selflessly seek to light the way for another, for we are all Her children. Who is this friend of yours?”

“Mother, I...” Brennwulf nearly choked with emotion, the kind he could not show to others, he was an exceptionally sensitive man and had always been. As a boy, he'd been beaten for it times beyond counting, and though he was too large and able bodied to experience that any longer, he had not changed in this way. Gentleness of spirit, and not because the goddess asked for it, but because that's who he was to begin with. “His name is Tyr Ebonfist, and he is twisted by experience. He struggled with his demons and I fear that they will overcome him. I do not know how to help him.”

“Does he want to be helped?” She asked.

“I do not believe he does, sister, and that is what concerns me the most. I believe he knows who and what he is, and drowns in the misfortune he wreaks. But he tries, I can see that he wants to be better, he had asked of our faith and I have seen him visit the house of the faithful. Standing before our edifice, staring and never entering, a great shame painted on his face. I believe he hates the gods because he sees the ills of the world reflected in the faith, but I also believe he wants for the succor of communion. To know himself, to be pulled into Her embrace, and if not Her, then another.”

“He sounds like a complicated man. With a past that had etched mourning into him, as it has so many before, our sins are many but She forgives us.”

“And through her warmth we are made pure again.” Brenn nodded. He was not a priest, not the strictest adherent, not the masked and silent militant of the other houses who whipped and flayed themselves in supplication. But he knew her words, and they brought great pleasure to him in their repetition. Vestia's scripture was about love, friends, and adherence to individuality so as to bring about true sincerity, not an act but a way of life.

“You want to know how to help your friend?” She asked, and Brenn nodded once more. “Flaws are for the individual, a community might provide a steady hand to guide them but we are not a faith of dominion over others. Do you feel guilty, because he is flawed?”

“I...” Brenn would've said he didn't, and it wouldn't have been a lie necessarily. But he couldn't help that part of himself that wanted to drag people out of their mess the way he'd been done, and it had helped him so much.

“It is hard to say.” The sister chuckled softly. “Humans are complicated, and are you and I not humans ourselves? This is not a flaw, our scars run deep and neither of us are free of their touch. To be a pillar is enough, you are a man of action as the faith militant we treasure so deeply, but forcing your way through the cracks of a broken man is not our way. It is foolish, you will do nothing but widen them further, discovery comes from within – little brother. You know this, I suspect.”

“I do.” Brenn replied, stock still in his stool and considering her words. The hearth was a thing of fire and light, like Vestia, a goddess worshiped in once twin houses under both elements. But as a thing of fire, it was damaging, a less that coming too close might harm – the perfect distance was needed. To understand the limitations of a relationship, not to love wildly as those of Aphrosia's faith, but to protect and stand sentinel when and where possible. To suffer no evil, to light the way for others but not to burn them. “And...”

“I have heard.” She smiled again. “I know all of my faithful, Brennwulf of no house. You are my son, and I've loved you since before you came to kneel in my house. So little, back then, such a rascal – but we clothed you and bathed you. Fed you, made you strong. Do you love me?”

“I...”

“Yes.” The sister nodded. Or rather not the sister, but whatever the avatar of the goddess she'd chosen to manifest in. “You and I are family, little Brenn. Do not be so shocked, do not throw yourself at my feet – this is not our way and you know better. Though I will admit that I am a bit stung by your lack of an immediate yes.” She smiled warmly, a bit of mischief in her eye.

“I do love you, my goddess. With all my heart.” Brenn asserted himself with as much authority as he was able to muster, nearly falling out of his chair in the process. Some priestesses could, and would, claim to be Her avatar – but he felt this was not so simple a case as that. “I could never, and would never love anything more.”

She tutted, standing and resting her hand on his head again, such incredible warmth and security radiating from the flesh. “This is also not our way, little brother. I love, and receive love, but to call me your one and only is simply too quick a pace. This is our first true meeting, you should consider buying a woman dinner first before you throw yourself at her.”

“...” What else was there to do than to be silent? Brenn blushed madly, shuddering under a duality of how pleasant her hand felt and how incredibly awkward her words made him feel.

“Yes, little brother.” 'Vestia' laughed, and the sound of it... Soul aching, wind chimes in a gentle breeze, his felt his entire body shuddered with excitement just to hear the exclamation. “I most certainly jest, but I would never refuse you. You, for all your faults, will always be the best of my faithful – I think. But your love will not arrive for some years, and I have awaited this coming for a long time. You, my chosen, my child and beloved brother. But I am sure that you worry less for yourself, and still for this friend of yours.”

“I do.” He replied honestly, never in any circumstances would he lie to Her. Whether it was 'Her', or just a priestess and voice, it didn't matter. She had come to him when he was at his darkest point in his life, pulled him towards Her house. Fed and clothed him, made him strong, there would be no true love for anyone but Her.

“Then I'll make you a promise. Though I would be remiss if I do not assert the fact that apostles of darkness trouble me, I will do as you wish. I will warm him, see to it that his fires are stoked and what light remains inside is well fed. An opportunity for growth is what I will provide, but I can do no more. I know of this friend of yours, I have seen through your eyes as was agreed when you took the oath of moment. For you, I will do this time, but I cannot guarantee a result – little brother.”

“I understand, my goddess.” Brenn looked up from the floor, determined to meet Her eyes and leave a good impression, but she was already gone. “Thank you...”

He wasn't sure if he was going mad, hallucinating it all, or if the crackling of a split log within the hearth to herald a shower of rising embers would serve as some approximate to an answer. It would have to be enough, so blessed was he to be here in this moment that he spent the night in the cathedral again for the first time in recent memory. Sleeping more soundly than he had in a while.