The sunlight filtered gently through the canopy above the ruined station, not bright, but clear, as if the tree themselves had grown comfortable enough to part slightly. Lucas knelt near the broken foundation of what had once been the ticketing booth. A fresh trail of salt had been laid in a perfect circle at its base, and beside him, a bowl of rainwater glinted faintly.
Hecate stood nearby, sleeves rolled and arms bare to the air. The runes she drew shimmered for a moment before sinking into the stone, as though the building itself had acknowledged their presence.
"Wards need to breathe with the land, become one with them," she murmured, crouching beside Lucas. "If you force them, they'll break. But if you coax the place into accepting them, they'll hold and bond."
Lucas nodded, copying her movements. This was his fourth ward. The first had been by the rails, an concealment sigil etched into the ground, to help protect against prying eyes. The second was near the old station's water system, allowing its effects to seep into the ground and into the underground river, helping with keeping it purified. That's right, Hecate had used Lucas' own sigil and added her divine power, allowing it to last fulfilling his original goal of creating it. The third, set around the perimeter; used in conjunction with the natural mist to influence the sensory perception of mortals to not only cloak the land from their sight but to influence them into naturally avoiding the location.
Now, the fourth was just a test by Hecate, one of many that she will do herself. It would connect with others to form a shield, one that would allow the location to remain protected against invaders or any danger from the outside
He sat back on his heels. "There. I think it's done."
"Better than your second attempt," Hecate said, half-smiling. She gestured, and the ward lit up in confirmation. "You have a good sense for it."
A rustling came from near the old tracks.
Nemesis emerged from the trees with a raised brow. Behind her, a floating wagon glided forward, metal-shod wheels never touching the dirt. Celestial bronze bars, crates of bricks, stone blocks, and raw metal ingots shimmered under protective cloths. Tekto followed close behind, clutching a leather-bound notebook.
"First shipment," he said, approaching with a whistle. "Didn't think they'd send the good bronze this early."
He stepped onto the platform, giving the stone a few testing stomps. "Solid. I'll set up the forge over there," he pointed near the old coal shed. "Needs clearing, but the foundations are good. I can have something usable by tomorrow night."
Lucas nodded. "If you need help, let me know."
Tekto glanced at him. "I may. You a smith?"
Lucas froze a little, embarrassed. "No, but I can help with any small tasks so you can focus on the actual forging."
Tekto seemed to consider it for a second before accepting the offer, it would speed things up, however small.
As the day stretched into late afternoon, the camp began to take shape. The wards settled, weaving threads of enchantments over the site like a second skin; some to keep the elements at bay, granting them the choice of weather, some to create a shield to help protect against invaders, and lastly wards designed to prevent unauthorised entry, meaning the only way to enter was through the main entrance at the train station. The forge's bones soon took shape from old stone and reclaimed timber, Tekto turning the old coal shed into his own territory.
By dusk, they gathered near the cleared central area, scrolls and sketches spread out again. A campfire burned gently nearby, conjured by Hestia with a quiet wave of her fingers. Nemesis sat with one knee up, arms resting atop. Hecate leaned against a tree, sleeves dusty. Tekto rested on an overturned bucket, still scribbling ideas. Lucas sat cross-legged, elbows on knees.
"We need a name," Lucas said.
"Haven't you been calling it Haven or Sanctuary all this time? Why do you need a name?" Nemesis said.
"A haven is a place," Hestia answered. "But that's just a word, we need a name, an identity."
Tekto shrugged. "Call it whatever you want. Just give me enough space for my tools."
Lucas looked at the firelight reflected in the faces around him. "Let's think. Something that reflects the reason it was built. Something that means home."
They tossed around ideas. Some in Ancient Greek. Some absurd. Some solemn. They didn't choose one that night. But the talking mattered.
Later, long after the fire had died to embers and the others had drifted off to their tasks or tents, Lucas fell asleep beside the scrolls.
Under the soft hush of night, the three goddesses gathered a short distance from the camp.
Hecate stood with her arms folded. "You're actually helping?"
Hestia nodded.
Nemesis tilted her head. "You've never interfered like this before."
"I do not interfere," Hestia said, her voice soft but firm. "I tend the hearth. Wherever it's lit."
The embers drifted in the air between them, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat in the night.
"He reminded me why I lit the first flame in Olympus," Hestia said. "Not for power. Not even for order. But to make sure my family would have a place to call home."
Hestia closed her hand, snuffing the ember. The darkness was complete now, but the warmth remained.
Nemesis crossed her arms. She stared at the scattered campfire remains and the boy asleep near its edge, his cloak wrapped around him.
Hecate watched her son, her eyes softening slightly, she spent the night like that, knowing that in the future he will be something more than just her child.