The hearth was beginning to take shape over the last couple of days. Not just as a metaphor, but as the physical heart of Haven; the hearth was built into a circular, open-air stone forum, reminiscent of the ancient Greek agoras, but it felt more like a sacred amphitheater. Hopefully, it would live up to expectations and would one day become a place to listen, to speak and to gather in warmth.
At the centre was a low circular fire pit, made of polished black basalt, currently being etched with vivid mosaics of Hestia, by Tekto; taking great care to carve the stone with clarity to honor his saviour. There were wards inside the fire pit, placed by Lucas, to stop it from emitting smoke, but Hestia assured them she could do it herself, but they were left as an insurance which caused Hestia displeasure.
The next step, as he recalled, would be three rings of marble and granite seating, sinking slightly into the earth like a bowl, from what Tekto described, Annabeth designed it like this to give room for large groups without any barriers between speakers and audience, with eight paths leading out in a sun-burst pattern leading to the city in the future.
Behind Lucas, soft footsteps rustled the undergrowth. He turned.
The dryads had returned.
Where once they had only watched from the treeline, eyes cautious and limbs stiff, now they emerged into the clearing without fear. Four of them, young and ageless all at once, stepped from the shade of the trees. Their hair, woven with bark and vine, shifted as if touched by a breeze no one else could feel. They looked at him with curiosity but some caution still remained.
"Is this the place?" one asked, stepping out of the group as their spokesperson. Her voice was soft but carried, the way leaves might murmur in an old grove, fitting for a Dryad. "The haven we heard about?"
"It is," he said simply. "Or at least will be when it is built." Lucas gestured over his shoulder where the construction was ongoing.
The Dryads looked at what was being built, and felt the environment around them, they seemed to sense something, for they suddenly gathered together in a huddle and started whispering together.
Lucas watched this before turning to watch Tekto and the automatons again, leaving the Dryads to talk in private, but then he paused, an idea forming in his mind before turning back to the volunteer leader of the Dryads. His stare must have been too intense for she turned toward him, wary and on guard.
He thought of Annabeth's designs, brilliant and clean. Of Hephaestus' automatons, efficiency. And of the people and spirits this place was meant to shelter and so:
"Will you help with the construction?"
That caused the Dryads to freeze in confusion not understanding at first why he would think they could help build this place, the leader spoke gently, "We are not builders, we cannot help."
Lucas realised he hadn't explained himself; he had only blurted the idea out, half-formed, much like what he used to mock Annabeth for.
"We don't need your help with the construction, but with the vegetation, the plants and the trees. A city without such things will always be lifeless, we need someone to help, and who better than nature spirits themselves."
He excitedly explained his vision, small planted alcoves between the outer ring and the paths including herbs sacred to Hestia, Hecate, and future minor gods: lavender, thyme, moonflower, ambrosia blossoms; vines wrapping gently around columns without overgrowing them.
They exchanged glances, a subtle shift of posture causing the sound of bark brushing bark. Then the leader smiled and nodded, accepting his invitation to help build his design.
...
But even as harmony took tentative root in the daylight of Haven, something stirred far beneath the earth. Far from the growing sanctuary, in a place untouched by the glow of sun; buried beneath the Garden of the Hesperides, was a long-unknown temple ruin. Inside, a shrouded man stood before an ancient sundial, atop it seated a cracked hourglass.
The individual's face was obscured by the hood, his hands clasped behind his back, but his head dipped in respect. Before him, the air shimmered like heat over a forge, but no fire warmed this place, the hourglass though broken, radiated power that affected the surrounding world.
A voice, old and powerful, yet strangely weak, broke the silence.
"You returned, did you get the chains?"
"Yes," the man said. His voice was smooth, flowing like warm honey, almost bringing some warmth to the cave. "The Gods acted as expected"
The voice gave a small grunt of acknowledgement, considering his words before saying.
"Then proceed with the plan, we will need an army and he will lead them."
"As you wish." The cloaked man nodded, before asking. "And what of that child of Hecate? What shall we do about him?"
A dismissive snort was what answered him.
"I will invite him one last time, and another I believe will be useful; should they be too foolish to understand then we will teach them their place afterwards."
The man bowed his head lower. "As you command."
There was a distant sound of cracking, before another that came sharper than before. Then it seemed something invisible shattered for there was a sound of glass breaking, a small mote of light came into existence, drifting like a flower atop a current before landing on the hourglass. When it touched, the cracks on the hourglass lit up in a golden glow, giving the vague appearance of veins pulsing with golden blood, the light helped close some of the shallower cracks, while a grain of sand joined those already within.
The voice laughed, its sound grating in the temple, no longer as weak but, firmer, stronger, brimming with intent.