Prologue

In the small village of Eldermist, nestled between misty mountains and sprawling forests, there was a house at the edge of town that no one dared to approach—except for one person. Hestia Hearth, a woman with the power of fire in her fingertips, lived there, her cottage a place of warmth and light, but also of whispered mysteries. Hestia was not like the other villagers. She had a strange connection to the hearth fires she tended, and though the townsfolk didn't understand her, they always came to her for help when the biting winters grew too harsh or when their own fires refused to burn. There was something about her, something that made the flames dance just a little higher in her presence, made the embers glow with an otherworldly brilliance. Hestia Hearth was known for her quiet, steady kindness. Her long, flowing red hair shimmered like embers, and her eyes held the spark of ancient knowledge. But it was her hands, warm and gentle, that carried the true magic. They were always covered in a faint, golden glow, as though the fires she nurtured had become a part of her.