Hestia, the gentle and nurturing goddess of the hearth, was known for her calm presence among the gods, a quiet protector of familial bonds. Yet, even her heart trembled when the news reached her: her beloved nephew, Gwyn, the youngest son of Zeus and Hera, had suffered a fate darker than any she could have imagined. Betrayed by his own father, Gwyn was bound not by the chains of the gods or Titans, but by the very essence of the First Flame itself—a soul-scorching curse, worse than death, a never-ending torment.

Gwyn, so full of potential, so full of life, was now irrevocably chained to an endless cycle of suffering. His body and soul had become one with the Fire, a being of flame and fury, constantly burned, yet never consumed. Hestia could not bear the thought of her nephew—her precious family—being condemned to such a fate.

Though her heart broke for him, Hestia knew one thing: the First Flame was not just a source of torment. It was also a source of unyielding power. But that power would slowly drive Gwyn mad if left unchecked. Alone in the darkness of the Fire, lost in an eternal cycle of suffering, he would become a hollow shell of himself, consumed by madness, rage, and despair.

But Hestia refused to let that happen. If the gods were unwilling to act, then she would. She knew Gwyn would need more than just time and solitude to heal. He needed guidance, someone who could help him understand the nature of his curse, someone who could stand by him through the endless years and remind him of his humanity. And thus, she turned to her most trusted followers—the blind, those whose sight was not bound by mortal eyes, but by a deeper understanding of the world.

Among them, she chose the Fire Keeper. A woman who had once served her in the distant past, a priestess who had long ago given up her sight to devote herself to the sacred flame. The Fire Keeper's soul was pure, her heart steadfast. Her blindness, far from being a limitation, allowed her to perceive the world in ways that others could not. She could see into the hearts of others and feel their pain—qualities Hestia knew would make her the perfect guide for Gwyn.

With the blessing of the goddess, the Fire Keeper was sent to the distant, cursed lands where Gwyn suffered. There, she found him, surrounded by the unrelenting flames, a figure both noble and broken. She did not speak to him with pity or fear. She simply stood by him, quietly, with the warmth of her presence.

Over the years, decades, and centuries, the Fire Keeper remained by Gwyn's side, a constant, unwavering presence in the madness of his existence. She taught him to find balance within the chaos, to recognize the difference between the flame of wrath and the warmth of hearth. Though the First Flame's grip never fully loosened, she kept him from losing himself to insanity, helping him to remember who he was, who he had once been, and, perhaps, who he could still become.

But Hestia, ever wise and patient, knew that the threads of fate were in motion. She knew that the Fates—the three sisters who wove the destinies of gods and mortals alike—had plans for Gwyn, plans that were beyond her control. They had the final say in his destiny, no matter how much she tried to intervene.

And so, as the millennia passed, Hestia watched from afar, hoping that her nephew's suffering might be alleviated, even if only a little. But she knew that in the end, the Fates would have their way. The sisters of Fate, with their cold, merciless hands, would laugh quietly from the shadows as the threads of Gwyn's life continued to unravel, his curse binding him ever tighter.

But for now, at least, Hestia could take comfort in the fact that Gwyn was not entirely alone. The Fire Keeper would be his guide through the darkness, his friend through the endless years, a light in the blackness of his cursed existence. And perhaps, just perhaps, that small kindness would be enough to keep him sane until the inevitable, terrible end.