"There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls." George Carlin
The sky burns a rich, bloody ombre. The clouds char black before layers of amber light, even as the sun dips past the distant horizon.
Artemis watches steadily, not making a single sound. She is comfortable where she is, as timeless and ageless as the cycles she both witnesses and represents. Her arms loosely hug her right leg, with her other leg tucked beneath.
It's picturesque, sitting at the edge of a churning waterfall, gazing beyond to the sunset.
In her current position, she would've been exposed enough to be considered scandalous in her classic tunic. But times change - Artemis is dressed in modern sensibilities. Silver long sleeves, jeans, tennis shoes, and an oversized but nonetheless cozy olive army jacket.
The goddess has nothing against contemporary fashion. She wears it often enough, after all, as they are simply designed better for outdoor wear and tear, and various climates and environments. She does not dislike, per se. But she likes the more archaic tunic, as impractical and strange it would be to wear today. A return to form, a quiet simplicity and freedom.
Alas, sacrifices must be made. Clothing is hardly noteworthy, at best. Everything is predicated on what happens next, all the chips are down - she must be prepared for what's to come.
Or rather, what she hopes is to come.
Hopefully this works. There isn't a set formula for what she's about to do.
Some things are clear. Sundown is appropriate. It is not her moon, but her soul is its last quarter. Not visible until past midnight. Its phase is quite fitting … but ultimately subservient to more immediate, more relevant, more powerful auspices.
The setting sun is that - partially. The concept of constancy, of balance, is more prevalent in the tandem of day and night by the sun. Artemis has long accepted the sun's supremacy in that matter. It is as it should be. The moon, on the other hand, is about change.
Change, and insanity. Also appropriate.
Nevertheless, it is not that every sunset is so relevant. Today's, Artemis rationalizes, is only so due to its tandem with the autumnal equinox.
Now is a multiplicity of shifts - the fall of day before night, as nights begin to outlast days.
A wolf howl pierces the rumble of the waterfall, soon followed by a familiar series of harmonizations. A special, almost distinctive call, taught to her hunting companions. Artemis doubts anyone but her can recognize the exact pattern anymore, and the subcontext of the modulations that conveyed information on the target.
In this case: Singular. No scent. Two hundred meters. Stationary. Female. Extremely powerful. Approach with caution.
Artemis had given up on covering her tracks weeks ago. Essentially, she'd gone from absolutely untraceable to almost untraceable.
She'd known her Hunt was on her tail for the past few days. She had stayed in the general area of this falls for a week, so it was unsurprising that someone finally got close. And it was … right, that it was her Hunt to do so. Only Zeus would know how she would respond to someone else finding her, or, Father forbid, Apollo finding her.
That tangent - her brother - yanks at her thoughts, distracting Artemis even as she senses her Hunters closing in.
It had been a year since she's felt her brother's presence.
For all the crap she'd gotten shoved in her lap by Apollo, for all her anger at his idiotic mistake - scratch that, mistakes - he'd been a good sibling. Their issues had never been any direct grievance, and for all their fighting, it was always just the quintessential squabbles of siblinghood.
Wasn't that funny? It's the end, and her last thoughts are of her brother. Not quite the end, but who cared about the semantics?
What wonderful irony, that it's her brother that led her to this point. Even with Percy's … reasoning behind not being together, she would have never considered the option she's taking now without the example of her twin.
The sun is so low that everything between her and the sun are only silhouettes, pure shadow.
Perhaps she'll see him again in the next life.
With that morbid thought, she twists - and then slips over the edge. Carried by the water, down into the darkness.
It's barely a drop, the waterfalls being as small as they are. A path diverged, one continuing, the other into, according to mortals, the unknown.
In that moment, in that fall, Artemis catches a glimpse of her Hunt, bursting out into the clear, a name of Thalia's lips - and then she's gone.
The only sign that Artemis was ever there is a single arrow embedded into the rock, with a damp note attached, fluttering in the breeze.
Past the initial rush, beyond the reach of sunlight, the black that swallows Artemis is absolute. Eyes wide shut, she sees nothing. It's impossible to even know if there is any light emanating from her silver aura. She can only hear the sound of rushing water be replaced by whistling wind, and feel her stomach heave as she falls and falls and falls and falls and falls …
There are dozens and dozens of passageways into the Underworld, known and not. Those not monitored always share one characteristic - the risk of traveling through.
The wind whipping by her ears sounds vast - the hole must have widened after the initial entry point. Artemis spreads her arms and legs into freefall position, doing her best to slow her descent.
Decades ago, she'd smelled the vile and unmistakable aroma of the Underworld at that waterfall. It had just been a curiosity at the time. The fact that a possible entry to Hades's realm existed had filtered to the back of her mind, amongst the many hunting grounds and trails she remembered.
When Artemis realized she required a method to get to the Underworld undetected for her plans, she'd immediately thought of the strange waterfall. After a few days of investigation and probing, the goddess verified that the hole in the Earth literally reached hell (she'd manifested an arrow then dropped it, and eventually, her sixth sense told her the shaft of moonlight had hit rock bottom). Whether she could pass through both safely and under the radar was a different question altogether.
A question Artemis really wishes she had the answer to, as she continues to fall. She doesn't dare use any of her powers anymore - anything like transforming or extending her senses is akin to ringing her Uncle's doorbell.
The wind is getting louder, funneling up - she can feel the rock around her tapering, narrowing. How close would the walls get? Flicking knives from her sleeves, the goddess takes a deep breath and clenches her jaw. Closing her eyes, she reverses her grip and performs a single overhead stab, driving a silver blade into the rock.
As her upper half begins to slow, her lower half continue at the same speed. As a result, the rest of her body flies toward the wall. In a second, lower stab, Artemis keeps herself from splattering against the wall, though she's sure she's caused some internal bleeding from a knife handle to the gut.
Still her momentum continues on, and her blades carve their way through the earth as she holds on, tighter than death. Despite her supernatural strength and body, it's as if her arms are being torn off.
She's a goddess - she can survive smashing into the Underworld at 120 miles per hour. Nonetheless, Artemis prefers all the abuse her arms can take to that prospect.
It takes a minute of pulverizing stone and screeching metal, bleeding palms and slippery handles, and sore arms and heaving breaths for her to grind to a halt. Artemis doesn't know how long she waits to recover, but she chides herself back into action when shrapnel no longer rains from above.
Opening her eyes, she blinks as she realizes she can see again. The silver light of her aura is unrepentant, revealing to her eyes the golden ichor dripping from her palms, and the deep, vicious gouges in the stone before her. Swallowing thickly, she looks down to her feet, and her eyes widen in surprise as they adjust to the tiniest hint of blue-ish light below her. It's a pinprick, hundreds of feet down, and she can't tell where it opens to.
But where else could she go?
Artemis half-heartedly tugs at her knives, hoping to keep her weapons. But she has neither the strength nor the leverage for it.
The goddess groans as she lets go of a knife, hanging on by only her right arm. Flexing, she lets her last knife drop down her sleeve.
But before she can do anything else, her grip slips, and she plummets. Trying to stab into the wall again rattles her entire arm, and her left hand spasms, causing her to lose that blade as well.
Fuck.
The ground approaches. She can already feel the agonizing pain of impact.
She can't look. Artemis rolls into a ball, hoping for the best.
When Artemis is conscious again, she's exactly where she wants to be.
The Styx was the border between Earth and the Underworld. Every passage always leaves the visitor on the other side of the river.
Ignoring the pain echoing throughout all of her body, she stands and stares into the polluted waters, looking more made of broken dreams than liquid.
Artwork after contract after diploma after corsage after toy after dress after rin-
She steps into the shallows, picking out a silver ring before it can drift too far. Its design is simple, but the most obvious feature is a gash in the metal.
Her hopes and dreams shall not share the same fate.
Artemis drops the silver band, before flinching (painfully) in surprise when another hand rises from the river to catch it.
A young girl made only of inky water rises from beneath the layers of debris.
"What brings you here, Lady Artemis?" Styx gurgles disinterestedly, her liquid gaze unfathomable.
"I- I come to forswear my oath." There is no more room for hesitation - Artemis has done too much, gone too far for all to come to naught. The river goddess shall not faze her now.
"Oh?" Styx replies, montone. "That's new. You only have the one oath, and you have yet to even break it. Not that anyone takes the consequences seriously anymore. No one has drank from my waters in over a millenia."
Artemis focuses through the pain, looking at Styx in the eye. "I know you can do much more than that, Styx. I was not there, but my brother …"
Styx tilts her head, finally reacting. "I suppose I should be surprised, but twins have always been been different." She facepalms, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "And that suggests your wish is to do the same. Reckless. Foolhardy. Insane."
Artemis nods, ignoring Styx's comments.
"Do what you will, then, Artemis …" The goddess gives her one last watery look. "I respect your conviction, if nothing else. You have my blessing," she adds, almost mournfully. Then Styx's presence disappears, and the body of water she inhabited loses form, splashing down back into the river.
All alone now. The goddess presses forward, and stops as the water reaches her waist.
The water is more turbulent here, and the magical properties within are finally making themselves known. Her legs are tingling unpleasantly - it's not hurting her, but the sensation is alien and strange.
Time to embrace it.
Artemis turns around, facing the shore she left moments before.
She closes her eyes, and remembers.
She remembers her birth, and her brother's birth.
She remembers arriving at Olympus.
She remembers her oath to her father.
She remembers the parts already broken: swearing to oversee childbirth, to stay away from the cities; or obsolete: her Cyclops forged weapons, the loss of her companions …
Time for the rest to become mere memory.
"I renounce my names," Artemis begins, whispering. She lowers her hands into the river, letting them trail off in the current.
"Aeginaea. Lygodesma. Naupactus. Agoraea. Argrotera. Aphaea. Potnia Theron. Kourotrophos. Locheia. Cynthia. Amarynthia. Phoebe. Alphaea. Anaitis. Apanchomene."
So many names that she'd asked for in vain, to distinguish herself from Apollo.
How infantile.
"Phaesphoria."
She shudders, reciting this one in particular. It's the only one she'd wanted specifically, the only one that had any meaning to her to begin with and any meaning left.
But it had to go.
"I renounce my titles," Artemis says, voice softer than before. "Artemis of the Wildlands. Mistress of the Animals. Bringer of the Moon."
She gasps, a wet breath that restrains the tears at the corners of her eyes. "Goddess of the Hunt."
Something incorporeal is leaving her, something she knows she will never know. Something beyond her understanding, beyond anyone's understanding.
Her final ties, shattering.
Artemis smiles, a fragmented expression that conveyed something irrevocably broken … but also something undeniably happy.
Her final words are spoken conversationally, undercutting their weight. Not that it mattered.
"I renounce my maidenhood. I renounce my godhood. I renounce my immortality."
And with that, she falls into the Styx.
All her pain is … gone, washed away. It's so comfortable in the waters.
Artemis wants to fall asleep. It seems so easy, to just drift off, fade away …
It would be nice to just disappear. No more weight on her shoulders, no more worries, no more pain … Just forget who she is.
Alrighty then, a familiar voice said. And I thought I was the idiot.
A shock passes through her system, and her eyes jolt open. She's no longer drowsy, and the Styx tears her away downstream, tumbling her end over end.
"I guess you actually fell in the water this time." It's Percy's voice, much clearer now. "Hey, don't drown on me now. You don't wanna be the damsel in distress, do ya?"
Her eyesight sharpens, her body is reinvigorated. Artemis resists the rapids, looking up to the surface. Percy's there, peering through a hole in the sheets of ice. He's holding in a chuckle, in his camp clothing and dripping wet.
"Well, how about it, Moonbeam?" He smiles. "Come on. Take my hand."
And the memories come flooding back, sharper and more vivid than ever before. She was here for a reason, and she's done. It's time to go.
She reaches up and takes his hand.
Artemis bursts out of the river, out of a hole in the ocean, and lands on the rocky shore.
She groans - everything hurts again - and props herself up. Everything's too bright - she uses a hand to block out the sun - the sun?
Her eyes adjust, and she moves her arm just in time to see the sun descend behind the Pacific Ocean.
Blinking in surprise, Artemis rubs her eyes - but no, she's actually here.
Then she turns her attention to her stinging hands, red rivulets of blood trickling down her arm -
What?
She flips her hand, and her palm is crimson, blood leaking from her self-inflicted wounds.
It's too much.
She blacks out.