"If I last long enough to have a protégé, they will be called Atlas." It was a murmur into the un-answering darkness. "They need to know that the weight of the world will be on their shoulders and they can't run, they can't shrug it off, it will hang over them, crushing them, until it is necessary for a new Atlas to take over." She sat in the dark of the hall of memories. There was only the sound of crashing water on stone to keep her company. Chips of stone dug into her hips and bare feet. Her chin rested on her knees as she stared sightlessly at the wall (one day a memorial to her would stand there). She wondered why her mother had chosen to name her Artemis (was it supposed to be a reminder that sometimes being alone is best or was it a prayer that she would be able to devise retribution?), she pondered who her Apollo was (because there was no Artemis without Apollo, no matter what people tried to say). Artemis sat and stared and wondered how long her mortal body could bear the name of a god and the weight of the world (split even as it was over all the heroes of the world)?
Maybe all new heroes should be called Atlas, no choice, no individuality. Heroes gave up their individuality anyway, they became a mask (no one saw a mask twist in agony after all, no tears through silicone), what was becoming one many armed creature? They should all be Atlas so the wor… people they protected understood the sacrifice (because they were no criminals paying for their crimes, they chose this life, a kind of crucifixion to pay for the crimes of others)
She knew she was being silly. She wouldn't make it long enough to have more than one protégé, most heroes didn't. Artemis looked at her shaking hands (when was the last time she's really slept? Or eaten? Did she even exist anymore?) maybe she wouldn't last that long either. (For a second she could hear sobbing in the boys bathroom and coughing from the girls. There was no escape, this mountain was crushing them). All that mattered was lasting long enough to train someone to take her place, wasn't it? She just had to hold up her bit of the world long enough for someone else to gain enough strength to relieve her of the burden (she refused to think how much heavier it would get before then).
A red headed blur appeared in the corner of her eye. "Artemis," his voice was gentle (he was a good actor, you almost couldn't hear the sandpaper roughness that came from screaming instead of sleeping), "you've been down here for a long time sweetheart. Come on upstairs, have some dinner with us. Dick made something and it smells delicious." His hand was soft and held hers gently. He pulled her from her thoughts of uncaring gods and the crushing weight of the penitence of Atlas.
(She knew it was originally a punishment, but at some point Atlas had to do it so no one else had to, didn't he?)