Artemis was cold, and she couldn't breathe. She didn't need to, though, nor did she need worry about the freezing void. Sighing contentedly, she basked in the feel of the powdery soil beneath her bare feet before lowering herself to sit, reclining against the gentle slope of the Tycho crater. It was one of her favorites, despite its unexceptional size; young enough that it still shown brilliant white and so well preserved that she could imagine, with perfect clarity, the comet racing impossibly quickly towards Selene, coming closer and closer until it landed in an explosion of rock and ice.
It was odd for her to think about how the mortals had made it here when they'd so recently begun traveling through Zeus' domain. She hadn't been sure whether to be insulted that they dared to or pleased that they worked so hard and journeyed so far in pursuit of it. In the end, she'd offered neither curses nor blessings to the astronauts; they'd conducted themselves respectfully, but any goodwill she may have felt for them was far overshadowed by Apollo's insufferable glee at the mortals naming their spacecraft after him.
Their curiosity was understandable. Sometimes, she too wondered what laid beyond the borders of this galaxy. Had She Who Is All created more siblings for Gaea? The primordials were not like to speak with her nor any of the other gods, with limited exceptions. She'd not been present when Poseidon bargained with Pontus, nor alive when Kronos slayed Ouranos, nor was Gaea of a mind for conversation after she awoke. Were there other pantheons, out there in the universe? Was there another goddess that sought refuge on another barren moon, that ran wild through the forests and uncivilized places of an unknown planet, that kept watch with keen eyes over alien maidens or mothers in the throes of childbirth?
She conjured a lyre and began to play slow, considering notes. She would never tell Apollo, but she'd tried her hand at several instruments, though it was the lyre that held her heart above all others. It was akin to a bow, but one that produced song rather than death when its strings were plucked. Already, she'd spoken with Hermes, so that if her brother ever discovered her guilty pleasure, a contest would assuredly end in her favor. After all, keeping Apollo's ego in check was a thankless but necessary task. She did, admittedly, enjoy it, but it was not for the faint of heart, nor for the indolent, and it required a healthy measure of cunning.
"It's beautiful," Selene said from beneath her, without assuming a body, "what's it called?"
Artemis' fingers paused for a moment before remembering their task. "I'm not certain. I believe heard it somewhere, but I cannot recall."
Selene hummed. "The melody trudges forward, and the notes sound melancholy."
"I wouldn't say melancholic, more… somber," Artemis replied, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes in thought.
"Why so somber, then?"
With a wry smile, Artemis said, "Terrestrial problems."
She could feel amusement coming from the Titaness. "The worst kind."
"Indeed. For thousands of years, there's been little conflict besides the petty, and now it seems the wars wish to make up for lost time."
For a brief instant, the Moon vanished, leaving Artemis hanging in the endless void even as she felt the line between Artemis and Selene blurring, two becoming almost but not quite one entity. Past the separation between the two that were not one, Artemis could feel fondness, that of a mentor and friend, the same she knew that Helios had felt for Apollo.
Then the moment ended, and Selene reappeared underneath and in front of her, taking the form of a young woman with pale, luminous skin that glowed against the silvery chiton she wore. Her hair was caramel and densely curled, and her eyes were as dark as space, save for white, cratered orbs hovering at the center.
"War never ends, but even it cannot rage forever. Soon it will sleep, and in turn peace will wake from its long slumber," the personification of the Moon said, taking a seat to Artemis' right.
The goddess hummed thoughtfully. "This one, I'm afraid, seems poised to foment more unrest, regardless of the victor."
Selene rested a hand on Artemis' shoulder. "Worry and you'll suffer twice."
"Easy to say here," she replied, "hundreds of thousands of miles away from the tumult."
"You know you and your mortal girls are always welcome," Selene said, "That your father fights need not mean you do as well."
Artemis hesitated but shook her head. My impartiality would not be forgiven, not when I've already declared, and the stakes are too high to remain neutral. The memory of the prophecy came forth unbidden, and she groaned inwardly as it repeated over and over in her ears. The coming meeting will be suffering enough, I need not torture myself further with idle musings on unclear futures, she told herself firmly.
Most of her was already back on Earth, riding her chariot pulled by four golden hinds or patrolling the cornerstones where she'd laid her traps. A large part of her wished that Poseidon would again send his son to seek control over more of Ouranos' seed; a fight would, certainly, be more interesting than strategizing with the Olympians and minor gods that answered Zeus' call. The company would hardly be pleasant, either. She felt no fondness for most of her nephews. A pang shot through her heart as her mind drifted to Pan. He was kind and respectful and gone.
"A pity. I would have enjoyed meeting them again," Selene said, wistfully.
A pang pierced Artemis' heart at the thought of how few of the current hunters Selene knew. "The invitation is returned, I hope you know."
The Titaness nodded. "Thank you, but I'm content here, for now," she replied, looking towards the sun.
I wonder what it's like to fade, Artemis mused morbidly. For the sake of Hermes' son and her predecessor, she hoped it was quiet, and peaceful. Though Selene yet lived, and could for as long as the Moon endured, Helios had willingly allowed himself to slip into oblivion, leaving only his flaming corpse behind.
Artemis rubbed the silty surface of the moon in comfort and in return felt a vague feeling of warmth from Selene. I doubt she'll ever forgive him. If Apollo ever acted thus and sought relief from existence, Artemis was certain that she would hunt down his ghost and force it to listen to the worst music she could possibly find; his incorporeal form would hardly be a suitable target for arrows. Not that gods left ghosts. When they faded, that was the end.
"Earth has changed much from when you last visited."
Selene arched her eyebrow. "I do have a rather excellent view from here. Even were I blind, it was rather difficult to miss the humans walking on me. I half-expected you to smite them for their audacity."
Shaking her head, Artemis replied, "They bore no disrespect. Besides," she continued pointedly, "had you any objection, there was little they could do."
"I will admit to being a touch flattered that humanity put in such effort to visit," answered Selene with a smirk.
"Had I known your ego was being so poorly neglected, I surely would not have let such an egregious offense pass."
Selene scoffed. "My self-esteem is fine, thank you very much."
"Of course- I'm not sure how I could ever have doubted that, with your head measuring upwards of… 6,500 miles around," Artemis replied.
"I'll have you know my figure is quite reasonable compared to other moons and celestial objects," the Titaness defended loftily, lips curling into a smile that withered as quickly as it had bloomed. "Speaking of, I must have words with you."
"What about?" asked Artemis, though she knew already.
"I do not appreciate when my domain is held for so long," Selene said after a short pause.
A gentle warning, but one nonetheless. "It was a moment of desperation, unlikely to be repeated."
"I would prefer," said the Titaness, tone growing a touch colder, "that it not be repeated at all. You have not done so before, and I ask that it be so again."
Artemis turned to her, narrowing her eyes. The pale skin of Selene's hands were stretched tight over her cloth-covered knees, and the silver sclera of her eyes was foreboding. "As you say," Artemis capitulated.
Artemis' claim to the moon had always come second to Selene's. Neither could claim true dominion over it, for Artemis' domain was not restricted like Hecate's, who only held the New Moon, and neither could steal it from the other, but Selene was the Moon, even outside of her true form. Artemis' only recourse against a challenge would be to reach terms, cow her into willingly give up her domain, or cast her into Chaos. Though the Titaness could not hope to win a fight, Artemis would not be able to bring herself to wrong her friend and mentor so.
"Thank you," said Selene, relaxing her tense grip and facing the sun once more. "I mean not any offense, nor do I wish to seem uncaring of your Earth-born struggles, but the Astra Planeta were most displeased, and gave me quite the earful in your absence."
"I see," answered Artemis with a wince. "My condolences."
The Titaness laughed softly, the sound faintly ringing like wind chimes in the emptiness of space. "No apologies are needed, only caution in the future. Stilbon in particular was irritated, though that is to be expected; Mercury stands closest to us. Still, worry not, for none are near enough to have true cause for action, and the Moon was not gone long enough to cause long-lasting harm."
"I'm glad to hear it." Her words were neither idle nor insincere. While the Planets had never stirred to any significant degree, invoking their wrath would be most unwise. "I am afraid that I must take my leave presently," the goddess said regretfully. She'd prefer to leave a manifestation behind, for it had been too many years since she'd last spoken with the other thus, but duty came before pleasure.
"What compels you?" asked the Titaness.
She grimaced. "A war council. And my nephews will be there."
"Farewell, then. Try not to shoot any of them," Selene said with a dip of her head and curl of her lips.
"Don't tempt me," Artemis muttered, before closing her eyes and slipping into her true form, reveling in being whole again, once more taking her domains into herself. For an impossibly brief instant, she was the Hunt, Childbirth, Maidens, the Wild, and the Moon, hanging in the space between stars with her mentor and friend.
When Artemis released her forms, her domains and essence spread through the world, from her lustrous chariot to a meadow and a forest of pines and ash and lastly, regretfully, on Olympus, in the Throne Room. The other gods that had heeded Zeus' call were already present: Ares, Apollo, Hephaestus, Dionysus, Hera, and Athena. Before them stood a small host of minor gods. She recognized most of them and liked few of them.
"About fucking time," muttered Dionysus, taking a long draft from his crystal wine glass. The red spirit inside resembled fresh blood, and there was no less within after than before. He still wore his leopard-skin toga, and the grapes that circled his brow were ripe for vinifying. "Can we finally get this party started?"
"We can," rumbled Zeus, eyeing his son admonishingly. He wore a dark pinstripe suit, but down the length of his tie, lightning flashed. "Take your seat, Artemis."
"As you say, Father," she assented, and stalked over to her lustrous throne, reclining against back, which was carved with palm leaves and a full moon. Beneath her, the wolf's hide was soft and comforting.
"Herakles, Kratos, Zelus, Aelous, Nike, Bia, Hebe," called Zeus.
Don't look at him, Artemis told herself as the gods of Heroes, Strength, Zeal and Rivalry, and the Master of the Winds as well as the goddesses of Victory, Power, and Youth stepped from the throng to stand before Zeus. You'll not be forgiven for killing an ally in a meeting, regardless of his impotence. Following the god-king's example, the rest of the Olympians began calling those in their thrall.
"Deimos, Phobos, Enyo, Cydoemus," said Ares. Terror, Fear, Violence, and the Din of Battle.
Dionysus sighed and raised his goblet in silent toast. On cue, Kakia, goddess of Vice, Lyssa, spirit of Mad Rage, and Adelphagia of Gluttony, plump and dressed in a decadent purple chiton, walked over to his grapevine throne.
"Pneuma," rasped Hephaestus anticlimactically, and the goddess of Metals strode over to him, clothed in a shimmering dress of impossibly intricate mail. He narrowed his eyes beneath bushy brows at the rest of them. "I prefer my automatons," he grumbled.
Hera waved over Argus, who'd been recalled from Camp Half-Blood. The giant, clad in his blue suit and covered in eyes blinking arrhythmically, was the only one of a height with those enthroned, who towered over the minor gods.
The twins held only mortal servants or immortals unsuited to war. She took stock of those sworn to an Olympian and those that had come of their own volition, as she knew the others were doing as well: Melinoe of Ghosts and her half-brother, Zagreus of Rebirth; Dikaiosyne, Dike, Nomos, minor gods of Righteousness, Justice, and Law; Kairos, He of Opportunity; half a dozen others that Artemis couldn't recall.
Zeus had not been pleased when Athena suggested allowing the minor gods' presence at the War Council, but given the boy's wish after the Second Titanomachy, he'd caved to Wisdom, that the Sea god might entice no more to his side
"Apollo, neither you nor your oracle have yet given us a prophecy," Zeus began, tone accusing.
Raising his hands up in surrender, clad in a sunshine-yellow chiton belted with woven gold and clasped with a gilded sol. the sun god replied, "Sorry, but prophecies only come through the Three's Loom, and whatever they're weaving, it's too tight for any divination to pass."
"The Second Titanomachy and Gigantomachy's were each preceded by a Great Prophecy," observed Athena.
"Hey, if you want to start making demands of the Fates, be my guest, but I don't foresee that going well."
"Enough. My brother presents a far lesser threat than the Crooked One or the Earth Mother. Perhaps that is why, but should that change, I expect to know the moment you do."
Apollo bowed his head. "As you say."
"Good. Athena, report," commanded the god-king in his obsidian suit.
The goddess in question, dressed in a long cream chiton and clad in golden armor, inclined her head in acknowledgement. "While the sea god's spawn was successful in recruiting the Titaness of the Mist, I've not heard of any other overtures yet being made, but I doubt they'll wait much longer. The goddess of storms has begun targeting airplanes, while the messenger god of the sea has embarked on a diplomatic crusade focused on the Middle East and South America. Still, they have yet to take more direct action."
Zeus and Ares growled, twin sounds of rage roiling forth. I can certainly see the family resemblance, Artemis mused with a hidden smile, willfully ignoring her own relation.
"Fewer and fewer flights are being chartered," said the god-king, pounding his fist against the arm of his platinum throne. "Even with the Anemoi and Aeolus standing sentry, mortal aircraft is fragile enough that my blasted niece needs only a moment to wreak havoc."
Keen-eyed Artemis spied the Master of the Winds shifting uncomfortably in his sky-blue suit, heavily painted face twitching beneath hair white as stratus.
"The stupid mortals are actually negotiating," Ares spat as soon as his father finished talking. The word sounded like a slur on his tongue, as though there was no greater sin. Behind his shades, his empty sockets flared bright with fare, casting long shadows on his black leather jacket and pants.
The god of the forge spoke up. "My domain has seen some growth; there's been a surge of engineering to in the face of these not-so-natural disasters, but it's a relatively small uptick."
"Well, that's just fan-fucking-tastic, isn't it?" grumbled the god of war. "How about you take your hammer and shove it up-"
"Apparently," interrupted Dionysus in a bored drawl, "the end of the world drives people to drink and party. One last hurrah and all that. Hip, hip, hooray for Armageddon," he toasted, taking a deep quaff of his drink.
Ares scowled, but before he could retort, Athena said, "Collectively, our domains are far more varied than those of the sea god and his children; in a war of attrition, we will long outlast him. My concern rests on the… nature of our spheres of power. Should the world flood like at the end of the Silver Age, many of us would be no stronger than we were at the beginning of the Bronze Age."
The twins shared a look. Of all Zeus' children, they would be the least affected. The Sun and Moon would endure heedless of the world below; nature would feed the Hunt, and will would fulfill Prophecy. Still, their other domains would suffer, and Artemis remembered how it felt to watch from on high the rains pouring down and the sea welling up like blood from a gash.
The loss of worshippers had been tangible and even though the number of followers now paled against that of the time before Lycaon's crime, it would not be negligible. There was a reason Zeus had never repeated himself: without their devotees, they'd be little better than the Titans sworn to Othrys, for whom worship was no more than words.
"Artemis, Apollo, to what degree could you resist the rising sea?" asked the god-king.
The Sun god stroked his chin. "I can only heat up the world so much before causing precisely the kind of extinction we're trying to avoid. There's a pretty small margin to work with, not enough to boost evaporation on the scale we'd need."
"My influence over the tide is limited," answered Artemis. "I could, perhaps, save portions of each continent, but against the god of tides, there's little I can do."
The god of the forge hummed, and every head turned his way. He blinked, startled, but his clever fingers continued dancing over the iron sphere in his hands. Sliding it into a pocket, he wiped off oily residue on his slate jumpsuit before speaking. "The mortals aren't doing too bad, finally starting to pick up the pace beyond a crawl," he explained in his raspy voice, creaking like a rusty hinge. "They could probably pull a solid Deucalion even without Prometheus. 'Course, they'd do better with some divine aid, but even then there'd still be a lot of collateral."
In the silence that followed, Melinoe stepped forward from the gathering of minor gods at the center of the Throne Room. Her left side was pale as a corpse, and her right was blackened and shriveled, the skin stretched thin about her face. She wore a short halter dress that reached down to just above her knee, which was colored to mirror her body: the left was ebony and the right ivory.
"My Lord," she addressed Zeus, looking up the god-king with lidded eyes that held souls drifting aimlessly, "I believe you have little cause to worry over the sea god calling up a flood."
The thunder god frowned. "Why do you say that…"
"Melinoe, my Lord," replied the goddess of ghosts with a wicked smile. "If humanity were to be drowned, much work would be required to accommodate them in the Underworld. My father's wrath would burn hot enough to boil the seas."
"I see," Zeus said, gaze locked on her, oblivious to his wife stiffening to his left.
Artemis lips twitched into a smirk. Oh, don't stop now, little spirit. Go on, ruffle some feathers, green and over proud. She doubted even her father was lusty enough to offend his wife so given the circumstances, especially with one so uncomely, but the minor gods were also good for some entertainment.
"Of course," the goddess continued with sincere regret, "I feel I must admit that his rage cuts both ways, and he has expressed discontent with the number of dead crossing the Styx. Not to a degree of action, but given a continent or so more, he would no longer be content to remain idle, and may in the depths of his anger forget that he owes his loyalty to the Almighty."
"I thank you, Melinoe, for the valuable information you have brought to my attention," replied Zeus with a gracious smile.
The goddess bowed low and stepped back into the throng of minor gods, standing at Zagreus' side. Vultures, the lot of them, Artemis thought disdainfully. I'd bet my bow that not one of them answered duty's drumbeat rather than ambition's call. But that was how lesser deities were, Artemis knew: endlessly reaching above their station.
Zeus continued, "My brother finally fulfilling his oath would far outweigh any dip in power caused by the death of humanity."
"The limit on acceptable casualties must be considered," said Athena, her face a mask. "At least 350 million jobs are linked to the oceans worldwide- a number equal to over half the population of North America. We cannot afford to destroy maritime industries as well as the coastal cities, even with the overlap in populations, not to mention the number of deaths damage to the supply chain will cause. Perhaps," she continued, addressing Ares, "your sons may finally be of some use."
"Spoken like spoiled fucking civvie," growled the god of war.
Bright-eyed Athena smiled thinly. "More like the brass, I'd say."
The god of war snorted derisively. "Even worse."
As his sons stepped forward, Artemis frowned; she'd always found Phobos and Deimos distasteful, worse than their father, who could at least control his appetite for flesh, if not blood. Both had assumed the guise of teenagers on the cusp of manhood with flaming eyes to match their father's. Still children by today's standards, but in Ephesus they would have been men. Artemis never had forgiven the Goths for sacking the city.
The god of fear, Phobos, stood tall with wiry limbs, dressed in a black shirt and torn jeans, wearing a jacket of dark leather with a red bandana wrapped around his head like a crown. His brother, the god of terror, looked around the circle of Olympians with a cocky smirk. Shorter and stockier, his scars made him appear older, and he was clad similarly to his brother, though his jeans showed no signs of wear, and his head was bare, clean-shaven in contrast to Phobos' neck-length locks.
"Those that make a living from the sea ought to be dealt with permanently, but those in coastal cities with only a geographic connection can be spared so long as they are dissuaded from oceanic pursuits," Athena advised Zeus, ignoring the minor gods.
The god-king nodded once, twice, before turning to the sons of Ares. "Wreak Fear and Terror on those by the sea. Make them dread its presence, so they dare not approach."
"Aquaphobia's always a fun one," said the god of fear, face the picture of bliss, "thalassophobia too."
Deimos grinned. "I'll get the stupid humans pissing themselves at the thought of water."
Uncouth, Artemis thought, lips curled into a sneer.
"Focus on North America, Southern Asia, and Europe, in that order," Athena commanded. "Phobos, target high-profile persons with easy access to large audiences, government officials with jobs related to the ocean, media producers, anyone in a position of influence. Deimos, pay attention to hobbyists like surfers, boaters, and recreational fisherman, ideally those part of a like-minded community. Patrol populated beachfronts and larger boat launches."
They bowed their heads and across the room, Ares leaned against the tar black hide that covered the back of his throne, one hand tapping against the skull at the end of the armrest, the other behind his head, his smirk revealing teeth yellowed by cigarettes and pitted by chew. As Phobos and Deimos rejoined their father, Zeus spoke once more.
"Indirect measures alone will not suffice. We must retake the initiative and strike back at him; he is outnumbered and overextended. Hera, how goes the talks with Tethys?"
The queen of the gods looked to her husband, brown eyes coolly neutral beneath dark hair and gilded crown. She wore a long white chiton, with a clock of peacock feathers hanging from her shoulders, matching the design of her throne, which was dotted with green and blue eyes amongst leafy willow branches. "She's brought our request to her husband, but doubts that he will join us for anything less than a crown."
"We've already gifted him with forgiveness for his treachery, I'll not add ascension to it as well," Zeus said.
"Then he is unlikely to offer his aid," replied Hera with a raised brow.
In the considering silence that followed, when it seemed to Artemis that Zeus may have been rethinking his empty terms, the goddess of Wisdom spoke up. "The Titan's assistance will be essential if we wish to take a step off the back foot. Perhaps-"
"No," interrupted the God-King, accompanied by rumbling thunder ringing from the sky outside. "We will proceed without him."
His pride is blind and foolish as ever, mused Artemis scornfully.
"We could always start by storming that cornerstone," Ares suggested with a bloodthirsty grin.
Athena shot the god of war a disdainful look from her throne, which was pure silver save the gilded weaving on the back and sides. "Of all our possible targets, that would be the worst choice apart from following in Caligula's addled footsteps. In the absence of an oceanic deity of our own, I would strongly counsel against any aquatic ventures for the nonce."
"Because the god of the Sea has just so many strongholds above water," muttered Dionysus into his cup before throwing it back, though it remained full as ever.
"He has temples in Corinth, and shrines in Helice and Onchestus, but they pale against the site where the Sea god swept Atlantis into his embrace," rebutted Athena. "Still, they would be only surface wounds; better to feign weakness and let him overextend, that we might snare him in a trap."
Zeus growled. "His position is built on shifting sands, I'll not pretend he has any chance of victory. That island brat of his in the Aegean hasn't faded like Helios, has she?"
Her brother stiffened, shifting on his gilded seat as Athena answered the god-king. "She has not, no."
"Do we have any actual reason to believe she's joined her father? She's never been keen on fighting," said Apollo. He'd been close with her, Artemis knew, born of his time learning his domain from her husband.
"That she is her father's daughter is reason enough," rebutted Zeus with a scowl.
Dike stepped away from the center of the Throne Room towards Zeus and said, "I beseech you reconsider. The goddess is innocent of her father's and brother's crime. To attack her would be unjust."
Ares snorted disdainfully at the goddess of Justice's words. "Oh, get over yourself," the god drawled.
In return, Dike turned to look at him coolly with empty eye sockets. The orbits were still bloody, dripping and shimmering in the light of the braziers, red as her crimson toga, standing in stark contrast against her bone-white skin. "If you ignore your laws when they're inconvenient, then you never had any to begin with, only anarchy playing at society."
Ares laughed, loud and hearty. "War has one law- win."
"If the daughter of the sea is uninvolved in the war, then her father will not expect a strike against her," said Kairos, stepping forward, his skin dark but his suit darker. Bowing to the God-King, he continued, "Such makes her an ideal target; of the Sea but not below its surface, a prime vantage point from which to scourge the depths."
Zeus stroked his beard for a moment, then said, "Very well. The island will be taken, and its mistress sent to the Pit. My brother must be shown the error of his ways; a lost daughter would be an excellent start."
"What happens when other neutral deities see that abstaining offers no protection? It's a bad look," argued Apollo.
To Artemis' right, on the other side of Hephaestus and his clockwork recliner, Athena tilted her head in support. "It would present a poor image and may cause those undeclared to seek out the sea god. She would serve better as a hostage than a casualty."
"My brother would never surrender on her behalf," dismissed Zeus.
"Yet she could still be a source of leverage," Athena replied in a voice barren of emotion. "Concessions could be demanded for her continued well-being, enough that her capture could play vital role in our victory."
"Enough," declared Zeus, pounding his fist against his platinum armrest. "We have no need of her, and she will be cast down as an example for all those tainted by the Sea."
There was stretch of silence, punctuated by quiet murmuring amongst the gathered minor gods. At last, Athena broke it, saying, "If we attack the stormbringer's daughter, it will be no skirmish. He will bring his full might to bear, and the battle will be fought on hostile territory. The element of surprise will be essential."
"Then so be it." said Zeus. "If any speak of our target outside this room before given permission, they will beg for the Pit's tender mercies. Coordinate with your courts and armies- get your reports to Athena by sunrise tomorrow. You'll receive notice when we mean to reconvene. Athena, you'll handle those not in service to one of the enthroned. Dismissed."
Rising up, the Olympians and minor gods bowed to their king. Hera flashed away first, taking Argus with her, and a moment later, Zeus followed, leaving his less powerful children behind at the foot of his throne. As Athena approached the group consisting of Melinoe, Zagreus, Dike, Nomos, Kairos, and several more, the other gods began speaking with their thralls: Hephaestus, with the lone Pneuma; Ares, with his gaggle of warmongers; Dionysus, with his unvirtuous trio.
Only the twins remained silent. Artemis' fingers itched for a knife to hold, but knew her mind well enough to not allow herself the comfort of a blade in the same room as Herakles. To her left, Apollo's fists clenched as he gritted his teeth, his youthful, handsome face a mask of stony displeasure. They turned to each other in the same breath, but the sun god spoke first.
"Rhodes doesn't deserve this," he said, quietly, mindful of the greedy, hungry ears that surround them, but hardly mindful enough, in Artemis' opinion.
"Not here," she hissed back, and straightened up. As she made to vanish, her gaze slid to meet a pair of stormy grey eyes. The goddess of Wisdom motioned her forward. Biting back a snarl, she told her brother, "Later," then strode towards Athena.
The other goddess broke away from the group before to meet Artemis halfway. "Artemis," she greeted. When the goddess of the Moon arched a brow expectantly, Athena continued, "I am concerned at the lack of a prophecy."
"Perhaps you should speak with Apollo, then," Artemis replied. "Such is hardly my domain."
The other goddess' jaw tightened. Behind her, the unsworn minor gods began disappearing in flashes; first the children of the Underworld, then Kairos, He of Opportunity, followed by the Court of Courts and the rest. "Since Prophecy has no answers to give, I thought we should continue pursuing other means of foresight. I was… less than successful in finding the Old Man of the Sea. Perhaps you would have more luck."
"If the son of Earth and Sea has sought refuge beneath the waves, there is little chance of even my capturing such quarry," Artemis dismissed. Still, never have I hunted Nereus. He is wily, and sees as far as my brother. A part of her slavered for the challenge, ichor pulsing with adrenaline at the prospect. He would not let her catch him sleeping like demigods have before; the aura of a god was too unsubtle to remain unnoticed.
"He has not."
Artemis waited for an explanation, but when none appeared to be forthcoming, she asked, "And why do you say so? There are better ways for me to spend my time than chasing prey out of reach." If she wishes for my failure to vindicate her own, she's welcome to weave herself a noose.
"He stayed on dry land since before the Crooked One's rise. He offered no information nor aid in either the Second Titanomachy or Gigantomachy," replied Athena, "disdaining wrath or rewards from the victor, as has ever been his manner. I doubt he'll change his ways now, when the crown of the Sea is in question. No, I expect him to sit on the coast, only returning after the war's end."
"That leaves quite a large area to be searched," she remarked dryly.
"Hence why I've requested the Huntress herself to pursue him," the goddess of wisdom said. She plucked a shimmering silver circle from nothingness and held it out to Artemis. "I've even a gift to assist you."
After a brief pause, Artemis took it, holding it up to inspect the object. A compass, of some sort, she mused, twisting it, but one that doesn't point North. Instead, the obsidian needle pointed nearly due South, tinged slightly towards the East. "I'll not humor your desire to answer queries. Speak plainly."
Athena tilted her head. "The Fates care little for details. Their Loom is infallible but incomplete, at least until the future becomes the present. Only Necessity knows more of what is to come; the Old Man, like any lesser seer, is blind to smaller twists of fortune. True randomness is difficult to manufacture, but in your hand rests chance perfected. Follow it, every so often, and I doubt your prey will see you coming."
"I see," murmured the goddess of the Hunt, slipping the offering into non-existence. "Until the God-King commands otherwise, my first priority must be protection of the remaining leylines, but I shall endeavor to find the Old Man as well."
Gray eyes, already sharp, gained a new edge, impossibly keen. "We do indeed all serve at Zeus' leisure."
"Yes," Artemis agreed warily, cursing her use of the epithet, "we do. I take my leave, then, unless there is anything else?"
A moment later, Athena said, "No. Nothing else, sister."
Her voice held… was that satisfaction? wondered Artemis. No matter, I have more important and immature things to deal with. With that, she glowed bright enough to burn a mortal to ash, becoming whole, and released her manifestation back into the world.
This particular instance of her reappeared back on Delos, in the hidden grove. Her brother paced back and forth, running his hands through his sunshine yellow hair and gnashing his teeth. Of all the impetuous, careless, foolish… she ranted to herself as stalked toward him, reaching out to grab a fistful of his tunic.
"What," she hissed up at him, "were you thinking?"
He snarled back at her, eyes glowing like magma, red-orange and flickering as particles fused and broke and burned within. Whips of energy lashed out and curled back in as the magnetic fields in his orbs tangled and snapped
"I was thinking that Rhodes doesn't deserve the fucking pit," he snarled. It was a mark of his temper that he spoke to her thus; it had been ages since she'd seen him so infuriated, but that hardly excused his idiocy.
"And neither," she said, attempting to reign in her anger, "do you. Next time, save your censor for a place that it won't have you branded as a traitor."
His shoulders rose and fell with his heavy breathing, but soon their movement slowed as he regained control of himself. "Sorry," he muttered, and she released the fabric from her grip. He smoothed it out, more out of instinct than anything else, for his eyes still roiled like twin stars.
"As am I," she said, the words spilling off her tongue more easily than when confessing her own wrongs, rare as they were. "You know there's nothing we can do."
He stared into the distance, past the walls of morning glories that encompassed them on all sides, save for the pond and shallow cave behind them. "Isn't there?" he asked of nobody.
Regardless of the rhetoric nature of the question, she firmly answered, "No, there isn't."
"Knowledge is my domain, sis," he said with a serrated smile, "and I have to disagree."
His words stunned her, so much that she had to fight to reply. "You can't mean to turn-"
"No? Twice the God-King was warned, and twice he ignored the ill-tidings until conflict was upon us. If it wasn't for the demigods, Olympus would have fallen."
It galled her to face the truth of the matter, but Truth was Apollo's as well. "That hardly means treason is the right path."
He gritted his teeth. "I could never fight against you, but I refuse to let Rhodes fall. I mean to tell her, so that she might seek out safety."
"She won't abandon her home; it is her," argued Artemis. I knew they were close, but not to this degree. "There would severe consequences, should this come to light."
"It won't, unless you go tattling," he said.
She resisted the urge to stomp her foot, difficult as it was. "I don't tattle." He raised an eyebrow at her skeptically, causing indignation to flare. "I wasn't even a century old, and it was thousands of years ago, and I can't believe you're still holding a grudge."
He grinned, then, and his eyes calmed, the fires within dying down before shifting to their usual liquid gold. "I can't believe you only remember the one time. I've got a whole list of examples, somewhere, just so I don't forget."
I'm going to find it and destroy it, she resolved, then blinked as she noticed her own distraction. Curse him, she groused, before returning to the issue at hand. He'd ever been skilled at soothing her ire, equal to his talent for inflaming it. "I could never betray you. But be careful."
"When aren't I?" he asked glibly, but his face was serious as a plague.
He disappeared in a blinding light, leaving her alone to hear the breeze rustling through the grass, which reached up to her shin. The green and purple flower curtains sounded like a chorus of echoing sighs as they shifted, accompanied by ripples across the water. The blackness was brightened by the luminous moon and stars shining into the sanctum, bathing it all in silver.
Despite the beauty of the scene surrounding her, what struck her most was the sense of doom around her. It prickled against her skin like the breeze, sang into her ear like nature's lullaby, and filled her vision like a shroud. She stepped into her true form and stepped out into the Wild, leaving the ominous feeling behind. As she strode through the gnarled elms, grasping ashes, and slender mountain laurels, though, she knew that it still waited for her, patient and implacable as the darkness of night.
Thanks so much for reading. Sorry for the longer than normal wait. This chapter took a lot of rewriting, but I'm alright with how it turned out. If you have any feedback on the chapter or how I can improve, it would be much appreciated.