Update:

I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving and enjoyed the company of your loved ones!

Chapter one should be out tomorrow. Progress hasn't been as fast as I'd hoped, but I'm drawing close to wrapping it up. It's not going to be outrageously long—likely around 10,000 to 15,000 words. The outline is coming together nicely, and I've sketched out the framework for some key scenes. I've also created some art inspired by the story using AI. (I know it's a contentious topic for some, but I love being able to bring my words to life. Since I'm still working on my artistic skills, I use AI to help visualize my ideas.)

Things have slowed a bit due to health and holiday commitments, but I'm doing my best to maintain a steady pace. You might notice I've added "Hiatus" to the titles of stories I've temporarily paused. For now, my focus is solely on His Lady of the Moon and The Last of the Jotun. Once those are complete, I may revisit Sea of Shadow and Son of the Pit.

Looking ahead, my ultimate plan is to combine my favorite parts of all my stories into a final project: a complete rewrite of the original series. My goal is to refine the continuity and adjust elements to make everything align and flow better.

For now, I hope you continue to enjoy His Lady of the Moon and The Last of the Jotun! Thank you all for your incredible support—it truly means the world to me.

Flashback Two:

Artemis's POV:

The wind whipped through my hair as I led the Hunters over the rugged countryside. The pounding of our feet against the earth, usually a source of comfort, now felt empty. My bow bounced lightly against my back, the familiar weight strangely unsatisfying. My gaze flicked to the horizon, where the sun dipped low, casting the landscape in hues of amber and shadow. Something inside me tugged—like a bowstring stretched too tight.

I missed him.

The thought struck me like a stray arrow. His presence, his easy companionship during the hunt—it was an ache I couldn't shake. My fingers tightened around my silver pendant, a gesture I hoped no one noticed. The punishments for the "incident" had been issued, both inside and outside the hunt, and yet it was as if a noose still hung around my neck. My father's new decree was absolute.

I quickened my pace, hoping the motion might shake the unwelcome feelings loose. It didn't.

A sigh slipped past my lips before I could catch it. Behind me, Atalanta, ever perceptive, caught the faint sound. Without a word, she quickened her pace, falling into step beside me, her movements fluid and perfectly matched to mine.

"My lady, is something troubling you?" Her voice was soft, careful, but the curiosity in her eyes betrayed her deeper understanding.

"I'm fine," I snapped, sharper than I intended. Atalanta flinched, and guilt bloomed in my chest. She dropped her gaze, murmuring an apology, but before I could say more, another figure joined us.

Thalia jogged effortlessly up to our position. She clapped a hand on Atalanta's shoulder, a silent dismissal that sent her veering toward Phoebe.

"So," Thalia said, her voice laced with amusement, "missing our mutual friend, are we?" Her teasing grin made me grind my teeth.

"Don't start." I leveled a glare sharp enough to cut stone, the kind even Hades might envy, but Thalia, unfazed as ever, simply smirked and pressed on.

"Let me guess. Father's still digging in his heels?" Her casual tone was betrayed by the sharp glint of annoyance in her eyes.

Overhead, thunder rumbled faintly, as though answering her question. I exhaled sharply.

"No," I said, my voice low. "He's appeasing Poseidon. Overprotective as ever."

Thalia smirked. "Well, I can't blame him. Percy does have a certain… charm. Even I can't help but adore him. Thoughts that linger…" She finished, her wink infuriating as always.

My hands curled into fists at my sides. "I'm not in the mood for your games," I said, biting each word. Around us, the other Hunters slowed, sensing the tension. They gave us a wide berth, their footsteps retreating like whispers.

"Possessive now, are we?" Thalia raised an eyebrow, her grin growing wider. "Or is it jealousy? Maybe both?"

"Lieutenant," I said sharply, the warning in my tone unmistakable.

"Oh, pulling rank, are we?" Thalia crossed her arms, mock affronted. "Fine, fine. I'll stay out of it. I suppose I won't help you with my dear cousin, then. He's like my little brother, after all. We talk all the time. In fact…" She leaned in slightly, as if sharing a secret. "He introduced me to someone recently. Well, she asked him to make the introductions, apparently keen on meeting me. We've been chatting by the fire every night. Very… enlightening conversations."

Fire? My mind raced. A friend of Percy's… It had to be Hestia. She'd been keeping to herself ever since the incident, her relationship with Poseidon strained for the first time in memory. Still, Hestia's influence was vast—her warmth made her everyone's favorite sibling, even Poseidon's. And as Percy's patron, she could get away with things others couldn't due to the ancient laws. But to use Thalia as her conduit? That was clever.

"Don't be hasty, sister," I said quickly, the words spilling out before I could think better of them. My heart sank at the knowing smirk that spread across Thalia's face.

"'Sister,' really?" Diana's voice chimed in my mind, airy and mocking. A laugh followed—soft, smug, and utterly infuriating. "Could you be any more obvious?"

My jaw tightened as I fought back a growl. Shut up, I snapped inwardly, though silencing her was impossible.

"Gods you're this desperate? She'll notice for sure." Diana pressed, her voice dripping with amusement, the grin in her tone grating like nails on stone.

"Back to 'sister,' huh?" Thalia teased aloud, leaning in as her eyes sparkled with mischief. She was enjoying this far too much, and the heat in my cheeks only made her grin widen.

"Told you," Diana sing-songed, entirely unhelpful.

I inhaled sharply, forcing a calmness I didn't feel. "Yes, dearest sister," I said, my words laced with sarcasm thinly veiled as civility. "Help me. Please."

Thalia's laughter burst out, unrestrained and wild, echoing through the trees like thunder rolling over the hills. The sound grated against my nerves, and my fingers twitched instinctively toward my bow. Her expression, triumphant and unbearably smug, made me long for a reason to fire.

"So," Thalia said, once her laughter subsided, wiping an imaginary tear from her eye. "You ever hear of Thanksgiving?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Kind of. It's a mortal holiday, right? A new one, unique to this young country, isn't it?"

"Uh… yeah, that's one way to put it," Thalia said, tilting her head. "It's a day where mortals get together with their families, eat a big meal, and reflect on what they're thankful for—life, family… love." She smirked, drawing out the last word.

"Careful," I warned, narrowing my eyes, trying to regain control of the conversation. Gods, Zoe, I miss you. You'd never pull this on me… right?

Thalia held her hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm in a sticky situation here. On one hand, I've got you—my sister by blood and, technically, my boss."

"Technically?" My brow rose sharply.

She grinned, unbothered. "It means—"

"I know what it means!" I snapped, exasperated. "Gods, you're worse than Apollo."

Thalia clutched her chest dramatically. "Ouch. That's just uncalled for." Her voice was thick with mock pain.

"Ugh," I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Just get on with it, Thalia. Please."

"Oh, right." She straightened up, her smirk never wavering. "So, like I was saying. On one hand, there's you, who I'm super close to. On the other hand, there's Annabeth—not my sister by blood, but by choice. I helped raise her, you know. And, oh, look at that. You both happen to like the same guy. Who also happens to be my best friend."

I stared at her, words failing me. "I… you… what… I don't—"

"Admit it," she said, cutting me off and stopping mid-stride. Her smirk deepened. "Or I'm not helping you."

The other Hunters, sensing danger, kept their distance as we both halted.

"You evil—"

"Say it," she pressed, folding her arms and tapping her foot.

"No."

"Fine. I'm sure Percy and Annabeth will have a wonderful Thanksgiving together. Just him, her, and his mom. Very cozy."

I felt Diana stirring in the back of my mind, her tone sharp and impatient. Gods, Artemis! Just admit it already. We're trapped here. Don't squander this!

I sighed, my shoulders slumping as the fight drained out of me. "Fine," I muttered. "For the first time in my eons-long life… I like someone. Happy?"

Thalia's grin stretched ear to ear. "Ecstatic. Honestly, it's hilarious that someone as ancient as you can act like—and, well, look like—a thirteen-year-old. I've always wanted another little sister."

"I. Hate. You!" I shouted, spinning on my heel and darting away to hunt alone. My face burned, and I needed the solitude to cool it. But just before I disappeared into the trees, I stopped, turned, and shot her my most devilish grin.

"Oh, and Thalia?" I called sweetly. "I expect a full report on all the details in my tent by sunset. And you're setting up my tent this time."

Her smirk faltered. "Wait, what? But you can just zap it up! You always zap it up!"

"Oh, everyone else's tents will be done with magic," I said airily, turning back to the woods. "But mine—and yours—are your responsibility. Don't worry; the instructions were in the promotional brochure. You remember how, right?"

Her groan of protest followed me as I sprinted off, a satisfied smile tugging at my lips.

Percy's PoV:

Thanksgiving was going better than I could have imagined. The warmth of the kitchen wrapped around me like a soft blanket, the scent of roasted turkey mingling with the sharp tang of cranberry sauce. It was just me, my mom, and Annabeth.

When she told me she'd decided to spend the holiday with me instead of her family, my heart had done a strange little flip. I'd laughed it off at the time, brushing it away like it was no big deal, but the truth was, it meant everything. Growing up, friends were rare—a luxury I hadn't dared to hope for. Now, here Annabeth was, right beside me, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"So, what should I do?" Annabeth's voice broke through my thoughts. She stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the controlled chaos of the kitchen.

I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face. "Definitely not interfere with my mom's system," I said, lowering my voice as if sharing a well-guarded secret. "She's... particular about her kitchen."

Annabeth smirked. "Got it. No stepping on sacred ground."

I chuckled and nudged her shoulder. "Come on. Let's prep the table instead."

We grabbed the silverware, my mom glancing over her shoulder to give me a quick smile of approval. I handed Annabeth a stack of plates, and we headed into the dining room. The clinking of dishes and the soft murmur of my mom's humming filled the air as we worked side by side, setting the table for three.

The doorbell rang, cutting through the peaceful rhythm.

Annabeth paused, a questioning look in her storm-gray eyes. "Expecting someone?"

Her curiosity tugged at my grin. "Thalia and Hestia," I said, the words spilling out in a rush. The excitement bubbled up, uncontainable. "They're coming!"

Annabeth's face lit up, her smile wide and genuine. "Seriously? That's awesome!" She spun on her heel. "I'll get it."

As she disappeared toward the door, I turned back to adjust the placement of a fork, trying to calm the flutter in my chest. But then I heard it—a sharp intake of breath, the kind that pulls a room taut. My head snapped up.

Annabeth stood frozen in the doorway, her hand still on the knob.

Curiosity pricked at my skin as I stepped closer, my heart drumming faster with each step. Then I saw them.

Hestia and Thalia stood on the porch, as expected, but between them... Lady Artemis. The goddess of the hunt, her flame red hair catching the afternoon light, looked as out of place as a star falling into my backyard. Her gaze landed on me, sharp and unreadable. My throat tightened.

Annabeth turned, her hand brushing against mine in silent reassurance. I barely noticed the contact before something in Artemis's eyes shifted, a flicker of something sharp and fleeting—anger? No, that couldn't be right.

"May we come in?" Hestia asked, her voice warm and soft, cutting through the tension.

Thalia rolled her eyes. "Damn it, Seaweed Brain, are you gonna let your favorite cousin freeze, or what?"

I blinked, my voice catching before tumbling out. "Uh—yeah. Of course. Come in."

The door creaked open, and I stepped aside, feeling the weight of Artemis's gaze lingering on me. Annabeth gave me a sideways glance, her lips twitching like she wanted to say something but didn't.

This was going to be one Thanksgiving I'd never forget.

Annabeth's PoV:

What was she doing here? Lady Artemis stood framed in the doorway, her silver eyes locked onto Percy with a focus so sharp it felt like the rest of us had ceased to exist. She didn't spare a glance for Hestia, Thalia, or me. Her gaze was unwavering, intense—like a predator fixed on its prey.

My chest tightened. There was something in her expression that made my stomach churn, a hunger I'd seen too many times before. It wasn't the goddess of the hunt standing there; it was another girl who'd fallen for Percy Jackson.

I clenched my fists at my sides, the burn of loathing creeping up like wildfire. I hated that look. I'd spent years battling it at camp, fighting off the endless stares, whispers, and swooning glances from nymphs and demigods alike. That familiar cocktail of admiration, longing, and something far more dangerous. And Percy, oblivious as ever, just stumbled through it all like a clueless kid.

How many times had I stepped in to put someone in their place? Too many to count. The fights, the pointed glares, the not-so-subtle threats—it was exhausting. I'd always assumed boys had the monopoly on creepy behavior, but no. Girls could be just as relentless, just as entitled. It had changed the way I saw things, opened my eyes to how fierce and ugly attraction could get.

But Artemis? A goddess? The thought felt like an arrow straight through my chest. I wanted to laugh at how absurd it was, but the knot in my stomach tightened. Her eyes lingered on him, drinking him in with a focus that left no room for doubt.

I swallowed hard. What chance did I have if that look meant what I thought it did? Percy wasn't just any demigod. He was Percy. The one who somehow captured the attention of everyone, mortal and immortal, just by existing. And me? I was just Annabeth Chase, constantly trying to hold onto something that felt like it was slipping through my fingers.

The possessiveness hit me like a wave, primal and instinctive. My feet moved before my brain could catch up. I crossed the room, closing the distance between us, and without thinking, I grabbed Percy's hand. His warmth steadied me, a quiet reminder that for now, he was still mine.

Artemis's gaze flicked down. Her expression didn't change, but there it was—a flash of something sharp, quick, and unmistakable. Jealousy. My heart lurched. The goddess of the hunt, jealous?

This couldn't be happening.

I tightened my grip on Percy's hand, grounding myself as the room seemed to tilt around me. My pulse roared in my ears, drowning out everything else. Whatever was happening here, it wasn't going to be simple.

This Thanksgiving was about to become a battlefield, and I wasn't about to lose.

Sally's PoV:

Oh boy. The clatter of a spoon in the sink was the last sound I heard before stepping into the living room—and freezing in place. Not one, but two goddesses stood at my door. Hestia was expected, her warm smile as comforting as ever, but it was the other presence that sent a jolt of unease through me. Artemis. Lady Artemis was here, standing in my home like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I wiped my hands on my apron, trying to mask my growing concern, but my eyes flicked to Annabeth. Her face was a storm of emotions—confusion, tension, and something sharp and defensive I couldn't quite name. She was watching Artemis with the kind of wariness that reminded me of a cornered animal sizing up a threat.

Then I noticed it. The way Artemis's silver eyes drifted toward Percy, her gaze lingering just a moment too long before darting away. Her expression was calm, almost detached, but the subtle glances told another story. A story I didn't like.

A lump formed in my throat as I put the pieces together. Was there... a love triangle happening here? Annabeth's clenched jaw, the way she was glued to Percy's side, the tension radiating off her like heat—it all painted a clear picture. And Artemis? She was an enigma, her agelessness making it impossible to tell what she was thinking. But those glances toward Percy weren't nothing.

My chest tightened. How old was she, really? Three millennia? Four? Biologically, she looked thirteen now, but that could change in an instant. Goddesses didn't live by mortal rules. The idea of someone so ancient even thinking about my son in that way—it sent a protective chill through me. No. Absolutely not.

And poor Annabeth. The girl looked like she was seconds away from bolting—or throwing hands. I couldn't let this spiral. Not in my house, not at Thanksgiving. I straightened my back, smoothing down my apron as I stepped forward, putting on my best warm-but-firm smile.

"Welcome," I said, my voice steady but light. "Please, come in and make yourselves at home. Percy, could you help me in the kitchen for a moment? Annabeth, why don't you join us? Thalia, Hestia, and Lady Artemis feel free to settle in."

It wasn't much, but it was a lifeline. I glanced at Annabeth, giving her a small, reassuring smile before guiding her and Percy toward the kitchen. She clung to his hand like it was her anchor.

This was going to take some work, but I'd figure it out. I always did.

Artemis's PoV:

I set the dish down carefully, my fingers lingering against the cool ceramic longer than necessary. My hands were steady—they always were—but the tightness in my chest betrayed me. I couldn't bring myself to look Sally Jackson in the eyes. Every glance she threw my way felt heavy, like the weight of a bowstring drawn too taut, her unspoken questions brimming with tension.

Her words were polite, carefully measured, but there was a hesitation in the way she spoke, a stiffness in her movements. She didn't trust me. No, she didn't know me. And I could feel the unease crackling in the air, her fear of offending me—of offending a goddess—or worse, of what my presence might mean.

I didn't want this. The guarded words. The careful distance. The invisible barrier that her every glance reminded me was there. I wanted… I needed acceptance. Not reverence, not fear. Just acceptance. But her cautious glances and the tension in her shoulders told me all I needed to know. I was a puzzle she didn't want to solve, an unknown entity standing too close to her son. Her son's… what? Even I couldn't answer that.

I stood there, caught in the hum of activity around me, my thoughts unraveling faster than I could gather them. I saw it in the way Percy leaned into her warmth, the way Annabeth looked to her for reassurance. Sally Jackson was a presence that grounded them, a steadying force that made this house a home. She embodied everything I wasn't. Everything I'd never been.

The old words, cruel and sharp, bubbled up unbidden.

"No man would ever want a woman like you." Aphrodite's voice, honeyed and mocking, slithered through my thoughts. Her gaze had been scathing, dragging over me like I was nothing more than a curiosity she'd grown bored of. "Too lean. Too angular. Too much of everything that doesn't matter and not enough of what does. You don't inspire devotion; you inspire fear. Lust, maybe, but only because men desire to conquer the unconquerable. And you, my dear, are far too wild to ever be tamed."

I swallowed hard, but her words stuck, lodged in my throat like thorns. Then Hera's voice followed, colder, sharper, like the bite of winter wind. "A wife comforts, nurtures, submits. You could never offer comfort. You don't understand how to nurture, and submission? You wouldn't know where to begin."

I'd laughed then, masking the sting with defiance. I'd scoffed at their words and brushed them aside as if they were nothing. But here, in this room, standing in a space that felt warm and whole in a way I could never replicate, their voices found the cracks I hadn't realized were there.

My gaze dropped to the polished surface of a spoon, and the reflection staring back at me was one I knew too well. The lines of my face were sharp, angular, unyielding. My body, wiry and built for endurance, spoke of strength, not comfort. I was a goddess. A huntress. The wild incarnate. But here, in this mortal space, near this mortal man I hoped would see me as something more than a goddess, more than a warrior—those traits felt like glaring flaws.

I wanted to run. To disappear into the woods, where the stars didn't care and the trees didn't judge. The forest was constant, unchanging—a sanctuary where the weight of the world couldn't follow. That had always been my way. When suitors came, armed with their promises, their boasts, their insufferable arrogance, I fought them off without hesitation. I was untouchable, a goddess who could not be claimed. Not because they couldn't reach me, but because I never let them try.

But this? This was different. The unease twisting in my chest wasn't the kind of fear I knew how to face. It wasn't the sharp clarity of battle, where every decision could mean life or death. This was quieter, deeper, and far more insidious.

Rejection.

The word clawed at the edges of my mind. It felt foreign and unwelcome, a concept I'd never had to confront. I'd never pursued anyone, never allowed myself to be vulnerable enough to care. What need did I have for acceptance when I had always stood apart? The untouchable. The wild. The maiden goddess.

How could I fear rejection when I had never sought to be accepted?

The truth stung, sharp and undeniable. I had been the poster girl for maidenhood, for virginity itself. A goddess who walked alone, who did not need or want the approval of others. It was my armor, the foundation of who I was. Or at least, who I thought I was.

But here, now, in this house that was so alive with warmth and connection, my armor felt brittle. Fragile. I wasn't fighting off suitors with arrogance or defiance. I wasn't standing untouchable on some faraway pedestal. I was here, wanting something I'd spent centuries convincing myself I didn't need.

The fear gnawed at me in ways I couldn't fight. It wasn't the kind of fear that sharpened reflexes or prepared you for battle. No, this was insidious, quiet. It whispered of inadequacy, of failure, of being unworthy in ways I'd never let myself consider.

I watched Sally hand Percy a dish, her smile soft and warm, a gesture so simple but filled with ease. Annabeth laughed at something he said, the sound lightening the air. Percy looked happy—comfortable. And I felt the weight of it press against my chest, a cold realization sinking in.

For the first time in millennia, I wanted something I couldn't fight for, couldn't take by strength or strategy. I wanted to be seen. Not as Artemis, the untouchable goddess. Not as a huntress or a warrior. Just… me.

And for the first time, I feared I might not be enough.

But as I stood there, the air heavy with my unspoken fears, one question burned hotter than the rest: Was I even worth accepting?

Sally's PoV:

I pulled Percy aside, lowering my voice as I looked into his sea-green eyes. I needed insight, clarity, something to help me make sense of the goddess sitting in my dining room.

"What is your relationship with her?" I asked tentatively, careful not to sound accusatory.

Percy blinked, his brow furrowing. "She's my friend," he said, his tone sincere, as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world. Oh, you sweet, naive boy, I thought, resisting the urge to shake my head.

"Gotcha," I said, giving him a tight smile before ushering him back toward the dining room. My thoughts swirled as I turned to follow, but before I could reach the table, Hestia stood. Her warm, steady presence was impossible to ignore as she clasped my hand gently.

"May I speak with you in private?" she asked, her voice calm yet purposeful.

I nodded, and we walked back into the kitchen. She closed the door softly behind us, the hum of conversation from the dining room fading to a low murmur. She turned to me, her amber eyes filled with something that looked like quiet understanding.

"I hope you don't mind Artemis being here," she began. Her tone was careful, almost hesitant, which immediately caught my attention. "My niece isn't prone to spending time outside her hunt, you know. Her hunters are more like children to her—family, yes, but not equals."

I frowned, unsure where this was going, but Hestia continued. "She doesn't have many friends of equal stature. Among her peers, she's... rather lonely. Percy and she, well, they hit it off. He's the closest thing she has to a peer that she actually likes."

Her words hung in the air for a moment before she added, "She's nervous being here. Nervous about you."

"Me?" I asked, startled. "Why would she—?"

"She's worried you don't like her," Hestia said gently. "She wants your approval."

I stared at her, bewildered. "But I'm just a mortal," I said, shaking my head. "She's a goddess. Why would she care what I think?"

Hestia smiled, a quiet warmth radiating from her as she gently squeezed my hand. Her presence was steady, like the hearthfire on a winter's night, grounding me even as her words began to stir something deeper.

"Dear Sally," she began, her voice soft but filled with conviction, "you won the heart of Poseidon. You are the beloved mother of the hero who saved Artemis from Atlas's curse. The hero who earned not only her trust but also the trust of the one she loved most—Zoe Nightshade."

At the mention of Zoe, Hestia's voice grew even gentler, her amber eyes reflecting a flicker of grief. "Zoe meant everything to Artemis. She loved her more than words could ever convey. And when Zoe fell…" Hestia's voice faltered slightly, but she pressed on, steady and resolute. "The bond shared between Zoe and Percy transformed into something deeper—a bond with Artemis herself. It was born of shared grief, shared strength. A connection that defies time and mortality."

I felt my breath hitch, an ache blooming in my chest. I hadn't known the full weight of Percy's deeds, nor the depth of Artemis's pain. My sweet boy, who still smiled so easily, who carried so much more than I ever realized. How many tragedies had he endured while I stood on the sidelines, too far removed to even notice? What kind of mother was I, to not see it?

And Artemis. I'd judged her so quickly, so harshly. But now, Hestia's words painted a picture I could barely begin to comprehend. A goddess who grieved, who found solace in my son's strength, who sought a connection where loneliness had once ruled.

Hestia's gaze held mine, her tone steady and reverent. "You see, Sally, you are, in many ways, a goddess among mortals. Respected even in the halls of Olympus. You are the mother of a boy who has touched the hearts of those who thought themselves untouchable. You represent the love, the resilience, and the strength that all gods envy in mortals."

Her words settled over me like a heavy blanket—warm, comforting, but overwhelming in their weight. My throat tightened as I blinked back a swell of emotion. My mouth opened, but no words came. What could I possibly say to that?

Hestia's smile softened, and she gave my hand another gentle squeeze. "Please," she said, her voice barely above a whisper now. "Make her feel welcome. She needs it more than she'll ever admit."

I nodded, still processing her words. "But how?" I asked, my voice a little shaky.

"By treating her like a person, not a goddess," Hestia said. Her smile turned playful. "And perhaps I can help."

I raised an eyebrow, curiosity laced with a hint of skepticism. "Help how?"

"Food, of course!" Hestia beamed, her tone like sunshine breaking through storm clouds. The energy in her voice was infectious, cutting through the weight of our earlier conversation.

"What are we cooking?" I asked, unable to keep the flicker of intrigue out of my voice.

Hestia's eyes sparkled with a gentle enthusiasm that felt utterly unshakable. "Artemis's favorite," she said, a proud note lifting her words. "My specialty—venison rice soup with diced tomato and carrots, served with hard bread."

The warmth in her expression was impossible to resist. I felt the corners of my mouth twitch into a faint smile, the heaviness in my chest beginning to ease. There was something comforting about the simplicity of her plan, the way it brought everything back to the heart of the home. Cooking. Sharing. Connecting.

"Let's do it," I said, rolling up my sleeves, feeling the faintest glimmer of hope stir within me.

Hestia's smile deepened, a quiet joy radiating from her as she moved to gather the ingredients. As I watched her, I realized how much power there was in something as simple as making a meal together. It wasn't just food—it was an offering, a bridge, a way to say without words what sometimes felt too big to express.

And maybe, just maybe, it was the start of something that could bring us all closer.

Artemis's PoV:

I smelled it long before I saw it, the familiar aroma wrapping around me like a warm embrace. My favorite meal. I should have known—Hestia never failed to make me feel better. Even if Sally never accepted me, at least I knew my aunt always would.

When they brought the dish out, Sally placed it carefully in the center of the table. The soft clink of the plate was barely audible over the hum of conversation. She turned to me, her expression warm but tentative. "I hear this is your favorite, my lady," she said, still using my honorific. Yet her voice was gentler this time, her gaze softer. For the first time, she wasn't looking at me as a goddess or a princess. She was looking at me. Just me.

It was the way my mother used to look at me. Like a mother should.

The corners of my mouth lifted into a faint smile before I asked her a question I never would have imagined asking two years ago—yet now, I had asked it of two Jacksons. "Could you call me Artemis? Just Artemis."

Her smile deepened, warm and genuine. "Of course, Artemis. I hope you like it. Hestia gave me directions, but I'm no goddess of the hearth," she said with a light laugh.

Hestia chuckled softly, her voice like the gentle crackle of a fire. "Your cookies are better than anything I could ever make," she teased, and Sally's cheeks flushed a delicate pink.

I couldn't help but smile at the exchange before lifting my spoon to take a bite. The flavors were rich and familiar, each one pulling me further into the moment. I closed my eyes briefly, savoring it.

"Divine," I whispered, a true smile spreading across my face.

Sally's eyes sparkled with relief, and I felt something unfamiliar settle in my chest—warmth. Acceptance.

As I glanced around the table, at the smiles and easy laughter, I began to understand the mortal obsession with this holiday. The togetherness, the care that filled the air—it was intoxicating.

"It's too bad we don't do this on Olympus," I murmured, the words slipping out before I could catch them.

But maybe, just maybe, I could bring a piece of this with me. A piece of what I had always believed was only meant for mortals.