Chapter 2: Breakfast with the Huntress
The silver light filtering through the translucent curtains gradually awakened Percy, a much more pleasant experience than his usual morning jolts caused by semidivine nightmares. For a moment, disoriented, he contemplated the marble ceiling above him, decorated with a mural of constellations that seemed to move subtly, as if breathing.
"Definitely not in cabin three," he thought, as the previous day's events returned to his mind with the subtlety of a Minotaur in a china shop.
"Great," he muttered to himself, rubbing his eyes. "Judge in a divine beauty contest. Exactly how I planned to ruin my week."
He sat up slowly, noticing that the room assigned by Artemis was surprisingly comfortable. Spacious without being ostentatious, decorated with natural motifs carved in silver wood, and with a bed that seemed specifically designed for his body. Too perfect, actually, which only increased his distrust.
Percy headed to the adjacent bathroom, where he discovered a marble bathtub filled with crystalline water that gave off a slight aroma of pine and ocean. The water was exactly at the temperature he preferred, a detail that was simultaneously considerate and disturbing.
"Well, this isn't creepy at all," he commented to the mirror, which returned an image of himself with tousled hair and an expression of permanent confusion. "A goddess who hates men has prepared a perfect bath for me. No red flags here."
Still, the temptation of water was too strong for a son of Poseidon. He submerged himself, feeling his muscles instantly relax and his mind clear. Underwater, where he always thought better, Percy reflected on his situation.
He was trapped on Olympus, with a cursed golden apple in his possession, forced to choose between three notoriously vengeful goddesses, and housed in the temple of a fourth goddess whose intentions were, at best, opaque. And, for some reason, Artemis seemed to have a particular interest in him that went beyond simple gratitude for having held up the sky in her place years ago.
When he finally emerged from the water and dressed in the clothes that someone—presumably Artemis—had left for him (black jeans, a gray t-shirt with a crescent moon print, and surprisingly comfortable leather boots), Percy felt slightly more prepared to face the day. At least until he opened the door of his room and found himself face to face with Artemis.
Or rather, with a version of Artemis he had never seen before.
The goddess had abandoned her usual form of a twelve-year-old girl for the appearance of a young woman of approximately eighteen years. Her hair, normally silvery brown, was now an intense copper-red that fell in wild waves to the middle of her back. Her eyes were still the same hypnotic lunar silver, but now they shone in a face with more defined and mature features. She wore a short hunting tunic in green and silver tones that highlighted her athletic figure.
Percy was momentarily speechless, a rare phenomenon for someone whose mouth frequently worked faster than his brain.
"Good morning, Percy Jackson," Artemis greeted him with a smile that seemed to contain some amusing secret. "I hope you rested well."
"I... yes, thank you," Percy managed to articulate, trying to keep his gaze fixed on the goddess's eyes and not on the rest of her, a surprisingly difficult task. "Change of image?"
Artemis raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.
"Gods can adopt any form we wish," she responded naturally. "This one seemed... more appropriate for the occasion."
"What occasion exactly?" asked Percy, recovering some of his usual sarcasm. "The divine beauty judgment in which you inexplicably don't participate?"
A shadow of something—amusement? irritation?—crossed Artemis's face.
"Breakfast, Perseus. The occasion is breakfast."
As she pronounced these words, she gestured toward the corridor that led to the center of the temple.
"I've prepared something. Come, before it gets cold."
Percy followed her, trying to ignore the fact that he had never before heard that the goddess of the hunt prepared breakfasts for anyone, much less for a male demigod. Artemis's strange behavior only increased his suspicions that there was much more at stake than it appeared.
The center of the temple, which he had briefly seen the night before, had been transformed. Next to the central fountain there was now a low table of polished wood, covered with a variety of foods that made Percy's stomach growl involuntarily: fresh fruits of vibrant colors, breads of different textures, roasted meats that gave off an intoxicating aroma, and a pitcher of what appeared to be diluted golden nectar.
"Did you... hunt this?" asked Percy, pointing at the food as he sat on one of the cushions arranged around the table.
Artemis took a seat across from him, moving with the fluid grace of a predator.
"The meat, yes," she confirmed, serving a silvery drink in a cup for Percy. "I hunted it this morning while you slept. I gathered the fruits from my personal garden."
Percy observed the cup with some distrust.
"What is this? It doesn't look like normal nectar."
"It's moon water," responded Artemis, taking a sip from her own cup. "It's not dangerous for demigods, although it has... interesting properties."
Percy hesitated a moment before trying the drink. It tasted simultaneously like crystalline spring water and silver light, if light could have a taste. A sensation of freshness spread through his body, clearing his mind and sharpening his senses.
"It's... incredible," he admitted, surprised.
Artemis smiled, pleased.
"It's my own creation. Few outside my Hunters have had the privilege of tasting it."
Percy took another sip, enjoying the strange sensation of mental clarity it provided. He could almost feel his thoughts organizing themselves, as if the constant mist that inhabited his brain (courtesy of his ADHD) temporarily dissipated.
"Why are you doing this?" he finally asked, observing the goddess with renewed attention. "The lodging, the breakfast... Not that I don't appreciate it, but it doesn't make sense. I thought you hated men."
Artemis contemplated him for a moment, her silver eyes unfathomable.
"I hate a certain type of men," she finally corrected. "The arrogant ones, the abusive ones, those who believe they have rights over women." She broke off a piece of bread, observing it thoughtfully. "You... are different."
"Different how?" insisted Percy, not entirely convinced.
"You would hold up the sky for those you care about," she responded simply. "Not many, men or women, can say the same."
Percy didn't know how to respond to that. It was true that he had borne the weight of the firmament, first to save Annabeth and then to allow Artemis to free herself and fight against Atlas. But he didn't consider it particularly heroic; he had simply done what was necessary in the moment.
"Anyone in my position would have done the same," he murmured, uncomfortable with the praise.
"No," contradicted Artemis with absolute certainty. "Not anyone."
A silence settled between them, not entirely uncomfortable but charged with something indefinable. Percy ate some of the roasted meat, which turned out to be as delicious as it smelled, with a wild and perfectly smoked flavor that he had never experienced before.
"So..." he finally said, trying to change the subject. "Any advice for the poor mortal who has to judge between three goddesses with egos the size of Mount Olympus?"
Artemis let out a crystalline laugh, a sound so unexpected that Percy almost choked on his food.
"Are you asking me for advice on how to deal with women, Perseus Jackson?" she asked, genuinely amused. "Me, the goddess who has rejected men for millennia."
Percy couldn't help but smile at the irony.
"Well, let's say my romantic history isn't particularly brilliant either," he replied. "My only serious relationship ended because we both were traumatized after literally falling into hell."
Artemis's smile vanished, replaced by a more contemplative expression.
"Tartarus leaves deep scars," she commented with unexpected softness. "Scars that not even the gods would wish to bear."
Percy nodded, appreciating that she didn't try to minimize the experience. Most people, even other demigods, couldn't really understand what it meant to have been in Tartarus.
"As for your question," continued Artemis after a moment, "my advice would be simple: observe what they do, not what they say. Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite will try to impress you with promises and charms, but their true natures will be revealed in their actions, not in their words."
Percy looked at her with renewed interest.
"You sound as if you're speaking from experience."
Something flashed in the goddess's eyes, a fleeting emotion that Percy couldn't identify.
"I have observed the game of seduction for millennia, Percy Jackson," she responded. "Although I don't participate in it, I know its rules well."
Breakfast continued with surprisingly pleasant conversation. Artemis told him about ancient hunts, constellations she had personally created, and mythical creatures that Percy didn't even know existed. She was a captivating narrator, with a voice that subtly changed to adapt to each story, sometimes fierce like a predator, other times soft like moonlight on a tranquil lake.
Percy found himself completely absorbed, momentarily forgetting the impossible situation he was in. There was something about this version of Artemis—more mature, more accessible, but no less intense—that was hypnotic. He would never admit it out loud (he valued his existence too much to commit such an imprudence), but he had always thought that Artemis was the most beautiful goddess on Olympus. Not with the dazzling and artificial beauty of Aphrodite, but with something wilder, more dangerous and, precisely because of that, more fascinating.
He was so absorbed that he almost jumped when Artemis suddenly stood up.
"It's time to depart," she announced, and Percy noticed that the sun had advanced considerably in the sky. "The Olympian Council awaits us to establish the rules of your... judgment."
Percy stood up too, surprised by how much time had passed. Had they been talking for hours? It felt like minutes.
"Thank you for breakfast," he said sincerely. "It was... unexpected. In the good sense."
Artemis tilted her head slightly, accepting the thanks.
"Hunters always share their food with those they respect, Percy Jackson," she responded. "It's a tradition older than Olympus itself."
As they prepared to leave, Percy noticed that the goddess maintained her form of a young adult, instead of changing to the appearance of a child with which she usually presented herself at the Olympian Council.
"Aren't you going to... you know... change?" he asked, vaguely gesturing at her figure.
Artemis gave him a penetrating look that made Percy instantly regret the question.
"Does my appearance make you uncomfortable, Perseus?" she inquired with a tone impossible to decipher.
"No! No, not at all," he hastened to clarify. "It's just that you normally look... different at the Council."
"The current circumstances require... adaptations," was her enigmatic response. "Besides, I find this form is more effective for communicating with you."
Percy wasn't sure what exactly that meant, but decided not to press the issue. Instead, he extracted the golden apple from his pocket, contemplating it with renewed apprehension. In the daylight, it seemed to glow with a disturbing interior light, and the words "For the fairest" pulsed like a golden heart.
"This is going to be a disaster, isn't it?" he murmured, more to himself than to Artemis.
The goddess looked at him with an indecipherable expression.
"History tends to repeat itself, Percy Jackson," she responded. "But the protagonists can change the ending."
With these cryptic words, Artemis indicated that he should follow her. Together they left the temple into the dazzling light of the Olympian day, heading toward what Percy was sure would be one of the most chaotic divine meetings in recent history.
And given his track record, that was saying quite a lot.
The Olympian Throne Room was a hive of activity when Percy and Artemis arrived. Nymphs and satyrs ran from one side to the other, apparently preparing some type of elaborate event. They had installed additional stands around the circular room, as if they expected an audience for the show that was about to unfold.
"What is this?" asked Percy, pointing at the preparations. "Are they going to sell tickets to my public humiliation?"
"The gods rarely miss an opportunity to turn a crisis into entertainment," responded Artemis dryly. "Especially when they aren't the ones at the center of the storm."
Percy groaned, his apprehension increasing by the moment. As they advanced toward the center of the room, he noticed that most of the thrones were already occupied. Zeus presided from his central seat, with an expression that oscillated between irritation and fatalistic resignation. To his right, Poseidon gave Percy a look of paternal sympathy, like someone watching his son voluntarily walk to the slaughter.
Hermes seemed to have partially recovered from his crisis of the previous day and now coordinated the preparations with exaggerated enthusiasm, probably relieved that attention had shifted from his error with the invitations. Apollo, casually reclined on his golden throne, fiddled with a lyre while observing Percy and Artemis with poorly disguised curiosity, especially evident when his gaze settled on the adult form of his twin sister.
The only thrones that remained empty were, predictably, those of Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite.
"Percy Jackson!" thundered Zeus when he saw him approach. "At last you arrive. We have urgent matters to discuss."
"Sorry for the delay," responded Percy with barely veiled sarcasm. "I was busy contemplating the multiple ways this situation can end with me turned into some type of unhappy marine creature."
Poseidon let out a laugh that he quickly disguised as a cough when Zeus shot him an irritated look.
"Your sense of humor will not improve your situation, demigod," warned the king of the gods.
"My sense of humor is the only thing keeping me sane at this point," replied Percy, taking out the golden apple from his pocket. "So, what are the rules of this divine circus?"
Zeus frowned at the impertinence, but before he could respond, Apollo intervened, setting his lyre aside.
"That is precisely the topic we need to discuss," said the sun god, nimbly jumping from his throne to approach. "The rules of the contest."
Percy noticed that Apollo cast curious glances toward Artemis, who had positioned herself slightly behind him, like a silver shadow.
"Since when do you adopt this form for councils, little sister?" asked Apollo with a mischievous smile.
"My forms are my business, brother," responded Artemis coldly. "Focus on the matter at hand."
Apollo raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, but his smile persisted, as if he had confirmed some personal suspicion.
"As I was saying," he continued, turning to Percy, "we need to establish the parameters of the judgment. The three... participants have been sending proposals since last night, each more extravagant than the last."
"Proposals?" asked Percy with growing unease.
"Hera suggests a parade of divine achievements, followed by a questionnaire about family values," explained Hermes, consulting a digital tablet that seemed incongruously modern in the ancient hall. "Athena proposes a philosophical debate on the nature of true beauty, followed by a demonstration of strategic skills."
"Let me guess," interrupted Percy. "And Aphrodite wants a swimsuit pageant?"
To his surprise, Hermes shook his head.
"Worse. She suggests a living recreation of her 'most emblematic moments throughout history,' including, and I quote verbatim, 'that time in Babylon with the acrobat twins and the barrel of olive oil.'"
Percy felt his soul trying to leave his body at that mental image.
"There has to be another option," he pleaded, looking around the room. "Can't we just talk like normal people? An interview, maybe?"
"Boring!" exclaimed Dionysus from his throne, where he was drinking Diet Coke from a jeweled cup. "Where's the drama in that, Pedro?"
"It's Percy," he corrected automatically. "And the drama is that three all-powerful goddesses want a mortal to judge who is the most beautiful. Trust me, that's already enough drama to fill three seasons of an Olympian soap opera."
A soft, musical laugh sounded just behind him. Percy turned, surprised to find Artemis smiling with genuine amusement.
"The demigod is right," said the goddess of the hunt, stepping forward. "Simplicity would be the best approach. I propose three individual meetings: one with each goddess, on neutral ground. No tricks, no obvious manipulations, no divine entourages. Just Percy and each of the contenders, conversing as..." she paused, as if the concept were strange to her, "normal people."
A contemplative silence followed her words. Finally, Zeus nodded reluctantly.
"Artemis's proposal has merit," he conceded. "And given that she is not participating in the contest, we can consider her suggestion as impartial."
Percy gave Artemis a grateful look, which she answered with an almost imperceptible gesture.
"Then it is decided," declared Zeus. "Percy Jackson will meet with each of the goddesses separately, in locations of his choice within Olympus, and after the three meetings, he will issue his judgment."
"One more thing," intervened Percy, feeling a sudden impulse of bravery (or perhaps stupidity). "I want to add a condition: no bribes. I will not accept offerings of power, wisdom, beauty, or anything else. If they try to buy my vote as they did with Paris, they will automatically be disqualified."
A murmur ran through the room. Openly defying three of the most powerful goddesses wasn't exactly a recommended survival strategy.
"Bold," commented Ares with a cruel smile. "Stupid, but bold. I wonder what form you'll have when Hera is done with you. A sea slug, perhaps? Or something even more pathetic?"
"Your condition will be communicated to the participants," said Zeus, ignoring Ares. "Although I cannot guarantee they will respect it."
"That's why I suggest each meeting be observed," added Artemis. "Not to interfere, but to ensure that the basic rules are followed."
"And who would this observer be?" asked Apollo, raising an eyebrow. "Are you volunteering, little sister?"
Something in his tone suggested he saw through Artemis's intentions, whatever they might be. The divine twins exchanged a look loaded with hidden meanings that Percy could not decipher.
"It would be the most logical choice," responded Artemis with studied calm. "As we've already established, I have no personal interest in the outcome of this contest."
Apollo smiled in a way that suggested he thought exactly the opposite, but he did not openly contradict her.
"Very well," concluded Zeus. "Artemis will act as a neutral observer in the three meetings." He looked directly at Percy. "The meetings will begin tomorrow at dawn. Today you will have time to mentally prepare, demigod. You'll need it."
With these less than encouraging words, Zeus concluded the audience with a miniature thunderclap that made the columns of the hall tremble.
As the gods began to disperse, Percy remained in the center of the room, the golden apple weighing in his hand like a bomb about to explode. Artemis approached him, her expression inscrutable.
"Come," she said simply. "There are places on Olympus you should know before your meetings with the goddesses."
Percy followed her, grateful for any help he could get. As they left the hall, he noticed that Apollo was watching them with an enigmatic smile, as if he were the only one who truly understood what was happening.
"Your brother seems to find all of this very amusing," commented Percy when they were out of earshot of the sun god.
Artemis let out a sound that could have been a laugh or a grunt of frustration.
"Apollo believes he can read all intentions as he reads the future," she responded. "Sometimes he forgets that not all hunters reveal their strategy before shooting."
The cryptic response did nothing to calm Percy's growing suspicions. There was something more to this entire situation, something that everyone seemed to perceive except him. The sensation of being a pawn in a game much larger than the apparent beauty contest accompanied him as he followed Artemis along the celestial paths of Olympus, toward unknown destinations and encounters that, he sensed, would change the course of his life forever.
What Percy couldn't know was that, from the shadows of a nearby pillar, a figure had observed the entire scene with eyes bright with satisfied malice. Eris, the goddess of discord, smiled as she contemplated the chaos that her little golden apple was causing.
"History repeats itself," she murmured to herself. "But this time, the script has a different author."
With a silent laugh, Eris vanished into the shadows, leaving behind only the echo of her malicious amusement and the subtle aroma of imminent chaos.