[Third Person Pov]
The light around the Di Angelo siblings began to thin, bleeding away in uneven patches as the shadows that clung to Nox deepened and thickened. What had been ordinary night under a snow-laden sky suddenly felt heavier, as though the darkness itself had gained weight and intent. The air grew colder still, sharp enough to sting the lungs.
The warning instincts Nico and Bianca had honed through years of training flared at once. A prickling heat raced up the backs of their necks. Goosebumps rose along their arms—unrelated to the snow that blanketed the ground.
Nox's silhouette began to change.
At first the shift was subtle: a broadening of the shoulders, a lengthening of the limbs that made him seem suddenly too tall for the space he occupied. Then the change accelerated. His form swelled, mass gathering under the skin as though something vast was pushing outward from within. Nico and Bianca took several careful steps backward without speaking, eyes locked on the figure in front of them. Neither had ever seen him do this.
Even Nebula drifted to the side, giving her older brother a wide berth. Her usual playful arrogance softened into something quieter, almost reverent, as she watched the transformation unfold.
Nox dropped to his hands and knees in the snow. His fingers sank into the white crust, then lengthened and sharpened into black, curved claws that punched through the frozen earth with a series of wet cracks. Shadows poured up his arms like liquid metal, hardening into overlapping scales that drank the remaining light. His clothes vanished—absorbed into the expanding body rather than torn away—as muscle and shadows continued to surge. Palms pressed flat against the ground. The earth shattered beneath them in a spiderweb of fractures.
His face stretched forward into a long, angular snout. Horns spiraled upward from his skull, ridged and lethal. His eyes narrowed into vertical slits of burning red. His spine arched violently; from the new curve of his back two vast wings of black leather unfurled with a sound like wet canvas snapping open in a gale.
A long, whip-like tail erupted from the base of his spine and slammed into the snow hard enough to send a shockwave of powder outward.
Nico and Bianca tilted their heads farther and farther back, following the rising bulk until the shadow dragon towered above them, easily the height of the surrounding trees. Decay spread outward from where his claws gripped the earth—grass withered, snow blackened, the very ground seeming to rot in slow concentric circles.
For a moment the massive jaws remained sealed. Then they parted with visible effort, strings of living shadow stretching between the upper and lower teeth like viscous tethers. From the cavern of his chest an unholy roar tore free, aimed directly at the siblings:
"WRAAAAAAAAH!!"
The sound shook snow from the branches overhead. Nico and Bianca stood frozen, the impossible creature before them blotting out the sky.
A deep, continuous rumble rolled from Nox's throat. When he spoke, the voice was no longer the one they knew. It was deeper, guttural, layered with something that vibrated in the bones.
"Father told you to stay where you were," the dragon said, red slits fixed on them. "And like good little children, you will obey his words." His presence pressed outward, heavy as a physical weight. "Fail to do so… and your punishment will come in the form of me."
Silence stretched. Nico and Bianca could only stare, blinking, trying to properly digest what it was that they were seeing exactly.
Nebula drifted a little closer, a proud, smug curve to her mouth. "If I were you two," she said lightly, "I would listen. He doesn't take kindly to anyone showing disrespect toward our father—even if it is the two of you."
Nico slowly raised both hands in a placating gesture, still unable to look away from the towering form. "Okay—wait. I know this isn't the time, but… that is so fucking cool."
---
Artemis tossed and turned inside her enchanted tent. Sleep refused to come. Every time she closed her eyes, the conversation with Annabeth replayed in fragments.
"Destined to be together…" she murmured into the quiet, the phrase tasting strange on her tongue. "What does that even mean?"
She tried to picture it and failed. The idea sat in her mind like a foreign star: bright, distant, and impossible to map.
With a soft sigh she let her eyes fall shut, surrendering the wheel to imagination.
Images began to form behind her lids—half-formed, uncertain, and far more vivid than she was ready for.
…
Church bells began to toll in slow, resonant waves, their deep bronze voices rolling across an impossible cathedral of white stone and living light. An organ swelled beneath them, filling every arch with the rich, ceremonial chords of the Wedding March.
Lucian stood at the altar in a perfectly tailored black suit, the fabric catching the divine radiance that poured through the stained-glass windows. Behind him, Percy, Markus, and Grover waited in quiet formation, while Apollo himself—golden and smiling—stood ready to officiate.
The great doors at the far end of the aisle opened under the hands of Hermes and Dionysus. Artemis stepped into the light.
She wore a wedding dress of pure moonlight silk, simple yet radiant, the train whispering across the marble floor.
Her arm was linked with Zeus's. The King of the Gods looked older in that moment—softer—his eyes already bright with unshed tears as he guided his daughter forward.
Every god and divine being in attendance rose as one, filling the pews in neat, solemn rows of power and history.
When they reached the altar, Artemis released her father's arm. Her huntresses stood in a silent, protective arc behind her, silver arrows glinting at their backs.
Zeus took his seat between Hades and Poseidon; the moment he sat, the tears finally spilled. Both brothers leaned in at once, heavy hands settling on his shoulders, murmuring quiet reassurances while small, knowing smiles touched their faces.
Lucian stepped forward. With careful fingers he lifted the veil, drawing the sheer fabric back over her auburn hair. Artemis's face emerged into the light—radiant, luminous, more beautiful than any mortal or immortal present had ever seen her. She held a simple bouquet of white moonflowers and night-blooming jasmine.
Lucian's own eyes shone with tears. His voice, when he spoke, was barely more than a breath.
"You look perfect."
---
Artemis sat on her heels in the middle of her bed, face burning a furious crimson. She seized her pillow and began punching it in rapid, furious strikes, each blow muffled by the thick fabric.
'What the heck is wrong with me?!' she screamed inside her own skull. 'We're both Greek—we wouldn't even have that kind of wedding!'
She kept hitting until her arms ached and her breath came in short, angry bursts. Then she collapsed face-first into the deep fist-shaped dents she had left, body going limp. The moment her eyes closed, imagination seized the reins again.
---
*Bang. Bang. Bang.*
The headboard slammed against the canvas wall in a relentless rhythm. Picture frames of their wedding day rattled and danced; one tore free and shattered on the floor in a spray of glass.
Artemis clung to the broad, sweat-slicked back of a man with long black hair, her nails carving thin red welts across his shoulders.
Her expression was pure, abandoned hunger. Legs locked tight around his waist, she pulled him deeper with every desperate roll of her hips until the pleasure crested so sharply she bit down hard on his shoulder.
"Ow—" Lucian looked down at her, black hair plastered to his forehead, eyes shining with teasing tears. "Was it really that good—"
"Lucian, don't you dare stop!" She dragged his face down into a frantic, open-mouthed kiss that swallowed the rest of his words.
---
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"
Artemis's scream tore out of her at full volume, instantly muffled by the pillow she had smashed against her face. She rolled in frantic, thrashing circles across the mattress, kicking and twisting as though the fantasy itself were chasing her.
One particularly violent roll carried her past the edge. She tumbled off the bed with a startled yelp and a heavy thud, one leg still hooked over the mattress while the rest of her sprawled on the tent floor.
She made no move to get up. She simply lay there panting, staring at the softly glowing ceiling of her tent, face the same vivid red as her hair.
---
"Puuush!"
"WHAT DO YOU THINK I'M DOING?! AHHHHH!"
"I can see the head crowning—don't stop! Just one more!"
"HNMMMM!!"
A thin, furious newborn cry split the air. "Waah! Waaaah! Waaah!"
Moments later Lucian appeared at the side of the bed, something small and carefully wrapped in soft blankets cradled against his chest.
Artemis lay against the pillows looking utterly spent, hair stuck to her temples, eyes glassy with exhaustion. Lucian's voice cracked as he lowered the bundle so she could see.
"Look…"
A tiny face, perfect and new, with a soft crown of auburn hair and sparkling crimson eyes.
"Our beautiful little girl."
---
Artemis stared blankly at the ceiling of her tent. The pillow was still clutched in one hand. She had not moved from the floor. Slowly she drew the pillow to her chest and hugged it with desperate tightness. The stoic mask she was wearing began to fracture. Silent tears welled, spilled, and slid down her temples into her hair. Soft, broken sobs followed—quiet enough that no one outside the tent would ever hear them.
"What is the matter with me…" she whispered into the fabric. "Am I broken?"
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