Atalanta's mind, usually a sharp instrument of calculation and instinct, short-circuited.
She stood at the edge of the glade, a heavy coil of good hemp rope slung over one shoulder, a bundled leather pack containing a sickle, hatchet, and a serviceable hunting bow in her other hand. Her errand had been swift, efficient. She'd returned, as promised.
And the scene before her had erased all coherent thought.
Artemis.
Her Lady. Her Patron. The divine presence whose light had guided her through the darkest forests of her life.
And Artemis was… holding someone.
More specifically, she had her arms wrapped around the strange, pale boy, Cyd, in an embrace that was at once maternal, possessive, and utterly bewildering. The goddess's chin rested lightly on his snow-white hair. One of her slender hands was absently patting his back. Cyd himself was rigid, his face a mask of pure, undiluted terror, eyes wide and staring at nothing, as if he'd seen the very depths of Tartarus open up before him.
The rope slipped from Atalanta's shoulder and hit the forest floor with a dull thump.
"Wait…" Cyd's voice was a strangled whisper. He managed to wrench one arm free, his hand reaching desperately toward Atalanta. It was the plea of a drowning man sighting a distant shore. "Let me… explain…"
Atalanta did not hear him. A low, white-noise static filled her ears. Her vision tunneled. Her fingers, moving of their own accord, found the end of the fallen rope and began to coil it, over and over, her knuckles white. The fibers bit into her skin. Her serene, hunter's composure shattered, replaced by a rising, primal tide of something dark and possessive. That space… that is mine to protect, mine to revere… how dare he… how dare this… this… MAN…
She took a step forward. Then another. Her movements were jerky, like a marionette with its strings tangled.
"Uhhh…" Cyd swallowed hard, watching the huntress advance. The look in her vivid green eyes was no longer feral assessment. It was homicidal intent. He had a very clear, very visceral premonition of exactly how that rope was about to be used, and it didn't involve tying a neat bundle of firewood.
"Ara~ Atalanta! It's been a while!"
Artemis's voice cut through the static—a chime of pure, crystalline joy. She lifted her head from Cyd's hair, her serene blue eyes lighting up with genuine pleasure at the sight of her devotee.
The sound acted like a bucket of ice water on Atalanta's simmering rage. She blinked, the murderous haze clearing from her eyes. She saw her goddess's smile, the affectionate glint. She saw the rope in her own hands. Shame, swift and hot, flooded her.
But the object of her fury was still right there, nestled where no man had any right to be.
Logic and devotion warred with instinct. Devotion to Artemis won, but instinct demanded a compromise.
"My lady!" Atalanta dropped the rope as if it were a venomous snake. In one fluid, blindingly fast motion, she closed the distance. Her hands shot out, not for the rope, but for Cyd. She didn't punch or kick. She utilized pure, elegant leverage. One hand clamped on his bicep, the other hooked behind his knee. Before Cyd could even process the new threat, the world upended.
He was yanked from Artemis's loose embrace, spun through the air, and then the forest floor rushed up to meet the entire plane of his back.
WHUMP-OOF!
The air exploded from his lungs in a pained gasp. He lay sprawled in the leaf litter, staring at the sky, his shoulder and spine singing a symphony of fresh agony. The impact had been professional, precise, and utterly merciless.
"I…" he wheezed, pushing himself up onto his elbows. He shot a wounded, accusatory look at Atalanta, who now stood between him and the goddess, her posture defensive. Scrambling on hands and knees, he crawled pathetically toward the white steed, using the horse's solid bulk as a living shield. If she came for round two, the horse was taking the hit.
"Lady Artemis," Atalanta said, her voice tight with a mixture of reverence and frantic urgency. She pointed a rigid finger at the cowering Cyd. "He may be pale, but he is unquestionably, undeniably, a male."
"Mm, I know," Artemis said, tilting her head. A soft smile played on her lips. "But this child is one of my faithful, just like you." She reached out and gently stroked Atalanta's hair, smoothing down the wild strands with a touch that instantly made the huntress's shoulders slump, the fight bleeding out of her.
"Eh?" Atalanta's brain stuttered again. Faithful? A man? The concepts refused to reconcile. The core tenet of Artemis's maidenhood, the sacred vow… "But… how…?"
"Um, I've been… pretty diligent with the offerings?" Cyd's voice piped up from behind the horse's legs. He peeked one pale eye around the steed's flank, raising a hand in a feeble wave. It was a survival tactic, honed to perfection. The goddess before him was not just any deity. She was Artemis, Olympian, Daughter of Zeus and Leto, Mistress of Beasts, the Lady of the Moon. Her power was second only to a select few on Olympus, and her temperament, as the myths chillingly attested, could be… mercurial. Forget her, even for a moment, in your prayers, and you might find yourself the surprised recipient of a divine boar-delivery service. A certain king of Calydon could attest to that posthumously.
"Yes, you have been," Artemis said, her smile warming. "Your little fires on the shore were very sweet. I noticed."
Cyd sagged with relief, his forehead resting against the horse's cool hide. You're happy? Great. Wonderful. Please stay happy.
"Tch. Damn man," Atalanta muttered under her breath, shooting a glare that promised future inconveniences, if not outright violence.
"You two must get along," Artemis declared, her tone leaving no room for argument. It was a gentle command, but a command nonetheless.
"If it is your will, my Lady…" Atalanta bowed her head, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. Her mind, however, was already racing. Find an opportunity… a hunting accident… a tragic fall…
"NO! I mean, I'm leaving! Right now! Not staying a second longer!" Cyd yelped, scrambling to his feet. He snatched up the coil of rope Atalanta had dropped, his movements frantic. "Get along"? The notion was ludicrous. Her eyes were broadcasting a detailed schematic of his demise. She might withhold a killing blow out of deference to Artemis, but a "mishap" in the wilderness? A "regrettable misunderstanding" with local fauna? He'd be lucky to make it to sundown.
He vaulted onto the white steed's back, clinging to its mane. "Horse! Full speed! Caucasus Mountains! Now! Please!"
The horse, sensing its rider's palpable desperation—and perhaps finally given permission to cut loose—let out a triumphant whinny. It shook its magnificent head, and with a sound like unfurling silk, two enormous, feathered wings erupted from its shoulders. They were pristine white, each pinion perfect, catching the dappled light with an ethereal glow.
"You can FLY?!" Cyd shrieked, almost losing his grip. Where in Hades were you hiding those?!
The horse snorted, a distinctly smug sound. It was a steed of Poseidon, Lord of Storms and Earth-Shaker. Of course it could fly. To be bound solely to land or sea would be an embarrassment.
"Leaving so soon?" Artemis pouted, her expression one of genuine, childlike disappointment as she watched them. "We only just met."
"Lady Artemis, shall I shoot them down?" Atalanta asked without a hint of irony, her bow already in hand, an arrow nocked. Her eyes narrowed, calculating wind speed and trajectory. "I have a clear shot. It's not too late."
Artemis blinked, then shook her head, her long, moonlit hair swaying. A small, knowing smile returned to her lips. "We will meet again."
"I'd really prefer it be now," Atalanta insisted, drawing the bowstring taut. But Cyd and the ascending steed were already a shrinking speck against the vast blue, then vanished into a bank of low cloud. The moment was gone.
"Tch." She lowered her bow, frustration etched into every line of her body. She'd had the shot. She was sure of it.
"If you wished it, Lady Artemis, you could certainly bring them down," Atalanta said, a touch sullenly.
"Mmm, even now, I could," Artemis agreed, reaching down to stroke the golden horn of the deer that had materialized silently beside her. "But that would frighten the poor thing. And might hurt him. So, no."
"Why?" The word burst from Atalanta, raw and plaintive. "Why do you care for that… that male?"
Artemis tilted her head, considering. A soft breeze stirred the leaves. "How to explain…?" she murmured. Then her serene smile returned, brighter than before. "Because that child… is a child of the moon."
The words landed like a physical blow. Atalanta's grip on her bow tightened until the wood groaned. A child of the moon. The phrase echoed, meaningless and yet infuriatingly significant. It changed nothing for her. It only made the inexplicable favor feel more profound, more unfair.
I should have shot him in the head, she thought with savage finality. She didn't understand, but she didn't need to. The feeling was enough.
---
High above the mortal world, on the sun-drenched marble terraces of Mount Olympus, the King of the Gods watched.
Zeus reclined on the broad steps outside his palace, one massive hand propping up his chin. His eyes, the color of a gathering thunderstorm, were fixed on a distant point in the sky—a point where a white speck had just disappeared into the clouds. The usual boisterous energy around him was subdued, replaced by a pensive, almost amused stillness.
"So, the child makes for Prometheus," his voice rumbled, deep enough to vibrate in the chest.
"Is that wise?" came the reply from his brother. Poseidon leaned against a fluted column, his trident resting casually in the crook of his arm. He followed Zeus's gaze, a faint smile on his own bearded face. "You are the one who ordered him chained, after all. This could be seen as… interfering with divine punishment."
Zeus made a dismissive sound, a tsk of irritation that carried the echo of old grievances. "If he hadn't been so clever, so smug, and hadn't tried to pull that stunt with the sacrifices… and let's not forget the other business," he said, his expression darkening momentarily. "I wouldn't have had to make an example of him. Besides," he turned his stormy gaze on Poseidon, a sly glint entering his eyes, "you're the one who sent your personal chariot-steed to ferry him. A bit late for reservations, brother."
Poseidon threw back his head and laughed, the sound booming across the silent courtyard. "I merely answered a prayer! The boy wished to reach his destination. I provided… efficient transport. A god's duty."
"Efficient transport," Zeus echoed, his lips quirking. "By commanding your fish to launch him like a catapult stone, and then lending him one of your own immortal steeds. You've grown remarkably… dutiful toward this particular mortal."
"I cannot see into men's hearts as you can, brother," Poseidon said, shrugging his broad shoulders. "But I can count. Five years of consistent, humble offerings. No grand requests, no bargaining. Just… thanks. For the sea's bounty, for calm waters. It was… refreshing. Now he finally asks for something tangible. I found myself inclined to grant it."
"Take care he doesn't decide to keep the horse," Zeus said, the comment half-jest, half-probe.
"Would you care to wager on it?"
A third voice joined them, colder and smoother than the sea or the storm. It emanated from the deep shadows pooling at the base of the steps. A figure coalesced from the darkness, swathed in robes of deepest gloom that seemed to drink the sunlight. No features were visible within the hood, only a sense of profound chill and ancient knowledge.
Zeus's eyebrow arched. "Ah. He made offerings to you as well, I see."
The shadowed figure was still for a long moment, then gave a single, slow nod of acknowledgment.
"Then I shall wager the boy returns the steed," Poseidon said, crossing his arms, a confident smirk on his face.
"Leaving me to take the opposing position, I suppose," Zeus said, spreading his hands in a gesture of mock resignation. A true wager required opposing stakes. As the younger brother—and the one who held the final authority—it fell to him to play the contrarian. He lay back fully on the sun-warmed marble, the picture of relaxed dominion. "Very well. I wager he keeps it. Finds it too useful to give up."
"And the stakes?" Poseidon asked, his gaze shifting to the silent figure in the shadows.
Zeus tapped a finger against his lips, his eyes gleaming with celestial mischief. "If I lose… I shall extend my personal favor to the child. A nudge here, a diverted disaster there. Nothing overt. Just… a slight tilt of the scales in his direction."
"And if we lose?" Poseidon pressed.
Zeus's grin widened. "Then you two must do me a small favor. Look after one of my children for a time. A troublesome one."
Poseidon's smirk turned into a full-bellied laugh. "You'll have to be more specific, brother! You have so many. Which particular headache do you wish to share?"
"Precisely the problem," Zeus sighed, though the amusement never left his eyes. "Too many. I can't possibly keep track of them all.Just grab a handful and see which one calls you 'Uncle Fish."
Hades, for once, chuckled under his breath and melted back into the darkness from which he came, leaving the two brothers alone on the sunlit terrace—a king and a lord, their immortal attention now irrevocably fixed on the journey of one very pale, very fortunate, and increasingly entangled mortal.
The game, it seemed, was already in play
Poseidon sighed. "Why do I feel like I've already lost this bet?"
Zeus leaned his head back, staring into the stars above.
"Because, dear brother… you probably have."