Chapter Five: The Moon's Child
Atalanta stood frozen at the edge of the clearing, her arms laden with coiled ropes and supplies she had gathered from her hidden cache. The afternoon light filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows across the forest floor, but her eyes were fixed on a single, impossible sight: the goddess Artemis, mistress of the hunt, patron of maidens, and one of the most fearsome deities on Olympus, was embracing a mortal man. Not just any mortal man, either—but that mortal man. The pale-skinned, white-haired, absurdly trusting fool who had somehow convinced her to run errands for him.
Her brain, trained for years to process threats and react with lethal precision, simply... stopped.
"Artemis... my lady?" she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Scythica, still trapped in the goddess's warm embrace, caught sight of Atalanta's approach and felt a surge of desperate hope. "Wait! Atalanta! Please, listen to me—" He struggled against Artemis's grip, reaching out toward the huntress with pleading eyes. "I can explain! This isn't what it looks like!"
But Atalanta wasn't listening. Her gaze had gone distant, unfocused, her hands unconsciously tightening around the ropes she carried. She began walking toward them with the mechanical determination of a woman who had made a decision and was now simply following through.
She's going to strangle me, Scythica realized with dawning horror. She's going to take that rope and strangle me, and Artemis is going to watch, and the horse is going to laugh, and I'm going to die in the arms of a goddess while being murdered by a huntress.
"Atalanta, please—I swear, I didn't ask for this! She just appeared! She just—"
"Oh, Atalanta!" Artemis finally noticed her priestess, and her face lit up with genuine delight. "It's been so long! How have you been? Have you been keeping up with your training? I've missed you, you know."
The sound of her goddess's voice cut through Atalanta's trance like a blade through silk. She blinked, shook her head, and suddenly became aware of the rope in her hands, of the murderous intent radiating from her own body. With a visible effort, she forced herself to relax—then, without warning, she grabbed Scythica by the collar and threw him.
Whump.
He hit the ground hard, the breath driven from his lungs, and rolled several feet before coming to a stop at the white stallion's hooves. The horse looked down at him with what could only be described as amused indifference.
"Oww..." Scythica groaned, clutching his shoulder. He dragged himself upright, using the stallion's leg for support, and shot Atalanta a wounded look. "What was that for?!"
Atalanta ignored him entirely, stepping protectively between him and her goddess. "Artemis, my lady, I understand he's pale and strange, but he is undeniably a man!" She gestured at Scythica with barely concealed disgust. "I assure you, my judgment is sound in this matter."
Artemis tilted her head, golden hair cascading over one shoulder like a waterfall of sunlight. "I know he's a man, Atalanta. But he's also my follower—one of my most devoted worshippers, in fact."
Atalanta's jaw dropped. "But... the vow! How can a man—"
"I offer regular tributes," Scythica interjected weakly, raising a trembling hand. "Very devoutly. Every day. Without fail. I never miss a single offering. I even learned your favorite hymns. I have a whole list of them memorized."
He wasn't exaggerating. Growing up on that island, with only two terrifying Gorgons for company, Scythica had learned early that survival depended on divine favor. And Artemis—Artemis was a goddess you did not want to offend. He remembered the story of King Oeneus, who had forgotten to honor her during a harvest festival, and how she had responded by sending a monstrous boar to ravage his kingdom until the hero Meleager finally put it down. One mistake. One forgotten sacrifice. And an entire kingdom had burned.
So Scythica had been careful. Meticulous. He had memorized every ritual, every offering, every prayer that might earn the huntress goddess's goodwill. He had even composed a few original hymns in her honor—admittedly terrible ones, but he'd sung them with such earnest desperation that surely that counted for something.
Artemis nodded happily. "He's a very good worshipper. Always prompt with his tributes, never demanding anything unreasonable, and he does the most adorable little dances during his prayers."
Scythica's face flushed crimson. "I do not dance. I sway. Swaying is not dancing."
"It's adorable swaying," Artemis said with absolute sincerity.
Atalanta's eye twitched. Her hand instinctively drifted toward the dagger at her belt. "Then he is still a man," she said through gritted teeth. "And men are—"
"Atalanta, please." Artemis placed a gentle hand on her priestess's shoulder, her expression soft but firm. "You are both my followers. I would like you to get along."
Atalanta stared at her goddess, her internal war playing out across her face. Loyalty to Artemis warred with decades of learned distrust toward men. Finally, with visible effort, she lowered her head. "If... if that is your wish, my lady."
Scythica saw the look in her eyes as she said it—the cold, calculating gleam that promised future retribution. She's going to find a way, he realized. She's not going to kill me where Artemis can see, but the moment I'm alone...
He made a decision.
"Actually," he said, scrambling to his feet and grabbing the ropes Atalanta had dropped, "I should really be going! Yes! Right now! I've got a very long journey ahead of me, and I wouldn't want to impose on your time any longer, Lady Artemis—"
He vaulted onto the stallion's back with desperate speed, clutching the ropes like a lifeline. "Take me to the Caucasus Mountains," he whispered urgently into the horse's ear. "Fast. As fast as you can. Please."
The stallion, perhaps sensing his rider's genuine terror, or perhaps simply eager to demonstrate its true capabilities, tossed its head and gave a low, rumbling whinny. And then—
They were airborne.
Scythica's eyes went wide as the world fell away beneath him. The stallion's wings—great, sweeping pinions of pure white, gleaming like polished marble—had unfolded from somewhere impossibly compact along its flanks. With a single powerful beat, they rose above the treeline, the forest shrinking to a patchwork of green and gold below.
"YOU CAN FLY?!" Scythica screamed, clinging to the horse's neck for dear life. "HOW DID I NOT KNOW YOU COULD FLY?!"
The stallion snorted, as if to say, I am a divine steed. What did you expect?
Below them, Artemis watched the retreating figure with a wistful sigh. "He left so quickly. I wanted to talk with him more." She brushed a strand of golden hair from her face, her blue eyes still fixed on the distant speck growing smaller against the sky. "We'll meet again someday, I'm sure."
Atalanta's bow was already in her hands, an arrow nocked and ready. "I can still reach him, my lady. Just say the word and I'll bring him down."
Artemis laughed softly, shaking her head. "There's no need for that, Atalanta. He wasn't running from me. He was running from something else—something he hasn't learned to face yet." She smiled, serene and knowing. "Let him go. The world has a way of bringing people together when it matters."
Atalanta slowly lowered her bow, a muscle in her jaw twitching with barely suppressed frustration. "If it's your will, my lady. But I don't trust him."
"Of course you don't," Artemis said, patting her head like a fond older sister. "That's what makes you such a good huntress. But trust isn't always about suspicion and guarding against threats. Sometimes, trust is about seeing something rare and fragile and choosing to protect it."
She turned to the golden-antlered deer that had wandered up beside her, stroking its neck with absent affection. "He's special, Atalanta. In ways even he doesn't understand yet. He's a child of the moon, just like us."
Atalanta's eye twitched again. "I still should have shot him in the head."
Artemis merely smiled.
---
Somewhere in the Sky
Scythica shivered, a sudden chill running down his spine. He was still clinging to the stallion's neck, the wind whipping through his cropped hair, the ground a dizzying blur of color and shadow far below. The rope Atalanta had brought was tied in a clumsy bundle across his lap, and his coin purse was still safely secured at his belt, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd narrowly escaped something far worse than a murderous huntress.
"She's going to kill me," he muttered to himself. "That woman is going to track me down and kill me. I've made an enemy of Atalanta. The legendary huntress. The one who kills suitors for fun. And I didn't even do anything!"
The stallion whickered, a sound that might have been sympathy or might have been mockery. Scythica chose to interpret it as sympathy.
"At least I'm still alive," he said, forcing himself to relax, just a little. "I'm still alive, I've got supplies, I've got a divine horse, and I'm on my way to see Prometheus. This is fine. Everything is fine."
He took a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs. Far below, the world stretched out in all its ancient, mythic glory—forests and mountains, rivers and valleys, all the places where gods walked and heroes fought and monsters lurked.
And somewhere, on a distant peak chained to a rock, a Titan waited.
Prometheus, Scythica thought. I'm coming. Just hold on a little longer.
The stallion beat its wings once, twice, and carried him onward into the endless blue sky.
---
Olympus
Zeus lounged on the marble steps of his palace, one hand supporting his chin, his eyes fixed on a point far beyond the horizon. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the courtyard, and the breeze carried the scent of nectar and ambrosia from the feasting halls within. But the King of the Gods wasn't thinking about feasts or ambrosia. His gaze was fixed on something far more interesting: a speck of white against the blue sky, growing smaller as it sped eastward.
"So the boy has finally made his move," he murmured, a lazy smile playing at his lips. "To Prometheus, of all places. Bold. Foolish. Possibly suicidal." He laughed, the sound echoing across the empty courtyard. "I like him already."
Poseidon, leaning against a nearby pillar with his trident cradled in one arm, followed his brother's gaze. "You're watching him too, then?"
"Hard not to," Zeus admitted. "He's been running around Greece like a headless chicken, praying to every deity he can name, leaving offerings at roadside shrines... it's hard to miss that level of devotion. Or paranoia." He chuckled. "The boy's terrified of everything. It's adorable."
"He's smart," Poseidon said, a hint of defensiveness in his voice. "He survived fifteen years on that island with two Gorgons for company. He managed to escape. And now he's traveling to the Caucasus with nothing but a dagger and my horse."
"And your blessings," Zeus added pointedly. "You did send your personal warhorse to carry him across the continent. That's hardly 'nothing.'"
Poseidon shrugged. "He earned it. Five years of daily offerings—never asking for anything in return, never demanding, never complaining. Just gratitude. Pure, simple gratitude." He smiled, a genuine warmth softening his usually stern features. "It's refreshing. Most mortals only pray when they want something. He just... prays because he can."
"He also knows how to hedge his bets," Zeus observed. "He's offered tributes to nearly every Olympian. Including me, if I'm not mistaken. And Hades too, which takes a certain kind of courage."
"He's thorough," Poseidon agreed. "And now he wants something. He wants to reach the Caucasus. He wants to speak with Prometheus." He paused, looking at his brother with a knowing expression. "Are you going to let that happen?"
Zeus was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, his smile widened. "I haven't decided yet. Let's make it interesting, shall we? A wager."
Poseidon raised an eyebrow. "What kind of wager?"
A third voice cut through the courtyard, low and resonant, carrying the weight of ancient shadows. "He's been offering tributes to me as well." A figure emerged from the darkness beneath the palace steps, wrapped in robes of deepest black, his face obscured but his presence unmistakable. Hades, Lord of the Underworld, had arrived.
Zeus clapped his hands together. "Excellent timing, brother. We were just discussing the mortal with the divine horse. I propose a bet." He gestured broadly, encompassing the entire courtyard. "I wager that the boy will keep the horse. He'll be so attached to it by the end of his journey that he won't want to return it."
Poseidon's eyes narrowed. "I wager that he will return it. He's an honest fool—he'll keep his word."
Hades stood silent for a moment, his dark robes stirring in a wind that seemed to come from nowhere. Then, slowly, he spoke: "He'll return the horse. I've observed enough mortals to know sincerity when I see it."
"Then I'm outnumbered," Zeus said, spreading his hands in mock defeat. "Very well, I accept the terms. If I win, you two will owe me a favor. If you win..." He thought for a moment. "Then I'll throw a bit of good fortune his way. Consider it my contribution to this little adventure."
"Favors," Poseidon repeated, wary. "What kind of favors?"
"Nothing unreasonable," Zeus said, waving a dismissive hand. "Just... future considerations. Things I might ask of you. Nothing that would compromise your domains or your duties. You have my word."
Poseidon and Hades exchanged glances. Then, reluctantly, they nodded.
"Acceptable," Hades said, and turned to go. His robes trailed behind him like a river of shadow, and his voice echoed as he added: "I'll collect my due when the time comes."
Zeus watched him go, still smiling. "Such a dramatic brother," he murmured. "I really do love him."
Poseidon snorted. "You just love causing chaos and betting on the outcomes."
"Can't I have both?" Zeus laughed, leaning back on his marble throne. "Now, let's see how our little moon-child fares in the land of Titans and eagles. This should be entertaining."
High above, the white stallion carried Scythica ever eastward, toward the mountains where Prometheus waited. And in the shadows of Olympus, the gods watched, and waited, and placed their bets.