The chariot was a gleaming arc of gold hurtling across the morning sky. To mortals below, it was nothing but a passing glint of light—some peculiar trick of dawn glancing off the snowy ridges of the Alps. But to any with divine sight, it was unmistakable: Apollo's chariot, a polished vehicle with wheels spun from pure celestial bronze, pulled by four white horses whose manes burned with slow, steady flames.
Inside the chariot, the mood was…complicated.
"Your poem," Artemis said in the dry, patient voice of someone accustomed to disappointment, "was awful."
Apollo adjusted the laurel crown on his golden curls and smiled as though he hadn't heard. "It's called a haiku, sister. An elegant form. Observe."
He spread his hands theatrically. A golden glow wreathed his fingers as he intoned:
"Eyes like dawn's first light Heart of wild,
fierce midnight flames Let me hold you—please."
There was a collective groan from the small crowd gathered behind Artemis—seven young women in silver tunics, most with quivers on their backs.
Zoe Nightshade, the eldest of Artemis's Hunters, pressed two fingers to her temple and muttered, "I beg you, Lady Artemis, strike him down before he composes another."
Artemis sighed. She was perched at the chariot's prow, her silver circlet glinting in the wind, her silver cloak fluttering like a living thing behind her. "This," she said flatly, "is why I never travel anywhere with you. You have to turn every errand into a spectacle."
"It's not a spectacle," Apollo protested, flashing his most brilliant grin. "It's an experience. Poetry. Romance. Life."
Zoe did not look impressed. "You're a god of plague. You could perhaps plague us with silence instead."
Apollo clutched a hand to his chest in mock anguish. "You wound me, lady."
"No," Artemis said mildly. "If she wished to wound you, she'd have used an arrow."
Behind them, a chorus of giggles broke out among the Hunters. Several looked faintly embarrassed to be enjoying it.
"I don't see why you had to come at all," Zoe said, straightening her quiver strap. "We can track Manticores ourselves. It's hardly a challenge."
Artemis tilted her chin, her silver gaze fixed on the horizon. "Because," she said simply, "my father has been a pain in my—" she paused delicately—"neck all week, and I would rather hunt monsters than listen to another of his lectures on marriage."
Apollo let out a bark of laughter. "Ah, Father. His matchmaking would put Aphrodite to shame."
"And you?" Zoe demanded, narrowing her eyes at Apollo. "Did you come because you were bored too?"
"Bored? Never." Apollo tossed his hair, which glowed like sunlight on water. "I came to keep you all safe. And to bring…poetry."
Artemis glanced sidelong at him. "I came to keep them safe from you, little brother."
He bristled instantly. "We are twins, Artemis. Twins. There is no age difference."
"And yet," she said sweetly, "you remain my little brother."
One of the Hunters—Phoebe—coughed to hide a laugh. Another, Naomi, whispered to her companion, "He does look younger when he pouts."
"I heard that!" Apollo snapped, but the effect was ruined by the way his cheeks turned faintly pink.
"Focus," Artemis said crisply. She rose to her full height, silver eyes scanning the brightening sky. Far below, the white slopes of the Alps unfolded in endless waves of glittering snow and ancient pines. "We are here."
The chariot began its descent, dropping through a bank of cloud so bright it seemed they'd fallen straight into the sun itself.
When they emerged, the high ridges of the Swiss Alps stretched out beneath them—silent, cold, and beautiful.
As the horses' hooves touched down on a flat stretch of snow, Artemis was the first to step off. The ground crunched beneath her soft leather boots. A breeze lifted her silver hair from her shoulders.
Zoe followed, bow in hand. One by one, the Hunters leaped lightly to the ground, fanning out in a defensive arc.
Apollo hopped down last, looking around with open delight. "Beautiful," he declared. "I should compose something—"
"Don't," Artemis said without turning.
He huffed, striding over to stand beside her. "You are so humorless."
"And you," she said, "are insufferable."
Zoe cleared her throat, drawing Artemis's attention. "My lady. Where do you wish to begin the search?"
Artemis swept her gaze across the snowfield. A single ridge rose to the west, pines clinging to the slope like black stitches on white cloth.
"There," she said, pointing. "Manticores prefer caves. There are several along that ridge."
Apollo stretched luxuriously, looking far too pleased with himself. "Well. I suppose I shall leave you to your fun. Do call me when you're finished."
"Go," Artemis said, already striding away. "And try not to recite any more poems to mortals."
He gave her an injured look. "I'll have you know the Muses approve of my haiku."
"The Muses have terrible taste," she called over her shoulder.
Zoe watched Apollo mount the chariot again, the golden horses stamping and whinnying. "He truly intends to spend the day doing nothing?"
"Oh, no," Artemis murmured. "He intends to spend the day being an insufferable show-off wherever mortals might see him."
Apollo shot her a dazzling grin and touched two fingers to his brow in salute. "Farewell, little sister."
"Again," she called sweetly, "I am older by mere moments."
"It counts," Apollo snapped, voice trailing behind him as the chariot rose back into the sky.
Zoe exhaled. "He vexes me."
"He vexes everyone," Artemis said, expression cool. "But he is family."
The chariot dwindled to a spark of gold, then vanished over the horizon. For a moment, all was silent. The cold wind sighed across the drifts.
Artemis turned to her Hunters, her face solemn now. "Spread out. Watch for tracks. Manticores rarely hunt alone."
Zoe raised her bow in salute. "At your command."
One by one, the Hunters melted into the trees—silent shadows, silver and swift.
Artemis stood a moment longer, breathing the cold air, feeling the old exhilaration rise in her chest. The thrill of pursuit. The promise of a worthy adversary.
This—more than Olympus or the squabbles of her family—was her true calling.
Her gaze swept the snowy ridges, sharp and searching.
Somewhere in these mountains, the Manticores waited.
And she would find them.
The crisp wind moved like a living thing through the ancient pines. Snow hissed as it fell in dry, feathery curtains, clinging to every branch and the silver tunics of Artemis's Hunters.
They moved in a loose formation across the ridgeline, quiet as shadows. Every few paces, one paused to stoop over a patch of disturbed snow, a scrap of fur, a jagged gouge in the bark.
At the front, Artemis herself walked with her long silver bow held lightly in one hand, her expression unreadable.
Zoe Nightshade appeared beside her, dropping soundlessly from a snow-laden boulder. She gestured toward a low hollow where the trees grew sparse.
"My lady," Zoe said, voice low and cool, "we have found the den."
Artemis inclined her head. Together, they descended the slope.
The cave mouth was little more than a gash in the rock, half-hidden behind a tumble of boulders and draped in icicles. A rank, musky smell clung to the entrance—the unmistakable reek of Manticore musk.
Artemis turned to her Hunters. "Naomi. Phoebe. Guard the mouth. If anything remains inside, flush it out."
The two girls nodded and slipped past her, arrows nocked.
Zoe raised her chin. "Shall we enter?"
Artemis scanned the rocky threshold. The tracks were heavy here—huge paws, drag marks from the manticores' thick tails. But there were no fresh prints leading out.
"They did not return," Artemis murmured. "Something killed them."
Zoe frowned. "Who could have done so? Not many demigods could hunt Manticores."
Artemis stepped nearer, kneeling to brush her fingers over a scorched patch of snow. The charred scent prickled her nose. The marks were not from celestial bronze—she would have recognized that instantly. No, this was something stranger. A cutting burn that seemed almost…electric.
"Whatever it was," she said softly, "it wielded power not common among demigods."
One of the younger Hunters, Naomi, glanced over. "Could it have been Hephaestus's children? They make many strange weapons."
"Perhaps," Artemis said. But she wasn't convinced. There was no sign of mechanical footprints, no metal debris. Just pure, focused destruction.
They spread out to search. Every few hundred feet, they came across another place where a manticore had died—matted fur, scorched gouges in the earth, the faint coppery smell of burned ichor. In each place, only a few bones or claws remained, already dissolving to dust.
Zoe knelt by a wide groove in the snow, pressing her palm to the faint tracks. "He—or she—tracked them with great precision."
Artemis's eyes narrowed. Whoever had done this knew how to stalk prey, and did not fear fighting at close quarters.
She did not like mysteries. Not in her hunt. Not near her Hunters.
As they followed the last trail, it led them up a steep slope crowned with old pines. Dawn was breaking, gilding the snow in copper. Then Zoe halted and raised a hand, signaling silence.
Below them, in a clearing between two ancient trees, stood a modern-looking tent.
Artemis's eyes narrowed at once. Unlike the ancient canvas she was accustomed to seeing, this one looked suspiciously…mundane. Something a mortal hiker might carry. And yet, she sensed the faint tingle of magic in the air.
Whoever was inside was not an ordinary mortal.
The flap fluttered open, and a young man stepped out into the frosty air.
Artemis narrowed her eyes, assessing him carefully.
He looked…ordinary. Handsome, yes—his dark hair fell messily across his brow, and there was something calm and steady in the way he carried himself—but he could not have been more than sixteen or seventeen. His clothes were simple: black trousers, a warm canvas jacket, sturdy boots.
Nothing about him screamed demigod or monster. He might have been any mortal boy out for a hike.
And yet—he was here. Alone. In the high Alps. In winter.
No, Artemis thought. Not ordinary.
The young man squinted toward the treeline to their left, as if sensing something moving among the pines.
Then a figure stepped from the shadows—a girl.
Artemis's gaze sharpened.
She was small, perhaps eight or nine years old, with tangled dark hair and a grin so wide it nearly split her smudged, weary face. Her clothes were torn, her trousers ripped at the knees, and her boots caked in frozen mud. She looked exhausted—but there was unmistakable triumph in her eyes.
The man broke into a relieved smile when he saw her, raising a hand. The girl stumbled forward and nearly threw herself into his arms.
Artemis felt a tight, skeptical twist in her stomach.
Perhaps she is his sister, she thought. But her instincts—hard-won over millennia—whispered that nothing about this was simple.
She watched as the man gently rested a hand on the girl's shoulder and guided her to the tent. They spoke briefly—she couldn't hear what was said—and then they both disappeared inside.
Zoe shifted her grip on her bow. "My lady. What do you think?"
Artemis said nothing, her jaw set.
Minutes crawled past. The cold bit at her cheeks, but she did not move.
Then, at last, the tent flap parted again.
The girl stepped out—no longer in her torn, dirty clothing, but in fresh jeans and a thick wool sweater that nearly swallowed her small frame. She looked warmer, better rested…but Artemis could not help noticing that she had clearly changed inside the tent.
With the boy.
The protective, furious certainty coiled in Artemis's chest like a striking serpent.
Because the thought—the possibility—that this girl had been forced to undress in the same enclosed space with a boy, perhaps pressured, perhaps trapped by someone she relied on…it was intolerable.
She had seen too many young girls betrayed by men who pretended to be protectors.
Her fingers clenched tight around her silver bow.
"My lady," Zoe murmured, watching her face, "shall we intervene?"
Artemis's silver eyes never left the girl, who now stretched her arms overhead and looked up at the dawn sky as though nothing in the world troubled her.
"Rescue her," Artemis said quietly, each word glacial. "And if the boy resists…we will end him."
She rose to her full height, the moonlight fading behind her as the first sunlight crowned her hair like a diadem.
She was the Huntress. The protector of maidens. And no perverted mortal—no matter how young or polite his face—would slip past her vigilance.
"Naomi, flank the far side. Zoe, you and Phoebe with me."
Zoe's mouth curved in a cold, eager smile. "As you command."
Artemis did not wait for the girl to return to the tent. She started down the slope, boots crushing frost into glittering shards.
In her heart, there was no uncertainty.
No compromise.
No mercy.