I was so confused I couldn't even find the words.
I had been pacing for a while in one of the high gardens of Olympus, one of the many I usually visit when I need to think—or rather, when I need to be alone. This time, however, I wasn't. This time, I had dragged my brother with me right after the solstice meeting. Literally. I gave him no choice.
And now here we were: me burning the ground with my anxious footsteps, him standing there with the face of a child caught with his hand in the ambrosia jar.
The sky above us was a perfect deep blue, motionless, as if the whole world was holding its breath on the edge of a storm. Maybe because that was exactly what was about to happen.
"Artemis," he said, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. "Please, calm down."
"Calm down?!" I turned so abruptly the leaves of the nearby olive tree shivered. "How exactly am I supposed to calm down after what you just did?!"
He looked at me but said nothing. That, of course, only made my blood boil more. Apollo's silence is his way of saying he has no regrets. He's never said it out loud, but I know. I know him too well.
"Do you have any idea what kind of mess you've just gotten yourself into? What you've gotten us into?!" I went on, arms crossed. "How could you stand there like that in front of everyone? In front of him?!"
He didn't respond. He just lowered his gaze and pressed his lips together. I recognized it instantly: that stubborn expression of his, somewhere between insecurity and defiance. The one that drives me mad because it means he's going to do something reckless... and he thinks it's right.
"Well?" I snapped. "Say something, Apollo!"
And then he did. With a dry, cynical smile—one he hardly used back when he was more himself.
"Don't blame me for doing what you never had the courage to."
I froze. For a moment, I didn't understand—or didn't want to. But of course I understood.
"Excuse me?" I shot back, feeling the offense bite my throat. "Are you seriously blaming me for having a bit of sense? That same reason," I said coldly, "is why you've been turned mortal three times and I haven't."
Silence. His jaw tightened like my words had actually cut him. I thought he might strike back, but he only looked at me—his eyes more wounded than angry.
"Yes," he said finally. "Because you prefer to shut your eyes and pretend nothing's wrong. To keep your head down every time Father does whatever he pleases. Like when he takes advantage of one of your Huntresses, or ignores you every time you need him. Like that time he left you trapped under the weight of the sky."
I felt myself shatter.
Not because of the words themselves, but because... he was right. Because I had never said it out loud, and it hurt me too. And I hated him even more for knowing it.
"Do what you want," he went on, with a calmness that hurt more than if he'd yelled. "Keep obeying, keep quiet, keep being the good daughter. But I... I can't anymore. I won't."
And he turned. Just like that.
"See you tomorrow," he said, voice quiet, like he hadn't just blown the whole world apart.
I stood there, alone. Hands shaking, breath unsteady. The garden as perfect as ever. Olympus, just as intact.
But I wasn't.
Because for the first time in centuries, I felt like my brother was no longer my reflection. No longer that part of me that always understood without speaking. I watched him walk away and wondered if maybe he had always seen more clearly.
And if I... had been living all these centuries with my eyes closed.
━━━━━━━༺ - ༻━━━━━━━
Back at camp, with the air cooler and the trees whispering their song, I felt... not exactly better. Just calmer—calm enough to pretend nothing was wrong. Lying is easier when you've had centuries of practice, even if you're only lying with your body: upright posture, steady steps, serene face. Ignoring the fact that I had just felt a crack open under my feet back on Olympus.
The hawks were scattered among the branches, watchful. The wolves patrolled like shadows at the edge of the clearing. My world, so orderly and familiar, remained intact—as if that alone could hold me up.
When I arrived, the Huntresses were having dinner in a circle. Soft laughter, crackling fire, bright eyes after a productive day. Thalia stood the moment she saw me, formal as ever... though her tone was more cheerful than usual.
"My lady," she said with a respectful nod. "Good news?"
I nodded, though I said nothing.
She walked with me to the circle, and I stood, watching them one by one. So young, so brave, so mine.
I took a breath.
"We strike camp at first light," I said at last. "We're heading to Camp Half-Blood."
Seconds of silence. And then, chaos.
"What?!"
"Back there again?"
"But we almost caught the monster—we tracked it this morning by the riverbank."
"I don't get why we have to go to that place..."
Their voices overlapped, full of frustration, and for once I couldn't blame them—because I felt the same. Because I didn't even know how to explain what I couldn't explain to myself. Because the weight of decisions not yet made can crush you too.
And I snapped.
"Enough!" My voice was sharper than I meant. "Since when are my orders questioned?"
Silence. The burning kind.
"This is not up for debate."
And without waiting for replies, I turned and disappeared into the forest. Leaving behind awkward silence and many lowered gazes.
I walked aimlessly, with the frantic pace of someone trying to outrun her own thoughts. What had happened on Olympus, what Apollo had said, what it all meant... it was too much.
Until I reached a small clearing and dropped to my knees in the grass.
The sky was clear, cold, and distant. And there she was. Zoë's constellation shimmered faintly, just above the treetops. Always there, silent.
My chest tightened.
How long had it been since I allowed myself to miss her? Since I stopped thinking about her voice, her quiet strength, the way she always knew what to say even when I didn't?
The past few years had been full of war, chaos, and impossible choices. I had kept my head busy, my heart locked away. Because I couldn't let it hurt, I couldn't let the past stop me or make decisions in my place.
But now, here, alone in the clearing, with the constellation looking down like a gentle reproach, I felt the sting of loneliness.
"I wish you were here, Zoë. To tell me I'm overreacting. To scold me, advise me, or just sit by my side and say nothing," I whispered.
But the sky doesn't answer.
So I just stay there, listening to the rustle of leaves. Knowing that by sunrise, I'll be Artemis again—the strong one, the leader, the goddess. Even if tonight... I just want to be a scared sister, a broken daughter, a friend who misses someone.
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:)