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Tiny stones bit into the soles of your bare feet. A branch tore the hem of your white chiton.
Your breath caught as you pressed forward through the thicket, each ragged inhale bringing a sharp pain to the middle of your chest.
The moonlight slanted through the trees, silvering the leaves and casting spear-like shadows across your path.
You didn’t dare stop running.
Somewhere far behind you, your father’s voice still echoed — sharp, final.
You will marry him.
No one defied your father. Not the servants, not your mother, and not even the gods.
But tonight, you would try.
The shrine was small — a stone altar tucked in a clearing, guarded by overgrown thorns and crowned by a full moon that hung low, watching. You fell to your knees, heart thudding like a drum, and pressed your hands together.
You were never taught how to speak with the gods.
You closed your eyes, pressing your forehead to the cool stone.
You were, however, taught how to beg.
“Oh, my lady,” you croaked quietly.
The wind stirred softly, rustling the leaves above you like robes brushing the marble tiles of a temple.
“Oh, my lady, where to start?”
The trees were your only witnesses now, tall and ancient, reaching for the dusky sky with their twisted limbs.
“I was to be traded,” you breathed out, your words barely audible even to yourself. “Traded for livestock.”
Your fingers curled against the stone, scraped knees digging into the forest floor.
A breeze whistled through your hair.
“Is that really all I’m worth?” A shudder passed through you.
The moon slipped from behind a cloud, casting a silver glow over the altar, over your hand, over the soft tremble in your shoulders.
“I’ve heard rumors,” you said into the chill of the night. “Rumors from the river nymphs down in the streams.”
Your breath hitched.
“They say you save girls like me.”
The tears that had been threatening to fall for the past week began to lose their will.
“They saw the bruises on me,” you whispered hoarsely, tracing a gentle finger through a crevice in the stone as your vision began to blur. “They told me you could help me.”
With your words, a sense of hope blossomed in your chest.
Fragile. Flickering.
You pressed your palm against the stone. It sent a shiver up your spine.
Perhaps from the cold.
“My mother used to tell me your stories growing up.”
The cicadas chirped and a waterfall roared.
“Of how you ran. How you chose freedom. How no man could ever claim you.”
You exhaled, slow and shaking. Your knees pushed deeper into the moss.
“I am not brave like you, Lady Artemis,” you said, barely more than a whisper. A tear ran down your cheek. “But I’m running too. Isn’t that something?”
The wind answered with a soft hush through the trees, like a lullaby remembered from long ago.
Your throat was thick with the salt from your tears.
“I cannot offer you much” you whispered, the words barely rising past your lips. “I have no bow. No oath to pledge.”
A branch above you shifted, almost like it was leaning closer to listen.
“But all I ask for is mercy. Only the smallest of mercies.”
An owl hooted and the bushes rustled.
“Let me be free,” you breathed. “Let me belong to no man. Let me run where I choose.”
The words fell into the night like petals into a still pool.
A hush followed.
Not silence. Something deeper.
Something listening.
You pressed your forehead once more to the altar. The stone was damp with your sweat.
“I am not asking to be powerful,” you whispered, “just to be allowed. Allowed to breathe, to choose, to exist without being bought.”
The tears streamed freely now, hot and silent.
“If that is too much to ask, then let me disappear here.” The words left your mouth in a final breath of hope.
“Let me be taken by the woods,” you whispered, “by the wolves…”
A shiver ran through the trees.
“…by you.”
And then—nothing.
Not even the wind.
You held your breath, your eyes still squeezed shut and your heart pounding against your ribcage.
The forest stopped speaking.
The crickets stopped chirping and the birds stopped singing and the water stopped flowing and the trees stopped rustling and the wind stopped whistling—
Snap.
A twig, behind you.
Your head turned sharply, every muscle bracing. You weren’t sure whether to flee or kneel.
Another step.
The crunch of boots on fallen leaves. Measured. Certain.
You rose slowly, breath caught in your throat.
From the shadows, a man emerged.
No, not quite man.
Something more.
At first glance, he was dressed as a warrior.
But something was off.
His chest plate didn’t just reflect moonlight, it seemed to be made of it.
Silver, but not forged from an earthly metal. It shimmered like liquid starlight, chased with faint carvings that seemed to shift when you weren’t looking directly at them— constellations, you realized. Orion. Ursa. Lyra.
His pauldrons were shaped like crescent moons, edged in blackened steel as if dipped in eclipse.
Vines curled up the seams of his greaves, delicate as embroidery, yet forged into the metal like ivy climbing a temple.
His belt bore the likeness of a stag, antlers sprawling across his waist like a forest crowned in iron.
This was no armor made for war. No blacksmith had forged it.
Lady Artemis had heard your prayer.
And she had sent you a protector.
✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧
His name was Bucky, you learned.
You asked while he was helping you cross a rushing stream of water, and he answered the next morning when you offered him a berry.
Bucky did not speak much. But you learned a lot just from observing.
The forest seemed to part for him. Branches shifted, roots flattened, and the very air changed as he moved.
He wore no crown, no laurel wreath, but he walked like he was owned by no man but the moon itself.
You learned to follow in his silence.
To step where he stepped.
To breathe where he breathed.
To listen to the hush between birdsong, to the snap of twig beneath his heel, to the stories the wind only told when he was near.
He didn’t flinch when wolves howled.
Didn’t falter when the earth grew steep or the shadows thickened.
At night, he’d sit near the fire—never close, never far.
You’d pretend to sleep, watching the way the flames caught in his silver-wrought armor, how his eyes never stayed still long, like he was waiting for something to return.
You were enthralled by him.
By the aura he radiated, by the strength in his shoulders, by the courage in his steps.
But more than that—by his stillness.
How a man carved by battle could sit beside you without demanding anything.
How he never asked your name like it was owed, only waited until you offered it freely.
He carried sorrow like a shadow, always behind him, always just out of reach.
And you, foolish with hope, wanted to touch it. To understand the shape of his silence. To press your palm against the wound the gods had left in him and see if it pulsed the way yours did.
But you didn’t dare. Not yet.
You only watched the way the firelight danced in his eyes and the moonlight sharpened his jaw.
For now, you only offered him warmth.
Berries in your hand. Water cupped in your palms.
It was a strange kind of companionship, but in the hush of the wild, it was enough.
✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧
The sky had split itself into stars, and the cicadas had begun their evening hymn. You were both seated near the flickering flame, its light throwing long shadows over the forest floor.
This autumn evening, you had decided to ask him the question that was on your mind for weeks now.
Bucky was sharpening a dagger with slow, methodical strokes. You watched the curve of his wrist, the way his hands moved like he’d done this a thousand times.
“Were you always this quiet,” you asked softly, “or did the gods make you that way?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just glanced up, his mouth tugging into something just shy of a smile.
“I was louder,” he said eventually. His voice was low, rough, like it had been buried and only just unearthed.
“You?” You cocked your head slightly with a giggle. “I don’t think I could imagine that.”
The lines around his mouth, so often drawn tight like a sword in its sheath, loosened.
Not a smile, not quite. But the way his shoulders eased felt like spring after a long winter.
“Me neither,” he said after a beat.
You leaned forward, balancing your elbows on your knees. You watched the way the moonlight made his porcelain skin glow.
“Don’t you miss talking?”
He didn’t answer right away. The fire crackled between you, a chorus of tiny pops like distant applause.
“I miss being heard,” he said finally.
Your heart ached. You leaned in a little closer.
“I hear you.”
He looked at you then. Really looked. Eyes silver in the firelight, hair tousled by the forest wind, that grief still carved into the angles of his face—just... softer now. Human.
And this time, he did smile.
Only a little.
But it felt like sunrise.
✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧
In the winter, Bucky came to the realization that you needed a pair of sandals.
“Have you ever been in love before?” You peered over his shoulder as he braided a strip of leather.
The rays of a new morning washed over his sharp features, his lashes casting delicate shadows on his face and his jaw catching the light like an edge of a blade.
He paused from his work, looking back at you. The corners of his lips tugged up into a slight smile. “You ask a lot of questions.”
You immediately looked down and your face flushed with embarrassment. Your father used to say the same thing.
“I’m sorry.”
You started to shift away, but Bucky’s voice stopped you.
“Don’t be.”
You blinked, glancing up. He was watching you now, fully, the leather resting idle in his hand.
“I like your questions,” he said.
Your heart stuttered.
“I think I was," he answered after a beat. “But before I could be sure of it, it was too late.”
You squinted with curiosity. “Too late?”
He looked at the blue sky. “She came from a family of hiereis. She wasn’t allowed to love.”
You leaned forward, eyebrows furrowing with concern. “Did they…?”
He nodded, closing his eyes. “He killed her. Her father.”
A sharp ache settled in your chest.
Bucky’s hand tightened around the leather strap in his lap.
“She devoted her life to the lady Artemis. But she chose me over her duty. And he killed her for it.”
You slowly began to put the dots together. Your voice was barely a whisper. “That’s why Artemis cursed you.”
He looked up, eyes meeting yours with a mix of pain and something almost like relief.
His voice fell into a measured cadence, each word carrying the weight of a command long etched into his soul:
“Cursed to guard eternally, yet forever barred from love’s embrace.”
He raised the sleeve of his tunic. A crescent moon-shaped mark was glowing faintly at the top of his arm.
Your heart cracked. “But that’s unjust.” Your words were somewhere between a whine and a plea. “You did nothing to deserve this.”
And in that moment, beneath the indifferent stars, you learned a bitter truth—
the gods were never meant to be just.
✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧
The trees were burning.
You were running barefoot through ash, lungs raw, breath clawing at your throat. Smoke curled into the sky like a warning. You could hear your father behind you.
“Do you think the gods will save you now?”
You stumbled through the forest, branches clawing at your arms. Your sandals were gone. Your feet bled.
And then you saw her.
She was lying on the altar of Artemis, white robes soaked red, hair fanned out like spilled ink. Her eyes were open, but they didn’t see you. They were staring through you. Past you. Gone.
You tried to scream, but no sound came.
Then your father’s hand was on your arm, yanking you back. His face twisted with rage. “ Poutana .”
You turned, already bracing, but there was never time. His hand found your cheek before the fear could even reach your eyes. The sharp sting bloomed, hot and immediate. Your knees hit the ground.
“You think you can run? You think Artemis will keep you safe?”
You didn’t answer. You never did. You just clenched your fists and bit your tongue and tried not to cry.
Then another blow, sharper this time. The world tilted.
And you screamed.
You bolted upright with a strangled gasp, your whole body shaking, soaked in sweat. The fire had died down to cinders. The forest whispered around you. Your breath came fast and shallow.
Then—
“Hey, hey—” Bucky’s voice. Soft. Urgent. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”
You didn’t even know when he’d crossed the space between you, but his hands were on your shoulders, steady and warm.
You turned blindly into him, the sob tearing from your chest before you could stop it.
Bucky didn’t speak. He just pulled you against him. His arms wrapped around you, one hand cradling the back of your head.
He held you like he’d done it before in another life—like he knew exactly how to keep the pieces of you from falling apart.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic. You couldn’t stop shaking.
“I was back there,” you whispered, your voice splintering. “My father was— I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe—”
“I know,” he murmured, his chin resting lightly against your temple. “I know.”
The fire let out a quiet hiss as a coal gave way, the only sound besides your breath catching on the edges of his name.
“I hate that it still finds me,” you said, barely audible. “Even out here. Even with you.”
“It won’t always,” he said after a moment, voice low and certain. “One day, it’ll be just a scar. And you’ll only touch it when you want to remember how strong you are.”
You swallowed hard as something pulsed in your chest.
Bucky leaned back just enough to see your face, his thumb brushing beneath your eye like he could erase the dream itself.
“You’re not alone anymore,” he said. “Not while I’m here.”
✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧
You lay on your back atop a sun-warmed hill, the spring sky stretching vast and blue above you, as if the gods had peeled back the veil of the world just a little more.
Bucky was beside you, one arm folded behind his head, the other resting lightly between you two. His fingers grazed the grass, twitching now and then as if he were tracing patterns in the earth.
You turned your head slightly, watching the way the sunlight caught in the strands of his hair, making them look almost bronze.
“I used to climb trees when I was little,” you said, your voice lazy with the heat. “I thought if I got high enough, I’d be able to hear the gods talking.”
Bucky let out a quiet hum. “Did you?”
“Sometimes,” you said, smiling. “But I think it was just the wind.”
He turned his head, eyes half-lidded from the sun. A slow smile spread, like a wave of memories washing over him.
“I used to climb trees too,” he chuckled to himself. “To pick plums.”
You smiled, picturing him as a boy, barefoot and daring, reaching for the sweetest fruit.
“Did you ever fall?” you teased gently.
He grinned, the ghost of a laugh in his eyes. “More times than I can count. But I always climbed back up.”
A quiet settled between you, the sun casting gold across the grass.
“What did you dream about back then?” you whispered, as if the hills might listen in on your conversation.
He exhaled softly. “Talking clouds. The sweetest figs in the world. A pink sea.”
“I used to dream about owning a baby drakon.”
He laughed. The sound made you blush.
You sighed, letting your head drop onto the damp grass. “I wish we could have met when we were kids.”
He smiled, his gaze drifting toward the horizon, lost for a moment in a world only he could see.
As if he were imagining the life the both of you could’ve had.
The life you could’ve shared.
Then, slowly, his eyes found yours again, soft and sincere.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, “me too.”
✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧
It came summer again.
Summer meant your birthday.
Which meant Bucky took it upon himself to meticulously carve you a gift.
You never asked him to.
He never asked if he should.
But as surely as the cicadas began to sing and the pomegranates fattened on the branch, you knew he’d be hunched over a piece of wood by moonlight, blade in hand, hair tied back with one of your ribbons.
It was a doe.
Small enough to rest in your palm, delicate ears pricked in quiet alertness, eyes wide as if she too had just stepped into a clearing and seen you for the first time.
He polished the wood smooth, left her legs unfinished— wildness should never be fully tamed, he said.
When he handed it to you, he didn’t speak.
He just watched your fingers curl around it.
"Do you like it?" he asked after a long pause, as if the silence had started to ache.
You nodded, too full of something to say yes. Your heart was flooding with joy.
"You didn't have to do this for me, Bucky," you said as you clutched it preciously to your chest.
He looked at you, eyes steady and unflinching.
“I would do anything for you.”
✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧
“Has anyone ever broken a god’s curse before?”
The water lapped gently around your knees, cool and clear beneath the pale light of dawn.
You waded deeper into the river, droplets catching the morning sun like scattered jewels.
Bucky stood beside you, the current swirling around his calves. He didn’t answer at once—his gaze fixed on the ripples moving downstream.
“I’m not sure.”
You glanced over at him. “Have you ever thought about breaking your curse?”
He was quiet for a long moment, the river’s hush filling the silence between you.
His brows knit, like he was pulling something fragile from the depths of his memory. “I used to,” he said finally, voice low. “When it was new. When the grief still burned and I thought… maybe if I was good enough, brave enough, loyal enough, Artemis would forgive me.”
You said nothing, just let the water wrap around your legs and the morning light kiss your shoulders.
He went on, almost to himself now. “I thought the curse might crack if I saved enough lives. Protected enough mortals. But the years passed, and I stopped dreaming.”
You looked at him then, really looked. The soft gleam of water on his skin, the weight in his eyes. “And now?”
He exhaled. “Now I just hope I’ll know it if it ever does break. That I won’t miss it.”
Your hand brushed his beneath the water. He didn’t pull away.
“Maybe the gods don’t undo curses,” you said softly. “Maybe they just wait until someone else finds a way through them.”
✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧✧☽✧☾✧
You placed the platter of berries in front of him, your fingers trembling just a little. Butterflies erupted in your stomach, your pulse quickening with every stolen glance.
He looked up, eyes locking onto yours, moonlight tracing the sharp angles of his face. Surprise flickered there, as well as something deeper. Something raw and unguarded.
“It’s been a year since you … appeared,” you offered shyly, eyes cast down and toes tracing into the cool soil. "It's a sort of thank you, I guess."
He didn’t say anything at first. Emotions battled in his eyes.
“No," he whispered. "Thank you.”
Before you could think twice, your hand was brushing his. Tentative, but deliberate.
“Do you ever wonder…” you murmured, voice thick with something unsaid, “…if some things are meant to be?”
Your heart pounded louder, as if it were answering.
“I do,” he replied, the low husk of his voice sending a shiver up your spine. “A lot.”
“Do you think,” you paused to swallow. “That we … are? ”
He looked at you like the question mattered more than anything he’d ever been asked in his life. “Yes.”
His hand turned, and his fingers slowly laced into yours.
“I had a dream last night,” you whispered.
His thumb brushed gently over your knuckles wordlessly.
You continued, the memory still vivid behind your eyes. “We were standing in a field of stars. Not under them—in them. Like the sky had bent down to meet us.”
He smiled softly, gaze not leaving yours. “Were we saying anything?”
You hesitated, then nodded again. “You said you loved me.”
Silence wrapped around you.
And then—his voice, quiet but sure. “I think I’ve been dreaming that too.”
The breath hitched in your throat. “Is this love, Bucky?”
He swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“Will the lady be mad?”
There were tears shining in his eyes. “Yes.”
He leaned in, and you met him halfway.
The kiss was soft—softer than you'd imagined, yet somehow heavier too, like it carried the weight of every unspoken moment between you. His hand cupped your cheek, trembling slightly, reverent. Yours curled into the fabric at his chest like an anchor, as if you were afraid he might disappear.
And maybe you were right to be afraid.
Because when you pulled back, the night was still and breathless, and for a heartbeat he just looked at you like he’d never seen anything more sacred.
Like you hung the moon and the stars.
Then his expression flickered. Pain. Panic.
“Bucky?” you whispered, your fingers still tangled with his.
He staggered back a step, breath hitching. The mark on his arm—his curse—was glowing, pulsing like a heartbeat of its own.
“No,” he choked, like he already knew what was happening.
You reached for him, but your hands passed through air.
And just like that—he was gone.
Lady Artemis had given you a second chance at life.
And now, she’d taken it away.