Chapter Text
The night air off the Long Island Sound was biting, but Percy didn't mind. Years had passed since the Second Giant War, and even longer since he had held the weight of the sky on Mount Othrys. At twenty-five, the memories of his teenage years often felt like a past life, save for the nights when the sky was exceptionally clear.
He sat on the porch of his cabin, a steaming mug of tea forgotten in his hands, his eyes tracing the familiar outline of a girl drawing a bow across the cosmos.
"She shines brightly tonight."
Percy didn't jump. He had learned long ago how to sense the subtle shift in the air when a god arrived—the sudden drop in temperature, the scent of pine and winter. He turned his head slowly.
Artemis stood at the edge of the porch steps. She was not in her usual form of a twelve-year-old girl. Tonight, she appeared as a young woman, perhaps his own age, with auburn hair tied back and silver eyes that mirrored the starlight above.
"Lady Artemis," Percy said, making a move to stand and bow.
"Sit, Percy Jackson,” she said, her voice softer than he remembered. She stepped onto the porch and leaned against the wooden railing, her gaze fixed upward. "There is no need for formalities in the dark."
Percy settled back into his chair. Silence stretched between them, but it wasn't the heavy, oppressive silence that usually accompanied the gods. It was a quiet, shared understanding.
"I was hunting in the Adirondacks," Artemis began, her voice barely above a whisper. "The winter wolves are restless. But I found myself... distracted. I looked up, and I remembered the mountain."
Percy nodded slowly. "Mount Othrys."
"Yes." Artemis finally looked down at him. The eternal goddess of the Hunt looked deeply, undeniably tired. "It has been years, by mortal reckoning. A blink of an eye for my kind. Yet, the ache of her absence does not fade as it should. The other Hunters speak her name with reverence, but they do not understand the exact shape of the hole she left behind."
Percy set his mug on the floorboards. "Because they weren't there when it happened."
"No. They were not." Artemis crossed her arms, defensive even in her grief. "But you were."
Percy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The memory of that ruined peak, the bitter cold, and the sight of Zoe Nightshade slipping away was burned into his mind forever.
"I remember what she said," Percy told her softly. "She looked up, and she said she could see the stars again."
Artemis let out a shaky breath, a startlingly human sound. "She blamed herself for her exile. For centuries, she carried a burden she never deserved to bear. I tried to give her a family, Percy. I tried to give her a home where she would never be hurt by the selfishness of men again."
"And you did," Percy said firmly, meeting her silver eyes. "She loved the Hunt. She loved you, Artemis. She didn't die with regrets about joining you. She died defending her family."
"I served thee well, my lady," Zoe had said.
"With great honor," Artemis had replied. "The finest of my attendants."
Artemis closed her eyes. "You are one of the few men I have ever met who truly understands loyalty, Percy. You held the sky for me so that I could fight. But more than that... you stayed with her. You held no ill will toward her, even when she scorned you for your gender. You gave her respect in her final moments."
"She earned it," Percy said simply. "Zoe was a hero. I was just honored to fight beside her."
Artemis opened her eyes and turned back to the sky, a faint, melancholic smile touching her lips. "She thought highly of you in the end, you know. She told me you were not like Hercules. Coming from Zoe, there was no higher praise."
"I try to live up to that," Percy admitted. "Whenever things get hard, I look up at her constellation. It reminds me to keep fighting. To keep aiming true."
Artemis reached out, her cool, silver-glowing hand resting briefly on Percy's shoulder—a rare gesture of absolute trust from the maiden goddess.
"Thank you, Percy Jackson," she murmured. "For remembering her as she was. And for letting an immortal share a mortal's quiet night."
When Percy looked up to reply, the porch was empty. Only the scent of pine needles and winter snow remained, drifting up toward the brightest constellation in the northern sky.