As the first light of dawn filtered through the windows of his humble farmhouse, Pacificus stirred from his slumber, ready to embrace the busy day ahead. With practiced grace, he performed his morning rituals of swordplay and prayers, grounding himself in the rhythms of the new spring day.

Surveying his farm, Pacificus noted with a wry smile the telltale signs of a wild beast's intrusion, evidenced by the crops already nibbled upon. Before he could even react, Torrent, ever vigilant and protective, swiftly chased away the intruder, his large form a formidable deterrent to any would-be thieves. The Kirin's territorial nature extended not just to his domain but also to his food, and nothing roused his ire more than the thought of someone pilfering his own sustenance.

Amused by Torrent's grumpiness yet appreciative of his steadfast guardianship, Pacificus chuckled softly as he set about his morning tasks. Breakfast preparation was a shared ritual between man and beast, with Pacificus deftly cooking a hearty meal for both himself and the Kirin. Torrent, with an appetite as vast as his size, relished cooked food above all else, a preference that spared the crops from his voracious hunger—unless, of course, they found their way into his designated bowl.

As the aroma of breakfast filled the air, Torrent's massive head appeared at the farmhouse's lone window. Emitting a distinct grumble and bellow, the Kirin's mannerisms seemed to convey a mix of impatience and longing, as if he were attempting to communicate his desire to partake in the meal or perhaps simply eyeing the giant cauldron with a hunger that matched his size. Pacificus, accustomed to these interactions, shared a knowing look with his loyal companion, understanding the unspoken language that bound them in their daily routines.

After the satisfying meal shared with his loyal Kirin, Pacificus's gaze shifted towards a young oak tree standing proudly in the midst of his farm. Memories flooded his mind as he beheld the sturdy trunk, a testament to the passage of time and the legacy of generations past. This oak tree held a special significance, for it was planted by his father in remembrance of the tree sacrificed to build a storage space for the prey his mother had hunted.

Approaching the oak tree with a sense of reverence, Pacificus carefully selected a sturdy rope, its fibers woven together in a pattern that spoke of ancient symbols and hidden meanings.

With deliberate movements, he secured the rope around the magnificent trunk of the oak tree, each knot tied with a practiced hand and a solemn intent.

Beside the tree, he placed a bundle of fragrant incense, its sweet aroma mingling with the earthy scents of the farm. Though unlit for now, the incense held a promise of purification and sanctification.

As he stood back to admire his handiwork, a sense of completion settled upon him. The oak tree stood as a silent sentinel, bearing witness to the rituals of the past and the promises of the future, its roots anchored deep in the soil of tradition and memory. With a final nod of acknowledgment, Pacificus turned away, he still has something to do with the river.

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On the day of the long-awaited festival, the town came alive with a vibrant energy, stalls bursting with an array of goods and wares that beckoned to the eager crowds. The vendors, predominantly women and children, bustled about their makeshift shops, their faces alight with anticipation and a sense of camaraderie born from shared experiences of waiting and longing for the return of their men from war.

Among the throngs of festival-goers, a group of young guards stood watch, their ill-fitting armor and oversized helmets a comical sight against the backdrop of the bustling marketplace. The clunky armor hung awkwardly on their frames, the helmets slipping down to cover their eyes and requiring constant readjustment to maintain even a semblance of visibility. Their weapons, halberds of formidable make, proved to be a challenge for some, the weight of the weapons demanding the combined effort of both hands just to lift them upright.

As the sun cast its golden light upon the scene, a procession of priestesses from various faiths made their way down the road, a kaleidoscope of colors and prayers that seemed to purify the very air around them. Each priestess, draped in robes of intricate design and adorned with symbols of their beliefs, carried with them an aura of reverence and solemnity that lent a sense of sanctity to the otherwise bustling festival.

The prayers of the priestesses, each a unique melody of faith and devotion, mingled in the air, creating a harmonious cacophony that spoke of unity in diversity. Though the different faiths brought their own rituals and beliefs to the procession, there was an underlying thread of solidarity that bound them together in a shared reverence for the divine.

Amidst the chaos and unity of the procession, a bittersweet note hung in the air—the absence of the men, whose presence would have added another layer of richness to the festivities.

Following the ethereal procession of priestesses, a group of children adorned in pristine white garments adorned with delicate flowers trailed behind, their innocent faces aglow with a sense of wonder and reverence. Their attire, simple yet elegant, draped them in flowing white tunics that nearly brushed the ground as they walked, their steps light and purposeful as they followed the lead of the guiding priestesses towards their destination—the noble district.

As the children entered the exclusive realm of the nobles, a subtle shift in atmosphere was palpable. The noble children, also dressed in white attire but of a quality far superior to that of the commoners, joined the procession with a sense of grace and poise that bespoke their privileged upbringing. Their movements were more regimented, almost as if they were marching in a synchronized dance, in stark contrast to the carefree chatter and laughter that filled the air among the commoner children.

Among the noble children, one young boy stood out, his gaze inadvertently drawn to a commoner child walking alongside his peers. A blush crept up his cheeks as he beheld the striking figure of Hyakinthos, whose presence seemed to radiate a rare beauty that captured the noble boy's attention. Hyakinthos, engaged in conversation with Apollo and Artemis, exuded a quiet confidence that set him apart, his eyes a mesmerizing shade of violet that seemed to hold a universe of secrets within their depths.

Caught off guard by the captivating allure of Hyakinthos, the noble child stumbled slightly, his gaze lingering on the commoner boy with a mix of admiration and fascination.

As the procession culminated within the hallowed halls of the Temple of Creation, the grandest sanctuary in the town, a sense of awe and reverence enveloped the gathered crowd. Despite its imposing size and grandeur, the temple bore no statues or symbols of deities within its walls. Instead, it stood as a colossal edifice with a towering dome that loomed overhead, its central aperture allowing a brilliant shaft of sunlight to cascade down into the cavernous interior, bathing the space in a divine glow.

Into this sacred space strode the priestess, a figure shrouded in pristine white from head to toe, her form enveloped in flowing garments that lent her an air of ethereal majesty. A white veil obscured her features, casting her countenance in a veil of mystery and sanctity, while the sunlight, like a celestial spotlight, illuminated her figure with a radiant aura.

"Welcome, children of Elion," her voice rang out, carrying a tone of fervent devotion and unwavering faith. "Today marks a grand celebration in honor of our Gods and the hero of our Great Ancestor Elion. The Great Emperor of Mankind, a beacon of light amidst the darkness, rose as a champion of the Gods, vanquishing demons, xenos, unclean beings, and savage beasts that sought to threaten our kind. His triumph was so monumental that he decreed this day a testament to the Gods who aided him in his righteous battle for the betterment of mankind."

With a fervor bordering on zealotry, the priestess raised her hands to the heavens, her voice swelling with religious fervor. "Glory to Elion! Glory to our Species! Glory to Mankind!" she proclaimed, her words ringing out like a clarion call to arms. "Glory to the Gods!"

In unison, the children echoed her words, their voices blending in a chorus of adulation and praise. "Glory to the Gods," they intoned, their gestures mirroring the priestess's own, their youthful faces alight with a fervent zeal.

"Now, Children of Elion," her voice resonated, a symphony of authority and conviction echoing through the grand expanse of the Temple of Creation. Each word dripped with a potent mix of religious fervor and fervent nationalism, her figure draped in pristine white, shimmering in the divine light that bathed the chamber, casting her in an ethereal glow as she presented the choices before them, the proud descendants of their Great Ancestor.

"You are the proud sons and daughters of our Great Ancestor. Choose well on the Gods you choose to serve," she intoned, her eyes, veiled yet piercing, sweeping over the assembly of youths, each one a vessel for the divine will she sought to channel.

"Will you serve Jupiter, the God of the heavens? His dominion rules the skies, and his blessings will bestow upon you strength, vitality, and protection from the storms as he guides your fate above the clouds."

And as she spoke of Juno, a fervent passion infused her words, especially when addressing the young ladies. "Serve Juno, the goddess of Love and Marriage, the Superior Mother who ensures health and protection for women old and young. Juno raises the next generation so they wouldn't lose their path. With her blessing, you will possess immense vitality and protection from violent men who dare to assault you."

The priestess's voice wove a tapestry of darkness as she extolled the virtues of Vulcan, the God of the forge, whose domain engulfs craftsmanship and industry. "Vulcan's blessings will grant you immense endurance and resistance to the flames, ensuring that your craftsmanship skills will rapidly improve under his watchful gaze."

Then she turned to Vesta, the Everlasting Flame, the hearth of the family, the protector of homes. "Vesta's domain is that of the family's hearth, shielding loved ones with her blessings. With her favor, you will receive a talent in dexterity to support your kin, and she will shield your home from intruders."

Next, she spoke of Minerva, the Goddess of Wisdom and the Arts, her gaze sharp and unyielding. "Minerva's blessings will enhance your dexterity and grant you a greater capability to understand the intricacies of our world. With her guidance, you will navigate the shadows with ease."

Mars, the Master of War, was presented next, his presence exuding power and martial prowess. "Serve Mars, the bringer of conflict and resolution. His blessings will bestow upon you immense strength and endurance, shielding you against your enemies and guiding your hand in battle."

Finally, she spoke of Neptune, the God of the Seas, his realm vast and unfathomable. "Neptune's dominion spans the depths of the oceans. With his blessings, you will gain great endurance and dexterity, along with protection from the treacherous depths of the sea."

"Choose, dear children of Elion," she urged. "Don't take this decision lightly, for the future of our species depends on you. The Gods you choose to serve will shape not only your destinies but the very fabric of our collective existence. Embrace their blessings, for in them lies the key to our supremacy and dominance over all others."

The priestess's fervent cry pierced the tranquility of the day, her hands raised high in a gesture of reverence and exaltation.

"For the Gods!" echoed the children in unison, their voices carrying a blend of awe and obedience as they mirrored her actions, their young faces alight with a mixture of devotion and trepidation.

With that sacred chant lingering in the air, the children dispersed, their paths diverging as they made their way from the noble's district, where the majestic temples stood, to the humble abodes of the commoners, where their chosen deities awaited their worship.

Yet, amidst the bustling streets and crowded alleys of the town, three daring souls chose a different path. Ignoring the boundaries that confined them within the town walls, they ventured beyond, following a dirt road that meandered through the outskirts, its presence marked by the occasional trampled bush, a testament to the cart that stubbornly traversed its otherwise rugged terrain.

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Inside Pacificus' humble hut, the air was thick with the scent of yeast and the promise of a hearty meal to come. The flickering light of a small hearth cast dancing shadows across the rough-hewn walls, illuminating the array of ingredients laid out before him.

With deft hands weathered by years of toil, Pacificus set to work, his movements deliberate and practiced as he measured out the ingredients with care. The cockatrice eggs, their shells shimmering with an iridescent sheen, were cracked open one by one, their golden yolks mixing with the creamy milk in a wooden bowl.

Next came the flour, fine and powdery, sifted through a woven sieve to remove any lumps. Pacificus poured it into the mixture, his hands working the dough with a steady rhythm, kneading and folding until it took on a smooth, elastic texture.

As the dough rose under his skilled hands, he shaped it into loaves with a practiced touch, forming them into round balls before placing them on a wooden tray. With a final dusting of flour, he covered them with a linen cloth to rest, allowing the yeast to work its magic and leaven the bread.

Meanwhile, the makeshift oven stood ready, its stone walls radiating heat from the crackling fire within. Pacificus carefully slid the tray inside, the scent of baking bread filling the air as the loaves began to brown and crisp in the intense heat.

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Time seemed to slow as he tended to the fire, the flickering light casting a warm glow over his weathered features. The crackle of the flames mingled with the soft hiss of the baking bread, creating a symphony of sounds that spoke of sustenance and comfort in the midst of simplicity.

Finally, with a practiced eye, Pacificus withdrew the tray from the oven, the loaves golden and steaming, their crusts crisp and inviting. He breathed in deeply, savoring the aroma of freshly baked bread that filled the room, a testament to his skill and the bounty of the land.

As Pacificus set the loaves on a wooden table to cool, a sense of satisfaction washed over him. His heart swelled with pride at the simple yet profound act of creating something nourishing and essential from the gifts of the earth. Sitting down to break bread, alone yet content in his rustic abode, Pacificus knew that in this moment, he was truly rich in the blessings of hearth and home.

"Pacy," a familiar voice called out. He didn't think twice before opening the door, and there she was—Merina, with the children and a basket in her hands. The children were already playing with Torrent, brushing his fur and touching his scales. The Kirin, now the size of a horse with a wolf-like head and majestic antlers, replied by chewing his vegetables, ignoring the children's attempts to pet him and play with his long tail.

"Rina... Did the festival end already?" Pacificus asked.

"Of course not... I came to give you these." She handed him some baskets. Inside were tunics with open backs, clearly meant for children.

"It's for them."

"Not just for them, Pacy."

Beneath the children's clothes was a monastic scapular, commonly worn by monks of faith. This sacred piece of clothing bore a unique symbol—a tree with its roots at the bottom, representing life and death. The tree was intricately embroidered, its branches stretching upwards with delicate leaves unfurling, symbolizing life and growth. The roots extended downward in a complex weave, resembling dead branches, representing death and the return to the earth. The scapular's colors, black and white, also symbolized life and death, with the tree's roots and branches artfully contrasting against the background.

"Oh, Rina," Pacificus said, his voice filled with gratitude and a touch of shame. "You didn't have to do this for me."

"I wanted to."

"Thank you."

In front of Merina, he proudly donned the scapular. The tree with its roots, the symbol of life and death, was now displayed on his chest. The scapular was practical for monks who spent much of their time doing chores, sometimes including farming.

"It looks good on you," Merina said, smiling.

"You made it, after all." Pacificus then remembered something he wanted to give back to Merina. "I baked some bread. Want some?"

The couple sat down on the hut's porch, talking about the festival and eating the bread Pacificus had made. The children continued to play with Torrent's tail, the Kirin unbothered as the children shared their bread with him.

The couple and the children were waiting, after all, and what better way to do it than by eating together?

Finally, the children arrived.

Pacificus and Merina smiled at the three children.

"Big Brother Pacy," Artemis said, "we are ready."

"Have you eaten yet?" Merina asked.

"No," the three of them answered.

Merina then handed them a large plate of bread. "Let's eat first before Pacy starts the ritual."

"Is eating necessary for the ritual?" Apollo asked.

"No," Pacificus replied, "but you are going to need it."

The three children ate with the couple and their younger siblings under a huge tree with a knot tied on its trunk. The tree's branches stretched out, casting a dappled shade over the group. The children and Merina looked at the tree, or more specifically, at the knot that held a peculiar pattern.

"What a peculiar pattern," she complimented the rope pattern, her fingers tracing the intricate loops and twists.

"What do you mean?" Pacificus asked. "It was a knot taught to me by my father. He always does it when he is performing the ritual of blessing for me."

Merina smiled at Pacificus. "Patterns and knots have a language, Pacy, and this knot reads as a prayer."

"Big Brother," Hyakinthos said, "we are ready."

Pacificus nodded. "All right."

"Come, children," Merina said as she moved away from the three with the younger children. "Now remember, you must remain silent... The ritual is sacred, and we must show respect."

The children all nodded, their faces solemn with the weight of the moment.

The ritual then began.

In front of Pacificus, the three children knelt, wearing long tunics with open backs. The soft fabric draped gracefully over their shoulders, ready to expose their backs for the sacred ritual. Behind him, the tree with the rope tied to its trunk stood like a silent guardian, its branches swaying gently in the spring breeze.

"Before we begin, I need to ask, are you three sure about this?" Pacificus's voice was calm and steady, filled with a mixture of authority and tenderness.

"Yes," the three of them answered in unison, their voices unwavering.

"All right... Then I, Azrael, blessed child of Gaia and Thanatos, extend their blessings to you."

Pacificus lit the incense, filling the surroundings with a peculiar scent. The aroma was subtle yet pleasing, wrapping around the senses like a comforting embrace.

He moved in front of Artemis first. "State your name," he instructed, his voice steady and ceremonial.

"I am Artemis," she replied, her voice trembling slightly.

"Artemis... Will you accept the blessing of Gaia and Thanatos?"

"Yes," she answered, her resolve firming.

Pacificus then took a dagger. To the surprise of Artemis and the other children, including the young ones who were watching, he made a cut on his own hand, letting his blood drip into a wooden cup. The sight elicited gasps and wide-eyed stares from everyone except Merina, who chuckled softly at their reactions.

"Then offer me your hand, Artemis," Pacificus said.

With a trembling hand, Artemis extended her palm. She looked away and closed her eyes as the dagger approached her skin.

And then... "Is it done?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," Pacificus replied calmly.

Artemis slowly opened her eyes, sighing in relief along with the other children when they saw the cut was small, a mere scratch compared to the bruises she had endured before. Her blood mingled with Pacificus's in the wooden bowl, creating a crimson mixture.

Behind Artemis, Pacificus drew the symbol of life and death on her back. As he neared the final stroke, he paused and asked, "Are you ready?"

"For what?" she responded, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

"You will see... Just don't be afraid."

"I won't," she said, trying to sound brave.

He chuckled softly. "We'll see."

As Pacificus completed the final stroke, Artemis's eyes widened in shock. She pointed shakily at the tree before her. "BIG BROTHER!" she shouted in panic. "THE TREE! THE TREE! IT'S... IT'S MOVING! IT'S MOVING!"

"Calm down, Arty," Pacificus soothed.

Merina and the children looked at the tree and then back at Artemis, confusion and concern etched on their faces.

"Is she okay?" Hyakinthos asked Apollo, worry evident in his tone.

"I don't know," Apollo replied, equally puzzled.

The two boys glanced at Artemis and then at the tree. To them, the tree stood still, unwavering. But Artemis was frightened, moving away and hiding behind Pacificus as if something unseen was pursuing her.

But there was nothing there.

In Artemis's eyes, she was hiding behind Pacificus, staring at the Goddess of Life herself. The goddess was a paradox, both beautiful and ugly, chaotic yet organized. She embodied life in all its contradictions.

"Hello, young one," said the goddess of life, her voice a strange blend of mocking and genuine, both feminine and manly. Artemis cowered behind Pacificus, her small frame trembling.

"Hi," she replied, her voice shaky and terrified.

"You seek my blessing, do you not?" the goddess continued.

"Y-yes," Artemis stammered.

"Then come forth, child, if you would like to receive the blessing of life."

Artemis stepped forward, her entire body quaking with fear. The goddess was not human—far from it. She was a paradox, both beautiful and ugly, uncanny and pleasant to look at, her voice mirroring her contradictory appearance. "There, there. It's not that hard, is it?" the goddess cooed.

She approached the scared child, her branches and vines encircling Artemis.

"Let me tell you the nature of my blessing, young one. Unlike the Young Gods, who protect their worshippers with their divinity, we do not do such a thing. You will still receive the blessing of the God of Creation, but you will have to rely on yourself more. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes," Artemis whispered.

The goddess smiled, an expression both uncanny and terrifying, yet beautiful and pleasant. "Good... Now tell me, child, what do you want to be? What blessing from the God of Creation would you choose?"

"I-I-I want to be a hunter," Artemis replied.

"Done," the goddess said, tapping her forehead. It was quick, and Artemis didn’t even realize or see it.

"That's it?" she asked, bewildered.

The goddess chuckled, a sound that was a whole contradiction in itself, leaving Artemis confused and terrified. "Of course not," the goddess of life answered. "Tell me, young one, what power would you want to have?"

Artemis's eyes widened with excitement.

"Do you want to have the power to run fast? To blend into your surroundings, hidden from any threats, or to have the power of a marksman?"

"Hmmm," Artemis pondered. She hated thinking. "All of them."

"No can do, young one."

"Hmmm... I want to have the power to... hmmm, to have an arrow that could kill anything."

Apollo shook his head, Merina shuddered in shock, and the children looked at her as if she was crazy.

"Who is she talking to?"

"What is she talking about?"

"I think she lost it."

The goddess of life chuckled again, this time with pure amusement, free of contradictions. "My, my, how violent. Though I can't grant that, I can give you something close... Let me give it to you." She held Artemis, her grip feeling both motherly and terrifying. "The Arrow of Moonlight."

"What's that?" Artemis asked.

"It's a spell."

"I HAVE A SPELL!" she beamed.

Her reaction filled the crowd with worry.

"Oh yes," Gaia replied, her contradicting nature replaced by genuine amusement. "The spell is called Lunaris, the arrow of moonlight."

"Oh, what does it do?"

"It is a spell that allows you to harvest the light of the seven moons, the stars, and your own soul to strike your enemies."

"THAT IS COOL," Artemis exclaimed.

The children watching her started to worry even more.

"However," Gaia continued, her tone shifting to one of caution, "to keep the balance of this world, you can only use that power once a day. That is the flaw of such a spell."

"Oh... okay," Artemis replied, her excitement tempered by the restriction "not that cool".

Gaia chuckles. There is no contradiction in her chuckle just genuine amusement at a child "I like this one. She got spirit".

Then Artemis suddenly shivered. She felt a threat not just to her body but to her soul. She heard a whisper, a sinister whisper in which she cannot tell where the whisper came from, for the whisper came from everywhere even inside her head, her heart and her soul the whispers says "You will be at your strongest during the night.... but you will be at your weakest during the day"

And just like that the dreaded feeling disappeared.

The experience was so terrifying she immediately went to hug Pacificus.

"That was Thanatos Arty" says Pacificus "He is Gaia's everlasting consort."

Artemis simply nods.

"Show me your back Arty" says Pacificus as he holds Artemis's back. "Now close your eyes"

The symbol on Artemis's back glows.

"Perhaps I'll see you soon, Young Artemis." Gaia bids farewell, Her voice mocking but genuine, beautiful but ugly, manly and feminine, chaotic yet orderly.

This time Artemis's closes her eyes. She saw a star... a small blue star. Then the runes appeared.

Artemis Leto (I) Hunter Blessing: Gift and Gaia and Thanatos: The blessed one will receive two gifts each one contains flaws Hunter (Beginner Hunter) Strength C/C Dexterity C/B Agility C/B Speed C/B Stamina C/B Vigor C/C Gifts Lunaris Spell: Focus the power of the moons, the stars and the soul to make a powerful attack. Flaw: Can only be used once a day Moon-born Skill: The gifted one is at their strongest during the night. Flaw: The gifted one is at their weakest during the day. Main Skills: Hunter Hunter's Perception (Beginner) Tracking (Beginner) Trap Maker (Beginner) Butcher (Beginner) Gatherer (Beginner) Hunter's Mind (Beginner) Bushcraft (Beginner) Navigator (Poor) Archer (Beginner Advance) Spearman (Poor) Dagger user (Beginner)

Artemis smiled, her heart beating rapidly with excitement as she practically jumped for joy.

"I'M A HUNTER!" she shouted. "I'M A HUNTER!" She laughed, "I'M A HUN—" she suddenly paused. "What's that smell?"

Her heightened senses did her no favors. Her face turned green at the stench. "What is that smell?"

She looked at her arm. "Is that me?" she thought to herself. To her horror, a mixture of black, brown, and yellow disgusting goo oozed from the pores of her skin.

"AHHH!" she shouted. "BIG BROTHER, HELP!" she panicked.

"Go to the river," Pacificus said calmly, his hand on his nose as he looked at Artemis with a smile.

Panicking, Artemis ran towards the river near Pacificus's home.

"Stay inside the nets," Pacificus called after her.

As Artemis ran, her panic intensified. The disgusting goo continued to seep from the pores of her body, invading her nose and ears. She felt a wave of nausea rise within her.

When she neared the river, she jumped in, not caring about the potential man-eating fish that inhabited its waters.

The moment Artemis plunged into the tannin river, the water around her immediately turned black. The disgusting goo, expelled from her body, was carried away by the river’s calm flow. The fish, regardless of their size, instinctively avoided the black miasma. It seemed the nets were there to protect the river’s inhabitants, not Artemis.

Artemis soaked herself thoroughly in the river, frantically trying to cleanse her body of the goo. It continued to ooze from every orifice, causing her to panic further when it began seeping from her eyes as if she were crying tears of the vile substance. She didn't stop, scrubbing and rinsing, desperate to rid herself of the repulsive goo.

The other children watched in horror, their eyes wide with fear and confusion.

"This brings back memories," Merina chuckled softly

After a few minutes of perhaps the most frightening bath she had ever experienced, Artemis emerged from the river, exhausted and miserable. Despite her ordeal, her silver eyes were now more vibrant, her silver hair gleamed with a newfound luster, and her skin had taken on a healthier glow. She was surprised at how smooth and soft her skin felt as she ran her fingers over it.

When she returned to her brothers, the other children blushed at the sight of her, their expressions a mix of awe and confusion.

Hyakinthos looked at her, bewildered. "Who are you?" he asked, his eyes wide with astonishment.

"What do you mean, Haya?" Artemis replied in a tired voice, which now sounded unexpectedly beautiful.

"Okay, who are you really?" Hyakinthos insisted, still not recognizing her.

"It's me, Artemis!" she exclaimed, her voice carrying a melodious tone.

"I don't have a sister that pretty," Apollo said, raising his eyebrows.

"Who?" Artemis asked, looking around, genuinely confused. "Where?"

"Yup, she is our sister all right," Apollo confirmed, nodding.

"What?" Artemis repeated, her confusion deepening.

"See, I told you she is our sister," Apollo said, turning to Hyakinthos.

"What are you talking about?" Artemis asked, still trying to understand what was happening.