Artemis knelt by the edge of the Tanin River, the morning sun casting a golden glow on the water.
"Arty," Pacificus called gently, "are you sure you want to have your blessing here?"
"Yes," Artemis replied, her voice steady.
"Why?" he asked, curious.
"... the goo," she answered, a hint of embarrassment in her tone. "I don't want to experience it again."
Pacificus chuckled softly. "That only happens the first time... or if you haven't been blessed for a long time. Anyway, Arty, are you ready?"
"Yes," she affirmed.
"Alright," he said, placing a hand on her back. The symbols of Gaia and Thanatos appeared and glowed, runes forming and shimmering on her skin. "Oh," Pacificus noted, "you've been running a lot, haven't you, Arty?"
"Y-yes," she admitted.
"Alright, Arty... what potential do you want to increase?"
"Hmm," she pondered, staring at her runes. "I'll take Endurance and Agility, I guess."
"Alright," Pacificus said, his fingers tracing the runes. As he touched them, they began to fade. "We are done, Ar-"
Artemis immediately jumped into the river, expecting the familiar, disgusting goo to seep from her body. But nothing happened.
"What?" she exclaimed, examining herself. "How come?"
"That's because you were blessed a few days ago," Pacificus explained.
"Oh... I see... I don't get it," she said, her confusion evident.
Pacificus chuckled again. "Come on, Arty, you still need to train."
"I actually want to hunt," she declared.
"..."
"..."
"Pardon?" Pacificus asked, taken aback.
"I want to hunt," she repeated.
"Artemis, it isn't hunting season yet. It's still spring, the animals are just waking up, and they're all hungry for food. You should hunt during the fall."
"Oh," she replied, disappointment creeping into her voice. "I really wanted to hunt though... I'm a hunter. I want to provide for myself."
"You will, Arty. But not yet."
"If you want to hunt, dear," Caecilia interjected, "I can send you on a hunting party."
"I don't want to hunt creatures of the forest," Artemis said firmly. "I want to hunt the beasts from the Ever Resting Forest."
Caecilia turned pale at her words. Pacificus and Merina, however, remained calm.
"You are still too young to hunt in the Ever Resting Forest, Arty," Pacificus said gently. "Wait until you are twelve; your potential will be higher by then."
"Is my potential still too low for the Ever Resting Forest?"
"I'm afraid so, Arty."
"Oh," she replied, determination burning in her eyes. "I still need to train then."
Pacificus nodded in agreement.
"Your turn, Pollo,"
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Artemis trained diligently at the Temple of Juno. The gymnasium, smaller and more intimate than her school, was exclusively populated by women. The atmosphere buzzed with focused determination, the sounds of clashing swords and shields resonating throughout the space. Artemis spent her days sparring with the warrior monks, their fierce discipline pushing her to improve. Her greatest regret, however, was not being able to practice with her beloved bow. Instead, she spent most of her time wielding a sword and shield or a spear and shield.
Her instructor was a woman with a youthful demeanor, Hyakinthos's mother, Augusta. Augusta watched Artemis train, her keen eyes catching every mistake, every flaw in her form. They were engaged in a sword training session when Artemis assumed a familiar stance.
Augusta raised an eyebrow, recognizing the high stance immediately. It was the same stance Pacificus used, and it sent a shiver down her spine. Augusta attacked, expecting Artemis to parry the blow.
Artemis did, but Augusta's power was overwhelming, breaking through her defense. "Did that farmer teach you how to hold a sword?" Augusta asked, her tone sharp.
"Big Brother Pacy?" Artemis replied, a hint of pride in her voice. "Yes, Auntie, Big Brother taught me how to use the sword... but I prefer the bow."
"That Pacificus... how strong is he?"
"He is very strong," Artemis said earnestly. "He hunts beasts from the Ever Resting Forest, though he usually only does it a few times."
"I see... was he the one who slayed a cockatrice?"
"Yes, he did. Big Brother saved me from that cockatrice... it was also delicious."
Augustus sighed, her expression softening slightly. "Arty," she began, "don't try to mimic Pacificus."
"What? Why?" Artemis asked, confusion clouding her features.
"Pacificus... doesn't have any killing intent. The reason why he is so strong is because... because he mastered one skill and one skill alone... and that skill is parry."
"That is what Big Brother Pacy told me too... but I didn't believe him."
"He is telling the truth, Artemis. It is his warrior's will. It's his own martial path... you should walk your own path rather than follow in his footsteps."
"Big Brother once told me about the warrior's will. I still don't know what it is."
"It's not easy to explain, Arty. You will know once you get older."
For three straight days, Artemis trained relentlessly. Each day began with the morning sun filtering through the temple's windows, casting long shadows that shifted as the hours passed. Her muscles ached, her hands grew calloused, and her resolve strengthened. Augustus was a stern but fair teacher, her corrections and advice guiding Artemis towards improvement. Despite the grueling training, Artemis felt a sense of accomplishment with each small victory, each lesson learned.
The temple, with its high ceilings and worn floors, echoed with the sounds of their training. The air was filled with the scent of sweat and determination. As Artemis practiced, she found herself thinking more and more about Pacificus's words and Augustus's advice.
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In those three days, Merina had been a whirlwind of activity. She finished making a proper cloth for their tent, the fabric durable and weather-resistant. She also crafted a large backpack and a substantial water bag, designed to hold enough for their journey. Not one to overlook any detail, she even redesigned Torrent's saddle for greater comfort and utility. Her hands moved with practiced efficiency, her mind always a step ahead, planning and creating with a sense of urgency and purpose.
Pacificus had been equally busy. He worked alongside the monks of Vesta to construct new barracks, his strong hands and tireless spirit a vital part of the effort. Despite the physical demands of the work, he constantly kept an eye on the children training on his farm. The barracks were completed in three days, thanks in large part to one of Merina’s sisters, a skilled carpenter. The structure was larger than originally planned, accommodating the children who wanted to stay close to their mothers and big sisters.
During these days, Pacificus also took on the role of chef, preparing meals for his lover, the children, and the adults. He cooked with a quiet grace, his movements in the kitchen precise and thoughtful. He also prepared rations for their upcoming journey, ensuring that they would have nourishing food on the road. The aroma of his cooking filled the air, adding a comforting warmth to the bustling activity.
On the final night before their departure, Pacificus gave Merina a tender kiss. "Stay safe, my love," she whispered, her voice filled with emotion. She returned his kiss, a promise and a plea wrapped in the simple gesture.
Pacificus left their hut wearing the monk's scapular that Merina had made for him. The fabric was soft yet sturdy, a tangible reminder of her care and craftsmanship. His destination was the Temple of the God of Creation, located in the heart of the noble's district.
As Pacificus entered the town, the evening air was cool and refreshing. The streets were bathed in the soft glow of lanterns, casting long, gentle shadows. An old lady, wearing the robes of Vesta, stood waiting. Her presence was serene and commanding, a beacon of calm amidst the quiet night.
"Good evening, young man," said Leto, her voice warm and welcoming.
"Good evening, Mother Leto. Are you also here to witness the duel?" Pacificus responded, bowing his head slightly in respect.
"He he he. Of course, young man," she replied with a knowing smile. "Someone has to make sure she doesn't kill that poor boy."
The noble guards at the entrance eyed them as they passed, their gazes lingering on Pacificus. His outfit was a striking contrast to the traditional garb of the town—a black and white scapular adorned with a tree insignia, symbolizing life and death. It marked him as someone unique, someone not easily forgotten.
As they walked, Leto's gaze softened with concern. "How is Merina, dear?" she inquired.
"She is fine, Mother," Pacificus replied. "Though I am worried if she is getting enough sleep."
"Why is that, dear?"
"We've been busy lately, preparing for a very long journey. I don't even know how many nights we would have to spend in the Ever Resting Forest."
"Ah, I see. Well, dear, you seem to be very happy with your life, though."
Pacificus's face lit up with a smile. "She... she completes me. I never knew I needed someone like her in my life until she appeared."
Leto's eyes twinkled with amusement. "So, when is the marriage, dear?"
"Oh... we were planning to get married before we started our journey. But the soul flowers are hard to find these days... I was hoping to get some of them in the Ever Resting Forest."
Leto chuckled softly. "Oh dear, no need for the silly flowers, just make the oath to the gods."
"That is actually what we are planning to do after our adventure."
Leto sighed, her expression a mix of understanding and amusement. "It seems your plans were interrupted, dear."
"I don't mind, Mother Leto."
They continued their walk, the night air cool and filled with the distant sounds of the town. The path to the Temple of Creation was illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns, casting flickering shadows that danced along the cobblestones. The temple itself loomed ahead, a grand structure with towering spires and intricate carvings that spoke of ancient artistry and devotion.
As they approached the temple, the air grew quieter, more reverent. The grandeur of the place was awe-inspiring, its presence commanding respect and admiration. Pacificus and Leto walked in silence, each lost in their thoughts, yet connected by the shared purpose of the night's events.
Finally, they arrived at the steps of the Temple of Creation. The large doors stood open, inviting them into the sacred space.
Inside the grand temple, Pacificus stood out amidst the flowing robes and soft murmurs of the priestesses. The temple's iconic dome arched overhead, its vastness creating an awe-inspiring ambiance that emphasized the sacredness of the space. The light from the high, stained glass windows cast vibrant hues across the polished marble floors, creating a mosaic of colors that danced around the grand hall.
Pacificus, dressed in the distinctive monk's scapular crafted by his lover, Merina, was a striking figure in the sea of serene figures. The scapular, a blend of black and white, bore the intricate symbols of life and death—a powerful representation of Gaia and Thanatos. The tree emblem on his chest and back stood as a proud testament to the balance and duality he embraced. His height, a formidable two meters, made him nearly impossible to overlook. His white hair and short beard added to his commanding presence, while his mismatched eyes—one violet, the other blue—gave him an otherworldly aura.
As he moved through the temple, his unique appearance drew glances of curiosity and reverence from the priestesses, who otherwise were accustomed to the more subdued presence of their fellow worshippers. Their robes, flowing gracefully as they attended to their sacred duties, contrasted with Pacificus’s striking attire.
In a quiet corner of the temple, Artemis was engrossed in her prayers, her focus intense and unwavering. Her posture was one of deep concentration, and the soft glow of the temple’s light highlighted the determination etched into her young face. Her mother, Caecilia, stood beside her, clad in the elegant robes of Juno, the goddess of the hunt. She was carefully performing a ritual, invoking Juno's blessings for Artemis's equipment. The incense that filled the air carried a soothing aroma, mingling with the herbal scent from the armor.
After a period of solemn prayer, Artemis stood up, her movements graceful yet filled with purpose. Caecilia gently assisted her in donning the armor—a studded leather suit that smelled faintly of herbs from the incense. The armor, while protective, was designed more for agility than for heavy combat. The steel helmet, with its polished surface reflecting the temple’s light, was secured on her head. Her weapon was a wooden sword, deliberately blunt and unsharpened, designed to focus on training rather than actual combat. At her side was a shield, sturdy and well-crafted.
Pacificus observed Artemis with a sense of pride and admiration. Despite her young age, the fire in her eyes was unmistakable—a fierce determination and readiness that spoke volumes about her spirit and resolve.
The arena, a grand space within the temple, was set for the duel. It bore the marks of its dual purpose: a festival ground transformed into a battleground. The dome of the temple arched overhead, its grandeur accentuated by the opening at its center, which allowed the soft, silvery light of the three moons to cascade into the temple, casting an ethereal glow over the scene.
At the heart of the temple lay a vast circular arena, marked by a distinct line that demarcated the dueling area. Surrounding this circle were wooden platforms, meticulously erected to form an octagon. These platforms were elevated, offering spectators—children, priestesses, and their families—a commanding view of the arena below. The crowd was a mix of eager faces and quiet anticipation, their varied expressions reflecting the gravity of the upcoming duel.
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Standing sentry around the arena were the warrior monks, their presence imposing yet silent. Dressed in robes and wide-brimmed hats that obscured their faces, they were equipped with wooden staffs topped with glowing orbs. The orbs emitted a gentle light, illuminating the arena and adding a mystical ambiance to the setting. The monks' attire and their solemn demeanor added a layer of reverence to the proceedings.
At the very center of the arena stood an old man, a figure of authority and experience. He was clad in ornate plate armor, over which was draped a warrior’s scapular of a deep, blood-red hue. The intricate design of his armor featured the Spear of Mars emblazoned on both his back and chest, symbolizing his role as the presiding judge of the duel. His stern expression and commanding stance conveyed the seriousness with which he regarded the event.
Above the arena, perched on the tallest parapet, was a private box. In this elevated position sat a man of considerable wealth and status. His appearance was strikingly different from the austere surroundings. Dressed in a richly embroidered purple robe adorned with gold trims, he was a figure of opulence amidst the otherwise modest temple environment. His weary eyes and sagging posture spoke of long nights and a profound fatigue. Despite the grandeur of his attire and the luxurious comfort of his plush chair, he seemed detached from the excitement below, struggling to keep his eyes open as he fought against the urge to yawn.
On the lower parapets of the arena, Apollo and Hyakinthos occupied a pair of wooden chairs, with Augustus seated beside them. The setting provided a slightly elevated yet intimate vantage point from which they could observe the duel below.
Hyakinthos cast a concerned glance at Apollo, who seemed visibly uneasy. Apollo's usual composure was replaced by an evident discomfort; his posture was slightly hunched, and his fingers drummed nervously against the armrests of his chair.
"Are you okay, Polo?" Hyakinthos's voice was gentle, carrying a note of worry.
Apollo, forcing a reassuring smile, replied, "I... I'm fine, Haya. It's just... moments like these... make me appreciate Arty's stubbornness even more. To think that she would feel this weak during the day yet still keeps pushing..." His voice trailed off into a sigh. "I can't help but respect her even more."
Hyakinthos listened attentively, his expression softening with empathy. He reached out and took Apollo's hand, his touch warm and comforting.
Apollo looked up, meeting Hyakinthos's gaze. There was a moment of silent connection between them, where Apollo's eyes held a mixture of gratitude and something deeper. Hyakinthos, noticing Apollo's discomfort and the strain of the situation, responded softly, "Don't worry. I'll protect you in nights like these."
As Hyakinthos spoke, a faint blush crept onto both boys' faces. Apollo's cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink, mirroring the sudden warmth in Hyakinthos's own features. The shared touch and the promise of protection created an intense yet tender moment. Their hearts seemed to beat in unison, the rhythm of their emotions synchronizing in a way that made time feel suspended.
The spell was abruptly broken by a surge of commotion from the arena below. Shouts and cheers erupted, their collective voices rising in a cacophony that shattered the quiet intimacy between the two boys. The noise brought them back to the present.
Zephyrus made his entrance into the arena with a confidence that drew the eyes of everyone present. Clad in studded leather armor and a polished helmet, he wielded a wooden sword and shield with practiced ease. The acolyte of Jupiter followed closely behind him, his white robes adorned with golden and silver trims. The emblem of Jupiter, an imposing eagle, was prominently displayed on his attire, a symbol of divine authority and grandeur.
As Zephyrus approached the center of the arena, the crowd erupted in cheers, their enthusiasm echoing through the temple's vaulted dome. Despite Apollo and Hyakinthos's personal disdain for Zephyrus, they couldn't deny the boy's striking appearance and charismatic presence. Yet, the sight of him only served as a reminder of the punch he had delivered to their beloved sister, fueling their resentment.
Zephyrus's supporters, however, were undeterred by any personal grievances. Their voices rang out with fervor, chanting his name repeatedly until the sound reverberated off the temple's ancient walls, creating a deafening chorus that filled the sacred space.
The mood shifted as Artemis made her entrance. A profound silence fell over the crowd, replacing the previous din. Artemis stepped into the arena, exuding an almost ethereal grace. Her equipment, though identical to Zephyrus's, seemed to enhance her natural elegance. The armor, the wooden sword, and the shield all appeared to complement her in a way that highlighted her poise and beauty rather than simply preparing her for combat.
Caeilia arrived and took a seat beside Apollo, her presence a comforting anchor in the midst of the tense atmosphere. Augustus, observing the scene, turned to Caeilia with a note of intrigue.
"Caeilia," Augusta inquired, her gaze fixed on Artemis. "Is that... Artemis?"
"Yes," Caecilia replied, her smile tinged with pride.
Augustus’s eyes widened as she took in Artemis's appearance. "What makeup is she wearing?" she asked, puzzled by the transformation.
Caecilia shook her head slightly. "She isn't wearing any makeup."
Pacificus, following closely behind, made an impression of his own. His black and white scapular, emblazoned with the symbols of Gaia and Thanatos, stood out vividly against the backdrop of the temple. His presence added to the air of anticipation and reverence that surrounded the duel.
At the center of the arena, the two opposing forces met under the illumination of the three moons. Their light seemed to intensify as it fell upon Artemis, casting her in a radiant glow that seemed to fuse with the celestial beams.
The old man overseeing the duel paused, momentarily caught off guard by Artemis's striking presence. His gaze lingered on her, a look of surprise crossing his face. Meanwhile, the fat noble in the private box, despite his high status and wealth, couldn't help but feel a pang of discontent. "Why am I staring at a child?" he muttered to himself, a mix of frustration and self-reproach evident in his tone.
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The old man cleared his throat, his voice resonating through the temple. "Tonight, we witness an honorable duel between two warriors."
"But I'm a hunter," Artemis quietly pouted. Pacificus chuckled softly, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"This is a duel that will be witnessed by the gods," the old man continued. "Introduce yourselves and promise to the gods that you will fight fairly."
Zephyrus stepped forward, his posture exuding confidence and nobility. "I am Boreas 'Zephyrus' Astoria, second son of Eos Aurora Astoria and Astraeus Stella Astoria. Champion of Jupiter, blessed child of the skies, Hippogriff rider of the royal aerial cavalry, legacy child of the Astoria clan, wolf slayer, and groom-to-be of Flora 'Iris' Sieglyn. I, carrier of noble blood in all my heart, promise to fight this duel fairly."
The crowd erupted in applause, their cheers echoing through the temple. Zephyrus basked in the adulation, his expression one of smug satisfaction.
The old man then turned to Artemis, who looked up at Pacificus with confusion. "What am I supposed to do?" she asked in a whisper.
"Introduce yourself," Pacificus encouraged gently.
Artemis took a deep breath and stepped forward, her eyes blazing with determination. "I am Artemis Marius Agrippa," she declared, her voice steady and strong. She glanced at Zephyrus, her gaze narrowing with fury. "I am here to beat this loser in front of me so he will remember that I never cheat. I won't hold back. That's a promise."
Apollo and Caecilia both covered their faces with their hands, clearly embarrassed by her blunt declaration. Augustus and Hyakinthos, on the other hand, couldn't help but be amused by her audacity.
The crowd, however, was less forgiving. Frowns and disapproving murmurs spread among the spectators, and a few began to boo. The noble in the private box raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips. Perhaps he had forgotten his sleepiness, intrigued by the child's brazen defiance.
The old man overseeing the duel maintained a stoic expression, his face betraying no emotion. Pacificus, standing beside Artemis, was momentarily stunned into silence by her boldness
"Lets get this over with," Artemis declared, pointing her wooden sword directly at Zephyrus.
Zephyrus glared back at her, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity. It was clear he didn't just want to defeat her—he wanted to crush her.
"Before we begin," the old man announced, his voice commanding attention, "I need you two to listen to the rules. If you step out of the ring, you lose." He turned his gaze to Artemis. "No throwing weapons or dropping them this time. If you drop your weapon, you lose." Zephyrus clicked his tongue in annoyance. "If your weapon breaks, you lose. Also, no killing. If I deem this duel to be dangerous to your lives, I will personally intervene. Understood?"
"Yes, Master," Artemis replied, her voice respectful.
The old man raised an eyebrow. "I am not your master today, young Artemis. I am your mediator."
"Understood," she corrected herself.
"I understand," Zephyrus echoed.
"Good. Now, go to your positions and prepare your stances."
The two fighters moved to their designated spots. Zephyrus assumed a stance with his shield angled slightly towards Artemis, his sword arm poised to strike. His posture was rigid, his muscles taut with anticipation.
Artemis, in contrast, adopted a more relaxed stance, her shield lowered. Zephyrus interpreted this as an insult, his anger simmering beneath the surface.
In front of the two combatants, the old man held up a coin, its surface gleaming under the temple lights. "Once this coin lands on the floor, the two of you are free to engage."
He tossed the coin into the air, and for a moment, it seemed as though time slowed down. The spectators held their breath, the coin spinning lazily as it ascended, catching the light of the three moons that filtered through the temple's dome. Artemis and Zephyrus watched the coin with unwavering focus, their bodies coiled like springs ready to be released.
The coin reached the apex of its arc and began its descent, twirling end over end. The entire arena seemed to hold its breath, the tension palpable. Finally, the coin struck the floor with a sharp ting, echoing through the silent temple.
In an instant, the calm was shattered as the duel commenced. As the coin landed with a sharp ting, Zephyrus erupted with a sudden, fierce burst of energy. A dark wind swirled around him, growing in intensity with each passing second. The women in robes and large hats quickly raised their staffs, conjuring a shimmering aegis shield made of mana that encapsulated the ring, preventing the dark winds from wreaking havoc within the temple.
The wind continued to strengthen, escalating into a formidable hurricane that enveloped the entire dome of the shield. Zephyrus's eyes locked onto Artemis, filled with dark, destructive intent. He didn't merely wish to defeat her; he wanted to break her entirely—body and spirit. To achieve that, he unleashed the full extent of his power.
The tornado surrounding him crackled with electricity, bolts of lightning and peals of thunder reverberating through the enclosed space. Despite the ferocity of the storm, the mana shield erected by the women remained steadfast, protecting the temple from the violent outburst.
Among the spectators, Augusta and the other warriors exchanged worried glances. Some were impressed, while others were horrified. The old man overseeing the duel, however, had a peculiar grin on his face as he watched Zephyrus. It wasn't the sheer display of power that intrigued him—they were all aware of his capabilities as a blessed champion. No, it was the intense bloodlust emanating from the young boy that sent shivers down their spines. Such a level of murderous intent was unnatural for someone his age, and it was deeply unsettling.
However, Pacificus viewed the scene differently. He had encountered young beasts that exuded similar bloodlust, and he was simply surprised to see a child harboring such intense hatred. To him, Zephyrus appeared not as a fearsome opponent but as a child throwing a tantrum, overwhelmed by his emotions. His eyes shifted to Artemis, who stood calm and composed amid the raging storm.
"Arty," he called out, his voice steady and reassuring.
"Yes, big brother?" Artemis responded, turning her back to look at Pacificus. This simple act surprised the warriors around them and further enraged her already seething opponent.
"Arty... don't kill him," Pacificus instructed, his tone firm yet gentle.
Artemis smirked, a confident glint in her eye. "I'll just beat him," she replied, turning her gaze back to Zephyrus with disdain. "I'll make sure he won't forget it."
In a blink of an eye, Zephyrus dashed towards Artemis. His goal was simple: hurt her to the point of breaking her. His sword, surrounded by dark winds and crackling with electricity, was poised to strike. Yet, before his blade could make contact, Artemis's shield met his face with brutal force. His vision blurred, his nose was bloodied, and he found himself flat on his back.
Artemis had expertly used his own momentum against him. Zephyrus didn’t realize what had happened until he felt the cold ground beneath him. The shield strike had spun him vertically, sending him crashing painfully onto his back.
The crowd fell silent, their mouths agape in shock, unable to process what they had just witnessed.
Artemis looked down at Zephyrus with disdain and disappointment in her eyes. Zephyrus, disoriented and in pain, began to wonder if he was hallucinating. Artemis seemed to glow, radiating like a star in the night sky.
To make matters worse for Zephyrus, Artemis jumped on top of him and started pummeling him with her weapons. It was a one-sided beatdown. The audience flinched with each hit that Zephyrus took. He tried to fight back, but to his horror, Artemis was too powerful. His anger quickly turned to fear.
Artemis raised her shield to strike again, but two firm hands stopped her—one belonging to the old man and the other to Pacificus.
At that moment, Artemis halted and got off her already knocked-out opponent. The arena was filled with a tense silence, the only sound being the labored breathing of the defeated Zephyrus.
"I, Marcus Aemilius Barbola, hereby declare champion Artemis to be the undisputed winner of this duel."
The crowd didn't cheer. Instead, they watched in stunned silence as the healers rushed toward Zephyrus. The children looked at Artemis with fear, their previous admiration replaced by apprehension. Caecilia and her brothers went to greet her. Augusta had a grin on her face, while Hyakinthos looked at her with worry.
"Are you okay, Arty?" Hyakinthos asked.
Artemis smiled. "Never been better."
A frown appeared on Caecilia's face the moment she saw Artemis's smile. She felt conflicted. On one hand, she was glad Artemis wasn't hurt. On the other hand, she worried that this victory might inflate Artemis's ego and turn her into a violent woman.
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They decided to walk away, the crowd already dispersing. As they took their first steps, Apollo stopped and looked back at Zephyrus.
He saw Zephyrus's mother crying and wailing at the sight of her injured child. She held her son's head, trying to talk to him, looking as if she was losing her mind. Her wails and cries grew louder and more desperate as Zephyrus struggled to breathe. The healers worked frantically, their hands glowing with healing magic, but the mother's panic only increased.
A guard was there, attempting to comfort her and even trying to remove her from her child. The act made her snap, and she screamed and cried as she was forcefully separated from her son.
"MY SON! MY SON!" she cried.
"My lady, please calm down. You are interrupting the healers," one of the guards explained.
"LET ME GO! LET ME GO! PLEASE LET ME GO! MY SON NEEDS ME! HE NEEDS ME!"
Apollo sighed and approached the healers. It was chaotic, with Zephyrus's mother fighting against the guard's restraint, her voice hoarse from screaming.
He approached Zephyrus, and the moment he saw him, he understood why Zephyrus's mother was losing her mind.
Zephyrus's face was beyond recognition, a bloody mess that barely resembled a human visage. Apollo wondered how the boy was still alive. He could see Zephyrus fading in and out of consciousness, his breaths shallow and irregular. The healers' hands glowed with healing magic, but it was too slow. The boy's wounds were simply that severe. Healing magic depended on the patient's body, and Zephyrus was losing too much blood. His panic only worsened the situation, making it harder for the magic to take effect.
Apollo squeezed himself between the healers, his presence a steadying force amid the chaos. He gently cradled Zephyrus's head in his hands. "This is going to hurt real bad," he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. Then, his eyes began to glow, a brilliant light that rivaled the sun.
The healers paused, watching as Apollo's hands bathed Zephyrus in a warm, golden light. The boy's body responded, the light seeping into his wounds, knitting flesh and bone back together at an accelerated rate. Apollo gritted his teeth, the strain of channeling such powerful magic evident on his face. His entire being seemed to vibrate with the effort, his body a conduit for an overwhelming force.
Zephyrus's body began to glow, a soft, warm light that spread from Apollo's hands. His wounds started to close, the blood flow staunched, and his breathing grew steadier. The healers watched in awe as the impossible unfolded before their eyes. Yet, the process was not without its toll. Apollo's grip tightened, his knuckles white from the exertion. Sweat poured down his face, and he trembled with the effort to maintain his composure.
Finally, unable to contain the pain and strain any longer, Apollo let out a blood-curdling scream. The sound echoed through the temple, a raw expression of the immense energy coursing through him.
"POLO!" Artemis and Hyakinthos shouted in unison, their voices tinged with panic as they rushed toward their brother the moment they heard his scream.
Apollo felt his soul ablaze, the pain so unbearable that he suspected being burned alive would be a lesser torment. The agony was compounded by the fact that he was at his weakest during the night, amplifying the excruciating sensation. His screams filled the temple, a harrowing sound that echoed off the stone walls.
The healers, who had been focused on Zephyrus, immediately turned their attention to Apollo. They could see it clearly now—the flow of mana within his soul, and the source of his torment. His soul was burning, a blaze of magical energy that threatened to consume him. They placed their hands on him, trying their best to mitigate the pain, but they knew their efforts were limited. The best they could do was to ease his suffering slightly.
Despite the unbearable pain, Apollo continued to channel his healing magic into Zephyrus. Each second stretched into an eternity, the agony intensifying with every heartbeat. His body trembled violently, sweat pouring down his face as he fought to maintain his consciousness. The temple seemed to hold its breath, the crowd watching in silent awe and horror.
Zephyrus's wounds gradually closed, the healing magic working its wonders under Apollo's guidance. The boy's breathing steadied, the color returning to his face as his injuries mended. For Apollo, however, those few seconds felt like hours, each one an endless stretch of torment. The healers could see the strain on his face, the sheer willpower it took to endure such suffering.
Finally, as Zephyrus's last wound sealed shut, Apollo's body gave out. With one final, heart-wrenching scream, he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
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Apollo woke to the sight of a familiar ceiling, the dim light casting soft shadows across the room. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the surroundings, and then heard a gentle voice.
"Hey, Polo," Artemis said softly, sitting beside his bed.
"Hey, sis," he replied, his voice weak. "What happened?"
"You fainted," she answered, her eyes filled with concern.
"How long was I out?"
"A few hours."
"Oh..." He paused, trying to piece together the events. "What happened to the idiot that you beat, sis?"
"He’s fine... How about you?"
"I’m fine," Apollo said, attempting to sound convincing.
"Are you sure?" she pressed.
"Yes," he insisted.
"You’re not lying?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.
"Why would I lie, sis?"
"I didn’t even know someone could scream like that... until I heard yours," Artemis admitted, her voice tinged with worry.
"Oh... oh Gods, that was embarrassing," Apollo muttered, a flush creeping up his cheeks.
"Is your flaw really that bad?"
"Yeah... it felt as if I was being burned alive and that pain was multiplied tenfold," he explained, his face reflecting the memory of the agony.
Artemis scowled at his words. "Hyakinthos and Mother Caecilia were really worried, you know."
"Oh... oh Gods... tell them I’m sorry," Apollo said, his voice filled with regret.
"Why did you do that anyway?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.
Apollo sighed, looking away for a moment. "Did you see the look on that idiot’s mom?"
Artemis remained silent, her eyes widening as she recalled the scene.
"She was going crazy, Arty. She was losing her mind from grief... I know Zephyrus is a horrible person, but even he has someone who would be devastated if he disappears."
Artemis sighed, her expression softening. "You’re right," she conceded. "Maybe I should start practicing during the night."
"Why’s that, sis?" Apollo asked, intrigued.
She looked at her hands, watching as they glowed faintly with her power. "I didn’t realize how strong I was until I fought Zephy-lose... I need to control my gifts, Polo."
Apollo smiled, a weary but genuine smile. "Don’t we all, sis?" he said softly.