Artemis’ dreams were always strange. A twisted mix of memories, visions, and inexplicable fragments of a world she could never quite touch. But tonight, the dream felt different. It wasn’t just the usual darkness or the weightless feeling of being somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. It was as if time itself had unraveled, letting her glimpse into moments that hadn’t yet happened.

She was standing in the heart of the palace, the grand hall where her father’s council met. The marble floors were polished to a blinding shine, reflecting the cold light of chandeliers hanging high above. Yet the room was empty—save for the echo of distant voices. She could hear laughter, too, but it sounded distant, unfamiliar. Her fingers reached out to touch the stone pillars, but they felt colder than she remembered, as if they were not meant to be touched.

In the corner of the room, shadows flickered, moving unnaturally. A pair of guards walked past, but their faces were obscured, their bodies shrouded in mist. She called out to them, but they didn’t hear her. It was the strangest feeling—being in a place she knew so well, yet not being seen or heard.

The dream shifted.

Now, she was in the garden, but it looked nothing like the lush, vibrant place she knew from her waking hours. The flowers were wilting, their once vibrant colors now faded to pale shades of gray. The wind whispered, carrying a strange scent, one that didn’t belong to the flowers or the trees. A soft voice echoed from the edge of the garden, drawing her toward it. She followed, unsure why, but the pull was undeniable.

As she stepped forward, the dream blurred. Her childhood memories began to merge with the present, and she found herself standing before Maria, only she was much younger, no more than a child. The girl was sitting on a blanket, her hands busy with some simple task Artemis couldn’t quite remember. Hera, the head maid, was nearby, watching over her with her usual disapproving gaze, but there was something softer about her today. Something more protective.

"You shouldn’t be so careless with the flowers," Hera murmured, her voice stern but with a hint of concern.

Artemis smiled, walking toward the two of them. Maria looked up, meeting her gaze with those soft, human eyes, filled with that same quiet affection she had always felt.

"You’re the princess, Artemis. Shouldn’t you be resting?" Maria’s voice was gentle, but there was a teasing edge to it.

Artemis hadn’t understood then, how much of Maria’s care for her was rooted in a deep affection that went beyond her duties. Now, in this dream, it was as clear as daylight.

"You’re the one who’s always working," Artemis replied, though she knew Maria would insist that was her role. Maria, always so willing to put others first. Artemis had been so much younger then, unaware of the sacrifices the human maid made every day. She didn’t realize how much Maria was tied to her, how much of her world had been shaped by serving the royal family.

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As the memory of Maria faded into the recesses of her mind, another vision pushed its way through. The palace, dark and decaying, its halls now filled with strange, unfamiliar faces. They looked like nobles, but not ones Artemis recognized. They walked through the empty corridors, whispering among themselves. But what caught her attention was the sound of the door at the far end of the hall creaking open.

Her father stood there, his eyes hard, his posture rigid. And beside him... a woman. She had long dark hair, her face hidden in shadow, but Artemis could see the coldness in her expression. The woman was speaking to him, her voice sharp and commanding, but the words were lost to Artemis, swallowed by the eerie silence that hung in the air.

Her heart raced. There was something about the woman that made her skin prickle, a sense of dread she couldn’t explain. The scene shifted again, and she was no longer in the palace but in Zoel, surrounded by the trees. The forest was different, too—darker, more oppressive. The once peaceful sound of rustling leaves was replaced with a heavy, suffocating silence.

A figure appeared in the distance, emerging from the shadows. Arterios. He was looking around, his hand gripping the hilt of a sword, his face set in determination. But it wasn’t the Arterios she knew. This Arterios seemed... different, harder, like someone who had lost a part of himself. He scanned the horizon, his eyes narrowing as if searching for something—or someone.

Beside him, Maria walked cautiously, her eyes wide, scanning the forest. Her movements were careful, deliberate, as if every step carried the weight of something unspoken between them. She reached out, her hand brushing against Arterios’ sleeve, but he didn’t seem to notice, too absorbed in the path ahead.

Artemis’ chest tightened as she watched them. What were they doing here, in this darkened part of the forest? Were they still searching for her? Or was there something else, something she hadn’t seen yet?

The dream swirled again, and she was a child once more, sitting on the balcony with Lydia, one of her older maids. The air was warm, and the scent of the blooming jasmine filled the air. Lydia had always been kind to her, treating her like a little sister rather than a royal. She always made Artemis feel safe, like the world was a place she could trust.

“You’re growing up so fast,” Lydia had said once, brushing a strand of hair from Artemis’ face. “Soon, you won’t need us anymore.”

But Artemis hadn’t understood then. She didn’t know that, in the blink of an eye, everything could change. That one day, she might find herself in a world where nothing was familiar. Where the warmth of the palace would fade into something colder, darker. And her maids—Lydia, Hera, Ellie, and the rest—would be nothing but memories.

The thought made Artemis’ heart ache. She closed her eyes, as if trying to shut out the sadness that gnawed at her, but the dream didn’t let up. It kept pulling her, deeper into the twisting web of visions.

And then she saw them.

Lydia, Hera, Ellie—all of them—standing together in the garden. But something was wrong. They weren’t just the maids she remembered. They were... different. Their faces were hard, their bodies stiff, as if they had become strangers to her. They stood there, unblinking, their eyes fixed on some distant point beyond her reach.

"Where are you?" Artemis whispered, her voice barely a breath. But the maids didn’t answer. They never did.

She tried to move closer, to reach out to them, but the dream began to dissolve around her, the edges of reality fraying like a thread pulled too tight. A sudden weight pressed down on her chest, and she gasped for breath.

“Artemis,” a voice called out, soft but familiar.

She jerked awake, her heart pounding. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her hands shook as she reached for the edge of the bed. The room around her was quiet, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows across the floor. But there was something different in the air, something that made her skin crawl.

What had just happened? She sat up, her breath slow and ragged as she tried to make sense of the dream. She had seen so much—too much. The future? Memories? She didn’t know. All she knew was that she felt a strange, inexplicable pull toward those people, her maids, her family. But the dream hadn’t made sense. Not entirely.

She frowned, her mind racing. What was it she had seen? Had she really seen the future? Was it possible? She shook her head, unwilling to entertain such a thought.

But even as she tried to dismiss it, a single

question lingered, unanswered.

What are they doing now?