The elk lay trembling on the ground, its legs folded beneath it. It wasn't afraid — not of its goddess, not of her bow. It shook because it hurt — heartbroken that its mistress had burned so much divine power just to free it. Its low, mournful cry was thick with grief.
And then it came.
The spectral goddess drew to her full height. The string sang. The vortex behind her echoed the same sound — another bowstring, the sound of her true self.
A shaft of light faster than lightning, faster than thought itself, tore from the maelstrom. It didn't just break the sound barrier; it broke the concept of speed. One arrow struck the ground just before the elk. The other landed behind it.
Two resonant notes rippled through Thea's mind. Not sound — meaning. The elk's past and future had just been cleaved apart.
From within the vortex burst a spectral image — another elk, identical in every detail. The two forms collided and merged, becoming one once more, complete and whole.
The green-robed goddess closed the vortex. Her bow and arrows dissolved, as if they had never been.
She reached out, stroking the elk's cheek. "Child," she whispered, "you are free now. Go, and live your new life."
The creature hesitated, glancing back again and again before padding toward Thea. Artemis touched both their foreheads — woman and beast. "It will remain with you until your life's end," she said. "It will accompany you back to your own time. Treat it well."
Thea's heart leapt. So I can go back? She seized the chance. "Your Majesty, could you send me back to my original timeline? Or… if not, maybe help me contact the time ship I came with?"
The goddess fell silent. Her eyes — or the faint glow that suggested eyes — turned inward. After a long pause, she shook her head. "I am sorry. I could not find their trail. My divine sight cannot reach far enough into the future… but I feel they no longer exist on the same timeline as you."
Thea's breath caught, despair rising — until Artemis continued. "However, when you leave this place, you may take my bow. Within the quiver forged by my father lies one sacred arrow, blessed with his power. Once it has absorbed enough divine energy, that arrow will open a temporal passage. With your authority under the Time Council, you should be able to locate your original moment."
Wait — her bow? Surely she didn't mean— "Your… your bow, Your Majesty? You mean… your bow?"
A soft laugh, light as windchimes. "Yes, little one, exactly that. I no longer need it. My hunt is long over. Your spirit aligns with mine — though next time you roast a boar, perhaps don't invoke my name quite so casually…"
"Ah—!" Thea slapped a hand over her mouth. She heard that?! The time she'd muttered something stupid about "barbecuing in Artemis's name"— the goddess had actually heard it! These deities really have nothing better to do!
Forcing a sheepish grin, Thea bowed hastily, pouring out apologies. "Just mortal nonsense, Your Majesty — childish talk! No disrespect meant, truly!"
Artemis nodded, seemingly amused rather than offended. But then her tone shifted, calm and cold. "Tell me, child. Where does the divinity within you come from? If I'm not mistaken… it smells of Egypt. There's bitterness in that power — defiance. You… slew a god, didn't you?"
"Uh…" Thea froze. What was she supposed to say to that? But remembering what she'd learned from Diana — that the Greek and Egyptian pantheons were long-standing enemies — she made a quick decision. She lifted her chin slightly. "Yes. Horus."
For a moment, silence. Then the goddess's voice rose, almost triumphant. "Remarkable! A mortal who can strike down a god… that is truly extraordinary! You deserve a reward."
Bingo. Thea grinned inwardly. She'd gambled right. They were enemies. If there was ever a time to play the "enemy of your enemy" card, this was it. She could almost hear the sound of divine loot piling into her bag. Weapons, relics, armor — maybe even a blessing or two. Who knows? Maybe now I could even take Zod in a fight.
Her imagination was just hitting its stride when Artemis sighed — and Thea's heart sank.
"Unfortunately, I have little left to give. My essence is nearly spent. The energy I drew from you still remains, however…"
Wait, what? Her own power recycled as a reward? Thea wanted to laugh and cry all at once. Your divine majesty, where's your dignity? Still, beggars can't be choosers. She was about to nod anyway when Artemis went on.
"That power has been transmuted into divine force. You couldn't use it as-is even if I returned it… hmm. What to do…"
Thea stood there like a student awaiting a teacher's verdict, her emotions seesawing wildly. This goddess wasn't mocking her — she was genuinely broke. Watching a deity frown and think hard about how to compensate you was almost… awkward.
Finally Artemis looked up. "Young traveler through time," she said. "Would you be willing to become… my chosen?"
"Chosen?" For a second Thea pictured Moira back home, recruiting wide-eyed citizens into her 'divine outreach program.' But no — that wasn't what Artemis meant.
Thanks to Diana, she'd recently been cramming divine lore and could follow the implication. Chosen weren't servants. They were protégés — allies, extensions of a god's will. A far cry from the submissive priesthood.
"What would being your chosen require of me?" Thea asked carefully. "There's always a price."
Artemis waved her hand dismissively. "I have already fallen. My chosen owe no duties. Spread my name if you wish; don't, if you'd rather not. I won't mind either way."
That generous? Thea's heart stirred immediately. Free power, no strings attached — who would say no?
And the goddess sweetened the deal. "I had assumed you aligned with light — hence why I drew more of your energy. But now I see your soul carries shadow as well. If you become my chosen, you will command all spells born of moonlight, their power increased by a third."
"I accept!" Thea dropped to one knee. "I will be your chosen!"
Power with no cost? Who in their right mind would refuse?
"Ahem… you can stand," Artemis said, sounding faintly embarrassed as she reached down to lift Thea to her feet. Then, more solemnly: "Traveler of time, tell me your name."
Thea blinked, a twitch forming at the corner of her mouth. Seriously? We've been talking all this time and you never asked?
Then again, she couldn't complain — Horus had died without ever knowing hers.