Gods — Greek or Egyptian — all seemed to share the same irritating habit: sheer, unshakable arrogance. To them, mortals were like mayflies. A century of human life was a blink of the divine eye — not even worth remembering. There was a perfect phrase for it: they look down on everything beneath heaven.
Thea sighed, stood straight, and cleared her throat. "Your Majesty, my name is Thea. Thea Queen."
"Ahem… I shall remember it. Now, kneel."
Suppressing an exasperated groan, Thea sank down again on one knee.
Thankfully, this time the goddess didn't pull any surprises. A spectral bow formed in her hands, resting gently on Thea's shoulder. Her voice was solemn, calm, and radiant with authority.
"I am Artemis, daughter of Zeus and Leto — goddess of the hunt and of the moon. I bless you, Thea Queen, as my chosen, now and forever."
Thea half-expected some Western wedding-style cue like 'I do,' but no — divine proclamations didn't require consent. When a god decreed, reality simply obeyed.
Artemis repeated the incantation in two strange languages that Thea didn't recognize, each syllable vibrating with layered power.
Then a silvery beam of moonlight arced between their foreheads. Thea gasped as knowledge flooded her mind — torrents of it. She saw visions, formulas, rites. Dark-element incantations. Rituals of the Olympians. The anatomy of beasts and the art of the hunt. Dance steps, winemaking secrets, even ancient feast songs.
What the hell is all this? Thea thought blankly. These gods looked lofty and divine, but honestly? They were just bored out of their immortal skulls. Seventy percent of the knowledge Artemis transferred was about leisure and indulgence. Eat, drink, dance, repeat. No wonder Ares had managed to beat an entire shipload of them by himself.
Still — it wasn't fair to say the blessing was useless. Amid the trivia lay genuine power. A new spell-like ability etched itself into her mind — Eternal Night.
Every three days, she could invoke it. The ability ignored all existing conditions and reshaped the world within ten miles into a moonlit night. Beneath its glow, all female entities gained a thirty-percent boost to physical and magical power, while males suffered a corresponding reduction.
Blatantly discriminatory, yes — but practical. Against a male opponent, it could tip the balance. Against a truly powerful foe, the percentage might shrink, but the debuff would still sting.
Other perks trickled in — minor resistances, extended lifespan, immunity to illusions — yet Thea skimmed past them. The goddess's form was fading, her outline dissolving like mist. Artemis had spent the last of the magic she'd taken.
"The divinity you drew from Horus," the goddess said softly, "I have transformed it into true divine power. Remember this, child: divinity fades; godforce endures. Should you ever seize another spark of divinity, use the spell I give you now to fuse it wholly with your essence."
A glowing orb drifted from her hand and sank into Thea's chest.
"Farewell, my chosen. Meeting you in the dusk of my existence has been a rare blessing. Walk beneath the stars, and find your path anew. When Diana is in need — aid her, for my sake."
Her palm extended — growing, vast as a sky. Thea felt herself shoved backward, falling through light, spinning through distance—
"Ah—!"
When her consciousness snapped back, she was lying on the cold stone floor of the cave. No divine plane. No goddess. Only the soft, pained whimper of the elk.
So it's over.
Her power felt thin — barely a tenth of what it once was — yet stable, tangible, truly hers. She released the unicorn's fusion, knelt, and hugged the elk's neck. "Come on. Let's go."
The creature bowed once toward the darkness, then followed her out, hooves echoing on the stone with steady resolve.
Outside, Diana's worried face was the first thing she saw. Thea opened her mouth — but before she could speak, two streaks shot across the sky, one silver-white, the other deep blue, trailing comets' tails straight toward her.
What now—?
Before she could react, two objects slammed into her waiting hands with perfect precision.
Diana gasped, her eyes wide. "Artemis's Silvermoon Bow… and— by the gods— the King's Quiver!"
Thea blinked down at the items, then up at Diana, who looked about ready to faint from jealousy. The Amazon still wore only her twin bracers — this was long before she'd assembled her full divine arsenal — and now here was Thea, arms full of celestial-grade gear.
The Silvermoon Bow. Smooth to the touch, yet not metal — more like a blend of celestial oak and stardust, equal parts strength and elasticity. Its 1.5-meter body was carved in the ancient style, each limb engraved with fine patterns and crowned at the grip by twin deer-antler motifs — Artemis's mark.
Thea drew the string. A spectral arrow of pure magic shimmered into existence. She could feel the weapon's name echo in her mind: Starlight's Fall — The Silvermoon Bow of Artemis.
Auto-generating arrows. I love it.
She turned to the quiver next. Where the bow radiated calm acceptance, the quiver pulsed with arrogance.
Deep blue, alive with lightning. It radiated energy the way Zeus radiated ego. From the instant she touched it, faint arcs of blue sparked across her wrist — the divine king's handiwork, loud and unsubtle.
Inside were only two arrows — or rather, two kinds of arrows, each self-replenishing once used.
The first was the Path Arrow, its head shaped like a forked lightning bolt. When charged with divine power, it could tear open a time channel — her ticket home. On ordinary days, it worked perfectly well as a thunderbolt. Artemis's own words echoed in her mind: "Father's power is inscrutable — even he never fully understood this arrow's limits."
The second was the Arrow of Vengeance, crimson as fresh blood. Artemis had blessed it herself, once intended to punish the "impure." Its enchantment was lethal to women who had broken vows — "fallen maidens," as ancient myth put it. Later, public outrage among the gods had forced her to modify the target parameters to "evildoers among women."
Still… Thea eyed the scarlet tip uneasily. That's… extreme. Maybe don't shoot that one unless absolutely necessary.
Both weapons recognized her instantly, binding themselves to her aura. They could rest within her soul, immune to theft or separation — and even in her home timeline, their originals would vanish, existing only with her. Unless she died, they were hers alone.
She didn't store them yet. No, she wanted to walk out holding them proudly, to see the faces of those arrogant priestesses who'd doubted her.
Let them look upon the mortal who'd walked into the gods' domain — and come out carrying their weapons.