Deeper in the Medicine Bow, where the forest grew dense and light barely touched the ground, four figures moved in silence.
They weren't just travelers.
They were Huntresses of Artemis — a forward scouting group, the sharpest edge of the goddess's spear.
Each one carried herself with discipline born from decades — or centuries — of experience. They wore light silver-and-grey cloaks, bows slung tight, blades strapped for fast draws. Moonlight caught faintly on their armor despite the thick canopy overhead.
At the front, their scout crouched low beside a patch of torn-up moss and scattered pine needles. Her fingers hovered over a gouge carved deep into the earth.
"Claw marks," she said quietly. "Heavy. At least drakon-sized."
The tallest of the group stepped forward, a black braid tucked under her hood, quiver bouncing lightly on her back. "Could be the same one. The trail leads north, just like the reports said."
Another, younger-looking girl with a silver band tied around her upper arm, frowned. "It fled here after it ate that demigod in Durango?"
"That's the theory," the scout replied. "Whatever it is, it's scared."
"Good," the fourth said — a quiet, stone-faced Huntress with two curved blades across her back. "Means it remembers what the Lady did to its kin."
The leader stepped into the center of the trail, eyes scanning the brush with practiced precision. She was older — not in looks, but in presence. Her voice carried the weight of command.
"We'll continue the sweep north. Spread ten yards apart. We find tracks, blood, ash, anything strange — signal."
"What if we run into locals?" the younger one asked.
The leader paused, then glanced back. "We're in deep woods. No locals out here. If someone's moving through this stretch of forest…It's probably also prey"
The Huntresses moved in practiced formation — four shadows gliding through the undergrowth, senses sharp, bows ready.
Conversation between them was low, clipped, professional.
"If it's injured, we'll have the advantage."
"Unless it's shedding. Drakons molt after a big feed."
"That one in the Rockies didn't. Took three of us to put it down."
"I still say that wasn't a true drakon," one muttered. "Too fast, too small, too smart."
The leader made a subtle hand signal — hold the line. They adjusted formation, spacing out into a staggered sweep across the terrain, eyes scanning the trees, the dirt, the sky.
One moment she had been there— the rookie, the one guarding their backs, bow at her side, eyes alert, breathing steady.
The next?
Just empty space where boots had touched moss, her path swallowed up without a trace. No snapped branches. No scuffed leaves. No scent trail.
The three remaining Huntresses pushed forward through the undergrowth, still sharp, still silent — unaware they were already a squad of three.
That changed when they came upon the deer carcass.
It was strung up high in a tree, legs bound neatly with bungee cord, body already quartered with brutal efficiency. A few wrapped cuts were missing, cleanly taken. But the rest?
Still hanging.
Still fresh.
Blood glistened on the bark, and beneath it the ground was dark and damp.
They slowed immediately, bows half-raised, instincts bristling.
One of them stepped closer and pointed. "Look at this."
Claw marks.
"Drakon?" one of them asked.
"No," said the leader, kneeling for a better look. "Drakons don't hang their kills. And they don't quarter game like a trained butcher."
She stood slowly, frowning at the scene. "And they don't usually touch the wildlife. Monsters go after demigods. Mortals. Anything with ichor. Not deer."
"Then what the hell does this?"
The leader's eyes narrowed.
"I saw something like this once," she said. "Back in the '30s. A thing from the south. Fed like a person. Hunted like a goddamn ghost. Needed flesh to regenerate."
She looked around the clearing, jaw tight. "If it's the same kind of thing, it's not hunting for food. It's trying to heal."
That's when they saw the tracks.
Bootprints.
Just one set.
They stared at them for a moment — then turned to each other.
And realized they were only two.
No noise.
No sign of struggle.
Just the faint rustling of leaves drifting in the wind, lazily falling where she'd stood seconds before.
The forest went still.
Too still.
The leader's hand slowly reached for an arrow.
"…We're not alone."
The leader took a slow step forward, eyes locked on the strange, heavy bootprints. Her voice was quiet but calm — a battle-worn steadiness in it.
"Fan out. Check the perimeter. Whatever did this isn't far."
She turned away from the tracks, glancing toward the treeline where the undergrowth thickened, motionless.
The other Huntress, the last one still at her side, suddenly stiffened.
Her bow snapped up.
"There—!"
Thwip.
The arrow vanished into the trees.
The leader spun back around, already reaching for her blade. "What did you see?"
But there was no answer.
Only wind.
And leaves swirling in the spot where the Huntress had stood.
She was gone.
No sound. No scream. Not even a broken twig.
Just silence.
Again.
The leader stared at the empty space, chest rising and falling, jaw clenched.
Then she slowly lowered her hand from the hilt of her blade, eyes narrowing.
Not fear.
Not panic.
Just understanding.
She was alone now.
The forest was too quiet.
No birds.
No insects.
Even the wind seemed to be holding its breath.
The last Huntress moved silently through the brush, blade drawn low, every sense straining. Her breathing was slow and deliberate — combat calm. But something was wrong. Very wrong.
She stepped over a fallen branch—
The ground exploded beneath her.
From a pile of dead leaves and dirt, arms shot up, thick and fast, wrapping around her throat in a sudden, crushing chokehold.
She reacted instantly, stabbing back over her shoulder with her dagger, quick and practiced. She felt the blade bite flesh, heard a grunt of pain — but the arms didn't let go.
She stabbed again. And again.
Red blood sprayed across the leaves.
Still, the grip held.
She could feel something hard under her blade, not armor — something dense, like bone wrapped in steel.
Her knees started to buckle. Her lungs burned. Her fingers went numb.
The world shrank.
But she kept stabbing.
Then, just before her vision went completely dark, a voice — low, surprised — hissed into her ear:
"Damn. That hurts."
The grip loosened slightly.
She turned her head, barely—
And saw a boy.
Not a man. A teenager.
Blond. Bloodied. Shirt torn and streaked with red. Eyes wild but not monstrous. Her jaw clenched in pain, but his grip wasn't crushing anymore — more like holding her up to keep her from collapsing.
And sticking out of his neck, buried clean through the muscle, was an arrow.
Her sister's.
She recognized the fletching — silver-dyed feather, black shaft, crescent-moon notch. The kind she'd only seen in one quiver.
His expression flickered. Confusion. Realization.
Then her knees gave out—
And the world went black.
I stumbled over a root with an aggravated grunt, two bodies slung over my shoulders like sacks of potatoes, a third and fourth being dragged behind me by makeshift rope harnesses around their arms.
"Gods above," I muttered through my teeth, the arrow still stuck in his neck, "do none of you believe in salads?"
The four girls were out cold — tied up, not too tight, just enough to keep them from trying to stab me again when they woke up. All of them dressed the same: moon-colored cloaks, silver trim, weapons built for speed and precision. They looked... organized. Too organized.
But they weren't monster enough to go straight for the kill.
And they looked like girls. Teenagers. Late teens, maybe a little older. So instead of carving my way through them, I had chosen the smarter option:
Drag them back to camp and let Jasper do the freak-out.
I had no idea who they were or what they were. Maybe some kind of elite monster squad. Maybe a cursed coven. Or maybe they were just mortals way too deep into cosplaying murder.
But their human shape was enough to make me pause.
Besides — Jasper was the satyr. Magical monster radar was his job.
I paused to shift the weight on my shoulders. One of the girls groaned faintly. I adjusted my grip, not unkindly, but not gently either.
"Hey, you wake up and try anything, I swear I'll roll you down a hill," I warned under my breath. "I'm very done getting stabbed today."
The arrow in my neck throbbed to remind me it was still there.
A wicked grin twitched across my face. Rhea's gonna flip when she sees this.
That alone made the haul worth it.
Still, as I kept trudging through the forest, dragging and carrying four unconscious, suspiciously armed, and definitely too-damn-heavy strangers…
I let out a wheeze.
"....At least it's a good workout."
I broke the treeline like a bad dream, dragging four bodies behind me and looking like I'd fought a wood chipper and won.
Rhea looked up from the fire. Knife in hand. Paused mid-sharpening.
Jasper froze, stick still in the pot like he was making oatmeal for gods.
"Okay," I started, already tired of myself. "Before anyone freaks out—"
"Are those PEOPLE?!" Jasper screeched.
"No idea."
I dropped two of them off my shoulders with a solid thud, then turned and gave the other two a good tug. The rope held. Still tied. Still breathing. One of them had twitched a little during the walk, but nothing dangerous. Probably.
They were dressed weird. Silver cloaks, all matching. Pretty sure one of them had moon earrings. Real cult vibes.
Rhea stood up, eyes wide, focused on—
Yeah.
The arrow still sticking out of my neck.
"Lucas—what the—why is that still in you?!"
I gave her a grin. "Wanted to show it off before I pulled it. Looks cool, right?"
"No!"
"Too late."
I grabbed the shaft and yanked.
SHNK.
Pain flared white-hot. Blood went everywhere — all down my shirt, onto the pine needles, a few splashes hit my crocs. I winced but didn't make a sound.
Jasper hit the dirt behind a log like someone threw a grenade, dodging the blood droplets.
Rhea flinched. "You absolute dumbass—"
"I'm fine," I said, spitting a little blood. "Just... wet."
I wiped my hand across my jaw, now even bloodier. Great. I looked like a horror movie extra.
"Let me guess," Rhea snapped. "You don't know who they are?"
"Not a damn clue."
She looked at the four tied-up girls like she was trying to decide if I was the monster.
"All I know," I continued, "is they were deep in the woods, shot me in the neck, didn't turn to gold dust when I knocked 'em out, and they look human enough for goat-boy to check before I start setting fires."
Jasper peeked up from the log. "You mean me?"
"Do you see another goat-legged guy within five miles?"
I sat down on a log with a groan. My hands were red, my shirt was trashed and some blood had travel down my lungs, irritating me.
"Anyway," I said, kicking my feet up on a rock, "they're all tied up. No claws, no fangs, no growling. You tell me what I'm working with, Jasper."
He crept closer, wide-eyed, nose twitching as he examined the nearest girl.
Rhea crossed her arms and stared at me like I'd brought home a bear cub and said "it followed me."
I held up both hands, still covered in blood.
"I did a nice thing, okay?"
Jasper crouched next to one of the girls, sniffed once, leaned in, sniffed again — and immediately froze.
I raised an eyebrow. "What? She got B.O. or something?"
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, he slowly turned his head toward me, ears twitching, face pale.
Then he looked at the cloaks again.
The silver trim. The pins. The whole moon-core uniform.
"Oh," he said, very softly. "Oh no."
Rhea frowned. "What?"
He sat back on his heels like someone had unplugged him. "Lucas, you idiot."
I blinked. "Not the first time I've heard that, but you're gonna have to be more specific."
"These aren't monsters."
I gestured broadly to the very tied-up, very unconscious pile of girls. "No kidding. I brought them back alive. You're welcome."
He looked at me, then Rhea, then back to me like we were children who'd just accidentally summoned a demon in gym class.
"They're Huntresses," he said flatly. "Of Artemis."
Rhea blinked. "The moon lady?"
"Yeah." Jasper pointed at the silver pins on their cloaks. "The moon lady's immortal, monster-killing death squad."
I stared at the girls.
Then back at Jasper.
"…Are they gonna be mad?"
Jasper looked like he wanted to die. "They're going to kill you."
Rhea stepped closer, now visibly more tense. "Wait, Artemis has followers? I thought she was all 'leave me alone and let me vibe with wolves'."
"They are the wolves," Jasper snapped. "They don't age, they don't date, they don't miss, and if they think you're a threat, you poof."
I looked down at them again. One had a bit of dried blood on her temple where I'd elbowed her into a tree. Another still had grass in her hair. All of them were tied like hogs and dragged through the forest.
"...So I should probably untie them?"
Jasper let out a strangled sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. "You hogtied Artemis's hand-picked elite warriors."
"In my defense," I said, pointing at my neck, "one of them shot me."
"I don't think that's gonna hold up in moon court."
Rhea muttered, "This is why I carry poison."
I sighed and stood up, brushing bark off my ruined shirt. "Fine. We'll explain it to them when they wake up."
Jasper stared at me. "Explain what, exactly?"
I shrugged. "That it was a misunderstanding."
Rhea crossed her arms. "Lucas, you tackled one into the dirt, choked another unconscious, and dragged all four back like firewood."
"And yet," I said, holding up a hand, "I didn't kill them. I'm a pacifist now."
Jasper groaned. "This is how Greek tragedies start."
Jasper was pacing now, muttering something to the gods about "unwilling accomplice status" and "do not smite the satyr." Rhea had taken to sharpening her knife again with far more intensity than necessary, muttering "death squad" under her breath like it was a warning to herself.
Me?
I was standing over the tied-up warriors of a literal immortal goddess, hands on my hips, wondering how I could make "my bad" sound legally binding in celestial court.
Then one of them stirred.
The silver-haired one with the lean arms and a jaw like she'd been carved out of moonlight. Her fingers twitched. Her eyes fluttered.
And then they snapped open.
I barely had time to step back before her gaze locked on me.
She didn't scream.
Didn't struggle.
She just… stared.
At me.
At the blood.
At the rest of her squad, hogtied on the ground.
Then back to me.
"Oh. Good," I said, lifting a hand in a friendly, vaguely guilty wave. "You're awake."
She didn't respond.
But the rage in her eyes was pure moonfire.
"Okay," I said slowly, crouching beside her but staying just out of stabbing range. "Look. Before you start throwing knives or cursing my ancestors, let me explain. Big misunderstanding. I thought you were all monsters and after the first one of you guys tried to hurt me, I defended myself, you didn't explode into monster dust—so I figured, 'hey, maybe not monsters, maybe just some very aggressive forest girls,' and brought you back for... identification."
Her lips parted slightly.
"…Identification," she repeated, voice dry and cold.
"Yeah. Satyr confirmed you're not monsters. So you're free to go." I paused. "Soon."
Jasper stepped beside me, eyes wide and apologetic. "Hi. Um. Please don't smite us. Especially him."
The Huntress's eyes narrowed. She shifted slightly, testing the ropes. "Where are the others?"
"Uh… here," I said, stepping aside to show her the three other girls, still tied up and unconscious. "They're fine! Just… napping. Voluntarily. Kind of."
Rhea finally chimed in. "He dragged them all here like they were firewood."
"Rhea—"
"What?" she shrugged. "She deserves the context."
The Huntress's jaw tightened. "You tied up four of Artemis's chosen and brought us back to your camp."
I winced. "...I'm not great with first impressions."
She blinked once, then slowly, calmly said:
"I'm going to kill you when I get out of these ropes."
"Cool cool cool," I said, standing quickly. "Still gonna untie you though. Because I'm a gentleman."
"You're a corpse."
Jasper groaned behind me. "I told you."
I crouched beside the silver-haired one — the first one I clocked during the ambush — and started untying her wrists. The rope was tight; I'd made sure of that. Not because I was scared, but because I wasn't about to deal with four of them waking up mid-fight.
"I didn't kill you," I said casually, working the knots loose. "Could've. Didn't."
Her eyes were open now, cold and steady. Watching every movement I made like she was mentally calculating how many bones she'd snap if she got the chance.
"You hit me from behind," she said flatly. "Choked me out."
"Yeah, well. You girls were stalking through the woods like something out of a cryptid documentary. You didn't announce yourselves, and you were armed. I reacted."
Her eyes dropped to the blood on my shirt. The now-healed wound at my neck was nothing but dried crimson and a torn collar. She could see I was perfectly fine — no limp, no weakness, not even flinching.
"You should be dead," she muttered.
I snorted. "Welcome to the club. A lot of things have tried."
I pulled the last knot free and stepped back as she sat up. Her movements were fluid, controlled — even hogtied and unconscious five minutes ago, she carried herself like a predator. Definitely not mortal.
She rubbed her wrists but made no move to attack.
Yet, that was... Good?
I moved to the next one. A little blood on her temple. I'd caught her hard across the head. My bad. Sort of. Still breathing, though.
"You're not scared," Vala said, although I didn't know her name, watching me.
"Nope."
"You attacked us. Knocked us unconscious. Tied us up."
"Correct."
"You're not afraid of what happens when we get free?"
I looked up, grinning. "You can break all my ribs and stab me in the spleen and I'll be walking again in ten minutes. Might even fix my posture."
She narrowed her eyes. "You're insane."
"Probably."
Rhea, watching from the fire, rolled her eyes. "You're also doing this because you feel a little guilty, admit it."
I gave her a look. "If I felt guilty, I'd be cooking them breakfast."
Jasper muttered from his spot near a tree, "If Artemis hears about this, she's going to nail your soul to a wall."
"Cool," I said, moving on to the third girl. "Maybe she can explain why her squad jumped me like I stole their lunch money."
Vala spoke again, voice low. "They didn't know what you were."
"Neither did I," I said, tossing her a shrug. "That's why I tied you up instead of gutting you."
The second Huntress groaned softly as I pulled off her ropes.
Vala watched her wake up, then looked at me.
"I won't stop her if she attacks you."
I gave her a crooked grin.
"Wouldn't expect you to."
The second Huntress stirred as I finished untying her ankles.
Short black hair. Split lip. She'd been the second to go down — caught her with a body-check when she lunged at me in the trees. She hit the dirt hard. Stayed there.
Her eyes fluttered open, instantly sharpening from dazed to focused like someone flipped a switch. Her gaze shot to Vala, then to the other two girls still out, then to me — crouched beside her, still bloodstained, still breathing, still looking like I'd rolled through a war and come out on top.
"Good morning," I said. "Friendly tip — don't freak out."
She freaked out.
Not with a scream, but with a sudden lunge, fist snapping toward my face with soldier-fast reflex.
I didn't block.
Didn't flinch.
Her knuckles crashed against my cheekbone with a satisfying crack, and my head snapped to the side.
Pain flared. Dull. Fading.
Already healing.
I turned back to her, jaw twitching back into place with a little pop, blood dripping from the corner of my mouth — but I was still grinning with my shark teeth.
"Feel better?" I asked.
She blinked.
Stared.
Looked down at her now-freed limbs.
Then back at me.
"You're still alive?"
I wiped the blood off my mouth with the back of my hand. "Story of my life."
Vala made a sound — not quite a laugh. More like a huff of disbelief.
"She's the one who shot you," she said.
I gave the girl a two-finger salute. "Great aim."
She looked rattled now. Confused.
Not just because I was still alive — but because I wasn't angry.
No threats. No retribution. Just… there.
"Why aren't you fighting back?" she asked.
"Because I already won," I said simply. "And because if I fight you again, it won't be fair."
She stared at me, jaw clenched, breathing heavy.
But she didn't hit me again.
Just sat there, processing.
By the time I untied the fourth girl — taller, silver braids, moon earrings, and a mean bruise across her jaw — all four of them were sitting up, awake, and looking at me like I was either a wild animal or a particularly rude forest spirit.
They didn't talk.
Not yet.
Just stared, the tension between us tight enough to snap.
I sat back on my heels, hands resting on my knees. "Okay. You're all alive. Mostly intact. I didn't gut anyone. Can we agree that's, like, a decent baseline for conversation?"
None of them answered.
Rhea finally stood up from the fire and crossed her arms, knife still in hand. Her expression screamed 'what the actual hell are we doing'.
She pointed at the Huntresses. "Okay, look. I don't know who you four are or what sparkly murder cult you rolled in from, but I've gotta say—he's not lying. He probably could've finished it, but he didn't."
Vala turned her cold stare on Rhea. "You're defending him?"
Rhea snorted. "Please. He's a lunatic. All I'm saying is, when he came back from that griffon hunt, he was covered in blood, feathers, and looked like a meatball that lost a bar fight. And still walked it off."
I smirked. "You forgot the part where I brought back breakfast."
Rhea ignored him. "Point is, he's dumb as hell, reckless, a menace with knives for hands sometimes, but still human. He just… bounces back. Annoyingly fast."
The scarred girl squinted. "He took a direct shot through the neck. He shouldn't be able to speak, let alone smile."
Jasper, still hiding half behind a log, spoke up. "Yeah, he's… durable. Like, a lot. But he's not a monster. I'd know. I've got the built-in nose for that."
Vala watched me for a long moment, studying me like I was a puzzle with pieces she didn't want to admit might fit.
"You're not what I expected," she said finally.
"Most people don't expect to get suplexed in the woods," I replied.
She didn't smile.
But she didn't reach for a weapon either.
Progress.
"You're still reckless," she added.
"Absolutely."
"You attacked first."
"In my defense," I said, raising a hand, "you were very sneaky and also kind of scary."
"Fair," said the one with braids under her breath.
Vala exhaled through her nose. "You're lucky I don't kill you anyway."
Lucas gave her a lopsided grin. "Yeah, well… luck's kind of my thing."
The air stayed thick for another few beats. Four elite Huntresses, freed from their ropes but still coiled like wolves. Me, still bloody but grinning like an idiot. Rhea sharpening her knife, Jasper debating a full-blown panic nap.
Finally, I broke the silence.
"Alright. Can we talk like people now, or am I gonna get hit again for breathing too loud?"
Vala didn't blink. "Why would we talk to you?"
"Because you're still here," I said, sitting down on a rock, arms resting on my knees. "And I didn't kill any of you. And also, I'm curious. What the hell are Huntresses of an Olympian doing this forest?"
The girl with the braids exchanged a glance with Vala, then said, "We were tracking something. A drakon."
"Big one," added the scarred one. "It ate a demigod in Colorado. We tracked it north, lost it somewhere in this forest."
My grin widened before I could help myself.
"Ohhh. That guy."
Vala narrowed her eyes. "You saw it?"
I didn't answer right away.
Instead, I leaned back, crocs lifted slightly off the ground, the soles facing the group.
"Check 'em."
Their eyes dropped to my feet.
To the leather crocs I'd been stomping around in for less then a day.
"Reptilian leather," I said proudly. "Custom. Still warm when I carved 'em out of his gut. Little toasty, honestly."
Vala stared at the shoes like they were cursed.
"You're telling me… you killed the drakon."
"Not just killed," I said. "I went inside it and rearranged its internal design."
Rhea groaned in the background. "He's been unbearable about it."
"I earned the bragging rights."
Jasper nodded solemnly. "He did. We had marshmallows after. It was a whole thing."
The four Huntresses looked at each other, not entirely sure whether to believe it — or if they were just too tired to call me a liar.
Vala pinched the bridge of her nose. "We spent three weeks tracking that thing."
"And I stumbled into it," I said with a wink.
"Gods help me," she muttered.
"Yeah," I said, patting my croc. "They're really good for arch support too, and don't let me start about "sport mode"."
The Huntresses all stared at me like they were waiting for the punchline.
But none came.
Just me, proudly wiggling my croc-covered toes — made from monster leather, no less — like I was flexing designer boots instead of wearable evidence of violence.
The one with braids finally broke the silence, arms crossed. "You're an idiot."
"Not denying it," I said cheerfully.
"You killed the drakon alone?" asked the scarred one.
"Solo mission. Rhea and Jasper were back at camp. I followed the scent. Found the cave. Got chomped a little. Got inside a little. Spit fire. Did some manual remodeling. Boom — barbecue time."
Braids shook her head. "That's insane."
"It was hungry," I said, shrugging. "I was angrier."
Vala narrowed her eyes at me, then glanced at the others. You could see it on their faces: irritation, exhaustion, and just the tiniest hint of begrudging respect.
She sighed. "You're a mess."
"You're not the first to say that," I said, standing and dusting off my jeans. "But I'm starting to think I'm a useful mess."
"Barely," Rhea muttered, but she was smiling under it.
Jasper finally stepped out from behind his log bunker. "Can we maybe… not fight for like five minutes?"
I raised my hands. "Hey, I'm done. Look at me — peaceful, heroic, only moderately stabbed today."
Vala gave me a long look, then nodded once.
"Alright. Truce. For now."
I lowered my hands. "See? Progress."
She added, "But if you tie me up again, I will personally throw you into the next drakon we find."
"Noted."
The rest of the Huntresses began gathering themselves — straightening gear, checking weapons, brushing dirt off armor. Professionals, through and through. Even bloodied, even tied up, they carried themselves like they could still take out a war band if they had to.
And me?
I just stood there, bloody, proud, and still wearing crocs made from something I'd murdered.
Yeah. This was going great.
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