That night, the four women gathered beneath the red moon of Longyearbyen, basking under the power that was given to them. Its light spilling over the frost-tipped cliffs and quiet sea beyond. The air is sharp with the coming of winter, carrying the scent of pine and salt. The world around them seemed suspended in that cold, crimson glow, a still moment before the snow would claim the land and silence every sound.
Artemis sat close to the fire, her eyes reflecting the wavering flames as she listened to a story about Nephrite. Everyone is adding more stories for her to listen to, giving her more information. Their voices are heavy with memories, the memories Gaia shared with all of them, of how Zeus had killed her, of the moment she chose death willingly, believing it was the only way to stop the endless war.
