Faced moon goddess's expectant gaze,
Night knew that if he could not give her a real answer today, there would be no walking this back.
This willful goddess was absolutely not the type to abandon a pursuit until she had an answer.
He looked at the scene before him, something out of a Makoto Shinkai film.
In a world of blooming flowers with stars gathered all around, beneath a blazing sky at dusk, a beautiful girl stands quietly with a bouquet in her hands.
Artemis looked back at him in silence.
Something stirred quietly inside Night, and in that moment he felt he understood, just a little, the small rain in the Garden of Words that was always hoped for and waited upon.
"Faint thunder in the distance, the sky overcast. I long for wind and rain, if only they might keep you here."
He recited this slowly, from the Man'yoshu's Short Poem of the Thunder God.
These words were not invented for the film.
They were followed originally by another line: "Faint thunder in the distance, the sky overcast.
Even if no rain falls, I will still remain here."
The meaning was that through storm and lightning, through clear sky or downpour, I will be here waiting for you, hoping you will stay.
To hold onto something this beautiful, to preserve it in memory—that would surely be the most precious gift of all.
Night began to understand a little why Hippolytus had been captivated at first sight and then never recovered.
Artemis tilted her head slightly.
"Is that a poem?"
She had a dim sense of the meaning within the lines but could not be certain, and her gemstone-violet eyes widened just slightly in surprise.
No, that probably was not the meaning she was thinking of.
In Artemis's eyes, Griffith Lista possessed a pure and sacred heart, one that did not yield to seduction.
Though she had every confidence in her own appeal, based on his past behavior, he clearly had no interest in impure entanglements, and she did not think he would be bold enough for that.
This was a misjudgment.
After all, in Greece, a goddess's idea of men apparently came down to just two categories: those who accepted anyone who came along and everyone else.
That was the full spectrum.
The only thing to be said was that good men in this era were not nonexistent, just so rare that no one could work up any faith in male integrity whatsoever.
"Yes, a poem. It means you are beautiful. And I think I know what is missing now."
The broad sky, like a tomorrow too far away to see clearly, stretching without limit and yet still holding something worth seeking.
Artemis broke into a bright and delighted smile. "Then tell me quickly, Griffith."
"A moment, my queen."
On this night, they did not call her a goddess but rather referred to Artemis as queen.
Artemis, who vaguely sensed the subtle change in attitude, was slightly taken aback but still nodded.
She was his god. Being called "queen" was hardly inappropriate.
And on his end,
Night had finally figured out what Artemis was missing.
Whether it was because the version of Hippolytus in this world was different from the myth, he was not sure, but the flower crown was absent.
The one that should have been woven by the most ardent heart, born of pure admiration and a longing for eternal innocence, the symbol that had pressed a girl's untarnished beauty into a single, eternal moment—that crown was not on Artemis's head.
Though in the myths Artemis never accepted anyone's feelings in the end, there was one gift she had never refused.
Not something born of ordinary desire between man and woman, but something different, carrying a purer kind of love mixed within.
A love for the very concept of pure innocence that Artemis represented. That was the one offering Artemis had never turned away.
And so Night went to work with what the garden provided, picking the most beautiful flowers and weaving them together with flowering vines into a wreath.
That adornment is most symbolic of a girl's purity, the image that made anyone who saw it feel something worth reaching for; perhaps the original of that image had always been this very crown on Artemis's head.
Though ancient Greeks generally loved wearing crowns, what they wore most were golden headdresses made from laurel leaves, the symbol above all others of victory and courage.
Many believers had crowned their gods before.
Artemis, of course, had received such things, but she had never had much interest in golden crowns with their associations of power and glory.
She loved the natural world, and even her ornaments had to be natural, unadorned, without flaw.
As the crown gradually took shape in his hands, Artemis, who had already understood what he was doing, the goddess who never wore cumbersome decorations and always showed the world the simplest, most unadorned beauty of a girl herself, opened her mouth slightly in quiet surprise.
But she did not stop him.
As she watched the beautiful flowers woven halfway into the crown, she felt something that was almost anticipation.
When he finished, a crown bright with color and vivid blooms sat in his hands.
Night walked toward Artemis, and in the moment when that silver-haired youth, beautiful as moonlight, met her gaze with his starlit eyes, crown in hand,
Artemis felt a tremor in her heart, and that anticipation was joined by an inexplicable flash of embarrassment and the urge to turn and flee.
Night looked at the moon goddess with sincere eyes, then gracefully lowered himself onto one knee and offered up the crown in his hands.
"My dear queen, please take this crown from my devoted hands and let it adorn your moonlit hair."
A beautiful young man capable of moving even a god's heart and the most pure and heartfelt blessing woven into a crown of flowers, together in a sea of blooms, formed a scene so dreamlike and perfect it seemed wrong to disturb, something out of a great painting of the world.
Artemis lost herself looking at it for a moment.
When she came back to herself, a trace of pink that was difficult to catch flashed across her cheeks, a single instant of something moving in her chest.
But Artemis, who had never known what love was, only felt that this scene before her was the second thing that had moved her heart this deeply, the first being the day she first laid eyes on the five golden-antlered divine deer.
She hesitated and could not quite bring herself to meet Night's brilliant eyes.
The moon goddess was not actually impossible to win over.
But the conditions for doing so were difficult.
First, you could not show explicit love. Second, you could not show explicit ill will.
For a goddess who carried a deep fear of marriage, both overwhelming love and hatred were things she instinctively avoided or found repellent.
Only someone who had never once thought about trying to win her over had any chance of gradually building genuine goodwill.
And Night had never for a single moment thought he could win over this goddess who had remained the virgin goddess from the myths to the very end.
All those Greek heroes had failed. What made him any different?
Besides, Night did not think of himself as pure in the least.
If anything, he was quite loyal to his own desires.
Which could be seen from his passion with his maids.
It's just that inside the simulated universe, the people he encountered were either not worth his attention or he was too busy with his goals to bother with the affections of various girls.
But sometimes the saying proved itself true: a branch planted with no intention grows into the deepest shade.
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