After that night beneath the moon's quiet watch, after Artemis held her and whispered comfort in the dark, Megan made a quiet promise — one she kept buried deep in her heart.
No more favors.
She would no longer call upon Artemis to heal the sick or mend broken wings. It wasn't fair, not to her sister, not to the gods, and not to the balance she had already disrupted. It hurt, keeping her hands still when the village healer ran out of herbs, or when a calf trembled on the brink of death — but she endured it. She still helped where she could: lifting heavy crates for old people, helping the widows with their wheats, watching the children while their parents labored.
The villagers didn't question the sudden halt of miracles. They were grateful enough for Megan's gentle presence and tireless hands. Life moved forward.
