Artemis' Dream
The forest stretched endless. The moon hung low, swollen with light. Wolves padded silently at her side, but when she glanced down, their paws left no prints.
She raised her bow at a stag glowing faintly gold. The air was perfect, still, ready for the shot. Yet her hands shook. Her arrow slipped.
A hand steadied her wrist. Warm, patient. She turned—Percy stood beside her, cloaked in starlight, his eyes full of constellations she had never named.
"You will miss," he said, not cruel, but certain.
"Why?" she whispered.
"Because your vow is heavier than your aim."
When she loosed, the arrow shattered into a thousand silver feathers. The stag vanished. Percy remained. She tried to speak but the forest itself hushed her, leaves trembling as if afraid of her own words.
She woke with the phantom of a hand still steadying hers, heart racing like prey.
Athena's Dream
She walked through her Parthenon, yet it was not stone but glass. Stars wheeled above, every constellation she had ever mapped burning alive.
Scrolls floated around her like wings of parchment. Every one bore the same name, written in endless hands: Chronos.
When she reached for one, it dissolved into starlight. Only his voice remained.
"You know every answer but this one," Percy murmured.
Athena turned—he stood where her statue should have been, taller than marble, calmer than any sculpted likeness.
"This is not reason," she said firmly, though her voice cracked.
"No," he agreed. "It is choice."
The scrolls crumbled. The stars went dark. Only he remained, and the silence between them stretched until she could no longer breathe.
She woke with tears staining her pillow, though she had not wept since childhood.
Shared Vision – Whispers of Fate
Though they did not know it, on the same night both goddesses dreamed again—this time, not dreams of longing, but of prophecy.
They stood apart yet together in a hall of endless threads. The Fates sat silent, their looms unmoving. In the center of the hall stood Percy, untouched by the webs of destiny. Threads frayed when they reached him, snapping like fragile cords.
Clotho whispered, "He stands beyond us."
Lachesis whispered, "Yet you are drawn to him."
Atropos whispered, "And for that, you will be undone."
Artemis reached for her bow. Athena reached for her spear. But both dissolved to dust in their hands.
Percy lifted his gaze—calm, steady, unbound. Time itself slowed around him, yet his eyes softened when they found each goddess.
"You cannot bind me," he said to the Fates.
Then, quieter: "But you may choose me."
The hall dissolved. Artemis woke gasping, clutching her wrist. Athena woke trembling, clutching her quill. Neither spoke of what they had seen.
The Longing in Waking Life
Artemis walked through her Hunt that morning, sharper with her maidens, her arrows striking true again—but each shot felt hollow.
Athena lectured her philosophers with brilliance, her logic unshaken—but each word rang empty.
Both carried a secret: that their dreams had already chosen for them, even if their waking lips refused to.