Date: Sunday, July 24th, 1988
Time: 09:02 AM
Location: RAF Northolt, Greater London, United Kingdom
The aircraft door opened to English air that felt different from France, cooler in tone if not in temperature, edged with something older and heavier than sunlight alone. Helena stood at the top of the mobile stairs, her small hand wrapped tightly in Gabrielle's while Fleur stood at her other side, Selene just behind, and Susan close enough that a single step backward would find her immediately. The runway stretched wide beneath an open sky, and for the first time since her rescue, Helena was not looking at England from behind walls or from under shadows.
She was standing in it. John stepped down first, scanning instinctively, though the security perimeter was layered thick with Royal Protection officers and British military personnel who had already been briefed twice over. He turned back toward Helena and offered his hand without command or urgency, just quiet invitation.
"You ready, sweetheart?" he asked gently. Helena inhaled slowly, nodding once as she looked out across the horizon. "I'm not hiding this time," she said softly. "I'm walking."
She descended carefully, not because she was afraid, but because she wanted to feel each step, wanted to mark that this return was deliberate rather than forced. Cameras were kept at distance under strict agreement, but Helena could still sense visibility in the air, the awareness that her presence carried weight far beyond her height. It would have crushed her a year ago. Now it steadied her.
The convoy to Buckingham Palace moved smoothly through London streets that seemed brighter than she remembered, buildings no longer looming like threats but rising like witnesses. Helena watched through the window, eyes wide not with fear but with recognition, because this city had once been a blur of sound and confusion.
"I forgot how big it feels," she murmured quietly. "It's always been big," Susan replied softly. "You were just very small then." "I'm still small," Helena said with a faint smile. "Yes," Selene answered calmly. "But you're not unseen anymore."
Time: 10:18 AM
Location: Buckingham Palace, London, United Kingdom
The gates opened with quiet precision, guards standing in ceremonial alignment as the vehicles rolled through the courtyard under summer sky. Helena felt her heartbeat pick up, not from panic, but from memory layered with anticipation. This place was not abstract to her; it was childhood, warmth, and stories whispered in corners long before darkness had swallowed everything.
When the car stopped, John stepped out firsr again, but this time he did not offer his hand immediately. He waited. Helena opened the door herself. The courtyard stone was warm beneath her shoes, and she stepped forward without hesitation, her gaze lifting slowly to the palace façade that had once seemed impossibly large. It still was, but she did not feel dwarfed by it now.
"She's watching," Gabrielle whispered softly, glancing toward the balcony. And Helena knew. Queen Elizabeth II stood just inside the palace doors rather than above them, protocol adjusted carefully to balance ceremony with intimacy. She wore no heavy regalia, only dignity and the faintest trace of emotion she refused to hide.
Helena walked toward her without prompting. For a moment, there were no cameras, no officers, no advisors only a grandmother and a child meeting in daylight instead of across distance.
"Welcome home," Elizabeth said quietly, voice steady but warm. Helena stepped into her arms with confidence this time, no hesitation, no collapse, simply belonging. "I came back the right way," Helena whispered against her shoulder. Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly, holding her close. "Yes, you did."
Behind them, Fleur squeezed Gabrielle's hand, Susan exhaled slowly, and Selene scanned the courtyard with composed vigilance, because returning to Britain did not mean relaxing protection. It meant layering it differently.
Inside the palace, corridors felt both familiar and foreign, polished floors reflecting sunlight that streamed through tall windows. Helena walked beside Elizabeth, absorbing protocol cues gently explained in murmurs rather than commands.
"You won't be paraded," Elizabeth assured her quietly. "You'll be introduced when you're ready." "I don't want to hide," Helena replied thoughtfully. "But I don't want to be… loud." "You may be steady instead," Elizabeth answered with faint approval.
That afternoon, Helena stood at a tall window overlooking the palace gardens, her reflection faint against the glass, and for the first time she saw England not as a cage she had escaped but as a place she could return to on her own terms. The trauma had not vanished, but it no longer dictated the view.
She was not returning to the dark room under stairs. She was returning under open sky. And this time, she was not alone.
Date: Sunday, July 31st, 1988
Time: 09:30 AM
Location: Buckingham Palace, Private Family Wing, London, United Kingdom
Helena's eighth birthday did not unfold like a spectacle but like a ceremony held carefully between walls that had witnessed centuries of quiet power. The gathering was intentionally small, structured with precision, attended only by those who had stood beside her during the year that reshaped her life. Queen Elizabeth sat near the fireplace rather than at the head of a long table, Apolline and Jean stood together like anchors from another homeland, Susan and Amelia watched with protective calm, and John remained near the window, posture relaxed but alert in ways that had become instinct rather than choice.
Helena wore a simple pale blue dress chosen not for display but for comfort, and when she entered the room, there was no applause, only warmth that felt deliberate and earned. Gabrielle hugged her first, whispering softly, "Happy birthday, love," while Fleur kissed her temple gently and Selene rested a steady hand against her shoulder like silent reinforcement. Helena smiled shyly, but there was strength in it now, a quiet awareness that she was being celebrated not as a symbol, but as a child who had survived and grown.
Before cake, before gifts, before the small ceremonial toast Elizabeth insisted upon, Dr. Élodie Marceau asked gently for Helena to step into the adjoining study, where a structured medical assessment would be recorded. The room held no cold instruments of threat, only measuring equipment and documentation prepared carefully for long-term tracking. Helena did not flinch when she stepped onto the platform scale, because she had learned that knowledge about her body was not punishment.
The numbers were read aloud carefully. "Height: four feet ten inches," Dr. Marceau stated, making sure her tone remained clinical and steady. "One hundred forty-seven centimeters." There was a pause before the scale reading followed. "Total weight: one hundred fifteen pounds," she continued calmly. "Fifty-two kilograms."
The room fell silent, not in fear but in concentration, as she moved through the next assessment with precision. "Body fat percentage: eighteen percent," Dr. Marceau added. "Approximately twenty-one pounds of fat mass, and ninety-four pounds of muscle mass."
Susan inhaled sharply, though she kept her composure, and Amelia's brows drew together in focused concern rather than alarm. Dr. Marceau did not rush her explanation.
"For comparison," she continued, "the average eight-year-old female stands approximately four feet two inches and weighs roughly fifty-seven pounds. An average eight-year-old male stands around four feet three inches and weighs approximately sixty pounds."
Helena blinked slowly, absorbing the difference. So I'm… bigger," she said quietly, glancing toward John as if asking whether bigger meant dangerous. You're stronger," John answered first, voice firm but gentle. "And we're going to make sure strong means controlled."
Dr. Marceau nodded carefully. "This confirms what we observed at trial," she explained. "Her Central Precocious Puberty remains active, but her adaptation favors muscle development over fat placement. It is a trauma-linked endocrine pattern, but it is stabilizing within predictable parameters."
Gabrielle stepped closer immediately, her voice soft but unwavering. "It doesn't change who you are, sweetheart." Selene added calmly, "It means your body learned to survive. Now it learns to thrive."
Helena looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers slowly as if seeing them anew. "I don't feel different," she admitted. "You feel like you," Fleur replied gently. "And that is enough."
Queen Elizabeth entered the study quietly, listening to the summary with steady composure, and when Dr. Marceau finished, the Queen placed one gloved hand lightly on Helena's shoulder. "Growth is not something to fear," she said softly. "It is something to steward."
Helena straightened slightly at that word, steward, because it felt less like judgment and more like responsibility. She nodded once, then stepped down from the platform without hesitation.
The rest of the morning unfolded gently, cake cut without spectacle, candles blown out with laughter rather than dread, and small gifts offered not as extravagance but as tokens of continuity. A leather-bound journal was presented by Elizabeth for Helena's development tracking, not only physical but emotional and academic, and Jean promised to ensure the same structured record would exist in France.
Outside, summer sunlight warmed the palace gardens, and Helena stood at the tall windows again, eight years old now, taller than anyone had expected, heavier with muscle than the average child her age, and yet emotionally lighter than she had ever been.
She was no longer hiding inside her body. She was growing into it. And this time, the world was adjusting around her instead of forcing her smaller.
Date: Sunday, September 18th, 1988
Time: 14:12 PM
Location: Aboard HS Kanaris (D212), Plymouth Sound, United Kingdom
The wind coming off Plymouth Sound carried the scent of salt and iron as Helena Alexandra Potter stood upon the deck of the HS Kanaris (D212), her posture composed yet curious while officers moved around her with the careful respect reserved for royalty and something more than royalty. The Greek destroyer rode steady at anchor beyond the harbor, flanked by the proud hulls of the French Jeanne d'Arc (R97), the cruiser Colbert (C61), and the frigate Tourville (D642), while two American Ticonderoga-class cruisers cut sharp silhouettes against the horizon beside a surfaced Los Angeles-class submarine whose Navy SEALs stood watch along its spine. Five British Type 22 frigates maintained a disciplined perimeter, their grey forms marking the weight of alliance and history that pressed quietly into the sea air. Helena's bound mates remained near her, hands brushing her sleeves or fingers resting lightly at her back, each of them alert not from fear but from devotion, because they knew the ocean answered to her in ways it did not answer to anyone else. The Greek captain guiding the tour gestured toward the horizon with pride in his voice, unaware that beneath his boots the sea itself had already begun to stir in recognition.
"I am honored to walk your deck, Captain," Helena said gently, her voice warm and steady, her eyes bright as the light caught them. "The sea feels alive today, and I can feel her listening."
The captain smiled politely, mistaking poetry for metaphor, while Selene leaned closer and whispered softly, "I can feel the water pulling toward you, love, and it is not subtle."
Helena tilted her head slightly as if listening to something distant and intimate at once, her breath catching not in fear but in awakening, because beneath the hull she could hear currents moving like whispered language and schools of fish turning in synchronized arcs like dancers awaiting command. The wind shifted abruptly, and in that half-second of distraction her boot slipped against a slick patch of sea spray along the deck's edge. Gasps erupted from sailors and mates alike as her balance broke, and then she was gone over the rail, vanishing into the waters of Plymouth Sound without a cry.
The splash was sharp and violent to mortal ears, yet the sea received her like returning kin. The cold did not touch her, not truly, for her godly blood wrapped around her like invisible armor, insulating her from temperature and pressure as easily as breath. Her eyes opened beneath the surface, and the world transformed into living sapphire light as fish circled her curiously, small silver bodies flashing while deeper shadows moved in respectful arcs below. Dolphins approached first, their minds brushing against hers in bright pulses of emotion and recognition, and Helena laughed underwater, the sound turning to bubbles that shimmered upward like pearls.
"I can hear you," she whispered through thought rather than sound, her consciousness extending outward in widening rings. "I am not afraid. I belong here, don't I?" A great shadow shifted beyond her as something ancient and powerful answered not with words but with presence, and the sea itself seemed to bow.
Ten minutes passed above, and on deck panic tightened every jaw and command voice. "She's been under too long," one sailor said hoarsely, while Selene gripped the railing with white knuckles and whispered, "Mate, please come back to us."
Beneath the surface, the water brightened suddenly as a column of turquoise light descended, and from it emerged a figure both vast and intimate, terrible and gentle in equal measure. Poseidon stood before her, not as storm and wrath, but as deep ocean made flesh, his hair flowing like dark tide and his eyes older than continents.
"My Little Earthshaker," he said, his voice echoing through water and bone alike, the nickname resonating exactly as recorded in her lineage. "You have finally come to me awake."
Helena's heart surged with recognition rather than surprise, and she swam forward without hesitation. "Papa-Sea," she breathed through thought, tears mixing seamlessly with saltwater. "I felt you. I felt all of it. The currents speak, and I understand them. I am not drowning. I am home."
Poseidon's expression softened in a way no mortal storm had ever witnessed. "You are my Daughter," he said firmly, and the word carried both pride and protection. "You are of Olympus and of the abyss, of throne and tide alike. Your blood does not cancel itself, and neither do your realms."
He extended his hand, and from the deep rose the Trident of Atlantis Prime, its form radiant and sovereign, etched with symbols of unified divine houses just as described in your regalia records. "This is your late birthday gift, Daughter. Not a weapon of conquest, but a symbol of authority. Atlantis Prime recognizes you as heir of sea and sovereignty."
Helena reached for it, and when her fingers closed around the shaft, power did not explode but aligned, flowing cleanly through her like a tide locking into moon-cycle. Her clothing dissolved into light and reformed as the Regalia of Atlantis Prime, white and sea-gold armor shaped to her frame, crowned in subtle coral and pearl motifs, a mantle flowing like living water behind her. She inhaled sharply, not from strain but from completion.
"I will protect them," she promised him fiercely. "The sailors, the fleets, the oceans, and my mates. I am not a child hiding in darkness anymore." Poseidon stepped forward and embraced her, the ocean itself stilling around them. "You never were," he said quietly. "Now go back to the surface, Daughter. They are afraid for you, and fear spreads faster than tide." She nodded, hugging him once more before turning upward. The sea parted before her ascent, and she shot toward the surface like a living spear of light.
On deck of the Kanaris, sailors were preparing to launch rescue measures when the water erupted in a controlled column, Helena rising from it in full Atlantean regalia, trident in hand, droplets cascading from gold-edged armor as she landed lightly upon the deck. Silence fell so completely that even the gulls seemed to pause.
One by one, every Greek sailor dropped to one knee. "The Daughter of the Sea," the captain breathed aloud, his voice reverent and shaken. "Princess of the Ocean."
Selene's eyes widened as she stared openly. "Poseidon? One of the Greek gods?" she said, disbelief and awe mingling in her voice. Helena smiled, radiant and unashamed, lifting the trident slightly as if it weighed nothing. "One of my seven godly fathers," she answered simply.
The sea beyond the hull calmed into glass. And every fleet present understood, in that breathless moment, that they were not witnessing myth. They were witnessing bloodline.
Date: Sunday, September 25th, 1988
Time: 8:07 PM
Location: Buckingham Palace Gardens, London, United Kingdom
Full Moon
The full moon hung silver and patient above the gardens of Buckingham Palace, its light washing the trimmed hedges and ancient oaks in pale luminance that softened the world without dimming it. Helena walked barefoot across the grass, her bond mates drifting behind her at a respectful distance, not because they feared what approached but because they understood instinctively that this meeting was something older than even they were. The air felt thinner in a way that had nothing to do with oxygen and everything to do with presence, and Helena tilted her face toward the moon as if answering a call she had known would come eventually.
"I feel them," she murmured quietly, her voice steady rather than afraid. "They've been here before. Watching. Guarding." Fleur glanced toward the treeline, eyes narrowing slightly. "You mean the sisters?" she asked softly. Helena nodded once, gaze fixed on the dark cluster of trees beyond the ornamental lake. "They're not myths. They're history that chose to stay hidden."
A figure stepped from shadow without a sound, boots barely brushing fallen leaves, silver circlet catching the moonlight. She looked no older than sixteen, though something in her eyes suggested centuries of patience, and she approached Helena not with hostility but with measured curiosity.
"You walk alone under the moon," the Huntress said calmly, her voice low and controlled. "Few mortals dare that in this place." Helena smiled faintly. "I'm not entirely mortal," she replied, neither boasting nor apologizing. "And I'm not alone."
The Huntress studied her carefully, gaze flicking briefly toward the bond mates before returning to Helena's face. "You know who we are," she said quietly. "Yes," Helena answered without hesitation. "Hunters of Artemis. Sisters who chose eternity over surrender. Recorded as myth so men would not hunt you back."
A subtle shift of respect crossed the Huntress's expression. "You speak like one who has read old truths." Helena's eyes softened. "I've had access to libraries most kingdoms never knew existed."
Before either could take another step, Helena's posture shifted almost imperceptibly as something brushed her awareness like wind through tall grass. Her head turned slightly, and then she raised one hand, pointing casually toward the trees without looking directly. "There are nine more," she said evenly. "Three in the western oak cluster, two behind the yew hedge, one in the lower branches above us, and three forming a crescent behind the fountain."
The Huntress stiffened instantly, shock breaking her composure as silver light shimmered faintly around Helena's frame. "That's impossible, we made no sound" she breathed. "I didn't hear you," Helena replied softly. "I felt you."
From the shadows, nine more figures revealed themselves reluctantly, stepping into the moonlight with expressions that ranged from astonishment to wariness. The silver glow around Helena intensified briefly, not aggressive, but sovereign, and for the first time uncertainty flickered across the Huntress's face.
Then a young voice, clear and carrying, rang out from between two great oak trees. "Adelfoula." Helena froze.
The voice was not hostile, not testing, but full of something achingly familiar, and when Helena turned, her breath caught in her throat. A girl stood between the trees, appearing no older than fourteen, dark hair framing a face carved with ancient dignity and sorrow tempered into strength.
Arms opened wide. It took Helena less than a second. "Megli adelfi!" she cried in perfect Ancient Greek, voice breaking with sudden emotion as she ran forward without restraint.
She leapt, and Zoe Nightshade caught her effortlessly, holding her as if no time at all had passed between them, though centuries lived behind those eyes. "My little sister," Zoe whispered fiercely against her hair. "You grew." Helena clung tightly, laughing through sudden tears. "You're real," she breathed. "You're not just in the texts."
Zoe pulled back just enough to look at her properly, hands steady on Helena's shoulders. "We have always been real," she said quietly. "The world simply prefers comfortable lies." Behind them, the other Hunters exchanged unsettled glances, their formation instinctively protective yet no longer hostile. Gabrielle stepped closer cautiously, whispering, "She feels like family, love."
"She is," Helena answered without looking back. Zoe's gaze flicked toward the bond mates, studying them with measured evaluation. "You carry many threads," she said to Helena, voice thoughtful rather than accusatory. "Sea, sun, hearth… and moon." Helena nodded slowly. "I remember them all. Every day." For a moment the moonlight seemed to intensify, silver spilling across the lawn as if approving the reunion. The Hunters shifted slightly, no longer hidden but not yet entirely at ease, their camp deeper in the trees faintly visible if one knew where to look.
Zoe lowered her voice. "She waits," she said simply. Helena's heart steadied, not racing as it might have months ago. "I know," she replied softly. "But I'm not running." The Huntress who had first approached stepped forward again, this time with open acknowledgment. "You sensed us before we chose to reveal ourselves," she admitted. "That has not happened in centuries." Helena smiled faintly, wiping the last of her tears. "I am Daughter of the Gods," she said gently. "But tonight, I am only your sister." The moon watched and the forest did not object.
Time: 8:42 PM
Location: Hidden Grove of the Hunters of Artemis, Buckingham Palace Woodlands, London, United Kingdom
The entrance to the camp did not reveal itself through parted branches or obvious pathways, but through absence, a place where the air felt older and the world quieter as though it had agreed not to intrude. Helena stepped forward beside Zoe Nightshade, her bond mates lingering just outside the threshold not from exclusion but from understanding that this crossing was sacred ground shaped long before their love had woven itself around her. The moonlight filtered differently beneath these trees, silver threading through leaves like woven silk, illuminating tents that appeared simple at first glance but radiated centuries of discipline and shared vow.
"I enter as sister," Helena said softly, placing her hand over her heart rather than drawing attention to her lineage. "Not as princess, not as daughter of kings or seas."
Zoe studied her carefully before nodding once. "You enter as blood," she replied firmly. "And blood does not kneel."
The Hunters gathered slowly, forming a loose circle not in challenge but in evaluation, their eyes sharp and ancient though their faces bore youth unmarked by time. Some regarded Helena with cautious curiosity, others with quiet recognition that had nothing to do with prophecy and everything to do with instinct. Helena did not flare with divine light, nor did she summon sea or storm; she stood simply and openly, allowing them to see her as she was rather than as rumor described her.
"You carry many threads," one Huntress said thoughtfully, silver bow resting at her side. "Sea, sun, hearth, wisdom, war, love, and death."
"I remember them every day," Helena answered gently. "Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, Ares, Hephaestus, Hermes, Apollo, and Dionysus. Hera, Hestia, Demeter, Aphrodite, Artemis, Athena, Persephone, and Hecate. And Grandmother Rhea who steadies them all."
A quiet murmur passed through the camp at the calm way she spoke the names, not as invocation but as belonging. The full moon rose higher, casting a halo around the clearing, and Helena felt something in her chest shift subtly, not awakening but aligning.
"You do not radiate like the others," another Huntress observed carefully. "You restrain yourself." Helena tilted her head slightly. "Power without restraint is noise," she replied softly. "I was noise once." Zoe's gaze softened almost imperceptibly at that admission, and she stepped closer, placing one hand on Helena's shoulder with sisterly firmness. "You were never noise," Zoe said quietly. "You were a child forced to survive."
The words hung between them like shared memory, and for a moment the camp felt less like military precision and more like hearth-circle kinship.
Beyond the clearing, Helena's bond mates waited with patient steadiness, Selene's eyes tracking every shift of shadow while Fleur and Gabrielle exchanged silent reassurance. Susan stood slightly forward, her hands folded loosely but ready, understanding that Helena's sisters were not rivals but another layer of her expanding world.
"I will not claim what is yours," Helena said finally, addressing the circle. "Your vow belongs to Artemis alone, and I do not intrude upon it." A ripple of approval moved subtly through the Hunters at her clarity. Zoe inclined her head toward the deeper trees. "She will wish to see you," she said quietly, voice carrying both anticipation and something unspoken. "But not before you have stood among us as one." The camp did not kneel. It acknowledged.
Helena remained in the circle for several minutes more, exchanging names, histories, and small truths beneath the moon, her laughter quiet but genuine when one of the younger Hunters confessed she had once tried to sneak into the British Museum archives only to be chased out by security. Helena listened more than she spoke, and when she did speak, it was without command.
"I am glad you are real," she said softly at last. "My books never did you justice." The silver light around her flickered faintly, not overwhelming, but recognized. From deeper within the woods, unseen but present, Artemis watched. She did not step forward yet.
Some reunions required breath before embrace.
Time: 9:26 PM
Location: Moonlit Clearing Beyond the Hunters' Camp, Buckingham Palace Woodlands, London, United Kingdom
The clearing lay deeper within the woodland than any mortal gardener would ever map, a place where moonlight did not merely fall but gathered, pooling silver across ancient roots and moss-soft ground. Helena stepped into it alone, though she did not feel alone, because the air carried presence like breath held gently between worlds. She did not bow when she saw the figure standing beneath the white glow, nor did she speak immediately, because some reunions were not meant to begin with sound.
Artemis stood as she always had in Helena's memory, ageless yet youthful, stern yet impossibly protective, her silver bow resting easily in her hand as if it were an extension of her will. The goddess did not blaze with spectacle, nor did she summon wind or hunt; she simply existed, and existence itself shifted slightly in acknowledgment.
"My Daughter," Artemis said quietly, her voice neither thunder nor whisper but something steadier than both. Helena's breath caught softly, not from fear but from recognition layered over centuries of forgotten moments. "Mama-Moon," she answered in return, her voice trembling only slightly before she steadied it. "I remembered you every night."
Artemis stepped closer, studying her with eyes that had watched empires crumble and forests regrow. "You have grown," she observed carefully, though it was not height she measured but alignment. "You no longer burn outward."
Helena swallowed softly, fingers tightening briefly at her sides. "I was noise once," she admitted again, her gaze lowering. "Everything inside me was too loud."
Artemis reached forward then, lifting Helena's chin gently with two fingers. "You were a child forced to survive," she corrected firmly, echoing Zoe's words with divine authority. "Noise is what the wounded make when they are not allowed to speak."
The moon brightened subtly as if approving the exchange, and for a long moment neither moved. Helena felt no cold beneath the night air, no discomfort from dew gathering at her bare feet, because her godly blood shielded her from the elements as naturally as breath. She did not tremble in Artemis's presence.
She stood. "You carry sea and sun strongly," Artemis continued thoughtfully. "But you have not forgotten forest."
"I won't," Helena promised softly. "I never wanted to lose any of you." Artemis's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "You do not have to choose," she said at last. "Balance is not betrayal."
Behind them, further back near the Hunters' campfire, Zoe stood with Helena's bond mates as the circle of silver-clad sisters leaned closer, their attention fixed on the conversation unfolding by the flames. Selene spoke first, her voice controlled but edged with remembered fury.
"She means that before the rescue, she was underfed and beaten," Selene said steadily. "When she was found, she was three feet three inches tall and weighed only thirty-two pounds at six years old."
A visible ripple passed through the Hunters as the numbers settled in. Susan's voice joined gently but unflinchingly. "An average six-year-old girl stands closer to three feet nine inches and weighs around forty to forty-five pounds," she explained quietly. "She was surviving on almost nothing."
Gabrielle's hands trembled slightly as she added, "She did not cry loudly. She endured quietly." The fire crackled softly, but several Hunters' eyes shimmered as they pictured the small frame described, the imbalance between divine lineage and mortal cruelty. Zoe's jaw tightened, ancient composure wavering only briefly.
"She was not noise," Zoe said firmly to the circle. "She was a child caged." Fleur stepped closer to the flames, her voice steady despite the emotion beneath it. "When she says she was noise, she means her body learned to react before her mind could breathe. Trauma turned instinct into armor."
A younger Huntress wiped at her eyes quietly, silver circlet glinting as she looked toward the moonlit clearing where Helena now stood beside Artemis. "She carries so much," she whispered. "And she carries it without asking for pity," Selene answered softly.
In the clearing, Artemis seemed to feel the shift behind her, the understanding moving through her Hunters like shared current. She placed one hand briefly over Helena's heart, not blessing, not claiming, but affirming.
"You were forced into survival," Artemis said gently. "But you are not forged only from pain." Helena exhaled slowly, tears shining but not falling. "I don't want to be defined by it," she admitted.
"You are not," Artemis replied. "You are defined by what you did after." For a long moment mother and daughter stood beneath the moon, not as goddess and subordinate, but as two beings bound by something older than vow.
Behind them, the Hunters no longer regarded Helena as anomaly. They regarded her as sister.
Time: 11:38 PM
Location: Moonlit Clearing, Hunters' Grove, Buckingham Palace Woodlands, London, United Kingdom
The camp had quieted into disciplined stillness, the Hunters withdrawing respectfully after the Oath of Recognition, leaving the clearing bathed in silver light and soft wind. Helena stood once more beneath the full moon, her breath steady, her posture neither ceremonial nor defensive, simply present. Artemis emerged from the deeper shadow of the trees without flourish, the moonlight catching faintly along the curve of her bow and the calm authority in her gaze.
"My Daughter," Artemis said softly, and the words carried warmth without indulgence. "Tonight was acknowledgment, not initiation." Helena inclined her head slightly, her expression thoughtful rather than expectant. "I did not want to take what was not mine," she replied gently. "But I did not want to remain untrained either."
Artemis stepped closer, holding in her hands three objects wrapped not in silk but in simple woven cloth, practical and unadorned. "You will not be untrained," she said evenly. "But you will not be armed for conquest."
She unfolded the cloth first to reveal a Silver Composite Bow, sleek and balanced, its limbs etched faintly with lunar patterns that shimmered only when the moon struck them directly. The weapon was elegant rather than ostentatious, sized precisely to Helena's current frame yet holding within it the quiet suggestion of adaptability.
"This is not a weapon," Artemis said calmly. "It is a measure." Helena's fingers brushed the bow's surface carefully, reverently, as if greeting something alive. "A measure of what?" she asked softly. "Control," Artemis answered. "The bow does not forgive impatience. It responds only to alignment."
Next, Artemis revealed a Silver Back Quiver, crafted from supple leather reinforced with light chain threading, designed not merely to carry arrows but to distribute weight evenly across movement. It bore no sigil of hierarchy, only a crescent stitched subtly along the rim. "And this," Artemis continued, "is balance."
Finally, Artemis lifted the third item from the cloth: a modern Hunter of Artemis outfit tailored precisely to Helena's current proportions, woven from flexible dark fabric reinforced at joints and shoulders, light enough for speed yet structured for endurance. It was practical rather than ceremonial, made for movement through forest and shadow alike.
"These are not symbols of vow," Artemis said gently. "They are tools of clarity." Helena swallowed softly, her voice steady though emotion shimmered beneath it. "May I?" she asked.
Artemis nodded once, turning slightly to grant privacy without distance. Helena stepped behind a curtain of low branches, changing into the Hunter attire beneath the moon, the fabric fitting her as though it had been measured not only for her body but for her stride. When she stepped back into the clearing, the transformation was not dramatic but composed; she looked neither armored nor disguised, simply ready.
"They adjust," Artemis added quietly, observing her Daughter with measured pride. "As you grow, they grow. They will not constrain you." Helena flexed her fingers lightly around the bow, settling the quiver across her back with instinctive alignment. "It feels… right," she murmured.
"Draw," Artemis instructed calmly. Helena reached for an arrow, fitting it to the string with deliberate precision, her stance widening slightly, her breathing slowing as she lifted the bow toward a distant knot in an oak trunk. The string hummed faintly when she pulled it back, not loudly, but with a quiet resonance that vibrated along her forearm and into her core like recognition.
She released, the arrow struck cleanly, embedding itself exactly where her gaze had focused, neither splintering wood nor overshooting. Artemis allowed herself the faintest curve of satisfaction. "You do not overpull," she observed. "I don't want to break what I'm aiming at," Helena replied softly. "That," Artemis said gently, "is why I give you this."
The moonlight brightened subtly around them, not in spectacle but in affirmation, and for a long moment they stood in shared quiet. Helena did not feel cold despite the late hour, nor fatigue despite the emotional weight of the night, because her godly blood held her steady against the elements as naturally as breath.
"I don't want to be defined by what hurt me," Helena admitted after a pause. "You are not," Artemis answered firmly. "You are defined by what you choose to master."
Helena stepped forward then, wrapping her arms around Artemis in an embrace that was not hesitant but grounded. Artemis returned it without grandeur, one hand resting gently at the back of Helena's head.
"You are not required to choose between us," Artemis whispered softly. "You may walk forest, sea, and throne alike."
Helena pulled back with a small, steady smile. "Then I will walk all of them." The bow rested comfortably in her hand. And for the first time, it did not feel like survival. It felt like discipline.
Date: Monday, September 26th, 1988
Time: 6:14 AM
Location: Reflecting Pool, Buckingham Palace Gardens, London, United Kingdom
Dawn had not yet fully claimed the sky when Helena stepped barefoot onto the pale stone that bordered the palace's quiet reflecting pool, the surface of the water so still it mirrored the early light without distortion. A faint mist hovered over the surface, rising slowly as the air shifted from night's coolness toward morning warmth, though neither temperature nor dew registered meaningfully against her skin. Her godly blood held her steady against the elements, indifferent to chill and breeze alike, and she welcomed the stillness not as emptiness but as invitation.
Behind her, at a respectful distance along the gravel path, her bond mates watched without intrusion, understanding instinctively that this was not a moment for touch but for interior alignment. Fleur folded her arms lightly, Selene leaned against a stone balustrade with attentive calm, Gabrielle rested her chin in her hands, and Susan stood quietly observant, their presence anchoring Helena without tethering her.
Helena knelt beside the water and stared into her own reflection. The surface did not distort her image, but beneath that image she could feel it the threads.
Sea pulsed first, deep and rhythmic, like a tide waiting for moon-command. Moon answered in cool silver calm, measured and disciplined. Sun flared faintly beneath her ribs, warm and bright but not overwhelming. Storm hovered at the edge of awareness, electric and coiled, while the quieter forces hearth, wisdom, love, shadow lingered in layered harmony.
For the first time, she did not suppress them. "I can feel all of you," she whispered softly, not invoking but acknowledging. "Papa-Sea. Mama-Moon. Papa-Sun. Father Storm. Mother Hearth. Mother Wisdom. All of you."
The water trembled almost imperceptibly at the admission, ripples threatening to form, but Helena inhaled slowly, deliberately, allowing breath to move through her like tide rather than explosion. She did not push the power down; she widened around it.
"Not noise," she murmured quietly to herself. "Not suppression. Just… still."
The threads responded not by disappearing, but by settling.
Sea slowed from surge to undercurrent. Moon cooled without dimming. Sun softened without extinguishing. Storm uncoiled without striking. Each divine strand remained present, yet none demanded dominance. For the first time in her conscious memory, Helena experienced them simultaneously without escalation.
Behind her, Gabrielle exhaled softly. "She's not fighting it," she whispered. "No," Selene answered gently. "She's holding it."
Helena extended one hand toward the surface of the pool, stopping just before contact, and the water beneath her palm remained perfectly calm. Her reflection did not shimmer with silver or flare with gold; it remained her eight years old, steady-eyed, composed. "I don't have to drown in it," she said softly, more to herself than to the watching world. "I can let it exist."
The realization did not arrive with thunder or celestial chorus; it arrived quietly, like the final note of a chord resolving. She felt Zeus's storm without crackling lightning. She felt Poseidon's depth without rising tide. She felt Artemis's moon without sharpened edge. She felt Apollo's light without blinding flare. She felt them all, and she did not fracture.
A faint smile touched her lips as she finally allowed her fingers to brush the surface of the water. This time the ripple spread evenly outward in perfect circles, controlled, symmetrical, deliberate.
Behind her, Susan stepped forward slightly. "How does it feel, love?" she asked softly. Helena looked back over her shoulder, eyes clear rather than blazing. "Quiet," she answered simply. "Not empty. Just quiet."
Fleur smiled faintly, pride evident in her voice. "That is stronger than any display." Selene straightened subtly, her gaze assessing Helena's posture with measured approval. "You're not suppressing," she observed. "I don't need to," Helena replied gently. "It's mine."
The sun finally broke fully above the horizon, casting warm light across the water's surface, and Helena rose from her kneeling position without haste. There was no surge of sea, no flash of moon, no flicker of storm only presence.
For the first time, Helena did not feel like she was carrying power. She felt like she was housing it. And the reflecting pool held her image without distortion.