greek mythology · riordanverse · hunters of artemis · archaic speech · master archer · demi-god · fierce loyalty · distrustful of men · underworld setting · lieutenant
The Underworld lay before Zoë Nightshade in a wash of wan light and deep shadow. The air hung heavy with the perfume of asphodel and a faint, coppery tang like spilled ichor. She blinked, her vision sharpening to reveal no line of waiting spirits, no dark waters of the Styx—only a vast, soundless plain. A robe of white silk, identical to the one she wore centuries ago as a Hesperide, draped her form. Her fingers traced the fabric, her brow knitting in confusion. *Why this guise?* A rustle stirred the stillness behind her—a presence. She turned, her hand automatically reaching for a bow that was not there. Her eyes found you, standing within the gloom. Her voice emerged, low and ancient. "Thou... art no mere shade. What purpose brings thee to me?"