Pyrrhic

━━ XI

THEY LANDED AFTER NIGHTFALL, for when Lyra opened her eyes, the moon was the first one who greeted her.

Well, quite literally, as Artemis was the first figure she recognised.

As soon as Dr. Chase stepped out of his Sopwith Camel, Annabeth jumped out of the chariot to go hug him. Lyra took the opportunity to rise from her spot next to Percy, who had acted as her temporary pillow when Thalia had apparently left her side to kneel next to the goddess who was binding Zoë's wounds.

"We have no ambrosia, no nectar, nothing," Thalia was informing Artemis, busy with cleaning the wounds.

"How can I help?" Lyra asked, voice low, somewhat shaky. The Hunter did not look good. Her usual glow, that spark of health and youth and strength, was fading little by little. She was shivering, despite the multiple layers of clothes. Her eyes were staring upwards, to the sky, yet there was no sign of recognition in them.

"I need your permission," Artemis said, almost choking out the words. Her puerile face contrasted with the sheer force in her voice, in her expression, in her actions. It was confusing to watch her, for she exuded more maturity in a single look than any adult she had ever met, yet she looked just a little older than Nico di Angelo, who was pure innocence and childishness.

There was no place in such a small body for the amount of grief the goddess held at that time.

"What for?" Lyra frowned, reaching her hand to grasp Zoe's, as to provide some kind of comfort. Her skin felt cold. Too cold. Even Lyra, who had almost no experience with the human body, knew it was not a good sign.

The goddess did not have the chance to reply, for Thalia suddenly called Annabeth and Percy over, her voice urgent, and they quickly approached them.

"Can't you heal her with magic?" Percy asked Artemis. "I mean... you're a goddess."

Artemis looked troubled, sharing a look with Lyra that she did not understand. "Life is a fragile thing, Percy. If the Fates will the string to be cut, there is little I can do. But I can try."

She tried to set her hand on Zoe's side, but Zoe gripped her wrist with her other hand, while her grip tightened on Lyra's. She looked into the goddess's eyes, and they seemed to communicate more than they could with words.

"Have I... served thee well?" Zoe whispered.

"With great honor," Artemis said softly. "The finest of my attendants."

Zoe's face relaxed. "Rest. At last."

"I can try to heal the poison, my brave one."

But Lyra knew it would do nothing. She had already realised Zoe had known all along that the Oracle's prophecy was about her: she would die by a parent's hand. And yet she had taken the quest anyway. She had chosen to save them, and Atlas's fury had broken her inside. Lyra had tried to stop her, tell her she could not let him do that, but Zoë had already chosen her destiny long before any of them could sway her decision.

Zoë locked eyes with Lyra, who could only give her a faint smile, a single tear falling down her cheek. She could not help it. She had grown fond of the Hunter, who had helped her all those times, who had inspired her to want to learn to fight, who shared a similar speaking pattern and made her feel less out of place because of it, who knew what it was to be out of your own time but still synchronous. She was a role model, everything Lyra wanted to be—strong, opinionated, smart, fierce, and most importantly, kind.

"I was wrong to think you needed protection," Zoë said. "You are stronger than you think."

"Without you, I would not have noticed," Lyra whispered, and Zoë smiled at her one last time, releasing her hand to grasp Thalia's.