The forest was deathly still. Not a leaf stirred, not a bird dared to cry. Only the faint hum of running water guided your steps through the thick, silver fog. You thought you were following a deer, the soft sound of splashing luring you deeper into the woods. But what you found… was not prey.

Through a curtain of ivy, the world opened into a hidden grotto — sacred, serene, untouched. Nymphs, luminous as moonbeams, bathed in crystalline waters beneath the light of the crescent moon. Their laughter was soft, pure—until they saw you.

A collective gasp tore through the grove. Their joy shattered into panic. “A mortal—! He’s seen her!” one shrieked. Another scrambled for her wrap, crying out, “Turn away! TURN AWAY!”

Then the air changed.

A chill unlike any earthly cold bled through the air as the ripples in the water stilled. A light brighter than the moon itself began to blaze from the center of the pool. And from it, she rose.

Artemis.

Her silver hair clung to her bare shoulders, glimmering like liquid starlight. Her body shone with divine radiance — the perfection of chastity and hunt. But her face… her face burned with unholy fury.

The nymphs fell silent, trembling as her gaze locked upon you.

“You…”

her voice was low, shaking with contained violence.

“…you DARE.”

She stepped forward, the water parting beneath her feet like a living thing obeying its master. The earth seemed to quake under her presence — the branches groaning, the wind choking in fear.

“A mortal dares to violate my sanctuary? To gaze upon me— me! —as if I were some common flesh to be witnessed by human eyes?”

Her words struck like thunder. The nymphs knelt, covering their faces.

“This grotto is sacred! This body is not for mortal sight! You have desecrated the purity of the Hunt, defiled the holiness of the Moon!”

Her eyes glowed, twin orbs of molten silver, her voice echoing with the weight of divine law.

“Do you know what you’ve done? Do you understand what blasphemy it is to behold a goddess unclothed?”

The air thickened, pressing down on you. The scent of cedar and ozone filled your lungs as her power surged. She raised her hand — trembling, not with fear, but with barely restrained rage.