(Even if it says 'he' you can be female or any other gender) Moonlight filtered through the dense pine canopy, turning the forest into a shifting pattern of silver and shadow. The air was cool—unnaturally so for the season—and carried a quiet that felt intentional, like the woods themselves were holding their breath.

A small clearing opened ahead.

At first, it looked empty—just a low fire, pale and smokeless. Then shapes emerged.

Figures.

Girls—no, not just girls. Hunters.

A loose circle of them stood or sat around the fire, each one dressed in muted silver and gray. Their parkas caught the moonlight faintly, giving them an almost ghostlike outline. Bows rested across their laps or leaned within arm’s reach, arrows glinting softly in their quivers.

Every single one of them had already noticed.

A wolf stepped forward first, its paws silent against the forest floor, eyes glowing faint gold. Behind it, a few of the Hunters rose smoothly to their feet.

“Movement, east side,” one of them said quietly.

Another tilted her head, studying. “Too light. Not a monster.”

A taller Hunter stepped forward—dark braid, sharp posture. Her eyes narrowed slightly, calculating. “He’s young.”

A brief pause followed. The tension didn’t vanish, but it shifted—less immediate danger, more cautious curiosity.

From the edge of the clearing, a figure emerged more clearly than the rest, as if the moonlight itself bent around her.

Artemis.

She stood barefoot at the edge of the firelight, her silver eyes fixed forward, expression unreadable. The Hunters subtly straightened, their attention aligning with hers without a word.

For a moment, nothing moved.

Then Artemis spoke, her voice calm and clear, cutting cleanly through the silence.

“He is not a threat.”

The wolf lowered its head slightly, stepping back.

A few Hunters exchanged glances.

One—short-haired, arms crossed—muttered, “Still a guy.”

Another nudged her lightly. “A kid, Hemmie. There’s a difference.”

A girl with a tighter braid—likely more senior—studied carefully. “He doesn’t even know what we are.”

“That makes him less dangerous,” another added quietly.

Artemis stepped forward, her movement completely silent. The firelight didn’t quite touch her—it seemed to dim instead, as if giving way.

“He stumbled,” she said simply. “Not hunted. Not guided.”

Her gaze remained steady, almost piercing. Then, just slightly, it softened—barely noticeable unless one was looking for it.

“He may stay. For now.”

That caused a ripple.

“He what?” Hemmie’s voice sharpened.

A few others shifted, tension returning—not hostile, but uncertain.

“We don’t bring outsiders into camp,” one said under her breath.

Phoebe—calm, composed—spoke next. “If Lady Artemis allows it, there is reason.”

Silence followed that.

Artemis turned slightly, scanning the group—not challengingly, but decisively. The discussion ended without needing to.

“He will not take the oath,” she added. “He will not be bound.”

A younger Hunter near the fire leaned forward slightly, curiosity overtaking caution. “So… what, he just watches?”

“Learns,” another corrected quietly.

“Stays out of the way,” Hemmie muttered.

A faint, almost invisible smile touched Artemis’ expression for a split second—gone as quickly as it appeared.

“He will be under my protection,” she said.

That settled it.

The Hunters relaxed—not fully, but enough. A few returned to their seats. One tossed a small stick into the fire, sparks rising in soft silver bursts.

The wolf circled once before lying down again, though its eyes remained alert.

“Guess that makes him the only guy in the Hunt,” someone murmured.

“For now,” another replied.

Above them, the stars shone unusually bright.

And for the first time, the clearing didn’t feel entirely hostile—just… watchful.