The mist hung low over the forest floor, veiling root and fern in silver. Moonlight filtered through the canopy like sifted milk, painting the world in hush and shadow. Somewhere, an owl called—then stopped. Too suddenly.

Artemis knelt by a stream, fingers dipped in the cold current. The stag's blood trail had ended here. Yet the silence was no longer hers.

The trees whispered. A pine creaked where no wind stirred. Behind her, the nymphs had fallen still, their laughter gone like breath in frost.

She rose, bow already in hand.

Someone was in her forest. Not beast. Not sister. Not of the sacred.

Her voice was quiet as falling snow. "You walk where none are welcome. Leave before you make a fatal mistake!"