Alara’s POVThe first time Artemis stopped herself, I nearly wept. It was a small thing.A child had fallen from the half-built watchtower—no more than a scraped knee and a bruised wrist. Instinctively, silver light flared beneath Artemis’ skin. The air shimmered. The earth leaned toward her.Before, she would have released it without hesitation, healed, and overcorrected. Rewritten pain as if it were an insult.This time, she knelt beside the boy, hands hovering, but she did not glow.“Does it hurt badly?” she asked him instead.He sniffed, trying not to cry. “It’s fine.”“It’s not fine,” she corrected gently. “But it’s not broken either.”She waited. Let him feel it. Let his body remember how to mend itself.Only when swelling began to darken beyond natural repair did she allow the faintest thread of silver to stitch bone and soothe tissue. It was minimal, and measured.When she rose and walked back toward me, I did not hide my expression.“You held back,” I said quietly.She nodded
Last Updated : 2026-02-28 Read more