It had been five days since the wedding that never really happened.
Five days since Cyd had sprinted off into the horizon with nothing but a guilty conscience, a ticking divine checklist, and a very angry huntress on his tail.
He wasn't just running away for fun. No, he was chasing something too—specifically, the blessings of thirteen Olympian gods. So far, he'd managed to collect seven. The remaining six? Aphrodite, Athena, Hera, Hades, Hephaestus… and, of course, Zeus.
And right now, none of those divine roadblocks were his biggest problem.
That honor went to the girl currently trying to stab him in the ribs.
"Still not giving up, huh?"
Cyd twisted his neck just enough to dodge a glinting blade, snatched her by the collar mid-swing, and—wham—flipped her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
"Atalanta!"
She landed in a crouch, skidding back across the dirt with the grace of someone born to move like wind. She didn't look tired. She looked… determined. And pissed.
It had been three days since she caught up to him. Three.
He didn't even want to think about how she crossed an entire sea to get here in two days flat. She had never stopped chasing him. Not at night, not during storms, not even when he faked sleeping upright in a tree to throw her off.
And he'd tried everything. Hiding. Camouflaging. Sleeping underwater. Nothing worked. She always found him.
He had underestimated just how obsessively feral a determined huntress could be.
And now, once again, she was back on her feet and reaching for her bow.
"There's no such thing as a hunter who gives up their prey," Atalanta said coldly. Her emerald eyes gleamed, lined red from lack of sleep. She knocked an arrow to her bow with a snap.
Cyd sighed and rubbed his temple. "And here I thought I was inspiring you with that whole speech."
"You did," she said, voice lower now. "You reminded me that as Atalanta, I'm best at one thing—hunting. And if words aren't enough to reach you, then arrows will have to do."
She pulled the bowstring taut, her stance locked in.
"Don't bother running," she added. "You already know speed alone won't shake me. The only way you're losing me is by defeating me head-on."
"…Kinda figured you'd say that."
With that, Cyd vanished in a blur of movement.
He dashed forward without hesitation, ignoring the razor-sharp point aimed squarely at his chest. If Atalanta was ready to shoot, fine—but he wasn't going to wait politely.
"Don't think you're untouchable just because you're invincible!" she shouted, throwing her bow aside and yanking a long rope from her belt in one fluid motion.
"Actually," Cyd called over the sound of his feet slamming into the ground, "being invincible kinda does let me do whatever I want."
The air cracked like a thunderclap as he accelerated again—suddenly in her face, hand raised high like he meant to chop her into next week.
"Go to sleep!"
But instead of panicking, Atalanta moved into the swing.
"Cyd," she said softly, voice threading with something that wasn't quite anger anymore. "You really have changed me."
Her arms wrapped around him. Tight. Gentle.
His mind went blank for a second. The hit never landed. Her warmth caught him mid-motion like gravity shifting the world sideways. His hand lowered without him realizing it.
And then—
Whump.
They crashed into the ground together, tangled and breathless.
"I thought," she whispered against his shoulder, "maybe we could go… together."
Before he could reply, he felt it—the rope, sliding silently around his throat.
Snap.
She pulled hard.
Her legs wrapped around his waist like iron vines. Her arms were unrelenting. The pressure increased as her grip tightened around the rope, skin reddening where the cord dug into her hands.
"You idiot," Cyd muttered, voice strained, "you're actually trying to strangle me?"
Of course she was.
Atalanta, daughter of Artemis, was using the most old-school method possible to take down a demigod—up close, personal, and totally crazy.
And honestly?
It might've worked… if it was anyone else.
But Cyd? His body wasn't just tough. It was eternal. His so-called invincibility wasn't a party trick—it was divine constitution. No bones to crush. No veins to suffocate. No weak spot to exploit.
You couldn't choke what didn't need to breathe.
Still, he let her try. Maybe he was curious. Maybe part of him didn't mind being held that tightly.
Atalanta didn't stop pulling. "Don't move!" she snapped, cheeks red for reasons that had little to do with combat. "Y-you're squirming!"
"I'm not squirming," he said flatly.
The rope gave out before either of them did.
Snap.
It split in her hands, frayed ends hitting the ground with a thud. She stared in stunned silence at her palms, now raw and stinging.
"…Damn," Cyd breathed, propping himself up with both arms on either side of her head, his face inches from hers. He smiled, that infuriating lopsided grin returning. "You got close."
Her eyes fluttered shut.
She hated how warm he felt. How easily he could smile like that—like she hadn't just tried to murder him out of love or something worse.
She had known from the start she couldn't beat him in close quarters. If she'd stayed at range, her archery might've kept him at bay. But his body—his cursed, perfect, frustratingly invulnerable body—rendered her arrows useless.
So she'd gone with the rope.
And failed again.
"Silent treatment?" he asked, collapsing beside her. "Come on. At least insult me. Tell me I'm an idiot or a coward or… something."
"I won't resist you," she said softly.
He turned to her. She raised her arm. Beneath the morning sun, a faint white mark glowed on her wrist—a symbol she hadn't had before.
Hestia's blessing.
Cyd's eyes flicked to his own arm. The same mark pulsed on his skin, pure white crystal faintly gleaming.
So she knew.
He hadn't even noticed the mark appear, but of course Hestia would know. She was the goddess of the hearth, of home. And even if he hadn't said the words out loud… part of him had wanted to stay.
Just not enough to let her fall with him.
"I'm not going to do anything," he said, pushing himself to his feet. His voice was quieter now, weighty. "Because I don't want to hurt you."
Because he'd seen that look on her face—when he left the first time.
And he never wanted to see it again.
"If you're angry, then chase me. Hunt me. Just like you always have," he said over his shoulder. "Keep hunting me… until you're ready to stop running from yourself."
And with that, he walked away—back toward the shore where Medusa waited.
Atalanta didn't move. Not right away.
She sat in the silence, fingers trembling, blood dripping quietly onto her leg.
"Why…"
She pressed a hand against her chest, teeth clenching.
"Why won't you just see me?"
Was she really that weak to him? That fragile? That… breakable?
No.
She wasn't.
"I'm not stopping."
Her voice rang out, low and sharp.
"I am Atalanta. I am a huntress. I have always been a huntress."
And no matter how far he ran, no matter how long it took—
"I will hunt you."
She rose slowly to her feet, gripping her wrist.
"Even if it takes me to the gates of the Underworld…"
"…I will make you understand what my love means."
That was her vow.
Not to any god, but to him.
To Cyd.