Chapter Text
Augusta has always loved hunting. The bloodrush, the headiness and satisfaction of conquest, the challenge of a clever prey. So when Augusta is not gladiating, she’s out hunting Tacet Discords in the plains, whiling away at Tacet Fields. It makes for good training in preparation when packs upon packs of Stalkers and Dreadmanes fall upon her. It’s exhilarating.
Though, there is a reason hunting is not done alone.
Augusta spits out the taste of metal lingering between her teeth, leaning heavily against a tree trunk, her sword lying drenched in the same blood next to her. The blade sinking into the ground damp with fog, letting out a breath it didn’t know it could hold.
Her temples are sweaty, her ponytail sticking up on all ends buzzing with the electricity she was manipulating for hours, hacking away at hordes of Tacet Discords. Dirt and grime gather under her nails and she feels them acutely when pulling out her waterskin for a drink. The full moon’s gaze bores down on her, not even the tree branches can obscure her from its light.
A rustle reaches her ears and Augusta stands to bow to the intruding presence who is petting her griffon, not bothering to pick up her sword.
“Priestess Iuno.”
“You truly are the best out of all gladiators of your Agon.” Iuno says as she gives Augusta’s griffon an affectionate pat on its beak. “The only one who has learned the kind of respect I demand.”
Augusta's eyes stay below Iuno’s chin, unwavering, steeped in deference and respect for someone higher than her station. Her muscles and open wounds scream at her to take a seat but she stands tall, unmoving until granted permission to do so. The priestess visibly preens under the attention.
“Very good, Augusta. I see a glory as bright as the sun in your future. What you have been waiting for will be yours, in due time. Power and respect, as you will it.”
“... Forgive me, Priestess. I don’t recall ever stepping foot into Tetragon Temple.”
“Oh I’m aware, but I was never one needing to bask in the flames to receive prophecies. They come to me whether or not I call for them. It’s only right for me to be called a prodigy, no?” Iuno fixes her hair haughtily as the wind blows by, her eyes peering at her own visage in her summoned mirror.
“Indeed, Priestess Iuno.” Augusta agrees easily.
Iuno’s smirk only grows before Augusta’s deference. How this young gladiator knows her worth when those old coots at the Senate are still making petty remarks at her when visions of their failings flash before her eyes.
“Your reward. You are to take care of your wounds at once,” was the Priestess’s only warning before Augusta grunts as she catches the salves and ointments in her lap. Wiping the blood off with the back of her hand, she sits up and begins taking off her armor for first aid. “I’m thankful.”
“Well said.” Iuno lies languidly on her moonbow, her eyes haven't spared Augusta a glance since her appearance, in favor of chasing the falling leaves, birds flying high or the low growls of prey deep in the woods. Augusta finds herself wishing to be the center of her attention, even if just to have a speck of it to herself.
This is Augusta’s first time meeting the prodigy priestess. The moment she arrived at Septimont, the woman’s name was already making waves among the public. She has never heard a person regarded with so much scorn and hope all at the same time. She’s a prodigy Grandmother Lilibet foresaw, after decades of no hope for one to pass on the mantle as the Head Priestess was aging away. A spark of ember to the dried willows of Septimontian uncertainty, reigniting hope, rekindling courage.
“Iuno? Sibylla’s Iuno?” Septimont would ask among itself as her name gets around. She’s a spitfire, daughter to an accomplished Champion, a combat prodigy, wicked with her bow and arrow, quick on her feet. Her victories are dramatic and goading, possessing a gigantic ego in that small body of hers. Will she be able to truly give up gladiating and devote herself to the Temple?, they would ask. Little concern is paid to her wish compared to those desperately needing her to follow her ‘destined calling’ to divine for the people, hoping her presence to become the balm for their uncertainty.
Priestess Iuno blasphemed against the temple’s on her first day on the job by not wearing the traditional clothing. Instead, she showed up with a modified drape of fabric for ease of movement, embellished in her own signature colors and insignias. She also heard, amidst the thankful cries and heaves of relief, that the prodigy often shirks her duties in favor of hunting in the woods; they say the blue of her bow blends her into the moon entirely on her night hunts, a blur between vines and branches.
“May I ask why you are out here at night, Priestess?” Augusta asks, her chest wrap uncaring as it falls on the ground as she treats herself, revealing her torso and back full of white scars and fresh cuts. At her prompting, Iuno turns around to an eye-full of her chest and battle-worned body, brows lifting and eyes now glued to Augusta. The gladiator suppresses a grin, her face one of stony respect.
“Ahem,” Iuno, brazen as she is, never turns her gaze away despite her reddening cheeks, “I was out hunting, much like you. A vision told me you were injured so I came here. A timely rescue, wouldn’t you say?”
In truth, Augusta would have just powered on until she was spent and dragged her battered body home and fallen asleep, then patched herself up haphazardly in the morning. She was never one for diligence. Although, she supposes Iuno knows this, too.
“You know of me?” Augusta asks.
“Why, the black sheep of no endorsement and no patrons, flipping the betting tables of our underground arena - of course I know of you.” Iuno replies, eyes raking across Augusta’s body.
Augusta pays no mind to her impropriety, in fact she’s glad for it.
“I’m thankful for the praise.”
The gladiator stands, now steady on her feet after a breather and all her wounds temporarily patched up. “I would like to make a request, Priestess.” She intoned, head bowed, hand fisted on her chest.
“I never took you for the type to believe in divinations, since I never saw you at the Temple.” Iuno still lies on her Moonbow, legs crossed, hands behind her head. “So I’m guessing you wish to see me hunt.”
Augusta shouldn’t have been surprised, her talents really weren’t just for show, “More than that, Priestess, I wish to come hunting with you.”
Iuno floats to stand on her bow, its wings unfurling as the woman dips her center of gravity easily, eager to head out, a grin on her face. “Very well, I suppose you can witness my glory.”
“Indeed, Priestess.”
“Then try to catch up.”
Blurs of blue whirring through the forest, silent at a break-neck speed. Zig-zagged streaks of red following close behind, footsteps never faltering.
Augusta watches as Iuno skids to a stop, placing all her bodyweight on her back foot and halts her bow’s momentum in the air. Augusta doesn’t sense any prey yet, but she also diligently comes to a stop. The priestess says nothing, and so Augusta keeps quiet, honing her eyes and ears, searching for what Iuno sees.
Iuno steps on a boulder, bow floating, her right hand pulled back and the moonlight above her warps in its entirety for a split second. Blue light forms in the shape of an arrow, whirring like a vortex. The tips of her twin tails turn translucent and start glowing, as if the moon lends her its power without any calling.
Like they are one.
Her stance wide and sturdy, eyes sharp and glowing, shoulders and back taut but never losing strength. Then, under Augusta’s astounded gaze, she fires.
An arrow flies by the night, slicing through the air on release, cutting down everything in its path. Augusta can see she won’t be able to deflect the shot head-on, that much is certain.
A cold hand, rough with cuts and calluses of old, lands on Augusta’s shoulder, so much smaller than her own, fingers slender. The cold of Iuno’s bangle touches her skin, pulling Augusta out of her reverie. From where they are connected, the power of Iuno’s forte courses through her, allowing her a better perception of where the prey is.
By the time they make it, the Kerasaur’s body already starts crumbling, leaving behind the gold of its echo. Iuno gingerly hops down from her bow and collects it with her terminal with a practiced motion. When her eyes meet Augusta’s own, she cocks her hip, hands clasped behind her back, a mischievous grin on her face.
“I’m surprised you managed, gladiator.”
Augusta grins and darts off first this time, sensing a prey for herself as Iuno laughs and kicks off to chase after her.