The temple was behind him. Empty stone and marble, colder than it should have been. It felt wrong to speak to her there now, beneath a roof someone else had carved. There was a time when that could've been the place, but that was before he'd put on that crown and drank from the cup... the first time.
Adrian walked until he found trees tall enough to silence the world outside of them. The forest didn’t care about his failure. It didn’t pity him. It just was. Pine and bark and water. Wind brushing through leaves like breathing. Familiar. Brutal. Honest.
He picked a clearing edged with moonlight, far from paths or prayers left by others. No animals stirred near him, not yet. That felt right, too. He built the fire himself. Small, cautious, dry pine needles and a spark from some found flint. He didn’t need warmth. This wasn’t for him.
In the folds of his pack, wrapped in a torn shirt, was a photograph. Worn at the corners, edges faded by handling. Just a candid shot he took ages ago of a wolf and her cubs. He'd shot this back when he was new to photography, back when he still smiled without checking for it first. He held it in his hands for a long while.
Then, without ceremony, he laid it beside a bundle of wild sage and crushed juniper berries: both offerings Artemis had once received from those who had nothing else to give. Clean burning, cleansing. Humble.
After wrapping them up, they were tossed into the flame. The fire took them gently, not hungrily. Smoke curled skyward like a question he didn’t know how to ask. Adrian knelt beside it. For a while, he said nothing.
Then, the words came. Halting. Gutted. Like dragging teeth from his own mouth.
"I showed up late.
Tried to help.
Didn’t help much."
He exhaled. Was this how someone was supposed to pray? Was he messing this up, too?
"Didn’t fight well.
Didn’t think fast.
Didn’t stop them from using what was mine."
He ran his tongue over his split lip. A small reminder of when the man who was perverting the power that had been Adrian's struck him. He'd done so hard enough to leave the son of Artemis swaying, needing to get his head back on straight.
"Watched it burn out in someone else’s hands.
Couldn’t get it back.
Didn’t even try soon enough.
And now it’s gone.
The part that made me more, once.
Or… better. I have something again, but I don't know if it's the same. I don't know-"
Adrian cleared his throat and blinked rapidly, his vision getting blurry from pushed back emotion. He pushed his face forward into the path the wind was taking the smoke, as if that would be enough to hide what he was going through from his mother.
"I don’t know if I’m still yours.
Or if you’re still watching.
But I’m still here. Trying.
Even if it’s just as the part that’s left."
He spoke the last line into the flames, saying them low enough that even the trees might not have heard it. Smoke carried the scent of the offering: of sage and ash, of burned paper and memory. The photo was gone. The fire dimmed to coals. The clearing was still.
He didn’t wait for a sign. That wasn’t why he came. But he did stay there until the small fire burned itself out. This was as much speaking to the goddess as it was a memorial to what he'd lost that day in Turkey.
Stone columns and marble statues reached upward like a forest without leaves, catching the light of the moon through open windows. It was quiet enough to hear his own breath as he stood before the altar where it had all changed once before.
The laurel crown rested in his hand. The goblet, filled with ambrosia, trembled slightly in his grip.
No gods had summoned him this time. A divine mother's hands hadn't guided him. He was here because he had to be. He was here because something had been taken from him. If he didn’t try to reclaim it, he wasn’t sure what would be left.
Adrian glanced down at the liquid. It shimmered with a warmth that didn’t match the chill in his chest.
The first time he drank it, the power came crashing through him like a storm- beasts and blood and the undeniable roar of something unchained. But that was before the void. That was before the thing with too many eyes and too many truths dug inside him and hollowed him out. That was before he lost the light.
He wasn’t afraid of what the ambrosia would do to him. He was afraid it wouldn't be enough. He was afraid that even with his divinity restored, the part of him that protected others might still be broken. He was afraid that the beast inside might not come back.
He raised the goblet and drank, anyway.
The world tilted.
No fire. No tearing pain. No battle cry.
Just... stillness.
When Adrian opened his eyes again, he was back in the clearing. The same place as before, where moonlight poured between the trees in shafts so bright it painted silver onto the forest floor. The air smelled of pine and damp earth.
But nothing moved. Nothing stalked him.
The silence wasn’t threatening this time. It wasn't nothingness like when he'd been unconscious. It was full.
He stood there for a long moment, waiting for something to charge from the trees. A stag, a bear, a wildcat. Something to test him. When time passed and stillness remained, he sat.
But they didn’t come and attack.
Instead, the wind stirred the tall grass beside him, and out of it padded a shape- low, quiet, familiar. Lupine, but not quite. Its fur shimmered like moonlight on a river, and its eyes met his not with challenge, but with knowing. It pressed its head to his thigh, and he didn’t flinch.
From the shadows, a leonine form emerged, sleek and lean. It brushed along his shoulders like a cat greeting its own, then curled around him, keeping watch.
Then came the soft flutter of wings above, and a pale owl landed silently on his shoulder, head cocked and eyes bright.
Finally, a hefty creature arrived. Large and ursine, it lumbered over and parked itself right behind Adrian, offering its big body to rest against.
They circled him. Not as predators this time, but as companions. As pieces of himself. And in their presence, he felt it: Something had been taken, and this is what remained.
His hands itched. Clawed fingers returned to him like gloves sliding back into place. His teeth ached for a second, then settled into their familiar sharpness. His bones remembered what it meant to be something wild.
But it wasn’t feral. It wasn’t madness. It was belonging.
The shapes didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. They only existed beside him, the way the wind exists with the trees: inseparable.
He hadn’t come to prove himself. He’d already done that. This was different. This was an embrace.
And in that moment, he understood: he hadn’t failed because he was broken. He had survived because he was strong. The part of him he thought was gone- his protector’s heart, his beastself- it had only been waiting for him to stop fighting it. To be open and accept it again.
A breeze rustled through the clearing.
And far off, near the edges of the wood where moonlight met shadow, he caught a glimpse of someone watching. A figure just out of reach, shrouded but in the shape of the goddess he bore in his blood.
She had seen. She had always seen. To this day, they still haven't spoken, but she was still there. Silent. Present. That was enough to get Adrian to close his eyes and say a silent prayer of thanks to his mother.
When he opened his eyes, he'd returned to the temple. The goblet was empty beside him, the laurel crown resting loosely in his hair. His mouth tasted of wild mint, figs, and honey.
The ache in his chest had softened. The moonlight once again hung over him like a mantle. Something from before had indeed been taken, but what remained was more than enough. Adrian was more than enough.
Too many eyes, too many tentacles, too many things he couldn’t properly comprehend. Things had moved quickly.
Except, they really hadn’t. He remembered every excruciating second because it felt like it had taken an hour.
And then everything afterward was slow and fast at the same time. Like struggling while being underwater. Time didn’t mean anything anymore- because nothing did. He remembered hearing voices. He remembered what he could only guess were the sensations of touch, taste, and smell. But no sight.
That was the first thing to go.
Not blindness but some kind of absence. It was as though light itself had rejected him. The moon turned away. Fire refused to light. Even the stars behind his eyes seemed to recede, trying to get as far away from him as possible.
Then came the silence. The kind that wasn’t truly silent but more of a vast hush that encased everything. He tried to speak, scream, everything and anything, but even his own voice had left him.
Occasionally, something broke through: A warmth against his arm. A finger brushing hair from his face. Once, the delicate weight of a head resting against his chest, listening for a heartbeat that was truly mortal again. The touches came like dreams, brief and hard to hold onto. They left nothing behind except ache.
Sometimes, someone read aloud. The stories shifted, but one line buried itself deeper than the rest, carved into the marrow of him:
“I am alone and miserable: man will not associate with me; but one as deformed and horrible as myself would not deny herself to me.”
He didn’t know what it meant at first. But it stayed. Clung to him like a piece of wheat caught in the fabric of his thoughts.
Adrian had always preferred the quiet. Solitude never frightened him. But this wasn’t solitude. This was void. This was the silence after something divine dies, and you’re not sure if it was you. This was being forgotten.
This was closer to death than it was to being alone.
And then… something touched his face. Fingertips, gentle and deliberate, brushing across his cheek. The scent of pine and wildflowers followed. A pressure that was familiar in its attentions, but not in a way he could name. He thought, briefly, of his mother.
His eyes opened.
The light was dim, foreign. His body ached with the weight of being… a being again. His mouth was dry. The blankets around him felt too heavy, like they belonged to someone else.
He turned his head. There was no one there, but he had felt it, that touch, that fleeting presence. But whoever or whatever it had been had left him with just the soft rustle of night wind through an open window. A breeze that smelled like the forest.
He was awake again. Unfortunately, he didn’t know what that meant.
Pine needles, lichen, the distant scent of smoke, and that specific smell of wet rocks along the edge of a river.
It's predictable, but it's Adrian. He was never going to be anything other than himself- and he was someone who has always been more attuned to the wilderness than to people. He'd never thought too hard about what he smelled like and he hadn't had any complaints to date.
The flames were low tonight. Low enough that the smoke curled lazy through the air, unbothered by wind. Someone was laughing a little ways off. It was probably one of that new guys who talked too much. Adrian didn’t mind the noise since it didn’t reach where he was sitting.
Fenn was nearby. Same as always. He was forever close, but not too close. He never took a seat around the fire, just crouched a few feet back in the dark where the trees started. That was normal. Camp got loud, and Fenn wasn’t made for noise. Adrian couldn’t blame him.
They’d never really spoken when Adrian first got here. Not even a nod was exchanged. Fenn was just someone he’d pass in the woods, usually carrying something over his shoulder or leaving faint tracks behind. Adrian had started following them. Not in a creepy way- just watching how he moved, where he stepped. He doubted Fenn would've cared, anyway. The silence made sense out there, and those comfortable in it had an understanding that others might not get.
Eventually, Fenn noticed.
He didn’t say anything, just started waiting sometimes. Showing Adrian how to spot the undergrowth trails, how to climb up high and listen to what the wind was doing. Which animals stayed away, which didn’t. Adrian never asked for the lessons, but he didn’t turn them down either. He'd still just been a wildlife photographer at the time, not fully part of the forest.
One night, Adrian asked, “Why do you hunt in a forest you clearly don’t want to disturb?”
Fenn had just looked up from tying a snare, steady hands pausing for a second.
“Because hunting is part of the forest,” he answered back, “Part of life. Artemis teaches that. Doesn’t mean we take what isn’t offered.”
That was the first time Adrian realized he was a follower. Fenn didn’t wear it like some title. He just lived it.
They still don’t talk much, even now. But when their paths cross, they both tend to linger a while longer, exchanging a few observations. What tracks are new, where the foxes are nesting this week. Sometimes Fenn shares a fact Adrian wouldn’t have picked up otherwise- like which parts of the forest are older than Camp itself, or where to get the best fruit at this time of year before the other wild things get to it.
Adrian doesn’t always respond. But he listens. Because Fenn’s not a loud teacher. He’s just someone who understands what it means to really belong somewhere.
From the outside, the cabin blends in with the others: unassuming, rustic, balanced. But step inside, and it's something else entirely. Almost every wall facing out appears to be made of glass, revealing a serene, forest bathed in shifting light. Yet from the outside, those same walls look solid, wooden, and ordinary. The illusion is comforting, like having one foot in the wild even while grounded in camp.
The cabin is filled with warm wood, furs, and a stone hearth that’s always crackling. There's a subtle scent of pine and smoke in the air. A wide skylight to track the moon stretches above the bed, where thick blankets are always half-kicked aside, and the light changes the room by the hour.
It’s not extravagant, but it feels right, like a place that breathes along with you. Quiet, wild, and sacred. It feels like home. It honors every part of the child of Artemis, hunter and human alike.
Adrian stared warily at the offered goblet and crown.
It wasn't the offering that gave him pause, but the one offering it. The mother, unknown until very recently, meeting the son. He wasn't unlike a stray thing being handed something from a source he didn't know and wasn't sure he could trust. But, just like he'd stiffly taken her hand and allowed himself to be guided into this building, he eventually conceded and received what was being given.
Adrian swallowed down the ambrosia, his gaze staying soft but vigilant as he took in the divinity before him. It had a kick, that's for sure. He closed his eyes as his face scrunched up.
Then he opened them, finding himself elsewhere.
A forest so dense he couldn't see far ahead, but with a canopy that seemed to make space for the moon, making sure it continued to shine bright on Adrian, keeping him illuminated. It'd be something of beauty if his instincts weren't telling him to hide. He'd been in the wilderness enough in his life to know this silence that surrounded him. This was the deadly quiet of being stalked. Something was out there, waiting for him- waiting to get him.
Each step of his seemed to take him nowhere. The trees didn't move, but Adrian never got closer to them. The branches overhead made sure the lunar light above kept him perfectly visible for whatever was in the darkness, waiting. Running wasn't an option. Instead, he prepared to fight.
Just like every other time in his life when the adrenaline of conflict started to flow through his body, the son of Artemis changed. The soft warmth in his eyes faded into something different, something a little more wild. His shoulders rolled back, the tension in his body melted away, and he stared off to where he could all but feel there something was waiting.
And then it moved to strike. They moved to strike
A giant stag charging, a bear lumbering with teeth bared, a wild cat following behind the other two, waiting for its chance to pounce. Everything was a blur, but one thing was certain: no matter what they tried, they couldn't get Adrian off his feet. Any attempt they made to get space? They were met with one of the demigod's arms, pulling them back, not letting them retreat from the conflict they started, even for a moment. This was what was always below the surface for Adrian: something fierce, wild, and unrelenting that was never allowed to be fully unleashed. Now? In the presence of his mother and the other gods, he let it all go and became what he was always meant to be.
He didn't know how long it'd gone on, only that he'd won. That, as the bear fell, it added to his ability to withstand the stag's attempts to move and gore. As the stag fell, its reflexes made the close misses from the wildcat not even close anymore. And when the deadly predator fell, he felt freer and more complete than he'd ever felt in his life.
When the energy stopped flowing through his body and he started to calm, the forest was suddenly replaced by the temple. The stains on his clothes were now from spilled drink, instead of something else. But whatever he'd experienced in that moment stayed with him and felt just as real as where he was now.
Adrian let out a small, disbelieving laugh, running a hand through his hair like it was no big deal. He apologized for whatever the others saw and said he'd be back in a few. He needed to go change. But even when he returned, he was just a little different. The moonlight wasn't on him now, but it still felt like it hung over his shoulders like a mantle.
( sean teale, homosexual, cismale + he/him, class (tank) «—◦—→ well met, ADRIAN SILVA! the divine born child of ARTEMIS. your name sings in our ears! it’s been 30 years and now they have answered the song in their veins. before they answered the song, they were a/an WILD LIFE PHOTOGRAPHER and were living in SEATTLE, WASHINGTON. history and myth will remember them for their PERSISTENCE, AND OBSERVANT EYE but will also magnify their ALOOFNESS, RELENTLESSNESS, AND STUBBORNNESS if it causes them to falter. now it is time for the world to sing their name with them. | bc, 35+, he/him, pst + homophobia & slurs.
Full Name: Adrian Silva
Alias/Nickname: "ghosttrack" (online/social media handle)
Age: 30
Gender: Cismale
Sexual Orientation: Homosexual
Appearance
Height: 6'0" (183 cm)
Build: Lean, athletic — a panther-like grace with long limbs and surprising power
Skin: Warm, tan, sun-kissed
Hair: Wavy dark brown, kept short on the sides, longer up top and often tousled
Eyes: Deep brown with golden flecks; observant and calm, but harden into something almost animal when he's hunting
Face: Expressive brows, high cheekbones, a strong but not brutish jaw
Style: Understated and practical — layers of neutrals, workwear jackets, cargo pants, worn boots; often looks like he’s just come in from the field. Camera strap or utility satchel never far.
Frequently scans rooms like he's tracking something
Runs or walks in the wilderness to clear his mind
Tends to sit in silence instead of filling space with words
Quirks:
Has a soft spot for orphaned or injured animals — he's raised and released a few
Never takes selfies, but captures candid portraits of people without them noticing
Miscellaneous
Fighting Style:
TBD
Scars:
Faint claw marks across his lower back (from a creature he never saw clearly)
Nick along his collarbone from a jagged branch during a forest pursuit
A long, pale line over one eyebrow — camera lens shattered under pressure
Favorite Music:
Ambient electronica, lo-fi beats, and field recordings of storms and animals
Occasionally traditional folk or tribal music from areas he’s photographed
Tattoos:
A minimalist lynx silhouette on his ribcage
A series of camera lenses in the shape of moon phases climbing up the inside of one arm
History
Adrian grew up in a coastal town in southern Chile, raised by his father, a reclusive but fiercely independent biologist with ties to local myth and ritual. His early years were steeped in nature, not just observing it, but being part of it. That wildness stayed with him.
He took up wildlife photography in his early twenties, seeking not only to document the natural world but to understand it. He spent years in rainforests, mountains, and deserts — working freelance, publishing occasionally, but mostly disappearing off-grid. His eye for capturing movement and emotion in wild animals earned him a modest but loyal following online under the handle ghosttrack and with it came enough in the way of jobs and sponsorships for him to move to the United States.
To most, Adrian is quiet, even easygoing, charming in his own calm way. But something changes when danger strikes. His friends say his body language shifts. His gaze narrows. He becomes silent, precise, and terrifyingly efficient — as if something ancient stirs in him.
He never knew his mother, and his father didn’t speak of her — only that "your strength doesn’t come from your blood, but your instinct."
When the Calling came? Adrian followed it without hesitation. Whatever was sleeping in him was waking up. And it was hungry.
TL;DR
Grew up isolated in nature, raised by a strong-willed father with secrets
Became a wildlife photographer, living a transient, observation-heavy life
Laid-back and personable in daily life, but transforms into a cold, unrelenting predator when pushed into conflict
