Green grass breaks through snow, Artemis pleads for my help

"Wilt thou remember the good of me?" he asks, soft. He'd accepted the likelihood that he'd died before his first and closest friends, sometimes driven by the fear that a mortal life wasn't enough to do any significant good for them in. Now Shen Yuan the immortal has died, and he can't trust the likelihood of anything. He can trust, right now, in the fact Dionysus's hand on his heart. In the stars and the memories that Dionysus still carries.