Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I’ve collected quite a lot over the years,” said Apollo, leading Percy into a semi-darkened room. With a snap of bronzed fingers, lights sprung to life flooding the crowded space. The large room was surrounded by shelves burdened with all manner of objects. The center of the room contained a literal maze with piles of objects taller than himself in some places. He’d collected so many trinkets over the millennia, and unlike certain other gods or goddesses he could mention (cough - Aphrodite - cough) he liked to keep most of it where it could be easily found again. 

Percy, barely brushing against the edge of one pile, caused an avalanche of objects that Apollo had to drag him away from lest his wonderful boyfriend end up buried. Percy raised an unimpressed eyebrow, “I can see that.” 

Apollo rubbed the back of his neck. Okay, maybe it couldn’t be found so easily. His sorting system had kinda fallen by the wayside over the centuries, but at least his stuff wasn’t spread all over the planet waiting for unsuspecting mortals - or demigods - to stumble across it and get hurt or cursed. 

“Sorry,” he apologized, “It’s a bit of a mess in here. But I swear, I know where this particular lyre is, and once I have it we can be on our way.” He offered his boyfriend a hand and internally squealed when Percy took it with a fond sigh. Little bits of affection like that caused Apollo to fall ever further for this perfect man. 

“Why can’t you just summon it?” Percy asked. 

“Wards. Some of the stuff in here is cursed, or really dangerous. Some of it is… sentimental. I didn’t want anyone getting ideas about taking things from me, cough - Hermes - cough,” Apollo grumbled under his breath, causing Percy to laugh. An addicting sound if Apollo's ever heard one, he does his best to make Percy laugh as much as possible. “So I just have the whole place warded as a matter of course. Nothing goes in or out without me personally moving it.” 

“Pretty smart.” 

Apollo beamed. “Thanks.” They maneuvered around a large pile of 14th-century furniture, including a half-decapitated statue. “It worked even better when it wasn’t such a mess. Thankfully, I haven’t used this particular lyre in a while - I had it made in preparation for the whole Athens naming competition. Well, I had two made,” he confessed. 

“One for if Athena won, and one for if my dad won?” Percy guessed with an amused smile. 

“Exactly! This one’s the latter which is all ocean-y themed and I thought would match well considering we’re going to a beach party.” 

“So why are we dressed like we stepped out of the Ancient Lands some 2,500 years ago?” Percy tugged on the edge of his blue chiton, beautifully weaved with golden waves and sun motifs along the edges. The clasps holding it in place were shaped like seashells. Anaklusmos - because Percy refused to go weaponless anywhere these days - in sword form, hanging at his side in a sheath. Windswept hair and ever-changing eyes added to his air of power and beauty. Divinity bound in mortal form, Apollo could stare at Percy for eternity. 

He loved the modern day and its inventions and conveniences, but the ancient way of dress just fit Percy to a tee, and Apollo, never one to deny himself, would take his fill of a properly dressed son of Poseidon whenever he could finagle an excuse. 

Like attending a beach party some nymphs were throwing off the coast of Mykonos. 

“Because we’re going to the Ancient Lands, and I love the excuse to dress up,” replied Apollo, keeping his thoughts about Percy to himself. His boyfriend didn’t always realize how utterly delectable he was, and when Apollo started complimenting he very rarely wished to stop. It tended to lead them to activities that were far more pleasurable perhaps, but they really didn’t have the opportunity for them if they wanted to arrive on time. Or, at all really. 

“Plus, Syma is a stickler for tradition, and everyone will be dressed similarly.” Syma was perhaps a bit stuck behind the times, but the parties she threw usually weren’t. No need to mention how he’d politely suggested she make this particular dress code mandatory. “Well, we’ll obviously be dressed the best. It wouldn’t do for an Olympian and the Savior of Olympus to be stuck looking common, hmm?” 

Percy rolled his eyes and shot him a look of disbelief. “You’re such a pretentious rich kid.” 

“I’m not a rich kid. I’m a god. Money is meaningless.” 

“That’s what a fucking rich kid would say.” 

Ignoring Percy’s comment, Apollo pulled them along through the maze. Swerving around a pile of some late Roman antiques, Apollo distinguished the sorting system's remaining dregs. The farther they wandered, the more the shape of the objects took up weight and power. Designs he used to know so well, echoed in his mind as they traversed farther and farther back through his collection. 

“Should be somewhere around here,” he muttered, regrettably releasing Percy’s hand as he searched through the stacks of objects. Most of it was old offerings and tributes; vases and pottery, old armor and weapons, piles of coins and jewels - he wasn’t kidding when he said money was meaningless, he was no Zeus or Poseidon or Hades who had a kingdom to run, and an economy to manage -  he knew the lyre had to be around here somewhere… 

Apollo’s gaze strayed upwards, and he caught sight of a deep blue-colored lyre. “There it is,” he muttered, walking closer to the pile's edge. 

“That’s pretty far up there ‘pollo,” commented Percy, uncertainty staining his voice. “You sure you don’t want me to grab a chair or something?” 

Apollo waved him off. “No, no, I’ll be fine. Please don’t try touching anything here. You don't know what's cursed or not.” Shifting around a few pieces of ancient armor, he reached for the lyre, unfortunately at least another foot and a half or so out of his height. He huffed, cursing himself for designing the anti-summoning wards on this place. How did mortals do this all the time? 

Pushing a few more pieces aside, he placed his foot securely on a trunk of some kind and climbed up. A few items clattered to the floor, but he didn’t hear anything break, so it should be fine. Straining on his toes he snagged the blue and gold lyre from atop the pile. Relaxing, he spun around and hopped off the trunk with a victorious grin. 

“See! Nothing to it.” 

Percy rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hold back a grin. “Of course never doubted you for a-”

Whatever he would say next was lost to the sound of grinding and creaking. Apollo, barely looked back at the pile of items slipping from their precarious locations, before Percy yelled, “Look out!” 

Apollo felt rather than saw his boyfriend burst into action, One second he stood in the path of a potential avalanche of ancient detritus, and the next Percy barreled into him, pushing him out of harm’s way. 

Landing on the ground with a wince, Apollo cradled the lyre in his arms, hoping to save it from the fall. After all, he was a god, it wasn’t like a crash to the ground would hurt him. Neither would an avalanche of items that matter, but it seemed like Percy’s split-second instincts - oh, so important around other mortals who could be killed by nearly anything - didn’t take a half-second more to register that Apollo was practically invincible. 

Well, it was the thought that counted. 

“Thanks, love,” he said, still flat against the ground, “but you really didn’t-” he cut himself off as he looked over to where his boyfriend should be, but wasn’t. 

Apollo stared at the blank spot where Percy had just been. Panic and desperation rose in his chest, choking out all reason. Eyes flickering around the room, searching, straining, begging - 

No. He couldn’t feel Percy. He couldn’t sense Percy’s half divine presence here, or anywhere in his palace. (Or extending to the city below, or anywhere his sun’s rays touched, or-)

Rocketing to his feet, Apollo abandoned the search for Percy, (because he wasn’t here - he wasn’t anywhere) and instead searched the room for any indication of where Percy had gone. He hadn’t heard anything, hadn’t seen anything, so what- 

From the corner of his eye metal glinted. A disc, hardly larger than the size of his hand, sat a few feet away from the pile it tumbled off of. It’s familiar - the pattern of suns, snakes, and scythes. Old magic, powerful magic, poured off of it, and Apollo hesitated to pick it up. Where had he acquired it…

Oh. 

Oh. 

Half-buried memories, long forgotten, but now sparking to life were brought to the forefront of his mind. A celebration in his honor, prayers of thanks and devotion tasting sweeter than any wine. A temple, long since crumbled to ruins, standing in full unweathered glory, decorated in flowers and offerings. An offering from the people, a spoil of battle, powerful, granted to the temple in case of invoking divine appreciation and healing in the wake of tragedy. 

The memory of a half moon-lit night, casting light and shadows on a man so tempting Apollo nearly abducted him the second he stepped foot in his temple. Hushed words, and teasing, and a tilt of a crooked smile, and a kiss-

Apollo sighed, as that night, so many millennia ago, settled in, easing the worry from his mind and heart. 

Well, he knew where Percy was, but it looked like they wouldn't make it to that party after all.

Chapter Text

Next time Apollo insisted something would be, ‘Totally easy, not a problem.’ and, ‘This will only take a moment, babe.’ Percy would assume the universe took it as a personal challenge, and responded with, “You think? Bet.” 

Depressing? Sure. Realistic? Absolutely. Percy guessed the universe took one look at him the day he was born, swaddled in blankets, placed in his mother’s arms, innocent and unaware of the horrors of his fated existence, and went, ‘Oh yeah, here’s one we can totally fuck over in a hundred different ways and never get bored. This is gonna be great!’ 

He wanted to know where he could file his complaints with Reality’s HR department because the amount of bullshit he was thrown into had to count as targeted harassment.  

Honestly, he was looking forward to attending a party with Apollo. Their dates thus far, consisted of visiting locations all around the world - via handy-dandy godly express, useful when a certain King would pitch a fit if Percy flew while not protected by another’s domain (the sun chariot was awesome) - or Apollo hanging around at his apartment. They also visited Apollo’s palace a few times, though Percy tended to feel out of place among the marble and gold. 

On the other hand, the look on Apollo’s face whenever Percy woke in his bed, draped in golden silk sheets and bathed in divine sunlight, was enough to make the discomfort worth it. 

It’s why he didn’t put up too much of a fight when Apollo shoved a bundle of cloth into his arms and told him to change. What he wore wasn’t a big deal to him, but Apollo took entirely too much pleasure in dressing him up. Generally, the results - ie Apollo devouring him with gold-flecked eyes - were always worth the hassle. 

The party. 

Right. 

He was looking forward to it. Mykonos - according to Apollo - was beautiful, although not as gorgeous as Delos a couple of miles away. Percy was just looking forward to being on a beach, in the Ancient Lands, without monsters or giants trying to kill him or sacrifice him to a pissed-off Mother Earth. The thought of good food, his boyfriend’s singing, and relaxing for a few hours doing something normal sounded perfect . 

Well, as normal as a party with a couple dozen nymphs, satyrs, dryads, minor gods, nature spirits, and an immortal boyfriend could be. But normal normal was a concept he gave up for dead several years ago, so this would have to do. 

Percy should have known the second a measure of happiness and calm was in reach, the universe would pick up on it like a hellhound and come sniffing around to tear it to shreds. 

Sparks of magic leached off the accursed little disc the second it touched his bare leg. Percy had only a brief second where he thought, ‘Oh, shit not again!’ before being magically yanked out of Apollo’s palace. 

The sensation was like being bodily dragged through a tube the size of a straw, except the straw was made of molten metal and spikes, and it was inside a whirlpool. When that pain-filled, nausea-inducing joy-ride ended, he was spat out several feet above the ground and crashed face first into a pile of sand. 

Percy was grateful for finally losing consciousness.

Rising out of unconsciousness was an - unfortunately - familiar process for Percy at this point in his life. A sense of his body filtered through the peaceful dark, reminding him that, yes, aching limbs and nausea sucked. He vaguely registered a pressure on his shoulder a faint rocking motion, almost as if someone was shaking his shoulder- 

Sound hit him next; the roaring crash of waves against a shoreline, birds squawking overhead, insects buzzing, and the sound of someone in distress. Percy couldn’t quite make out the words, they sounded familiar, but… 

Wait, said his brain, trying desperately to keep up, that’s not English. 

Percy blinked against the bright sunlight and realized the person in distress was shaking his shoulder. It was an older man, maybe in his fifties or sixties, with graying hair, sun-worn skin, and wrinkles. Wearing, of all outfits, a chiton, and a cloak. The man’s expression brightened when he saw Percy was awake, and he rambled off a sentence Percy grasped every third word or so - an exclamation of relief. The buzzing in his head grew louder - oh, that wasn’t insects after all - almost like pressure building, until it suddenly popped and settled down in his chest - warm, like his mother’s hugs, and full of energy - and the next words the man said finally made sense. 

“Whyever are you lying on the beach? Seems an odd place to take a nap.” The accent was strange, yet familiar. Like how Chiron sounded during Ancient Greek lessons. His brain, still sluggish, took a second to realize the older man was speaking the same way Chiron did during lessons. As in, speaking in Ancient Greek. 

Oh no. 

“Not really a nap,” Percy rasped out, his mouth automatically saying the words in the tongue he was hardwired for, feeling awkward because it enforced a formality he would rather do without. Propping himself up onto his hands, so he wasn’t lying on the ground, he could finally take a look around. 

A beautiful white sand beach stretched out along the shoreline. Crystal blue waves rushed up onto the sand and lazily receded back, and a cloudless sky held a sun not quite yet at its’ peak. Sand gave way to brush-filled hills and in the distance, Percy spotted several buildings that would not have looked out of place on Olympus - although obviously of a human make, and much less grand. The air seemed lighter and cleaner, a spark of energy almost dancing through the air. 

Pairing that with the man’s state of dress and a two-thousand-year-old dead language, Percy felt a rock drop into his stomach, and an impossible, yet simple idea, formed in his mind.

“Where am I? What day is it?” he asked. ‘Or better yet,’ he thought with barely contained panic, ‘when am I?’ 

The older man’s face wrinkled with concern. “On the southern shore of Delos, good sir. Two days before the Apollonos Panēgyris . Did you perhaps hit your head?” 

Percy held back a grimace, and the urge to rub the bump on his head. Yeah, but he was certain he was nowhere near Delos when the disc unceremoniously zapped him here. He didn’t even try to decipher what a Panēgyris was, although he recognized Apollo’s name, so it was probably a kind of celebration. Like his boyfriend needed an excuse to feed his ego.

“Delos? But I was just on Mykonos,” he lied instinctively, thinking of the party he probably wasn’t attending at this point.

The older man tilted his head off in the distance to the ocean behind him. “That’s not too far from here. Were you perhaps on a boat? Washed overboard and brought here by the Lord of the Sea’s gracious whims?” 

Great, so the man was inclined to chalk events up to the gods messing around, and not thinking of them as myths. Three strikes. The Fates really liked yanking him around. 

“No, I wish,” groused Percy. Sticking as close to the truth as possible would be a good idea for whatever mess he had been thrust into, he tended to be a terrible liar. “I was at my friend’s house, helping to find something and the next I remember, a tugging sensation pulled me into the ether and I was dropped here.” He gestured to the beach. With a defeated sigh, he rubbed at his aching head. “Probably another situation the Fates thought needed intervention.” It was both the truth and a test. 

The man’s eyes widened, “The Morai? Brought you here?” There was a sense of disbelief sure, but also of hope. Percy was very familiar with that last one; well this certainly wasn’t the oddest way he’d been given a quest before. 

“Indeed,” sighed Percy, annoyed his fears were confirmed. He almost wanted to ask for the exact year, but he doubted any answer the man would give would make sense to him, or make him look any saner. He wasn’t Annbeth who knew the reigning years of every king and era from the Bronze Ages to the Romans. He was in the past, far enough back that Ancient Greek was still being used as a speaking language, and smack dab in the middle of the Aegean. “It’s happened before, and, knowing my luck, it shall happen again.” 

Hefting himself to his feet, he brushed the sand off his chiton, glad to see his sword still strapped in place along with his pouch of emergency ambrosia and drachmae. Apollo complained he didn’t need any of that when they were together - he was perfectly capable of healing Percy’s injuries, but Percy dealt with too much not to walk around fully prepared for disaster at all times. Ancient Greek-styled buildings in the distance both mocked him and proved his paranoia in equal measure.  

Percy glanced over the older man once again and felt a bit bad for the look of bewilderment on his face. Even if he was when he thought he was, Percy’s interactions with the divine tended to be a bit shocking. 

“Thank you for your concern, sir,” he said, hoping not to offend or shock the man any more than he already was. If he was stuck here for who knows how long he didn’t want to offend the locals. “I am Perseus, and you are?” His full name always placed him on edge since he only heard it when he was in trouble or did something dangerously brave, but he didn’t know how well the shortened version of his name would go over here. 

“I- I am Lysander Nikolopoulos, an elder on the council for our island,” replied the man. It took a moment but Lysander drew himself back up and considered Percy with a curious look. “If the Sisters have truly brought you here, it is a fortuitous omen indeed. Please, be welcome to our home.” 

Every ounce of manners his mom, Chiron, and Annabeth had drilled into him over the years reared up, and he dipped his head. “Thank you, I hope whatever reason for my arrival will not cause too much trouble.” 

Doubtful, knowing his luck. But there’s always a first time for everything. 

Lysander grimaced but didn’t speak further. Percy could tell he wanted to but didn’t think pushing the older man a few minutes into meeting him was wise. Especially when he didn’t know what type of situation he’d landed in, or the extent of power Lysander wielded. 

“I was finishing my morning walk when I discovered you, I was on my way to the temples for prayers. You may accompany me if you wish, and see if the gods will give insight into your… situation?” 

Percy held back his own urge to grimace. Attracting any attention from the gods was the last thing he needed. They were bad enough in his own time, he didn’t want to think of how obnoxious - or dangerous - they would be now. But if he had any chance of returning to his own time safe and sound he probably would need their help. 

“That sounds wise,” he lied with a grin and gestured towards the well-trodden path through the beach brush that looked like it led to the island's more inhabited parts. “After you, Lysander.” 

Chapter Text

If Percy held any hope he was severely hallucinating - or Hermes pulling an extremely elaborate prank - it promptly vanished the second he and Lysander crested over the hilltop and viewed the entire island ahead. A beautiful Grecian landscape spread out before him. Small houses and farms dotted along the winding dirt path leading to a bustling marketplace, next to a gorgeous shimmering lake. Even farther in the distance, but still visible due to its size, stood a massive temple complex, shining bright white and golden in the midmorning sun.  The smell of olive trees and laurel drifted through the air, swirling around curiously. The sun’s heat perfect against his bare skin. 

It reminded him of Camp and Olympus and the Wild, all at once. He wanted to sink his teeth into how right it all seemed. Percy found himself caught between the urge to relax and enjoy this utter bliss - and his instincts screaming at him to stay on his guard, because no feeling this good , could be safe. Not in his experience. 

“Breathtaking,” was all he said out loud when he caught Lysander observing him. Because there wasn’t a good way to translate the deep existential terror he felt at looking at a scene both ancient and living. Alive and thriving as history, but entwined deep into the very fabric of his body and soul even thousands of years after mortals called it dead.

Lysander nodded. “Land shaped by divine hands and blessed by divine presence. Our patrons look after us and ensure we live well. It is indeed awe-inspiring to be part of such perfection.” 

Percy nodded but didn’t say anything. Gods weren’t particularly concerned with mortals. Although they grew possessive of what they considered theirs. (A trait he had plenty of practice with thanks to his dad and Triton and Apollo and Hermes and- Well, he had a much better relationship with many gods these days, it came at a price though.) 

Lysander served as a wonderful guide, caring deeply about his community. On their walk to the temples, they passed by plenty of people; farming, or tending to their houses. Others prayed at roadside shrines. A few musicians strummed instruments near the market's entrance. Lysander greeted almost all by name. 

“Delos has been home all my life,” he explained when Percy asked. “Those who make a home here are My Lord’s people and thus are mine too. I know them as I know mine own children.” 

“You have kids?” 

Lysander nodded, a proud smile sat on how well-worn face. “Aye. A boy and girl, have raised them since my wife passed ten years back. My daughter is about to marry, and they’ll ask for blessings during the festival. My son - restless and impetuous for his years- has yet to settle with a wife.” 

Entering the market left Percy no less impressed; colorful stalls lined the causeway selling food and trinkets, beautifully draped fabrics from one stall, and perfectly painted pottery from another. Several men hauled a load of fish off a horse-drawn cart. Children laughed, playing with a ball by a beautiful fountain. Percy’s father's tongue dripped from the lips of every person. Something about it all just felt so right , Percy held back the urge to bask in the glow. 

Deeply ingrained habit reared its head and focused the image. Picture perfect it might look, but under the surface, Percy sensed something was wrong. Tension in the lines of the adults’ faces, their eyes darting suspiciously at passersby. The children hawkishly watched over what looked like a priest. Armed guards stand every couple hundred feet, alert and scanning. 

This was not a land at peace. 

Percy grasped the handle of his sword. ‘ What was happening here?’ he wondered. 

Out of nowhere, the ball the children played with flew over in his direction. On instinct Percy caught it before it smashed into his face, tossing it between his hands with practiced ease. It was no basketball, but a round bound leather object was universal in its handling. 

He easily figured out who sent the ball his way when he looked to see a young boy’s face filled with dread as his companions laughed and jeered, others chiding him. The overseer looked near a fit, and the tension in the air choked. 

“Good throw,” he laughed with a large smile. “Quite the strength you have there kid.” As fast as the tension appeared, it seeped away with Percy’s chill response. Good, tense people didn’t let their secrets slip as easily as relaxed ones. He gestured for the boy to come over to him. 

Haltingly, but prodded on by his watcher, the boy approached Percy. “Many apologies to you,” the boy mumbled out.   

“No harm done,” said Percy. He offered the boy the ball back. “What is your name?” 

“Antilius, fair far-distance traveler.” 

Percy’s eyebrows rose at the oddly specific greeting. “How did you know I wasn’t from here?” 

Antilius stilled, but Lysander smiled slightly. “Ah, that’s because the boy has a hint of sight in his blood. The priests have him in their care, hoping to train such a talent for our Lord’s service.” 

Yikes, a lot of pressure to put on one kid’s shoulders. Percy smiled down at Antilius. “Well, a talent like that means you have a difficult path ahead. Take joy in the small things while you remain a youth, hmm?” 

“Y-yes, thank you, my Lord,” stuttered Antilius. 

Oops, best nip that in the bud right there, thought Percy as Lysander’s eyes widened “No need to be so nervous, child. I am no lord, just a traveler like you said.” Hoping to send the child off so no more accidental knowledge was revealed, Percy reached into his pocket and pulled out a golden drachma. “Here, go take this and buy yourself a treat, it’s no silver, but it should purchase just the same.” Remembering a lecture Annabeth once gave on how the Ancient Greeks used silver much more than gold. 

Antilius reverently took the coin and stared at him with awe-filled brown eyes. Crap. That was the opposite of what Percy wanted to happen. “O-of course, many thanks.” The boy tucked the coin into his hand, ran over to his friends with the leather ball, and showed off his gift. They eyed the coin with great joy and a hint of jealousy. Percy smiled. 

“What a generous gift, Perseus!” Lysander exclaimed. “You did not need to give the boy so much, he is well taken care of in the temples.” 

“Perhaps so, but he has a difficult life ahead of him. Small moments of joy like treats and games with friends mean so much when faced with the horrors such a gift like the Sight can bestow.” Rachel popped into his mind. Suffering through years of thinking she was the crazy one, catching glimpses of a world hidden from view. Of terrifying dreams and bone-deep warnings. He thought of May Castellan trapped by visions and knowledge which broke her. 

Antilius would see much the same. “Besides it is just one coin. I have many, what good are they sitting in a pouch?” 

“I-I suppose that is correct. Shall we continue?” Percy nodded, and they left the group of children who’d resumed playing with the ball. Antilius split off to the side to speak with the watcher, chattering a million miles a minute with an excited grin on his face. 

A sudden wind blew through the market, bringing with it a strong forest smell and cold air distinctly out of place for a warm bustling town. Percy’s eyes caught sight of another child standing at the group's edge, talking with a few other young girls. Auburn hair gathered up with ribbon, a simple white chiton etched in blue, barefoot. Her silvery eyes scanned the crowd intently, older and wiser beyond her body’s years. 

Percy averted his eyes quickly but knew his attention was noticed when he followed Lysander and the distinct sensation of eyes watching him remained long after they left the market. Artemis was a hunter, after all, she knew when she was spotted. Percy’s anxiety heightened further, whatever happened here had the gods worried enough to watch over the island with physical forms. 

It’s no wonder he ended up landing here. 

The crowds of people - all traveling to Delos for the Panēgyris - began to thin as they neared the path to the temple. Traveling along a winding stone path, they passed over a bridge bisecting a cool blue pond fed by a small waterfall. Spotting a few naiads lounging at the bottom, Percy waved when they spotted him, and they excitedly waved back. 

Lion statues carved into a retaining wall guarded over the path, and Percy held back a smirk when he saw one of the lion’s tails inexplicably twitch, eyes following. Two soldiers also guarded the pass, dressed in armor, swords gleaming sharply at their sides. 

“Is everything at peace?” Percy asked, knowing very well it was not. He didn’t know how else to broach the subject. “I’ve seen many soldiers around, far more than seems necessary for such a wondrous island.”

Lysander’s shoulders tensed, and his eyes darted around. “Nothing to worry about Perseus. Just an extra precaution before the Panēgyris. The gods favor the prepared.” Lysander sidestepped the question, and hurried along, leaving Percy to catch up. 

Okay, he thought, there is something fishy going on here.  

Entering the temple complex, Percy had to admit it was gorgeous. Buildings of sandstone and marble rise high into the air. Beautiful statues painted in vivid colors. Fabric draped everywhere. Rose petals and laurels scattered heavily along the pathways and over arches. Olympus was similar, far more grand, but there was a special element about seeing this here and now on Earth. Olympus was ethereal, untouched, and gilded in a way reeking of listlessness. Here, on Earth, it was alive and breathing like Camp Half-Blood. 

Percy passed by a large fire pit, flames swirling in the wind. A small girl, no more than eight, sat at the hearth's edge - brown chiton cinched with gilded rope, black hair piled on her head. She seemed see-through, like the fire’s smoke. 

Percy smiled softly but didn’t stop to say hello. It would draw far too much attention to pay his beloved aunt a visit at her hearth. 

Two temples rose across from each other. Percy spotted a statue of Artemis holding a bow on the one to his right. Several worshippers prayed on their knees on the temple steps, guards flanking the entrance into the inner section. Apollo’s temple lay to the left, along with a giant statue rising 30 feet in the air. Nude, of course, Percy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was the style of the times he supposed. 

The temple itself was beautiful. Red and white colonnades held up the pitched red tile roof, contrasted sharply with sky-blue banners waving gently in the breeze. Intricate carvings detailed scenes from Apollo’s mythos inlaid along the roof’s gable. (He’d picked up plenty of fancy architecture terminology against his will thanks to years of friendship with Annabeth.) Cypress trees and flower beds flanked the temple's sides, and carpets stretched up the many staircases leading to the inner sanctuary. 

Lysander and Percy passed by many worshippers and pilgrims. Some played music, others offered sacrifices which temple priests were around to collect. Prostrated on their knees in a way Percy hadn’t seen since Mars appeared at Camp Jupiter many years ago. 

“We shall head into the temple itself,” said Lysander as they climbed the steps to the sanctuary, gait unsteady as he leaned heavily on his walking stick. “I have matters to discuss with the head priest. And with the Morai dropping you on our shores, best not bring too much attention from the crowds in your prayers to Apollo for direction.” 

Percy nodded, which was all he could do to keep a straight face. He didn’t often pray to the gods. He offered sacrifice as was traditional during meals, and used a type of mental talking that probably ran on the same frequency as prayers (not that he knew the specifics) as a way to keep his father or Triton updated about things. (Their phones tended to get delayed messages with the distance and magic involved in the cloaking of Atlantis) But true, worshipful prayer, to receive guidance? Percy didn’t think he’d done that in years. 

Hopefully, he could keep his tongue and smile off his face lest he offend the priest or Apollo, but if that happened, his boyfriend would be getting an earful once he returned home. 

Reaching the top of the temple steps, two guards flanked the entrance. A veiled priestess stood off to the side hovering over a pedestal holding an earthenware pot with rose water. Lysander approached her and bowed his head. She anointed him with the water and muttered a blessing too soft for Percy to hear. Lysander backed away, and he stepped forward to do the same. 

“Your weapon,” she said, her voice soft and airy. She gestured to the two guards standing off to the side. A fundamental part of Percy rebelled at giving up his weapon, but it was probably a big no-no to enter a sacred temple with a blade. He reluctantly turned to the guards and unsheathed his sword.

He handed it to the guard on the right. “Pay close watch,” warned Percy, with a mischievous grin. “It tends to wander.” 

The guard’s eyes scrunched in confusion, but Percy just clasped his hands behind his back and walked over to the priestess with a bowed head. Although the bowl held rose petals, Percy smelled honey, bay, laurel, and warmth - which, yes, had a smell - and it reminded him of safety and comfort. Apollo would love to hear about all this later.

After his anointing, he followed Lysander inside the temple. The atmosphere was quiet, muffled; separating it from the outside world. It reminded Percy of Rachel’s Cave at camp. Sunlight streamed in through square shuttered windows. Power thrumming in the stones spoke of belief, reverence, and worship. Burning hot and bright, twisting and boiling. Eager in its nature to consume and spread. Percy wanted to chase it, wanted to curl his toes into the fabric-covered stones, and never leave. 

“O’ Elder Lysander, pleasant day and good health be yours,” came a high and snooty voice, ruining Percy’s power high. 

“Head Priest Xanthe,” greeted Lysander, a strained smile on his face. Wonderful, Percy could guess what personality this man possessed by that alone. 

Percy did his best to hold back an amused snort. A priest of Apollo, being named yellow?  Too funny. 

Xanthe appeared from behind the temple's main statue, depicting, of course, Apollo; standing proud and dangerous. Armed and poised to strike a snake. A depiction of his fight with Pythos. Both times were firmly etched as nightmarish in his lover’s mind. Percy spent more than one afternoon sitting in silence while Apollo tried his best to forget the pain and panic associated with those victories. 

Xanthe himself was a thin man, with hawkish features, and deep-set eyes. Hair the color of straw, and pursed lips that looked like they’d never seen a hint of a smile. He oozed smugness and he looked like all the worst parts of Octavian, Luke, and Thorne - that manticore from a few years back - combined. 

Percy instantly hated him. 

Xanthe looked at Percy like dung at the bottom of his sandal. Lysander smiled weakly and introduced him. “This is a new traveler to our island, dropped here by the Morai, Perseus. He comes to seek guidance from the gods.” 

“Ahhh, I see,” sneered Xanthe, looking distinctly like he did not see why Percy had to be in the temple. “And that couldn’t have happened on the steps with the rest of pilgrims who come to seek guidance from our most luminous of lords.” 

“We didn’t wish to interrupt anyone’s worship,” Percy countered smoothly. “With how… uniquely I arrived, the situation must be quite dire. The gods must have a message for me.” 

“Mmmh, quite so,” drawled Xanthe, who looked very doubtful. He directed a hand toward Apollo’s statue. “You may of course provide a sacrifice and see if the Manticus Apollon will answer your… inquiries.” 

Percy’s smile could have cut glass, but he, surprisingly, held his tongue and walked right past the irritating priest, ignoring the hushed whispers following in his wake. Approaching the statue, a small flame sat at its base, hardly large enough for a sacrifice, but Percy only needed to catch Apollo or the Fates’ attention, he figured they would be appropriately dramatic in directing him from there. 

Searching his bag, he frowned when all he had on him was a small amount of nectar and ambrosia - he didn’t want to sacrifice it if it was all he had access to - and a couple of pieces of Apollo’s favorite chocolate.  

Great offering. 

Too bad chocolate like this wouldn’t be invented for a couple of thousand years, if he offered it his boyfriend was likely to go ballistic trying to figure out what it was.  

The stares of Lysander and Xanthe intensified behind him. Percy shrugged. Fuck it. 

He pulled the chocolate out of his bag and approached the fire.

“To Phoebus Apollon, I request guidance as to why I was brought here, and what must I do to go home.” He tossed the chocolate into the fire and the smell swelled and filled the enclosed temple. Percy backed up and knelt - with the ego his lover had right about now, he’d accept nothing less - watching the flames spiral higher, brighter, and hotter than reasonably expected from such a small source. 

He heard Xanthe and Lysander gasp, and Percy bowed his head so no one spotted his pleased shit-eating grin. 

The fire lingered in the air, the smell of chocolate fading to the expected laurel-honey-herb mixture Percy knew so well. It swirled around him inquisitively, and if he hadn’t already known Apollo had watched the whole time Percy was on the island, he would know now.

The fire started to die down, when, from the open door swooped in three large ravens. The air gained weight, the limited rays of the sun dimmed and the shadows lengthened. 

Yep, thought Percy, sufficiently dramatic indeed. 

Circling above Percy’s head three times the ravens settled on the statue, peering at him with beady black eyes. The laurel-honey-herb mixture gained a hint of cloth and thread. 

The birds opened their beaks and three wise and hoarse voices spoke in unison.  

“Fear’s son spills black blood, beneath the golden light
Uncover the past and set the wrongs right.
Fathers’ choices, become the son’s to know.
Conquer the power wrested from woe,
Avenge those lost by death essence’s crime.
Warm embrace sends the far home with the touch of time.” 

Flapping their wings, the trio of ravens flew into the air, spiraling around for a moment before exiting the temple. In their absence, the atmosphere lightened, as if the sun’s light could finally reach them. 

Percy sighed. Great, one sufficiently cryptic prophecy acquired. At least there was a mention of ‘sending the far home’. He was certainly far away right now and liked the sound of going home. Glancing over he saw Xanthe and Lysander standing slack-jawed, eyes wide. 

“Our glorious Lord has blessed ye with knowledge of that which has yet to come,” muttered Xanthe, sounding caught between utter awe that Apollo actually gave Percy a quest, and disgust that he gave Percy a quest. 

“That is the definition of a prophecy,” he said blandly. He couldn’t wait to get home and rant to his boyfriend about how annoying this man had been. Was it a requirement for Apollo’s worshippers that they had to be snooty and self-important? Or did he have the poor luck of running into only those? 

Xanthe huffed and turned on his heel, robes flaring in the wake of his power walk. He disappeared to the back of the temple, apparently done with the conversation now that his presence was no longer required. 

“In all my years, I have never seen such a clear response from the gods, as what you were gifted today,” muttered Lysander, clearly still in shock as they walked out of the temple. Percy nodded to the guard as he picked Riptide back up at the entrance. “Ye are truly blessed.” 

The warmth of incense and laurel swirled around Percy like a caress, but he ignored it and stepped out into the bright sun. “Perhaps, but it is not an easy life. Yet it is one I have borne so others may not have to.” He glanced at the man. “Lysander, what has occurred here?” 

The elder looked reluctant to say anything. “A few of our people have died,” he finally admitted. “Under mysterious circumstances that have no clear cause. Sinking fear into every day an answer evades us.” 

“A murderer?” 

Lysander swallowed, face burned with pain. “We do not know for certain,” he hesitantly allowed. 

Percy would take that as ‘We’ve not wanted to say that because it means we can’t stop this, and we're terrified.’ 

“Lord Lysander!” cried out a young voice. Percy and Lysander turned towards the temple's steps. Running up the marble steps was the boy from the square, Antilius. The boy skidded to a stop in front of them and doubled over; less as a show of respect, and more from exhaustion if the boy’s heavy panting was any indication. 

“Antillius, child,” Lysander greeted. “Take a moment and breathe.” The boy nodded, taking several sharp breaths before rising to look at the elderly man, face twisted in panic and despair. Percy’s body tensed at the expression, so different from the joy when the child had skipped away less than an hour ago. Antilius did not bring good news. “What brings you here so swiftly and in alarm?” 

“A body, my lord,” the boy near wailed. “Another body was found.” 

“Mighty gods of Olympus, curse this wretched day,” Lysander growled, face darkening. “Will the depravity find no end?” 

“It is even worse than the others my Lord,” Antilius confessed, and Percy caught sight of the child’s hands shaking. Poor kid, he thought. Too young by far to have seen the remains of the killer’s newest victim.

“Worse!?” exclaimed Lysander, causing the young boy to flinch at the tone. Percy shot the man a glare. Reasonable reaction or not to bad news, shouting and scaring the shaken kid would not help. 

Percy stepped forward, crouched down to the boy’s height, and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Peace, Antilius. There is no danger here, not to you. We only wish to know where to go and what to expect.” The boy calmed at his words. Nodding, Antilius sucked in a shaky breath and revealed to them the body was found on the market's outskirts by some fisherman. He said her name was Cassia, and Percy watched as Lysander’s face froze in shock and horror. Had the older man not already leaned on his walking stick he was sure the elder would have collapsed. 

“And- and, I saw…” the boy stuttered out. 

“Yes?” Percy prompted. 

“...her blood, it was as black as pitch, ” Antilius whispered, eyes wide and terrified at the gruesome image no doubt replaying in his young mind. 

“Fear’s son spills black blood, beneath golden light…” Percy recited. Lysander, who recovered a measure of his composure, caught his eye, and understanding passed between them. Whoever killed Cassia was the subject of Percy’s quest, and Lysander's reluctance to inform Percy was now pointless in the face of the prophecy’s divinely ordained involvement. 

Just. Wonderful. 

“You have done well, Antilius. Thank you for informing us,” he said, when it was clear Lysander was still in shock and lost in his mind. 

“Why is this happening?” Antilius asked in a small voice that broke Percy’s heart. Like looking at one of the new campers, as they tried to figure out why this strange world they’d uncovered was so cruel. “Have we angered the gods? Are we all to perish?” 

“Peace, child,” Percy consoled, letting the late nights he spent comforting newbies at camp flood his mind. Granted those conversations involved a lot more junk food and modern slang, but he was working with what he had here. “The gods have not abandoned you. The Morai plucked me from my home and placed me here. The Sun God’s sacred birds spoke a prophecy to guide my hand. The gods have their ways to protect their own.” 

Mostly cryptic, annoying, and convoluted ways, but they did have ways. 

Reaching out, he wiped the tears forming at the boy’s eyes, and gently bopped his nose. Antilius went cross-eyed, but also giggled, and that smile was worth all the formal worded platitudes he could spin. “There we go, dry your eyes. Events shall unfold as the Fates have foreseen. None of it is your concern, that is why I was delivered to your shores. Did you manage to buy that treat?” 

“No.” 

Percy reached back into his pouch and pulled out another drachma. “Then off you go, and buy enough to share with the others.” 

Antilius straightened up and smiled. “Thank you, my lord.” Darting off before Percy could correct him he wasn’t a lord. Percy rose, the midday sun's heat simmering on his skin. Apollo had to be pretty pissed someone was killing his people on his island. The scent of laurels increased again, and Percy knew his future partner was watching. 

He reminded himself this time's Apollo was not his boyfriend; turned mortal and gained an ounce of humility. Who’d been beaten and battered and died in mortal form to save his friends and kids. This Apollo was younger and far more dangerous. Myths raced through his mind; Annabeth refused to give her support until he’d read every last one she could find. He would go into the relationship with eyes open, or not at all, as far as she was concerned. 

Percy read those myths, in their original language, no less. And while some of it shocked him, it wasn’t enough to persuade his choice. Apollo snuck his way into Percy’s heart. Slipped into the cracks and strolled into the abyss of Percy’s soul and illuminated it with warmth and understanding. Peered into acidic green eyes, while hurricanes raged in his blood and found him breathtaking, not monstrous. Looked at the demigods and his children and smiled with pure joy that they were safe and alive. 

How could love not bloom in Percy’s heart when the sun warmed him without restraint? 

Still, staying away from this time’s Apollo was probably smart for several reasons. No need to accidentally invent another tragic myth. 

“Ye truly believe the gods have not forsaken us?” asked Lysander, jolting Percy out of his thoughts. 

Percy could spend all day ranting about the gods, and where they could shove their self-centered egos and short-sighted actions, but this time was when the gods were present, and highly active in the lives of mortals. Casual offense would not be taken lightly, by either the mortals or the gods. 

“I believe if they could have fixed the situation themselves they already would have,” said Percy, not quite lying, but not quite telling the truth. With the laws in place, active intervention was oftentimes impossible. That is why mortal heroes were needed. Whether the gods would interfere if they could… Well, they were as capricious as benevolent. That’s why mortal heroes were needed. 

“Their interference comes in many forms. It is no doubt why I was placed in your path after deliverance to your shores,” he finished with a shrug. Percy long ago resigned himself that normal would never be an option for him. Might as well roll with the punches. 

Lysander looked resolute at the statement. “Then let us not waste what the gods have so graciously bestowed upon us. Come; to the market we depart, so you may begin your quest, and lend me your ear and I shall tell of the woes that have befallen our island.” 

Chapter Text

Apollo stormed out of Olympus’ throne room, heat pouring off his skin. A pretty nymph servant plastered herself against the wall to avoid the wave of heated air radiating from his flickering form. How dare his father forbid him from interfering- HOW D̸̡̼͗̉͆A̸̦̳̓R̶̢͉̺̊Ȩ̵̑̉̕ ̴̠̠͗̉H̵̡̲͍͑̉͑É̸͍̊͐!

Thoughts of destruction and murder swam through his head in equal measure, and he didn’t know which he favored. Between one step and the next, Apollo materialized in his sun chariot. The strength of his wrath caused it to flare and the aggrieved cries for mercy and relief from the mortals below were music to his ears.

Damn his Father. 

Damn the Fates. 

Delos was his island. The people there his worshipers. (Mine too, chimed his sister - he ignored it.) If he wanted to intercede on their behalf because a low-life, sniveling wReTcHED SON OF A- 

“Will you give it a rest brother, you’ll have Demeter on your heels again about ruining this year's crops if you scorch the land in your anger,” an annoyed voice drawled. Apollo’s head twisted to find his sister - in her preferred younger form - perching precariously on the edge of his sun chariot. Narrowed and vexed moon-silver eyes glowing even facing the blazing sun flare of his power. 

“What. Do. You. Want? ” he growled, through sharp and bared teeth. Alone, he wanted to be alone, to rage against this unjustness, to shout across the stars-

“Brother, mortals die all the time. It’s what they do.” 

“IT’SSSS MURDER,”  he hissed, which normally appalled him when he dropped into the wretched sound, but this time he was just so angry. 

“Mortals, in particular, do that a lot to one another,” she continued, face as unbothered and calm as ever. “Look, if this were normal circumstances I would join you hunting down the pathetic fiend in an instant, but they’re not. Father and The Fates have declared the matter out of our control.” 

“But WHY??” he raged, it was definitely not a whine. 

Artemis narrowed her eyes again, and a cold shard of moonbeams brushed dangerously close to his face. “Don’t take that tone with me,” she snapped. “I don’t know any more than you do, and I won’t tolerate being the target of your little temper tantrums. If the Fates say it will be handled, it will be handled. You know their ways better than anyone.” 

Apollo knew that. He hated he knew that. One did not hold a domain like prophecy and not grow familiar with the Fates and their designs. But he wanted to take care of the problem. Right. Now. He didn’t want to wait until a prophecy was asked for. He didn’t want to wait until some mortal hero took care of his island. What good was it to have the wonderful, spectacular powers he possessed and be p o w e r l e s s to punish those who acted against him? 

“It’s galling, it’s demeaning, it’s-”

Power. Pure, raw, power. Warping, twisting, pouring out onto Delos. Apollo sensed the pull of it from here. Splitting open the sky and dropping something onto the sandy shores. Power swirled around the figure tinted with time and displacement and-

Catching his sister’s gaze, he hated to see a smug smirk grace her impish features.

“Well,” she drawled out the last letter, “looks like we don’t have to wait long. Shall we?” She dissolved into droplets of water and petals, a teasing, bell-like laugh; a forest floor smell left in her wake.

“Shall we?” Apollo mocked in a high-pitched tone, annoyed she was proven right yet again. Anger and rage receded, leaving his emotions as shallow reflections of the curdling fury he’d felt moments before.

Splitting off a section of his consciousness to take care of his chariot, Apollo similarly dissolved into sunbeams and laurel leaves and rematerialized on Delos. Willing himself unseen to the mortal eye, he walked over to his sister, who’d positioned herself on the top of a hill overlooking a small sandy beach on the south end of their island. 

Leaning against a tree with his arms crossed, he looked out onto the beach. “So, what are we dealing with, dear sister?”

“Looks like a boy,” Artemis sneered. From where Apollo stood that appeared to be true. A figure lay crumpled on the beach, head and face turned away. Though hardly a boy, if the muscles and curves of his arms and legs were an indication. Apollo’s smirk gained a touch of lasciviousness. Well, at least those three old ladies had taste.  

“At least we didn’t have to wait long for the hero to arrive,” he mused, eyes naturally tracing the fine form in front of him. Perpetually red and gold stained fingers twitched to sketch the image, now he just needed to see the face…

Creative inclinations died a swift death with a sharp inhale from Artemis, who muttered, “Oh no.” Apollo's eyes caught sight of what she saw. A mortal, older and weary with lines creased into his tanned skin, walking down onto the beach. It took a second for Apollo to place the man, but when he did his anger and irritation made the sun flare. 

“Lysander Nikolopoulos,” he growled. 

Artemis sighed heavily. “Brother remember, we can not intervene.” 

“I should wipe each of them off the face of the land, turn their souls to ashes so nothing remains for Charon to ferry. 

“That is not our place.” 

“It is if he hinders our Fates’ delivered champion under the pretense of folly and-”

Artemis shoved his side. “I am sure whoever the Fates delivered here to fix this problem will be more than able to overcome a hindrance such as Lysander might pose. Besides, the man is well respected amongst the mortals. He will serve his purpose to this supposed champion.” 

They watched in uneasy silence as Lysander walked down onto the beach, it did not take long for the mortal to spot the unconscious man. With a speed that honestly surprised Apollo given Lysander’s age and cane, he rushed over to the prone man. Shaking him and calling out if he was alright. Eventually, he roused the man, who pushed himself up onto his arms. Confusion emanated clearly from the figure. Face twisting to view the surrounding hills, and- 

Oh. 

Well, well, well…

"Oh no,” groaned his sister. 

Apollo’s grin stretched even further. He’d already loved the look of this mysterious traveler of the Fates; the man’s face was just a bonus. “Oh, yes. I call dibs.” Even from a distance Apollo clearly spotted the beauty of their mysterious champion. His hair was pitch black, face was well-sculpted and strong. His skin was already bronzed, and Apollo adjusted the light of the sun to flare just right, catching the metal pin securing his chiton. 

“Apollo you can’t call dibs. He was delivered here by the Fates. We don’t even know who or what he is, or where he’s from. He could have DISEASES!” 

Apollo had stopped listening to her; all she did was apply things like logic and pessimism to a situation. This was not the time for that. Now was the time to figure out who this gorgeous young man could be, and how fast he could convince him to share Apollo’s… company. 

“He’s here to fix our problems Apollo!” 

“I certainly have a problem he could fix,” Apollo leered.

His sister pulled a disgusted face. “Ugh, if you insist on acting such a fool over a pretty face, I will take my leave of your company.” 

Apollo reluctantly dragged his eyes away from the mysterious man, and took note of his sister’s departure. “Where shall you go?” 

She waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, not far. I wish to see what this boy shall do for our island.” Apollo resisted the urge to sneer. Artemis enjoyed her temples and worshippers - as any with ichor flowing through their veins would - but she found more comfort in the uninhabited parts of the island; her sacred mount, and untamed hills on the northern side. “Besides, I left a few of my Hunters among the island’s children. I should return and see if they have any news to give. It might serve a purpose for this hero.” 

Artemis vanished without another word, though she didn’t leave the island. Apollo’s attention swiftly returned to the beautiful and mysterious hero who came to save his island. 

Transforming into a raven, Apollo flew closer to the two men down at the beach, settling on a rock within hearing distance. 

“No, I wish.” The beautiful man confessed. “I was at my friend’s house, helping to find something and the next thing I remember, a tugging sensation pulled me into the ether and I was dropped here.” He gestured to the beach, where glittering waves lapped gently at the shore. An odd approach for the Fates to take, but Apollo would not complain. “Probably another situation the Fates thought needed intervention.” The man’s tone was resigned and irritated as if he’d been a part of their schemes before and disliked them just as much as Apollo. 

Great! They already had so much in common. 

“The Morai? Brought you here?” gasped Lysander. 

“Indeed,” sighed the man. “It’s happened before, and, knowing my luck, it shall happen again.” The man rose to his feet, dusting the sand off his skin and chiton. Closer now Apollo could make out the fine quality of the fabric, the beautiful wave and sun designs displayed the hem, a gleaming seashell pin at his shoulder. He ran a hand through his hair, and now Apollo could make out the color of his eyes. Beautiful sea green, swirling, almost glowing like one of the divine. Apollo wondered if he were a god, but his strings of fate were clearly mortal with divine inclusion. 

A demigod then. 

“Thank you for your concern, sir,” the man said with a slight smile. “I am Perseus, and you are?”

Perseus. 

Destroyer . 

What a lethal name, for such a lovely man. 

If Apollo had a human face he would be smirking. He ignored Lysander introducing himself, and welcoming the man to the island. Of course Peresus was welcome here. The Fates’ delivered him for Apollo. 

Or his island. 

Same difference. 

“Thank you, I hope whatever reason for my arrival will not cause too much trouble,” said Perseus, although he did not look like he believed that himself. Apollo’s desires warred with each other. On the one hand, he wanted the murderous bastard killing his devotees punished and sent to Hades in the most painful way possible. Perseus was to be his champion in that endeavor. 

On the other hand, he wanted this man in his bed. Now. 

Lysander smiled warily, and if Apollo hadn’t been warned off of interfering he would have smote the man. “I was finishing my morning walk when I discovered you, I was on my way to the temples for prayers. You may accompany me if you wish, and see if the gods will give insight into your… situation?” Apollo’s irritation only grew, he wanted this man nowhere near his temples, but if he brought Perseus… 

His champion hid a small flinch. “That sounds wise,” he lied with a sincere grin. Had Apollo not been the god of truth he would have missed it. Did Perseus have poor interactions with the gods in the past? Odd. Apollo had never seen nor heard of the man before, and certainly a man of this stature and beauty would have been celebrated by their godly parent. 

Interesting. A riddle wrapped in a mystery and cloaked in beauty. Apollo was hooked. 

“After you, Lysander.” The two men turned to leave, and Apollo launched himself into the air. Flying along within range as they traveled to the more inhabited parts of his island. Every so often Apollo flared his sun so that its rays caught the plains of Perseus's face and delighted in the way the man practically melted every time the heat warmed his skin. Apollo watched Perseus fight the urge to relax and enjoy the island’s beauty and aura. Well-honed instincts prodded him to remain alert. 

Apollo wondered how much work it would take to turn the man into nothing but a puddle in Apollo’s hands. He was very willing to find out.  

Entering the market Apollo found it difficult to catch the snippets of their conversation as the crowd’s noise grew. He switched forms, disguising himself as a child to better blend with the group Perseus and Lysander approached. His sister sulked off to the side, talking with a few of her younger hunters. A few other children, under their island’s protection, played with a ball. 

One of the children kicked it over to Antilius; Apollo’s most recent demigod child. Fair-haired, kind, and burdened with a great deal of prophetic ability, Apollo couldn’t help a small smile form as he watched his young son catch the ball. Sending him off to Chiron had crossed his mind - would be the expected course of action - but the boy was so young and with his mother gone, Apollo could argue the priests of his temple were well suited to honing the boy’s prophetic skills. 

And if Apollo could keep Antilius safe and near on his island where it was easy to check up on him, and occasionally play with him disguised as just another island child… 

Well, what Zeus didn’t know wouldn’t result in punishment back on Apollo or Antilius. 

Apollo knew where the ball was headed before it was even kicked, watching as it sailed in Peresus’ direction. The raven-haired man caught it with ease tossing it between his hands, glancing over to the group of children. Antilius froze in dread. The other children laughed at his misfortune. Apollo’s fingers twitched with the urge to retaliate on his son’s behalf, but these children were under his and his sister’s protection just the same. 

The overseer, on the other hand, looked ready to strangle his son, an action which would see him swiftly punished if carried out. 

“Good throw,” laughed Perseus. Apollo’s attention swiftly switched back over to the mysterious champion.  “Quite the strength you have there kid.” He gestured for the boy to join him. Haltingly, Antilius approached Percy. 

“Many apologies to you,” he mumbled, shoulders hunched. Apollo watched as Perseus smiled softly at the shaken child. 

“No harm done,” he said, offering the ball back. “What is your name?” 

Soft brown eyes flickered upwards, swirls of gold marbled throughout, as his young son observed the mysterious demigod. “Antilius, fair far-distance traveler.” 

Apollo picked up on the epithet his son bestowed upon Perseus. So his child caught the man’s importance too. How interesting. 

“How did you know I wasn’t from here?” asked Perseus with a raised brow, and a considering look. 

Apollo was swiftly reminded of Lysander’s presence - what a pity - as he answered.  “Ah, that’s because the boy has a hint of sight in his blood. The priests have him in their care, hoping to train such a talent for our Lord’s service.” 

Perseus' expression held a hint of burned grief, but smiled when Apollo’s son looked up at him.“Well, a talent like that means you have a difficult path ahead. Take joy in the small things while you remain a youth, hmm?” 

“Y-yes, thank you, my Lord,” stuttered Antilius. Oh, thought Apollo, catching his sister’s eyes across the plaza. That was an interesting way for Antilius to address Perseus.  

Perseus laughed, an undercurrent of unease present, as he did. “No need to be so nervous, child. I am no lord, just a traveler like you said.” Not quite the truth, but not a lie either. Every new fact unearthed further enhanced the mystery of this demigod. Perseus reached into the leather pouch hanging off his belt, and pulled out a gleaming golden drachma. “Here, go take this and buy yourself a treat, it’s no silver, but it should purchase just the same.” 

Apollo watched his son reverently take the coin, staring at Perseus with awe. The smile that bloomed across the child’s face was as satisfying as a hundred sacrifices in Apollo’s name. 

“O-of course, many thanks,” Antilius squeaked out, running back to the group of children. Apollo viciously grinned at their looks of jealousy. His son deserved nothing but the best, and of course, it would be Perseus who gifted it to him. It mattered not that the older demigod was unaware of Antilius’ parentage, it was an act of devotion to Apollo all the same. 

“What a generous gift, Perseus!” Lysander exclaimed, ruining Apollo’s mood once again. “You did not need to give the boy so much, he is well taken care of in the temples.” Apollo held back a sneer. Antilius was a joy, kind, and smart. Despite his young age, handling his prophetic powers with the skill many elders lacked. Perseus just offered the kindness and care Apollo so wished he could so outwardly bestow, and it endeared him all the more to the beautiful man. 

Perseus shot the elder a grudging glance. “Perhaps so, but he has a difficult life ahead of him. Small moments of joy like treats and games with friends mean so much when faced with the horrors such a gift like the Sight can bestow. Besides it is just one coin. I have many, what good are they sitting in a pouch?” Every word understanding Antilius’ fated plight, felt like ambrosia from his most decadent chalice. Apollo didn’t know how it was possible, but Perseus was even more attractive now than when Apollo had first seen him on the beach. 

Lysander appropriately took the reprimand for what it was. “I-I suppose that is correct. Shall we continue?” They turned towards the path leading out of the market when Perseus paused. Eyes skimmed over the group of children and landed on Artemis, surrounded by a few of her Hunters. Perseus' face flashed with concern and resolution, but quickly averted his gaze and followed after Lysander. 

Artemis and Apollo’s eyes followed him as he left. 

The Hunters scattered as he approached his sister. Normally he would try to smile or flirt, but his attention was taken up by the situation. And whatever remained was wholly dedicated to admiring Perseus. 

“How interesting,” he purred, bouncing on the heels of his feet. The overseer gathered up the children, minus young Antilius who sprinted off deeper into the market to buy his treat. “He noticed you watching. I like him.” 

“Like you hadn’t made that clear enough,” she said, eyes narrowed. “He honored your child.” Apollo flinched at his sister’s remark. He hadn’t told her about Antilius. He doubted she would disclose the information to their father but he’d hoped to keep his son’s existence on the island secret for longer. “He also appears slightly more observant than the average mortal.” 

“His fate’s string has the touch of divinity sister dear, I do believe he’s a demigod.” 

“For the best considering the type of monster prowling our island.” 

Apollo’s good mood dropped, reminded once again how he could not stop the threat. “Any news from your Hunters?” 

“Just that the island’s children are watched over carefully, although the murderer shows no signs of moving to younger victims. Ismene said that there is a curfew going into effect, as most bodies were found in the morning, but no other news.” 

Apollo sighed. “Very well, I shall continue watching Perseus and Lysander. They're headed to the temples for guidance.” 

Artemis raised an eyebrow. “Do you plan to offer any?” 

Apollo nodded. “I shall if the Fates decline, but considering the power manifesting when delivering Perseus to these shores, I doubt they shall leave him without direction.” 

“Hmm,” Artemis observed the crowd again, the mortals ignoring the two young children standing in the middle of the market square divine power pouring off of them. “I don’t trust the quiet, it feels like the calm before one of Uncle’s storms. I’ll be watching from afar.”

Apollo nodded, turning back into a raven and launching into the sky. Flying along the paths to the temples he quickly spotted Persus and Lysander again, passing by the entrance arch to the temple complex, and Hestia’s hearth. Diving, he spiraled around the smoke her fire emitted. When she waved he cawed in greeting and soared past to the steps of his temple. 

Preening at the sight of prostrated worshippers, their prayers and worship dripping into the island, saturating the air with power so thick he could practically taste it. Apollo soared past them and up the steps where Perseus and Lysander conversed ascending the staircase. Transforming back into his human form, though invisible to mortal sight, he leaned against a colonnade as Perseus crested the top of the steps. 

Apollo watched with a raised eyebrow as the attendant reminded Perseus to remove his sword before entering a god’s temple. His well-sculpted jaw tightened, but Perseus obediently unsheathed his gleaming sword and handed it to the nearest guard. “Pay close watch,” warned Perseus, a mischievous grin blooming across his face. “It tends to wander.” Apollo sensed the enchantments on the weapon and chuckled at the face the temple guard pulled. 

When Perseus bent his head to receive anointing, Apollo blessed the water. His champion would need all the strength and blessings to deal swiftly with the problems plaguing Apollo’s island. Mainly so they could move on to more important things. Like seeing how quickly he could wrest the demigod to his knees so he could worship in more pleasing ways. 

Perseus’ presence alone held back the growing irritation at watching Lysander enter his temple, but as he followed behind the two men Apollo kept a close watch of Perseus. He wanted to see the man react to Apollo’s unfiltered power, wanted to see if he was strong enough to stand against the evil on this island, and to return to Apollo in turn.

Perseus’ strong features stiffened for a moment as Apollo flared his power. Breath released in a half-suppressed moan, as Apollo lapped at the man’s mind and soul with divine energy. Desperately wanted to see those sea-green eyes hazy and swirling with desire. Half-lidded golden eyes watched as Perseus practically glowed with the energy. 

“O’ Elder Lysander, pleasant day and good health be yours,” interrupted a grating voice, ruining the divine image. Apollo never wanted to kill a priest of his more than he did in that second. 

“Head Priest Xanthe,” greeted Lysander, a nervous twitch of his hands as he respectfully nodded his head towards the priest emerging from the Opistho-domos. Perseus remained unbowed, shooting an irritated glance at the approaching man. In any other situation, the disrespect towards Apollo’s head priest would be an offense punishable by death. But for Perseus? Oh, he was proving to be quite the exception. 

Especially with the look of his current, but probably soon-to-be-former priest sent towards Apollo’s champion. 

Lysander, still wringing his hands, introduced him. “This is a new traveler to our island, dropped here by the Morai, Perseus. He comes to seek guidance from the gods.” 

“Ahhh, I see,” sneered Xanthe. Apollo weaved around the columns. Should he just kill the man for the disrespect or wait until he pushed Perseus’ clear irritation into vicious action? “And that couldn’t have happened on the steps with the rest of the pilgrims who come to seek guidance from our most luminous of lords?” 

“We didn’t wish to interrupt anyone’s worship,” Perseus countered smoothly; ‘how kind, how thoughtful,’ Apollo purred internally. “With how… uniquely I arrived, the situation must be quite dire. The gods must have a message for me.” Oh, Apollo indeed had several messages he wished to bestow upon the man; not many involved words. 

“Mmmh, quite so,” drawled Xanthe, the perpetual look of superior disdain no longer amusing to Apollo. He directed a hand toward the temple’s statue. “You may of course provide a sacrifice and see if the Manticus Apollon will answer your… inquiries.” 

Apollo wondered what the irritating man would do if Apollo revealed himself in all his godly glory and took Perseus over his altar. Maybe that would wipe the smug look off his face. 

Perseus’ jaw clenched, smile sharp enough to slice an arrow from the air, but he remained silent. Stalking forward towards the altar with a single-minded purpose. Xanthe and Lysander engaged in a hushed conversation, but Apollo hardly cared for it, far too interested in Perseus and what he would offer in sacrifice. 

Perseus dug around in his bag for a moment, shoulders slightly slumping. Weighing a decision in his mind, he shrugged in a gesture both resigned and daring in equal measure. He pulled out a small square wrapped in shiny paper. Long, clever fingers unwrapped the square revealing a brown and shiny square.

“To Phoebus Apollon, I request guidance as to why I was brought here, and what must I do to go home.”  Perseus placed it in the fire directly, and the magic of a demigod’s sacrifice took hold. The small brown square of food, because it was food of some kind, dissolved in the fire. Sweet, rich, and earthy, with a hint of fruit and nut though Apollo could not tell what kind. Small though it may have been, it was a taste Apollo had never experienced. 

It was utterly divine. 

Wrapped up in the exhilarating, unknown sensation, he hardly cared that his euphoria drove the flames spiraling brighter and hotter; luxuriating in such an offering. It was almost too much when Perseus backed up and knelt in front of his statue, the image of perfect reverence and worship. 

Stalking forward, he hovered over the kneeling demigod, the urge to run a hand through perfect black hair or across tanned broad shoulders nearly impossible to overcome. Clawed fingers flexed at the urge to take. To spirit Perseus away to Apollo’s secluded palace until he could wring every secret from his mind, and every sound from his body, and all the devotion from his soul. Until he could make this demigod his. 

Unfortunately, Fate had other plans. 

Three ravens - and now those old biddy’s were pissing him off on purpose, those were his birds - swooped into the temple and spiraled around before settling on his statue. Their presence muddied the sanctity of his temple. Apollo’s restraint at not smiting the feathered messengers, only braced by his Father's Laws and the threat of punishment still ringing in his ears.

Prophetic prose croaked out in three irritating voices, oh yes, it certainly seemed like the Fates were offering their help to Perseus. Avenging those killed by that twice damned δολοφόνος was ideal, but he didn’t like that whole “sending home” section. Unless home for Perseus now meant the bed in Apollo’s palace. 

Apollo glared at the birds as they dipped through the air and flew out of his temple leaving it free of their pesky presence. He caught a sigh from Perseus, who pushed himself off the ground and turned to face Lysander and Xanthe. 

“Our glorious Lord has blessed ye with knowledge of that which has yet to come,” muttered Xanthe. Apollo quite frankly wished he had bestowed the prophecy. It would have been better phrased and involved a lot more of him interacting with Perseus if that was the case. 

“That is the definition of a prophecy,” Perseus retorted with barely repressed irritation, his tone clearly indicating his opinion on Apollo’s Head Priest. Apollo did not bother to hide his laughter as none of the mortals could currently hear him. 

Xanthe huffed and ran away, cowed by Perseus, and Apollo sought to pay the mortal no more mind. He followed Perseus and Lysander out of the temple, pleased to note the demigod shared none of the bewildered shock Lysander had fallen to. 

“Ye are truly blessed,” commented Lysander, as Perseus retrieved his sword from the temple guard. Apollo fought the urge to drag Perseus back into his temple. Apollo wished indeed to bestow the beautiful man a blessing.  

Sadly thoughts were not enough to drag away his charming champion, who stepped out onto the temple's steps and breathed deeply, turning his face towards the sun to bask in its glow. Apollo flared his power once again and purred in contentment when the light hit just right to frame Perseus. 

“Perhaps,” stated Perseus. “But it is not an easy life. Yet it is one I have borne so others may not have to.” Modest and selfless what odd traits for a demigod to have, thought Apollo. He wondered what deity crafted such a treasure. Vibrant green eyes pinned the elder with resolute air. “Lysander, what has occurred here?” 

Apollo continued to glare at the elder. “A few of our people have died,” he finally admitted. Rage once again clawed its way through golden veins. A few people. Apollo’s people. “Under mysterious circumstances that have no clear cause. Sinking fear into every day an answer evades us.” 

“A murderer?” 

Lysander swallowed, face twitching with guilt. “We do not know for certain,” he lied, like a coward. Perseus raised an imperious eyebrow as if he too caught the sly misdirect. 

The pounding of small feet on carpeted steps caught Apollo’s attention just a moment before the frantic cry of, “Lord Lysander!” Antilius skidded to a stop in front of them, cheeks flushed red, resting his hands on his knees to draw breath easier. Apollo grew concerned at the panicked look his son carried. 

“Antillius, child,” Lysander acknowledged. “Take moment and breathe.” The boy took several sharp breaths, before rising to face the two mortals and the hidden god. “What brings you here so swiftly and in alarm?” 

His son’s lower lip trembled as he relayed his news. “A body, my lord. Another body was found.” Apollo’s anger flamed like the never-ending fires in his temples. Fuck. The bastard had struck again. Mentally he prodded his sister with feelings of rage and revenge. Her returned emotions echoed in sympathy, but held notes of annoyance and chiding.

“Mighty gods of Olympus, curse this wretched day.” Apollo shot the man a glare, wishing for his father’s ability to sound thunder off to terrorize those who misspoke. Unfortunately, he also found himself agreeing with the sentiment.  “Will the depravity find no end?” 

“It is even worse than the others, my Lord,” Antilius confessed, hands shaking. Apollo did not consider himself an affectionate father. His children were treasures, but he was a god. Any contact between them was simply incidental. The terror-driven tremors currently shaking his poor son’s frame did their best to shake that conviction, urging him to comfort the child still. 

“Worse!?” roared Lysander, causing Antilus to flinch at the anger. Apollo narrowly restrained himself from striking the man. Only taking comfort in Perseus’s equal displeasure with the elder’s tone, as he too shot the man a withering glare. His champion stepped forward and knelt in front of his child, offering a reassuring smile.  

“Peace, Antilius. There is no danger here, not to you. We only wish to know where to go and what to expect.” 

The boy calmed at Perseus’ words, sucking in a few shaky breaths. Under careful coaxing from Perseus, Antilius informed them of the commotion down the market, where another body was found on the market's outskirts by a fisherman. 

“Cassia, was the name they spoke,” said Antilius. Lysander’s face froze in shock stillness, Apollo didn’t bother to restrain the viciously satisfied grin at the man’s horror. Oh, so his little side piece had ended up dead, what a pity.

“And- and, I saw…” 

“Yes?” Perseus prompted. 

“...her blood, it was as black as pitch, ” Antilius whispered, eyes wide and terrified at the sight. Apollo growled, his son should never have witnessed such horrors. He was far too young. 

“Fear’s son spills black blood, beneath golden light…” Perseus recited, he pinned Lysander with a look that clearly read you’re-telling-me-what-I-want-to-know. Coward that he was, Lysander flinched under the force of the stare. 

Perseus dismissed the man’s cowardice and turned back to Antilius. “You have done well, Antilius. Thank you for informing us.”  

Antilius’ beautiful brown eyes, his late mother’s only gift, glazed over with unshed tears. “Why is this happening?” he asked in a small voice. “Have we angered the gods? Are we all to perish?” Apollo wanted to scream and rage at the Fates and his Father. See! This is what their refusal to allow intervention resulted. His own son doubted the sacred safety of Apollo’s island. He could have already taken care of this if they had juUST -

“Peace, child,” Perseus' kind voice broke through Apollo’s rage. Huffing out an irritated sigh, he directed his sun to swelter precisely on Lysander, so at least his misery remained. “The gods have not abandoned you. The Morai plucked me from my home and placed me here. The Sun God’s sacred birds spoke a prophecy to guide my hand. The gods have their ways to protect their own.” 

Apollo silently grumbled about how the birds weren’t his choice of help, but he was pleased Perseus acknowledged his symbols as a clear sign of favor from himself. 

Perseus gently wiped the tears forming at Antilius’s eyes, and tapped a finger against his nose; bell-like giggles tumbled from his son’s mouth, and a bright smile replaced the despair. “There we go, dry your eyes. Events shall unfold as the Fates have foreseen. None of it is your concern, that is why I was delivered to your shores.” 

Apollo’s hands twitched again, desiring to draw the demigod into a heated embrace; the image of him kneeling in front of his son and caring for him as if he were his own proved devastatingly enticing. Regrettably, he balled his hands into fists and exercised a colossal amount of self-restraint. Perseus may be wrapped up in fixing the little murder problem plaguing his island, but he wouldn’t be engaged with it forever. Once the demigod succeeded - and he very much doubted the Fates would entrust such a task to someone incapable - he would be able to recognize all of the care the demigod had shown to his child. 

But until then, Apollo would wait. 

“Did you manage to buy that treat?” 

“No.” 

Perseus reached into his pouch and pulled out another drachma. “Then off you go, and buy enough to share with the others.” Apollo tilted his head, wishing he could dissect the odd man. What stranger would give a child such large amounts of money for a treat? Apollo could discern no other motivation for his actions other than pure kindness. 

What a strange, strange man Perseus continued proving himself to be. 

Antilius straightened, shoulders back, eyes bright, and smile restored. “Thank you, my lord.” Perseus shook his head in resigned amusement at the title. Apollo fondly watched as Antilius raced down the temple steps, in a far better mood now than when he first arrived.  He wished he could risk blessing his son to better safeguard against the danger growing on Delos. With his father and the Fates so closely watching though, he didn’t dare, not wishing attention upon his son. 

Perseus sighed, rising from his crouched position, and basked in the sun's glow for a moment. Apollo never wanted to draw a sight more in his life. It was as if Perseus was a statue of beauty and charm brought to life. The man’s face turned fond for a moment, and Apollo itched to discover what had captured his thoughts. 

“Ye truly believe the gods have not forsaken us?” asked Lysander, jolting Apollo out of his observations. Apollo restrained the urge to hiss at the slimy mortal. He had no right to receive assurance not when he was just at fault for this entire mess as that thrice-damned murderer. 

“I believe if they could have fixed the situation themselves they already would have,” drawled Perseus, tone cautiously threading the right side of respect. Apollo caught the thousand-yard stare in the eyes of the man. What else had Perseus suffered through to make him so cautious of divine intervention? “Their interference comes in many forms. It is no doubt why I was placed in your path after deliverance to your shores,” he finished with a shrug.

Lysander sighed, “Then let us not waste what the gods have so graciously bestowed upon us. Come; to the market we depart, so you may begin your quest, and lend me your ear and I shall tell of the woes that have befallen our island.”

Apollo watched as the two men walked down the steps of the temple. Technically, with the prophecy delivered and the warning against interference issued, Apollo had no reason to stick around. With as many domains as he held, many other duties ought to come ahead of a simple quest playing out on one small island. 

But it was his island. 

And Perseus was here. 

Caught up with deciding whether he should do as expected, or indulge in his desires, he didn’t notice a shadow pass overhead until the sound of a familiar laughter shattered the peaceful moment. 

“Hehehehe, my, my, my what have we here?” cackled a chime-like voice. Apollo closed his eyes and reminded himself that fratricide was a crime under his father’s laws - never mind the fact they were immortal. 

“Hello Hermes,” he ground out, turning his gaze upward.

Perched atop a pergola, his younger brother lay sprawled amidst the vibrant greenery. A large hat sat on his head, shading the majority of his face, small wings attached to either side of the headpiece. A vibrant red chlamys sat around his shoulders. Feet encased with winged sandals kicked lazily in the air. Caduceus lightly dangled in one hand. 

“Apollo! What a situation happening here. I’ve been by more than usual gathering stray souls.” All Apollo saw of his younger brother’s face, was a lazy grin. 

“It’s being handled,” said Apollo, hoping if he kept his answer short and sweet, Hermes wouldn’t linger long. If he was busy, Hermes was swamped. The younger god never stayed still for more than a minute or two and never remained long besides what was necessary. 

Tilting his head, Hermes chuckled again. “Ahh, yes I did hear about that, but you’re not the one handling it, are you?” 

“No.” 

“It’s that pretty little hero the Fates delivered here, isn’t it?” asked Hermes with a grin Apollo knew well. Ichor boiled in his veins at the implications. “So rude! Travelers and deliveries are my domains after all. I should have been consulted.”

“He’s my champion, Hermes,” Apollo gritted out. “I’ve already called dibs.” 

The hat tilted up just far enough Apollo spotted mischievous glinting eyes. “You want to bet?” 

“No. Because he’s mine.” Perseus was delivered here for him. Honored his son. Sacrificed a treat so divine, but completely unknown. Had strutted through his island with ease, melding into the scenery as if he was always supposed to be here. 

Apollo was not about to let his thieving younger brother take what was his. 

“That sounds like a challenge,” purred Hermes. 

“Get off my island Hermes,” he finally snapped, sun flaring in his irritation. Cruel satisfaction curled his chest when he saw the younger god wince at the heat. 

“Fine, fine, I see when I’m not wanted. But you won’t be able to keep him to yourself forever Apollo. Everyone is oh so intrigued about him.” Another grin accompanied his warning; in a flutter of wing beats and the scent of overripe strawberries, he vanished. Although Apollo had no doubts his scheming younger brother would not be far. 

Another frustrated groan escaped Apollo, this was not how he wanted this day to go. Quickly changing back into a raven he took to the skies once more. His duties could wait for now, and what needed to be taken care of could be handled by extensions of his consciousness. He flew off determined to find Perseus, Lysander, and the most recent body. From high up above Apollo’s ideas swirled in his mind as plans blossomed and reshaped themselves faster than Hermes could ever dream to be. 

There was a murderer afoot, and a beautiful demigod to woo. 

Never let it be said Apollo couldn’t work with what the Fates threw at him.

Chapter Text

Percy trailed alongside Lysander, the ornate temple complex falling behind as they turned towards the market. Walking in silence for several minutes before the elder opened his mouth and haltingly explained the island’s situation, “Winter barely loosened its grip upon the land when the first body was found; three months passed now.” 

Above, the sun shone no brighter than minutes before, but now it held a certain sting. Sharper. Oppressive. Apollo must be pretty pissed that another person lay dead. 

‘Calm down. I’m here now. I’ll fix this mess. It’s what I’m best at.’ Percy sent a mental nudge at the same frequency divine beings used. He’d grown more familiar with the sensation the more he interacted personally with the gods. Praying, truly praying, was a deeply uncomfortable thing for him; he’d only done it a few times in the past decade. Each time it left him off balance and ill, like a bout of nausea after a bad meal. 

He’s glad he didn’t actually need to pray at Apollo’s temple. The whole ordeal was a more dramatic version of sacrificing food at meal times and visiting Rachel in her cave for another prophecy nobody really wanted to hear. 

Curling around him, the sun’s warmth caressed against his exposed skin, resembling clawed fingertips. A sensation Percy knew all too well. He held back a snort. Of course his partner - even a much younger version - would act ridiculously possessive and likely horny during the middle of a murder investigation. Inappropriate, but so on brand. 

“Agathinos was a well-respected carpenter. He constructed many homes and shops over the years. We were sad seeing him pass, and even more upset that whoever killed him did not reveal a reason. Murder is not a common occurrence here; we're a small community, outside of festivals. For the life of a charitable, aimable man to be cut short in such a manner, well… we were all still reeling when the second body appeared not three weeks later.” 

“What makes you think it was done by the same person?” Percy asked. 

Lysander's eyes widened, taken aback. “To imagine that there were two such fiends upon the island? A harder imagining than one.” Lsyander’s breath shuddered for a second before continuing. “Still, the thought occurred. However, when Eugenios’ body was found murdered with the same type of weapon, with the same kind of wounds, and his face-” Lysander cut himself off, steps faltering. 

“His face?” Percy prompted. 

Silence. Lysander ambled down the path, face shuttered, shoulders hunched. Percy prompted him again. The sun flared, bright light blinding. Lysander raised a hand, blocking the intense rays reaching his eyes. Though Percy, standing next to him, did not seem to suffer the same. 

‘Good, ’ thought Percy. At least Apollo was as mad as he was on the obstructive runaround. Percy was trying to help; withholding information would do the island Lysander claimed to love no good. 

Dancing around the topic still, Lysander stalled. “It… is not for the faint of heart, you must understand.” 

Percy thought back to his first years upon discovering the gods’ existence. The utter chaos and unbelievability of his life; the fights and monsters and wars and literal fields of hell through which he traversed and came out again bruised and battered, but alive. 

“I can handle it.” 

Sighing, Lysander sent him a final hesitating look before describing the bodies. “Their faces were pulled into visages of terror. Frozen in lurid screams, eyes wide, mouths agape, fingers clawing at their skin, stiffened in the rigor of death.” The old man shuddered, face twisting in pain from the memories. “A most gruesome sight that sent the island into a frenzy of terror.” 

“Ah,” said Percy. Well, shit. That… certainly explained a few things. Not a common way for anyone to die, but he wasn’t quite appalled by the situation as Lsyander feared. He’d seen too much for that to be the case. Still, he understood how that freaked the island out. Happening not only once, but multiple times.  “I see. And their wounds, the weapon, how did they die?” 

“A sharp spike through the heart, a blade of bronze, left at the scene.” 

So the killer had the means to create weaponry, or at least access to someone who created weaponry for them, if they left a new weapon at the scene of each crime. That wasn’t odd in this day and age, but it might be enough detail to stand out if he asked around. 

A sharp spike through the heart meant the murderer approached their victims without much resistance. Although with their faces twisted in such terror, they might have been distracted by something else at the time of their death. 

“What of the other two bodies?” Percy asked, cresting the hilltop. The market nestled at the bottom, small, but serviceable for an island this size. Already, Percy spotted a crowd near the shops and stalls' edge. Further out, glittering water stretched to the horizon, golden sun reflecting off the waves; smooth, calm, but deep and brimming with so much life, Percy sensed it from here. Experiencing the ocean in all its glory three thousand years past was a near irreplaceable gift in and of itself. 

“The third body was found another month later during Mounuchiōnat, at the outskirts of the temple complex. An affront to the gods and a taunt to us for not catching the fiend.” Lysander sounded angry, hiding the hint of defeat lining his posture. 

Ah. Right . Murder investigation. Dead bodies. Angry boyfriend. Focus Percy. 

“Though different from the other two in a striking way, other than merely its horrid location. It was the first woman murdered.” 

Both men and women? Well, that was interesting. Percy watched enough crime shows to pick up that victimology meant a lot in murders. For the killer to attack both men and women? Well, he didn’t know why yet, but it wasn’t anything good. 

“Any particular reason why she was targeted?” 

Lysander shook his head. “No more so than Agathinos as a carpenter. Or Eugenios as a shop owner. Helene was an old midwife and local healer for women’s needs. Not as august or respected as those killed before her, but well known, and well liked for her knowledge.” The sun flared once again, bright and beaming, sweltering. Lysander’s red face and heavy breathing exposed his difficulty handling the weather.

Yet Percy remained cool. 

Reluctantly, he ignored the backhanded insults, despite prickling rage boiling in his blood. Starting a fist fight over respecting women in the middle of notorious women-hating ancient Greece probably wasn’t the smartest idea. No matter how much he might want to. This was a murder investigation. His goal was to solve it, find and stop the murderer and get home before Apollo lost his shit. Or worse his dad found out and he lost his shit. 

That tended to end in floods and hurricanes for the East Coas,t and they needed that less. 

“The last body, well... Karpos was a temple guard, young, hardly any older than my own son. Boisterous, but abrasive, and always a bit too much in his drink. A tendency to run his mouth until it resulted in trouble,” Lysander confessed. “Though his job as a guard may have gained him animosity, he was hardly one to just take an attack lying down. Yet he too was found, stabbed and frightened as the others.” 

“Huh.” Information swirled in his mind. It painted an unsettling picture. Why had four, seemingly unrelated people, wound up so terrified before being stabbed to death? 

“And the most recent victim?” 

Lysander paused again, the air between them souring. 

The sun’s rays grew hotter. 

“Cassia,” Lysander finally said, the name dripping with the weight of mourning. “She was… a friend.” 

Oh boy, thought Percy, this is about to get complicated. 

“She was… a woman of ill repute and unfavorable acts. But she was kind, and aside from her profession, none took issue with her.” 

So she was a prostitute. A well-liked prostitute, perhaps, but a woman of financial independence and sexual freedom in aforementioned women-hating Ancient Greece. It would be so hard to find someone who wanted her dead. 

Fuck. 

And from Lysander’s hang-drawn expression, he partook in Cassia’s services. Though considering he called her a friend, the situation was likely more complicated. Gut feeling told him Lysander was not being wholly truthful about the murders, with the elder being reluctant to involve Percy from the start. 

Lysander’s suffering under the sweltering sun was interference as blatant as the sword at Percy’s hip. Apollo was pissed . He was pissed specifically at Lysander. And though his boyfriend tended to overreact, it stemmed from a place of justified fault. Lysander either knew more than he said or was somehow involved in the murders. Percy hated to think it - the man had been so nice to him - but with this much clear and targeted punishment, Percy didn’t know what else to think. 

Before Percy’s imagination spun a larger web of conspiracy, they entered the market proper. Unlike the temple complex, the market was a bit shabby. The stalls and shops looked rickety and kinda piecemeal, and so close to the sea, the weather had worn down the wood. Everything was hastily closed down. Customers and shopkeepers were nowhere to be seen. 

The crowd formed by the path to the docks sparked enough ruckus, drawing Lysander and Percy closer. People milled around gossiping in panicked whispers, alongside others screeching or screaming. It didn’t surprise him. People were people; it didn’t matter if they were islanders in ancient Greece or desensitized New York bystanders. Humans loved a scene, and they loved talking about that scene even more. 

Lysander’s steps faltered nearing the crowd. The elder was near passing out, from grief or heat stroke, Percy couldn’t tell. 

Okay, damage control time. 

‘I kinda need him.’ Percy complained. ‘He’s useful, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t roast him to death.’ Cutting out like a stalled record, the sun’s heat stopped its incessant assault on Lysander’s body. Strangled squawking filled the air as a lone raven nearly fell off its fence perch, not ten feet from him. 

Percy snorted. Powerful? Sure. But subtle, his boyfriend was not. 

‘Thank you.’ He thought again, watching the bird closely now. Black iridescent feathers puffing in pride. Percy bit his bottom lip to suppress a fond smile. Apollo acted the same no matter what time he was in it seemed. 

It was then, Percy remembered, the promise to not interact any more than necessary with his kinda unhinged, very dangerous, ancient version of his boyfriend.  

…Ah 

Fuck. 

Oh well. In for a penny, in for a drachma. It’s not like the Fates wanted to lose their favorite punching bag, so he was safe on that end as long as he made their tapestry interesting. As for Apollo, well… Percy was pretty -or so his boyfriend said many, many times over- so he was ninety-eight percent certain his looks would smooth over any issues that came up.  

Continuing towards the crowd as if he didn’t feel Apollo’s laser-like stare on the back of his neck, he used his height and strength to body his way through the collection of morbid onlookers. 

Laid out on the ground was a woman, in her mid-forties or fifties, though it was hard to judge with the harshness of ancient times. Like all the other victims, her features twisted in terror, leaving her corpse permanently terrified in death. Stiffened arms meant rigor mortis had set in, not surprising given the heat, but it didn’t help indicate a time of death.

Of course, the most striking feature was the black blood seeping out of her chest wound, staining her faded yellow peplos. Black liquid spattered the well-trodden ground around her. Damn. No chance of parsing out which set of footprints belonged to the killer then. 

Unfortunately, that covered the extent of Percy’s investigation skills. Cop shows only showed so much, and it wasn’t like he watched them to learn. Nor was he Nico with the ability to just summon the person’s soul and ask who killed them. 

Maybe if he examined the body up close…

A sharp spear barred his path, wielded by an armored guard. Two other guards were pushing back the crowd of onlookers. 

“Disperse!” shouted the taller guard. 

“I need-” Percy started, but the spear only pushed him farther away. Percy’s hand went to Riptide.

“Kostas said to disperse, now begone.” 

The crowd behind Percy backed away, while he stood his ground. Percy grew annoyed. “If you would let me explain. I’m here to try and help, I-”

Kostas came over himself, waving his own sword in Percy’s face; he didn’t flinch. “If you don’t move now, I shall take you to be whipped.” Growling low, the guard was obviously expecting Percy to fold in the face of such threats, but he was messing with the wrong demigod if he thought pain would be a deterrent to Percy. 

He tried to explain once again, but it was like the guards had thick cotton in their ears and were determined to ignore him. Talking grew to shouting, and eventually Kostas grabbed Percy’s arm to physically drag him away. Above, the sun blazed hot and sharp. 

Before Percy lost it and drew his sword, Lysander appeared through the crowd. Still sweating, expression withdrawn, but assessing the situation in a flash. “Kostas!” 

The older guard turned at Lysander’s call, loosening his grip on Percy’s arm. 

“Elder Lysander, good day to you-” 

Lysander huffed. “Yes, well, it has not been much good, seeing as we have yet another death.” 

Kostas shifted under the distressed gaze of the elder. “We were just telling the crowd to disperse so that her body may be collected for burial.” Pinning Percy under a truly brutal glare if Percy had not been born and bred a New Yorker, and survived some truly awful glares from immortal beings over the years. 

“Kostas, please, this is Perseus, he has granted permission from the gods to investigate this matter for us.” Percy heard a guard scoff. “Let him through.”

Kostas hesitated; Percy used the chance to remove his arm from the guard’s grasp. “I mean no offense to you or your guard, honorable Kostas. I merely wish to lend my expertise so that this fiend may be stopped.” Limited though his help was likely to be. Percy was good at a few things; sword fighting, water manipulation, being a sarcastic pain in the ass, kissing his boyfriend - acting as Sherlock Holmes was not on his resume. 

The guard glared fiercely, but Percy paid it no mind. Like a powder keg, this situation was liable to explode at the slightest provocation. He’s just grateful the guard didn’t strike him, considering Apollo was watching nearby. 

“If I may?” Percy asked once again. Kostas huffed, but relented, moving his sword aside, gesturing to the other guards to help remove the rest of the crowd. 

“Much thanks for your assistance,” Percy said, trailing off as he looked over to see Lysander staring at Cassia, eyes filled with barely leashed tears. 

“Lysander?” 

“Hmmm?” 

“How do you fare?” 

The older man closed his eyes. “Not well,” he rasped. 

Even if the old man was keeping something from him, the grief he showed at Cassia’s blood-stained corpse was real. He placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss.” 

“I do not understand these senseless acts of violence,” he whispered. 

Neither did Percy, but something was brewing. Reasons to beget violence. Secrets never stay secret for long. 

“Lysander, I have to know, is there anything else I need to know?” He stressed the importance of the question. Percy ended up burned far too many times by a lack of information. Admittedly, some of that was his fault, the way he refused to learn the myths and stories when he was younger. But a lot of it came down to people keeping information from him, causing the situation to spectacularly blow up in his face. 

Lysander’s shoulders curled ever forward, the sun once again beating down relentlessly. He opened his mouth when the crowd, partially moved along by the guards, parted for two figures, rudely elbowing their way through. 

Two men approached, storming through the crowd without care. Just like it was a no-brainer Percy and Poseidon were related - a fact which only grew more true as Percy aged, he refused growing facial hair; it took the similarities between them from reasonable, to straight up uncanny - these two men were also mirror-like in their appearances. Sharp jaws, straight noses, long black hair - though the elder’s hair sported streaks of grey - and the same dark brown eyes glinting in the searing sun. 

Lysander turned, greeting the two newcomers with a shaky expression. “Meandros, I see you have heard-”

“Of course I have heard,” the older man shouted, cutting off Lysander. Eyes twitching, wrinkled face flushing a blotchy red. “I have eyes that see, too! And a mind that can think unlike yours, you damned fool. The Panēgyris is two days away, and we have another dead body to curse our island.” 

“At least she is no real loss,” scoffed the younger man standing at Meandros’ side. He’d be handsome if he didn’t look so smug and bitchy. Percy immediately wanted to punch him. “No good comes from the company of a loose whor-”

“And it does not reflect well on your company, jumping so quickly to speak ill of the dead,” Percy interjected, cutting off the man’s sneering insult. Cassia lay dead at their feet. Unless she killed babies and kicked puppies in her spare time he would treat her with the respect any human being deserved; including stopping assholes from slinging judgements over her still cooling corpse. 

“And who are you?” the man asked, eyes narrowed, lips curling into a sneer. 

“Perseus. And you?” 

“Makarios, son of Meandros the Elder, leader of the Delosian High Council. I have never seen you here before.” 

“The gods delivered me here to solve who's killing your island’s residents.” You know, the thing you’ve had months to work out and have failed at. 

Makarios scoffed. Lips lifted into a sneer to respond, when he winced as the sun’s glare fell directly in his face, forcing him to look away from Percy to shield his eyes. 

Percy bit his lip so as not to burst out laughing. 

“My impression of the gods is that they would not interfere so directly,” Meandros said, eyes narrowed with the beginnings of the same contemptuous sneer his son sported. 

“With this, they have acted differently,” Percy responded. Out of the corner of his eye, the little raven paced the fence top like a distressed mother hen. The god never reacted well when his things were messed with, and at this point, Percy couldn’t think of anything that was more Apollo’s than the island of Delos. Well, maybe his cows, but Apollo told him he’d hidden those for a good two thousand years after Hermes' theft.  

“By my own eyes, three birds spoke words of prophecy to our well-honored friend. He has indeed been entrusted with the care of our island’s fate. The gods themselves declared he would find and stop this foul offender and put an end to our woes.” 

That wasn’t quite true, thought Percy. The prophecy said he would ‘Avenge those lost by death essence’s crime’. Whether that meant putting a stop to the murderer was yet to be seen. Percy wanted to help; at this point, it was the best chance of making his way home, but he wouldn’t put any amount of meaning on the words of the prophecy. 

Too much experience with these things meant he was better off letting the words fade from his mind and do what he did best: improvise. 

“Though that may be-” Meandros began, but Percy cut him off. 

“Can I return to examining her?” he interrupted, casting an annoyed glance at the two men. Claims for or against his presence on the island aside, he needed to focus, and the dick measuring contest was helping no one. Especially not poor Cassia. “With fewer interruptions, perhaps? Since we would like this resolved with haste.” 

Makarios’ mouth opened, though anything ill-thought was cut off with his father’s firm hand falling to his shoulder. He dragged his son away with a huff and swiftly disappeared into the crowd. 

“They are not men to make enemies out of Perseus,” Lysander warned. 

Scoffing, Percy turned back to Cassia’s body. “I am not here to make friends or foster allies, Lysander. I am here to catch your murderer. Unless those men can help me do so, then they are of no consequence to me.” He’d tell them to fuck off six ways to Sunday if there was a direct translation, but nothing quite came close. 

Up close, the body was even more gruesome. Percy tried not to look at the woman’s face, but a small trickle of the black blood coming out of her nose and mouth led him to think her death was not as straightforward as a stabbing. 

Something about the black blood felt… familiar. Hands hovering just over the wound, the sensation prickled something in the back of Percy’s mind. Memories of sweetly sickening flowers and aching lungs.

Oh. 

…oh. 

It was poison. 

Poison from… from…

Death’s essence. 

Fear crashed into him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! 

Why this? Why now? Why him? 

Percy had kept his distance from poison in the years after Tar- after going there. Never looking in the direction of any substance crooning in the back of his mind that wasn’t water. 

Now, the black blood glistens in the sunlight, the heavy pull of quietdeathsneakyburningslippingthrough-

Percy pulled back with a heavy gasp. 

“Perseus, is something the mat-”

“Cassia!” The cry was pure devastation, halting Lysander’s question and pulling Percy out of his spiralling panic. People parted, like waves against a breaker, and two women ran into the clearing. One, fair-haired and the older of the two, paused upon catching sight of the body. Frozen, eyes glazed with tears, hands clutched over her mouth. The other, dark hair done up in intricate braids, meanwhile, dropped to her knees next to Cassia’s body. 

“No, no, no, no, no,” she muttered, gently caressing the dead woman’s hair. Hands straying dangerously close to touching the black liquid. Percy despised interrupting her grief, but he didn't know if the poison was still dangerous. It was. Gently, he pulled her back, and although she fought against his grip, it was weak and easily ignored. 

“Please, dear lady, you mustn't get near the blood, it is poisonous,” he insisted. 

“Poison!” exclaimed Lysander, drawing attention to himself. A bad idea considering the way the woman froze under Percy’s touch, her face snapping around to catch Lysander.

“You!” she screeched, climbing out of Percy’s grasp and lunging for the older man, pointing a shaking finger at him. “You did this to her!” Her companion, shaken from her horror, darted forward, restraining the other woman with two hands firmly atop her shoulders. 

Lysander’s face crumpled, hands raised in defense. “No, no, I didn’t, Rue. Please, you must… You must understand, I-I didn’t have anything to do with-”

“Yes, you did!” Rue screamed again, struggling against her companion’s restraint, but like with Percy, she was unable to break free. “You filled her head with ideas and dreams and, and pretense.” 

Fuck, thought Percy. This somehow got even worse. 

“No, no, I didn’t, Rue. I truly did care for- but, no, I didn’t kill her, I didn’t have anything to do with this . Why would I do that? I loved her!” 

Rue’s face scrunched up in a vicious snarl. “Oh, like you loved Agathe? Like how you promised her safety at your side and respect in your house, and then you went behind her back and-”

“Rue, dear, please, you’ll just make everything worse!” the other woman cried.

“Oh, what does it matter, Chrysanthe?” Rue shot back, gesturing to the still present crowd, held back by the guards who were not so subtly eavesdropping. “Everyone knows, nothing stays secret on this island. Everyone knew Lysander and Cassia were together long before Agathe died. I swear to you, every single one of these murders is on your head, Lysander. This is punishment from the gods, mark my words.” 

The sun flared in time with Rue’s words, which riled the crowd up even more. Percy sighed. Was it too late to just fling himself into the ocean and hope his dad had some way to get him home? A party on a beach. He was promised a party on a beach. Not a tangled mess of cheating husbands and murdered mistresses and pois-

Rue finally pried her way out of her friend’s grip. Stalking over to Lysander, curled in on himself, looking all of about two inches tall. “I hope you’re happy with what you’ve wrought,” she spat. Spinning on her sandal, she spared one last glance for Cassia’s body, burying grief beneath her fury, and stalked away. The crowd parted for her as it had just moments before. Chrysanthe shot a disappointed expression at Lysander before chasing after her friend. 

Lysander, if he hadn't looked ready to collapse before, was surely teetering on the edge now. “Perseus I-”

He raised a hand to stop the man from speaking further. "Perhaps, we best speak on more details, where we will not be overheard?" Whether or not he disagreed with Lysander's actions, this was not the place to be airing it. Percy was getting a bit tired of feeling like he was in a fishbowl. Plus, the longer they stood there, the greater the chances of yet more angry or distraught people appearing.

Lysander crumpled. "Yes, yes." Glancing around at the lingering crowd with a wince. "I do believe you're right." 

"Kostas?" Percy called. The guard turned around, making sure to avoid eye contact with Lysander. Oh, joy, the pettiness of social shaming. He knew it well. 

"Aye?" the guard replied. 

"I've learned all I can from the body, will you be responsible for seeing it wherever it will go next?" 

"Aye, she'll be kept until her brother from Mykonos can retrieve her." 

Percy nodded, at least she would have her rites. "Good, take care in handling her remains. The black blood is poisonous, and just touching it might risk death." 

The guard looked even more severe. "We shall do our best." 

Percy took another glance at Cassia. Truly, it was a horrible way to die. So scared and in pain. He can imagine her standing on the banks of the Styx - DOA Recording studio wouldn't be around for several thousand years after all. He wondered how long it would take for her brother to come around. How long would it take before she had her fare to pass the ferryman? He sighed, reaching into his side purse again. This was out of order, he was pretty sure - Nico's occasional rants on funerary rites floating hazily in the back of his mind - but surely her having her fare early wouldn't hurt. 

Carefully, to avoid the black blood staining the edge of her mouth, he placed a single coin between her lips. Closing the jaw, the best he could with it already stiff from the heat of the afternoon sun. There. At least she might make it into the Underworld sooner. 

Rising from the ground, he walked over to Lysander - the man staring listlessly out onto the horizon - he snagged the man's arm and walked him through the remainder of the crowd. Ignoring the whispers with practiced efficiency, he guided them away from the market in a heavy silence. 

"I didn't kill her," Lysander murmured, a few minutes after they were finally alone. Well, Percy spotted the little raven gliding from tree to tree just in view. Alone, as much as they could be with the gods watching all this go down like the world's most intriguing soap opera. 

"I believe that." And he did. Lysander's shock and grief at Cassia's death would be hard to fake. Now, whether or not his actions led to her death was another issue entirely. "But there is more happening here. I need to know if I am to discover who has committed these acts. ”

Lysander's shoulders slumped as he sighed. "Yes, yes, you are right, it's just-" Loudly, as if giving no regard to his situation, Percy’s stomach grumbled enough to pause the man's words. The elder's grief expression softened. “Ahh, we've been at this for quite some time. You must be hungry. Come, I shall bring you to my house and see you fed and cared for before we discuss the situation more.” 

Despite Percy's driving curiosity about what was happening on Delos, the offer of food sounded fantastic. At least it wasn't likely to hold as many dramatic moments as standing over a corpse. Percy nodded his assent and fell in step next to Lysander as he led Percy to his home, where more secrets awaited.