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Chapter Text

Silence echoed across the streets of Olympus except for the footsteps of one lone demigod. His armor was battered and his once shining bronze blade now dulled with both blood and ichor. His head was hung low as he trudged his way up the grand steps of the Olympian throne room, each footfall feeling like the sky’s ever-increasing weight on his shoulders, mocking him of his… victory, if he could even call it that. Countless demigods, both Greek and Roman were dead, their bodies littering the ground of Camp Half-Blood and the streets of New York after the battle against Gaea. The Gods, as powerful as they were, had used up all their strength against the Giants, causing their Godly energy to dissipate back to Tartarus, leaving the demigods to deal with the broken world alone. Only one of them remained, though he didn’t know where she could possibly be. Most importantly though, Annabeth, the person he loved most in this world was dead, leaving him feeling like an empty shell that could never heal. 

The doors to the throne room loomed ahead, their golden surface etched with the stories of heroes and Gods–glories that he no longer cared to take part in. With a heavy sigh, he placed a trembling hand on its cold surface before slowly opening, their creaking reverberating through the throne room. The vast hall was eerily silent, its once brilliant golden light now only a soft dim, seemingly as if the Gods themselves were mourning just as he was. With footsteps that echoed hollowly through the air, he advanced to the center of the room, his gaze fixed on the dim hearth Hestia held so dear to her heart. The soft embers flickered weakly, casting long shadows across the marble floor. 

Stopping before the hearth, his trembling legs almost gave way as he felt Hestia’s power flow through his veins, giving him but a fleeting moment of peace. Even now, after all that has happened, she was still looking out for her family. Feeling her soft, hopeful power was almost enough to send him bawling onto the ground, the weight of everything that had just transpired pressing down on him like Atlas’s curse. But he held it in. Not because he was strong, but because he feared if he let his emotions go, he might never stop. 

Continuing to stare deeply into the soft orange glow, he couldn’t help but remember all of the friends he had lost. Their faces, voices, laughter, and promises would forever haunt him till the end of his days. They had fought, bled, and died for this moment. To be free of war and dream that the future wouldn’t be stained with the same bloodshed. As he stood there, staring up at the empty thrones of the once mighty Olympians, he wondered if such a future was even possible now. The cost of that dream had been too great, and now almost nothing remained of the world he once knew.

He clenched his fists, the dried blood caking them feeling like sandpaper. “What now?” He whispered, his voice barely audible. “What do I do now, Hestia?” 

A gentle breeze stirred the embers, and for a brief moment, they flared brighter, casting the room in a warm glow. Although she wasn’t here, he knew his question had been answered. Even though all seemed hopeless, the world still stood. Life endured. Hope endured. Wiping his eyes of wetness, the faint sound of footsteps suddenly reached his ears. His hand instinctively pulled out Riptide but stopped when he turned around and saw one of the last remaining Goddesses of Olympus. His heart jumped for a moment as he looked upon her face, thinking for just a moment that his love was still alive. As he gazed upon her features though, he was grounded back to reality. They both had the same hair and eyes, yet hers was filled with countless more years. 

For a moment, neither spoke. The silence between them was like a chasm that neither dared to cross, yet couldn’t escape.

“Athena.” He finally said, lowering his blade.

“Perseus.” She replied, her voice calm but laced with an undertone of something deeper. Sorrow? Regret? Fear?

Stepping forward, his eyes not leaving hers, he noticed that the once mighty war Goddess was not what she once was. No longer did she hold the same intimidating aura or the sharp gray eyes that could freeze a person into place. Now, her armor was dulled, her gaze weary, and posture not as tall. Percy swallowed, unsure of what to say. His heart ached as he looked upon her. She had once been a symbol of strength for the Godly world, but in this silence, in the ruins of Olympus, she seemed as fragile as the embers flickering in the hearth. 

“Where do we go from here?” He asked, his eyes breaking away to the empty thrones that surrounded them. “What do we do now?” 

Athena’s gaze followed his, resting on the vacant throne of her father. Her eyes, clouded with the weight of millennia, seemed to search for something–perhaps an answer or a purpose.

“I-I don’t know.” She admitted, her voice trailing off at the end. That scared Percy more than he cared to admit. Athena always had an answer yet now she was lost just as he was. Feeling the weight of it all pressing down on him again, his mind raced with questions that seemingly had no answers. Was their victory truly a victory if everything had been destroyed in the process?

“I never thought it’d end like this.” He muttered.

Athena turned her head back to him, her gaze softening. “None of us did.” She replied, stepping forward to put a hand on his slumped shoulder in a rare display of empathy. “We were so certain of our place, of our power. We thought we could never be defeated. Perhaps that was what led to our downfall.” 

“Olympus still stands though!” Percy said, optimism flickering in his voice, though it was faint. “There are still some demigods alive and the Gods will surely reform in Tartarus. We can rebuild!”

Athena’s eyes softened even further but there was a deep sadness to them. “You may be right, Perseus, but it’ll never be the same. The Gods could take millennia to reform and by the time they do, it could already be too late. Some other force of power will take our place and there will be nothing we can do about it.” 

The son of Poseidon felt a pang of despair shoot through his chest at her words. He had hoped, even in the face of all that had happened, that perhaps they could rebuild. That maybe, just maybe, they could restore some semblance of order to a world that had been ripped apart at the seams. But Athena’s words stung with the harsh cold reality of their situation.

“So that’s it then?!” He shook her hand away. “We give up?! After all I’ve -we’ve- been through?!”

“It’s not about giving up, Perseus!” The Wisdom Goddess replied, her tone rising with his. “It’s about understanding that everything has a time. Olympus, the Gods, nothing lasts forever.” 

“My friends died protecting this place!” He screamed, gesturing to the empty hall. “Your daughter…” His voice cracked. “Your daughter died protecting Olympus and all that it stood for! I refuse to just give up and forget their sacrifices!”

Athena’s eyes closed briefly in pain at the mention of her daughter Annabeth, a sharp shaky breath escaping her lips as she tried to reel in her emotions. For a moment, she looked like a mortal woman. A mother grieving the loss of her child. It was so sad to see that Percy almost went up to hug her.

“I know…” She whispered, her voice high-pitched as she held back the sobs. “I will never forget their sacrifice. But we have to accept that we cannot resurrect the world we once knew or the lives we lost.”

The green-eyed demigod scoffed at that notion and turned away, facing the open doors that led to the empty streets of the golden city. His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white as he tried to hold back the anger and sadness he was feeling bubble inside. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned throughout my years, Athena, is that we don’t have to accept anything.” 

All his life he’s been told of his fate. He was told he shouldn’t have been born, that he was a mistake, that he would be dead before seeing the age of twenty. Time and time again he was told that there was nothing he could do and should just accept it for what it is. Not once did he do that though. Not once did he accept his so-called fate. 

And he wasn’t about to start now.

“You’re right.” He continued, his voice hardening. “Nothing lasts forever but that doesn’t mean we have to let it fall apart. The demigods that died did so in hopes of seeing this world continue. And as long as I and the rest of us still breathe, we have a chance to honor their sacrifice and rebuild the world we once were a part of.”

The Goddess didn’t reply, only staring at his broad back. She could see the fire that had burned in him since he was a child flaring up, the same fire that had defied fate so many times. She had to admit there was a certain beauty in his unwavering conviction. Despite all that had happened to him, despite all the destruction and loss, Percy had never stopped fighting for what he thought was right. He still believed in a future for his family.

“I see what Annabeth saw in you.” She murmured, her voice too soft for him to hear.

Walking out to the entrance of the throne room and looking up to the dark, stormy clouds overhead that were just beginning to part, he squinted his eyes at the first signs of light breaking through the gaps. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen the sun’s rays. Perhaps it was a sign.

“We can rebuild, Athena.” He said, looking out at the empty streets and houses of Olympus. “I don’t care how long it takes for the Gods to reform. We’ll still be here, stronger than ever, when they do.” 

“It’ll be a long, hard road. There will be no breaks and no time for vulnerability or weakness. You will have to guide those who remain and protect the future we’ve lost.” Athena walked up next to him, also looking up at the parting clouds, offering a glimpse of a new beginning. 

Percy nodded solemnly, already feeling the weight of expectation on his shoulders. Leadership was never something he asked for yet it was always thrust upon him. Now, however, there seemed to be no choice. He had never seen himself as a symbol of something greater, but perhaps it was time to embrace the role fate had forced upon him. For the sake of all those who had died fighting, for the sake of Olympus, and for Annabeth, he would have to rise to the challenge. As he’s done time and time again.

He took a deep breath, letting the cool air fill his lungs. “I’ll do whatever it takes. You have my word.” 

Athena regarded him for a moment, an unfamiliar emotion in her eyes. “I know you will. Go forth, son of Poseidon, and rebuild our world anew.” She said, kissing his forehead as if giving her blessing. He was stunned for but a moment, not believing that Athena of all people would be that sincere to him.

“And what about you?” He said, breaking away from his shock. “What about Olympus?” 

“You let me deal with that.” She replied with a sigh, looking back at the thrones inside the hall. “I’m sure the minor Gods will start appearing in due time. I’ll have them help me rebuild Olympus. Until then, you need to focus on your people and do what’s best for them.” 

Percy looked at the Goddess with concern in his eyes. “You’re sure? You don’t have to be alone in this, Athena. We can–”

A flicker of a smile laced the gray-eyed Goddesses features, cutting him off. “I’ll manage, Perseus. But your people…They need you now more than ever. Go to them.” 

He nodded, knowing that there was no point in arguing. His path was clear and now was the time to walk it. Their world had lost so much but it wasn’t lost entirely. There was still hope, as fragile as it was, and he wouldn’t let it die. He’ll rebuild for them, for his friends, and for Annabeth. 

“I promise.” He whispered into the wind offering one last glance at Athena who was still standing at the entrance of the doors, before taking a step forward, each step a promise to the world. 

And as he walked through the desolate streets and into the elevator that would lead him back down to New York, he didn’t look back again. The sun broke free from the clouds, illuminating the broken city with the softest golden light, as though the world was holding its breath for what was to come next. After a few moments of standing idly in the elevator that took him back to the mortal world, a thousand thoughts raced throughout his head. How would he help rebuild their world? How would he be able to build new camps for the demigods? Where would they go?

Countless questions that he didn’t have the answers to clouded his mind until the ding of the elevator broke his train of thought. Exiting the stuffy compartment, the son of Poseidon was immediately greeted by the sight of the last remaining demigods of both pantheons. They all looked banged up as they filled the Empire State Building’s entrance hall. They were scattered all across the room, talking in low murmurs, while others cleaned the blood of their armor or tended to the wounded. Once they saw him exit the elevator, however, they ceased all talking. 

Looking up at him, they felt a glimmer of hope swell in their chest. To the Greeks, he was their champion who had defied fate time and time again. To the Romans, he was their Praetor and the savior of New Rome. To all of them though, he was their leader who had carried them through the darkest of days. He took a deep breath as he felt the weight of their gazes settle in on him. 

“We’ve all lost so much.” He began, his eyes sweeping over the crowd, locking onto familiar and unfamiliar faces alike. “Friends. Family. Homes. An entire way of life. Gaea destroyed so much…but we’re still here.” 

A murmur rippled through the crowd as he continued. “We’re still breathing, still fighting, still holding onto hope. I think if we can hold onto those three things, we have a chance.” 

The murmur only grew louder throughout the demigods, wondering what Percy meant. Piper, the only other remaining member of the seven left alive, stepped forward, her eyes red and puffy as if she had just been crying. 

“What do you mean?” She asked, voicing aloud everyone’s thoughts. The son of Poseidon took a moment, making sure to word everything the way he intended to.

“A chance to rebuild.” He finally answered.

That seemed to light a spark within the crowd, causing some to look up excitedly while others straightened their posture at the prospect. The daughter of Aphrodite wiped her eyes, still having many questions fill her mind. 

“How, Percy? We’ve lost everything.” She replied, her voice not having any hint of hope in it. Percy knew how she felt at the moment. He too lost the love of his life and all he could wish for at the moment was to bawl his eyes out in grief like Piper was doing. But he couldn’t. He had to be strong not just for himself but for everyone looking up to him.

“I know, Piper. I can’t pretend and tell you I have all the answers. All I know is that I can’t do this alone.” He admitted, his voice softening. “And I can’t promise it’ll be easy. If we do this, there will be many challenges ahead.”

The demigods deflated somewhat but the son of Poseidon pressed on. “Which is why I need all of you–your strength, your courage, and your ideas. I know we Greeks and Romans have a bad history but now is not the time to hash out old grudges and rivalries. Now, what we need is unity. We need to stand together as one, not as Greeks or Romans, but as demigods–children of the same shared destiny.” 

The crowd stirred in excitement, getting to their feet as they reeled in on the feeling of hope rising through their veins. Even the wounded, too tired and hurt to speak, lifted their heads to get a glimpse at their leader.

“We have the numbers and the skills.” Percy continued, his voice growing stronger. “We have the knowledge and the strength to do what must be done. But most importantly, we have each other. That’s what Gaea couldn’t destroy. That’s what Olympus couldn’t save. But we can!” 

A cheer went throughout the crowd as his words washed over them like a wave, reinvigorating spirits that had been on the brink of collapse. The demigods were fired up now, excited at the thought of creating something new. If they had Percy leading them, anything was possible. The son of Poseidon felt a warmth spread through his chest as he gazed upon his friend's smiling faces, not realizing that he himself held one as well. It had been an eternity it felt like since the last time he smiled. 

“You’ve got a lot of ideas, Jackson.” Clarisse’s voice broke through the loud crowd, her arms crossed and expression steeled. “But this rebuilding idea of yours is a lot to ask of a hundred or so demigods. It’ll take resources we don’t have.”

Percy met her hard gaze with determination, knowing that what she said was true. “You’re right. We don’t have nearly enough which is why we start small. We’ll scavenge what we can from the ruins of Camp Half-Blood. Then to the abandoned mortal shops and grocery stores. We will take all that we can. Once we have what we need and our wounded are taken care of, we’ll go out and search for it.” 

“It?” Piper asked, her voice still filled with anguish but this time laced with a little bit of hope. It seemed even she, despite all that she had been through, still held on to it. 

“A new home.” 

His words hung in the air like a prophecy, the kind that resonated deep within the soul, stirring something primal and unwavering in the hearts of everyone present. A new home. A place where they could start over, where their sacrifices wouldn’t be in vain, and where they could honor the memories of the fallen.

“A home where both Greeks and Romans can live and thrive together. A home that will harbor future demigods that will hopefully never have to experience what we’ve gone through.” His voice wavered slightly at the end, emotion creeping in on his words, but he stood tall, meeting the eyes of every demigod in the room. A sense of purpose filled the hearts of everyone present as they gazed upon their leader, understanding that what they were about to undertake would be something bigger than just themselves.

A thunderous cheer erupted once more from the crowd of demigods, shaking the hall of the Empire State Building with its collective determination. The demigods stood taller, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten as Percy’s words lit a fire within them. It wasn’t just a dream; it was a promise they could fight for, a future they could build together.

“When do we start?” The Stoll brothers asked in unison, excited at the prospect of looting abandoned stores. 

“Soon but for now we have to rest and take care of our wounded.” Percy replied loud enough for everyone to hear. “The war might be won but remnants of Gaea’s army still remain out there. We need to play this smart. Where we are right now is safe for the time being, let’s take advantage of that.” 

With that, it seemed his speech had come to an end. The room was now buzzing with determination, the demigods already coming up with plans for the next few days. Watching this with a flicker of happiness, Percy allowed himself a moment to breathe. He was happy there was a sense of unity between the two groups now, a stark contrast to what had transpired between them a mere day ago.

“Had it only been a day?” He wondered to himself, not quite believing it. Only one day since most of his friends, since Annabeth…died. The thought was too much. Digging his nails into the palm of his hands tightly, he pushed down the grief he was feeling. He would have his moment to grieve eventually. Walking over to a cracked window that overlooked one of the many empty streets of New York, he gazed out at the broken city. It was weird seeing the sleepless city so empty, so quiet. He could smell the faint scent of ash and smoke lingering in the air, most likely from their battle.

Leaning against the window frame, he let his thoughts churn. A new home . Those three words echoed in his mind like a mantra. The enormity of the task however loomed like an unscalable mountain. Could they really do this? Where would they even begin searching?

Soft footsteps clattering against broken glass broke his train of thought, causing him to turn around only to find Piper standing there. Her tear-streaked face was illuminated by the dim light filtering through the window, offering Percy a glimpse of how she was feeling. Her usual confidence and charm were gone, replaced by a quiet vulnerability that mirrored his own. She didn’t say anything at first, simply walking over to stand beside him. For a moment, they stood in silence, looking out at the same desolate view with the murmur of demigods conversing in the background.

“I know how you are, Percy.” Her voice was quiet, but filled with sincerity. “Even before I met you, I felt like I’ve known you my entire life due to Annabeth’s constant yapping.”

Percy looked down at his feet with a soft, reminiscent smirk on his face. Although others might’ve not enjoyed it, he loved to hear Annabeth talk away. 

“Which is why I know that you think you have to take this on alone.” She admitted, tilting his head upward with her hand to make him look her in the eyes. “You don’t have to be alone anymore. We’ll help you. You just have to let us in.” 

The son of Poseidon swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded wordlessly. Her words hung in the air between them like a fragile bridge of understanding. He had always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, not wanting to have others deal with the pain. It was a part of his fatal flaw after all. But as he stared into Piper’s kaleidoscope eyes, he felt as if for the first time, he could allow others to share the burden with him.

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this.” He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Doubt was starting to take hold of him even after his conversation with Athena and giving that speech. “I don’t know if we can really rebuild everything we lost.” 

The daughter of Aphrodite suddenly hugged him, resting her cheek in the crook of his neck. For a moment, they just stood there, two lost souls finding solace in each other’s presence. The weight of the future suddenly seemed distant, softened by the quiet understanding that passed between them. Smelling the scent of her hair, Percy allowed himself to relax for a moment. Just one moment.

“You’ll make it work. We just have to take it one step at a time.” Piper whispered into his neck. Softly leaning back out of the hug, the son of Poseidon looked down at her, giving a reassuring smile.

“One step at a time.” He repeated, his voice growing steady. Taking a deep slow breath of air to calm his racing heart, he straightened up, wiping the last traces of doubt from his face. Although he had lost so many people dear to him, he still wasn’t alone. He still had friends who cared for him and people who looked up to him. He still had Annabeth’s memory, something he’ll never forget.

“Thank you.” He said quietly to Piper, offering her a small, genuine smile.

She returned it, smiling for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

Stepping away from the window and looking out at the group of demigods, he knew that although the war was over, the journey was only just beginning.

“One step at a time.” He whispered to himself before joining them. Nico, noticing him approaching, stood up and slyly gestured him over. The son of Hades had a troubled look in his eyes, filled with concern and anxiety. 

“We’re gonna need more than just plans and a dream, Percy.” He said quietly, his tone carrying a gravity that matched the moment. “Things are in shambles right now not just in the mortal world but also in the underworld. The souls, the ghosts, monsters, all of them, they’re…it’s chaos down there right now. I’m doing what I can and I’ve put in charge some of my father’s senior advisors but it might not be enough.” 

Percy took a deep breath, nodding. He figured things were as such. The underworld was already such a cramped, chaotic place and now with Hades gone and all the death Gaea had caused, he couldn’t imagine the trouble his cousin was going through. A thought, one that scared him to his core, suddenly ran through his mind. If things were bad down there right now and Hades wasn’t there to sort out the dead, did that mean their friends who had died weren’t being judged? Was Annabeth…stuck down there in limbo?! 

“The judges are still there. Don’t worry, their souls are okay.” Nico eased his panic, seeing the thought process on his features. The son of Poseidon let out a relieved huff, clenching his fist to stop his shaking. They were okay down there. She was okay. They are getting the judgment they deserve and are hopefully in Elysium. 

“I’m sorry, Nico. I wish there was more I could do…”

“Don’t worry.” The younger cousin replied, looking past Percy’s shoulder into a specific room. “I just wanted to let you know. I’ll do what I can but that wasn’t the reason why I brought you over.” 

Following the son of Hades into a dimly lit room away from everyone else, Percy noticed the figure of Will Solace standing over someone lying in a bed. Getting closer, he could see it was Reyna who had her torso wrapped with bandages which were slightly soaked with blood. Her eyes were closed in strain but when she heard him speak to the son of Apollo about her condition, she immediately opened them. 

“Heard you gave some big speech.” She rasped out, her voice dry and coarse. Approaching her bedside, he knelt down to eye level, taking her hand in his. 

“Thought you were dead? How’d you hear about that?” He softly joked, causing her hand to tighten around his.

“Can’t kill a daughter of Bellona that easy.” She replied, laughing in pain. Seeing a droplet of blood spill out the corner of her mouth, the son of Poseidon gently wiped it away, causing her to turn away, abashed. “Will told me about it when I woke up. He was pretty excited about the idea of rebuilding a camp for us.” 

Percy turned to the son of Apollo who rubbed his neck with a grin on his face. “Not every day you see history in the making.” He said. 

“You’ve lived through two wars, Will. You’ve seen plenty of it.” The green-eyed demigod replied before turning back to the Roman whose face was growing paler by the second. It was such a stark contrast from the strongwilled Reyna he knew who could scare a man with just a mere glance. 

“I’m glad you’re doing it. I’m glad you’re stepping up and-and doing what I can’t.” She continued, her voice shaking in anguish. 

“Come on, Reyna…” Percy tried to reason.

“No.” She quickly interrupted, tears cascading down her cheek. “No. I failed them. I failed all of you. I let New Rome fall…”

Percy sighed as he gripped her frail hand, remembering how the Roman city fell. Gaea had destroyed it as soon as the legion made their way to Camp Half-Blood. There was practically nobody there to defend it except the veterans who were too few in number. It was a slaughter fest with no survivors. If there were any, they’d be scattered in the woods around the valley, hiding and unsure of where to go.

“You didn’t fail anyone.” He shook his head, his voice soft yet firm. “And it isn’t your fault. You’ve done more for your people than any Praetor before you. Be proud of that.”

Reyna let out a choked laugh, her tears glistening in the dim light. “And look where I led them. A city in ruins, countless dead, and me–” She gestured weakly at her bandaged torso. “Broken.”

“You’re just as broken as the rest of us.” Percy countered, squeezing her hand gently, willing her to feel a fraction of the strength she’d shown him countless times. “But we’re together and as long as we have that, you, me, and everyone else can heal.” 

Her lips trembled as she looked into his sea-green eyes, searching for something–comfort, absolution, maybe just someone to share her pain. “Promise me that you’ll lead us. Promise that you’ll rebuild what we’ve lost.” 

The son of Poseidon hesitated for a moment, seeing the fear and hope battling in her gaze. He knew what she was asking of him. She didn’t just want a leader–she wanted someone who would carry the burden she felt too broken to bear. 

“I promise.” The words inadvertently came out of his mouth. He knew he shouldn’t have been promising such things when even he didn’t truly know if it could be done. But seeing her fragile features, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but reassure her. That promise seemed to quell her fear for now, causing her to softly smile as her eyelids began to droop. “Just rest, Reyna.” He said softly, brushing her hair away from her face. 

Soon enough, her hand slackened in his and her breathing evened out. Quietly standing up, the son of Poseidon took one last look at his friend before exiting the room with Will in tow. The two of them stood in the darkened hallway for a moment in silence, knowing what the other was about to say. 

“How much longer?” Percy asked. 

“Too hard to say.” The son of Apollo tiredly sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I’m doing all I can but it’s like patching up an already sinking ship. She needs medicine, Percy. We’re all out of ambrosia so she’s going to have to go through it the old-fashioned way. And even then, I-I don’t know…”

The son of Poseidon let out a slow breath, leaning against the cold wall. “Alright, tomorrow. Tomorrow, me, you, and anyone else will go out there to search for supplies. For now, make sure the wounded are stable.” 

Will nodded quietly, already mentally tallying what medicine he would need. 

“We can only stay here for a couple days more. Four at max. After that, we’re on the move. Make sure you’re ready by then.” 

With that, the green-eyed demigod walked away, endless worries racking his brain. He knew things would only get harder from here on out. Rebuilding camp, keeping the demigods alive, and much, much more all with him in the center.

“One step at a time.” He murmured, reminding himself of Piper’s reassurance. That’s all he could do at the moment to prevent a panic attack. 

“One step at a time.” 

Chapter Text

It had only been a day since he gave that speech to the surviving demigods. Only a day when he announced that they would undertake rebuilding their world, a task that would be one of the most difficult things they'd ever partake in—two days since the Gods had faded back to Tartarus. And two days since…she died.

Just thinking about her caused his heart to squeeze painfully beyond what he thought was possible. He couldn't shake the feeling of just wanting to give up and go join her in the underworld. It would've been far better than living alone without her. But he knew he couldn't do that. She'd hate for him to do that and leave everyone else behind to pick up the shattered pieces of the world.

Percy sighed to himself as he thought of her smile, almost believing that he could hear her distant laughter echo in the corners of his mind. What'd he give to truly hear that again.

"Percy, can you give me a hand with this?" Katie Gardner's voice broke his reminiscing, pulling him back to reality. He blinked, realizing that he had been standing there staring over the isles of food items on the shelf like a starving, crazy person. That's right, he remembered where they were now. They were in an abandoned grocery store, gathering supplies for their upcoming journey.

"Yeah, sure, sorry." He replied, moving toward the daughter of Demeter, who was struggling to lift a huge box of canned food from a sagging shelf. He slid his hands beneath hers before picking it up with ease, setting it down gently in a cart they had managed to salvage.

Katie gave him a thankful smile but he could see behind her features that she was worried for him. He'd been acting like that ever since she died, staring out into nothing for minutes on in. If one didn't know better, he could've practically been one of Medusa's statues.

"You okay?" She asked softly, idly rearranging some of the items in the cart.

Percy hesitated before he could answer, glancing down at the floor as if the cracked tiles could hold the answer. Perhaps they did seeing as he felt he would crack at any moment. "I'm fine." He said, his voice holding no confidence. The words felt hollow even as he said them and he knew Katie didn't believe them for a single second. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded, leaving the matter at that. There was no point pushing the subject if he wasn't ready to talk about it yet.

Watching her push the cart toward another aisle, the son of Poseidon took a deep breath and steeled himself. Mentally slapping himself for allowing Katie to see just how broken he was feeling, he straightened his shoulders and forced his legs to start working, helping her pick out whatever they needed. They worked in silence after that, the faint drum of rain hitting the roof and the murmur of other demigods in the store with them being the only background noise. It was hypnotic in a sense, allowing him to work without the deafening silence that drove him mad. He could hear the chatter between Nico and Will drift through the air at the pharmacy, bickering about what they did and did not need. Their subdued conversation was a stark contrast to the usual chaos that accompanied demigod missions, especially the quest he had been on. It was nice for a change, especially after all they'd been through these past months.

A sudden crash echoed from the back of the store, breaking up their work and sending everyone on high alert. Immediately, Percy pulled out Riptide and scanned for any sign of danger. He should've known better than to think things would go smoothly. Pushing Katie behind him since she didn't have a weapon, he raised Riptide and waited for whatever would come out of the shadows at the end of the aisle.

Expecting one of Gaea's leftover minions he was relieved to suddenly see Will and Nico appear a moment later, a sheepish look adoring their faces.

"False alarm." Will said, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. "Just an overzealous shelf deciding it was funny to drop and scare the life out of us."

The son of Poseidon sighed in relief, putting Riptide back into his pocket. Katie on the other hand was furious, letting the two boys know that they should've been more careful and that she almost had a heart attack.

"We're finished up with the medical supplies. Got enough to help Reyna and last us a good while." Nico said, his dark eyes lingering on the windows that contained a view of the rainy streets outside. "But we need to start heading out. The mortals will start coming back to the city now that the brunt of the storm is over."

Percy nodded, more than happy to leave the dark, cramped store. Taking the carts outside and loading them into a truck the Stoll brothers had managed to break into and hotwire, they soon made their way back to the Empire State Building, their temporary headquarters. The drive back was quiet, the rain tapping rhythmically against the truck's roof. Sitting in the passenger seat, the green-eyed demigod stared out the window at the crumbling remains of the city. The New York skyline, once teeming with life, was now a graveyard of broken glass and jagged steel. It was such a painful sight seeing his city destroyed.

Behind him, the others chattered softly, their voices blending with the hum of the engine. Will was explaining something about antibiotics while the Stolls were mapping out other stores to loot later on. Leaning his head back, he was comforted by the familiar banter of his friends. It reminded him of their time back at Camp Half-Blood sitting around the campfire. But despite that, he still felt an emptiness in his chest, aching beyond repair. It was her voice he longed to hear, her laughter that used to make any worry fade away from his mind. Now that she was gone, he supposed that emptiness would never truly be filled. He'd forever be haunted by her memory.

The truck suddenly jolted as it hit a pothole, causing Percy to blink away his inner thoughts. He was doing it again, zoning out for minutes on end. That was a dangerous thing to do, especially for a demigod. Forcing himself to focus, he realized they were now only a block or two away from headquarters. Looking out the window, he caught a glimpse of a black mass the size of a car running past them a few meters away. Rubbing his eyes, he looked back out only to find nothing but empty streets with empty cars.

"Percy?" Katie grabbed his shoulder from behind, sensing his curiosity.

"It's nothing, I think." He replied, taking one last look before focusing on the road in front of him. After a few more minutes of driving, they eventually arrived at the Empire State Building which loomed overhead. Parking in front of the main doors, they began to unload the supplies they managed to find. Quickly trying to finish so they could get out of the rain, the son of Poseidon was beginning to haul the last of supplies inside when he felt a disturbance in the wet air. Stopping just at the main entrance of the building, he cocked his head to the side and closed his eyes, trying to figure out exactly what it was. There were a lot of them. He could feel their presence, whatever they were, surround their building, slowly encircling them.

Whatever they were, they weren't human. There was too little water in them for that. He clenched his jaw and slowly set down the crate of supplies at his feet.

"Percy?" Katie turned around, noticing his odd behavior. The green-eyed demigod put a finger to his lips, silently telling her and the others not to make a sound. His hand drifted into his pocket for Riptide as he continued to make out the situation they were in. Heightening his senses even further, he could hear the faint shift of movement in the shadows of looming skyscrapers and feel the disturbance of rain in the air. He counted twenty. Listening closely to pinpoint their exact location, he suddenly heard the twang of an arrow being released behind him, sailing through the rain directly at them.

With inhuman reflexes, the son of Poseidon outstretched his hand and caught the arrow in the blink of an eye, just before it could hit the daughter of Demeter square in the face. The glint of the arrowhead glimmered menacingly mere inches away, rain droplets dripping onto her skin causing her to shakily take a step back. Turning around, Percy shattered the projectile in his hand as he pulled out his sword, ready to take on the attackers.

"Go grab anyone that can fight. Make sure the wounded are protected." He ordered her, watching in grim determination as the enemy began to pour out of the shadows. Hellhounds and Dracanae seemed to make up the majority of their little warband which eased his worry somewhat. He could take these guys on, especially with the rain aiding him.

The daughter of Demeter hesitated for a moment, her wide eyes scanning the group of monsters before them. She didn't want to leave Percy to fight alone but with one last sharp look directed at her, she dared not to listen to his command.

Percy adjusted Riptide in his grip, the bronze blade gleaming in the dim, rain-soaked light. The monsters snarled as they slowly began to approach, their red eyes glowing like embers in the fog. Despite their numbers, he held firm and prepared for a fight. His heart raced and his eyes darted rapidly, surveying which monster he should kill first.

It seemed, however, he wouldn't have to pick as the first Hellhound lunged at him, its massive jaw opening to bite his head off. Sidestepping, Percy quickly swung his sword in a clean arc, slicing through the beast's neck. Something was off about it though he suddenly realized as he watched the monster collapse onto the ground. It didn't dissolve into a golden mist like he had expected. Instead, it stayed dead on the ground, black ichor seeping out of it mixing with the rain.

"What the–" He exclaimed. He'd never seen anything like that before. It wasn't supposed to happen. Monsters didn't just die like that. They always dissolved into a mist and returned back to Tartarus. Looking up quickly from the Hellhound's corpse, he knew he wouldn't have any more time to examine it because the other monsters were already on the attack once again. One Dracanae hissed, raising its spear, and charged at him. Dodging the weapon easily, he spun around the monster and slit its neck. Again, the body didn't dissolve. It just collapsed with strange black ichor oozing out of it.

"Okay, this is new." Percy muttered under his breath, raising his sword defensively as the warband tried to encircle him once more. He dared to glance at the entrance doors, hoping that help would soon arrive. Bad idea. Three arrows suddenly darted his way, forcing him to dive to the side. Rolling back on his feet, he raised Riptide just in time to deflect a spear aimed at his chest. The Dracanae hissed in frustration as the demigod slashed upward, splitting its skull open. Once again, it didn't dissolve, only spraying its black ichor directly in its face.

Not having a moment of reprieve, the remaining monsters decided it was best to come at him all at once. He barely had enough time to think as the hoard rushed him, their snarls and hisses blending in with the relentless rain. He tightened his grip on Riptide as he shifted his mind into battle mode. Nothing else mattered now except survival. Raising his free hand, he summoned a wave of water from the puddles around him. It surged forward like a living creature, abiding by his will, and crashed into the oncoming monsters. Despite the force of the attack, the monsters regrouped fast, as though they didn't feel pain.

A Hellhound leapt at him from behind, its claws outstretched. Spinning around just in time to catch the jaws in his hands, he grunted in strain as the mass of black fur pushed down on him. Gripping the monster with all his might, he crushed its jaw with his bare hands before twisting its head at an odd angle, a resounding snap echoing throughout the air. Panting, Percy shoved the lifeless body off him and rose, not giving himself a moment to rest. He lunged forward, cutting down the next monster that dared stand against him. Black ichor coated both his blade and skin, its texture slick and unnerving. He didn't pay much attention to it though, he had worse in Tartarus. Minutes passed, each one a blur of violent motion, until finally the last of the monsters lay dead at his feet. The rain mixed with the black ichor, forming pools of thick, unnatural liquid on the pavement. The streets were eerily silent, save for the steady beat of the rain and his labored breathing.

"Percy!" A voice shouted from behind him. Turning around, he watched as Nico, Will and a few others came running out of the building, their weapons drawn and faces tense. They came to a halt quickly however when they saw him covered in a black substance and the monsters still lying there.

"They're…still here." Nico said, his voice laced with confusion and unease.

Percy silently nodded, leaning on Riptide for support. His chest heaved the rain did little to wash away the ichor staining his skin and clothes. "Yeah. They just…died."

Will approached cautiously, his bow still in hand. He knelt next to the nearest corpse–a Dracanae with its skull cleaved in two–and inspected it. He didn't touch the body, as if afraid it might spring back to life. "This isn't normal," he murmured. "Monsters don't leave behind bodies."

"No shit," Percy said dryly, wiping his brow and capping Riptide. He felt exhausted but the adrenaline kept him on edge. "Something's changed."

The son of Hades expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. He extended a hand, summoning a faint shadow that wrapped around one of the Hellhound's corpses. The shadow probed the body, searching for traces of magic or connection between the Underworld and Tartarus. Not a moment later did Nico yank his hand away as if it had been burnt.

"These…These aren't monsters from the Underworld or Tartarus." He said, his voice low and ominous.

"What do you mean?" Katie came onto the scene, eyeing each monster that was sprawled out with disgust.

Nico's dark eyes flicked upward, narrowing as he scanned the skyscrapers looming over them. "I mean that these monsters aren't from there. There's no influence from my father's or Tartarus's domain. They were created somewhere else."

The demigods went silent, the rain pelting down on them as they tried to process Nico's words. There were endless possibilities as to what exactly these monsters were and where they came from, none of them good. Percy shook his head, feeling the weight of uncertainty settling down on him once again. He couldn't shake the feeling that something big was unfolding behind the scenes. He hated to think that, especially after dealing with two wars but this, these monsters, there was no other possible explanation in his mind.

"I don't like this," He said over the increasingly heavier rain. "Let's head inside and we'll figure out things from there."

None had any objection to that. Taking one last uneasy glance at the fallen monsters, their bodies now matted with ichor and rain alike, they began their way back inside the building. As the doors closed behind them, they were met by the remaining demigods who had stayed behind, their voices rising in a flood of questions. The moment Percy appeared, however, the questions died on their lips. He stood there silently, drenched from head to toe in the black substance, his face expressionless. His sea-green eyes glowed with a cold, unsettling intensity in the dim light, like the calm before a storm. The air around him felt heavier, charged with something dangerous, and for a moment, the room fell silent, the weight of the scene settling over them.

"What happened out there?" Piper quickly approached, her eyes scanning for any injuries on him. Her voice was soft but urgent, as if afraid of what he might say.

Percy forced a fake, tight smile, his voice tired and hollowed. "I'll explain soon. For now, just let me wash up. Shouldn't take long." Without waiting for a response, he walked past the gathering crowd of demigods, ignoring the questions that hung in the air like thick smoke. His footsteps were heavy as he moved toward the bathroom, the weight of exhaustion pulling at him. Once inside, he locked the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, letting the silence settle. The shower was a relief, its steamy warmth cutting through the chill that had settled deep in his bones.

With a groan, he peeled off his drenched clothes, the gooey substances clinging to his skin. He stepped inside the shower and twisted the knob, allowing the warm water to cascade down his skin and wash away the ichor. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the wall, the memory of the battle flashing through his mind. He remembered each strike of his blade, each monster that refused to dissolve into dust, and the unsettling realization that something was very wrong. The thought of what exactly those monsters were and what created them gnawed at him.

As the black ichor swirled down the drain, Percy couldn't help but feel a pang of loss for the simplicity of life before. Before the wars, before Gaea, before all the death. There had always been a sense of something bigger, something darker lurking in the background, but this…this felt different from Gaea or Kronos. He couldn't explain it. Maybe it was because the Gods weren't around or because Annabeth wasn't here. He didn't truly know. All he did know was that he was alone and scared of what was to come.

He leaned against the cool tiles, eyes closed, trying to silence the internal storm. Annabeth's laughter echoed in his mind again, sharp and bittersweet. A pang of longing shot through his heart, causing him to bite the inside of his cheek. How much longer could he bear this? How much longer could he go on before his mind broke or everything he was fighting for came crashing down around him?

The sound of the shower curtain rustling snapped him out of his thoughts. He hadn't heard anyone come in, but the faint shift of movement made him tense. Reaching instinctively for Riptide, he chided himself as he realized the door was still locked and he was alone. He exhaled sharply, irritated with himself for zoning out again for what felt like the umpteenth time. Minutes passed before he reluctantly stepped out of the shower, his body relaxed but his mind still racing.

"Fuck." He muttered lowly, remembering that he had forgotten to bring a towel and an extra set of clothes. Thankfully, drying off was the easy part considering his could just flick his finger and make himself dry. Clothes on the other hand would be a little bit more difficult. Sighing, his eyes drifted to his reflection in the mirror. It seemed like it had been an eternity since he had last seen himself. He couldn't remember the last time he actually did. The reflection that stared back at him was not the Percy Jackson he used to recognize. He could see the weariness in his eyes, the emptiness that had been haunting him for days.

The war, Tartarus, Annabeth, all of it seemed to have done a number on him. Leaning closer to the mirror, he couldn't help but see his mother in his features. She always told him that he had her smile. Attempting to force a smile, hoping that he could get a glimpse of his mother, he realized how foreign it felt. The curve of his lips was unfamiliar, as though he'd forgotten what it was like to smile genuinely. His mom's smile had always been warm and welcoming but what he saw in the mirror wasn't hers. It was empty–shadowed by the weight of everything that had happened to him.

Percy sighed, rubbing a weary hand over his face as he pulled his gaze away from the mirror. He didn't get much time to compose himself before he heard the bathroom door creak open. His eyes widened in shock—he had no time to react before Piper stepped inside, holding a fresh set of clothes in her hands.

She froze the moment she saw him, both of them caught in an awkward, silent stand-off. Percy's gaze darted nervously, unsure of what to do or say, but he could feel the tension in the air thickening.

"Uh... do you come here often?" Percy stammered, attempting to break the silence with a half-hearted, awkward grin.

Piper didn't answer immediately. Her eyes lingered on him, tracing over the muscles, the scars, and... well, other things that Percy desperately wished she hadn't noticed. Her cheeks were flushed a bright red, and Percy's own face turned a deep shade of crimson as he realized what had happened. He cleared his throat, a silent plea to get her attention back to his face.

"I'll, uh... I'll just—uhhh…" She stammered, fumbling for the words as her eyes continued to dart up and down his body. "I'll leave these here."

Without another word, she set the clothes on the counter and dashed out of the bathroom, leaving Percy standing there in the awkward silence she left behind. He let out a low chuckle to himself, shaking his head as he tried to regain some sense of dignity.

"Well, that was mortifying," he muttered under his breath. Not allowing the awkwardness to settle in any longer than necessary, he took a deep breath and began to put on the clothes Piper had unceremoniously dropped on the counter for him. A black T-shirt and dark blue jeans. Once he was finished, he stepped out of the bathroom and found Katie standing there with a flicker of amusement in her eyes. That look told him everything he needed to know. She was the one to unlock the door.

"You good?" She asked lightly, failing to hide the smile.

"Really, Katie?" Percy replied, looking down at her with an exasperated look.

Katie's smile widened and she raised an eyebrow. "Hey, it's not every day we get to experience that," She teased, her tone soft and playful. However, Percy didn't fail to notice the heat in her eyes as she quickly glanced downward, eyeing what Piper saw in all its glory.

"Gods, why is everyone in this fucked up family so horny all the time," Percy muttered as he stepped past the daughter of Demeter.

"H-Hey!" Katie replied indignantly, following close behind. "I'm not horny!"

"Yeah, and I'm not a son of Poseidon!"

Ignoring her quips, he walked into the main room that held a long table and noticed that everyone was already there seemingly awaiting him. Nico stood near a window, looking out over the destroyed city, while Will was going over medical supplies with one of the Stoll brothers.

"Good, you're here." The son of Apollo said, his voice firm. "I just gave Reyna some of the medicine we've managed to scavenge. She's going to make it."

Percy exhaled a sigh of relief, happy that was the case. Sitting down at the head of the table, he noticed Piper sitting on the opposite side, her gaze directed at the tabletop. She felt his gaze on her and briefly looked up to meet his eyes. Her face suddenly exploded into a blush again as she brought her eyes back down to her lap. He sighed to himself, hoping this wouldn't be a recurring theme between the two of them.

"Good to know Reyna's going to be okay," He replied, forcing his attention back to the task at hand. "Now onto the more pressing matters."

"The monsters?" Nico asked, turning away from the window.

"The monsters." Percy nodded.

"I can feel them all around the city," The son of Hades said, closing his eyes. "I can feel the normal monsters and the ones that you faced out there."

"How many?" Katie questioned.

"Too many."

A cold silence fell over the group at that revelation. It wasn't the first time they had been surrounded by hoards of monsters but with their limited numbers and the wounded they had to protect, there wasn't much they could do.

"Great," Connor muttered, rubbing his hands together in frustration. "We've got a city full of monsters and we're all stuck in the middle of it."

"I say we stick with the original plan. Take a couple of trucks and get the hell out of dodge." Travis pitched in, the others seeming to agree with him.

"We only have enough supplies to last us a couple of days though," Will assessed the boxes that were stacked in the corner. "You think that'll be enough to take us where we need to go?" He asked, looking to Percy who was looking down at a map of the east coast.

"No," He sighed, looking up from the map. "That's why we need to stop at camp."

"Are you sure it isn't too risky?" Piper finally spoke up, her eyes meeting his without embarrassment this time. "Camp was destroyed and flooded with monsters when we were too busy fighting Gaea's main force. Is there anything back there worth risking for anyway?"

The son of Poseidon paused, unsure if it was risking their lives for. Piper was right, the place was most likely destroyed. Then again, it might've been their only chance to gather more supplies, weapons, or anything that could help them find a new home.

"It's our best shot." He said, his voice heavy. "We don't have many options left, guys. It's either that or take the trucks and drive off west toward Gods know what."

The group was silent as they contemplated his words. It wasn't until Nico spoke up that they were resolute at the idea of heading back to camp.

"I agree with Percy. It's our only chance. It's the only place where there might be something useful for us there." He glanced at Will.

"Have to agree." Will shrugged, always the optimist. "It's risky, yeah, but the payout could be much greater. If there's any supplies for us there, who knows how long we could survive."

Soon enough, everyone else agreed with the plan, filling the room with tension but anticipation in the air.

"Alright, we leave at first light," Percy said, standing up from his seat. "Get some rest while you can."

After that, everyone began to disperse, muttering in hushed whispers about the day ahead. The son of Poseidon elected to stay behind, going up the window and looking out at the darkening sky that continued to pelt rain. Looking out at the destroyed buildings that loomed like silent sentinels, he couldn't help but be reminded of how this city used to be so vibrant and alive. He didn't know how long he stood there, lost in thought, but it must've been a long time considering the moon was beginning to dip toward the horizon, signaling the beginning of a new day.

"Percy?" A voice broke through the silence.

It was Katie standing a few feet away, watching him closely. It seemed she had just woken up, judging by her bed hair and squinted eyes. She was only wearing a long white T-shirt, her pale legs exposed to the cool night air. The soft glow of moonlight poured through the window, casting a pale light across the room and across her. Percy didn't seem to hear her, continuing to stare out at the horizon lost in the haunting image of the crumbling city.

Kaite cleared her throat, her voice softer than usual as she took a step closer to him. She quickly noticed how muscled and broad his back was. How he towered over her. "Percy…you should get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be tough."

He didn't move at first, still too deep in thought to acknowledge her presence fully. But when a soft, slender hand rubbed the back of his shoulder, it felt like a lifeline had just been thrown his way.

"I know." He said quietly, his voice rough from exhaustion. He finally turned around to face her, his green eyes meeting her hazel eyes.

Katie hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to push or to let it go. She studied him closely, noticing the hollow look in his eyes, the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders. She couldn't pretend to know exactly how he felt, but she understood loss in a way few others did. Her heart twisted as she thought of how much he was carrying.

"You're not fine, you know." Her words hung in the air, and Percy tensed, not expecting her to say that. He had gotten so used to her and others drifting around the issue that hearing her confront him about it hit harder than he expected. "You're hurting."

Percy let out a low bitter chuckle. "We're all hurting, Katie." His mouth was dry, causing him to lick his lips. He couldn't bring himself to explain just how he was feeling. How could he tell her that every time he closed his eyes, he saw the dead? How could he explain to her that every moment spent alive without Annabeth exhausted him?

Her heart broke for him. She could see the pain in his eyes. He was drowning yet he didn't seem to want to be pulled out. She knew he wasn't ready to let anyone in, especially not this soon, but she couldn't stand seeing him like this. This wasn't the Percy Jackson she had grown up with.

"Percy," she whispered, her hand brushing his arm, "It's okay to not be okay. We're still here. You're still here."

"What if I don't want to be here?" He whispered back, his eyes staring deeply into hers.

Katie felt her eyes water as she felt the raw emotion pour out of him. Cupping his cheek, she brushed her thumb softly against his skin. The touch was hesitant at first, unsure if he'd pull away. But he didn't. He didn't even flinch. For a long moment, neither one of them spoke. It was as if the world had stopped and they were the only two people alive.

"I don't know how to keep going," Percy admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Piper told me to take it one step at a time but I just don't know. I don't know how to be…me, without Annabeth."

Katie's thumb moved slowly along his jawline, a tender motion that almost made him close his eyes. She stepped closer, her presence a comforting weight against the emptiness that seemed to have spread through him like wildfire.

"You don't have to have all the answers right now," she said softly, her voice a calm, steady anchor. "Just... don't shut everyone out. Don't shut me out. We need you, Percy. I need you."

Percy's breath caught at her words, his sea-green eyes locking onto hers. The vulnerability in her voice, the way her hand lingered against his skin, stirred something inside him that he couldn't quite name. He hadn't realized just how much he needed to hear that—how much he needed someone to remind him he wasn't alone, even if he felt like a ghost of himself.

Her hand began to pull away, as though she realized she might have crossed a line, but Percy instinctively caught it, holding it in his own. His grip was firm yet gentle as if grounding himself to the moment. He hadn't felt this type of warmth since Annabeth. The touch of a woman. He had forgotten what it felt like. He had forgotten how addicting it was.

Katie didn't move, didn't look away. Her hazel eyes searched his face, reading the pain and hesitation etched into every feature. And then, so softly it felt like the rain outside might drown it out, she whispered, "Come to bed. Let me help you get some rest."

Percy's throat tightened. He didn't know how to respond to that request. He wanted to but it felt like a betrayal to Annabeth. She had only been dead for a couple of days now. Could he really tarnish the memory of their relationship so suddenly? But he hesitated as he felt the warmth of her hand caresses him. It was so soft, warm, and painfully human–a tether to something real in a world that felt like it was slipping away. His lips parted, the words forming on his tongue before he even understood what they were.

But before he could speak, a door creaked open, and Will's voice called from the hallway. "Hey, Percy. You good?"

They immediately stepped back from one another, giving space. But the moment had already been broken, and both of them felt the weight of what was unspoken between them.

"Yeah," Percy replied, his voice low, but unsteady. "I'm good."

The two of them waited for the door to close and once it did they both let out shaky breaths. Katie glanced at him, silently wondering if they could continue where they had left off but Percy was already broken out of the moment. The daughter of Demeter nodded silently, understanding that things didn't need to be pushed along any further…for now. Her hand lingered by her side as if resisting the urge to reach for him again.

"Goodnight, Katie," Percy whispered, giving her a grin that didn't fully reach his eyes.

"Goodnight, Percy." She replied breathlessly, staring into his eyes one last time before turning, her bare feet padding softly against the cold floor as she disappeared into the dimly lit hallway.

The son of Poseidon sighed as he tried to desperately quell his racing heart. Silently walking over to an old sofa, he immediately dropped down onto it, letting the old leather take him into the realm of Morpheus. It seemed it had only been a few minutes of his eyes being closed when he was softly shaken awake.

Peaking through half-lidded eyes, he noticed Nico standing above him, dressed for the day ahead.

"It's time." The son of Hades said, the dawn's light just beginning to illuminate his face.

Chapter Text

The ride through the desolate streets of New York was a quiet one except for the hum of the engine and the stray pothole or two. No one wanted to speak, too anxious about the journey laid out in front of them. It didn't help that Percy was stuck with both Katie and Piper in the vehicle too. They all couldn't get the events of last night out of their heads and felt too awkward to talk about or even confront one another about it. Katie had elected to keep her gaze out the window, her fingers tapping nervously against her knee as she watched familiar landmarks roll by while Piper was leaning her head back hoping to get a few more minutes of rest in her. Percy was too busy driving to really do much besides think on how to break the tension.

Will, their other passenger, seemed to sense the tension in the air, casting Percy a few odd glances. The son of Poseidon couldn't help but sigh inwardly, knowing a conversation with the son of Apollo was inevitable. Will had an uncanny ability to pick up on things like this. Hesitant and unsure of what else to do, Percy reached for the radio, hoping that music would serve as a welcome distraction. He leaned his head back, letting the lyrics fill the silence.

"I just need someone in my life to give it structure."

"Nope. Definitely not." Percy quickly switched the station, already feeling the weight of Katie's and Piper's stares burning into the back of his head. It was a little too close to home for his liking.

"I'm gonna take my time,
She gon' get hers before I,
I'm gonna take it slow,
I'm not gonna rush the stroke,
So she can get a sexual eruption!"

"You've got to be fucking kidding me…" Percy muttered under his breath as he changed the station again. He dared to glance at Katie in the rearview mirror, only to find her staring out the window, her face a deep shade of crimson.

"I was standing in the shower thinking

About what makes a man."

"Why is everything so…on-the-nose today." He muttered, punching the radio between every syllable. Piper was now the one who was beet red, desperately trying to cover her face in a vain attempt.

"You good?" Will asked, half-amused, half-confused as to why he was hitting the radio.

Percy shot him a side glare, daring him to keep egging it on. Will shot his hands up in surrender, hiding the smirk that dared to split across his face. Attempting one more time, the son of Poseidon dared to switch the channel, only to find that one of the songs had just ended.

"Alright, here we go." He muttered, settling in his seat as he awaited the next song to play.

"Torn between two lovers, feelin' like a fool

Lovin' both of you is breakin' all the rules."

Percy let out a disbelieving, mirthless laugh, slapping his hand against the steering wheel. "I can't…I can't do this anymore." He groaned, finally giving up on the radio altogether. He didn't dare look at the girls, afraid of the consequences if he did so. Will, on the other hand, was dying in fits of laughter. He couldn't help but turn around and look at the two girls who both held their heads low, letting their hair hide their embarrassment.

Deciding to ride in silence which was practically unbearable, the son of Poseidon was glad to see Clarisse, who was the convoy leader of their ten or so vans, pull into a rest station. It seemed it was time for a restroom break which he couldn't be more thankful for. Pulling in and parking the truck, the two girls wasted no time jumping out and bee-lining out of Percy's sight. Sighing at the thought of the awkwardness being rougher down the line, he hopped out, happy to get some fresh air.

"So," Will came up to him with a knowing smirk on his face. "That was a disaster."

"Fuck you," Percy shot back but even he couldn't help the small smile split across his face. It absolutely was a disaster. Not even Hades could come up with such a nightmare of a situation.

"Like how could the radio make things worse?!" The son of Apollo exclaimed with a wave of his hands. "The radio is supposed to make things better! I think the Fates are against you, my friend."

"Gee, Will, it only took you twenty years to figure that out!"

The blonde-haired demigod chuckled, leaning against the hood of the truck as he looked out to the horizon. "So I already know about the thing with Piper. That was funny to hear about," He sighed, smiling into the wind. "But Katie…that was unexpected. Since when did that happen?

Percy didn't have a chance to respond before his friend was already coming to the conclusion.

"Let me guess it was last night," He snapped his fingers. "I had interrupted you two when I asked if you were okay."

"How in the fuck–" Percy groaned, running a hand through his hair.

"Percy, I'm gay. I know this love stuff better than most guys." Will deadpanned, his eyes serious.

"It's not love, dude."

"You're right, it's a love triangle." He pressed on, grinning like a cat who caught the mouse. "No wait, or is a love quadrangle? I feel like I'm missing someone."

It's not a love anything." The son of Poseidon crossed his arms, not even knowing what a quadrangle was. "It's–It's…It's…"

"It's?" Will egged him on.

"It's a whole lot of none of your business." He finally muttered, his voice tight as he stared down his friend. The blue-eyed demigod wasn't deterred in the slightest; if anything, he looked more entertained.

"None of my business?" Will raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. "Percy, you're my patient half the time! Technically, your mental health and sexual activity are totally my business!"

"That's not how that works!" Percy hissed, leaning against the truck's side door though he couldn't stop the corner of his mouth from twitching upward.

The son of Apollo shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. "Look, I'm just saying, love triangles—or quadrangles, or whatever geometry you're working with—don't resolve themselves. You need to talk this out."

"Thanks, Dr. Solace for the advice but in case you haven't noticed I'm kind of busy leading the last surviving members of the Greek and Roman Pantheon to salvation."

He could feel Will's smug gaze as he pretended to inspect the truck's tires, silently wishing that this conversation would end.

"You're welcome. I accept payment in cash, card, or ambrosia." Will replied, his tone light but understanding the conversation was at its end.

Walking away with a disbelieving shake of his head, he headed toward Clarrise who was standing near her own truck. Not before the son of Apollo could get the last word in however.
"Just be careful about Travis," He warned. "You know how he feels about Katie."

Percy groaned to himself, having forgotten about the son of Hermes. He had made it no secret about how he felt about her over the years. Great, that was just what he needed. More drama. Deciding he would deal with that another time, he continued his trek to the daughter of Ares who was leaning against her van, looking out past the highway to the distant woods.

"We've got fifteen minutes before we hit the road again." She grumbled, her arms crossed and face deathly serious.

"Understood," Percy replied, leaning against the truck next to her. Scanning the area he noticed the rest stop wasn't much, just a parking lot with a small building and a vending machine that probably hadn't been restocked for nearly a decade. The air smelled faintly of asphalt and pine, and the distant sound of an eighteen-wheeler rumbling down the highway filled the awkward silence.

"More and more mortals are driving into the city, I see."

Clarrise hummed in agreement, her gaze still fixed on the horizon. It seemed as if she was looking for something or rather waiting for someone. That's when it clicked in Percy's head.

"I'm guessing you didn't call this stop just for a break," He said with a knowing look in his eye.

She finally turned to face him, her expression sharp. "You guessed right. We've got scouts reporting back. I sent out Chris and the Stolls early this morning. They should've been back by now."

That wasn't a good sign. The Hermes boys were some of the best at scouting and not getting caught. If they hadn't returned by now then something was definitely up. The thought made his stomach churn, causing him to subconsciously reach into his pocket for Riptide.

"I'll go." Percy's jaw tightened but Clarisse wasn't having non of that hero crap.

She shook her head angrily. "No way. You're leading this convoy. If something happens to you, we're screwed. I'll take care of it."

"Clarisse—"

"Don't argue with me, Jackson," she snapped, her eyes blazing. "I get it. You feel responsible for everyone but this isn't just about you anymore. You've got a bigger role to play, whether you like it or not. So stay put and let me do my job."

The son of Poseidon opened his mouth to argue but realized it wouldn't do any good. Clarisse was deadset on being the one to go out there and look for them, especially since it was Chris Rodriguez. She cared for him deeply and wouldn't have anyone else go out and search for him.

Percy sighed heavily, gripping the edge of the truck bed as he tried to keep his frustration in check. He hated feeling helpless, and sitting back while others went into danger was a special kind of torture.

"Fine," he relented, though his voice was tight with reluctance. "But you're taking backup. I'm not letting you go out there alone."

Clarisse raised an eyebrow, scoffing at the notion. "I don't need a babysitter."

"Maybe not," Percy shot back, "but you're getting one anyway. You don't know what's out there, and we can't afford to lose anyone else."

She looked like she wanted to argue but finally nodded. "Fair enough. Who are you volunteering?"

Percy scanned the rest stop, his eyes landing on Will, who was still lounging by the truck with an annoyingly amused grin on his face. "Will," he called out.

Will's grin faltered. "Wait, what?"

"You're going with Clarisse," He said, ignoring the blonde demigod's protests as he gestured toward the daughter of Ares. "She's heading out to find the scouts, and you're her backup."

"Percy," Will groaned, dragging his feet as he approached, "I'm a healer, not a fighter."

"You're also one of the most competent people here," Percy countered. "And besides, you're great at patching people up if things went sideways with the Hermes boys."

Clarisse snorted. "Don't worry, Sunshine. Just stick close and try not to get yourself killed. I'll do the heavy lifting."

The son of Apollo muttered something under his breath as the daughter of Ares practically dragged him away. He could see Percy giving him his signature, infuriating smirk which made his blood boil.

"Thanks, man. I owe you one." The son of Poseidon mouthed, mockingly giving him a thumbs up. Will replied in earnest with a sarcastic smile and middle finger.

Clarisse gave him a final look, her eyes hard but not unkind. "We'll be back in an hour. If we're not, assume the worst."

Percy nodded, the weight of her words settling heavily on his chest. He watched as the two of them armed themselves—Clarisse with her spear and shield, Will with his bow—and got in the van and took off toward Camp Half-Blood. The silence that followed was oppressive, the hum of the van's engine getting fainter and fainter as they disappeared off in the distance. The rest of the hundred or so demigods soon began to realize that they weren't going anywhere for a while and decided to mill about, some idly kicking the one vending machine in hopes of snacks.

He ran a hand through his black hair nervously as he stood alone by the truck. The minutes trickled by ever so slowly, each one adding to the gnawing anxiety in his chest. His thoughts spiraled, imagining the worst-case scenarios his mind could conjure but he quickly shoved them aside. Panicking would do no good for him or anyone else.

A commotion near the vending machine caught his attention, pulling him from his dark musings. One demigod, a younger Roman believe it or not, had managed to half-climb inside the machine's hatch. A crowd of demigods gathered around, some laughing, others acting as lookouts.

"Mac!" Percy called, his voice low but firm. The son of Mercury froze mid-reach, a candy bar dangling precariously from his fingertips.

"What?" Mac asked, trying—and failing—to sound innocent as he withdrew his hand. "This thing's been out of service for years. It's practically a relic."

"Just… don't," He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We've got enough to deal with. I don't need to add a demigod shitting his pants because he ate rotten, expired candy on this list."

Mac shrugged and hopped out, flashing a lopsided grin as he tossed the candy bar to one of the younger kids. "Relax, boss. A sugar rush might do us some good."

Percy shook his head, watching the group disperse with a mix of amusement and exasperation. The younger demigods were trying their best to keep morale up, even if it meant turning a decades-old vending machine into a treasure trove of forbidden snacks. He leaned back against the truck, the cold metal grounding him as he scanned the parking lot again. Everyone seemed restless, and he couldn't blame them. Tension was running high the closer they got to camp which was only thirty minutes away.

Suddenly noticing Katie and Piper reemerging from the restroom, walking side by side with one another, the son of Poseidon breathed a restless sigh as he faced back toward the highway. He didn't want to think or deal with that stuff right. Matter of fact, that was the last thing he wanted to think about. ...and yet, the thoughts crept in like the tide, steady and unstoppable. The tension between Katie and Piper lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken. Percy clenched his fists, staring hard at the horizon as if it held the answers to the tangled mess in his mind. He couldn't ignore the way both girls had been acting around him—the fleeting glances, the awkward silences—but he also couldn't let himself get caught up in it.

Not when Annabeth's memory was still so fresh, so vivid.

He thought of her smile, her ringing laughter, the way she could calm him down even when things were at their worst. She'd been his anchor for as long as he'd been a demigod. The idea of moving on—of letting himself feel anything for anyone else—felt like a betrayal. He drew a slow, shuddering breath, his fingers tightening on the edge of the truck bed. No. He couldn't do it. He couldn't betray her memory, couldn't let himself slip into something that would only complicate things further. Annabeth deserved better than that. He owed her better than that.

For now, the best he could do was focus on getting everyone to safety, on leading them through whatever lay ahead. He would deal with the rest—the guilt, the confusion, the flickers of something he didn't want to name—later. Or maybe he wouldn't deal with it at all. Only time would tell he supposed.

"Hey stranger," Reyna's voice broke his train of thought. "Mind if I join you?"

Percy blinked away the confusion as he glanced down at the daughter of Bellona who was already at his side, slightly leaning on him for support. He could see the bandages wrapped around her stomach, still slightly leaking blood. Her skin was pale and breath ragged but she looked better than when she was at the Empire State Building.

"Reyna," He muttered, concerned. "You need to sit down."

She waved him off, her expression hard but tired. "Please don't tell me that. Everyone has been telling me that. Just let me stretch my legs for a little bit, okay?"

The son of Poseidon sighed in reluctance but allowed her to do so. Her stubbornness reminded him so much of Annabeth. Standing in silence for a few minutes, they basked in the sun's warmth and each other's presence. It was nice for a change. Maybe it was because Reyna knew what he was feeling because she was a leader herself. Whatever it was, he was thankful for the distraction. It offered him some semblance of peace that he hadn't truthfully felt in what felt like an eternity.

"They should be back soon hopefully." She said softly, glancing at the direction they drove off in.

"Yeah, hopefully." He replied, anxiety laced in his words. He'd lost track of how long it'd been already. Had an hour passed by or had it only been twenty or so minutes? He cursed his ADHD for not knowing. Every minute that passed could be another minute wasted not saving his friends. He once again nervously ran his hand through his hair, his chest feeling as if it would balloon with worry. The faint sounds of nature—the rustling of trees in the wind, distant chirps of birds—felt like a distant world compared to the storm raging in his body.

The daughter of Bellona noticed his restlessness and let out a quiet sigh, her gaze never wavering from the road as she slyly slipped her hand into his. The taller demigod tensed for a moment, not expecting the contact. As she rubbed her thumb over his knuckles, however, he calmed slightly. The simple gesture offered a strange sense of tranquility. He wasn't sure what it truly meant in her eyes but right now the simple touch—so quiet, so unspoken—felt like a lifeline.

Their silent moment of peace, however, was interrupted when something caught Percy's eye: a flicker of movement in the woods to their right. He squinted, his heart jumping in his chest. It was just a brief glimpse, but there—between the trees on the horizon—he could make out the figure of someone moving sluggishly.

"What the–" He voiced his confusion, causing Reyna to look up at him sharply. She followed his gaze, her instincts already picking up on the subtle shift in the air.

"What is it?" She asked but the son of Poseidon didn't answer, already on the move with his pen in hand.

"All of you! Be ready!" He ordered the demigods, the sudden urgency and command in his tone sent a ripple of alertness through the crowd. Demigods who had been lazily standing around or lounging by their vans immediately stiffened, their eyes scanning the surroundings. The son of Poseidon uncapped his sword as he jogged over to the edge of the woods, prepared to protect the demigods behind him. Arriving at the edge, he raised his sword as he watched the figure, shrouded by the shadows of the looming trees, slowly approach.

The figure, a man judging by the size, stumbled forward into the light, barely able to keep upright. Percy's grip on Riptide slackened, his heart sinking as he realized who this person was.

It was Chris Rodriguez.

His clothes were torn, his face battered and bruised, and his normally sharp eyes were dull and clouded. Blood seeped from multiple cuts on his skin, and his movements were sluggish as he stumbled toward the son of Poseidon. His once-strong posture was now weak, hunched with exhaustion, and the look in his eyes was one of fear.

"Shit!" Percy exclaimed as he rushed toward the son of Hermes, catching him just before he could fall to the ground in exhaustion. "Hey man, stay with me. You're safe now."

"B…Behind." Chris sputtered weakly, his breath ragged. He didn't know what he meant by that until he heard the rustling and snapping of trees in the woods in front of him. The ground shook with the weight of whatever was coming at them. It was only then that Percy understood. Not a moment later the treeline exploded in a flurry of black mass as countless Hellhounds came leaping out of the shadows, their beady red eyes locked on the son of Hermes. Their growls filled the air, sharp and guttural as their massive forms charged. The sight of the stampede was enough to make any demigod's blood run cold.

Percy barely had time to react before the first hound lunged at him, jaws snapping with ferocity. Instinctively, he swung Riptide in a wide arc, slicing through the air just in time to sever its snout. The creature let out a chilling howl before collapsing to the ground, its blood spilling into the dirt. The sight of it lying dead at his feet worried him greatly. That meant these monsters were the type that didn't dissolve into mist.

"Get back! Everyone, get back!" Percy shouted, his voice commanding as he spun to face the growing swarm. His heart raced, but there was no time for panic. The demigods scrambled into defensive positions, forming a protective line as the few others tried to put the younger children into vans to keep them safe. The son of Poseidon had no time to do anything else than protect the injured son of Hermes behind him.

A Hellhound lunged toward him, its fangs flashing in the sunlight. With a swift swing of Riptide, he cleaved through the air, the blade cutting through the beast's skull with an audible crack. It dropped to the ground in a heap. Continuing on with his relentless attacks, he pushed back the invasion. For every one that fell, however, two more took its place. Breathing heavily, he watched as the monsters began to steer clear of him, realizing that he was a bigger threat than the demigods behind him.

Cursing under his breath, the son of Poseidon did his best to draw the monsters' attention toward him but to no avail. Taking the risk, he let his back be exposed to the hoard as he picked up the now passed-out Chris and ran him over behind a van. Not even taking a moment to breathe, he ran back out to the action, reinforcing the line that was trying to desperately hold out.

"What the hell is this, Percy?!" Piper screamed at him as she dodged the claws of one hound that jumped over her.

"I don't know!" He replied, stabbing a monster through the chest as he rolled out of the way of another trying to get a bite of his side. "Just stay focused! There can't be that many left!"

Turns out that assessment was wrong. It seemed there was only more and more that streamed out the treeline, all of them hellbent on eating every single last demigod. He and the others did their best to hold the line but taking on countless Hellhounds that weighed more than trucks can tire a person quickly. Percy gritted his teeth, sweat stinging his eyes as he stabbed another monster through the skull. But he kept fighting back, not relenting in the slightest. He couldn't let these things kill the people that were relying on him.

"Percy, we can't keep this up!" Katie screamed at him, her eyes wide with fear. He hated to admit it but he had to agree. Sooner or later their line would falter. Growling in frustration, he made a split-second decision.

"Everyone, get down!" He yelled, his voice cutting through the chaos like thunder. The demigods didn't hesitate to listen to the order, dropping onto the ground like flys to a swatter. As soon as they hit the dirt, he stabbed his sword into the ground, focusing all his energy on the ground beneath them. Summoning every ounce of power he could muster, he called forth a massive surge of water from the nearby pipes beneath the rest stop. The ground rumbled violently as geysers of water erupted from the cracked asphalt, sending debris and Hellhounds flying into the air. The creatures yelped and snarled, some being thrown far into the woods while others died on the spot.

The sudden surge of water drenched the battlefield, carrying the corpses away like leaves in a storm. Steam hissed as the afternoon sun met the water, filling the air with a thick mist that shrouded the rest stop in an eerie veil. Percy stood at the center of it all, his chest heaving as he gripped Riptide tightly. The roar of the geysers faded, leaving only the faint trickle of water running into the gutters and the labored breathing of the demigods who had managed to survive the onslaught.

"Is everyone okay?" Percy called out, his voice raw from yelling.

A chorus of groans and murmured affirmations rose from the scattered demigods who were drenched in the nasty pipe water. The cries of a girl from behind the clumped crowd however broke their mental reservations. Percy's eyes darted to where the noise was coming from, noticing that there was still one last Hellhound still alive, clawing the windshield of a van that contained numerous children who were hidden from the battle.

He didn't think–acting on pure adrenaline.

He raced toward the van with Riptide at the ready, the blade gleaming under the filtered sunlight. His legs burned, his muscles screamed, but none of that mattered. Not when those kids were trapped, their terrified screams fueling his determination. The lone Hellhound snarled, its massive claws tearing into the van's metal exterior, leaving deep, jagged gashes. Its breath fogged the windshield, its teeth bared in a feral growl as it prepared to bite.

That was until the son of Poseidon jumped up and tackled it from the side, slamming into the beast with the full weight of his body. The Hellhound let out a startled yelp as Percy's momentum sent it sprawling to the ground. Riptide flashed in his hand as he plunged the blade into the creature's side, its black blood spurting onto the pavement as it howled in agony. It desperately used its claws to try and stop the demigod from stabbing it, getting a lucky swipe on the son of Poseidon's chest.

The force of the hit sent Percy flying backward into the van with a sickening thud. His back slammed into the metal frame, forcing the air out of his lungs in a sharp gasp. His vision blurred for a moment, pain radiating from the deep gash across his chest. He gritted his teeth, clutching at the wound as the Hellhound staggered to its feet, blood dripping from its side where Riptide had struck. The beast growled, its glowing red eyes narrowing as it lunged at the injured man. Percy barely had enough time to raise his arm and stop the fangs from sinking into his throat. Instead, the sharp, glistening whites sunk into his arm, the sheer force of the bite snapping his bone in two.

The demigod grunted in pain as he held back the monster, reaching out for Riptide which lay just by his side, glinting mockingly in the sunlight. Screaming as he felt the fangs sink deeper and deeper, he acted on pure instinct, jamming his free hand into the monster's eye. The attack was just enough to stall the fight for but a moment, allowing him to grab his sword and quickly stab the Hellhound repeatedly in the stomach. The monster thrashed and fell backward with Percy on top of it who continued to gut it with all his might.

He didn't stop stabbing until its snarls turned to whimpers before finally falling silent, black ichor pooling out of its mouth. Panting heavily, he slid off the monster, shakily leaning on Riptide as he stood up. The pain was searing in both his chest and arm but he really didn't care about that. Slugging himself over to the side door which had been caved in, he ripped it off its hinges without any hesitation.

Inside the van, the children were huddled together, their faces pale and streaked with tears. They flinched as Percy appeared, his battered form dripping with blood and sweat. He forced a smile despite the agony coursing through him.

"Come on guys," He said, his voice soft and comforting. "Let's get you out of there."

One by one, he helped the kids climb out of the van, doing his best to shield them from the gruesome scene behind him. The younger ones clung to his legs or buried their faces in his chest, oblivious to the blood soaking his shirt. Percy ignored the stabbing pain in his arm and chest as he guided them to the safety of the group. As he reached the others, the crowd of demigods parted to let them through. Katie, Piper, and Reyna were among the first to approach, their faces a mix of relief and concern.

"Percy, you're hurt—" Katie started, but he shook his head, cutting her off.

"Later," he said firmly, his focus still on the frightened children. "Make sure they're okay first."

His words did little to ease their concern, however, with Reyna pushing through the crowd to check on him. "Percy, you idiot, you're bleeding everywhere. Sit down before you fall over."

"I'm fine," Percy insisted, though his legs were trembling beneath him.

"You're not fine," Reyna said sharply as she approached, her face hard but her eyes betraying her worry. "Sit down before you make it worse."

"Oh, so now you're telling me to sit down? How ironic."

Realizing he wasn't going to win this fight, he reluctantly sank to the asphalt, wincing as pain shot through his body. Blood poured out of his body, staining his skin red and making him feel cold. That surely wasn't good. Judging by Nico's expression, he figured his guess was right.

"We got to stop the bleeding fast." The son of Hades urgently said, running over to a van that contained some medical supplies.

"Guys, it's not that serious," The green-eyed demigod tried to reason, craning his head to survey his wounds. He wished he hadn't. "Okay so maybe it's a little serious."

"Quit with the fucking jokes. Now's not the time." Katie shakily said, putting pressure on his biggest wound that continued to spurt unhealthy amounts of blood. Her hands were covered in it, her eyes not being able to contain the fear and anxiety that threatened to overtake her. Percy gritted his teeth, the dizziness from blood loss making his vision blur as he struggled to keep himself conscious.

Nico was back by his side in an instant, his hands working quickly to help stabilize the bleeding.

"Give me another bandage." He muttered fast, already taking off a blood-soaked bandage that he'd wrapped mere seconds ago. The green-eyed demigod winced as the cold began to overtake him, his hand gripping Riptide tightly as if it could anchor him to the present moment.

"Water." He uttered softly, his voice growing fainter by the second. Piper's eyes widened as she realized what he meant by that. She immediately sprang into action, rushing into the building to look for any water source that hadn't been destroyed by his powers. Noticing a stray water bottle inside the vending machine, she wasted no time breaking the glass with her dagger and ripping it out of its holder. Rushing back over, she immediately unscrewed the cap and poured its contents over his wounds.

"Fuck!" He cried out in pain as the water mixed into his wounds, causing a burning sensation to sear his body. The feeling was agonizing, causing him to bite the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. He had never experienced this with water before. It typically healed any injuries he had so why was it doing this to him now?

"It's because it's the type of monster that doesn't turn into mist," Nico answered, already coming to the conclusion. "Remember how I used my power on its corpse and it burnt me?"

The son of Poseidon groaned as he rolled his eyes. Of course, his luck just had to be that shit. Thankfully, the water seemed to be working. It was slow, much slower than he was used to but at least he would live.

"You're going to have to take it slow for a while," Nico said, finishing wrapping the remainder of the bandages on him. "These wounds won't heal quickly so treat it like you're mortal."

"But I am mortal." Percy gave a shaky grin.

"You know what I mean." Nico rolled his eyes, wiping his friend's blood off on his jeans.

He leaned back, trying to ease the pressure in his chest. Nico's words echoed in his mind as he continued to breathe heavily, the pain still fresh but starting to dull under the bandages and treatment. His thoughts were scattered, his adrenaline slowly wearing off and leaving behind an exhaustion that gnawed at him. The battle had been long, but they had survived. Still, something in his gut churned, unsettled by the close call and the absence of Will, Clarisse, and the Stolls.

Katie, who had been hovering nearby, still seemed shaken by the blood she'd had to clean from her hands. Her face was pale, her expression a mixture of concern and something unspoken. She had seen Percy at his worst before, but this was different—this time, he'd been right at death's door. And she had nearly lost him.

"You need to rest," she said quietly, her voice trembling ever so slightly. She placed a hand gently on his shoulder, as if grounding herself.

Percy could see the worry in her eyes, the unspoken fear that had taken root in both her and Piper. The kind of fear that grew when you realized just how easily everything could be taken from you in this world of monsters and chaos.

"Can't," He replied, shakily getting to his feet much to the anger of his friends. The pain was unbearable, almost making him throw up but there were more pressing matters to attend to. "Guys, we have four of our people missing and he's the only one that knows why." He pointed over to Chris who had thankfully woken up and was now leaning on the side of a van.

The group turned their attention to the son of Hermes, who still had a distant look in his eye, his wounds hastily bandaged by some of the other demigods. His eyes were wide, haunted, as if he'd seen something far worse than the Hellhounds that had attacked them. Percy limped over to him, ignoring the protests and pain. Every step sent a jolt of pain through his body but he pushed through it, determined to figure out what happened to his friends.

"Chris," He said, his voice steady. "What happened out there?"

Chris's hands shook as he tried to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. "We… we were scouting ahead like Clarisse told us to. We thought it was clear, but then… then they came out of nowhere. We tried to fight them off, but there were too many. Travis and Connor… they told me to run, to get back and warn you. They stayed behind to hold them off."

"What came out of nowhere?" Percy knelt down to eye level, his voice urgent. "What'd you see?"

"I-I can't even explain what they were…" He replied, dropping his head. "I'd never seen monsters like them before. They almost looked human but they were bigger and had this ugly grey skin."

Percy's stomach dropped. The thought of the Stoll brothers—trapped, injured, or worse—sent a cold wave of dread through him. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to stay calm. "Did you see if the brothers survived? Or if they were taken?

Chris shook his head, his face pale. "No. It all happened so fast. I just… I ran. I didn't look back."

Percy exhaled sharply, his mind racing on what he should do. Patting the son of Hermes on his sagged shoulders, he stood back up and turned to the group of demigods that had crowded around to get an ear in their conversation.

"We're going to get them back right now," He announced, his voice strong and firm. "Everyone mount up. We're heading to camp."

No one dared defy his order, scrambling into action to hit the road once more.

"Percy, what the fuck are you thinking?!" Reyna muttered angrily, gripping his hand tightly. "You're in no condition to help them."

"I can't just sit behind and let my friends suffer," The son of Poseidon lightly escaped her grasp, walking over to the truck and getting in the driver's seat. "Will and Clarisse don't know what they're getting into. I won't let that happen to them as well."

Reyna bit her lip as if to argue more but seeing the determined look in his eye, she knew there would be no point. This was happening either way, nothing could change that.

"Gods, I hope you know what you're getting into."

"Nope," Percy turned the vehicle on, the hum of the engine getting louder. "But let's go find out."

Chapter Text

Percy let out a cool breath of air, looking up at the twinkling stars overhead. The night sky was impossibly clear, each constellation vivid and sharp against the velvet black. A crescent moon hung low on the horizon, casting a soft silver glow over the landscape. Chills went down his spine when a soft gust of wind rippled against his clothes, causing him to slightly grimace in pain as he clutched his wounds. Rolling his neck to relieve his aching muscles, he made sure the familiar weight of Riptide was in his pocket and his bandages in place before walking over to the crowd of demigods who were waiting by the vans.

They had stopped a mile out before reaching camp, hoping that was enough distance where they could sneak inside the borders without being sensed. He figured, however, that it was best to wait until nighttime, letting the cover of darkness aid their infiltration. He hoped that idea hadn't cost Will's, Clarisse's, and the Stoll's lives though. If they were even still alive. Approaching the crowd, he could see their apprehensive faces illuminated by the moonlight, staring at him as they awaited his command.

"We ready?" Piper asked, gripping her sheathed dagger's hilt so tightly her knuckles had turned white. The son of Poseidon nodded, his expression determined but grim.

"Everyone remembers the plan, right?" He asked to which everyone murmured their confirmations. The tension was palpable in the air. They all knew this probably was a trap but they had to do it. It wasn't in any of their blood to leave friends behind.

"Check whatever buildings are left standing for supplies and the missing demigods. Try not to get caught and die." Nico replied, the night's shadows coiling around his body in anticipation. He gave Nico a nod, appreciating the morbid humor, even if it didn't do much to ease the anxiety. He was glad the son of Hades was here. Him and his powers should make everything easier, especially since Percy himself was far too injured to be of any real assistance. Not like that would stop him from helping much to the annoyance of his friends. He'd be damned before he laid back and let others risk their lives without him at least being by their side.

"Right. Stick to your groups. If things start getting rough, run back to the vans. Do not and I mean do not play the hero. I don't want anyone meeting the judges of the Underworld tonight."

"What if we find them?" Mac, the son of Mercury, questioned, referring to his Greek brothers, Clarisse and Will.

Percy exhaled slowly, steadying himself. "If you find them and they can move, get them out fast. If they can't…" He hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. "Signal. Nico will get them out with his shadow travel."

Mac gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

"Alright," He said, gripping Riptide, feeling the reassuring weight of the pen in his hand. "Move out."

The demigods dispersed in groups, slipping through the swaying trees like shadows. The green-eyed demigod clenched his jaw, pushing through the pain as he followed his assigned team which consisted of Piper, Butch Walker–a son of Iris–and two Romans. His chest and arm burned where the last fight had left him bleeding and broken, but he ignored it. Walking for a good mile without any problems, he soon noticed the camp—or what was left of it—loomed ahead, broken and battered.

The group stopped for a moment, unable to fully grasp that this used to be their home. There was barely anything left standing that they recognized. Smoke from the battle still curled in the air, mixing with the scent of damp earth and something acrid, maybe the rotting flesh of the dead that still littered the land. The remnants of cabins stood like skeletons in the dark, their charred frames barely recognizable. Percy pushed the feeling in his stomach down as he forced himself to keep moving, carefully weaving through fallen trees. He exchanged a glance with Piper, who swallowed hard but nodded, tightening her grip on her dagger. Butch muttered a curse under his breath, his demeanor darkened by the sight before them. Even the Romans, hardened as they were, looked uneasy. They too knew what it was like to lose a home.

"Check the cabins first," He whispered to the group. "Check to see if there's anything then move on to the Big House."

The others gave silent nods of agreement as they navigated the wreckage with caution. Each step carried them over jagged splinters of wood and scattered debris, remnants of a battle now eerily still. Percy's sharp eyes caught glimpses of shattered weapons, their broken edges dulled by dust, and abandoned shields that gleamed faintly under the cold, distant starlight. The sky stretched endlessly above them, its brilliant constellations casting a ghostly glow over the ruins. Stumbling on something protruding outward from the ground, the son of Poseidon grunted in pain as his wounds flared once more. Looking down, his breath hitched as he eyed a pale, lifeless hand. The skin was cold and pallid, smeared with streaks of dried blood and grime. Its fingers curled slightly as if they had once clutched at something, perhaps a weapon lost to the rubble.

His throat tightened, and he forced himself to look away, his hands clenching into fists. A part of him wanted to kneel, to uncover the rest of the body, to at least put a face to the fallen. But another part—the one that had learned the hard way how cruel war could be—told him to keep moving. There were too many bodies here beneath his feet to mourn."Keep going," he murmured, barely trusting his voice to hold steady.

The others nodded solemnly, their faces grim as they pressed forward. Piper led the way toward the nearest cabin—or what remained of it. The door hung off its hinges, barely clinging to the charred frame. The walls had caved in, and the roof had been blasted away, leaving behind jagged edges of wood and stone. It was unrecognizable, but Percy knew. This had once been the Aphrodite cabin.

The daughter of Aphrodite hesitated for a second before stepping over the wreckage. He followed, his senses on high alert for any movement, any sign of life. His gut twisted at the sight inside—scorched bunks, melted vanity mirrors, torn silken sheets coated in soot. This place, once filled with warmth, laughter and the scent of perfume, now reeked of death.

Butch stepped in behind them, his rainbow-colored tattoo standing out starkly against his darkened, soot-covered skin. "Nothing," he muttered after a quick sweep of the ruined space. "No supplies. No sign of the missing." His jaw clenched.

Piper knelt beside an overturned chest, her fingers brushing over a half-burned scarf. Her expression darkened, but she said nothing. Her grip tightened on the scarf, knuckles turning pale. She swallowed hard, eyes scanning the wreckage as if searching for something—anything—familiar. But there was nothing. Just ashes and ghosts of what once was.

Percy watched her carefully. He knew what this place meant to her. "Pipes…" he started, voice softer now.

"I'm fine," she cut in quickly, stuffing the scarf into her pocket. But the tension in her jaw told a different story. "We should keep moving."

He let out a slow breath, the night air filling his lungs as he carefully walked out of the cabin to check on the others left standing. One specific one caught his eye, its outer walls of gray stone littered with seashells and coral glittering against the pale moonlight. The sight of it almost made his heart stop, a painful weight pressing down on his chest. It was the only cabin that still held some semblance of its former glory, even though it was battered. The roof had been caved in slightly and the walls looked as if one touch could cause them to crumble. But it was still there, standing proudly.

His legs moved on their own accord, carrying him closer to the place he called home for many years. Stepping up on the broken steps, he carefully pushed on the groaning door that was barely hanging on. Inside, the air was stale, filled with the scent of ash and dampness, no longer holding the smell of the sea. Walking further inside, he noticed it was a disaster, the furniture was overturned, the beds were destroyed and the once-beautiful murals of the bronze hippocampi Tyson had made for him were shattered across the room.

"There's nothing here either," One of the Romans whispered, sighing in defeat. The son of Poseidon however paid no heed to his words. He was in a trance, eyeing every little thing that he once took for granted. He hadn't been in here since the night Hera took his memories away and sent him to the west coast. Memories flashed through his head of his time here throughout the years. Most of them had Annabeth in them. He softly smiled as he softly brushed his fingers against his broken bed, remembering the nights she had snuck in to sleep with him.

It felt like another lifetime ago.

Walking past the bed, his eye caught something hanging on the wall. His throat tightened when he saw it. His heart seemed to skip a beat as he stepped closer, the remnants of the room blurring as he focused on the object hanging there. It was the Minotaur's horn. Softly peeling it off the wall, Percy wiped the ash and dust off it as he remembered that night. The night when everything had changed. It was the first time he had truly felt what it was like to fight for something bigger than himself. The horn was a symbol of that—of the struggle, of the loss, but also of his survival. It had been his first real test, and somehow, he'd passed it. He'd survived the impossible, but now, standing in the broken remains of his cabin, with the world around him in tatters, it felt like none of that mattered now.

His fingers tightened around the horn as the memories came rushing back–the rush, the fear, the bellow of that monster. Despite it being one of the worst nights of his life considering he thought his mom had been killed, he wished he could go back and start over. There were so many things he wished he could change, to relive one more time, to not take for granted.

"Percy," Piper's voice broke through his reverie, bringing him back to the present. "We need to keep moving."

He hesitated, gripping the horn that now felt heavier than when he had first held it all those years ago. Turning back to his friends who were already quietly making their way out of the cabin, he knew that he couldn't stay trapped in the past. He knew that if he lingered too long, he would lose himself completely. The present and his people were relying on him. Slipping the piece of history that started his story back onto the wall, he quickly made his way out of the cabin, taking one final look at the room—the broken bed, the shattered murals, the remnants of a life once lived—he whispered,

"Goodbye."

His voice carried out into the wind, faint and fragile, as if he was leaving behind a piece of himself. The person he had been before, the boy who had fought and stumbled and learned, was gone. But the man he had become, the one standing in the ruins of his home, had to keep moving.

And so he did. With silent footsteps and darting eyes scanning for the slightest hint of movement, they made their way to the Big House. He could see the looming structure's silhouette through the darkness as they approached closer. The roof had been caved in and the windows shattered. Despite that, however, it seemed stable enough. Coming to the stairs, Piper was the first to get to the open doorway, her face suddenly becoming tense. Without a word, Percy and the others sidestepped their way out of sight, sensing that something was off.

The daughter of Aphrodite held a finger to her ear, silently conveying that she heard something inside and that it was coming right at them. The men readied their weapons, their grips tightening as they prepared for whatever—or whoever—was about to emerge from the shadows of the House. Percy's heart pounded in his chest, his injuries momentarily forgotten as adrenaline surged through his veins. He exchanged a quick glance with Butch, his eyes wide but determined, before shifting his focus back to the doorway. The sound of footsteps grew louder, accompanied by the faint clinking of metal.

The son of Poseidon didn't have the luxury to see who emerged from the shadows and decided it was best to act first rather than ask questions. Uncapping Riptide, he slammed the figure who finally emerged from the doorway against the wall, his sword ready to slit their throat in an instant.

The unknown figure, a woman judging by the sharp feminine gasp of shock, grunted in pain as Percy's looming figure shifted all his weight atop. Resting his blade on their throat, his narrowed sea-green eyes suddenly widened as he took in the face of the person he was ready to kill.

"Clarisse?" He breathed, his voice a mix of disbelief and relief.

The daughter of Ares stared at him with frightened eyes, her usual fiery defiance nowhere to be seen because of Percy's frightening stature. Once she realized it was him, however, she roughly shoved him off her.

"Get off me, Jackson," She snapped, rubbing her neck where Riptide had been pressed. "You're lucky I didn't gut you."

The towering demigod stepped back, lowering his sword as a sigh of relief escaped his lips. His attention shifted to the commotion behind her, and a flicker of reassurance washed over him as he spotted Will guiding the Stoll brothers forward. Both looked worse for wear—bruised, bloodied, and caked in dirt—but they were alive.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Clarisse asked, annoyance in her tone. "I told you to wait."

"Couldn't," Percy replied, capping Riptide back into his pocket. "Got ambushed by a pack of Hellhounds that were following Chris."

The brown-haired girl let out an involuntary squeak, so unlike the usual demeanor she was known for.

"Chris?!" Her voice cracked, her hands trembling as she stepped closer to the son of Poseidon. "Where is he?! Is he–?"

"He's alive," He interrupted, seeing the panic in her features. "He's with some of the others back at the vans. He's hurt but he'll make it. He ran all the way back to the rest station and got there as soon as you and Will left. He warned us about some grey-skinned monsters?" He directed the statement to the Stolls.

The brothers involuntary shivered as they remembered the horrid creatures that had held them captive. Rubbing the wounds they had received, they both exchanged uneasy glances.

"Those…things," Travis said, his voice somber. "We've never seen anything like them."

"They were human-like," Connor continued, a strange look in his eyes. "Could even speak our language. But they were much stronger. Strong enough to snap my sword in two with their bare hands."

Percy's brow furrowed as he listened. Grey-skinned, relentless, could speak their language and were strong enough to take down seasoned demigods. No monster like that came to mind.

"Did they say anything to you?" He asked.

The brothers nodded their heads, the usual mischievous in their features replaced by a haunted expression.

"They said stuff about a Father, whatever that means."

Percy's stomach churned at the mention of a "Father." The word carried a weight that sent a cold shiver down his spine. He exchanged a glance with Piper, whose face had gone pale. Even Clarisse, who was usually unshakable, looked uneasy. The air around them seemed to grow heavier, the shadows of the Big House stretching longer as if the night itself was listening.

"Father?" Piper repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "As in… the Father? Kronos? Or… someone else?"

Percy shook his head. It couldn't have been Kronos. He had personally made sure that would never be the case again. Whatever this father was, it was something new. Or perhaps something long forgotten.

"We'll deal with it later. I don't like this—not a single one of those gray bastards in sight. Something's definitely off," Butch said, ending their speculation for the time being. He pulled a water bottle from his belt, gave it a sharp shake, and sent a fine mist arcing into the air. Under his breath, he muttered something indistinct, and the group watched as the mist shimmered, transforming into a vivid rainbow that glowed high against the dark sky like a neon sign. It was their signal, telling everyone to retreat back to the vans.

"You guys go," The son of Poseidon said, holding back as the group began to dash toward the woods. "There's still a place I haven't checked yet."

"What?!" Piper fiery whispered, turning back to face him. "The mission is done, Percy. We got them back."

He shook his head, gesturing to the woods past Zeus's fist. "Still got Bunker nine. We came for supplies too so that's our best bet at finding anything."

Her eyes narrowed, frustration evident even in the dim light. "Percy, you can barely stand and you're leaking blood again. You're not going anywhere alone."

"Then hurry up and follow me," He replied, already making his way to the hidden bunker. "The rest of you head back to the vans. We won't be long."

She opened her mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped her. There was no talking him out of this. She sighed, glancing at the others. "Head back to the vans. We'll catch up as soon as possible."

The others hesitated, their faces etched with concern, but they knew better than to argue with Percy when he had that determined glint in his eye. With a final nod, they turned and began their retreat, disappearing into the shadows of the forest. Piper jogged to catch up with him, her dagger still in hand, eyes scanning the darkness for any signs of danger. The two of them moved quickly but cautiously, their footsteps barely making a sound on the forest floor. The air was thick with tension, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant hoot of an owl. Percy's injuries throbbed with every step, but he pushed the pain aside, focusing on the task at hand. Bunker Nine was their last hope for supplies, and he wasn't about to leave without checking it.

As they approached the hidden entrance to the bunker, Percy was relieved to find that the entrance, a massive boulder protruding from a cliff, had remained closed signaling that it was untouched after the battle.

"How are we supposed to get inside," Piper whispered, remembering the stories that only Hephaestus children were ever able to enter and exit the bunker freely. "Me and you both can't move that massive piece of rock."

"Good thing I've got a few tricks up my sleeve," He replied, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he approached the boulder. Placing a hand on the cold, rough surface of the rock, he closed his eyes and spoke the words that Leo had taught him in case of emergencies.

"Oh awesome and great Leo Valdez. Let me in."

Piper raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. The look on her face quickly turned to shock however when the boulder began to slowly move, allowing them to enter.

"You gotta be shitting me," She whispered, quickly following close behind as Percy entered the dark hanger. Stepping cautiously inside the darkness, the son of Poseidon uncapped Riptide, the faint glow of the sword casting long shadows across the walls. The air inside was cool and damp, carrying the faint metallic tang of machinery and the lingering scent of oil. Walking deeper inside, they noticed rows of workbenches and half-finished projects. Machines and chains creaked dormantly throughout the air, the silence of the bunker amplifying every sound. It felt like a tomb, a place frozen in time since the camp's destruction had forced its abandonment.

"This place gives me the creeps," Piper muttered, her voice echoing softly in the vast space. She tightened her grip on her dagger, her eyes darting around as if expecting something to leap out of the shadows.

"If Leo were here right now, he'd cuss you out for that comment," Percy replied, his tone light despite the tension. He moved forward cautiously, looking for anything that could be of use. Weapons, medical supplies, or even food though he had a sneaking suspicion the rats got to that first. Approaching a large workbench, his eyes caught the faint gleam of bronze lying on top of the table. Raising Riptide over it, the glow illuminated what appeared to be a sleek, intricately designed pistol. Picking it up, he noticed its surface was etched with ancient Greek symbols and words inscribed on its handle.

"Theoteta." He muttered the word absentmindedly, brushing his hand over it.

"Divinity," Piper translated, peaking over his shoulder. "Looks like a nice gun. Seems designed after a Glock."

Percy glanced up at her, clearly impressed with her knowledge. "Since when did you know about guns?"

"I was a bad girl before I knew I was a demigod," She replied, a small teasing smirk playing on her lips. His eyes were involuntarily drawn to her full, pink lips but he quickly shook his head, forcing himself to focus back on the gun. It was lighter than he expected and perfectly balanced. Releasing the magazine he was happy to find that it was full, containing both celestial bronze and mortal bullets.

"Nine–"

"Nine millimeter." Percy interrupted Piper before she could finish, smirking as he put the clip back and stashed the weapon in his belt loop. "A kid doesn't just grow up in the streets of New York without learning a thing or two."

"Oh, so you were a bad boy back in the day, huh?" She teased, looking him up and down with a sparkle in her eyes.

"I had my moments," He replied with a chuckle before brushing past her and moving deeper into the bunker. The two of them moved quickly through the rest of the bunker, gathering whatever supplies they could find. He managed to find a small satchel of ambrosia squares and small vials of what seemed to be nectar. Piper on the other hand had managed to find a quiver of arrows and a compact bow, which she slung over her shoulder. They also found a few first-aid kits and some weird grey-looking blocks of material wrapped in tape. They both didn't know what it could be but decided to take it anyway.

"Alright, I think we've cleared everything," Percy sighed, standing up after checking some empty drawers. "Ready to head out?"

"Please, get me out of here." Piper replied, eager to leave the damp, dark confines of the bunker. The eerie silence and the faint creaking of machinery were starting to get to her.

As they approached the massive boulder, he paused, glancing back at the shadowy interior of the bunker one last time. It felt strange, to leave behind a place that had once been a hub of innovation and creativity for the camp. But there was no time to dwell on it.

"Let's move," he said, stepping out into the cool night air. But he, along with Piper, were quickly driven back inside when a spear had embedded itself into the cliffside next to them with a resounding thunk! They both ducked back into the shadows and hid beside the entrance, their hearts pounding at the close call. They drew their weapons once more as they scanned the darkness outside for any sign of movement. That was a bad idea however as an arrow sprang forth from the trees, sailing past and causing Piper to whip her head back behind cover.

"We've got trouble," She whispered, her voice tense.

The son of Poseidon cursed under his breath as his grip tightened on Riptide. Of course something bad had to happen. Things were going way too smoothly for the Fates' liking. He peered cautiously around the edge of the boulder, his sea-green eyes scanning the treeline for any sign of their attackers. The moonlight cast long shadows across the forest, making it difficult to distinguish movement from the natural sway of the trees. But then he saw it—a flicker of movement, a glint of metal reflecting against the faint light. His stomach dropped.

"They're surrounding us," Percy muttered, pulling back behind cover. "We're trapped."

Piper's jaw tightened as she gripped her dagger, her mind racing. "How many?"

"Hard to tell," he replied, his voice low. "But I saw at least five. Could be more."

The daughter of Aphrodite cursed under her breath, her eyes darting around the bunker's entrance for any possible escape route. But the only way out was through the boulder, and that meant stepping right into the line of fire. She glanced at Percy, her expression a mix of rising fear and determination.

"We can't stay here," she said. "They'll just wait us out or flush us out. We have to make a move."

Percy nodded, his mind racing. He knew she was right, but charging out blindly would be suicide. They needed a plan—and fast. His eyes fell on the strange grey blocks they had found earlier, still tucked into the satchel of supplies. An idea began to form, risky but potentially their only shot. "Those grey blocks," he said, pulling one out and examining it. "Think they're explosives?"

Piper's eyes widened. "You're kidding, right? You want to blow our way out?"

"Do you have a better idea?" he shot back, his tone sharper than he intended. "Look, we're outnumbered. If we can create a distraction—maybe even take a few of them out—we might have a chance to make a run for it."

She hesitated, her gaze flickering between him and the block in his hand. Finally, she nodded. "Alright but if this goes wrong, I'm haunting you in the Underworld."

Percy managed a small grin despite the situation. "Deal."

He quickly tossed her one of the grey blocks, keeping another for himself. "We'll need to time this perfectly," he said, his voice low and urgent as he rigged a makeshift fuse with pieces of the bandages he had torn off him. "On my signal, we throw these as far as we can in opposite directions. The explosion should give us enough time to make a break for it back to the vans."

"How are we going to light the fuse?" Piper asked

"It's the Hepestaus bunker. There's always a way to make fire." He replied, showing her a small lighter he had managed to find on a workbench.

Once preparations were finished, the son of Poseidon dared to peek out from behind the boulder again, his eyes scanning the treeline. The figures were closer now, their movements more deliberate. He could make out their silhouettes–tall, broad, and the faintest glimpse of grey skin. He cursed once more as he realized his suspicion was confirmed. These were the same monsters that had captured the Stolls.

He exchanged a quick glance with Piper, who nodded, her grip tightening on the grey block in her hand. "Ready?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the faint rustle of leaves in the night breeze.

Piper nodded, her expression apprehensive but determined. "Ready."

Just as Percy flicked the lighter, the orange flickering flame about to ignite the fuse, a familiar voice echoed through the darkness, cold and commanding.

"Percy…Piper…Come out."

The voice sent a chill down his spine, freezing him in place. He recognized it instantly, though it carried a tone he had never heard before—cold, detached, and laced with an authority that made his stomach twist. The daughter of Aphrodite's eyes widened, her grip on the grey block slackening as she exchanged a panicked glance with Percy.

"No way," she whispered, her voice trembling. "That's not possible."

Percy's mind raced, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew that voice. He knew it better than almost any other. But it couldn't be. It just couldn't. He had seen the body on that fateful day. "Jason," He murmured, his voice barely audible. He stepped forward out into the open, ignoring Piper's sharp intake of breath as she reached out to stop him. "Jason, is that you?"

The forest held its breath, the silence so heavy it seemed to press against the very air, making it difficult to breathe. For a long, agonizing moment, nothing stirred. Then, from the shadows, a figure emerged. His golden hair, streaked with grime and dried blood, caught the faint glow of the moonlight, giving him an eerie, otherworldly aura. His skin was unnaturally pale, smeared with dirt, blood, and strange, inky tendrils that seemed to writhe faintly as if alive. His face was a mask—unreadable, hollow—and his eyes, once a vibrant blue and full of life, now stared blankly through them, cold and devoid of any spark. He was clad in a tattered Camp Jupiter shirt and jeans, the fabric barely holding together beneath the shattered remnants of imperial golden armor. It was the same outfit he had worn on the day he died.

"J-Jason?" Piper exclaimed, her breath hitching as she got a look at her once-dead lover from behind Percy's shoulders. Her heart slammed against her ribs, a chaotic drumbeat of disbelief, hope, and dread. Her chest tightened, and for a moment, she thought she might collapse under the weight of her emotions. Her mind raced, struggling to reconcile the impossible sight before her. Jason. It was him—his face, his hair, his frame—but it wasn't him. Not the Jason she remembered. Not the boy who had laughed with her, fought beside her, and loved her with a fierceness that had once made her feel invincible. This... this was something else. Something wrong. Her voice trembled as she whispered his name again, softer this time, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile reality she was clinging to. "Jason...?"

But he didn't respond. His hollow, lifeless eyes swept over her, unseeing, unfeeling. The inky tendrils on his skin pulsed faintly, like veins of darkness threading through him, and Piper felt a chill crawl up her spine. This wasn't just Jason. This was something corrupted, something broken. And yet, a part of her—a desperate, foolish part—wanted to run to him, to grab him and shake him until the boy she knew came back. Until his eyes lit up with that familiar warmth, and he smiled at her like she was the only thing that mattered. Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. She couldn't afford to break down, not now. Not when Percy was standing protectively in front of her, his hand gripping Riptide so tightly his knuckles were white. Not when the air around them crackled with tension, the forest itself seeming to recoil from the unnatural presence before them.

"Piper," Percy said, his voice low and urgent, "stay back. This isn't him. Not anymore."

She knew he was right. She knew it. But the ache in her chest was unbearable, a raw, gaping wound that refused to heal. Jason had been her anchor, her safe harbor in the storm of their chaotic lives. And now, standing there, so close yet so impossibly far, he felt like a cruel mockery of everything they had shared. The son of Jupiter tilted his head, as if studying them, and Piper's breath caught. For a fleeting second, she thought she saw a flicker of recognition in those cold, empty eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by something darker, something that made her stomach churn.

"Jason, please," She pleaded, her voice breaking. But he didn't move. Didn't speak. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating, until she felt like she might drown in it. And then, with a suddenness that made her flinch, Jason's lips twisted into a smile—a cruel, unnatural smile that sent a jolt of terror through her. "

"Piper," he said, his voice a hollow echo. "You shouldn't have let me die."

That was all it took for the floodgates to open. Those words cut deeper than any blade, slicing through her heart effortlessly. Her knees buckled, and she stumbled back, her dagger slipping from her trembling fingers. Tears streamed down her face, unchecked, as she stared at the hollow shell of the man she had loved.

"Jason," Percy stepped forward, shielding Piper behind him further. His sea-green eyes were hard, his jaw clenched, but beneath the steely exterior, a storm of unfiltered emotions raged. "If it really is you. You should know that Gaea was defeated. You helped save the world, man."

The son of Jupiter's dead eyes flickered toward his cousin, the faintest hint of something–perhaps the memory of the battle against Mother Earth–passing through them before vanishing just as quickly. The inky tendrils on his skin pulsed, and his head tilted unnaturally, like a puppet being pulled by invisible strings.

"Gaea… defeated?" Jason repeated, his tone flat, almost mocking. "She was only the beginning of the end."

"The fuck are you talking about?!" Percy called out, anger flashing through his features. For a moment, the air between them seemed to crackle with an unseen energy. The inky tendrils on his skin writhed more violently, as if salivating at the son of Poseidon's outburst.

"You think you've won," He replied, his lips curling into that same unnerving smile. "But the Father has been waiting…watching…biding his time."

"The Father?" The green-eyed demigod stepped forward, gripping Riptide defensively. "You're under his control now?! Is that it?! Who is he?!"

"He's the one that's been forgotten," Jason said, the words sending a chill through the night air. "But no longer. He has arrived and he brings forth the dying light."

Before the two of them could respond, the son of Jupiter's body jerked suddenly, his head snapping to the side as if listening to a voice only he could hear. The tendrils on his pulsed and his expression slated once more.

"The Father's will be done." He said before ordering the monsters behind him to attack.

Immediately, the grey-skinned monsters came out of the shadows, snarling beastly growls as they charged the pair of demigods.

"Percy!" Piper shouted, her voice in panic as she darted back inside the bunker. Percy didn't hesitate to pull out the pistol from his belt loop, firing off three rounds that managed to kill three of the creatures before heading back inside as well.

"Piper, we gotta hurry," he said, his voice also in panic as he grabbed the explosives and lighter. Those monsters were fast and would be inside the bunker at any given second. With shaky hands, he handed her one of the blocks but she hastily refused.

"We can't!" she cried out. "We'll kill Jason if we throw those!"

"We don't have a choice," He shouted back, his voice strained with urgency. "If we don't do something now, we're dead! Jason's already gone, Piper–whatever that thing is out there, it's not him anymore!"

Tears streamed down her face as she shook her head, her hands trembling as Percy forced a block of explosive into her hand. "No, Percy! I can't. I can't. I can't!"

Her pleas had fallen on deaf ears however as he lit both their fuses, forcing her to throw it away as fast as she could out into the forest. The explosives arced through the air, their fuses sputtering as they flew toward the charging monsters. He grabbed Piper's arm, yanking her deeper into the bunker just as the first explosion rocked the night. The force of the blast sent a shockwave through the ground, the sound deafening as flames and debris erupted outside. The walls of the bunker trembled, dust and small chunks of stone raining down from the ceiling.

Percy shielded Piper with his body, his ears ringing as the second explosion followed, the heat from the blast searing even from a distance. For a moment, everything was chaos—smoke, fire, and the anguished cries of the monsters filled the air. His heart pounded as he waited, his grip on Piper tightening. He could feel her shaking beneath him, her sobs muffled against his chest. The guilt gnawed at him, but he pushed it aside. They had no other choice. They had to survive.

"Run!" He yelled, his own voice muffled in his ringing ears. He pulled the daughter of Aphrodite to her feet, his grip firm and steady as they desperately ran outside through the thick dust. The explosions had carved a jagged scar into the forest, leaving behind a smoldering crater and the twisted, charred remains of the monsters that had been charging them. The air was thick with the acrid stench of burning wood and flesh, and the heat from the flames pressed against their skin like a suffocating blanket. Percy's eyes darted around, scanning the wreckage for any sign of movement. His heart was pounding, his mind racing as he continued to run deeper into the forest back toward the vans where the others would hopefully be waiting.

Piper stumbled beside him, her face pale and streaked with tears. She was still clutching the empty space where the explosive had been, her hands trembling uncontrollably. Her eyes were wide, and unfocused, as if she were trapped in a nightmare she couldn't wake up from. He tightened his grip on her arm, pulling her forward. "We have to keep moving," he said, grimacing as his wounds began to bleed profusely due to the excessive movement.

Running through the dark forest with only the moon's light to aid them was no easy feat. The shadows seemed to stretch and twist, playing tricks on their eyes as they sprinted over roots and dodged low-hanging branches. His lungs burned with every breath, but he pushed through the pain, his focus solely on getting Piper to safety. He could hear her ragged breathing beside him, her steps faltering every now and then, but she kept going, driven by willpower.

Eventually, by sheer luck, the pair had managed to find their way back to the road where the vans and their friends came into view, their silhouettes barely visible in the dim moonlight. Percy's heart leapt with relief, but the feeling was short-lived. The sound of heavy footsteps and guttural growls echoed behind them, growing louder with each passing second. The monsters—or whatever was left of them—were still pursuing them.

"Almost there!" He shouted, his voice hoarse from exertion. The others were already there in the vans, their faces pale and anxious as they watched Percy and Piper emerge from the forest.

"What the hell happened?! We heard explosions!" Clarisse barked, her spear at the ready as she stepped forward. Her eyes darted between Percy and Piper, taking in their disheveled appearance and the blood staining his clothes.

"No time!" Percy gasped, shoving her into the nearest van. "We've got company—move!"

But before he could climb in himself, a gnarled grey monster lunged from the shadows, its clawed hand closing around Percy's neck. With a brutal heave, it hurled him aside like a ragdoll. The creature turned its attention to the van, its grotesque form scrambling toward the open door, but the demigod was already back on his feet. With a snarl, he grabbed the monster by its head, twisting it with a sickening crunch that left it lifeless on the ground.

Without missing a beat, Percy drew his gun again, firing three sharp shots into the chaos. The bullets whizzed through the air, forcing the remaining creatures to retreat into the shadowy cover of the woods. Heart pounding, he turned to make his escape, his hand gripping the van's doorframe. But something stopped him cold. There, in the middle of the road, stood Jason. His eyes—once dull and lifeless—now burned a vivid, electric blue, brimming with a vitality that hadn't been there moments before. They locked onto Percy's, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to stand still. Jason was back.

"Help… me…" Jason's voice was barely a whisper, yet it cut through the rumble of the van's engine like a knife, reaching his ears with chilling clarity.

Percy hesitated, his hand gripping the doorframe of the van. Every instinct screamed at him to get in, to drive away and leave this nightmare behind. But the look in Jason's eyes—pleading, desperate—rooted him to the spot. A surge of guilt and desperation tightened in his chest, clawing at his resolve. Against all logic, against every ounce of self-preservation screaming in his mind, he raised his pistol. The barrel trembled slightly as he aimed it directly at Jason's head.

BANG!

The shot echoed through the cold air, sharp and final. For a moment, everything seemed to freeze. Smoke curled from the barrel of the gun, and Percy's breath hitched as he watched Jason's head jerk to the side. Thick, black ichor oozed from the wound, dripping down his face in grotesque rivulets. The son of Poseidon's stomach churned, his heart pounding in his ears. But then, slowly, impossibly, his cousin's head turned back. His lifeless eyes locked onto Percy's once more, empty and hollow, while that same twisted smile spread across his face—a smile that didn't belong to Jason, not anymore. His blood ran cold as he realized the horrifying truth: whatever this thing was, it wasn't his friend.

"Percy, get in the van!" Clarisse's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding. She was leaning out of the driver's seat, her spear in one hand and the other gripping the steering wheel tightly. The engine roared, ready to tear down the road at a moment's notice. But he couldn't move. His feet felt rooted to the ground, his eyes locked on Jason's hollow gaze.

"Percy!" Piper's voice broke through his trance, desperate and pleading. She was leaning out of the van, her face pale and streaked with tears as she tugged on his arm. "Please, we have to go!"

The sound of her voice snapped him back to reality. He glanced at the van, then back at Jason, who was now taking slow, deliberate steps toward him. The monsters that had been pursuing them were regrouping, their guttural growls growing louder as they closed in. He wanted to stay. He wanted to help his cousin. Help end his suffering. But he was beyond saving, at least for now.

With a grimace, Percy turned toward the van and leapt into the backseat just as Clarisse slammed her foot on the gas. The tires screeched against the asphalt, and the van lurched forward, speeding down the dark, empty road. He slammed the door shut behind him, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The others were silent, their faces a mixture of shock, fear, and disbelief.

Piper was curled up in the corner of the van, her arms wrapped around herself as she stared blankly at the floor. Her tears had stopped, but her eyes were red and swollen, her expression haunted. Percy wanted to say something, to comfort her, but the words caught in his throat. What could he possibly say?

Clarisse's knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. "What the hell happened back there?" she demanded, her voice tight with anger and fear.

Percy shook his head, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice hoarse. "I'm–I'm at a loss of words right now. Just get us as far away from here as you can."

As the miles stretched on and the adrenaline began to wear off, Piper was finally able to speak, her voice barely audible over the hum of the engine. "He said... he said I shouldn't have let him die."

Percy turned to look at her, his heart aching at the pain in her voice. "Piper, that wasn't him," he said gently. "Whatever that thing is, it's not Jason. It's just trying to mess with your head."

She shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes again. "But what if it's true? What if I could have done something? What if I—"

"Stop," he interrupted, his voice firm but caring. "You know that isn't true so don't you dare start thinking that."

Piper didn't respond. Instead, she shifted closer, her movements fragile and hesitant, as if the weight of the world had finally broken her. She crawled into his lap, curling into a tight ball, her head resting against the crook of his neck. Her breath was shallow, her body trembling like a leaf in a storm. Percy didn't hesitate. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close, his hand resting gently on her back. He could feel the heat of her tears against his skin, the faint shudder of her silent sobs. His own body ached—every cut, every bruise, every wound screamed in protest—but he ignored it. She needed him, and that was enough.

The van rumbled on, the hum of the engine a low, steady backdrop to the chaos in his mind. Outside, the trees blurred into a dark, endless wall, their silhouettes jagged against the faint glow of the stars. Percy stared out the window, his gaze distant, unfocused. His thoughts churned, a storm of guilt, fear, and determination. What were they supposed to do now? Where could they even go? The world they had fought so hard to preserve felt like it was crumbling all over again.

He didn't have the answers. Not yet. But as he felt Piper's soft breath against his skin, steadying with each passing moment, he knew one thing for certain: they couldn't stop. They couldn't give up. Not after everything they'd been through. Not after everything they'd lost.

"One step at a time," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the rumble of the van. His eyes stayed fixed on the passing trees, their shadows stretching long and dark across the road.

"One step at a time."

Chapter Text

They had been driving for eight hours straight, cutting through the state of New York and into Pennsylvania, ever since rescuing the Stoll brothers from Camp Half-Blood. Eight hours had passed since they received the earth-shattering news: the man they had believed died on the battlefield that day was alive—if you could even call it that. The revelation had sent shockwaves through the group of demigods, many of them refusing to believe it at first. But their leader had no reason to lie about something so monumental, and Piper's shattered state was proof enough.

For the Romans, the news hit especially hard. Many of them had grown up with Jason and fought alongside him for years. They had mourned him deeply after that fateful day on the battlefield when Porphyrion struck him down. To learn that he was alive—yet under the control of someone called The Father—filled them with a gnawing unease. A heavy tension settled in their chests as they struggled to comprehend what this could mean for their future. Their former Praetor's return should have been a cause for celebration, but instead, it felt like a storm brewing on the horizon, dark and unpredictable.

Percy didn't truly know what to make of it. His mind felt like a storm-tossed sea, waves of confusion crashing violently against the edges of his thoughts. No matter how hard he tried to push the memories away, they surged back, relentless and unforgiving. The events of last night played on an endless loop in his head, each repetition more haunting than the last.

Jason had died that day right in front of him. There was no denying that. He could still hear the sharp, ragged gasps that tore from his friend's throat, the way he had clung to his arm with a strength born of desperation. His fingers had been ice-cold, trembling, his grip weakening with each passing second. Percy had watched the life drain from his eyes, powerless to stop it, helpless to save him. The weight of that failure had settled deep into his bones, a burden he had carried ever since.

Yet now—he was back. Alive. Breathing. Standing there as if nothing had happened.

Percy unconsciously tightened his hold on Piper, whose steady breaths rose and fell against his chest, grounding him in the present. She had been sleeping for the entire journey. He envied that she could rest after a night like that. Her brow was furrowed, however, as if she too were reliving last night. His gaze drifted to the window, to the world outside. The sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon, painting the sky a beautiful coat of orange and its light spilling across the Pennsylvania hills, illuminating the frost-laced grass in a hazy glow. It was a beautiful sight, one that he surely would've enjoyed had it not been for the suffocating dread curling within his chest.

Turning his head back, he caught sight of Clarisse, who had been at the wheel for hours, eyes heavy with exhaustion. The faint glow of the dashboard illuminated her face, highlighting the dark circles forming beneath her eyes. Her fingers, once firm and steady on the wheel, now occasionally slipped as fatigue settled in.

Beside her, Butch stirred in the passenger seat, his body shifting as he blinked away the remnants of sleep. His hair was a tousled mess, and he let out a deep yawn, stretching his legs with a grunt.

"W-Where are we?" he mumbled, his voice thick with grogginess. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the lingering haze of sleep as he took in the darkened road stretching endlessly ahead of them.

"Just outside of Pittsburgh," Clarisse answered, her own yawn slipping out mid-sentence. She rolled her shoulders in an attempt to fight off the stiffness creeping into her muscles, but it did little to ease the weariness weighing her down.

"Says there's a rest station a couple miles down," Percy pitched in, eying a small roadsign sign that was barely able to be seen due to the vegetation covering it. "Let's stop there and figure out what to do from there."

The daughter of Ares grunted in response, gripping the wheel a little tighter. "Yeah, good idea. I need to get out of this seat before my legs completely stop working."

Butch rubbed his face again, blinking at the windshield as if the world outside would make more sense if he stared long enough. "I could go for some actual food. Been living off granola bars for too long."

Percy hummed in agreement, glancing down at Piper. She hadn't stirred at all, her breathing still steady, but the crease in her brow had deepened as if her dreams were anything but peaceful. He hated waking her, but they needed to figure out their next move because all they were doing right now was wasting fuel. As Clarisse took the exit leading to the rest station, the van jolted slightly over a pothole, and the daughter of Aphrodite finally stirred, her lashes fluttering as she let out a small, groggy sigh. Percy gave her a gentle squeeze.

"Hey," he murmured, brushing a few stray hairs out of her eyes. "We're stopping for a bit. Stretch, eat something–figure out what's next."

For a moment, she looked disoriented, her gaze unfocused as she tried to remember where she was. She blinked up at him sleepily, her lips parting as if to say something, but instead, she let out a quiet sigh and pressed her face deeper into his chest. "Mmm… five more minutes," she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

Percy huffed a soft chuckle, his hand absentmindedly rubbing up and down her back. "I'd let you, but Clarisse might murder us if we don't get out of this van soon."

Piper groaned, tightening her hold on him, her fingers curling around his chest. "Sounds like a her problem."

He couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. After the nightmare they had just endured, he figured she deserved at least five more minutes of peace. "Fine," he relented, resting his chin atop her head, "but if she throws us both out, you're taking the blame."

She hummed in response, already half-asleep again, her body melting further into his warmth. The van rumbled to a stop in the parking lot of the rest station, the engine's low hum cutting out as Clarisse yanked the keys from the ignition.

"Alright, losers," she announced, stretching her arms over her head until her shoulders popped. "Let's move before I fall asleep at the wheel and drive us off a cliff."

Butch groaned as he shoved the door open, immediately stepping out and taking in a deep breath of the crisp morning air. "Gods, fresh air never felt so good," he muttered, rolling out his stiff shoulders. The two of them greeted the rest of the demigods who quickly filled suit, parking the vans, and hopping out in search of food or a restroom break.

Percy stayed back for a moment, looking down at Piper, who hadn't made any move to leave the van yet. Her head was nestled against his chest, her breath warm against his skin. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should just let her rest, but the wounds across his body were flaring up again. He hoped there were showers here, the water could help soothe the injuries.

A knock on the window broke his train of thought. He glanced up, finding Katie standing outside, arms crossed and eyes narrowed in impatience. She raised an eyebrow at the sight of Piper still nestled against him, still basking in his warmth.

"Morning," Percy greeted, opening the door.

"Morning," The daughter of Demeter replied, her tone a little sharp and lips pressed in a thin line at the sight of the cuddled-up pair.

He gave a small smile, oblivious to the tension in Katie's stance. Piper, sensing they weren't alone anymore, opened her eyes and slowly lifted her head from Percy's chest.

Morning, Katie," she mumbled, her voice still thick with drowsiness. She had no time to react before Katie was already pulling her off the man. The daughter of Aphrodite groaned as Percy's warmth escaped her, the cool morning breeze hitting her skin.

"I know, I know. We all want to cuddle up with him," She said with sarcasm. "But we need to freshen up with a shower."

Percy quietly chuckled as the two girls stumbled their way to the building but quickly stopped when Katie called over her shoulder. "And you definitely need one, Percy!" She remarked, causing the son of Poseidon to glance down and wince at his state.

The remnants of the previous day's battles were still visible—scratches, cuts, and bloodstains, now dried and crusted into his clothes. The bandages Nico had wrapped on him were practically gone, revealing nasty wounds that desperately needed water. He slid out of the van, his body stiff and sore from hours of cramped sitting. The air was crisp, sharp enough to make him feel more awake. As he stretched, he caught sight of Reyna slowly making her way up the stairs to the building Katie and Piper had just entered. It seemed she too wished for a warm shower to wash away the remnants of their journey so far.

"Morning sleeping beauty," he greeted, slipping her arm over his shoulders, practically lifting her up to make it easier for her to traverse the steep steps.

Reyna shot him a look, her tired eyes narrowing in playful annoyance. "Morning, Percy," she muttered, her tone still thick with sleep. She glanced at the close proximity and tried to hide the blush that crept up her face. "You know, I think I could get used to this."

Percy grinned, adjusting his hold on her as they reached the top of the stairs. She grimaced in pain, rubbing her stomach where she had been stabbed during the final battle against Gaea. It seemed she was getting better but it had only been close to a week since it had happened. It would take a lot longer to heal fully.

"I managed to find a little bit of ambrosia and nectar in the bunker last night," He said, walking inside the building that was bustling with both demigods and mortals alike. "Take some before we hit the road again."

She gave him a grateful albeit exhausted smile, her shoulders relaxing slightly at the mention of the healing food. "I'll take whatever I can get at this point." She leaned into him for support as they made their way toward the showers.

He could feel the heat of the steam in the air, a comforting presence that quickly faded when he realized there was only one hallway leading to the showers.

"Huh...?" He muttered, perplexed. Where were the men's showers? He scanned the room, searching for any sign or direction, but found none. Reyna, still leaning against him, began to grow restless, eager to head inside.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked, her voice tinged with impatience.

"There's—huh—there's no men's showers," he replied, frowning.

"It's co-ed showers, Percy. Didn't you see the sign?" Reyna shot back.

He blinked, his eyes scanning the hallway again, now seeing the small sign above the door with an image of both a man and a woman under the word "SHOWERS." His frown deepened. He should have seen it earlier, but the long drive, the lack of sleep, and the overwhelming confusion from last night had left his mind in a haze. The last thing he expected was to be faced with this kind of situation in a dingy rest stop. He looked down at Reyna, who raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by his discomfort.

"Co-ed?" Percy repeated, almost as if testing the word.

"Yeah," She smirked, adjusting her grip on him. "It's not a big deal. We Romans bathe together all the time. This is no different."

"I can think of a few differences," he muttered before reluctantly walking inside. The shower room was somewhat crowded already, filled with mostly demigods who wanted to wash away the grime and sweat. He couldn't shake the uneasy feeling inside as he surveyed the room, the fluorescent lights overhead flickering slightly and the echo of running water making the space feel oddly cavernous. It only grew further when he realized that there were no stalls, just rows of open showerheads along the walls. It felt more like an open gym shower than anything remotely comforting.

"Oh, Gods, you're here," Will looking up from rubbing his body, noticing Percy's entrance. "Try not to blow up this building too, Perce. I need this shower."

"Jesus Christ, Will." The son of Poseidon replied, averting his eyes. "Put that thing away before you poke someone's eye out."

The son of Apollo chuckled, clearly unbothered. "From what I've heard you should take your own advice." He teased, grinning mischievously.

Percy quickly turned away, doing his best to ignore the lingering awkwardness as he walked further into the room, his eyes focused on the tile floor.

Reyna followed close behind, her steps slow as she seemed to take in the scene, her expression bemused. "A bit of an eye-opener, huh?" she said dryly, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

"Yeah, just a little," he mumbled, his face flushing slightly despite himself. He was used to a lot of strange situations, but this one? Definitely not on the list.

Will gave a mock salute, still amused by Percy's discomfort, and returned to his shower. "We're all friends here," he said, voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "Nothing to be embarrassed about."

He shot a glance behind at Reyna, who was trying—unsuccessfully—to hide a grin. "You're loving this, aren't you?" he muttered under his breath, still trying to ignore the growing number of demigods around them.

"Me?" Reyna's smile widened as she reached for her towel. "You calling me a pervert or something?"

The son of Poseidon grumbled something under his breath, reluctantly taking a towel as well, and headed to the very end of the room where there were a few spaces open. Taking a few deep breaths to try and relax himself, he slowly began to undo his tattered clothing, grimacing as he felt his wounds and broken forearm stretch uncomfortably. The fabric stubbornly clung to his body where blood and dirt had dried into the material. Every movement sent sharp pangs through his chest, the bruising from his earlier battles still tender to the touch. He winced, but the thought of the shower's warmth kept him going.

Noticing movement, he was surprised to see Reyna right next to him doing the same. She was peeling off her clothes with a quiet efficiency, her expression neutral, but Percy could tell there was a certain tension in her posture. The injuries she'd sustained were still fresh, though she tried to hide it. She flinched when a jolt of pain shot through her as she attempted to take off her shirt, the movement hurting more than she cared to admit. Sighing, she thought she might have to use scissors to get the clingy material off until the son of Poseidon spoke up next to her.

"Need help?" His instinct to help kicking in.

Reyna glanced up at him, surprised by the offer. Her pride seemed to flare for a moment, but the pain in her face quickly overtook any resistance she might have felt. She nodded, wordlessly turning her back to Percy who came up close behind her. He moved with care, trying to avoid causing any more discomfort. He gently reached for the hem of her shirt, his hands steady as he helped lift the fabric, being mindful of the tender spot on her stomach. Her breath hitched slightly when the shirt pulled over the injured area, but she didn't flinch away. He quickly maneuvered the material off and set it aside, offering her a small, reassuring smile.

"Better?" he asked softly, not wanting to embarrass her.

She gave him a tight, thankful smile, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah. Thanks."

He stepped back into his own showerhead, taking off the remainder of his clothing before turning on the water. He was somewhat surprised at how easily he got over the awkwardness. He supposed the water had a calming effect on him. But that reprieve was short-lived. As soon as the water kissed his wounds, a searing pain ignited beneath his skin, spreading like fire through his veins. His body jerked involuntarily, breath hitching as he sucked in air through clenched teeth. A low, strangled groan threatened to escape, but he swallowed it down, pressing his arm against the cool tile as his free hand curled into a tight fist.

Damn that Hellhound. He could still feel the phantom heat of its claws raking through him, the unnatural sting of its cursed wounds refusing to fade. The injuries should have been healed by now, but whatever unholy magic laced within that beast ensured they remained raw—burning with a vengeance whenever water touched them. He gritted his teeth, biting back another pained sound.

Reyna, still rinsing off beside him, caught the tension in his shoulders and the barely concealed wince in his expression. Her brow furrowed as she turned slightly toward him, the water cascading down her back.

"You okay?" she asked, concern threading through her voice.

"I'll live," he replied with a forced grin, reaching for a bar of soap and working up a lather. As he ran his hands over his skin, he could feel her gaze lingering on him, sending a ripple of shivers down his arms despite the warmth of the water. There was a heat in her eyes as she traced the contours of his body—the muscles, the scars, the tanned skin.

Percy cleared his throat, breaking the spell. He shot the daughter of Bellona a flat look.

"It's rude to stare, y'know," he said.

"Please, don't act like you haven't stolen a few glances at me," Reyna replied with an indignant huff, looking away.

The green-eyed demigod let out a short laugh, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to scrubbing away the grime of battle. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, though the slight smirk on his lips betrayed him. He couldn't deny that she was beautiful. Her slightly tanned skin and onyx hair piqued something within him.

"Not like I'm the only one either," She muttered, causing Percy to raise an eyebrow.

He hadn't sensed any lingering eyes on him besides Reyna's own. Slyly looking back, he noticed Piper and Katie a few stalls away back toward the entrance. Both girls were pretending to be deep in conversation, but Piper's eyes flickered toward him more often than necessary. Katie, meanwhile, was not as subtle. She was outright staring, her head tilted slightly, gaze locked onto him with an intensity that sent shivers down his spine—though Percy swore he could see a hint of amusement in her smirk.

"Not horny my ass," he muttered under his breath, remembering Katie's words when he had taken a shower back at the Empire State Building. Despite himself, his gaze lingered a moment longer. The two women were undeniably beautiful—Katie with her pale, flawless skin, and Piper, her sun-kissed glow shimmering under the cascade of water. For a brief moment, he let himself admire the scene, the weight of the past few days momentarily lifting. But then, catching himself, he shook his head, as if to dispel the thought, and forced his focus back to washing up.

Reyna was the first to finish, drying off quickly and promising to meet him in the common area where the others were waiting. He, however, lingered under the shower a little longer, letting the warm water soothe his aching muscles. The sting of his wounds had dulled somewhat, though the cursed marks from the Hellhound still throbbed. He sighed, leaning his forehead against the cool tile as the water cascaded down his back. So much had happened these past few days that it all felt like a blur to him. Their problems never seemed to end, only continuing to pile one after another.

He suddenly noticed someone beside him in the shower Reyna had just used, breaking his train of thought. Assuming it was Katie or Piper trying to mess with him, he let out an exasperated sigh. "Guys, come on…" His voice faltered as he realized it wasn't either of them. Instead, towering over him was a six-foot-seven mortal black man, eyeing him up and down with a sly smirk.

"You like what you see, sexy?" the man quipped, his deep tone dripping with sass. The son of Poseidon didn't wait around. He practically shot out of the shower room, using his powers to dry himself off in an instant as he scrambled to pull on his tattered clothes.

He burst into the common area and found everyone gathered in the lounge, casually eating McDonald's that was luckily across the street. The aroma of fries and burgers filled the air, making his stomach growl in protest. Trying to mask the lingering panic from what had just happened, he forced a calm expression and joined the group, sinking into an empty seat. As he half-listened to the chatter around him, his mind wandered, and he couldn't help but envy the others. The thought of biting into a warm, greasy burger was almost unbearable, but with no money in his pocket, he could only sit there, silently wishing for a bite of something—anything—to quiet the gnawing hunger.

Then, as if the Gods themselves came down from the heavens, a brown bag, filled with a burger and fries, appeared before his eyes. He tried not to tear up when Katie's face appeared from behind the bag, smirking at his eagerness

"Here, pervert," she said, sitting down next to him.

"Oh my Gods, thank you Kat–pervert?! Pervert?!" He replied indignantly, though his hands continued to fish out the bag's contents.

"Don't think I didn't see you eyeing me up in the shower!" Katie replied, crossing her arms over her bountiful chest. "I saw those hungry eyes, Jackson!"

Percy nearly choked on his first bite of the burger, his face turning a deep shade of red as he struggled to swallow. "You're one to talk! You stared at me like a cat in heat back there!"

The daughter of Demeter rolled her eyes, but the faint blush creeping up her cheeks betrayed her. "Just be thankful I bought you food instead of calling the police on you." She muttered, abashed, before digging into her own meal.

The two of them fell into a comfortable silence, the events from the past few days momentarily forgotten. Around them, the other demigods were similarly relaxed, enjoying the brief respite. Piper sat cross-legged on the floor, nibbling on a chicken sandwich, her eyes distant but less haunted than before. Clarisse was devouring a double cheeseburger with the ferocity of someone who hadn't eaten in days, while the Stolls and the younger children were engaged in a heated debate over whether ketchup belonged on fries or not.

Reyna, now dressed in clean clothes and looking significantly more refreshed, sat on the edge of the group, quietly observing. Her gaze lingered on Percy for a moment, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at her lips before she turned her attention to the map spread out on the table in front of her. She traced a finger along the route they had taken, her brow furrowed in thought.

"So, what's the move?" Nico spoke up, finishing up the rest of his fries. That question seemed to quell all conversation in the room, all eyes directed at Percy who was blissfully unaware as he continued to devour his meal. A slight nudge from Katie, however, drew his eyes upward from his burger.

The son of Poseidon took a deep breath, setting the remnants of his burger down on the table as he wiped his hands on his jeans. "First things first, we need to figure out where we want to go. Can't just keep driving aimlessly."

"And where would that be exactly?" A child, one of the ones he had saved from that Hellhound yesterday, spoke up, curiosity and excitement evident in her eyes.

"I don't know," Percy shrugged, looking around the room. "Where would you guys like to build a camp? It has to be remote enough to hide from mortals but we can still be somewhat close to some mortal cities for supplies."

The room fell silent as the demigods pondered their leader's question. The idea of building a new camp was both daunting and exhilarating. For many of them, Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter had been their only homes, places of safety and belonging. The thought of starting over was overwhelming, but exciting. It felt like the beginning of a fresh start.

"We need somewhere defensible," Clarisse broke the silence, crumbling up her now empty bag. "Somewhere with natural barriers–mountains, forests, water. We need those in case we're ever attacked."

"Appalachian Mountains?" Butch suggested, looking around the room. "They're remote, plenty of woods and there's rivers and lakes scattered throughout."

The room murmured with agreement, thinking that might be a good place to start. Reyna, however, voiced her disagreement.

"Bad idea," she said, without looking up from her map. "There are ancient spirits there that we Romans will never dare cross. They don't like demigods on their turf. Plus, mortals hike those mountains all the time. Sooner or later they'd stumble upon us."

Once again the hundred demigods went quiet, all silently contemplating where to build their new home. Percy hadn't the faintest clue on where to build. Sure, he'd been to a lot of places in America but he didn't exactly have time to evaluate its real estate potential

"The Rockies?" Travis suggested to which multiple people groaned their displeasure.

"That's all the way across the freaking country!"

"I'm not driving that far at all!"

"Jeez, jeez, okay." The son of Hermes sat back down, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Fuck me for suggesting something for once, I guess."

"What if we continue northwest?" Katie pitched in, slapping Percy's hand away as he tried to sneakily grab a few fries. "Say like Montana?"

"That state is past Colorado in case you don't know your geography," Travis replied, hoping to draw a few laughs considering they just shot down his idea for the Rockies. To his dismay, however, people seemed to be on board with that suggestion.

"Tons of mountains, lakes, and rivers. Very remote too if we find a good spot." The daughter of Demeter continued, enticing the demigods more and more.

"That sounds good to me," Reyna said, agreeing with it.

"Me too," Nico replied with a nod.

More and more agreed with the notion until eventually, it all came back to Percy. He was the deciding vote after all. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the table as he considered the suggestion. Montana. It was a big state, with plenty of open land and natural barriers like Katie said. It wasn't as close to an ocean as he would've liked but the rivers and lakes would do just fine.

"Montana sounds good," he said finally, nodding. "We'll head northwest, like Katie suggested. Find a spot that's defensible with access to water and resources. We'll need to scout the area once we get there, but it's a solid plan."

The room seemed to exhale collectively, the tension easing as the decision was made. There was still a long road ahead of them—literally and figuratively—but having a destination in mind made the journey feel less daunting.

"Remind me to never suggest an idea again," The son of Hermes muttered to his brother as he sat up from his chair, deciding the outside air might do him some good.

"What about Jason?" Piper suddenly said, her somber tone breaking the good mood blanketing the room. "We're–we're just going to leave him? Have him mind controlled by some evil God?"

The air grew still as they took in her words. Many grimaced as they realized it was a bad look, leaving the son of Jupiter behind to a terrible fate. He had been one of their leaders during the war and a good friend. To leave him at the mercy of the Father put a bad taste in their mouth. But what could they do exactly? How could they free him? There were so many unanswered questions about his situation that they didn't even know where to begin.

"We're not leaving him," Percy said firmly with steely resolve. "We're not abandoning him either. But we need to focus on us first. Hell, we don't even have beds to sleep on at the moment."

Piper's eyes were glistening with unshed tears, but she nodded in understanding.

"I promise you, Pipes, we'll get him back. You have my word." He promised, his green eyes locking onto her. He too desperately wanted to help his cousin but they had to play this smart. The Father–whoever or whatever he is–was powerful. Powerful enough to bring a son of Jupiter back from the dead and control him. They needed to understand more before they could even think of making a move.

With that, their conversation seemed to draw to a close. Their stomachs were full, they had cleaned themselves, and now, with a clear destination in mind, the next step was straightforward—reach it without any problems along the way. Of course, as they all knew, that was far easier said than done. But they were riding on hope. That's really all they could do.

Walking out to the parking lot, the demigods began to scramble back into the vans, eager to get their long journey started. Percy, who didn't really want to drive, tried to get in the driver's seat but was stopped by Butch.

"I got it," he said. "Not as tired as I thought I'd be."

The son of Poseidon nodded, trying not to show how relieved he was. "Just try not to crash us into a ditch or anything."

"No promises," The son of Iris chuckled, starting up the van. He should've known better though than to think Butch was offering to drive due to the grace in his heart.

Pulling open the passenger door, expecting to see the same group from before. Instead, he was met with an unexpected sight—Katie, Reyna, and Piper lounging in the back, leaving just one open seat for him in the middle. He stifled a groan, already sensing that this was going to be a very, very long drive.

"Don't even think about switching vans," Katie said, fastening her seatbelt as she patted the empty seat.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he muttered, ducking his head as he slid into the vehicle. He settled into his seat, clicking the seatbelt into place, and watched as the convoy of vans began to roll out of the rest station, all heading northwest. Their van was the last to leave, and as they pulled away, he glanced back at the building's entrance. There he was—the black guy from the showers. The man stood there, waving, his eyes locked on Percy.

"Bye, Boo!" The man's voice carried through the open window as they sped out of the parking lot and onto the highway.

"Who was that?" the girls chimed in almost immediately, twisting in their seats to look back, their eyes wide with curiosity.

"No one," Percy mumbled, slumping lower in his seat. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window, hoping the conversation would end there. But the girls were already connecting the dots.

"Oh my gods!" they squealed in unison, their voices rising with excitement. "You got hit on in the showers!" They grabbed his shoulders, shaking him as they erupted into laughter.

Percy let out a long, slow, and exhausted sigh, his breath fogging up the window. This was going to be a very, very, long trip.

Chapter Text

"Why'd you let me die?"

"How could you?!"

"I loved you!"

The words echoed in the void, sharp and accusing, each syllable a dagger twisting in his chest. Annabeth's face, pale and streaked with inky black tendrils, loomed before him, her gray eyes wide with betrayal. She spoke with a broken whisper, yet it carried the weight of a storm, crashing against the walls of his mind. Behind her, Jason, smiling sadistically, floated in the darkness, his skin matted with the same oily shadows that consumed Annabeth. Percy reached out, desperate to pull her back, to save her, but his hands passed through her like smoke. She dissolved into the void, her final words ringing in his ears: "I loved you!"

He jolted awake with a gasp, his heart pounding like a war drum. His shirt clung to his skin, damp with cold sweat, and his breath came in ragged bursts. For a moment, he couldn't move, couldn't think—the image of her face, twisted with pain and accusation, burned into his mind. He blinked, trying to shake the remnants of the dream, but the inky tendrils seemed to linger at the edges of his vision, taunting him.

He glanced around, disoriented, his hand instinctively reaching for Riptide in his pocket. The familiar weight of the pen brought a sliver of comfort, but it wasn't enough to calm the turmoil inside him. The back of the van was dimly lit, the only light coming from the faint glow of the moon through the fogged-up windows. Katie was slumped against his left shoulder, her blonde hair spilling across his arm, while Reyna leaned heavily on his right, her breathing slow and steady. Both were asleep, their faces peaceful, unaware of the turmoil raging within him.

Percy carefully shifted, trying not to wake them, and peered out the window. The glass was clouded with condensation, the warmth inside the van clashing with the cold night air. He wiped a hand across the fog, revealing the world outside. The moon hung low in the sky, its silver light casting long shadows over the campsite where they had stayed the night. The landscape was eerily still, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

He leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment, but the image of Annabeth's face flashed behind his lids, forcing them open again. Guilt gnawed at him, a relentless pain tearing at his insides. Why'd you let me die? The question echoed in his mind, each word a fresh wound. He had failed her. Failed Jason.

Feeling as if he was suffocating, he eased himself out, moving with deliberate caution to avoid rousing the others still asleep inside. To his relief, they remained undisturbed, their quiet breaths filling the silence. He gently shut the door behind him, the soft click barely audible, and stepped into the cool air. His footsteps crunched against the dry earth as he navigated the convoy of parked vans, their hulking frames casting long shadows in the pale light. Finally, he reached a clearing that opened up to a sweeping view of the landscape, where the horizon stretched endlessly, offering a momentary escape from the weight pressing on his chest.

Exhausted, despite having just slept, he sank onto a small bench, his body nearly giving out beneath him. Rubbing his weary eyes, he tried to steady his breathing and quiet his racing thoughts. For the past week, sleep had been elusive, and dreams even more so. But this one—this nightmare—had shattered whatever fragile peace he had left. It wasn't just a nightmare though; it felt like a warning, a glimpse into something far darker. His chest tightened with dread, but he forced the feeling down. That couldn't be the case. Annabeth was in Elysium, resting in the afterlife. She had to be okay. There was no way she could have met the same fate as Jason… right? The thought lingered, gnawing at him painfully, but he refused to let it take hold.

Still, however, he couldn't stop his hands from shaking as the words what if kept repeating in his mind.

"Can't sleep?" Nico's voice called out from the shadows, causing Percy to sharply look up, his hand frozen halfway in his pocket for Riptide. He craned his head to the side, finding his cousin emerging from the shadows like a wraith, his pale face illuminated faintly by the moonlight.

"Could ask you the same question," The son of Poseidon replied, leaning back on the bench as he looked out at the sprawling plains of Indiana.

"Someone has to make sure we're not killed in our sleep," He replied, taking a seat next to his cousin. "Bad dream?"

Percy huffed in morbid amusement, leaning his head back at the stars as the nightmare replayed itself once more. His hands clenched as he shut his eyes, desperately trying to push it away. "You could say that."

Nico didn't respond immediately, his dark eyes scanning the horizon as if he could see the same shadows that haunted his cousin. The silence between them was heavy, but not uncomfortable. The younger man had always been good at that—knowing when to speak and when to let the quiet do the talking. After a moment, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees with his head hung low. "Was it her?" he whispered, his tone careful, almost hesitant.

Percy's jaw tightened, swallowing heavily. "Yeah," was all he said, wanting to leave it at that. He didn't particularly want to talk about it. It hurt too much to even think about.

"Dreams aren't always what they seem, Percy," Nico spoke up after a minute of silence, craning his head upward at him. "They can twist things, make you think what isn't real, is. Remember that."

"..." The green-eyed demigod remained silent, his gaze still transfixed on the night sky that twinkled beautifully overhead. He let Nico's words sink in, wanting to believe that what he said was true. But the image of Annabeth's face, her voice, felt too real, too visceral to dismiss.

Sensing that he didn't really want to talk, the son of Hades began to stand up from the bench, the shadows beckoning him back. Percy's next words, however, stopped him in his tracks.

"What if it was real?" He asked, his eyes boring into Nico's, searching for an answer. "What if it was a message? A warning of what was to come?

He hesitated, his dark eyes narrowing in thought. The weight of the question hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, the only sound was the faint rustle of the wind through the grass. Percy could see Nico's unreadable expression through the darkness, but he did notice a flicker of something in his gaze–uncertainty, perhaps, or maybe even apprehension. He wondered why that was.

"Dreams can be messages or warnings," the younger man admitted slowly, his words measured. "But the dead…they don't always speak clearly. Sometimes they're angry, confused, or just lost. And sometimes, it's not even them. It's something else, something darker, trying to get inside your head."

The son of Poseidon clenched his fists, his knuckles bleaching white under the strain. Doubt clawed at his mind. What if it was the Father? What if this was one of his cruel games, twisting his thoughts, pushing him to the edge of madness? And Annabeth—what if she had fallen into the same fate as Jason? Enslaved to the Father's will, stripped of her freedom, forced to obey. The mere thought churned his stomach, a bitter taste rising in his throat.

"You're sure she's okay down in Elysium?" Percy's voice was barely a whisper, raw and unguarded, betraying the fear he couldn't shake.

Nico hesitated, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face before he masked it, grateful for the shadows that concealed his expression. "She's okay, Percy," he said firmly, though the weight of his words lingered in the air. "I promise."

The reassurance from Nico had settled him, if only for a moment. The son of Hades had always been a figure of grim reliability, his words carrying a weight that Percy couldn't ignore. If Nico said she was okay, then she had to be okay. Right? He nodded, a silent gesture of gratitude, as Nico melted back into the shadows, becoming one with the darkness that clung to the edges of their campsite. He was there, yet not there—a spectral guardian, watching over them with an eerie stillness that should have been comforting. But comfort was a fleeting thing these days.

Percy exhaled slowly, the tension in his chest loosening just enough to let him breathe. He turned back toward the open fields, the light of the moon casting long, jagged shadows across the ground. And then he saw her.

"Annabeth." He breathlessly whispered.

She was standing behind a tree in the distance, her figure half-obscured by the gnarled bark, but her face—her face was unmistakable. Pale, too pale, like the moon had drained all its light and poured it into her skin. Her lips were curled into a smile, but it wasn't the smile he knew. It was sharp, cruel, and sadistic, stretching too wide across her face. It was the same smile Jason had worn, a smile that didn't belong to the living.

Her eyes—gods, her eyes—were the worst of it. They were hollow, lifeless, yet they burned into him with an intensity that made his blood run cold. They were windows into something empty, something wrong, and they held him captive, pinning him to the bench like an insect under glass. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even blink. His body betrayed him, frozen in place as the wind began to howl around them, whipping through the trees like a chorus of whispers.

Her presence was wrong. Everything about her was wrong. The way she stood, too still, too perfect, as if she were a statue carved by a hand that had never known warmth. The way the shadows seemed to cling to her, as though the darkness itself were alive and feeding off her. The way her smile never wavered, even as the wind grew louder, more frantic, tearing at her hair and clothes but leaving her untouched.

And then, in the space of a single blink, she was gone.

The wind died instantly, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake. Percy's breath came in ragged gasps, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst from his chest. He scanned the trees, desperate for some sign that she had been there, that it hadn't just been his mind playing tricks on him. But there was nothing. No footprints, no trace of her presence—just the lingering sense of dread that coiled around him like a serpent, tightening with every passing second.

Rubbing his eyes with a heavy, trembling hand, he let out a quiet sigh. The night air was cool against his skin, but it did little to soothe the unease that clung to him. He glanced once more over his shoulder as he turned back toward the vans, half-expecting—half-dreading—to see her again, standing there in the shadows with those hollow eyes and that cruel, mocking smile. But the darkness was empty, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the wind. Shaking his head, he made his way back to the van, each step feeling heavier than the last. Maybe more sleep was what he needed. Maybe then his mind would stop playing these cruel tricks on him.

The van door creaked softly as he opened it, the sound barely audible but still enough to make him wince. He paused, holding his breath, and peered inside. Relief washed over him as he saw the girls still asleep, their faces peaceful, their chests rising and falling in steady rhythm. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply watch them, their presence a fragile reminder of the life he was still fighting to protect. Carefully, he stepped inside, moving with deliberate slowness to avoid disturbing them. The van was cramped, but he navigated the small space with practiced ease, his movements almost reverent as he brushed past their sleeping forms. Finally, he reached the back seat and sank into it, the worn fabric offering little comfort but still a welcome reprieve from the chilliness outside.

As he settled in, the exhaustion hit him like a tidal wave, pulling him under with an almost physical force. He leaned his head against the cool glass of the window, the chill seeping into his skin and grounding him, if only slightly. The soft, rhythmic breathing of the girls filled the silence, a gentle lullaby that should have brought him comfort. But instead, it only deepened the ache in his chest. He felt alone, adrift in a sea of his own thoughts, the weight of his grief and guilt pressing down on him until it felt like he could barely breathe. He closed his eyes, hoping to find some semblance of peace, but the moment he did, she was there again—Annabeth. Her lifeless eyes stared back at him, unblinking, her lips curled into that same cruel smile that haunted him. It was as if she were mocking him, reminding him of everything he had lost, everything he had failed to protect.

His fists clenched involuntarily, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to push the image away. "It's not real," he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible. But the line between nightmare and reality felt dangerously thin, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep them separate.

"You're warm," Reyna muttered half-asleep as she crawled into his lap, laying her head in the crook of his neck with a sigh. Percy barely realized she was there, still lost in thought as he looked out the window. Her warmth was comforting though, grounding him back to reality. Wrapping an arm around her, she murmured something incoherently, her breath tickling against his skin.

As the minutes melted into hours, the son of Poseidon remained transfixed by the view of the stars drifting past, eventually giving way to the first light of dawn. Reyna hadn't shifted from her spot, finding Percy far more comfortable than the van's rigid seats. The sun's early rays stretched across the horizon, bathing the sky in a breathtaking palette of pink and gold. He watched as the world stirred back to life, sleepy demigods stumbling out of the vans, stretching stiff limbs and greeting the morning with a mix of groans and yawns.

The girls in the van began to stir one by one, their movements slow and languid as the golden light of dawn spilled through the windows, warming their faces and coaxing them from sleep. Limbs stretched, joints popped, and soft groans filled the cramped space as they shook off the stiffness of a night spent in awkward positions. Reyna, nestled against the larger man, shifted her body with a languid, almost feline grace. A low, feminine moan escaped her lips as she stretched, her movements unintentionally pressing her curves against him. The man tensed, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he became acutely aware of her proximity—and the way her body seemed to mold against his. He cursed himself inwardly, chastising his mind for wandering into territory it had no business exploring. He quickly pushed those thoughts away, however, before she could sense them.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," he murmured, low and rough, as Reyna's dark lashes fluttered open. Her eyes, still heavy with drowsiness, scanned the van before landing on him. A faint blush dusted her cheeks as she realized where her restless movements during the night had left her—practically draped over him. Yet, despite the embarrassment that flickered in her gaze, she made no move to pull away. Instead, she seemed to settle more firmly against him, as if daring him to comment.

"You keep calling me that," she muttered, her voice a soft, sleep-tinged whisper that sent a shiver down his spine. Her breath was warm against his ear, and he felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, a trail of goosebumps following in its wake.

She shifted once more, her movements slow and deliberate as she stretched her arms and legs, her bare skin brushing against his in a way that sent a jolt of electricity through him. Percy clenched his jaw, biting the inside of his cheek to steady himself. She knew exactly what she was doing—every touch, every glance, every subtle shift of her body was calculated, a quiet assertion of her feminine power. And she was good at it. Too good. He could feel the heat of their proximity, the unspoken challenge in the way she pressed against him, as if daring him to react. But he held his ground, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response.

Instead, he focused on the sounds outside, the mundane yet comforting noises of camp life that grounded him. The clatter of dishes, the laughter of his friends, the sizzle of food hitting a hot skillet—it was all a reminder of the world beyond this van, a world that demanded his attention and his strength. He couldn't afford to lose himself in the moment, no matter how tempting it might be.

With a quiet sigh, Percy gently disentangled himself from the daughter of Bellona, careful not to disturb her too much, though the look she gave him was one of mild displeasure, her dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she registered the loss of contact. "I'm gonna go get breakfast started," he said, his tone carrying a note of finality. He offered her a small, apologetic smile, but his resolve was firm. There were responsibilities to attend to, duties that couldn't be ignored, no matter how alluring the distraction.

As he stepped out of the van and into the crisp morning air, he couldn't shake the feeling that Reyna's gaze followed him, sharp and calculating, like a predator watching its prey. But he pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the warmth of the rising sun and the comforting chaos of the demigods. Breakfast needed to be made, and there was work to be done. He had no time for games, no matter how enticing they might be.

As he approached the back of the supply van, a small figure darted toward him, her laughter cutting through the quiet like a ray of sunlight.

"Morning, Percy!" Gabriela's voice was bright and full of energy, her tiny shoes pounding against the dirt as she ran. She was a whirlwind of motion, her blonde curls bouncing with every step. Before he could even respond, she collided with his legs, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. Her smile was wide, almost too big for her face, and it was impossible not to smile back.

"Morning, kiddo," he replied with a smile, scooping her up effortlessly and settling her onto his shoulder. She was light, almost fragile, her small frame a stark reminder of how young she was—no older than five. Yet, despite her size, she carried a weight far beyond her years. She had been one of the children at Camp Half-Blood during the attack. Chiron had done his best to protect them, but even he fell to Gaea's minions. She, along with other survivors, fled to New York City where the main force of both Greeks and Romans were preparing the last defensive line of Olympus. Once she saw him, his leadership and steady presence, he had become her anchor in a world ripped apart.

"Want some eggs and bacon?" he asked, his tone playful as he shifted her weight on his shoulder and began rummaging through the supplies in the van. The question was simple, almost mundane, but it carried a deeper meaning. It was a promise of normalcy, a small attempt to bring a sense of routine and comfort to a life that had been anything but.

Gabriela's eyes widened, her curiosity piqued. "Can you make that?" she asked, her voice a mix of wonder and skepticism. She tilted her head, studying him as if trying to figure out if he was joking.

Percy chuckled, the sound low and reassuring. "Anything for you, sweet-pea," he said, pulling out a carton of eggs and a pack of bacon.

While he was busy arranging the food on the plate Katie suddenly appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and plopped down beside him. Her eyes lit up as she leaned forward, her gaze locked on the spread before them. "Smells good," she said, tilting her head with a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "You make enough for me?"

Percy paused, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he glanced at her. "Who said I made any for you?" he quipped, his tone teasing as he deliberately filled Gabriela's plate first. The young girl, already perched on the edge of her seat, accepted the plate with eager hands. She immediately dug into the bacon, her small fingers clutching the crispy strips as she nibbled away like a delighted squirrel storing away its treasures.

The daughter of Demeter, meanwhile, feigned a look of utter despair, clutching her chest dramatically as if his words had struck her to the core. "Wow, cold," she said, her voice dripping with mock offense. But her theatrics didn't last long. Percy, unable to hide his amusement, handed her a plate piled high with food. Her exaggerated pout vanished in an instant, replaced by a satisfied grin as she began to eat.

Once again, however, his cooking was interrupted by Piper and Reyna who were beginning to approach their little gather-around. Without a word, they each took a plate from him, their expressions calm but appreciative. Piper gave him a small nod of thanks, while Reyna offered a faint smile before turning her attention to the food. By the time everyone had settled into their meals, the food was almost gone. The green-eyed demigod glanced at the remnants of the food, realizing there was barely enough left for him to scrape together a decent portion. He let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head in mild exasperation. But there was no real frustration in his expression—only a quiet resignation and a hint of fondness. "They're worth it," he thought to himself as he picked at what little food remained. By the time he was finished eating, everyone had already packed up, ready to hit the road once again.

"No stops unless it's for gas!" Clarisse yelled out over the roar of vehicles starting up. "I ain't stopping for anything else until we're in Iowa!"

Groans of exasperation rang throughout the crowd as they lumbered back into the vans, no one ready to experience another seven hours of being cooped up in the stuffy vans. Percy shook his head at the daughter of Ares, amazed that she could be that fired up this early in the morning. Nevertheless, he stood up, packed up whatever supplies were still left out, and made his way over to the van, ready to get the journey started once more. Something, however, stopped him in his tracks. Perhaps it was a whisper in the wind, he didn't know. Turning around, his eyes were drawn to a tree in the distance. The same one he had seen Annabeth standing behind last night. The large oak stood there, silent and unmoving even against the wind.

The early morning light did little to soften its ominous presence; if anything, it cast long, jagged shadows that seemed to stretch toward him, as if beckoning him closer. Percy's breath hitched, his chest tightening as his gaze lingered on the spot where he had seen her—where she had stood, her eyes burning into his soul with deranged anger. The memory of her smile, too wide, too cruel, flashed in his mind, and he felt a chill crawl up his spine. For a moment, he thought he saw movement—a flicker of white among the shadows, a whisper of fabric caught in the wind. His heart slammed against his ribs, his hand instinctively reaching for Riptide in his pocket. But when he blinked, there was nothing. Just the tree and the expansive fields of the countryside around it.

"Percy!" Piper broke him out of his trance. He turned, forcing himself to look away, and found her sticking her head out the window of the van. It seemed it was time to leave.

He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat, and forced his legs to move. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the ground itself were trying to pull him back, to keep him rooted in that cursed spot. He climbed into the van, his movements mechanical, his mind still tethered to the tree and the haunting image of Annabeth.

As the engine roared to life and the convoy began to move, Percy couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. He glanced out the window, his eyes scanning the landscape as it blurred past. The tree grew smaller in the distance, but its presence lingered, a dark stain on the horizon that seemed to follow them no matter how far they drove.

And then, just as the tree disappeared from view, he saw her again.

She was standing at the edge of the road, her figure faint and translucent, like a ghostly afterimage burned into his vision. Her face was turned toward him, her gray eyes empty yet piercing, her lips curled into that same unnatural smile. Her hand lifted, slow and deliberate, as if reaching out to him, and her voice echoed in his mind, sharp and accusing, cutting through the noise of the engine and the chatter of his companions.

"Why'd you let me die?"

The words were a whisper, yet they carried the weight of a scream, reverberating in his skull like a tolling bell. He jerked back, his breath catching in his throat, and blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the image. But when he looked again, she was gone. The road stretched out before them, empty and desolate.

His heart refused to settle, pounding relentlessly against his ribs even as the car sped further away. Over an hour had passed, yet the adrenaline still coursed through him, sharp and unrelenting. He sat stiffly in the backseat, his hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep his breathing steady. He couldn't let the others see how shaken he was, how the fear had coiled itself around his chest like a vice. They were already on edge, and the last thing they needed was to worry about him. So, he stayed silent, his gaze fixed on the blur of trees and asphalt outside the window, hoping his mask of calm would hold. He had seen her. He knew he had. And yet, how could he explain that to anyone? How could he even begin to articulate the terror of seeing someone who was supposed to be gone, someone who was supposed to be at peace?

"They'd probably put me in an insane asylum," he mused.

But then again, was it so far-fetched if Jason–who had died right in his arms–was back from the dead? What if she was too? What if she was suffering? Her soul stripped away and bound to someone else's will? The thought sickened him.

"Nico said she's okay," he whispered under his breath, the words barely audible over the hum of the engine. It was a mantra, a lifeline, something to cling to when the fear threatened to pull him under. Nico had told him that. The son of Hades, who was practically the king of the Underworld now, had promised him Annabeth was in Elysium. She was safe. She was at peace. He repeated it to himself, over and over, as if saying it enough times would make it true. But deep down, a part of him couldn't shake the doubt, the gnawing fear that maybe, just maybe, he was wrong. And if he was…

"Percy!" A voice called out, breaking his horrific thoughts. His eyes refocused, landing on Piper who was peering at him with a flicker of annoyance and concern in her kaleidoscope eyes. "I've said your name three times now. You okay?"

"Yeah, sorry." He replied, rubbing his eyelids. "Just thinking about some things."

The daughter of Aphrodite, along with the others who were listening in on the conversation, weren't very convinced but decided not to comment on the obvious excuse.

"We're stopping for gas now," she continued after a moment, eyes focusing back on the road. "We need you to do the thing."

Percy let out a heavy sigh, his stomach churning with unease. He hated what he was about to do—it felt wrong, no matter how he justified it. Sure, he'd been a troublemaker in his younger days, but he still had a moral compass. His mother had raised him better than this. She'd instilled in him a sense of right and wrong, and stealing from others had never been part of the equation. But desperate times called for desperate measures. If he didn't do this, the group would be stranded, and that wasn't an option. As the convoy pulled into the nearest gas station, he reluctantly stepped out of the vehicle, his feet dragging as if the weight of his conscience was physically holding him back.

"Can you grab me some water while you're in there?" Reyna called, rolling down the window.

"And lottery tickets!" Travis shouted from another pump, his voice far too cheerful for the situation.

"Ooh, and candy!" Gabriela added, leaning out of the car with a grin.

He stopped in his tracks, throwing his hands up in exasperation as he turned to face them.

"You want me to just rob the place while I'm at it?!" he snapped, though he immediately regretted the question. He should've known better than to ask that to a group of demigods who were low on money, food, and pretty much everything else.

"Yes!" came the resounding chorus from a hundred voices, all grinning like they'd just won the lottery. Percy shook his head, muttering under his breath as he trudged toward the gas station entrance.

"Animals. The lot of you."

Stepping inside, he was greeted by the familiar ding of the bell above the door, a sound that felt almost mocking in its cheerfulness. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glow over the small, cluttered store. Percy's eyes darted around, taking in the rows of snacks, the coolers filled with drinks, and the bored-looking cashier behind the counter who was scrolling through their phone, oblivious to the moral dilemma unfolding just feet away.

"How's it goin', boss?" Percy announced himself, laying on a thick New York accent. If he was going to pull this off, he had to commit—every detail mattered to keep his identity under wraps.

The clerk, a pudgy, balding man who bore an uncanny resemblance to Smelly Gabe, glanced up from his phone with bored, glazed eyes.

"Eh?" the man grunted, his tone dismissive, as if the younger man in front of him was barely worth his time. But the moment his eyes landed on Percy, his demeanor shifted dramatically. His bored expression melted into one of startled recognition. "Woah, it's—I mean, yes! It's—uh—goin' great today, boss!" he stammered, his voice suddenly eager and nervous.

Percy's eyebrow shot up, thrown off by the clerk's abrupt change in attitude. He didn't comment, though. Instead, he grabbed a couple of waters and some snacks from the shelves and headed back to the counter.

"That'll be all?" the clerk asked.

"You wouldn't happen to have any scratchers, would ya?" the son of Poseidon asked, flashing a casual grin. "I know it's a bad habit, but, well… you know how it is."

"Oh, I know exactly how it is," the clerk nodded vigorously, pulling out a stack of lottery tickets. "We got one-dollar, five-dollar, and twenty-dollar scratchers. Take your pick."

Percy pretended to study the tickets carefully, his hand subtly waving toward the gas pumps behind him. His expression was innocent, but his mind was already three steps ahead.

"Man, I don't know. I've been picking out the twenty's but my luck's been shit lately,"

"Mine too, boss. But I think it's about to get better here real soon." The clerk replied.

Something about the way he said that piqued Percy's radar. He'd been in the game long enough to know when something–or rather someone–was suspicious. Testing the waters, he continued the conversation while making sure the clerk didn't look at the computer which had the gas pump monitor on screen.

"Well, that's good to hear, brother. Hopefully, mine does the same. Been on a road trip lately but it hasn't been smooth sailing. Seems like they're monsters at every damn corner, y'know what I mean?"

The clerk's chubby face twitched slightly, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. "Uh, yeah, that is bad luck, boss. Monsters, you say? That's uh, that's crazy talk, boss. Crazy talk." He laughed nervously, but it came out more like a wheeze.

Percy slowly looked up from the counter, his eyes narrowing like a wolf's. "You calling me crazy?"

The older man's face went pale, his jowls quivering as he stammered, "N-no, boss. Not at all! I just meant–uh, monsters? That's, uh, some wild stuff, y'know?! Like, uh, not something you hear every day." He wheezed once more, his eyes nervously avoiding Percy's menacing gaze.

The green-eyed demigod kept the pressure up for a moment longer, slyly looking out at the vans where Travis gave him a thumbs up, signaling that they were refilled and ready to hit the road again.

"Ah!" He exclaimed, putting back on a disarming smile. "Sorry man, I must've heard you wrong. That's all."

The clerk swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing like a buoy in rough waters. "Y-yes. That's all. A simple misunderstanding. Tell you what! This is on the house!" He said, nervously pushing the items Percy had picked out forward. Even giving him a twenty-dollar lottery ticket.

The demigod raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smile. "Well, isn't that generous of you," he said, scooping up the items without a second thought. "You sure you don't want me to pay? I mean, I wouldn't want to put out out of business or nothin'."

The clerk waved his hands frantically, his face still pale and slick with sweat. "No, no, Perseus! It's on me! Really! Just, uh, take it and have a great day, okay? Drive safe out there!"

Percy chuckled, shaking his head as he turned to leave. "Alright, man. Thanks. You're a real one." He gave the clerk a mock salute before heading back to the vans. But he stopped, however, just as his hand reached for the doors.

"Wait a minute!" The green-eyed demigod said way too cheerfully, turning back around. "Did you just call me Perseus?"

The clerk's face froze, his eyes widening in panic as he realized his slip-up. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, but no sound came out. The color drained from his face completely, leaving him as pale as a sheet. Percy's cheerful demeanor vanished in an instant, replaced by a sharp, calculating intensity. He took a step closer to the counter, his hand reaching for the gun hidden beneath his shirt. The air in the gas station seemed to grow heavier, the fluorescent lights flickering faintly as if sensing the tension.

"I-I didn't—" the pudgy man stammered, his voice trembling. "I mean, I just—uh, thought I heard someone call you that earlier, boss. Yeah, that's it! Must've been one of your friends outside!" He forced a nervous laugh, but it came out as a strangled croak.

Back outside, the group of demigods were lounging around in the vans, idly waiting for Percy to come back out so they could get to driving again. Reyna, who was looking down at her map, let out a bored sigh, wondering why it was taking him so long.

"Oh my fucking Gods!" Piper suddenly screamed from the driver's seat, causing the daughter of Bellona to hastily look up, her heart quickly racing.

"What?!" Reyna called out, pushing herself forward. "What is it, Piper?!"

"Percy!" She exclaimed, pointing toward the store. "He's–he's actually robbing the store!"

Through the smudged glass, Reyna could see Percy standing at the counter, his posture tense and his hand subtly reaching for something beneath his shirt. The clerk, a sweaty, balding man, looked like he was on the verge of collapse, his face ashen and his hands trembling as he stammered something inaudible. The scene was surreal, almost comical in its absurdity, but the tension was undeniable.

Before she could react, the sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the stillness. Her breath caught in her throat as he fired the gun, the sound echoing like a thunderclap. The clerk crumpled to the ground, his body hitting the floor with a sickening thud. Percy moved with practiced efficiency, vaulting over the counter and rifling through the cash register, his movements quick and precise. Bills spilled into his hands as he stuffed them into his pockets, his expression calm, almost detached, as if this were just another mundane task.

Percy emerged from the gas station, his arms laden with snacks and lottery tickets, strolling toward the van as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He tossed the loot into the backseat and slid into the passenger side with a bored sigh. Piper, Reyna, and Katie sat in stunned silence, their mouths still hanging open, their eyes fixed on him as if he'd grown a second head.

"What?" Percy asked, glancing at them with a puzzled frown. Their wide-eyed stares seemed to finally register. "Oh!" He snapped his fingers, as if suddenly remembering something, and handed Reyna a bottle of water. "Got you your water."

Reyna stared at the bottle in her hand, her mind struggling to reconcile the mundane object with the surreal horror of what had just transpired. The cool plastic felt alien, almost dreamlike, as if it were part of some grotesque performance. She blinked, her gaze shifting from the bottle to Percy, who was now casually scratching off a lottery ticket.

"Oh, won me a dollar," he muttered to himself, completely oblivious to the weight of their stares.

"Percy," Reyna began, her voice low and steady, though it carried an undercurrent of disbelief. "Did you just… shoot that guy?"

He looked up from the lottery ticket, his brow furrowing as though she'd asked him if the sky was blue. "What? No. I mean, yeah, I shot him, but—" He paused, finally noticing the horrified expressions on their faces. "Oh, come on, you guys. He was a monster."

"A monster?" Piper echoed, her voice rising in pitch. "Percy, he was a gas station clerk! A sweaty, balding, probably-underpaid gas station clerk!"

"Exactly!" Percy replied, as if that somehow clarified everything. "Did you see how sweaty he was? That's not normal!"

"So you shot a man because he was fucking sweaty?!" Her voice was sharp, disbelief morphing into outrage.

The son of Poseidon rolled his eyes, clearly frustrated that they weren't following his logic. "Guys, he was a monster. An actual monster! You know, the kind that eats demigods?"

The van fell into a heavy silence, the weight of his words sinking in. No one spoke, the air thick with tension as they tried to process what had just happened. Before anyone could muster a response, a sharp knock on the window startled them all. It was Travis, his face lit up with an unnervingly cheerful grin.

"Did you get the lottery tickets?"

Chapter Text

The campfire crackled, casting a warm glow over the circle of demigods. The smell of burning wood and roasted meat hung in the air, mixing with the faint scent of sweat and exhaustion. Reyna sat upright, her posture as disciplined as ever, and used a stick to draw lines in the dirt.

"Tomorrow, we leave at dawn," she said, looking up from the ground. "We'll take I-thirty-five west and stay on it until we merge onto I-ninety-four. That's the first part of the trip."

Percy stretched his legs toward the fire, rubbing his hands together to warm them. "Three hundred miles? Really, Reyna? My legs are still killing me from today." He sounded tired but managed to keep his tone light, almost teasing.

Reyna didn't miss a beat. "We voted for Montana. Don't complain now." She shrugged, her expression calm but unyielding. "This is what we agreed to."

Clarisse, sitting on a log nearby, bit into a piece of meat from her skewer. "And that's not even the hard part," she added, her voice blunt. "After I-ninety-four, we've got six hundred miles on route two-eighty-seven. That's where things get rough."

A wave of groans spread through the group. Some of the demigods slumped forward, resting their heads in their hands, while others leaned back, staring at the sky as if hoping for a break. The journey had already taken its toll, and the thought of more miles ahead felt overwhelming.

Percy smirked, though he tried to hide it. Long trips were nothing new to him. He'd traveled across the country countless times for quests, fought monsters in every state, and even ventured into the underworld. This was nothing new except now it wasn't just about saving the world or fulfilling a prophecy—it was about survival—the survival of the demigod race.

He looked around the fire at his friends, their faces lit by the flickering flames. They were tired, but there was a stubborn determination in their eyes. They'd been through too much to quit now. "Alright, alright," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Three hundred miles, six hundred miles—what's a few more? We've handled worse than a road trip."

The group chuckled, the quiet laughter melting away traces of tension in their shoulders. The flickering fire cast dancing shadows across their faces, its warmth a welcome contrast to the cool night air. Katie, seated beside him, exhaled softly through her nose before resting her head against his shoulder, her body instinctively seeking comfort.

"You say that now," she murmured, closing her eyes as she soaked in the steady heat of both Percy and the fire. "But just wait until we hit that six-hundred-mile stretch. You'll be griping about your legs again before we're even halfway through."

Percy huffed a laugh, tilting his head slightly to glance at her. "Oh, come on. Don't act like you haven't been complaining about your back this whole time."

Katie didn't even bother opening her eyes as she shot back, "Those van seats aren't exactly quality material, seaweed-brain."

The words slipped out effortlessly, so natural that she didn't immediately register their weight—didn't notice how the conversation stuttered to a halt, how the fire's crackling seemed to grow louder in the sudden quiet. The group fell silent, their eyes darting toward Percy, watching, waiting. No one had called him that since her death.

The name hung in the air like a ghost, its presence both familiar and haunting. Percy froze, his easy smile faltering for just a moment before he forced it back into place. But the damage was done. The firelight seemed to dim, and the warmth of the moment evaporated, replaced by a heavy, unspoken grief.

Katie's eyes snapped open, her face paling as she realized what she'd said. She straightened, pulling away from Percy's shoulder, her hands trembling slightly. "Percy, I—I didn't mean—" she stammered, her voice breaking.

He shook his head quickly, cutting her off. "It's fine," he said, his tone softer now, though it carried an edge of something raw. "It's just a nickname. Don't worry about it."

But it wasn't just a nickname. It was the nickname she had given him. The one Annabeth coined years ago, back when they were just kids stumbling into a world of gods and monsters. The one she'd used with a mix of exasperation and affection, even in their darkest moments. Hearing it now, from someone else's lips, was abnormal to put it lightly.

The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. Even Clarisse, who rarely shied away from confrontation, looked away, her jaw tightening as she stared into the flames. Reyna cleared her throat, trying to steer the conversation back on track. "We should all get some rest. Dawn comes early, and we've got a long day ahead."

The others nodded, grateful for the excuse to move on. One by one, they began to disperse, retreating to their respective vans. The son of Poseidon stayed where he was, his gaze fixed on the flames, his expression unreadable. Katie lingered for a moment, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

"Percy, I'm really sorry," she whispered, barely audible over the crackling fire. "I didn't think—"

"It's okay," he interrupted again, his voice firmer this time. He looked at her, his sea-green eyes reflecting the firelight. "Really. It's not a big deal."

She hesitated, then nodded, though the guilt still weighed heavily on her shoulders. Standing up, she brushed the dirt off her jeans, and gave him one last apologetic glance before heading to her van. Percy watched her go, then let out a long, shaky breath. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and running a hand through his messy black hair. The firelight danced across his face, highlighting the shadows under his eyes and the tension in his jaw.

He wasn't mad at Katie—not in the slightest. If anything, his frustration was directed inward, a storm of emotions swirling within him that he couldn't quite untangle. When she had called him that name, the one that slipped so casually from her lips, it had sent a jolt through him, a flutter in his chest that he couldn't ignore. At first, he tried to brush it off, to convince himself that the reaction was nothing more than a ghost of the past. It's just because Annabeth used to call me that, he told himself, clinging to the explanation like a lifeline. But the more he repeated it, the more hollow the words felt, until the lie crumbled under the weight of his own honesty.

The truth was far more complicated, and far more unsettling. He was beginning to feel something for Katie—something he couldn't easily define. All he knew was that she made him feel a certain way he hadn't felt since Annabeth's death. That night back at the Empire State Building, when she had asked him to come to her bed, was what sparked these confusing yet scary feelings inside him, he supposed. What made it even more confusing was that she wasn't the only one who stirred these feelings. Piper and Reyna had a way of pulling at him too, each in their own unique manner.

The long days spent driving across the country with them, the quiet nights sleeping under the same sky, the shared meals that felt like more than just sustenance—it all wove a deeper connection between them. He had thought he knew them well before, but this journey had peeled back layers he hadn't even realized were there. Their laughter, their vulnerabilities, their quiet moments of strength—it all seeped into him, reshaping the way he saw them.

This wasn't something he could fight with Riptide or outmaneuver with a clever plan. This was messy, complicated, and deeply human. And that terrified him. More so at the thought that he was moving on from Annabeth, the girl who had been by his side for years. The girl that he had denied Godhood for. The girl he had ventured into Tartarus for.

This wasn't a battle he could win with Riptide or outsmart with a clever strategy. This was raw, tangled, and achingly human—and that terrified him. What scared him even more was the thought of moving on from her. How could he let go of someone like that? It felt like a betrayal. That was the only way he could describe it.

Percy sat by the fire long after the others had retreated to their vans, the flames shrinking to faint, glowing embers as the night stretched on. The weight of his thoughts pressed heavily on his chest, a tempest of guilt, grief, and confusion churning within him. His eyes remained fixed on the dying fire, but his mind was far away, trapped in the labyrinth of the past. He didn't notice the forest around him growing unnaturally still, the usual symphony of crickets and rustling leaves replaced by an oppressive silence. It was a silence that felt wrong, heavy, as if the world itself was holding its breath. But he was too lost in the storm inside his head to sense the shift.

It was only when a faint, almost imperceptible laugh drifted through the darkness that he snapped out of his trance. His head jerked up, eyes scanning the shadows. The wind suddenly stirred, sharp and insistent, tugging at his hair and forcing him to brush it from his face. And in that fleeting moment, through the gaps between his fingers, he saw her. She stood there, just beyond the edge of the woods, her face faintly illuminated by the dim glow of the embers. The rest of her was swallowed by the darkness, but her eyes—those eyes—seemed to pierce through the night, locking onto his.

The air grew sharp and biting, carrying with it a chill that seeped into Percy's bones. His breath hitched, caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat, as if the very act of breathing had become foreign to him. His feet rooted themselves to the ground, heavy and unyielding, while his eyes remained locked on the figure before him. He couldn't move, couldn't look away—not even if he wanted to.

She wasn't as he had last seen her, back in Indiana, when her skin had been marred by those inky, writhing tendrils that seemed to pulse with a life of their own. There was no trace of that unsettling smile that had stretched too wide, no sign of the hollow, lifeless eyes that had haunted his nightmares. No, this was different. This was her. The real her. Her golden curls cascaded like sunlight, framing a face he had memorized long ago. Her tan skin glowed faintly, as if kissed by the warmth of a summer he thought he'd never feel again. And her eyes—those bright, piercing gray eyes—were alive, filled with a light that made his chest ache with a bittersweet longing. She looked exactly as he remembered her, as though time itself had folded to bring her back to him, untouched and unbroken.

"Annabeth…" Her name escaped his lips in a whisper, barely audible, yet it carried the weight of every unspoken word, every moment he had spent without her. His heart surged, a wild, uncontrollable leap of joy that threatened to overwhelm him. For a fleeting second, the world around him faded, leaving only her.

And then she smiled. That smile—the one she used to reserve for him, the one that had always made him feel like he was the only person in the room. It was soft, familiar, and achingly tender. She raised her hand, her fingers curling gently, beckoning him to follow. But before he could take a single step, before he could even think to reach out, she began to retreat. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she sank back into the shadows, the darkness swallowing her whole until she was gone, leaving only the echo of her presence and the faintest trace of her smile lingering in the air.

He didn't hesitate, jumping off from his seat and chasing after her straight through the darkness. His heart pounded and ragged breath shot through the air as he ran through the woods, dodging branches and fallen trees alike. The cool night air stung his lungs but he didn't dare stop. He couldn't. Not when she was so close.

"Annabeth!" he called out into the night, pushing through low-hanging branches, his eyes scanning though the darkness for any sign of her. He couldn't see her but he could hear her. Her laughter rang through the air in every which direction, pulling him deeper and deeper into the woods.

The rational part of his mind screamed at him to stop, to think, to consider the possibility that this wasn't real. But the rest of him—the part that still ached with her absence, the part that had carried her memory like a weight since the day she died—refused to listen. He had to see her. He had to know.

The forest seemed to stretch endlessly, a labyrinth of shadows and moonlight that blurred together as he ran. His legs burned, his lungs screamed for air, but he couldn't stop—not when she was out there, not when he was so close. The trees whipped past him, their branches clawing at his arms and face, but he barely felt them. His mind was fixed on one thing, one person: her.

And then, like a mirage materializing in the desert, he saw her.

A glimpse of golden hair, shimmering like spun sunlight under the pale glow of the moon. Her skin, kissed by the sun and glowing faintly, seemed to radiate its own light, cutting through the darkness of the forest. She stood in a small clearing, her back to him, as still and serene as if she were part of the night itself. He skidded to a halt, his chest heaving, breath coming in ragged gasps that tore at his throat. For a moment, he couldn't move, couldn't speak. He just stood there, staring, as if she might vanish if he blinked too hard.

But she didn't. She was real. She was here.

His legs carried him forward, each step heavy and deliberate, as though the ground itself resisted him. The distance between them felt infinite and insignificant all at once. When he was finally close enough to reach out and touch her, he stopped, his hand trembling at his side. His voice, when it finally broke free, was raw, stripped bare by exhaustion and emotion.

"Annabeth," he said, her name a plea, a prayer, a lifeline. She turned, and the world seemed to slow. Her movements were fluid, unhurried, as though time itself bent to her will. When her gray eyes met his, it was like being struck by lightning. Those eyes—sharp, intelligent, and endlessly deep—held him captive, pulling him into a whirlpool of memories, regrets, and unspoken words. He felt like he was drowning, not in water, but in her.

She smiled again, that same soft, knowing smile that had always been his undoing. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, she reached out, her hand hovering just inches from his face. Percy's breath hitched, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure she could hear it. He wanted to close the distance, to feel her touch, to confirm that she was real—that this wasn't some cruel trick of his mind or the work of a vengeful god. But he couldn't move. He was frozen, caught between the desperate need to hold her and the fear that she might dissolve into smoke if he tried. "

Annabeth," he whispered again. "Is it really you?"

His world went still when she parted her lips and spoke, her words a haunting echo of the past. "Why'd you let me die?"

That question made the world stop. The words hung in the air, sharp and cutting, slicing through the fragile hope that had begun to bloom within him, each syllable a reminder of the guilt he had carried since that day.

"What?" he managed to choke out, barely above a whisper. His hand, which had been trembling at his side, now clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm. "Annabeth, I—I…"

"You were supposed to protect me," she interrupted, her tone soft but laced with an undercurrent of pain. Her gray eyes, once so full of life and warmth, now seemed to pierce through him, accusing, questioning. "You promised. You said you'd never let anything happen to me."

Percy's knees trembled, threatening to give way as if her words were not just sounds but a tangible force, pressing down on him with the crushing weight of a thousand regrets. The ground beneath his feet seemed to dissolve, crumbling into an abyss that pulled him deeper into a chasm of guilt and despair. His mind, unbidden and merciless, conjured the images he had tried so hard to bury. They came in a relentless flood, flickering through his consciousness like the frames of an old, broken reel—grainy, fragmented, but vivid enough to tear open wounds he never wanted to experience again.

That day. That cursed, godsforsaken day. The battlefield had been a hellscape of chaos and carnage, the air thick with the stench of blood and the cries of the dying. He could still feel the heat of the sun, the weight of his sword, the way time had seemed to stretch and warp as he watched her fall. Her blood—warm, sticky, and too bright—had soaked into his skin, seeping into the cracks of his soul, marking him in ways no amount of scrubbing could ever cleanse.

He had been so close. So close to reaching her, to pulling her out of harm's way. But the Fates had other plans. A monster, some grotesque abomination he couldn't even name now, had intercepted him. He remembered the way its claws had raked across his chest, the way its guttural roar had drowned out her voice as she called his name. He had fought like a man possessed, cutting through the creature with a fury that left him trembling, but it hadn't been enough. By the time he reached her, it was too late.

They didn't even get to have any final words. It was a death unbenefiting of someone like her.

"I tried," he whimpered brokenily. "I tried to save you, Annabeth. I swear I did. I would've done anything–given anything–to keep you safe."

The expression in the daughter of Athena's eyes hardened, her lips curving upward syly.

"Did you?" she tilted her head mockingly, pushing up his chin to make him look her in the eye. "Or do you tell yourself that to make it easier to live with?"

Tears streamed down his face, his vision blurring under the crushing weight of guilt. His chest tightened, each breath ragged and uneven, as if the air itself had turned against him. Panic clawed at his throat, leaving him paralyzed, unsure of what to do or say. What could he possibly say to make any of this right?

"You failed me, Percy. You failed our friends. Our families." Her voice was sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. Her fingers dug into his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. "You failed everyone who ever depended on you. And now—" her tone dripped with disdain, "—you think you can lead those demigods to salvation?"

"I—I can… I can lead them," he stammered, the words trembling as they left his lips, hollow and unconvincing even to his own ears.

"You think you can rebuild camp? Rebuild our world?" she hissed, leaning in so close that her breath brushed against his skin, hot and accusing. "You're pathetic. And you'll fail. Just like you failed me."

"I'm sorry," he choked out. "I'm so sorry, Annabeth. I… I failed you. I failed everyone. But I'm trying. I'm trying to make it right. I'm trying to lead them, to keep them safe. I—"

"Trying?" she interrupted, her laughter sharp and bitter. "Trying isn't enough, Percy. You think your half-hearted efforts can undo what you've done? You think you can just… move on? Replace me?"

Her words struck a nerve, and Percy's head snapped up, his sea-green eyes wide with shock. "What? No! I would never—I could never replace you, Annabeth. You're… you're everything to me. You always were."

But her expression didn't soften. If anything, it grew colder, her smile widening into something grotesque, unnatural. The shadows around her seemed to writhe and twist, and for the first time, Percy noticed the faint, inky tendrils curling around her feet, creeping up her legs like vines. His stomach churned as the realization hit him.

This wasn't Annabeth.

He took a slow, unsteady step back, finally regaining his footing. His trembling hand fumbled toward the pen tucked in his pocket, but Annabeth was already a step ahead. She always was. She knew his every move before he even made it. In a flash, she lunged at him like a predator, her momentum driving him hard into the ground with a dull thud. The son of Poseidon's vision blurred, his head spinning as a sharp pain shot through him. He grimaced, feeling the warm trickle of blood seeping from the back of his skull. Of course, there had been a rock right where he'd landed.

"You can't run from this, seaweed-brain," she hissed, her voice low and venomous. The shadows around her seemed to writhe and deepen, closing in like a suffocating veil. "You can't escape what you've done. What you are." Her words cut through the air, sharp and unrelenting, as her grip on him tightened.

The pain in his head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, each pulse sending a fresh wave of dizziness through him. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but the world around him seemed to tilt and spin. The shadows loomed closer, their inky tendrils curling around him like the fingers of some ancient, malevolent force.

"You're not her," he managed to say. "You're not Annabeth."

The figure above him tilted her head, her golden curls catching the faint moonlight that filtered through the trees. "Oh, Percy," she purred. "I'm exactly what you see. I'm the part of her you couldn't save. The part you left behind on that battlefield."

The green-eyed demigod remained silent. His chest heaved furiously, as if the air itself was too thin to contain the rage burning inside him. With a guttural growl, he reached into his pocket, his movements sharp and deliberate, and yanked out Riptide. The blade erupted into existence with a blinding flash, its celestial bronze humming with deadly energy.

In one brutal motion, he kicked her off him, the force sending her skidding across the ground. He was on her before she could recover, his hand snapping around her throat like a vice, pinning her down. His eyes, usually so full of life and mischief, were now dark and terrifying, glowing with an otherworldly intensity. His other hand gripped Riptide tightly, the sword trembling slightly as he raised it above her, the tip hovering like the promise of death.

"That's right," she spat, her voice dripping with malice, her lips twisting into a wicked grin. "Do it! Kill me! Let out the monster you're so afraid of showing the world!"

Percy's hand tightened around Riptide, the blade trembling as it hovered above her. The weight of her words—her taunts—pressed down on him, threatening to crush the last vestiges of his resolve. The monster she spoke of, the one he had fought so hard to keep buried, clawed at the edges of his mind, demanding to be let loose.

But he couldn't. He wouldn't.

"You're not her," he repeated, each word a struggle. "You're not Annabeth. And I won't let you use her against me."

The figure beneath him laughed, a cold, hollow sound that sent shivers down his spine. "Oh, Percy," she sneered, her gray eyes glinting with malice. "I thought I already told you? I am her. I am Annabeth. I'm the last speck of her soul, filled with the dying light of the Father." Her words struck a nerve, and for a moment, he faltered. The blade in his hand wavered, his grip loosening ever so slightly.

That was all the opening she needed. In the split second of his hesitation, she seized the opportunity with ruthless precision. With a sharp, calculated motion, she drove her forehead into his face, the sickening crunch of his nose echoing in the tense air. The force of the blow sent him staggering backward, his balance faltering as he clutched his face in pain.

Annabeth didn't wait. She was already on her feet, her movements fluid and deliberate. A low, mocking laugh escaped her lips as she melted into the shadows, her figure dissolving into the inky darkness like a ghost. Her laughter lingered, sharp and taunting, reverberating through the air like a haunting melody.

"I'll make you become that monster, seaweed-brain!" Her words cut through the night, cold and unyielding. "I promise you that."

And just like that, the girl he loved and thought dead, was gone. He laid in the grass motionless, his gaze upward at the stars twinkling overhead. Blood and tears dripped down his face into the soft, dewy grass, painting it red. He rested his sword against his chest as he replayed her final words to him. "I'll make you become that monster, seaweed-brain!" That promise—no, that threat—hung over him like a storm cloud, dark and unrelenting. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to destroy something, anything, to make the pain stop. But he couldn't. He was paralyzed, trapped in the suffocating grip of his own guilt and rage.

Slowly getting up, he smeared the blood across his face and scanned the area for any sign that she might still be lingering. The forest around him was eerily silent, as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting to see what he would do next. The shadows seemed to stretch and twist, taunting him, reminding him of the darkness that had taken Annabeth—or at least, the thing that wore her face. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the image of her, but it was no use. She was everywhere. In the rustle of the leaves, in the faint whisper of the wind, in the blood that still dripped from his nose.

"Perseus?"

Without hesitation, he spun around, his instincts sharp and his body coiled like a spring, ready to strike at whoever had dared to call his name. His mind was still locked in combat mode, every nerve primed for violence, every muscle tensed to eliminate whatever threat lay behind him. A raw, guttural roar tore from his throat as he lunged, slamming the figure to the ground with brutal force. His vision was clouded with rage, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword as he loomed over them, the blade catching the cold gleam of the moonlight above.

But then he saw her.

She looked exactly like Annabeth—her eyes, her hair, every detail was a mirror image. The resemblance only stoked the fire burning inside him, and for a moment, he was ready to strike, to destroy the Father's hold over her. His sword trembled in his hand as he raised it higher, the edge glinting like a promise of death. Yet, just as he was about to bring it down, he froze. His breath hitched, grip faltering. The realization hit him like a tidal wave, crashing through the haze of his fury. This was Athena.

The Goddess of Wisdom stared up at him, her wide eyes reflecting something he had never seen in her before—fear. True, unbridled fear. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Athena felt vulnerable, helpless beneath the weight of a demigod who seemed moments away from ending her immortal life. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as she lay pinned, her divine composure shattered by the raw, primal intensity radiating from him.

"Athena," he growled, his voice rough and low, still thick with the adrenaline surging through his veins. His chest heaved as he struggled to steady his breathing, his mind racing to make sense of her presence. Why was she here? What did she want?

But Athena, ever the master of control, quickly regained her composure. Her fear melted away, replaced by the calm, calculating demeanor of a goddess who had faced countless challenges over millennia. Slowly, deliberately, she raised her hand, her movements measured and unhurried. Her thumb brushed against his lips, wiping away the blood that had trickled down his lips. The touch was gentle, almost tender, and it sent a jolt through him. It felt so much like Annabeth's touch that it made him ache.

Percy faltered, his grip on the sword loosening as his features softened. The fire in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a flicker of confusion and something deeper—regret. He lowered the blade, his arm trembling as the weight of what he had almost done settled over him. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence heavy with unspoken words and the lingering tension of what had nearly transpired.

The air was only filled by their breathing and the faint howl of the wind. She slowly withdrew her hand, her gaze never leaving his. The son of Poseidon remained frozen above her, still trying to come to terms with what he had just experienced.

"She's alive," he said, trembling at the realization. "She's alive, Athena."

"Alive? Or just a lifeless body controlled by the Father?" The Goddess questioned, her voice low and calm. Too calm for his liking.

"Did you know?" He replied, his grip tightening unconsciously on Riptide. Why was she so calm at the revelation? Her daughter, the one she loved the most, was back from the dead. She should've been shocked or crying. But no, she was calm, still staring into his eyes with an unreadable expression, fueling his anger further.

"Answer me. Did you know?" he repeated, each word dripping with accusation. "Did you know she was out there? That she was…like this?"

The Goddess finally tore her gaze away, her eyes drifting to the side as if the weight of the moment was too much to bear. The silence between them stretched, heavy and suffocating, thick with the sting of betrayal and the weight of truths left unspoken. His hand trembled, clenched tightly around the hilt of his sword, his knuckles blanching white as rage simmered beneath the surface.

"How long?" He whispered, yet it sliced through the air like a blade, sharp and unrelenting. "How long have you known?"

"Since Jason," she replied, her voice steady but laced with regret.

He staggered back, his movements slow and deliberate as he pushed himself away from her. His hair clung to his forehead, damp and disheveled, as he tilted his face toward the night sky. A low, bitter chuckle escaped his lips, growing into a hollow, deranged laugh that echoed into the darkness. Of course. Of course Athena had known. She always knew. His hand raked through his hair, fingers trembling as they brushed against the blood streaked across his face.

"Since Jason…" he repeated, his voice empty, as if the words themselves were a curse. "Since Jason."

"I saw you enter Camp Half-Blood. I saw your fight with him," she continued, her words spilling out now, faster, as if she could no longer hold them back. "I tried to tell you. I wanted to, believe me, Perseus. But with my powers so diminished, I couldn't—not until now. It's only now that I've regained enough strength to teleport, to reach you."

Percy's jaw tightened, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he fought the desperate urge to raise his sword, to let his fury take control. Even now, after Olympus had fallen, after the gods had been destroyed, save her, she had kept this from him. Secrets. There were always secrets. And this one—this one changed everything.

"I did what I thought was best," Athena admitted. "I had to understand more about the Father. About Jason and my daughter before I could tell you."

She knew, a voice echoed in the back of his mind, relentless and bitter. She knew and said nothing. Had him chasing ghosts, believing he was haunted by the spirit of his lost love—when in truth, she was alive, bound to the will of some wicked deity. The realization nearly drove him to raise his sword against her, to end it then and there. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe she belonged with the rest of the Gods in Tartarus.

But when he looked at Athena—truly looked—he saw something rare, something almost human. Regret.

"You don't get to decide what's best for me. For my people," he said, shaking with barely contained fury. "You don't get to keep secrets about her. Not after everything."

The Goddess sighed, tilting her head toward the sky. The moonlight carved sharp shadows across her face, accentuating the exhaustion in her immortal features.

"And if I could have told you sooner?" she murmured. "What would you have done, Perseus?"

He didn't answer. He didn't know. What could he have done?

"You would've gone after her, wouldn't you?" Athena's tone turned razor-sharp. "Abandoned the demigods who depend on you to chase a dead person?" She stepped closer, her gaze dark with warning. "That's what the Father wants. Don't you see that?"

Percy closed his eyes, the warm blood trickling down his face agitating him further. He wanted to argue, to scream that he would never abandon his friends, that he would never leave them behind. But deep down, he knew she was right. If he had known Annabeth was alive—or even just a shadow of herself, controlled by the Father—he would have dropped everything to find her. He would have torn the world apart to bring her back. And in doing so, he would have left the demigods, his friends, vulnerable, exposed to the chaos and destruction that followed in the wake of the gods' fall.

"You don't understand," he said, trembling with a mixture of anger and desperation. "She's not just some… pawn in this. She's Annabeth. She's my—" His voice broke, the words catching in his throat. He couldn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.

"Of course I understand," She replied, stepping closer to him. Once again she held a hand to his face, wiping away the blood. "She's my daughter. I would do anything to bring her back. But with the Father's grasp over her and my weakened state, there is little we can do."

The pair were silent for a moment, sharing the weight of grief hanging over them. The forest was silent save for the howl of the wind and rustling of trees. Percy closed his eyes as he felt her warm hand linger on his cheek, her touch surprisingly gentle for a Goddess known for her coldness.

"What do you want from me?" he finally asked, looking at her. "Why are you here telling me this now? To tell me that I can't save her? To tell me to just…let her go?"

The Goddess of Wisdom stepped even closer, her gray eyes locking onto his with an intensity that made him feel exposed, as if she could see every thought, every fear, every doubt swirling in his mind. Her soft breath caressed his skin, sending goosebumps across his arms.

"I'm here to remind you of your duty," she whispered, low enough for just him to hear. "To remind you that the demigods—your friends, your family—need you now more than ever. The Father is growing stronger. His influence is spreading across the land. And if you allow your grief, your guilt, your love for Annabeth to cloud your judgment, you will fail them. Just as you believe you failed her."

Her words struck a nerve, and Percy flinched, his jaw tightening as he fought the urge to lash out. But deep down, he knew she was right. He couldn't afford to lose himself in this. Not now. Not when so much was at stake.

"What am I supposed to do? We don't even know who this Father guy is. We don't know his plans or what he wants."

"No, we do not," Athena admitted with a sigh, hating that she didn't have the answers. "But that doesn't change what you originally set out to do. Go to Montana. Build a new camp and thrive the best you can. The time and the answers will eventually present themselves."

"And what will you do?" he asked, watching as she stepped away, preparing to flashback to Olympus. "We can't ignore this problem."

"We won't." She replied, looking up at the moon, the wind brushing her hair softly. "I'll continue to search for the answers. But until then, ensure that the demigods survive. Our world is counting on you."

Percy clenched his jaw, biting back the words that threatened to spill out as he shut his eyes tightly. The last thing he needed was to be reduced to ash by the blinding radiance of her divine form. There was so much more he wanted to say, so many questions burning in his mind, but it was clear this wasn't the time. The air around him grew warm, heavy with the weight of her godly presence, and a harsh, golden light spilled through the darkness of the forest, casting long shadows and painting the trees in an otherworldly glow. Just as Athena began to fade, her voice cut through the stillness one final time.

"Expect your friends to arrive soon. I've sent them your way."

And then she was gone. The light dimmed, the warmth dissipated, and he was left standing alone in the quiet of the forest. He opened his eyes slowly, the remnants of her divine energy swirling faintly in the air before being carried away by the breeze. Above him, the first hints of dawn began to break through the canopy, the sky tinged with the faintest hues of gold and pink. The night was over, but his questions, his confusion, and his rage lingered, heavier than ever.

"Friends?" he whispered under his breath, the word heavy with doubt and confusion. His friends were already by his side, weren't they? As far as he knew, they were the last of their kind—the only demigods still standing on a planet that seemed determined to grind them into dust. The thought of more allies, more survivors, felt like a cruel joke. Yet, her words lingered in his mind, a faint echo of hope: The time and answers will present themselves. He wasn't sure if he believed her, but for now, he shoved the thought to the back of his mind, burying it beneath the weight of more pressing concerns.

As he trudged back to the vans, his thoughts spiraled uncontrollably, circling back to her. No matter how hard he tried to push her from his mind, she was there, stubborn and unshakable, like a shadow he couldn't outrun. She was alive. Just like Jason. The impossibility of it all clawed at him, leaving him raw and unsettled. How? How could she be here? And Jason—how had the Father managed to twist them, to bend their wills to his own? The questions burned in his mind, unanswered and unrelenting, each one tightening the vise around his heart.

But there was one thing he knew for certain, one truth that cut deeper than the rest: Nico had lied to him. The memory of his promise, spoken with such certainty, now felt like a betrayal. He had clung to those words, finding solace in the idea that Annabeth was at peace, even if it wasn't with him. But now, that solace felt like ash in his mouth. If she was alive, if she was here, then the son of Hades had known. And he had said nothing. He clenched the pen in his pocket so tightly he was sure it would snap. A simmering rage threatened to erupt as the vans came into view. All with one thought coursing through him.

He lied.

The camp was already stirring, the demigods moving about with the kind of weary determination that came from too many days on the road and too many nights spent sleeping with one eye open. The faint glow of dawn painted the sky in muted hues, but the atmosphere felt heavy, as if the morning itself was holding its breath. No one seemed to notice that Percy had been gone all night—most assumed he'd taken the last watch, as he often did. But when he finally appeared at the edge of the clearing, the illusion of normalcy shattered.

Percy!" Katie was the first to notice his appearance, crying out in panic as she saw his face covered in blood. She was the first to move, rushing over to him as quickly as she could. Her eyes darted over him, taking in the blood, the bruises, the way he held himself like a coiled spring ready to snap. "Oh my gods, what happened? Are you okay?!" She reached out to touch his face, her fingers hovering just above the crooked break in his nose.

Percy flinched, almost imperceptibly, but didn't pull away. His voice was low, rough, like gravel dragged over stone. "Ran into trouble in the woods." It wasn't an explanation, not really, but the way he said it left no room for questions. His gaze shifted past her, past the small crowd that had begun to gather, and landed on the son of Hades, who had just stepped out of his van.

Nico stood frozen, his hand gripping the doorframe, his dark eyes widening as they locked onto Percy's. For a heartbeat, the two cousins simply stared at each other, the space between them stretching into an endless void yet collapsing into something unbearably close. Nico's face was a storm of confusion and concern as his gaze flickered to the blood streaking Percy's skin. But his expression was a mask—unyielding, his jaw clenched so tightly it seemed ready to shatter. His eyes, however, betrayed him. They blazed with a fury that was wild and untamed, a fire that didn't just burn but raged, threatening to devour everything in its wake.

The tension between them crackled like a live wire, but the others were too preoccupied with Percy's condition to notice. The crowd buzzed with anxious energy, their voices overlapping in a chaotic hum.

"Were there monsters out there?" Clarisse cut through the noise as she shoved her way forward, spear in hand. Percy spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground, his movements deliberate, his gaze never wavering from Nico's as a daughter of Demeter guided him toward a waiting van to tend to his wounds.

"There were," he replied coldly "Not anymore though. Just a bad night."

The crowd breathed a collective sigh of relief, their tension melting away. Cheers and praises erupted, with promises of buying him breakfast once they hit the road. But Percy barely registered their words. His attention was fixed entirely on Nico, his gaze unwavering even as the others celebrated around them. When they finally dispersed, the son of Hades slowly walked up to him.

"Glad you're okay," he said, hoping his apprehension didn't show.

Katie sat beside Percy, her hands moving with gentle precision as she tended to his injuries. She carefully wiped the blood from his face, her touch steady despite the tension in the air, and poured water over his wounds to clean them. His nose, though now reset, bore the painful evidence of the fight they'd just endured. He sat in silence, his face a mask of calm, but his eyes betrayed him. They were dark, stormy, and filled with something Nico recognized immediately. It was a look he had seen too many times before—on battlefields, in the aftermath of chaos. It was a look that promised retribution, violence simmering just beneath the surface.

"Let's talk later," Percy said suddenly, his voice light, almost casual, as he flashed Nico a disarming smile. It was a smile that seemed too easy, too natural, given the turmoil he could sense brewing within him. "Once we stop for breakfast. Sounds good?"

Nico's breath caught in his throat. He saw through the facade, the forced calm, the attempt to brush everything aside. But he didn't call it out. Instead, he forced a smile of his own and nodded, agreeing to the delay. As he turned and walked back toward the van, he could feel his cousin's gaze burning into the back of his skull, heavy and unrelenting. His heart pounded, a mix of fear and unease tightening his chest. Whatever Percy had faced in those woods, it wasn't just a bad night. Something had happened—something that had shaken him to his core. And deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that it had everything to do with him.

Chapter Text

Percy remained silent for the entire car ride as they crossed through Iowa and into South Dakota. Not a single word passed his lips in those five hours, a fact that didn't go unnoticed by the girls sharing the car with him. His gaze was fixed on the passing landscape outside the window, but his eyes were distant, clouded with thoughts that seemed to consume him.

"Something happened in those woods," Piper murmured, her voice low enough that only Reyna could hear. Reyna gave a subtle nod, her expression grim. "It wasn't just monsters out there. It couldn't have been."

The daughter of Aphrodite tilted her head slightly, her eyes lingering on the back of Percy's jet-black hair. She couldn't shake the feeling that whatever had occurred the previous night had left a deeper mark on him than any of them realized. Asking him directly felt risky—he had always been the type to bury his struggles, to shoulder the burdens in silence. This time was no different. The weight of his experience in the woods was palpable, evident in the slight hunch of his shoulders and the restless clenching and unclenching of his fists. Whatever he had faced, it had left him changed.

"Seems we're stopping at this Waffle House for breakfast," Katie announced from the driver's seat, following the convoy into the parking lot.

That seemed to perk the son of Poseidon's interest. His posture straightened as they parked the van, his leg restless as he looked for something–or rather someone–specifically. His sudden shift in demeanor didn't go unnoticed by the girls as they stepped out, stretching their legs as they slyly watched him. His eyes scanned the convoy of vans with an intensity that contrasted with his earlier detachment, unnerving them slightly.

"Are you—uh—coming in with us, Percy?" Piper asked, already stepping inside with the others.

"In a minute," he replied, barely glancing her way as he turned and walked off. The girls exchanged uneasy looks, their concern rising, but reluctantly followed the stream of a hundred other demigods into the restaurant.

"Welcome to Waffle House…" one of the employees began, his voice faltering as he took in the sight of the horde of hungry demigods flooding the small diner. His eyes widened, and under his breath, he muttered, "Fuck…"

Outside, the green-eyed demigod's gaze locked onto Nico, who was leaning casually against one of the vans parked farther out in the lot. The distance ensured they were hidden from view, shielded from any prying eyes inside.

Good, Percy thought, his jaw tightening as he strode toward his cousin. No one would interrupt this conversation. His boots thudded heavily against the asphalt, each step echoing the rising tension in his chest. His breathing quick and shallow, anger simmering just beneath the surface. He only needed to hold it together a little longer—just until he was close enough.

"Hey," Nico greeted, pushing himself off the van as he noticed his approach. His tone was casual, but his dark eyes flickered with a hint of wariness. Percy didn't respond. Instead, he quickened his pace, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides. The distance between them closed rapidly, his lips twisting into a sneer as the rage inside him finally flooded out like a collapsed dam.

The younger demigod barely had time to react before the larger man was on him. The son of Poseidon's fist shot out, catching Nico squarely in the jaw and sending him stumbling back against the van with a loud thud. The impact reverberated through the metal, causing the son of Hades to gasp out in pain, his jaw clearly broken from the strength.

"You thought I wouldn't find out?!" Percy hissed, his voice low and venomous, every muscle in his body tense as he fought to keep himself from unleashing his full fury on Nico. He needed answers, and a dead demigod wouldn't give him any. "You really thought you could keep this from me?"

Nico groaned, his hands instinctively flying to his face, clutching his jaw as blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. He staggered, trying to steady himself, but Percy wasn't having it. In one swift motion, he grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the van's window, the glass rattling under the force.

"I saw her last night, Nico," Percy snarled, his face inches away, trembling with barely contained rage. "I even had to fight her. She's under the Father's control—just like Jason."

The son of Hades' dark eyes widened, panic flashing across his face at the mention of Annabeth. He gasped for air, his hands clawing desperately at Percy's hands, but the son of Poseidon didn't budge. His hold only tightened, his jaw clenched as he stared down at the younger demigod.

"You knew," he growled, his voice shaking with fury. "You knew she was out there, and you lied to me. You swore she was safe in Elysium, you fucking liar!" He spat, throwing him onto the asphalt like a ragdoll.

Nico hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the wind out of him. He coughed, blood spattering onto the asphalt as he struggled to push himself up on his elbows. His dark eyes, usually so guarded, were wide with a mix of fear and guilt. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze flickering up to meet Percy's furious glare.

"Percy, I—" Nico started but was cut off.

"Don't," he snapped, his voice cracking like a whip. He took a step closer, his shadow looming over the scared boy. "Don't even try to explain yourself. You lied to me. You let me think she was gone—that she was at peace. And all this time, she's been out there, suffering, controlled by him." He broke on the last word, the raw pain cutting through his anger.

"No!" The son of Hades cried out. "You don't understand. I did that for you."

"For me?!" He yelled, kicking Nico harshly back onto the ground. "You lied and manipulated for me?!"

Nico groaned as he felt some of his ribs crack from the force of the kick but he didn't give up. He had to explain. If he didn't, Percy might actually kill him.

"No, you don't get it," he gasped. "I only told you that because Annabeth chose rebirth. She's not in Elysium."

Percy froze, his rage momentarily forgotten as he took a step back. Nico's words echoed through his head like a thunderclap, striking him with a force that left him stunned.

"What…what are you talking about?" He demanded, his eyes searching his cousin's for any hint of deception.

The younger man slowly got to his feet, spitting out a glob of blood as he continued. "She chose rebirth, Percy. She thought it was the only way to keep you from doing something stupid like killing yourself to see her again."

The son of Poseidon stumbled backward as if he had just gotten shot in the heart. His head spun as he put a hand up onto the van, steadying himself. The anger that had fueled him moments ago had vanished in an instant, replaced by cold dread and a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Rebirth?" He whispered into the wind. "You're lying. You're fucking lying! She chose rebirth? She chose to forget everything? To…to forget me?!"

"It wasn't about forgetting you, Percy. It was about protecting you. She knew you'd never move on if you thought there was even a chance to bring her back. She didn't want you to spend the rest of your life chasing her ghost."

Percy shook his head in denial, not being able to believe it. He couldn't believe it. It didn't make sense. "No," he replied, looking at Nico with stubborn eyes. "No, you're wrong. I saw her last night."

Nico sighed as he stumbled to his cousin's side, leaning against the van. He didn't know what else he could say to make him believe but he had to try. Percy needed to let her go.

"Listen to me." He said, turning toward him. "I don't know what you saw last night but it wasn't Annabeth. I personally led her to rebirth. I lied to you because Annabeth told me to. She knew that the demigods would need their leader and they couldn't have that if his mind was constantly worrying about her."

Percy's knees buckled as he sank to the ground, his vision blurring as tears streamed down his face. He felt as though the ground had been pulled out from under him. He had built himself into believing that when he died, he would be reunited with her. He had told himself, over and over again, that she was waiting for him. But now, in the light of Nico's words, everything felt like it was unraveling. His breath came in short gasps, his heart pounding painfully against his chest. The idea that Annabeth had chosen to forget him—that she had chosen something other than being with him—was like a blade twisting inside him, and no matter how much he tried, he couldn't stop the panic bubbling inside.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them thick, suffocating, and filled with the weight of guilt. The son of Hades stood there, uncertain, his expression a mixture of guilt and sympathy. He could see the pain in his cousin's eyes, the devastation that was slowly swallowing him whole.

"She never stopped loving you," Nico continued, grasping Percy's shoulder in reassurance. "She did what she thought was best, even if it meant hurting you in the process."

The green-eyed didn't respond. His hands trembled as they gripped the asphalt, his head bowed low. The tears fell freely now, splashing onto the ground beneath him. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions—anger, grief, betrayal, and an overwhelming sense of loss. He felt hollow, as if a part of him had been ripped away, leaving behind a gaping wound that would never heal.

Nico's words echoed in his mind, each one a fresh blow. She chose rebirth. She chose to forget. She did it for you. The thought of Annabeth willingly giving up their memories, their love, their shared history, was unbearable. How could she have made that choice? How could she have believed that he would be better off without her?

Finally, after what felt like forever, Percy spoke, his voice hoarse. "You should've told me."

Nico swallowed hard, guilt tightening his throat. "I know."

The son of Poseidon stood up, his legs feeling weak beneath him. He wiped his face roughly with the sleeve of his jacket, but it did little to hide the raw grief etched into his features. His green eyes, usually so full of fire and determination, were dulled—haunted.

He took a shaky breath, his hands still trembling at his sides. "I don't know if I can forgive you," he admitted, barely above a whisper. It wasn't an accusation, just a painful truth.

Nico didn't flinch. He had expected as much. "I don't expect you to," he replied, his tone heavy with understanding. "But I couldn't let you destroy yourself over something you couldn't change."

Percy let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "And yet, here I am…"

Both men sighed in unison, their gazes drifting upward to the sky as if searching for answers they couldn't name. The world around them remained oblivious to the devastation that had just unraveled between them. Cars passed in the distance, the hum of engines blending with the faint chatter of demigods inside the Waffle House. Life continued, indifferent to their guilt and grief.

"I know what I saw last night," Percy insisted, his red-rimmed eyes locking onto his cousin. "It was her, Nico. Not a ghost, not a trick. She knew how I fought—every move, every habit. She knew me."

Nico exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Percy—"

"No, listen to me," he cut in, his voice edged with desperation. He wasn't mistaken. He couldn't be. "She said something about the last speck of her soul. That she was filled with the dying light of the Father."

That gave Nico pause. His gaze darkened, the worry in his eyes deepening.

"Does that mean anything?" Percy pressed. "Anything you understand?"

Nico's expression hardened. "She said that? Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

The younger demigod's stomach churned, a cold dread settling over him. He had seen many horrors in his time, but this—this was something else. Something worse. He ran a hand through his disheveled black hair, his mind racing.

"The Father," he muttered, more to himself. "If she said that, then… gods." His throat tightened at the revelation.

Percy stepped closer, his face still marked by the remnants of his breakdown, but desperation burned in his eyes, hotter than ever. "What does it mean, Nico?"

The son of Hades's expression was grim, his usual stoic facade wavering.

"I don't know anything about the Father—who he is or what he wants," he admitted carefully, weighing each word. "But I do know how the soul works. If that was really Annabeth and she said that to you… then that means a part of her soul was taken."

"H-how?" Percy's voice wavered. "That shouldn't be possible. You said she chose rebirth." His pulse pounded in his ears, nearly drowning out the distant blare of a car horn.

"She did," Nico affirmed with a slow nod. He had personally escorted her to the River Lethe, said his goodbyes, and watched as her soul was wiped clean before being sent back to the mortal world. The process had been flawless. No signs of interference. No fractures.

So why couldn't he sense it? Why couldn't he feel the break in her soul?

"Nico?" The son of Poseidon said, breaking his thoughts. "What does it all mean?"

"It means a part of her soul was taken right as she died," he finally answered, the revelation turning his skin paler than it already was. "It means the father was there that day…on the battlefield right as Annabeth died."

"He has been watching…waiting," Percy whispered, echoing Jason's words from that night at camp. Feeling anger rise again in the chest, he hit the van's door with all his strength, denting it inward. He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood as the pieces began to connect. "He took a piece of her soul that day. Took it right out from under our noses before we could tell a difference."

"I should've seen it," Nico muttered in agitation. He was a son of Hades for Gods sake! He should've been able to see that. "I should've. I'm sorry, Percy."

"It's not your fault," he replied, his nails digging into his palms. "This Father guy clearly knows what he's doing. He's been planning for years it seems."

"And we don't know a fucking thing about him!" The younger demigod echoed Percy's anger, leaning his head back against the van's window. "All we know is that he's targeting demigods that've died. Jason, Annabeth, it can't be a coincidence."

Percy ran a hand through his messy hair, his thoughts spiraling a million miles a minute. "We need to find out who the Father is," he said, his voice steadier than before. "If he's been waiting, if he took a piece of Annabeth's soul, then that means there's still a chance—"

Nico's eyes snapped to him, warning clear in his expression. "Don't."

Percy clenched his fists. "You don't even know what I'm going to say."

"You're thinking there's a way to get her back," he said bluntly. "That if part of her soul was stolen, maybe she's not completely gone."

The son of Poseidon didn't deny it. He couldn't. The possibility had latched onto his mind like a parasite, refusing to let go.

"I'm not saying it'll be easy," he admitted. "But if there's even a chance—"

"You don't understand," Nico interrupted. "Souls don't work like that, Percy. Even if a piece of Annabeth's soul was taken, that doesn't mean she can be whole again. Once they choose rebirth, that's it. They're gone. Trust me, I was thinking the same way you are when Bianca died. Don't go down the same rabbit hole."

Percy flinched at the mention of Nico's sister, the memories of that quest—her death—flashing through his mind like a haunting reel. He wanted to argue, to deny it, but he couldn't. He was right. He had spent years searching for his sister, but in the end, it didn't matter. She was gone. Just like Annabeth. No matter how much it hurt, he had to accept that. Even if a fragment of her soul still lingered somewhere, it changed nothing. She would never truly be the same again.

Frustration burned in his chest as he tried to come up with a plan, anything that could help Annabeth, but his mind remained blank. The helplessness was suffocating. What could he do? Athena's words from the night before kept reverberating in his head, however, her reminder striking deep. And, as much as he hated to admit it, she was right.

"Keep pushing forward…" he muttered solemnly. He felt as if he had betrayed Annabeth uttering that. That he was giving up on her. He knew that way of thinking was wrong and she would correct him on it with a slap upside the head but he couldn't help it. She was still out there, even if it was just a piece of her, she still was. And yet, he had to keep moving. The demigods, his friends who looked to him as their leader, were relying on him to take them to Montana and build a new life. He couldn't give up on them. Not now especially when they were this close.

"You okay?" Percy resigned, grasping his cousin's shoulder. "I didn't break your jaw or anything, right?"

Nico let out a pained chuckle as he rolled his shoulders. "No, you definitely broke a few things but I deserved it. I shouldn't have hid that from you….just didn't want to see you fall apart," he finished, his words quieter than before."

"Annabeth would've had your ass if she found out you told me," the green-eyed demigod said with a small grin, tugging his cousin toward the Waffle House where the rest of the demigods were already digging into breakfast.

"I don't doubt it," Nico smirked, pausing just before they entered the diner. "But what do we do now? The Father's clearly up to something."

"I don't know," Percy sighed in frustration. Sooner or later, this would turn into a problem they couldn't keep putting off. He had hoped Athena might have some answers, but who knew when that would happen? "For now, we keep heading to Montana. The questions and problems will catch up to us soon enough."

Nico nodded, his face shadowed by the weight of their discovery. He could feel the pressure mounting—the uncertainty of their next move, and the growing sense that time was running out. "They always do, especially for demigods."

"Funny how that works, huh?" Percy said tiredly, rolling his stiff neck as they stepped into the noisy diner. The sound of a hundred demigods filled the air—clattering silverware, laughter, the smell of food—overwhelming his senses in an instant.

"Oh for the love of God!" The employees, especially the cooks, groaned in dismay at the sight of their entrance, knowing that there were now even more mouths to feed. The two cousins paid no heed, however, trying to find a place to sit in the chaos.

"Over here!" Reyna called out through the fog of war, waving her hand over the crowd. Thankful that she had saved them from having to stand, they slid into the booth, finding that Katie, Piper, and Will were already there as well.

"Thanks, guys," Percy muttered, easing into his seat, his arm brushing the daughter of Bellona slightly. A jolt of electricity shot through them but she paid no mind to it, content to sit close to him.

"You're hurt?!" Will exclaimed as he brushed some blood off Nico's lips. "What happened?!

The son of Hades winced slightly as his personal medic tended to him, brushing the blood away gently as he pulled out some ambrosia. "It's nothing," he muttered, still feeling the sting of Percy's anger.

"Nothing? That's a hell of a 'nothing,'" Reyna replied, raising an eyebrow at the man next to her, knowing that it was he who caused Nico's disarray. "What happened out there? You look like you've been through a war zone."

"Just a little conversation," Nico said evasively. "Family matters, that's all."

The table exchanged glances, their expressions flat and unconvinced, but no one pressed further. It was clear the two men preferred to keep the matter private—at least for now.

"Well, while you two were sorting out your family matters," Piper interjected, sliding plates of food toward them, "we were discussing the remainder of our car ride."

"Oh yeah?" Percy replied, already devouring a waffle in mere seconds. It was good, but he couldn't help wishing it were blue. Blue food always tasted better to him—maybe because it reminded him of his mom's cooking. The thought tugged at him, a bittersweet ache for home.

"We're about seven hours out from Montana's border," the daughter of Aphrodite continued, her finger tracing a path on the small map she'd spread across the table. "Right now, we're here in Sioux Falls."

"We're almost there," Will said, brimming with excitement. The rest of the group couldn't help but feel the same. It had been a long, grueling journey, and the thought of finally reaching their destination brought a collective sense of relief. They were all more than ready to leave the endless days on the road behind them.

"There's a problem though," Reyna said, cutting through the momentary optimism. "We're almost out of supplies. If we continue without restocking, we'd have to go into Billings City for supplies. That's the only place where there will be enough for a hundred demigods."

"Not to mention we need tents, winter clothes, blankets, cooking utensils–" Katie mirrored the Roman woman's sentiment, tapping her pin against the map with a pointed look. "And don't forget extra rations."

Percy nodded, folding his arms as his gaze drifted over the cluttered table. Maps, crumpled receipts, and half-eaten waffles lay scattered across its surface. He tried to focus, weighing the group's options. They needed those supplies—and soon—but the path to getting them was anything but clean. Looting, robbing, stealing—it all spelled trouble, the kind of attention they couldn't afford right now. The only way to do this safely was under the cover of night. Even then, one major problem loomed: how could they possibly gather enough of what Katie said was needed for a hundred people?

"You said Billings City?" he asked, his eyes flicking to Reyna. She was already watching him, her expression sharp, trying to gauge his thoughts.

"Ten hours from here," she confirmed with a nod.

Percy exhaled, already bracing himself for the long, uncomfortable ride ahead. His neck ached just thinking about it. But there was no other choice. They were close—so close. One last push, and they could start building something real.

"Then that's where we'll go," he said firmly. "That city will have what we need, but we do it at night which means no stops, no detours. We get there, grab what we can under the radar, and get out."

"Man, you've really changed since you robbed that gas station," Will teased, earning a round of laughter from the table. Percy rolled his eyes, the memory still fresh—the endless explanations to everyone, clarifying that the gas station clerk he'd shot wasn't human but actually a monster in disguise. Even so, the group never missed a chance to bring it up.

"Let's get moving," the son of Poseidon muttered with a weary sigh, sliding out of the booth. The long ride ahead loomed over him, but he shoved the thought aside, convincing himself the end was in sight.

One by one, the demigods stumbled out of the Waffle House, their bellies full and their moods lighter. The diner was left in chaos—towering stacks of empty plates littered the tables, syrup-sticky booths bore the aftermath of their feast, and the employees stood frozen, looking like survivors of some bizarre battlefield.

"Did… did they pay?" one of the cooks stammered, watching the ragtag group pile into their vans and drive off.

"Fuck…"

As the miles rolled by, the van he was riding in settled into a rythme. Music played loudly while everyone conversed about what'd they do when the ride was over, what'd they steal when they reached the city, and where'd they build the camp in Montana. You could tell all their spirits were up, especially when everyone erupted in a horribly off-key rendition of "Livin' on a Prayer." Even Nico, who was usually stoic during their road trip, pitched in.

Percy flashed a smile at his friends, grateful for the rare moment of peace and fun. He rested his head against the cool window, watching the South Dakota landscape streak past. As the noise in the van faded into the background, his thoughts began to swirl again. The weight of everything that had happened—Nico, Annabeth, the Father, the piece of her soul torn away—pressed heavily on his chest. He tried to shove it all aside, to focus on the present, but the questions lingered, relentless like a bad itch.

Reyna, seated beside him, seemed to notice the stark contrast between his quiet introspection and the lively energy of the others in the van. With a subtle, knowing glance, she reached over and brushed her fingers lightly over his bruised knuckles—the same ones that had connected with Nico's face.

"You really gave him a beating," she murmured, low and intimate. Her touch pulled him back from the edge of his thoughts, grounding him, if only for a moment. His eyes flickered to her hand, watching as she softly caressed the purple bruises.

"He deserved it," Percy replied but there was no real venom in his words. He flexed his fingers under hers, static once again racing across both their skin. "But…I shouldn't have done that to him. I let my anger take over."

"You're allowed to be angry–"

"No," he cut in abruptly, his gaze snapping to hers with an intensity that stopped her in her tracks. The daughter of Bellona blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. His green eyes held a storm of emotions—conflict, regret, and something deeper, something raw. But what struck her most was the flicker of fear she saw there, a vulnerability she hadn't expected. "I can't let myself get that angry," he continued, his voice wavering slightly. "Not with my friends. It… it changes me into something I'm afraid of. Something I can't control."

Annabeth's voice echoed in his mind, her words clinging to him like a cold and heavy blanket. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were more than just a warning—they were a prophecy, one he was unwittingly bringing to life with every step he took, every decision he made. The thought gnawed at him, a relentless whisper in the back of his mind, growing louder with each passing moment.

And then, suddenly, Reyna was there.

She moved without hesitation, her body pressing against his in a firm, grounding embrace. Percy stiffened for a moment, caught off guard by the warmth of her, the way her presence seemed to cut through the storm raging inside him. His breath hitched, sharp and involuntary, as her arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer. For a heartbeat, he didn't know what to do—how to respond but then, almost instinctively, his arms found their way around her, his longer frame enveloping hers as he held on tightly, as if she were the only thing keeping him from being swept away.

Her voice was soft, intimate, a whisper meant only for him. "You're a good man, Percy Jackson." The words brushed against his ear, her breath warm and calming. "A good man. Always remember that."

The two demigods remained entwined for the rest of the journey, Reyna settling into his lap to steal a moment of rest before the undoubtedly chaotic night awaiting them in the city. The son of Poseidon welcomed her warmth, his eyelids growing heavy as the steady rhythm of her heartbeat echoed against his chest. Outside, the landscape transformed as they crossed into Montana—endless plains gradually yielding to undulating hills and the faint silhouettes of mountains in the distance.

The sun sank below the horizon, its final rays splashing the sky in a cascade of amber and violet, while the fading light cast long, haunting shadows across the road and the untamed landscape. Percy's eyes traced the jagged peaks of the mountains, their sharp edges slicing through the twilight like ancient guardians of secrets yet uncovered. They stood as stark reminders of the challenges ahead—daunting, unpredictable, and inescapable. A quiet unease settled in his chest, a persistent whisper that they were walking into something far larger than they could fully grasp. Whatever awaited them, he knew it would demand everything they had, pushing them beyond limits they'd never before tested.

And they would have to rise to it. They would have to dig deeper, fight harder, and endure more than they ever had if they hoped to survive in this wild, unfamiliar place. It was a world apart from the lives they'd known on the coasts—harsher, untamed, and unyielding. As his gaze drifted down to the girl resting in his lap, her features softened in sleep as she nestled against him, he felt a surge of resolve. He would give this rugged land everything he had—every ounce of strength, every shred of courage—if it meant securing a better future, not just for her, but for all demigods.

And with that quiet promise reverberating through his heart, he sank into Reyna's warmth and closed his eyes. He needed all the rest he could get because tonight was surely going to be a crazy one.

Chapter Text

The city of Billings shimmered under the vast expanse of the night sky, its quiet beauty catching Percy off guard. It wasn't the chaotic, pulsating energy of New York City—no towering skyscrapers or endless streams of yellow cabs—but there was something almost otherworldly about it. The soft glow of streetlights reflected off the low-rise buildings, casting long, delicate shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly. The air was crisp, carrying a faint chill that bit at his cheeks as he exhaled, his breath forming a fleeting cloud in the darkness. It was peaceful, almost deceptively so, and for a moment, he allowed himself to appreciate the stillness. But the tranquility was a facade, a brief respite before the storm.

It was time for the Greeks and Romans to introduce themselves to Montana.

The convoy was parked in the shadows of an abandoned parking lot, vehicles silent and dark, their headlights extinguished to avoid drawing attention. The last thing they needed was the suspicion of patrolling police officers. Every detail mattered now; every move had to be calculated, every risk minimized. He leaned against the cold metal of the van, his eyes scanning the dimly lit horizon. The city felt smaller, quieter than what he was used to, but that didn't make their task any less dangerous. If anything, the lack of chaos made them more visible, more vulnerable.

"Everyone remembers the plan?" Percy called out to the crowd of demigods who all looked eager to cause some chaos.

"Rob as many places as we can with teams of ten," Travis murmured giddily, rubbing his cold hands together in anticipation.

"And don't get caught." Connor finished, rolling his stiff shoulders to ease some of the tension from the car ride.

"Most importantly though, if you do get caught and have to escape, head north on Highway Three. Keep going until you pass the airport and eventually, you'll hit a bridge on a creek. Reyna's van will be waiting there." The son of Poseidon nodded, his sea-green eyes scanning the group to ensure they were paying attention. The demigods nodded in unison, their expressions a mixture of excitement and nervous energy.

"Let's get going then," he said, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Good luck, everyone."

Everyone quickly followed his example, scrambling across the dimly lit lot. Sliding into the driver's seat, he adjusted the rearview mirror and watched the sea of demigods organize themselves into their assigned teams. Each one was eager, ready to dive headfirst into the plan but he couldn't help the small flicker of worry that settled in his stomach. He'd done plenty of crazy things in his life, but this—this was different. They were venturing into uncharted territory, acting like a band of rogue criminals in a city that wouldn't hesitate to come down on them.

He pressed his hand against the steering wheel, feeling the cool leather beneath his palm. "No turning back now," he muttered under his breath.

Turning on the ignition, the van roared to life. Letting it warm up a moment, he heard the backdoors open, revealing his designated team.

"Great, back in the fucking van," Piper exclaimed as she slid into the passenger seat next to him.

"Oh don't get your panties in a twist, beauty queen. We'll be done with this in a flash," Mac, the son of Mercury, retorted, his laughter light and carefree, as if the night ahead held nothing more than a few pranks.

"She's killed a man for saying less, kiddo. Be careful." Katie chimed in, hopping into the back seat.

"Thanks for making room, guys!" Will's voice rang out with a sarcastic tone as he and Nico squeezed into the back. "Me and Nico will just suffer in the back, no worries."

Behind them, four more demigods filed in—two Greeks and two Romans. Percy nodded absentmindedly as he counted them, making sure they were all present before they set off. Just as he was about to drive off, however, a sharp knock on the window drew his attention. He turned his head to find Reyna standing just outside, her posture composed but with something unreadable in her eyes.

"What's up?" he asked, rolling down the window.

Her gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary, her expression softening as she leaned down and kissed him lightly on the corner of his lips, a simple gesture that conveyed more than words ever could.

"I'll be waiting," she said quietly, her voice almost lost in the wind before she turned, her footsteps echoing softly as she made her way toward her own vehicle. The children she was escorting out of the city quickly trailed behind her.

Bye, Percy!" Gabriela cheerfully waved at him before disappearing into the van.

The son of Poseidon didn't know how to respond, still in a daze at what had just occurred. He could feel still the sting of her kiss, the warmth of her lips–a stark contrast to the frigid air. His stupor, however, was quickly shattered as he felt the fiery eyes of both Katie and Piper boring into the back of his head. He shivered as he felt their impatience and anger fill the van, causing him to kick it into gear without a second thought.

"Damn, Percy!" Will whistled from the back. "In front of the huzz too?! You sly dog!"

"Not another fucking word, Will," Percy replied sharply, following the convoy out of the parking lot and out onto the desolate city streets. "The fuck does huzz even mean?"

"Well, we currently have two of them in the van with–"

"Hey, don't we, you know, have to rob a fucking city?" Nico interrupted, his voice tinged with annoyance. "Let's worry about that, shall we?"

The van grew silent, everyone electing to stare out the tinted windows at the dimly lit buildings around them. The green-eyed demigod tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles pale against the worn leather. He tracked Clarisse's vehicle as it veered away from the convoy, disappearing down a road toward a gun shop. She had insisted—rather, demanded—that this task was hers. Anything less would dishonor a daughter of Ares. He hadn't argued with her, though the thought of scavenging mortal firearms sat uneasily with him. It wasn't the weapons themselves—he understood their necessity. His own gun, hidden beneath his shirt, was a constant, weighty reminder of that. What troubled him was the thought of people like Travis, Connor, and Mac handling those types of weapons. Eventually, they would make a mistake and shoot someone in the leg or something.

Percy sighed, shaking the thought from his mind. There were more pressing matters to focus on. As he watched each vehicle one by one peel away from the convoy, heading toward their own objectives, it suddenly hit him—they were the last ones left on the main street. Their target, a warehouse, was just a mile or two down the road.

The tension in the van was palpable. Piper's fingers drummed anxiously against the armrest, her gaze locked on the road ahead.

"You okay?" he asked softly, stealing a quick glance at her.

"Yeah," she replied, though her tone betrayed her nerves. After a moment, she added, "Remember that night at camp when I told you I used to be a bad girl?"

"How could I forget?" Percy replied, remembering the encounter with Jason.

The daughter of Aphrodite shifted in her seat, turning toward him. "Well... I wasn't lying. I used to do stuff like this—before I found out I was a demigod."

"You mean robbing places?" Percy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mostly convenience stores and clothing shops," she admitted with a shrug. "Sometimes even car dealerships."

Percy let out a low whistle, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. "And here I thought your charm-speak was reserved for manipulating monsters and ex-boyfriends."

Piper smirked, her lips curving into a teasing grin. "Oh, it worked wonders on car salesmen too. You'd be surprised how easy it is to convince someone to toss you the keys when you look like a harmless teenager."

"Harmless, sure," Percy muttered under his breath, earning a quiet laugh from her.

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a teasing purr. "Be careful. There are plenty of things I could convince you to do with my powers."

He shot her a sideways glance, keeping his tone light as he shifted the car into park. "Get out of the car, pervert. We're here."

The warehouse loomed before them, its silhouette stark against the night sky. The chain-link fence surrounding it was topped with razor wire, and the metal gate was secured with a heavy padlock. Security cameras were mounted at each corner of the building, their red lights blinking ominously. Percy scanned the area, his mind racing as he assessed the situation. This wasn't going to be as simple as breaking into a convenience store.

"They got cameras," Nico observed through the window with squinted eyes.

"And a security guard by the entrance," Will seconded, pointing over at a man stationed by the gate. He was middle-aged, with a bored expression and a cup of lukewarm coffee in his hand. He didn't look like a threat but they all knew if they didn't take care of him first, he'd call the cops that would be on them in an instant.

"I'll take care of it," Piper said, getting out of the van and beginning to walk across the street toward the gate. "You all just get ready to get that van past the entrance."

"You're going to convince him?" Percy asked, watching her walk.

"That's only for you," she replied, glancing back at the son of Poseidon with a look that sent shivers down his spine.

"What's she doing?" Mac, who didn't know the daughter of Aphrodite well or the extent of her powers, asked the other men in the van.

"Just watch," the son of Poseidon exhaled slowly as he watched Piper approach the guard with a casual confidence that made it clear she'd done this before.

Through the windshield, they saw Piper flash the security guard a bright, disarming smile. The man straightened slightly, his brows furrowing in confusion. They exchanged a few words—too quiet for anyone in the van to hear—but it didn't take long for the change to happen. The tension in the guard's posture melted away, and his shoulders relaxed as his expression turned almost… sleepy. She tilted her head, giving a small laugh, and without hesitation, the man reached for the keys on his belt, unlocking the gate with an easy flick of his wrist.

"Damn," Mac muttered, eyes wide in appreciation. "Guess when you're that hot, you can get anything you want.

Percy shot him a warning glance but didn't deny it—She was beautiful enough to bring even the most strong-willed men to their knees.

The guard took a sip of his coffee, nodding along to whatever the daughter of Aphrodite was saying, completely enthralled. Then, in a single fluid motion, she reached up and tapped his forehead. His eyes fluttered closed, and he slumped against the gate, sound asleep.

The green-eyed demigod nodded approvingly as Piper waved at him to drive the van forward. "That's our cue. Let's go."

He pressed his foot on the gas, steering the van through the now-open gate with careful precision. The van rolled past the sleeping guard, and as soon as they were through, she had led them to an opening in the warehouse typically reserved for eighteen-wheelers to offload. Turning the ignition and lights off, they all one by one hopped out of the vehicle, eager to start.

"That guard seemed to like you," Percy said, closing the van door behind him.

"Jealous?" She replied, walking beside him as they made their way inside the building.

The warehouse was dimly lit, the faint hum of lights buzzing overhead. The air was thick with the scent of dust and oil, and the faint metallic tang of machinery. Rows of shelves stretched out before them, stacked high with crates and boxes, their contents unknown but undoubtedly valuable. The group moved quickly and quietly, their footsteps barely audible against the concrete floor.

The son of Poseidon moved swiftly through the dimly lit aisles, every muscle coiled with tension, every sense on high alert. The scent of damp wood and metal filled the air, mingling with the faint traces of dust disturbed by their intrusion. He had done a full sweep of the area, making sure no guards remained, but vigilance was second nature to him–his hand in holding his pen just in case.

Reaching an intersection, he stopped, scanning the space one last time before turning to face the group. His sea-green eyes flickered with amusement, and despite the weight of the mission, he couldn't hold back the smirk tugging at his lips.

"Alright," Percy said, his voice low but edged with excitement. "Start searching. Grab anything we might need. If you run into trouble, call out."

"Roger that, boss," Mac replied without hesitation, already moving like a man who had done this a hundred times before. He pried open the first crate with practiced ease, rummaging through its contents like a seasoned thief, his movements quick and deliberate.

The others soon followed the son of Mercury's example, each claiming a section of the warehouse as their own. Deciding to head over to the far side of the warehouse, Percy wasted no time and got to work, crouching down beside a stack of containers and beginning to pry them open one by one. At first, he wasn't finding much that could help them. Just random junk. But as he began to dig deeper behind the shelves, that's when he started to find the good stuff. His breath caught as he opened one crate. To his surprise, it wasn't just junk this time. Survival kits, neatly packed with bandages, water purifiers, and emergency rations. Camping tents, lightweight but sturdy. Cooking utensils, still wrapped in their original packaging.

"My Gods," he muttered under his breath, unable to hide his glee. He immediately grabbed everything he could carry, arms laden with supplies as he hurried toward the van parked outside. The cool night air hit his face as he reached the vehicle, shoving the items into the back before pivoting on his heel and sprinting back inside. There was no telling how long they had before someone realized they were here—every second counted.

"Give me a hand here, Percy," Katie grunted, her arms straining under the weight of an oversized box.

Percy jogged over without hesitation, slipping his hands beneath the load to relieve some of the burden. With practiced ease, he hoisted it up—but in his haste, his fingers accidentally skimmed across her chest. She let out a startled yelp, nearly losing her grip as her face turned an alarming shade of red.

"Ah—sorry! Sorry!" He blurted, quickly taking full control of the container and hauling it toward the van. He moved with the confidence of someone used to heavy lifting, but his ears burned at the mishap.

Katie, meanwhile, huffed and spun back toward the remaining crates, pretending to busy herself as she willed away the blush creeping up her neck. While the others worked methodically, rifling through crates with practiced efficiency, Nico had uncovered a stash of winter gear—thick coats, insulated gloves, and additional tents. Without hesitation, he hauled them to the van, securing each item in a designated compartment to ensure nothing would shift during transport. A few feet away, Will was elbow-deep in a container of medical supplies, tossing gauze, antiseptics, and painkillers into a duffle bag with the precision of someone who knew exactly what they'd need to survive.

"Catch!"

Mac's voice cut through the quiet shuffle of movement, and Percy barely had time to react before a hunting rifle sailed toward him. His instincts took over, and he caught it cleanly, fingers curling around the cold metal. He shot the younger boy a look, green eyes narrowing.

"Jeez, kid, this thing is practically bigger than you," he remarked, turning the weapon over in his hands before setting it carefully in the back of the van atop their growing supply pile.

Mac grinned, unbothered. "Think you can teach me how to use it later?" There was a spark of excitement in his voice, the kind that made Percy want to roll his eyes.

"Sure," he said, already moving past him. "But let's focus on this first."

They needed to move quickly. So far, things were going smoothly, but he knew better than to let his guard down. Luck had a funny way of running out when you least expected it, and the last thing he wanted was to spend the night behind bars.

He wove through the aisles of crates, the faint rustling of his friends shifting through supplies filling the air. Now and then, an exclamation of triumph or a muttered curse broke the silence. Percy dropped to one knee beside a large wooden container, fingers curling around its lid, ready to pry it open—

Then he heard it.

Footsteps.

His breath hitched.

They were heavy, deliberate, and—most importantly—not coming from any of his friends. A quick glance confirmed that the others were still scattered at the far end of the warehouse, blissfully unaware. His pulse quickened. That meant one thing: a security guard.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath before abandoning the crate and moving swiftly, careful not to make a sound as he made his way back to the others.

Piper looked up as he approached, holding up something she'd found. "Hey, check this out—"

He silenced her with a quick press of his finger to his lips.

"We've got company," he murmured, voice low and urgent. His gaze flicked to the others, then back to her. "Get everyone to the van. Now. I'll distract them and buy you time."

Her eyes widened slightly before she nodded, her posture shifting instantly from relaxed to alert. Without hesitation, she turned and moved toward the others, relaying the warning.

Percy took a slow, steadying breath before slipping between the crates, moving back toward the source of the footsteps. His heart pounded in his chest, but his body remained calm—years of battle had taught him how to control his nerves. He peeked around a towering shelf of supplies and spotted the guard moving cautiously down one of the main aisles, flashlight in hand. The man hadn't seen them yet, but he was close, too close.

His gaze flickered to the side for a moment, spotting an empty metal canister sitting near one of the shelves. He bent down, grabbed it, and with a quick toss, sent it clattering noisily across the floor toward the opposite side of the warehouse.

The guard jerked at the sound, swinging his flashlight in that direction.

"Who's there?" he called out, his hand moving instinctively to the radio strapped to his belt.

Percy didn't give him a chance to use it. He slipped out from his hiding spot and moved swiftly, closing the distance between them. Before the guard could react, Percy was right behind him. In one smooth motion, he reached out and grabbed the man's collar, yanking him backward and slamming him against a nearby crate. The guard let out a grunt of surprise, but before he could make a sound, he clamped a hand over his mouth.

"Shh," he whispered, low and dangerous. "We don't want to wake the neighbors, do we?"

At first, the guard looked frightened but as the dim warehouse lights illuminated the demigod's face, the man grew a smile.

"Perseus Jack–"

He never finished the name.

The green-eyed demigod had already drawn Riptide, the celestial bronze blade flashing as he drove it straight through the man's gut. The guard barely had time to gasp before his body dissolved into a shimmering cascade of golden dust, scattering into the cold air.

Percy exhaled, tension slipping from his shoulders. His instincts had been right. Again. But relief barely had a moment to settle before something massive struck him—hard.

A massive, monstrous hand slammed into his chest with the force of a battering ram. The sheer power of the blow hurled him backward, his body crashing into a towering stack of wooden crates. The crates exploded on impact, splintering into a storm of jagged wood and debris as he hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud.

Gasping for air, he tried to push himself up, but the world tilted violently beneath him, his vision swimming. His chest burned where the creature's hand had struck, each breath a struggle against the crushing weight of the impact. He blinked hard, desperate to steady his spinning head, but before he could regain his footing, the ground shuddered under the heavy, deliberate footsteps of his attacker.

From the shadows, the figure emerged, and Percy's blood turned to ice. It was a Cyclops—towering, hulking, and radiating malice. Its single eye burned with a malevolent glow, locked onto him as it lumbered closer. The creature's mottled gray skin stretched over muscles that were impossibly large. In its massive hand, it gripped a crude, splintered club, its surface stained and scarred from countless battles.

"Well, well," the Cyclops growled a deep, guttural rumble, like boulders grinding together. "Look what we have here. A little demigod, skulking where he doesn't belong."

"How the fuck did I not see you?!" The demigod groaned, slowly pushing himself off the ground. "Like seriously, you're a fucking twenty-foot tall monster. There's no possible way I didn't see you."

The monster took another thunderous step forward, its huge foot sending a tremor through the floor. Percy's head was still spinning, but he forced himself to stand, his grip tightening around Riptide. His body screamed in protest, but he wasn't about to let himself go down that easily—not with everyone else still at the warehouse.

"You're a little too confident for someone about to get crushed," the Cyclops said with a mocking sneer, swinging its club with alarming speed.

He barely had a moment to react, dropping low and rolling to the side, narrowly dodging the crushing blow. The air whipped past him as the club slammed into the stacked crates and containers above, sending them crashing down in a chaotic cascade that forced him to scramble for cover. The monster, relentless in its pursuit, wasn't about to let him escape so easily. It charged after him, barreling through the maze of towering containers, toppling them with every step. Percy dashed through the labyrinth, playing the part of the mouse as the monster tore through it like a rampaging bull.

"Shit!" He shouted, diving to avoid a crate hurled at his head, narrowly escaping the impact. Landing on his back, he looked up just in time to see the monster charging toward him, its club raised high. Thinking fast, the demigod drew his pistol and fired, the bullet ricocheting off the air before finding its mark in the Cyclops's eye. The creature roared in pain, swinging its club wildly, blind rage fueling its every movement, and obliterating everything in its path.

"Fuck! Of course, it had to be a regular bullet!" Percy exclaimed, dodging debris as he picked himself back up. If only it had been a celestial bronze round—then maybe the creature would be dead. Instead, it was only enraged and blind.

"You puny demigod!" the Cyclops roared. "I'll bash your skull in!"

"No thanks!" He shouted, already sprinting back toward the van. Through the swirling haze of dust and debris, his eyes locked onto the vehicle, where the others were frantically screaming and waving for him to hurry.

He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the monstrous Cyclops charging straight at him, its massive club raised high, tracking him by scent. His heart raced as he realized he wouldn't make it to the van in time. With no other choice, he planted his feet and spun to the side, narrowly dodging the crushing blow of the wooden club. In one swift, fluid motion, he swung his celestial bronze sword and severed the monster's arm clean off.

Not wasting a second, Percy darted beneath the Cyclops, using his momentum to slide between its legs. As he passed, he slashed at one of its massive calves, causing the beast to stagger and drop to one knee. He didn't let up. Gripping Riptide tightly, he used the sword like a climbing pick, stabbing into the monster's flesh to haul himself onto its back.

"Get off me!" the Cyclops roared, thrashing wildly, but the demigod held firm. With a guttural yell, he raised Riptide high and drove it downward into the creature's single, massive eye. A sickening squelch echoed as the blade sank deep. He pushed with all his strength, driving the sword further into the monster's skull until, at last, the Cyclops let out a final, shuddering breath and collapsed. Its massive body disintegrated into a cloud of golden dust, leaving Percy standing victorious, chest heaving, and Riptide gleaming in his hand.

"Are you okay?!" Katie cried out with concern as she dashed toward him, eyes frantically scanning for any sign of injury.

He flashed her a tight, strained grin, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm fine," he lied, but the sharp sting in his chest told a different story. His ribs ached with every shallow breath, as if a fire had started inside his torso. His ribs had definitely been broken. "We need to go. The cops are probably on their way."

Just as they started to head back to the van, the air suddenly shifted, and without warning, the deafening wail of sirens and the flashing red and blue lights tore through the night. As the sound of approaching police cars grew louder, Percy's heart began to race. The heavy thud of boots on the pavement echoed behind them, and they barely had time to react before the officers were upon them.

"Freeze!" a deep, commanding voice shouted from behind, followed by a blinding sweep of flashlight beams that disoriented them for a moment.

"He's got a weapon!" another officer yelled, panic creeping into his voice.

"Gun! Gun!" Multiple voices joined in, escalating the chaos.

In that instant, Percy realized he was still holding the pistol. Panic surged up his throat as he scrambled to tuck it away, but that was the mistake. In the split second it took for him to move, a gunshot rang out, cutting through the tension. Time seemed to slow as the bullet streaked toward them. Without thinking, he threw himself in front of Katie, instinctively shielding her with his body. The bullet struck him with a sickening thud, burrowing into his side. The pain hit him instantly—cold and searing simultaneously. He staggered, knees threatening to buckle, but somehow he managed to stay on his feet.

"Percy!" Katie screamed, her grip tightening on his arm in panic.

"Run!" he gasped, pushing through the pain. He shoved the adrenaline-fueled panic aside, yanking her toward the van, weaving through both containers and bullets as they scrambled forward.

They reached the van, where the others were already waiting. Without hesitation, the two demigods practically dove inside, ducking low beneath the seats to escape the hail of gunfire.

"Drive!" Percy shouted over the chaos.

The van roared to life, tires screeching against the pavement as it lurched forward. He gritted his teeth against the searing pain in his side, his hand instinctively pressing against the wound to stem the bleeding. The metallic scent of blood filled the air, mingling with the acrid smell of gunpowder. He could feel the warmth of his own blood seeping through his fingers, but he forced himself to stay focused. They weren't out of danger yet.

"Shit, Percy's hit!" Will shouted, glancing back at his friend slumped against the seat, his face pale and strained. "Piper, check the trunk for the med kit! Now!"

Piper, seated beside Katie and Percy, didn't waste a second. She twisted around, reaching over the backseat to rummage through the clutter in the trunk. But before she could grab anything, the van jerked violently to the side, narrowly dodging a police car that swerved into their path. The force slammed her back into her seat.

"Damn it!" Percy hissed through gritted teeth, his body slamming against the door as the van careened. The impact sent a fresh wave of agony through his broken ribs and the bullet wound in his stomach. He clutched his side, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Hold on, Percy. You're going to be okay," Katie said reassuringly but urgent. She pressed her hands firmly against the gushing wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. Her fingers were slick with it, and the metallic smell filled the cramped space.

He managed a weak grin, his usual humor flickering despite the pain. "Why's it always me, huh?" he rasped. From the broken arm to the Hellhound claw marks across his chest, and now this—his body seemed to collect injuries like badges of honor. Or maybe just bad luck.

"Because you've got a hero complex and zero self-preservation instincts," Katie shot back, her tone sharp but laced with worry. She yanked off her shirt, balling it up and pressing it hard against his stomach. "Piper, where are those bandages?!"

"I'm trying!" The daughter of Aphrodite snapped, her voice strained as she was thrown against the side of the van again. The van veered onto the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding a roadblock. She dug through the mess in the trunk–all of it mostly filled with the supplies they had stolen from the warehouse. "There's too much crap back here! I can't find anything!"

"Doesn't matter," The green-eyed demigod rasped, his hand tightening over Katie's as she continued to press her balled-up shirt against his wound. "I'll live. Just get us on Highway Three. Reyna and the rest should be waiting for us at the bridge."

"We'll lead the cops right to them though?!" Will said, yanking the wheel hard to merge onto the highway.

"Let me worry about that," Nico replied from the passenger seat, looking through the rearview mirror at the numerous red and blue lights that seemed to only draw closer.

The van roared down the highway, the engine straining as Will pushed it to its limits. The police cars were relentless, their sirens wailing like a pack of wolves closing in on wounded prey. Percy's vision blurred slightly, the pain in his side a constant, throbbing reminder of their precarious situation. He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to stay conscious. They couldn't afford for him to pass out now.

"Nico," he managed to croak, "Do it."

The son of Hades nodded, his dark eyes narrowing as he focused on the road behind them. He reached out with his powers, feeling the shadows that stretched across the highway. With a flick of his wrist, the air around them seemed to darken, the shadows thickening and swirling like a living entity. The police cars behind them suddenly swerved, their drivers momentarily blinded by the unnatural darkness that enveloped the road. Some had managed to stop before crashing into other cars, others weren't so fortunate.

"That'll buy us some time," Nico said, looking back at the fading lights.

The group let out a collective sigh of relief—but it was short-lived. Percy suddenly coughed, sending globs of blood splattering into his hand. His fingers curled instinctively over his mouth, smearing the sticky substance even more.

"Shit!" Will swore, already recognizing the signs. "It's in his lungs."

Katie's breath hitched. "What—what do I do?!" she stammered, fear surging through her veins as Percy's face grew alarmingly paler by the second.

"We need to insert a tube through his ribs to drain it, but that's too risky while we're moving. We'd have to stop," He explained, already anticipating what the son of Poseidon would say next.

"No stopping," Percy rasped, spitting out another mouthful of blood. "Just get us to that damn bridge."

The pain was unbearable—like burning and drowning at once, twisting his worst fear into reality. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay strong, but he could see it in their eyes. They were scared. And the truth was, so was he. His luck had carried him through before, but this time… he wasn't sure it would. The van sped down Highway Three, the city lights fading into the distance as they approached the outskirts of Billings.

"We're almost there," Will muttered, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. The bridge was just ahead, its silhouette barely visible in the dim moonlight.

They could see Reyna's van, along with the others, parked in a neat line just ahead. It was clear they were the last to arrive. The son of Apollo brought the car to an abrupt halt in the middle of the street, throwing the door open in a frantic motion as he leapt out.

"What happened?!" Reyna called out, striding quickly toward him. The other demigods peered out from their vans, drawn by the commotion.

"Percy's hurt," Will said tersely, already moving to the trunk to rummage through the duffle bag for his medical supplies.

"How bad?" She pressed, concerned.

"Bad," Will replied, not looking up as he yanked the bag open.

Reyna's breath caught as she pulled open the side door. The metallic tang of blood hit her immediately. The interior was a mess—dark, glistening streaks of blood pooled on the seats and floor. Her stomach turned.

"Hey… Reyna," Percy managed, his voice faint. He lifted a bloodied hand in a weak attempt to wave, his sea-green eyes barely focusing on her.

"Don't talk, Percy," Katie murmured, her voice trembling as she gently stroked his hair. Her other hand, pressed firmly against his wound with her shirt, was shaking. The fabric was already saturated, doing little to stem the flow. Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line as she fought to keep her composure. But it was clear—her efforts weren't enough. The blood kept coming.

The daughter of Bellona's heart pounded as she took in the scene, causing her to swallow the lump in their throat hard. She had to stay calm. Panicking wouldn't help anyone.

"We have to get him out of there," She said, looking back at Will. "We can't treat him properly in there."

"I know," The son of Apollo replied, rummaging through his bag. "Let me just–"

He was interrupted by the faint sound of sirens in the distance, their wails getting closer by the minute. Everyone's eyes widened as they realized they were out of time. They could all see the blue and red lights become brighter against the night's hazy fog.

"Shit! They're following us!" Nico exclaimed, frantically running a hand through his hair as his eyes darted between the lights and Percy still in the van.

The son of Hades was really getting scared now. He could feel his cousin's soul begin to drift away from the mortal world, slowly dipping downward to the depths of the Underworld.

"No, no, no, no," Piper muttered urgently, gripping Percy's hand tightly in a vain attempt to keep him awake. "This can't be happening."

"What-what do we do?!" Kaite stammered, looking down at the man in her lap who was barely hanging on. "He'll die if we don't help him now!"

Her question was left unanswered, however, as the demigods remained silent, panicking as they realized no one knew what to do. Not even Reyna. If they drove off, Percy would die. If they stayed to treat him, the cops would be on them in an instant.

"Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!" Will shouted, punching the van, rage, and desperation boiling over.

In the midst of the chaos and uncertainty, the son of Poseidon was going in and out of consciousness, his eyes reeling in the back of his head. The world around him blurred, the edges of his vision darkening as the pain in his side radiated outward, consuming him. He could hear the distant voices of his friends, panicked and desperate, but they sounded muffled, as if he were underwater. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, each one sending a fresh wave of agony through his body. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, and he coughed weakly, more blood spilling over his lips.

As his consciousness wavered, his mind began to drift, slipping into the murky depths of memory. He was no longer in the van, no longer surrounded by the chaos of the night. Instead, he was back in Tartarus—the pit of endless suffering, the place where he had faced horrors beyond imagination. The air was thick with the stench of sulfur and decay, the ground beneath his feet hot and jagged. The oppressive darkness seemed to press in on him from all sides, suffocating and relentless.

The memories clawed at him, dragging him down. One particular memory struck him the most though. He remembered it so vividly–the moment he had discovered he could control poison. It had been a desperate act, born out of necessity. He remembered the desperation, the raw, primal fear that had driven him to do the unthinkable. If he hadn't done it, hadn't bent Akhlys to his will, he and Annabeth would've died. He remembered the surge of power that flowed through him at that moment, remembered the feeling of controlling another substance besides water. It had been exhilarating.

But the memory didn't end there. He remembered the look in Annabeth's eyes when she had realized what he had done—not relief, but fear. Fear of him. That had been the moment he had truly understood the cost of his power, the line he had crossed. He had sworn to himself that he would never go that far again, never let the darkness inside him take control. But now, as he lay bleeding and broken in the back of the van, the memory of that power called to him like a siren's song.

"I'll make you become that monster!" Annabeth's voice suddenly reverberated through his mind. He knew that he had promised her never to tap into this type of power again. Never to control it as some things weren't meant to be controlled. But as his vision shifted back to the present with him lying in a pool of his own blood in the van, he realized that he couldn't go out like this. He would not die in a van. He had to become that version of himself in Tartarus. He had to become what Annabeth wanted him to be, if not only for a moment.

As the sirens grew louder, the demigods panicked as they scrambled around, trying to figure out what to do. The red and blue lighters flickered closer, casting eerie shadows across the woods and their faces.

"We have to move him now!" Reyna broke free of her panic, scrambling inside the van. The metallic stench of blood was suffocating, thick and cloying in the confined space. Her boots slipped slightly on the slick, crimson-soaked floor as she reached for Percy, hands trembling but determined.

The moment she tried to lift him, his entire body tensed, and a strangled cry tore from his throat. His back arched weakly before slamming back down, his fingers twitching as if grasping at something invisible. A fresh wave of blood bubbled from his lips, dribbling down his chin as his chest heaved with agonized breaths.

"Stop!" Katie's voice cracked, desperate. "You're going to kill him!"

"We don't have a choice!" Reyna snapped, but even as she said it, she knew how fragile Percy's life was in that moment—how easily he could slip away.

"Wait…"

The single whispered word barely made it past Percy's lips, but it was enough to freeze everyone in place. Their eyes locked onto him as he shakily raised a trembling hand, his fingers ghosting over the gaping wound in his abdomen. His breaths were labored, shallow, but there was something fierce behind his eyes—something unbreakable.

Then, impossibly, the bleeding slowed.

The thick, dark river of blood that had been steadily pooling beneath him began to thin, as if an unseen force was pulling it back, commanding it to halt. The ragged edges of his wound twitched, sluggishly knitting together—not healing, but just enough to stop the fatal loss of blood.

"Holy Hades," Nico whispered, his voice barely audible over the sudden, unnatural silence in the van.

The air around them changed, thickening with something primal. The atmosphere pulsed with power—raw, untamed, and terrifying. Percy's entire body trembled violently, his jaw clenched so hard it looked like his teeth might shatter. Sweat dripped down his temples, his breathing uneven, but he refused to stop.

He couldn't stop.

He was holding his own blood inside his body through sheer force of will. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, every nerve burned like fire, but he didn't let go. Because if he did—if he let the blood slip through his grasp—he knew there wouldn't be anything left to save.

The demigods stared in stunned silence, their breaths caught in their throats as they watched the son of Poseidon fight against the inevitable. His hand, slick with blood, trembled as it hovered over the wound, his fingers twitching as if he were physically holding back the tide of his own life force. The air around him seemed to crackle with energy, a palpable tension that made the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end.

"Percy…" Piper whispered, her voice trembling. She reached out to touch his shoulder but hesitated, as if afraid to break whatever fragile control he had over the situation.

"Don't," he rasped, strained and barely audible. His sea-green eyes were now dark and intense, focused entirely on the task at hand. "Just… give me a second."

The sirens grew louder, the flashing lights of the police cars now visible through the trees. The demigods exchanged frantic glances, their panic mounting as they realized they were out of time. But Percy's sudden display of power had momentarily frozen them in place, a mix of awe and fear rooting them to the spot.

"We need to move!" Nico finally broke the silence, his voice sharp with urgency. "They're almost here!"

"He can't move like this!" Katie protested, her hands still pressed against Percy's wound, though the bleeding had slowed to a trickle. "If he lets go—"

She was stopped by a blood-covered hand on her shoulder. Looking down, her breath hitched as she watched the man beneath slowly pull himself up off her lap, grunting in pain.

"Wait–"

"I'll be fine," The green-eyed demigod interrupted, shakily making his way out of the van. "You guys need to get out of here."

"What–what are you talking about?" Reyna stopped him with a hand on his chest but he weakly slapped it away before walking toward the bridge.

The cops were almost there now, only a minute away. If they had any hope of getting away, to build a new camp, a future, then he needed to do this.

"You guys get out of here!" He called out over the sirens, stumbling his way over the bridge. His hand remained pressed against his side as he walked, his fingers trembling as he fought to maintain control over his own body. The air around him seemed to hum with an unnatural energy, a testament to the sheer willpower he was exerting to keep himself alive.

"Percy, stop!" Piper screamed at him, her voice cracking with desperation. But he wasn't listening. The adrenaline from what he was about to do dulled his senses.

"Please, don't do this!" Reyna's voice cut through the chaos, filled with a desperation he had never heard from her before. He turned his head slightly, catching a glimpse of her standing by the van, her face pale and stricken. The others were there too, their expressions a mix of fear and disbelief. They were his family, his friends, and he knew he couldn't let them down. Not now. Not ever.

"Go!" He turned back one last time, giving his friends one last signature smirk as the cops appeared over the road, their lights illuminating his silhouette.

The demigods hesitated for a moment, their eyes locked on him as he stood there, a lone figure against the backdrop of the raging river. But they knew they couldn't stay. With a final, desperate glance, they turned and ran, scrambling into the vans and speeding away into the night. He watched them, a sense of relief washing over him as he saw the taillights disappear into the distance.

The police cars screeched to a halt, their doors flying open as officers poured out, weapons drawn. He could hear their shouts, the commands to freeze, to drop his weapon, but he didn't move. His eyes were locked on the river below, the dark, swirling waters calling to him like an old friend. He could feel the power within him stirring, the connection to the water growing stronger with every passing second.

The officers closed in but Percy barely registered them. His focus was entirely on the river below, its currents swirling and churning with a life of their own. He could feel the water calling to him, its power resonating deep within his soul. The pain in his side was still there, a constant, searing reminder of his injuries, but it was dulled now, pushed to the back of his mind as he tapped into the raw, primal energy of the river.

"Hands where we can see them!" one of the officers barked, his voice trembling slightly despite his authoritative tone. The demigod could see the fear in their eyes, the uncertainty as they approached him. They didn't know what he was capable of, but they could sense the danger radiating from him.

The son of Poseidon took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly as he steadied himself. He could feel the blood still slowly seeping from his wound, but he pushed the pain aside, focusing instead on the power coursing through his veins. He raised his hands, not in surrender, but in preparation. The officers hesitated, their weapons trained on him, but they didn't fire. They were waiting for him to make a move.

And he did.

With a sudden, violent motion, Percy uncapped his pen and slammed the sword down onto the ground. The earth beneath him trembled, the force of his power rippling through the ground like a shockwave. The officers stumbled, their weapons slipping from their grasp as the ground beneath their feet began to crack and split. The bridge groaned, the sound of metal twisting and concrete crumbling filling the air as the structure began to collapse.

He didn't stop. He could feel the power surging through him, the connection to the earth and water growing stronger with every passing second. He focused on the river, calling to it, commanding it to rise. The water responded, surging upward in a massive wave that crashed against the crumbling bridge, tearing it apart with a deafening roar.

The officers screamed, their voices lost in the chaos as the bridge gave way, collapsing into the raging river below. The demigod quickly followed suit, passing out from the sheer exertion of his power and falling into the raging water that swept him away. The river roared around him, its icy currents swallowing him whole. The world blurred into a swirling mix of darkness and cold, the weight of the water pressing down on him as he was swept away. His body, already battered and broken, felt like it was being pulled apart by the sheer force of the current. But even as consciousness slipped from his grasp, he clung to one thought: They're safe. They got away.

He had no idea how long he'd been unconscious or how far the river had carried him. When he finally stirred, he found himself in an unfamiliar stretch of woods, slumped against a moss-covered rock by the water's edge. Groaning, he rolled onto his side and forced his eyes open, only to be met with the blinding glow of the morning sun cresting the horizon. As he ran his hands over his body, a faint sense of relief washed over him—the river had not only washed away his wounds but seemed to have left him with a renewed energy. That relief quickly faded though as the shadow of a person loomed over him. The sun's light obscuring the person's face

"Found you."

Chapter Text

"We have to go back for him!"

"You know we can't do that! The cops are all over that place!"

"I don't fucking care! We have to turn back!"

"Fuck!"

Will slammed his fist against the steering wheel, his jaw clenched as he yanked the van off the road. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as they skidded to a halt near an overlook, the vast stretch of mountains looming in the distance. He laid on the horn—one sharp, urgent blast—signaling the convoy to stop.

The moment he stepped out, he sucked in a shaky breath, raking a hand through his hair. His pulse pounded in his ears. This wasn't the plan. None of this was the plan.

"Will!" Katie stormed toward him, her face tight with anger—anger he'd never seen in her before. "We can't just leave him behind!"

He turned on her, eyes blazing. "And how exactly do you expect us to get him back, Katie, huh?!" He flung a hand in the direction they had come from. "How do we dodge the cops crawling all over the place? How do we even find him? Odds are he blew that bridge to hell—he could be anywhere! Maybe miles downriver by now!"

The daughter of Demeter hesitated, her bloody hands—Percy's blood—dragging through her tangled hair. She still didn't have a shirt due to using it to stop Percy's bleeding but thankfully Piper had stepped in, wrapping her in one of the stolen jackets from the warehouse.

"Will's right," she murmured, placing a steadying hand on Katie's shoulder. "I hate it, but he is. We can't go back."

"But—what about Percy?!" Katie's voice cracked, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. "He's our leader! We—we can't just—" The words caught in her throat, swallowed by the sob breaking free. Tears streaked down her face.

Piper pulled her into a hug, holding her close as she trembled. She didn't need to say anything—grief weighed on all of them. But they couldn't turn back. Percy wouldn't want that.

"He's not gone."

They turned to find Nico standing at the edge of the group, his dark eyes fixed on the starry horizon.

"He's still alive," he said, resting a hand on the van's hood as if grounding himself. His gaze flickered toward the mountains, distant, unreadable. "He's out there. Somewhere."

"Can you find him?" Katie asked desperately, wiping her tears away and accidentally smearing blood on her white skin. The son of Hades shook his head at the question.

"My powers don't work like that. I can sense his soul still present in the mortal world. That's it."

"Then–then what do we do?"

That question stumped the group for a moment. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, as the weight of their situation pressed down on them. The only sound was the faint rustle of the wind through the trees and the distant hum of the river below. Will leaned against the van, his arms crossed, his mind racing. He hated this—hated feeling helpless, hated the thought of leaving Percy behind. But Nico was right. He was still alive and if there was even a sliver of hope, they had to hold onto it.

"We keep moving," He said finally, his words firm despite the turmoil in his chest. "We stick to the plan. Percy would want us to."

Katie whirled on him, her eyes blazing. "Stick to the plan?! Are you serious? The plan's gone to shit, Will! Percy's gone, and you want to just—"

"What other choice do we have?" Will snapped, cutting her off. "We can't go back. Not now. The cops are swarming the area, and if we get caught, it's over. For all of us. Percy knew the risks. He made the call to destroy that bridge, to buy us time. We can't waste that."

"He's right," Reyna stepped in, cutting off Katie before she had the chance to argue further. "We've gone through so much to get where we are. We can't risk that for the slim chance of actually finding him."

The blonde-haired demigoddess shook her head as she slumped against the van, all fight draining out of her. "I just…I can't believe this is happening."

"We'll find him, Katie." Piper knelt down next to her, using some charmspeak to calm her down somewhat. "He's Percy-fucking-Jackson. If anyone can survive out here, it's him."

Will observed the two girls as they comforted each other, their quiet murmurs a brief respite in the chaos. After a moment, he shifted his gaze back to the distant mountains, their jagged peaks a backdrop against the night sky. They were a stark reminder of the grueling journey still ahead. Before he could dwell on it further, he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. Turning, he met Clarisse's expectant gaze. Her usual fiery demeanor was dimmed by exhaustion, her red hair tangled and dull from days without proper rest.

"We gotta move," she whispered, meant for his ears alone. Her eyes flicked toward Katie, and he could see the unease in her expression. She hated seeing the girl like this—broken, vulnerable. Clarisse knew that pain all too well. But sentiment wouldn't keep them safe. Not here. Not now. They were sitting ducks, and every second they lingered was an invitation for trouble. The police—or worse—could catch up to them at any moment.

Will nodded, his jaw tightening as he pushed aside his own weariness. They had no choice but to keep going. But where? Where could they find a place that was safe from mortals? A place big enough to build a camp?

Already knowing what he was about to ask, the daughter of Ares shifted through her backpack before pulling out a map and laying it out on the hood of the van. "We're north of Billings now. Still on Highway Three but just over Mussleshell River."

He leaned over the map, trying to get a better look at the terrain they would soon be facing. He traced his finger along the map, his eyes narrowing as he studied the winding lines of rivers, the dense clusters of forest, and the jagged outlines of mountain ranges. The map was a patchwork of potential dangers and fleeting opportunities, and every decision felt like a gamble.

"I'd like to head Northwest toward Glacier National Park,"

"Not gonna work," Clarisse shook her head. "That's seven hours of fuel we don't have."

Will clicked his tongue in frustration. If Percy was here, fuel wouldn't have been an issue. Why'd that dumbass have to get shot and "sacrifice" himself? Scanning the map some more, he looked north of where they currently were at.

"Lewis and Clark National Forest?" He questioned, looking back up at her.

"Could work," she murmured, trying to gather just how long it would take them to get there.

"Plenty of places to hide out there and wait for the heat to die down," Will continued, liking the prospect more and more. "Once it does, we can figure out what to do from there."

"It's not a bad idea," Reyna peered over the son of Apollo's shoulder, having overheard the conversation. "It's three hours away. We could make it before morning."

"What about the cops though?" Clarisse asked. "They're gonna be swarming the highways looking for us."

"Then we'll avoid Highway Twelve," Reyna replied, tracing her finger north. "We'll take Red Hill Road instead all the way up to the forest."

Both Clarisse and Will raised an eyebrow at her suggestion, their features etched with skepticism.

"That's a backroad and not the most reliable. If we get stuck out there, we're fucked."

The daughter of Bellona crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. "Give me a better idea then. It's our best shot. The police will be looking for us on the highways not on some backroad. It's risky, I'll give you that, but so is staying here."

Clarisse grunted in agreement, her eyes analyzing the map one last time before stuffing it back into her backpack. "She's right. We need to move and we need to do it now."

Whistling loudly enough to draw the hundred demigod's attention, she announced that they were on the move again and for everyone to get back into the vans. Having no time to respond, Will and the others quickly packed themselves back into the vehicle, and before they knew it they were driving down the road again, the red tail lights and the twinkling stars being his only source of light.

"Are you sure that's a good place?" Piper asked from the backseat while idly peeling open a protein bar. She didn't know how long it had been since the last time she ate something good. Hours? Days?

"I'm not sure of much these days, Piper," Will replied, leaning his head back against the headrest, one hand lazily on the steering wheel. "All I know is that it's our best shot right now."

"I've been there before… when I was little," Katie murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She hugged herself tightly, her gaze fixed on the world outside the window. Though her tears had dried, the ache in her chest remained sharp, a raw mix of pain and worry that surprised her. She hadn't realized how deeply Percy's absence would affect her. Sure, she knew she cared about him—but not like this. Not to the point where his absence left a hollow, physical ache in her heart. Her eyes flicked to Piper for just a moment, and she could tell that she and Reyna also felt the same way. They were just better at hiding it than she was.

"It's a good place to hide for a bit. Not to build a camp though. To many mortals visit,"

The son of Apollo sighed, rubbing his tired face with his free hand. "Then we lay low, rest, and figure out our next move. We can't stay in one place too long anyway."

"How will Percy find us?" Katie straightened, asking the question that had been itching in everyone's mind for a while now. "He doesn't have any clue where we are or where we're going,"

"He'll find us," Nico answered from the passenger seat, looking back at her through the rearview mirror.

"How?" She pressed on, not taking that for an answer. "Half the time we don't even know where we're going,"

"Because he always does," The son of Hades replied without missing a beat. "He's stubborn and refuses to die. No one, not a monster, a mortal, or a God, will stop him from getting back to his family. You have my word on that."

That seemed to settle the conversation for now, though the silence that followed was anything but comfortable. It pressed in on them, thick with exhaustion, grief, and unspoken fears. The hum of the engine filled the space where words should have been, but no one had the energy to fill it. They were all running on fumes—physically and emotionally.

Will focused on the road ahead, the darkened landscape stretching endlessly before them. Every once in a while, he caught glimpses of headlights in the distance, and his fingers twitched over the wheel, ready to veer off at a moment's notice. The cops were out there. Searching.

The further they drove, the darker the night became. Out here, far from the city, the stars shone brighter than they ever did in Camp Half-Blood's sky. It was almost cruel—how beautiful the world could look even after all the mess they've gone through. His eyes flickered upward a moment, drawn to the celestial expanse of the Milky Way galaxy overhead. He had never seen so many stars before. It was breathtaking, to say the least, and eased his worries for but a moment. With his attention divided between the sky and driving, however, he accident veered too much to the left, almost crashing the van.

"Shit," he mumbled, quickly correcting his mistake.

"You need a break?" Nico asked, sitting in the passenger seat.

"I'm okay," The son of Apollo replied, rubbing his eyes. "We're almost there anyway. I can make it."

He gave him a skeptical look, his dark eyes narrowing as he studied Will's tense frame. "You're exhausted. We all are. Don't push yourself too far."

"I said I'm fine," Will snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. He regretted it immediately, but the exhaustion gnawing at him made it hard to soften his tone. Nico didn't flinch, though—just leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, his gaze shifting to the window.

The road stretched on, the headlights cutting through the inky blackness. Red Hill Road was narrow and uneven, the kind of backroad that felt like it hadn't been maintained in years. Every bump jolted the van, rattling the frame and the passengers alike. In the backseat, Katie flinched with every jolt, her arms tightening around herself as if she could hold herself together through sheer will. Piper had dozed off, her head resting against Reyna's shoulder, the protein bar wrapper crumpled in her lap. Reyna sat rigid, her eyes scanning the darkness outside, always on guard.

They were all silent for the remainder of the ride, too exhausted, worried, and sore to converse any longer. The van rattled along the road for a little while longer until eventually, much to their sore bones' delight, they saw a sign that greeted them.

"Lewis and Clark National Forest"

Thank Gods," Will muttered, wincing as the van ran over one final pothole, inadvertently jolting everyone awake.

"Are we there?" Piper stirred, blinking groggily.

"Yeah," he replied as he slowed the van, pulling off the road into a small clearing just beyond the sign. The headlights illuminated the dense wall of trees ahead, their shadows stretching long and dark across the uneven ground. He killed the engine, and for a moment, the silence was deafening—no hum of the motor, no crunch of gravel, just the faint rustle of trees in the night breeze.

The other vans in the convoy followed suit, their headlights dimming one by one as they parked in a loose semicircle. Doors creaked open, and the demigods spilled out, their movements slow and heavy with exhaustion. The air was cool, thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, a stark contrast to the stale, metallic tang of blood and sweat that had clung to them in the vans.

Stretching their stiff limbs, they one by one clobbered out of the vehicles, their boots crunching against the soft Earth beneath them. But there was no time to rest, even out here in the remote mountains.

"Start unloading the tents," Clarisse ordered, already digging through her van and pulling out supplies.

"We also need a perimeter," Reyna said, directing some of the demigods to check out the area and make sure they were alone out here. "We set up camp here, but no fires tonight guys."

The demigods moved with a practiced efficiency, their exhaustion momentarily pushed aside for the necessity of survival. The rustling of tent fabric and the soft clinking of stakes being driven into the ground filled the air, a quiet rhythm against the backdrop of the forest's natural sounds. Will opened his van's trunk, beginning to unload some of the supplies they had managed to snatch from the warehouse. Noticing movement to his left, he subtly glanced at Katie who was trying to help out, picking out some packed tents for the younger children to sleep in.

"You need to get that blood off you," he softly said, noticing that her arms and jeans were still covered in Percy's now-dried blood.

"How?" She asked without skipping a beat in her task. "As far as I know, there's no showers out here."

"There's a creek not too far from here," Piper said, stepping into the conversation once she was done setting up her tent. "Saw it on the map. I'll go with you."

The daughter of Demeter sighed, looking down at her red-stained skin. She knew she needed to get it off but the thought of getting in that cold water this late at night sent shivers down her spine. But alas, she agreed, setting down her tent bag before starting her way into the dark woods.

"Take this," Will said to the daughter of Aphrodite, digging deeper in the trunk before pulling out a hunting rifle they had stolen. "There's four bullets in there. Make it count."

"Jeez, Will," Piper raised an eyebrow, taking it from his hands and hefting it on her shoulder. "You think that's necessary?"

"Absolutely," he replied with no hesitation. "There's grizzly bears, wolves, and Gods know what else out here."

Piper pursed her lips but nodded. Taking a flashlight from a backpack, she along with Katie disappeared into the shadowed treeline, the beam of light cutting a narrow path through the blinding darkness.

"Be safe!"

Percy's eyes narrowed as he stared up at the shadowy figure looming over him. The voice was faintly familiar, but it didn't make sense—no one he knew, aside from the demigods he'd led to this remote corner of Montana, should be here. Suspicion flared, and instinct took over. Better to strike first and ask questions later.

In one fluid motion, he swept the stranger's legs out from under them with a sharp kick. Before they could react, he lunged forward, pinning them to the ground with the full weight of his body. Riptide sprang to life in his hand, the bronze blade gleaming in the dim light as he pressed it against their throat—all in the span of a heartbeat. His muscles, especially his abdomen, screamed in protest at the sudden movement, but he ignored the pain. As he looked down to confront his supposed enemy, his heart stuttered. The electric blue eyes staring back at him were unmistakable, framed by a cascade of dark, glossy hair.

"Thalia?!" he gasped with disbelief.

Before she could reply, the air around them crackled with tension. Two arrowheads, sharp and unwavering, were now aimed directly at his face. He glanced up to see two familiar Hunters, their expressions stern but devoid of disdain.

"It's us, Percy," one of them said, her voice cautious but firm. There was no hostility in her eyes, only a protective edge. "Don't kill her."

He blinked, momentarily stunned. He retracted Riptide from Thalia's neck, a silent laugh escaping him as the absurdity of the situation sank in. Another member of his family had survived the war against Gaea. The daughter of Zeus wasted no time scrambling to her feet before wrapping him in a crushing bear hug. He returned it just as fiercely, his mind still struggling to process that this was real. He felt her warm tears against his neck, but he didn't care. All that mattered was that she was alive.

"I thought you were dead," he whispered hoarsely, his grip tightening around her.

"I thought you were too," she choked out, her voice trembling. "I thought we were the only ones left."

Percy pulled back slightly, his hands still gripping Thalia's shoulders as if to make sure she was real. His sea-green eyes searched hers, a mix of relief and disbelief washing over him. "How did you even find me? We've been driving for days through the country—maybe weeks. I lost track."

She wiped her eyes, a tearful laugh escaping as she took in his stunned expression. "Athena told us. She said to head northwest, that we'd find what we were looking for. I just… I never expected it to be you. She never mentioned you were alive."

Percy inwardly groaned, the memory of his encounter with the goddess crashing back. She had told him she was sending friends his way. It all clicked now.

"You said 'we,'" Thalia pressed, gripping his hand tightly. "Does that mean more survived?"

For a moment, he hesitated, his expression darkening as the weight of the past weeks pressed against him—battles fought, lives lost, the faces of those who didn't make it. He shoved it down, masking the grief, but he knew she saw through the cracks.

"Yeah," he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper. "Some of us did. Greeks and Romans."

"Who?" she demanded, hope and desperation threading through her voice.

Percy exhaled sharply, glancing at the rushing water before making a decision. "Let's get out of the river first," he said, pulling her along with him. "This… this is going to take a while."

He led her to the shore, settling on a large rock as he braced himself for the conversation ahead. As the other two Hunters joined them, he saw the silent plea in their eyes. All this time, while he and the others had been making their way to Montana, these three had believed they were the only ones left. He couldn't begin to fathom the loneliness, the weight of that isolation.

"Gods," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. "Where do I even start?"

"From the beginning," Thalia answered immediately, wanting to hear every last detail.

He knew what he was about to tell her would hurt, but she needed to know. If their positions were reversed, he'd want the truth—no matter how painful. Letting out one last sigh, he began. He told her everything. How the Gods had faded back into Tartarus, all except Athena. How they had battled a new breed of monsters. How they had decided to head to Montana to build a new camp. He spoke of their return to Camp Half-Blood, of finding Jason—of what he had become.

Thalia's breath hitched. "W–what?"

Percy nodded, squeezing her hand. "I know. I couldn't believe it either. But I saw him die, Thalia. I held him in my arms on that battlefield. And now he's here—under the control of this… 'Father.'" He spat the last word like venom.

She swallowed hard. "He's the only one, though… right?" There was a desperate edge to her voice, a silent plea. But the moment he hesitated, the light in her eyes dimmed. She already knew the answer.

"Annabeth…"

Her knees buckled.

"No…" The word barely escaped her lips, her breathing sharp and ragged. "No, oh Gods, no."

Percy caught her before she could collapse, pulling her into his arms as sobs wracked her body. He held her tightly, letting her grief crash over him like a wave. He knew this pain too well—the sorrow, the helplessness, the unbearable weight of loss. And the cruelest part? Just moments ago, she had believed there was hope of them alive. Now, not only had she lost her brother, but her best friend was gone too—both now under the control of something dark, something twisted. It was a cruel fate. And it sucked, to say the least.

"I'm sorry, Thals," he whispered, pressing his forehead gently to hers. "I tried to help them, but there's still so much I don't understand."

Her sobs gradually softened, though her body remained stiff in his embrace. They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, the only sounds being her ragged breaths and the rush of the water. Finally, she pulled away, wiping her tear-streaked face with the back of her hand.

"Do you think there's a way to help them?" she asked, her eyes full of desperate hope. "To fix them?"

Percy didn't know how to answer. There was no fixing it, no magic cure. But looking at his cousin, her red-rimmed eyes filled with pain and her features pleading, he couldn't bring himself to say it aloud.

"Maybe," he said softly, the word more for her than for himself.

Her gaze lingered on his, searching for any sign of certainty in his eyes, but all she found was the same shared grief and confusion. She nodded, understanding the weight of his "maybe" more than he might have intended.

"We have to try," Thalia said, her voice steadying as she regained some composure. "We owe them that much. I–I can't…I can't lose anyone else, Percy."

The son of Poseidon gave a slow nod, unable to find the words to explain the full truth about Annabeth—about her soul and her rebirth. There would be a time for that, but not now. For now, he needed to figure out exactly where he was and how to get back to his friends.

"I take it you know where we are?" he asked, his gaze sweeping the unfamiliar landscape. The woods around them seemed desolate, with no road signs or clear paths. The only remnants of civilization were the broken pieces of a bridge scattered in the water.

"We're on the Yellowstone River, just east of Custer," she answered, squinting up at the sun.

"How far is that from Billings?"

"About an hour."

Percy let out a frustrated groan, realizing his situation had spiraled from bad to worse overnight. There was no telling where his friends were now. They could be anywhere and finding them would be like searching for a needle in a haystack, especially in this vast state. He clenched his fists, frustration bubbling beneath the surface, but he forced himself to stay calm. Anger wouldn't help anyone.

"What exactly happened to you?" one of the hunters asked, her eyebrow arched in curiosity.

"And why do you look like you've been through a war?" the other girl chimed in, her tone sharp but laced with concern.

Percy studied them for a moment, racking his brain for their names. He recognized their faces—he'd crossed paths with them a few times during his encounters with the Hunt.

"Atalanta, right?" he ventured, pointing to the first hunter. Then, hesitating slightly, he turned to the other. "And… Evelyn?"

The two girls exchanged a quick glance, their expressions betraying a flicker of surprise. They hadn't expected him to remember their names, given how little they'd actually interacted.

The son of Poseidon glanced down at his clothes, wincing at the sight. His shirt and jeans were torn and stained with dried blood, a stark reminder of the chaos he'd endured. He shifted uncomfortably, relieved to find that his injuries from the night before had healed completely, though his body still ached with a deep, lingering soreness.

"It's… kind of a long story," he said finally, dragging a hand through his disheveled hair. He met their gazes again, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "How about we find a place where I can clean up, grab some food, and then I'll fill you in on everything?"

Trekking through the wilderness and back into civilization, the demigods eventually found themselves in the quaint town of Custer. The stares they received upon entering were plentiful, especially towards Percy, who looked as if he'd just emerged from a battlefield. Despite the odd looks, they managed to find him some new clothes and a welcoming restaurant to settle into.

"So, what happened to you?" Thalia asked, leaning forward, her piercing blue eyes locked on Percy. "Why'd I find you passed out in a river, of all places?"

Percy didn't answer immediately. Instead, he took a moment to savor the warmth of the coffee cup in his hands and the rich aroma of the food in front of him—luxuries he hadn't experienced in what felt like forever. The expectant stares from Thalia, Atalanta, and Evelyn, however, eventually pulled him out of his momentary bliss.

"We, uh… we robbed Billings," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin.

Thalia blinked. "What do you mean, robbed Billings? Like, you hit a store or something?"

"No," Percy clarified, his tone casual, as if he were describing a weekend errand. "More like ten or twenty stores. Maybe more. I lost count."

The table fell silent. The hunters exchanged glances, their expressions shifting from curiosity to outright disbelief. Percy, either oblivious to or ignoring their judgmental stares, continued.

"The cops chased us out of the city. I fought a cyclops, got shot in the stomach, and blew up a bridge to cover our escape. Just another Saturday, I guess."

"You're a fucking idiot," Atalanta finally broke in, pinching the bridge of her nose as if warding off an oncoming headache. Her tone was equal parts exasperation and reluctant admiration.

"Hey," he shot back, his expression turning serious. "We needed those supplies. We'd been running on fumes for practically the entire journey to Montana. If we're going to build a camp—especially with winter coming—we needed everything we could get our hands on."

Thalia raised an eyebrow. "You think you got enough?"

"For now," Percy said, his gaze drifting as he mentally cataloged the haul they'd stuffed into their van. He couldn't even begin to guess what the others had managed to grab. "But once we get the camp set up, we'll probably have to go out again. Supplies don't last forever."

Atalanta, now digging into her food, paused mid-bite. "Where are you building this camp, anyway?"

He hesitated, his confidence faltering for the first time. "I… don't actually know. We were supposed to scout a location once we got out of Billings, but, well…" He gestured vaguely to himself. "Things didn't go as planned."

"Wait, wait, wait," Evelyn interjected, holding up a hand. Her sharp gaze cut through the conversation like a knife. "Are you telling us that you have no idea where they are right now?"

"Kind of," he replied, his words drawled out as he noticed their brows furrow even deeper in frustration. "All I know is we were on Highway Three, heading north."

"What's north of here?" Thalia asked, turning to Atalanta. Without hesitation, the girl dug through her bag and produced a small, weathered map. The daughter of Zeus leaned over her shoulder, her finger tracing the faded lines as her sharp eyes scanned the landmarks.

"There's the town of Lavina," she said, tapping the map. "Think they might've gone there?"

"Doubt it," Thalia murmured, her voice edged with skepticism. "It's too close. They'd want to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the highway. Are there any national forests nearby? They could be lying low there."

Atalanta's eyes narrowed as she studied the map, her finger gliding across its surface until it came to an abrupt stop. "Here," she said, pointing. "Lewis and Clark National Forest. If they're trying to disappear, that's where they'd go."

Thalia frowned, her gaze flicking to Percy. "Does that sound right? Would they head there?"

"Maybe?" Percy shrugged. "It's our best lead right now."

"Then that's where we're going," she declared, standing abruptly and slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

"W-wait, now?" Percy stammered, his eyes darting to the food that had just arrived at their table. "Our food just got here!"

"Montana's a big place, kelp-for-brains," Thalia shot back, already striding toward the exit. "If we want to catch up to them, we need to move. Now."

He groaned, shoveling as much food into his mouth as he could before scrambling to his feet. "I'll never get a break, will I?" he muttered, hurrying after the girls.

Chapter Text

"You know, we could've just stolen a car or something," Percy grumbled, hauling himself over a jagged boulder. His legs burned, and his patience was wearing thin. "Would've been a hell of a lot easier than scaling fucking mountains!"

Thalia glanced back at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "And miss out on this?" She gestured to his disheveled state, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Not a chance."

"Besides," Atalanta chimed in, pausing at the cliff's edge to take in the breathtaking panorama of Montana's wilderness, "you can't get a view like this from the backseat of a car." The landscape stretched endlessly before them—towering mountains, winding rivers, and forests that seemed to go on forever. It was raw, untamed beauty, the kind that made you stop and forget your complaints, if only for a moment.

Percy finally reached the summit, wincing as he straightened his aching legs. But as his eyes swept across the horizon, his irritation melted away. She was right. The view was stunning—vast and serene, a world away from the chaos of New York. For the first time in hours, he didn't have a snarky comeback. He just stood there, silent, taking it all in. The wind picked up, carrying the crisp scent of pine and the faint murmur of the river below. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his earlier frustration replaced by a grudging appreciation.

"Okay," he admitted, his voice softer now. "This is... pretty incredible."

Thalia raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying his rare moment of surrender. "Pretty incredible? That's the best you've got?"

"Don't push it, thunder thighs," The son of Poseidon shot back, though there was no real bite in his tone. "I'm not a poet."

He stepped closer to the edge, careful not to lose his footing, and breathed in the fresh, mountain air. Closing his eyes, he let the wind brush against his face, cool and gentle. For the first time in what felt like forever, his mind was quiet. Despite all the chaos, the battles, and the endless struggles, he couldn't help but think that it had all been worth it. To find a place like this—to build a home here—made every ounce of pain and sacrifice feel justified. The journey had been brutal, but standing here, with the world stretching out before him, he knew they'd found something irreplaceable.

"Thalia, you've got to see this," Percy said, a mischievous smirk spreading across his face as a secret about his cousin suddenly came to mind.

"I'm good," she replied, her voice calm but laced with a faint edge of unease. "The view's just fine from here."

"Trust me, it's better from where I'm standing," he insisted, closing the distance between them. He grabbed her arm, trying to pull her along. Thalia's fingers clamped down on his wrist like a vice, her nails digging in as she leaned in close, her voice a low, furious growl in his ear.

By now, Atalanta and Evelyn were well ahead, their focus on the trail, oblivious to the brewing storm between the cousins.

"I swear to the gods, Percy, I'll kick you off this mountain if you don't let go!"

"Maybe this'll teach you to tone down the snark," Percy shot back, his tone teasing as he continued to drag her forward, his larger frame giving him the advantage.

Thalia's grip tightened painfully, but the man didn't relent. As they neared the cliff's edge, her bravado faltered. "Okay, okay, I'll stop! Just—don't go any farther!" she pleaded, her voice rising in panic. She buried her face in his chest and practically wrapped her body around his like a snake, her earlier defiance crumbling as the sheer drop loomed closer.

The green-eyed demigod couldn't help but laugh. He knew it was a mean thing to do but sometimes his cousin's ego needed to be notched down a peg or two. "Since you're a daughter of Zeus, you should be able to fly, right? Should we test that?" He teased, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"Shut the fuck up, kelp-for-brains," she muttered, her words muffled against his chest. Her grip only tightened on his frame, her nails practically digging into his skin as if she were trying to anchor herself to him.

Finally taking pity on her, he turned away from the edge, giving Thalia the chance to breathe again. She immediately slapped his chest in frustration, unwrapped herself from him, and stormed off toward the two other huntresses, muttering curses under her breath. Percy just grinned, shaking his head as he watched her go.

"I'm so fucked later," he said to himself, knowing that she was already planning her revenge. He could practically see the gears turning in her head as he watched her rejoin her sisters. For now though, he was content to enjoy the small victory.

Atalanta glanced back at him once he caught up, her sharp eyes narrowing as she caught the tail end of the scene. "What did you do now, Jackson?" she called, her tone equal parts exasperation and amusement.

"Nothing," Percy replied innocently, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Just helping Thalia appreciate the view."

His cousin shot him a glare that could've turned Medusa to stone. "Appreciate this," she muttered, flipping him off before turning her attention back to the trail.

"How rude!" He mockingly despaired with a hand on his chest but decided to end it there before she actually pushed him off the mountain. Falling into line behind them, he noticed that the trail was beginning to narrow, forcing them to walk single file, with Atalanta leading the way. The wind picked up again, tugging at their clothes and hair, but the sun was warm on their faces, a welcome contrast to the crisp mountain air.

For a time, they walked in easy silence, accompanied only by the howl of the wind, the rhythmic crunch of gravel beneath their boots, and the occasional cry of a distant eagle piercing the air. They continued their descent down the mountain, cautious and deliberate, for another hour or two. As they made their way, the sun began its retreat behind the horizon, painting the landscape in a breathtaking wash of gold and purple.

Eventually, they reached a small, flat clearing—a modest patch of land just large enough to settle for the night. Thalia was the first to speak, her voice cutting through the quiet as she leaned against a weathered tree stump. "We'll stop here tonight," she declared. "We're too far from any towns, and the sun's already setting." The others nodded in agreement, their weary bodies grateful for the chance to rest.

Watching as the three girls began to set up their tents, Percy decided to make himself useful and gather some firewood. Wandering away a short distance from the camp, his eyes scanned the surroundings for anything useful. The forest was dense, the towering trees above swaying silently against the wind. He moved quickly and quietly, picking up all the dry wood he could fit in his arms.

After a while, he was satisfied with the pile of firewood he had gathered. As he turned to head back to camp, a faint rustling in the bushes behind him froze him in his tracks. His spine stiffened, and the wood in his arms tumbled to the ground as his hand instinctively flew to Riptide. He spun around, his sea-green eyes scanning the shadowy woods, where the fading sunlight offered little clarity. The rustling grew louder, and his breath quickened, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. Just as his nerves reached their peak, the source of the noise revealed itself—a large jackrabbit emerged from the underbrush.

"For the love of the gods," Percy muttered under his breath, exhaling sharply as he uncapped Riptide and watched the creature curiously. The rabbit paused, its dark eyes locking with his, as if sizing him up. For a moment, the two stood in a silent standoff, neither sure what to do next.

"We don't have much food for tonight," he mused, considering his options. He thought about fetching one of the girls to shoot it with their bow, but by the time he returned, the rabbit would likely be long gone. Getting close enough to strike it with his sword was out of the question. Then, an idea struck him—one that made his stomach churn but also piqued his curiosity.

Closing his eyes, Percy reached out with his abilities, focusing on the rabbit before him. He tuned into its body—the rhythm of its breathing, the pulse of its blood. A sharp, gnawing pain flared in his gut as he pushed deeper, his mind connecting with the warm, vital essence of the creature. His focus narrowed, tracing the flow of blood upward until he found its heart. With a mental grip, he clenched it, pouring all his concentration into the act. A faint squeak broke the silence, and his eyes snapped open to see the rabbit writhing on the ground in agony.

"Shit," he hissed, rushing forward. He had hoped to end its life quickly and painlessly, but it was clear his control over this power was still far from perfect. Guilt gnawed at him as he swiftly snapped the rabbit's neck, putting it out of its misery. Breathing heavily from exertion which surprised him, he gathered the rabbit's now lifeless body and the firewood before making his way back toward camp. His mind weighed heavy with the weight of what he had just done–and the unsettling potential he now wielded.

"It's unnatural!" One side of his mind screamed.

"It's necessary!" The other refuted.

He wasn't sure what to make of it. Truth be told, he didn't want to make anything of it. The thought alone twisted his stomach, but deep down, he knew this power would linger with him for a long, long time. And as much as he hated to admit it, he doubted this would be the last time he'd have to use it. His mind was a tangled mess, thoughts colliding and unraveling as he trudged through the clearing. Before he knew it, he was back at camp. The girls had already set up their tents and were waiting for him to return so they could start the fire.

"Didn't take you for the hunting type," Thalia remarked, glancing up at him with a look of mild surprise.

"Desperate times," he muttered, dropping an armful of wood into the firepit they'd prepared.

As they worked to get the fire going, he began preparing dinner. Pulling a small knife from his belt, he started skinning the animal, trying to ignore the memory of its pulsing heartbeat beneath his hands. The warm blood staining his fingers felt eerily familiar, a grim reminder of the power he'd used earlier. It clung to him, whispering in the back of his mind, tempting him to reach for it again.

"How'd you kill it? I didn't see any wounds," she asked, sitting down beside him. Her tone was casual, but her raised eyebrow betrayed her curiosity.

Percy kept his eyes on the task at hand, avoiding her gaze. "I snapped its neck," he said flatly. He wasn't ready to explain what he did—not now, maybe not ever.

"You're telling me that you, who can't even sneak up on monsters, managed to get close enough to a rabbit to snap its neck?" Thalia's voice was laced with disbelief, her eyebrows climbing even higher.

"It was a very slow rabbit, okay?" he shot back, standing up once he'd finished prepping the meat. He walked over to the fire, skewering the animal and setting it over the flames to cook.

She snorted, clearly unconvinced, but let the matter drop. She leaned back on her hands, watching the fire crackle and pop as the scent of roasting meat began to fill the air. The others settled around the fire, their faces illuminated by the flickering light. For a while, the only sounds were the crackling of the flames and the occasional rustle of the wind through the trees. The rabbit, though small, was enough to take the edge off their hunger. Percy picked at his portion, his mind still lingering on the unsettling way he'd killed it. He could feel Thalia's eyes on him, her sharp gaze cutting through the quiet like a knife. She wasn't buying his story about the rabbit, and he knew it.

As the night deepened, exhaustion crept over the group. Atalanta was the first to retreat, murmuring a quiet "goodnight" before disappearing into her tent. Evelyn followed soon after, slipping wordlessly into her own shelter without a sound. That left Thalia and Percy sitting side by side, the firelight flickering across their faces as they stared into the flames in heavy silence.

Thalia broke the quiet first, prodding the embers with a stick. A small burst of sparks spiraled upward, mingling with the stars above. Her voice was light, but there was a sharpness beneath it, a blade wrapped in velvet. "You gonna tell me the truth, or do I have to beat it out of you?"

Percy stiffened, his jaw tightening. "Why can't you let it go? It's just a rabbit," he shot back, his tone harsher than he meant it to be.

She didn't flinch. "I should be asking you that," she countered smoothly. "You've been quiet ever since you killed it. That's not like you."

Percy exhaled sharply, running a hand through his jet-black hair in frustration. His sea-green eyes stayed fixed on the fire, the flames reflecting in them like tiny, dancing ghosts. He wished they could offer him some kind of answer, some kind of escape. But Thalia wasn't the type to let things go. She had a way of digging, of peeling back layers until she found the truth, no matter how deeply he buried it. Her stubbornness rivaled even his own.

"Fine," he muttered at last, low and reluctant. "But you're not going to like it."

Thalia raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly as if bracing herself. "Try me."

Percy hesitated, his gaze still locked on the fire. The words felt heavy on his tongue, like stones he didn't want to lift. "I… I used my powers on it," he admitted finally.

Thalia's expression shifted from curiosity to confusion. "Your powers? You killed it with water? How does that even—"

"No," he cut her off, his voice tight. "Not water. Something else. Blood… I used its own blood to kill it."

For a moment, she just stared at him, her face unreadable. Then, softly, she said, "Oh." The word hung in the air, heavy and final. Silence settled between them, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the distant howls of wolves echoing through the night.

"Well…I suppose it only makes sense," she finally broke the suffocating silence, shrugging her shoulders as she looked up at the stars. "Blood is made of water after all."

Percy glanced at her, surprised by her calm reaction. He had expected more of a reaction—shock, maybe even disgust. But Thalia just sat there, her expression thoughtful, as if she were turning the idea over in her mind.

"Yeah," he said slowly, his voice heavy with hesitation. "I guess it makes sense. But that doesn't make it right. It feels… unnatural."

"Our very lives are unnatural, Percy," Thalia shot back, tossing her head with a snort. "Nothing about what we do is natural—especially our powers. They're not always clean or easy. You, of all people, should know that."

"Yeah, but this…" The son of Poseidon interrupted, his gaze dropping to his hands. "This is different. This is a power I shouldn't have. This is a power only the Gods should have."

"You don't have the luxury of second-guessing yourself," She replied sharply. "If you want to survive, you adapt. I'm sure this power didn't just show up on a whim. It came when you needed it most—when you were backed into a corner, staring death in the face. Right?"

Percy's jaw tightened, his fingers curling into a fist as he remembered that night two days ago when he had destroyed that bridge. He remembered how it felt to control his own blood, how it felt to hold his very life essence in his hands. It was the same exhilarating feeling he had when he almost killed Akhlys. Those were both times when he was staring death in the face, defiantly clinging to life.

"Yeah," he admitted quietly, barely audible over the crackling embers. "It did. Doesn't mean I have to like it though."

Thalia leaned her head against his shoulder, her eyes lidding as she began to feel the exhaustion of today's journey finally catching up to her. "No one's asking you to like it but you can't ignore it either. You've got this power now, and whether you like it or not, it's a part of you. You can either learn to control it, or it'll control you. And trust me, you don't want that."

He leaned his head against hers, finding solace in her warmth mingling with his despite the turmoil in his head. She was right, of course. But that didn't make it any easier to accept. The idea of wielding such a power—of reaching into a living thing and manipulating its very life force—felt wrong on a fundamental level. It was a violation, a crossing of a line he wasn't sure he could come back from.

"What if I can't control it?" he asked, more to himself than to her. "What if it consumes me?" The words hung heavy in the air, a fragile admission of the fear he'd been trying to bury.

"You've never backed down from anything in your life," she whispered in his ear, her warm breath hitting his skin sending goosebumps across his skin. "Even when you maybe should've. I know you'll conquer this too. You always do."

He stayed silent for a couple of minutes, trying to come to terms with it. Her words offered some solace but it didn't expel all his doubts. He supposed only time would that.

"Thanks," he finally said, looking down at her. "I needed to hear that."

Thalia gave him a small, tired smile, her eyes half-closed as she leaned against him. "Anytime, seaweed brain," she teased softly, though her usual bite was dulled by exhaustion. "So stop acting like that. It doesn't suit you."

"Noted," he softly chuckled.

For a while longer, the two of them leaned against each other, their eyes fixed on the shimmering stars above as the fire slowly dwindled into embers, casting a faint glow in the cool night air. Percy noticed the weariness etched on her face, the way her eyelids drooped and a yawn threatened to escape. Gently, he broke the silence. "Should we call it a night?"

"Yeah, come on," Thalia replied, pushing herself up with a tired sigh. "We're going to need all the rest we can get."

Percy stood as well, offering her a quiet "Goodnight," but as he glanced around, he realized something was off. There was only one tent left—Thalia's. His eyes darted across the campsite, searching for his own shelter. When he found none, he quickly stepped forward, stopping her just as she was about to duck inside.

"Uh… where's my tent?" he asked, his tone a mixture of confusion and concern.

She turned, a faint smirk playing on her lips. "We don't have that many. Looks like you're bunking with me tonight."

The son of Poseidon hesitated, his mind racing. Even though Artemis was trapped in Tartarus, he had no doubt the goddess could still find a way to make him regret sleeping in the same tent as her lieutenant. "I'll just take watch," he said quickly, already backing away from the tent. "Goodnight."

But before he could retreat any further, Thalia's hand shot out, gripping his collar with surprising strength. "Oh, no you don't," she said, her smirk widening as she yanked him into the tent.

Percy stumbled into the tent, catching himself before he face-planted onto the ground. He shot her a glare, but she was already closing the flap behind them, her smirk still firmly in place. The tent was small, barely enough room for two people to lie down without touching, and the air felt suddenly warmer, more intimate.

"You're really pushing your luck tonight," he muttered, sitting down on the edge of the sleeping bag she'd laid out. He crossed his arms, trying to put some distance between them, but the confined space made it nearly impossible.

Thalia raised an eyebrow, her expression daring him to argue further. "Relax, it's just a tent. Unless you're scared of me or something." Her tone was teasing, but there was a glint in her eyes that made his stomach flip.

"Scared of you? Please," he scoffed. "I'm more scared of Artemis finding out and turning me into a jackrabbit."

"Well Artemis isn't here," she replied, taking off her boots before lying next to him, looking right into his eyes. "It's just me and you."

His breath hitched slightly as he looked into her eyes and felt her warm body shift against his. The air between them felt charged, like the moment before a lightning strike. He could feel every inch of her, every curve, every muscle tense. He deeply swallowed, noticing the small space suddenly felt even smaller.

"Just you and me, huh?" he echoed, his voice deeper than he intended.

Thalia's smirk softened into something more genuine, though her eyes still held that mischievous spark. "Yeah," she said, her voice low. "You're not that unlucky, are you?"

Percy chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Depends on how much you snore."

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. "You're such an idiot."

She rolled over, inadvertently pushing her backside against him as she settled in. The son of Poseidon bit the inside of his cheek as he tried to distract himself, finding the fabric of the tent the most fascinating thing in the world at the moment. For a moment, they sat in silence, the only sound the faint rustle of the wind against the tent and the distant crackle of the dying fire outside. He was acutely aware of how close she was. He could smell the faint scent of pine and ozone that always seemed to cling to her, a reminder of her divine heritage. It was intoxicating, and he hated how much it affected him. Curse his godly hormones that seemed to always be at a constant high.

She shifted once more against him, practically rubbing her body against his. He bit back the groan that threatened to escape, clenching his eyes shut as he desperately tried to go to sleep. He couldn't be thinking this way. He shouldn't be feeling this type of way. It was Thalia of all people! It was his cousin who he had grown up with! It wasn't natural!

"Our very lives are unnatural," Her words sprang up in the back of his head, causing him to berate himself internally. He had a feeling Thalia hadn't meant this when she'd said that.

"You know," she said, breaking his internal struggle, her words laced with amusement, "you're not as subtle as you think you are."

Percy blinked, caught off guard. "What are you talking about?"

She turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at him over her shoulder. Her blue eyes gleamed in the dim light of the tent, and her smirk was back in full force. "You're practically vibrating over there. Relax. It's just me."

His face flushed slightly, and he quickly looked away, his heart pounding in his chest. "I'm not—I mean, I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered, his voice cracking slightly. He cursed himself internally. Smooth, Jackson. Real smooth.

Thalia chuckled, the sound low and warm, sending a shiver down his spine. "Sure you don't," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She shifted again, this time turning to face him fully, her head propped up on one hand. Her blue eyes glinted with mischief, and her smirk was downright predatory. "You're about as subtle as a lightning strike. Always have been."

He swallowed hard, his mind racing for a way to deflect. "Look, Thalia, I'm just trying to sleep. Can we not do this right now?"

Her smirk widened, and she leaned in closer, her breath warm against his face. "Do what, exactly? I'm just lying here. You're the one who's all tense and fidgety. What's got you so worked up, huh?"

Percy's eyes darted downward subconsciously, then quickly away. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, and he knew there was no way she hadn't noticed. "Nothing," he muttered, barely above a whisper. "Just… tired."

"Uh-huh," she said, clearly not buying it. She reached out, poking him in the chest with a finger. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

He groaned, running a hand over his face. "Come on. Can we just—?"

"Just what?" she interrupted, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper. Her finger trailed down his chest, sending a jolt of electricity through him. "You got me all flustered today. Why can't I do the same to you?"

The man's eyes widened as the realization hit him. "Wait, is this—is this your revenge? For the cliff thing?"

Her smirk turned into a full-blown smile, and she leaned in even closer, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "Maybe."

He froze, his breath catching in his throat. Her proximity was overwhelming, and his mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He wanted to pull away, to put some distance between them, but at the same time, he couldn't bring himself to move. Her warmth, her scent, the way her voice sent shivers down his spine—it was all too much.

"Thalia…" he started, his voice hoarse. "This isn't funny."

"Oh, I think it's hilarious," she said, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. Her expression softened slightly, though the mischief was still there. "Relax, Percy. I'm just messing with you. But seriously, you need to chill. It's just me. You're acting like I'm some kind of monster."

"You are a monster," he muttered under his breath, though there was no real venom in his tone. "A teasing, insufferable monster."

She laughed, the sound light and carefree, and for a moment, the tension in the tent eased. "Yeah, well, you're stuck with me, so deal with it."

Percy sighed, finally allowing himself to relax a little. "Fine. But if you keep this up, I'm sleeping outside."

"You'd freeze," she said matter-of-factly, lying back down and pulling the blanket over herself. "Now stop being dramatic and get some sleep. We've got a long day tomorrow."

He hesitated but eventually exhaustion had won over his raging hormones. Lying back down, he pushed his thoughts away even when she pushed herself back up against his body. It seemed he would be dealing with her teasing all night long, no matter what. Making the best of it, he leaned closer into her warmth and let it sweep him away into the land of Morpheus.

It seemed right as he closed his eyes and drifted off, the sun was already rising over the horizon, painting the mountains a shade of orange. Rubbing his tired eyes, he awoke to the sound of chirping birds flying overhead and the sun's soft light peeking out through the tent's flap. Yawning, he slowly stretched his stiff limbs, finding them heavier to move for some reason. Opening his eyes and looking down, he quickly realized why. Thalia, who was still fast asleep, had seemed to manage to move on top of him overnight. Her arms were wrapped around his neck and her legs wrapped around his own, preventing any movement or escape.

For a moment, he didn't move or even blink, electing to watch her sleep peacefully, Her head was rested against his chest, and her hair, which had grown longer from their time apart, was sprawled out, tickling his skin slightly. Her breathing was slow and steady, her facial features softer in a way he rarely ever saw. Deciding it was time to finally move, he carefully tried to escape her grasp, shifting his weight as slowly as possible to avoid waking her. But the moment he moved, her grip tightened, and she mumbled something incoherent, nuzzling closer to him.

He groaned slightly in exasperation, wondering what he should do. If he woke her, it would be an embarrassing situation for the both of them but if the two other huntresses found out, he could possibly be shot. Deciding the first option was better, he softly shook her shoulders.

"Thalia, you got to let go," he softly said, shaking her but to no avail.

Rolling his eyes, he wondered how he was able to be awake before a hunter of Artemis of all people. Shaking her harder this time, he noticed her eyes begin to flutter to life. Watching her stir, she shifted against him as she subconsciously stretched her body against his, causing him to bite back the goosebumps.

"Morning," she said, her voice thick with sleep. Her eyes fluttered open, her piercing blue eyes looking through him as she tried to gather her surroundings. Realizing where she was or rather who she was on top of, her expression shifted to one of mild surprise but she made no move to get off him, her arms and legs still wrapped around the son of Poseidon.

"How'd you sleep?" Thalia asked, laying her head back down on his chest, finding comfort in his heartbeat.

"Like a rock," he replied dryly. "You know, being used as a human mattress really does wonders for a good night's sleep,"

The daughter of Zeus chuckled, the sound low and warm, her breath tickling his chest. "Glad I could help," she said, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. "You make a pretty good pillow but something beneath also feels like a rock."

"Okayyy, time to get up," Percy shot up from the sleeping bag they were sharing, practically throwing the girl off him before making a beeline out of the tent.

Thalia laughed, the sound echoing through the tent as she watched him practically bolt out of the shelter. She stretched lazily, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips. "Come on! I was having fun!" she called after him, her voice teasing.

Their little banter seemed to have awakened the other two girls who were beginning to stir in their own tents. Atalanta poked her head out her sharp eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. Percy, looking flustered and disheveled, was standing awkwardly outside the tent, while Thalia herself emerged with a smug grin plastered across her face.

"What's going on?" She asked, her tone laced with suspicion.

"Nothing," he said quickly, his voice a little too high-pitched. "Just… morning. You know, the usual."

Thalia, however, wasn't about to let him off the hook that easily. "Oh, nothing much," she said, her smirk widening. "Just Percy being a gentleman and letting me use him as a pillow all night. Very considerate of him, really."

He shot her a glare, his face turning red. "Thalia—"

"What?" she interrupted, feigning innocence. "I'm just giving credit where credit is due. You're a great cuddler, by the way. Very warm. Although you can be a little touchy. Had to smack your hand away from some of my…well, you know."

Percy's face flushed pale as he looked between Thalia and the two other huntresses, trying to stammer out an excuse. He knew what she was trying to do. The evil girl still wasn't over the little stunt he pulled on her at the cliff. Now she was trying to get him filled with arrows.

Thalia, clearly enjoying his panic, continued her teasing. "I don't blame him for being so handsy. It's not every day you get to sleep with the lieutenant of the Hunters of Artemis."

Atalanta's eyes narrowed further, her gaze flicking between the two of them like a hawk sizing up its prey. Evelyn, who had just emerged from her tent, looked equally suspicious, her hand instinctively drifting toward the bow slung over her shoulder.

"Is that so?" Atalanta said slowly, her voice dripping with skepticism. "Percy, care to explain?"

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His mind was a whirlwind of panic and indignation. He shot Thalia another glare, but she just grinned back at him, clearly reveling in his discomfort.

"It's not what it sounds like," he finally managed to say, though his voice lacked conviction. "She's just messing with me. Again."

Thalia let out a dramatic sigh, placing a hand over her heart. "Oh, Percy, you wound me. After everything we shared last night, and now you're denying it? How cruel."

Evelyn raised an eyebrow, her expression unreadable. "Shared? What exactly did you two share?"

"Nothing!" Percy exclaimed, his voice rising in panic. "She's just—ugh, Thalia, stop it!"

The blue-eyed demigoddess laughed, the sound light and carefree, as she finally took pity on him. "Relax, guys. We slept in the same tent, that's all. No need to get your panties in a twist."

Atalanta and Evelyn exchanged a look, clearly not entirely convinced, but they let the matter drop—for now. Percy let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, his shoulders slumping in relief. He shot Thalia one last glare, but she just winked at him, her smirk never fading.

"You're the worst," he muttered under his breath.

"And yet, you still love me," she shot back, her tone teasing. "That'll teach you not to fuck with me though next time."

He rolled his eyes, but a small, reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Despite her relentless teasing, he couldn't stay mad at her for long. She had always had a way of getting under his skin, but she also had a way of making him feel grounded, even in the most chaotic moments.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, running a hand through his messy hair. "Lesson learned. Next time, I'll just let you fall off the cliff."

Thalia's smirk widened, and she punched him lightly on the arm. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me," he shot back, though there was no real threat in his tone. He turned his attention to the rest of the camp, eager to change the subject. "So, what's the plan for today? More mountain climbing, or are we finally done playing mountain goats?"

"We're about a day's hike from Lewis and Clark National Forest," Atalanta said, rolling up her tent with practiced ease. "We'll make one last stop in town to grab supplies, and if we keep a steady pace, we should reach the forest by early tomorrow morning."

Percy nodded, a flicker of hope warming his chest at the thought of reuniting with his friends. He couldn't shake the worry, though—what if they weren't there? The forest was their best lead, their only plan. If they weren't waiting for him there, he had no idea where else to look.

"Alright," he said, slinging his pack over his shoulders. "Let's get moving."

Chapter Text

Three days had passed since they arrived at Lewis and Clark National Forest. Three days since they fled Billings. Three days since they lost Percy. Since then, the days had been eerily quiet—unnervingly so. They'd set up a temporary camp deep in the woods, far from any trails that mortals might stumble upon. Nestled beside a river, the location was practical: hidden enough to avoid detection, yet close enough to resources for fishing, bathing, and strategizing their next steps.

At the moment, the older demigods in charge had gathered in their makeshift war room—a humble setup between two trees, with a large blanket tied overhead for shelter and a broad tree stump serving as their table. It was a far cry from the war room or Praetorium they were used to at their respective camps, but it was the best they could manage under the circumstances. The group was deep in discussion, debating whether to abandon this temporary site and search for a more permanent location.

"I say we do it," Will interjected, his eyes scanning the map spread across the stump. "This place is fine for now, but it's not nearly big enough to support demigods long-term."

Clarisse, leaning against a tree, tossed one of her daggers into the trunk with a sharp thunk. "We can't risk moving camp right now," she countered. "If we leave, we're just asking to get caught—or worse, end up with nowhere to go. And let's not forget, winter is coming soon. If we're not settled by then, we're screwed."

"I agree with Clarisse," Katie chimed in, her fingers deftly shaping a small wooden figure with her knife.

"You're only saying that so Percy can find us," Travis shot back, a hint of jealousy in his tone.

"Yeah, I am," Katie snapped a little too harshly, looking up at the son of Hermes with narrowed eyes. "We can't keep moving and expect him to catch up. Hades, he doesn't even know we're here. It could be months before we find him."

"We can't keep holding off on finding a new home just for one person, Katie!" He retorted, his voice rising.

"In case you haven't noticed," She said, her voice sharp as she stood up, "that one person happens to be the most powerful demigod in this group—and the one who's saved our lives more times than I can count. I think we're going to need him." With that, she stormed off Gods know where.

"Godsdamnit," The son of Hermes muttered, leaning his head back with an exasperated sigh. "Why is she so caught up on him?" The last part came out louder than he intended, and an awkward tension settled over the group.

"Easy, guys," Will said, raising his hands in a calming gesture. "Look, I get it. We all want Percy back. But he'd want us to keep moving forward. And Clarisse is right—winter's coming. We need to find a permanent location before it hits."

"He'll find us," Nico said, his dark eyes flickering toward the direction Katie had stormed off. "He always does. But I agree, we can't just sit here and wait for him to show up. We need to find a spot before it's too late."

"Easier said than done," Connor muttered, leaning over the map in the middle. "Where would we even go from here?"

"Like I've said before," Clarisse pushed herself off the tree, grabbing her knife from the stump. "We need a place with natural barriers, defensible, has resources–"

"And far enough from mortals," Piper finished, rubbing her face with a sigh. "We've said this over and over again. Is there even a place here that has all those things? Or are we just chasing a fairy tale?"

"There has to be," Will muttered under his breath, his finger tracing invisible lines across the worn map as his eyes darted over its surface, searching for any sign of hope. They had come so far—risked everything, sacrificed so much. Giving up wasn't an option. There had to be a place for them in Montana. He clenched his jaw, refusing to accept defeat. "We've made it this far. We can't stop now."

A heavy silence settled over the group as they watched the son of Apollo pour over the map, his quiet determination filling the air. The gravity of their situation pressed down on them, each passing moment a reminder that time was slipping through their fingers.

"Keep searching," Travis said abruptly, standing up and brushing off his pants. The meeting had stalled, and he clearly had no patience for sitting around. "I'm heading out."

"Where are you going?" his brother asked, starting to rise and follow, but Travis held up a hand to stop him.

"Just… need some air. Going for a walk or something," he replied, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the shadowy embrace of the woods, leaving the others to wrestle with doubts and the weight of their dwindling hope.

The forest seemed to close in around the son of Hermes as he walked, the dense canopy above filtering the sunlight into fragmented beams that danced across the forest floor. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, and the distant murmur of the river provided a soothing backdrop to his troubled thoughts. He didn't have a destination in mind—just a need to escape the suffocating tension of the camp. The arguments with Katie that seemed to only increase, the uncertainty of finding a home, the constant reminders of Percy's absence—it was all too much.

Wandering deeper into the woods, he let out a slow breath, shoving his hands into his pockets. His mind replayed the argument with Katie like a broken record, her words pulling at his heartstrings. "That one person happens to be the most powerful demigod in this group—and the one who's saved our lives more times than I can count."

He kicked a rock, sending it skittering into the underbrush. "I fought in the same wars he did," he muttered under his breath. "So why don't you look at me like that?"

He knew these feelings were childish, unbefitting of an eighteen-year-old man, but he couldn't help it. He had liked Katie for many years, ever since they were kids. To see her infatuated with another man, a man like Percy Jackson, hurt him more than he cared to admit. It wasn't that he didn't like Percy—he did. He was a good guy, a great friend even. But it was hard not to feel overshadowed by someone who seemed to have it all: strength, courage, loyalty, and the admiration of everyone around him, including Katie.

While he had always been the prankster, the quick-witted son of Hermes who could talk his way out of anything. He'd been the one who made people laugh, the one who could lighten the mood with a clever quip or a well-timed trick. But now, in the shadow of Percy's legacy, it felt like none of that was enough. Not when the stakes were life and death. Not when Katie's eyes lit up at the mere mention of Percy's name, while he stood there, invisible, his feelings buried beneath layers of jokes and deflection.

Continuing to walk aimlessly for Gods know how long–minutes, maybe an hour he didn't know or really cared–he eventually stumbled upon a small clearing. The river's gentle rush was louder here, and through a gap in the trees, he caught sight of its shimmering surface reflecting the late afternoon sun.

He paused, taking in the scene. It was peaceful, almost too peaceful, like the world was holding its breath. For a moment, he let himself imagine this could be it—a spot where they could stop running, build something real. A place with water, shelter, and enough space to breathe. But the thought dissipated as quickly as it came. Natural barriers, defensible, far from mortals, Clarisse's voice echoed in his mind. This clearing was too exposed, too close to the river's edge. It wouldn't work. Nothing seemed to.

With a frustrated sigh, he crouched down near the water, picking up a flat stone and skipping it across the surface. One, two, three bounces before it sank. He grabbed another, then froze as a rustling sound came from the trees behind him. His hand instinctively went to the dagger at his belt—not as flashy as Clarisse's, but sharp enough to get the job done. He straightened slowly, eyes scanning the shadows.

"Katie?" he called softly, half-hoping it was her, half-dreading another argument. No answer. The rustling stopped, and for a moment, he thought it might've been a deer or a squirrel. Then he saw it—a flicker of movement, too deliberate to be a normal animal. His grip tightened on the dagger as he stepped back from the river, shielding himself behind a tree as he scanned the treeline opposite of him.

A low growl rumbled through the air, sending a shiver down his spine. The sound wasn't natural—not like any wolf or bear he'd ever heard in these woods. It was deeper, guttural, laced with a menace that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. His eyes darted between the dark shadows of the forest, trying to pinpoint the source.

Then, as if the trees had parted like a stage curtain, it emerged. The son of Hermes felt his heart stop as he eyed the monstrosity before him, its sickly gray skin and its broad shoulders rippling with muscle beneath a patchwork of crude armor made from bones and hides. Its face was a grotesque mask of jagged tusks and glowing yellow eyes that burned with malice. But it wasn't the orc alone that froze Travis in place—it was what the beast rode.

Beneath it sat a Hellhound, the largest one he had ever seen before. Its fur was a matted black and red, streaked with veins of molten tendrils that pulsed faintly, as if lava ran just beneath its skin. The beast's eyes glowed a sinister crimson, and its jaws dripped with a sizzling, tar-like drool that hissed as it hit the ground. Claws the size of daggers tore into the earth with each step, and a low, rumbling snarl vibrated through the air, shaking the very ground beneath his feet.

The orc gripped a crude spear in one meaty fist, its tip blackened and notched from use, while the other hand clutched a tangle of reins fashioned from what looked like sinew. The Hellhound's head swung toward Travis, nostrils flaring in the air.

"Shit!" Travis thought, his mind racing as he pressed himself against the rough bark of the tree, desperately trying to make his entire body disappear into its shadow. His dagger felt pitifully small in his hand—more like a toothpick than a weapon against the monstrosity lurking nearby. He had seen Percy battle those Orcs at Camp Half-Blood, and the memory sent a chill down his spine. They were massive, stronger than any demigod, and relentless. And If the Hellhound caught even a whiff of him, he was done for. Not even the legendary speed of a child of Hermes could outrun those monstrous legs.

He held his breath, every muscle taut, as the creature's snuffling filled the air. It was close—too close. He could feel its presence, the way it paused, sensing that something was amiss. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing like a drum in the silence. One wrong move, one slip, and it would all be over. His mind raced for ideas, his instincts screaming at him to run, to fight, to do something. But he knew better. He needed a plan, and he needed it fast.

The Hellhound's snarl grew louder, its head swinging side to side as it sniffed the air. Travis's fingers clenched around the hilt of his dagger, the tension turning his knuckles bone-white. His eyes darted frantically, scanning the surroundings for anything—anything at all—that could give him an edge. Bolting into the shadowy depths of the forest wasn't an option; the beast's razor-sharp senses would catch the faintest rustle of his movement. And if he somehow escaped the Hellhound, he doubted he could dodge that spear if it was thrown at him.

Then, as if the Gods themselves had whispered in his ear, a reckless spark of inspiration flared. It was stupid, risky, and borderline suicidal, but it was the only shot he had. He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against a small, smooth stone—a leftover from his earlier attempt at skipping rocks. He palmed it, his mind calculating the distance and angle. If he could create a distraction, maybe he could buy himself enough time to escape.

With a silent prayer to his father, he drew and steadying breath and flicked the stone with all the precision he could muster. It sailed through the air, striking a tree several yards away with a sharp crack! The sound echoed through the clearing, and the hellhound's head snapped toward the noise, its ears twitching. The orc growled, yanking on the reins as the beast lunged forward, its massive paws tearing up the ground as it bounded toward the deceptive echo.

The son of Hermes didn't waste a second. The moment the Hellhound and its rider surged toward the distraction, he bolted in the opposite direction, his feet barely touching the ground as he sprinted through the dense underbrush. His heart pounded in his chest, each breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps as he pushed his body to its limits. The forest blurred around him, the trees and shadows merging into a chaotic mosaic as he weaved through the terrain. Now that he had put some distance between the danger, the only thing he could think of now was to get back to the others. He needed to warn them that this place was no longer safe. They needed to leave and fast or else people were going to get killed.

Running for what felt like an eternity, he eventually stumbled upon the familiar sight of their makeshift camp. His heart lept for joy when he realized he had made it in time. There was still a chance for them to escape! He should've known better to think so optimistically like that early on.

"Guys! We need to leave now! Monsters are–"

He couldn't finish the sentence before something that felt like a freight train barreled right into his back, sending him crashing into the dirt with a resounding thud! The impact knocked the wind out of him, and for a moment, Travis lay sprawled on the forest floor, gasping for air. His vision swam, and his ears rang from the force of the blow. He barely had time to register the weight pressing down on him before he felt hot, rancid breath on the back of his neck. The Hellhound. It had caught up to him.

"Demigod filth!" the Orc growled, its voice a guttural snarl that echoed through the air. He loomed over the demigod, its lips curled into a cruel sneer. Beneath him, Travis twisted and struggled, panic coursing through his body like wildfire. The hellhound's razor-sharp claws bit into his shoulders, anchoring him to the ground, while its molten saliva dripped from its gaping maw, sizzling against his skin with each searing drop.

Driven by raw instinct and the primal urge to survive, he thrust his dagger upward with every ounce of strength he could muster, aiming for the hellhound's throat. The blade struck true, piercing the beast's thick hide, but the creature barely flinched. Its glowing red eyes, filled with unrelenting fury, locked onto him, and it unleashed a thunderous roar that reverberated through the forest, shaking the very trees around them.

In that moment, looking up at fangs the size of his forearm, he truly thought he would die. But like a shining beacon of hope, his second chance at life had arrived. A streak of gold sliced through the air, and the Hellhound let out a piercing yelp as an arrow buried itself deep into its glowing red eye. The creature reeled, its monstrous grip faltering just enough for Travis to wrench himself free. Gasping for breath, he stumbled to his feet and turned to see Will standing a few yards away, bow in hand, another arrow already drawn and ready.

"Help the others get ready to leave!" Will shouted, letting loose another arrow that found its mark in the other monster's eye, finally killing it. But that did little to stop the chaos, as the Orc leapt off its downed pet, twirling its spear in anticipation of a fight. In the distance, eerie, beastly howls could be heard rippled throughout the forest, signaling the imminent arrival of more Hellhounds and Orcs.

The son of Hermes didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled past the son of Apollo, his heart beating against his chest at the near-death experience.

"Everyone, grab what you can!" he yelled out over the chaos. "We're leaving now!"

But his warning was hardly necessary. The demigods were already in motion, frantically packing tents, supplies, and whatever else they could salvage into the vans. Travis took a moment to breathe, putting his hands on his shaking knees. His moment of respite was shattered however when a strong hand gripped his shoulder, yanking him upright.

"Help form a perimeter!" she barked at him, pushing him forward where some of the more experienced fights were beginning to form a protective line. "We need to buy time for the others to pack up!"

The son of Hermes gave a curt nod and, without a moment's hesitation, fell into line with the others. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his dagger as he took his place, coincidentally ending up shoulder-to-shoulder with his brother.

"Glad you could finally grace us with your presence," Connor quipped, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He stood ready, a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. "Done wallowing in your little pity party?"

Travis shot him a sharp glare, his jaw tightening. "Fuck off," he snapped.

At the forest's edge, the orc that had pursued him stood motionless, its hulking frame silhouetted against the gloom. A hideous grin split its scarred face, jagged teeth glinting in the faint light. Its eyes, burning like embers, locked onto them with pure, undiluted bloodlust. The beast's deep, guttural voice rolled through the air as it chanted in some ancient, savage tongue, each word dripping with malice. Its clawed fingers flexed around the shaft of its crude but wickedly sharp spear, the weapon slicing through the air in sweeping arcs. It wasn't just moving—it was performing, its heavy boots stomping the dirt in a slow, rhythmic cadence, like the prelude to some dark and terrible ritual.

"What the fuck is it doing?!" one of the Romans blurted, his grip on his sword faltering as confusion flickered across his face. The Orc's chant grew louder, more frenzied, and the air around it seemed to shimmer with dark energy.

"Doesn't matter!" Clarisse barked, shoving past him and planting herself at the front of the line, her own spear gripped tight. Her knuckles went white around the shaft. "Get ready—more are coming!"

They all held their breaths as the monster's frenzied dance carried on, each movement building in intensity. Then, with a final, piercing cry, it brought its performance to a climax—leveling its spearhead directly at them. Not a moment later came a deafening roar from the trees beyond, a chorus of howls and guttural snarls echoing through the forest. The very air seemed to tremble as dozens of glowing eyes blinked into existence within the darkness, advancing toward the clearing with speeds that shook the trees. More Hellhounds, more Orcs, all drawn by the ritualistic summons of their kin.

"Holy shit!" Travis could hear his brother cry out before the insurmountable monsters burst out of the trees, charging at them like a tidal wave of death.

"Hold the line!" Clarisse bellowed, raising her spear high as a bolt of electricity crackled along its length. Her battle cry was met with the ringing of swords being drawn, and the notching of arrows.

Not a moment later the cavalry crashed into them, slamming into their line with the force of a bulldozer. The Hellhound's molten claws tore through their shields and armor like paper, sending some flying backward into the dirt. The Orcs quickly followed close behind, their crude weapons swinging with savage precision. The air was filled with the clash of steel, the snarls of monsters, and the cries of demigods fighting for their lives.

Travis ducked under a Hellhound's swipe, his dagger flashing as he drove it into the beast's underbelly. The creature howled, thrashing wildly, but he yanked the blade free and rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding its flailing claws. He scrambled to his feet, only to be met by an Orc's spear thrusting toward his chest. He barely managed to deflect it, the force of the blow sending him stumbling backward.

"Connor!" he shouted, his voice barely audible over the chaos. His brother was a few feet away, locked in a deadly dance with another Orc. Connor's sword clashed against the monster's crude axe, sparks flying with each strike. At Travis's call, he glanced over, his eyes widening as he saw the Orc bearing down on his brother.

With a grunt, Connor parried the orc's axe and lunged forward, driving his sword into the creature's side. The orc roared in pain, but the son of Hermes didn't let up. He twisted the blade and yanked it free, then spun to face the Orc attacking Travis. The two brothers moved in unison, their years of training kicking in as they fought back-to-back against the onslaught.

The chaos of the battle swallowed them whole, a swirling tempest of blood, celestial bronze, and fury. The brothers moved as a single unit, their Hermes-born agility weaving through the fray like threads in a deadly tapestry. Travis darted low, slashing at the Orc's legs to unbalance it, while Connor leapt high, his sword arcing down to bury itself in the beast's shoulder. The Orc bellowed, its spear swinging wildly, but the brothers were already gone—slipping out of reach with the practiced ease of thieves evading a trap.

Around them, the demigods fought with desperate ferocity. Clarisse was a whirlwind of destruction at the front, her electrified spear crackling as it tore through Hellhound hides and Orc armor alike. Each thrust was punctuated by a guttural shout, her rage a beacon that rallied the others. Beside her, Will loosed arrow after arrow, his aim unerring even as sweat streaked down his face. Golden shafts found their marks—eyes, throats, gaps in crude bone armor—dropping monsters with surgical precision.

"Keep the line tight!" Clarisse roared, slamming her spear into the ground. A pulse of electricity surged outward, sizzling through the nearest Hellhound and sending it convulsing into the dirt. "We're not dying here today!"

Nico emerged from the shadows like a wraith, his Stygian blade a blur as he carved through an Orc's chest. Dark energy pulsed from the wound, and the monster crumpled, its life snuffed out in an instant. He barely paused, his pale face set in grim determination as he summoned an army of the undead to help aid them. The skeletal warriors clawed their way up from the dirt, their bony fingers clutching rusted swords and spears as they staggered into the fray. The son of Hades' eyes glowed faintly with an otherworldly light, his focus absolute as he directed the undead to flank the oncoming monsters. The summoned skeletons were relentless, unbothered by the Hellhounds' molten claws or the Orcs' brutal strength.

Piper darted through the chaos, her voice weaving through the cacophony like a silver thread. "Drop your weapons!" she commanded, her charmspeak lacing the air with irresistible power. A pair of Orcs faltered mid-swing, their crude spears clattering to the ground as confusion clouded their glowing eyes. It didn't last long—the beasts' willpower was too primal, too enraged—but it gave the demigods a precious heartbeat to strike, driving their weapons through their hearts without hesitation.

The sons of Hermes fought on, their breaths ragged but their movements still sharp. Travis ducked under another Hellhound's lunge, slashing at its hind leg as he rolled past. The beast stumbled, giving Connor the opening to leap onto its back and drive his sword into the base of its skull. The Hellhound collapsed with a shuddering growl, its molten veins dimming in death's wake.

"We can't keep this up forever!" Travis yelled, wiping sweat and grime from his face with the back of his hand. His dagger was slick with ichor, but his arm trembled from the strain. The line was holding—barely—but the monsters kept coming, their numbers swelling as if the forest itself were birthing them.

"He's right!" Piper shouted, ducking a clumsy swing from an Orc's club. She drove her knife into its side, twisting the blade before yanking it free. "We need to get to the vans now!"

Clarisse spun her spear, deflecting a Hellhound's claw before driving the electrified tip into its chest. The beast convulsed, its roar cut short as the light died in its eyes. "Not yet!" she snapped, her voice raw with defiance. "We hold them until everyone's ready! No one gets left behind!"

Behind the line, the less combat-ready demigods scrambled to finish loading the vans. Tents were half-collapsed, supplies shoved into bags without care, weapons piled haphazardly into the cargo holds. Katie darted between them, barking orders as she hauled a crate of medical supplies toward the nearest vehicle. "Move faster! We're out of time!"

Will loosed another arrow, then risked a glance back at the camp. "They're almost done!" he called, his voice steady despite the chaos. "We just need a few more minutes!"

"A few minutes we don't have!" Nico retorted, his sword slashing through an Orc's arm. The severed limb hit the ground with a wet thud, but the monster barely slowed, swinging its remaining fist toward him. Nico shadow-traveled out of reach, reappearing a few feet away, panting. "There's too many—I can't hold the skeletons much longer!"

The undead warriors were beginning to falter, their bones splintering under the Hellhounds' relentless assaults. One by one, they crumbled into dust, their eerie moans fading as his energy waned. The line buckled as the monsters pressed their advantage, sensing weakness.

Having a moment of reprieve, Travis caught a flash of movement in his peripheral vision—an Orc had broken through their line and was barreling straight toward Katie. Time seemed to slow as his gaze locked onto the Orc charging at her. Her back was turned, her focus entirely on shoving a crate into the van, oblivious to the hulking mass of muscle and malice bearing down on her. The beast's spear was raised, its jagged tip glinting ominously in the dim light filtering through the trees. He didn't think—he just acted.

"Katie!" he shouted, his voice cracking with urgency as he broke from the line and sprinted toward her. His legs burned, every muscle screaming from the exertion of the fight, but he pushed harder, faster, the Hermes-born speed surging through him like a shot of adrenaline.

Without breaking stride, he hurled his dagger with every ounce of strength he had left. The blade spun through the air, a bronze blur, and sank deep into the Orc's meaty shoulder. The monster roared, its step faltering as black ichor oozed from the wound, but it didn't stop. Its glowing eyes narrowed, refocusing on Katie with murderous intent.

He cursed under his breath and dove forward, shoving her out of the way just as the Orc's spear thrust through the air. The jagged tip missed her by inches, but it caught him instead—a searing pain erupted along his side as the blade grazed his ribs, tearing through his shirt and leaving a shallow, bloody gash. He grunted, the force of the strike sending him crashing to the ground beside her. The spear embedded itself into the side of the van with a sickening crunch, splintering wood and metal.

"Fuck!" the daughter of Demeter grunted as she felt herself be rag dolled to the ground, Travis's weight pressing her down against the dirt. Her confusion, however, quickly turned to concern when she saw him clutching at his wound, blood seeping through his fingers. "You're hit!"

"I'm fine," he gritted out, clutching his side as he staggered to his feet. The pain was sharp, radiating with every breath, but he forced it down, his focus locking onto the Orc as it wrenched its spear free from the van. His dagger was still lodged in its shoulder, leaving him weaponless, but he didn't have time to care. "Stay back!"

Katie hesitated, then reached for a sword from the van's pile of weapons, but before she could toss it to him, the Orc charged again, its spear swinging in a brutal arc. Travis ducked under it, the movement sending a jolt of agony through his ribs, and tackled the beast head-on. The impact jarred his entire body, but he wrapped his arms around its thick waist, driving it back a step with sheer momentum.

The Orc snarled, its rancid breath hot against his face as it dropped the spear to grapple with him. Its meaty fists pounded against his back, each blow like a sledgehammer, but he clung on, his agility keeping him just ahead of its crushing grip. He twisted, hooking a leg behind the Orc's knee and yanking hard. The monster stumbled, its balance thrown, and they both hit the ground in a tangle of limbs.

"Travis, get out of there!" she shouted, gripping the sword but holding back, unable to strike without risking him.

He ignored her, adrenaline drowning out the pain as he scrambled atop the Orc. The beast thrashed beneath him, its clawed hands clawing at his arms, drawing thin lines of blood. He slammed his elbow into its tusked maw, feeling a satisfying crunch as one of its jagged teeth snapped. The monster roared, bucking to throw him off, but Travis shifted his weight, pinning its arm with his knee.

His eyes locked onto the dagger still buried in its shoulder. With a guttural yell, he gripped the hilt, ignoring the fire in his ribs, and yanked it free. Black ichor sprayed, coating his hands, but he didn't hesitate. He drove the blade down into the Orc's chest, aiming for the heart. The monster's glowing eyes widened, a choked gurgle escaping its throat as the celestial bronze pierced its thick hide. He twisted the dagger, pushing deeper until the light in those hateful eyes flickered out, and the humanoid beast went limp beneath him.

For a heartbeat, he stayed there, panting, his blood-slick hands trembling as he clutched the dagger. The pain in his side flared, hot and insistent, but he'd done it. The monster was dead.

Katie rushed to his side, dropping the sword as she grabbed his arm. "You're insane! What the Hades was that?!"

"Had to improvise," he rasped, forcing a weak grin as he rolled off the Orc and staggered to his feet. Blood dripped from his ribs, staining the dirt, but he waved her off. "I'm good. Just a scratch."

"A scratch?!" she snapped, her voice a mix of fury and worry as she steadied him. "You're bleeding all over the place!"

Another howl split the air before he could respond, a chilling reminder that the fight wasn't over. "Argue later," he muttered, pressing a hand to his side. "We need to go."

Knowing that he was right, Katie screamed out over the chaos that the vans were loaded and they were ready to leave.

"Fall back to vans!" Clarisse ordered the demigods, crushing an Orc's throat with her bare hands. "We're done here!"

Travis and Katie sprinted for the nearest van, his steps uneven but determined as she kept pace beside him. They piled in with Connor and Piper, Clarisse and Nico climbing aboard last. The daughter of Ares slammed the door shut as the engine roared to life, and the vans lurched forward, peeling out of the camp.

The monsters pursued, their howls echoing as the vehicles barreled down the forest path. Hellhounds clawed at the sides, and Orcs hurled spears that clattered against the metal.

The vans jolted and swayed as they tore down the dirt path, the rocky terrain making every bump a teeth-rattling ordeal. Tires skidded over uneven stones, kicking up clouds of dust and gravel that mingled with the snarls of the monsters hot on their trail. The path was too rough, too treacherous—there was no way they could outpace the relentless horde for long. The Hellhounds' claws scraped against the vans' sides, leaving sizzling gouges in the metal, while the Orcs' guttural roars grew closer with every passing second.

"Faster!" Travis yelled from the back, clutching his bleeding side as he braced himself against the seat. His voice was hoarse, strained with pain, but his eyes were fixed on the rear window where the monsters loomed like a nightmare come to life.

"I'm trying!" Connor snapped from the driver's seat, his knuckles white on the wheel as he swerved to avoid a jagged boulder. The van groaned under the strain, its suspension creaking ominously. "This isn't exactly a racetrack!"

Katie, wedged between supplies in the cargo area, threw open the trunk hatch, her movements quick and decisive. "They're gaining on us!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. She rummaged through the pile of gear, shoving aside bags and weapons until her hands closed around the cold metal of a hunting rifle—one of the mortal weapons they'd scavenged back in Billings. It wasn't celestial bronze, but it would have to do.

"What are you doing?!" Piper called over her shoulder, twisting in her seat to see the daughter of Demeter brace herself against the swaying van, the rifle gripped tight.

"Buying us time!" she replied. She chambered a round with a sharp click, her jaw set as she leaned out the open window. The wind whipped her hair into a wild tangle, but her focus was unyielding. She sighted down the barrel, tracking the nearest Hellhound. Its jaws snapped inches from the bumper, drool sizzling as it hit the ground.

She pulled the trigger. The rifle cracked, the sound deafening in the confined space, and the bullet slammed into the monster's skull. The beast staggered, a spray of dark ichor erupting from the wound, but it didn't drop. Katie cursed under her breath—mortal weapons could hurt these things, but they weren't enough to kill them outright. Still, it slowed the monster down, giving the van a precious few feet of breathing room.

"Nice shot!" Travis grunted, forcing himself upright despite the pain radiating from his ribs. He gripped the edge of a seat to steady himself, peering out to see the Hellhound shake its head, dazed but still snarling. "Hit it again!"

She didn't need the encouragement. She chambered another round and fired, this time aiming for the beast's glowing eye. The bullet struck true, and the Hellhound let out a piercing yelp, stumbling over its own paws before crashing into the dirt.

"One down!" she shouted, shifting her aim to an Orc riding another Hellhound. The rider's crude spear was raised, ready to hurl, but Katie didn't give it the chance. She squeezed the trigger, and the bullet punched through the Orc's chest, sending it tumbling off its mount. The Hellhound beneath it faltered, confused without its rider, and veered off into the trees.

The van rocked violently as Connor swerved to avoid a fallen log, nearly throwing her out the back. Travis lunged forward, grabbing her arm and yanking her back inside just as a Hellhound's claws raked the edge of the window. The metal screeched, bending under the force, and Piper let out a startled yelp.

"Close it!" Clarisse barked from the passenger seat, twisting around to glare at them. "You're letting them claw us to pieces!"

Katie raised the window shut, but not before firing one last shot at a beast lunging for the van. The bullet grazed its shoulder, and the monster fell back with a snarl, giving them a fleeting moment of reprieve. She slumped against the seat, breathing hard, the rifle still clutched in her hands.

"They're still coming!" Will shouted from another van, his voice crackling over the walkie-talkie Piper clutched. "We can't keep this up—the path's too rough!"

"He's right," Connor said through gritted teeth, wrestling with the wheel as the vehicle hit another rock, jarring everyone inside. "We're not losing them, and this thing's gonna fall apart before we do!"

"We have to get to the highway!" Piper yelled, looking back and forth. "We can outrun them there!"

"That's a shit idea!" Will protested. "Cops will be out there and if they see us, it's over!"

"Cops or monsters—pick your poison!" she shot back, her voice tight with urgency as she gripped the walkie-talkie. "We're not outrunning these things on this terrain. The highway's our best shot!"

"She's got a point," Clarisse growled, bracing herself against the dashboard as the van lurched again. "We can deal with mortals later—blend in, lose them in traffic. These bastards won't stop until we're dead. Highway. Now."

Connor cursed under his breath but didn't argue. His jaw clenched as he yanked the wheel hard, steering the van toward the faint outline of a smoother road he'd glimpsed through the trees earlier. "Hold on!" he shouted, flooring the gas. The engine roared in protest, the vehicle rattling as it barreled over roots and rocks, branches scraping against the sides like hail stones.

Travis groaned, clutching his side as the jolting sent fresh waves of pain through his ribs. "This better work," he muttered.

After a few more minutes of a desperate attempt at escape, the vans bursted out of the trees like falling stars, tires screeching as they hit cracked asphalt. The sudden shift from dirt to pavement sent a jolt through the group, the vehicles fishtailing briefly before Connor and the other drivers regained control. The roar of the engines drowned out the snarls of the monsters still crashing through the underbrush behind them, but the demigods knew they weren't in the clear yet.

"Floor it!" the daughter of Ares bellowed, slamming her fist against the dashboard as if sheer willpower could coax more speed from the battered van. He didn't need the encouragement—his foot was already pressed to the gas pedal, the speedometer ticking upward as the highway stretched out before them. The nine other vans behind them kept pace just behind, following their lead.

"Shit, they're still on us!" Katie yelled, twisting her head to look out the rear window. Dark shapes loomed in the dust cloud kicked up by the vans, glowing eyes flickering like embers in the dusk. A Hellhound lunged, its claws raking the bumper with a screech of metal, and the vehicle jolted as Connor swerved to shake it off.

"I can see that!" he snapped from the driver's seat, his knuckles white on the wheel as he pushed the van to its limits. The speedometer trembled past ninety, the engine groaning under the strain, but the monsters kept coming—tireless, relentless, a tidal wave of fury bearing down on them.

"These things don't quit!" Piper yelled, twisting in her seat to watch the chaos unfold. She clutched the walkie-talkie, her voice taut as she relayed the update. "They're still on us—full speed! We're not losing them!"

"The vans can't keep this up!" Will's voice crackled back. "We're taking too much damage!"

"Hold it together!" Clarisse barked from the passenger seat, slamming her fist against the dashboard. "Floor it, Connor! We need distance!"

"What do you think I'm doing?!" he shot back, his voice rising with frustration as the van hit a pothole, jarring everyone inside. "This piece of junk wasn't built for a monster chase!"

The highway stretched ahead, a cracked lifeline winding through the Montana wilderness, but it wasn't enough. The monsters were too fast, too determined. An Orc astride a Hellhound hurled a spear, the crude weapon whistling through the air and embedding itself in the van's rear door with a sickening thunk. The van shuddered as the spear's jagged tip punched through the metal, inches from Katie's head. She flinched, her grip tightening on the rifle as she instinctively ducked lower.

"Fuck! Can this get any worse?!" Connor cried out, looking back with wide eyes at the weapon that had almost killed his friend.

Suddenly, as if the Fates themselves had answered that question, red and blue lights flashed in the distance behind. Sirens wailed, faint but growing louder, cutting through the chaos like a knife.

"Oh, you just had to fucking say it! You just had to!" Clarisse screamed, throwing her hands up.

"I know! Fuck, sorry!"

The vans tore down the highway, engines screaming as the demigods continued to push them beyond their limits. The flashing lights in the rearview mirror grew brighter, the sirens a piercing cry that mingled with the snarls of the monsters still snapping at their heels. Connor's grip on the wheel tightened, his jaw set as he muttered a string of curses under his breath.

"Great," Piper muttered, slamming the walkie-talkie against her thigh in frustration. "Just what we needed." She pressed the button, her voice tight but steady. "Will, we've got police on our tail now. Any ideas?"

The crackle of static preceded his reply. "Blend in or lose them—your call! But these vans aren't exactly subtle with spears and arrows sticking out of them!"

"Blend in?!" Connor barked, incredulous. "We've got Hellhounds chewing the bumpers and a light show behind us—this isn't a low-profile operation!"

"Blend in, he says," Clarisse growled, her voice dripping with venom as she glared at the side mirror where the police lights flickered like a taunting mirage. "What's next, wave at them and show our license and registration?"

"Guys, enough with the fucking jokes!" Travis groaned out, his wound flaring once more. "Figure something out or we're all dead!"

Nico winced as he looked in the rearview mirror, a stupid idea coming to mind but an idea nevertheless. "Could play bumper cars with them! Make them crash into each other!"

"Bumper cars?!" Will yelled in the walkie-talkie "You want us to ram cop cars with Hellhounds riding our asses? Have you lost it?!"

"You got any better fucking ideas!" Nico snapped, taking the walkie-talkie out of Piper's hands angrily like a kid playing video games. "We're going to die if we don't do something fast!"

"...Bumper cars it is."

"Bumper cars it is! Connor, you heard him—make it happen!" Clarisse ordered.

The son of Hermes eyes widened, a mix of disbelief and grim resolve flashing across his face. "You're all nuts," he muttered, but his hands were already moving, twisting the wheel with a precision born from years of dodging monsters and mortals alike. "Hold on tight—this is gonna suck!"

The van lurched violently as he swerved into the next lane, tires screeching against the asphalt. The sudden shift sent Travis sliding into Katie, his pained grunt muffled as he clutched his bleeding side. She steadied him with one hand, the other still gripping the rifle, her eyes locked on the chaos unfolding outside.

"Will, match us!" Piper shouted. "We're gonna force a pile-up—get the cops tangled with the monsters!"

"Copy that!" Will crackled back. "Just don't get us killed!"

The second van mirrored their maneuver, weaving dangerously close to the lead vehicle. The highway was a narrow lifeline, flanked by dense forest on one side and a steep drop on the other—there wasn't much room to play, but the demigods didn't need much. They'd survived worse odds with less.

Through the rear window, Travis watched as the police cars—three of them now—closed the gap, their sleek black-and-white frames stark against the monstrous horde. The Hellhounds were relentless, their molten claws tearing chunks from the pavement, while the Orcs rode them like twisted cavalry, hurling spears and bellowing war cries. One spear sailed past the van, embedding itself in the highway with a shower of sparks.

"Closer!" Nico yelled, leaning forward from the back seat, his dark eyes glinting with a manic edge. "We need them right on top of each other!"

"I'm working on it!" Connor snapped, yanking the wheel again. The van swerved hard, cutting off the lead police car just as it tried to overtake. The officer jerked his wheel in reflex, the cruiser skidding sideways with a scream of rubber. It clipped the second van—Will's—sending it into a controlled spin that blocked the lane entirely.

"Fuck yeah!" Connor whooped, pounding the steering wheel as the chaos unfolded in the rearview mirror. "That's how you do it!"

"Don't celebrate yet!" Katie shouted, her voice sharp as she reloaded the rifle with shaking hands. "They're still coming!"

She was right. The pile-up had taken out two of the police cars, but the third dodged the wreckage, its siren blaring as it accelerated toward them. Worse, the last monster wasnt deterred—the Hellhound leapt over the twisted metal, their glowing eyes fixed on the vans, while the Orc spurred their mount forward with renewed fury.

"Third car's still on us!" Piper relayed into the walkie-talkie, her knuckles white around the device. "Will, can you—?"

"On it!" Will cut in. His van swerved deliberately, dropping back to bait the remaining cruiser. The officer took the bait, speeding up to close the gap—right into the path of a charging Hellhound. Will yanked the wheel at the last second, and the monster's momentum carried it straight into the car. Claws raked through the windshield, and the officer's scream was cut short as the vehicle veered off the road, crashing into the trees with a plume of dust and splintered wood.

The vans barreled down the highway, the chaos of the pile-up fading into the distance as the demigods clung to their fleeting victory. The wrecked police cars and scattered monsters were a tangled mess behind them, but the tension inside the vehicles remained thick, palpable. The engine's roar was a constant drone, punctuated by the occasional clatter of debris bouncing off the undercarriage. The highway stretched out ahead, a ribbon of cracked asphalt cutting through the Montana wilderness, but no one dared to relax—not yet.

Travis slumped against the seat, his hand pressed tight against his bleeding side. The adrenaline that had fueled him through the fight was draining fast, leaving a dull, throbbing ache in its wake. Katie hovered beside him, her brow furrowed as she tore a strip of fabric from her shirt and pressed it against his wound. "Hold still," she muttered, her voice clipped but laced with concern. "You're a mess."

"Could've fooled me," he rasped, managing a weak smirk despite the pain. "Thought I looked pretty heroic back there."

She rolled her eyes but didn't argue, her hands steady as she worked to staunch the bleeding. "You're lucky that spear didn't go deeper. Next time, don't play human shield, okay?"

"No promises," he replied, wincing as she tightened the makeshift bandage. His gaze flicked to the rear window, where the last glimpses of flashing lights and monstrous silhouettes were swallowed by the dusk. "Think we lost them?"

"For now," Nico said, his eyes scanning the side mirror as if daring something else to appear. "But those bastards don't give up easy. We need to put more distance between us and figure out where the hell we're going."

Connor kept his focus on the road, hands steady on the wheel despite the sweat beading on his forehead. "Highway's giving us speed, but we can't stay on it forever. Cops'll radio ahead—more'll come. And that's if the monsters don't regroup first."

"He's right," Piper said, clutching the walkie-talkie as she glanced between the group. "Everyone still with us?"

A chorus of "yes's" answered in reply. It seemed everyone had made it out alive, somehow. Up front, Clarisse twisted in her seat, her sharp eyes scanning the road ahead. "We can't keep barreling down this highway blind," she growled, her fingers tapping restlessly on the haft of her spear, still clutched in her hand. "Those monsters'll track us, and the mortals aren't gonna let a pile-up like that slide. We need a plan—now."

"She's right," the daughter of Aphrodite continued. She held the walkie-talkie to her ear, listening for updates from the other vans. "Will says they're holding together, but barely. One of their tires is shot—took a claw or something. They won't make it much farther like this."

Connor swore under his breath, his grip tightening on the wheel. "Great. So we're down a van, bleeding, and running on fumes—literally and figuratively. Where the hell do we go?"

"I saw one place on the map," Will's voice cut through their conversation. There was an uncertain edge to his tone, like he was apprehensive in telling them this piece of information. "It's called The Bob Marshall Wilderness,"

"The Bob Marshall Wilderness?" Clarisse repeated, her brow furrowing as she leaned over to glance at the crumpled map stuffed in the glove compartment. "What's that supposed to mean? Another forest to get ambushed in?"

"I know what place he's talking about," Katie replied from the back, continuing to help stop Travis's bleeding. "It's not just any forest. It's a huge wilderness area—over a million acres. Rugged terrain, mountains, rivers. Natural barriers everywhere. It's remote as hell, barely any roads, and mortals don't go poking around there much, especially this time of year. If we can get in deep enough, we might be able to avoid both the monsters and the cops."

"Why the hell did we not decide to go there in the first place?!" Connor exclaimed, slapping the steering wheel in exasperation.

"Because it was too far to get to on the backroads and I didn't think it would be a viable spot," the son of Apollo reasoned. "It's so remote there won't be any mortal towns nearby to help us with supplies. We will be on our own if we decide to go there."

Travis groaned, shifting uncomfortably as Katie pressed harder on his wound. "So, what you're saying is we'd be trading one set of problems for another. No monsters or cops, sure, but also no food, no medical supplies, nothing but us and the wilderness. Sounds like a great vacation spot."

"It's not about comfort," Katie shot back, her tone sharp but her hands gentle as she adjusted the bandage. "It's about survival. We can figure out supplies later—hunt, fish, grow what we need. The point is, it's defensible. Mountains and rivers mean choke points, natural fortifications. Monsters won't find it easy to swarm us there, and mortals won't bother looking that deep."

"Assuming we even make it," Connor muttered, his eyes flicking to the fuel gauge. The needle hovered dangerously close to empty, the van's engine coughing intermittently as if to punctuate his pessimism. "These vans are beat to Hades and back. We're lucky they haven't crapped out already."

"Then we push them as far as they'll go and ditch them," Clarisse said stubbornly. "We've got legs. We can hike the rest of the way if we have to. The Bob Whatever-It's-Called sounds like our best shot—better than getting pinned down by cops or ripped apart by those ugly bastards back there."

Piper nodded, her fingers drumming on the walkie-talkie. "Will, how far is this wilderness from where we are now? Can we even reach it before we're out of gas or the vans fall apart?"

Static crackled before his voice came through, strained but clear. "It's about fifty miles northwest of our position—give or take. Highway Two-Eighty-Seven cuts close to the eastern edge, then it's off-road into the wild. If we can hit that turn-off and push hard, we might make it. But like Connor said, the vans are on their last legs. One of ours is already limping—tire's shredded, and the axle's making noises it shouldn't."

"Fifty miles," Nico echoed, his tone flat but his mind clearly racing. He rubbed his temples, the strain of summoning the undead earlier still etched into his pale features. "That's cutting it close. We're running on fumes, and those monsters aren't going to just wave us goodbye. If we're doing this, we need to move fast and smart."

Clarisse slammed her fist into the dashboard again, the sound sharp and decisive. "Then it's settled. We haul ass to this Bob Marshall place, ditch the vans when they crap out, and hoof it from there. No more debating—we don't have the luxury of time."

"Agreed," Piper said, her voice firm as she relayed the plan into the walkie-talkie. "Everyone, we're heading for The Bob Marshall Wilderness, Highway Two-Eighty-Seven. Push the vans as far as they'll go, then we're on foot. Grab what you can carry when we stop.

"Got it."

"Copy that."

"Ten-Four."

With that, a heavy silence fell over everyone as the adrenaline ebbed away, giving way to bone-deep exhaustion. They leaned their heads against the headrests, the fading sun dipping below the horizon, its last rays giving way to the first faint stars shimmering above. But the tranquil scene offered little solace. Too much hung in the balance for them to find any semblance of peace or comfort. The destination ahead was their final hope—a chance to build a true home. If they failed there, then perhaps there truly was no place left for them in this world.

"Please let this be it," Katie murmured, her voice barely audible as she rested her head against the cool glass of the window, her eyes fixed on the stars. "Please let him find us."

Chapter Text

"Looks like we just missed them—maybe a day or two, judging by the tire tracks," Percy said, crouching to inspect the ground. His fingers brushed against a small wooden figure, crudely carved but intricate, and he lifted it to his face. It was a swordsman, blade in hand, eerily reminiscent of his own weapon. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he wondered which of his friends had whittled it—maybe even crafting it in his likeness. With a sigh, he slipped it into his pocket.

"Definitely an attack," he added, standing up and scanning the scene. "These monsters belong to the Father—rotting in the sun instead of dissolving into dust like the usual ones."

Thalia nudged one of the lifeless orc-like bodies with the tip of her bow, her touch light but deliberate. "No dead demigods, at least. Looks like they all got away."

"Yeah, I'd say everyone made it," Percy agreed, stepping closer to examine the fallen creatures.

"I've never seen monsters like this," she muttered, cringing in disgust at the bubbly grey skin oozing black ichor outward. "Are they creations of this Father guy?"

"More than likely," he replied, wiping his watery eyes due to the harsh stench of decay clinging to the air. "It's not a good sign they're here. It means they've been following us through the country, all the way back from New York."

"Why? Olympus is practically unguarded except for Athena there. Why are they focusing on the demigods all the way out here?" Atalanta questioned, rummaging through a crate of supplies that had been left behind in the chaos.

"My guess is the Father wants us all dead before he sets his sights on Olympus," Evelyn replied, munching on a protein bar she had brought out from her pack. "It's the only explanation."

Percy kicked at a patch of dirt, dislodging a jagged stone that skittered across the ground. "But why? Olympus is deserted. It's ripe for the taking."

He gnawed the inside of his cheek, frustration bubbling as he wrestled with the questions swirling in his mind. It baffled him—why was the Father fixating on a handful of demigods instead of seizing the city of the Gods itself? Why squander the perfect chance to claim it for himself?

"It doesn't matter as to why right now," Thalia cut in, her tone sharp as she hoisted her bow over her shoulder. She started walking, her boots crunching along the tire tracks that snaked back toward civilization. "We're farther behind now and we know the monsters are hunting them. Our only focus should be tracking them down—fast."

The group nodded in unison, swiftly aligning themselves behind the Lieutenant as they traced the tracks. With each step along the dirt path, they encountered an increasing number of monster corpses strewn about. Each body bore the marks of arrows or bullets—likely the handiwork of Will or another child of Apollo. The wooden statue in his pocket seemed to grow heavier with every fallen beast they passed, each grisly discovery fueling his creeping dread that they might soon stumble upon a demigod—a friend—among the carnage.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the trail as Percy and the others pressed on. The air grew cooler, but the stench of decay lingered, a constant reminder of the monsters littering the path. Every so often, a faint breeze rattled the trees, carrying with it the distant echo of something unnatural—a growl, a snap of twigs—that kept their hands close to their weapons.

Eventually, they emerged from the forest onto the main road—a thin ribbon of asphalt snaking toward the distant highway. The pavement bore jagged black tire marks, stark evidence of the demigods' hasty escape.

"Looks like they're headed northwest," Atalanta said, crouching to study the skid marks. She straightened, her gaze drifting to the horizon where the sun sank in a fiery orange blaze. "Not that it helps much. They could be anywhere by now."

"It's all we've got," Percy replied with a shrug. He brushed past her, his boots scuffing the weathered road as he started walking. "We'll snag a car once we hit a town. Should speed things up a bit."

"A bit, maybe," Evelyn said, her voice edged with doubt. She cast a wary glance back at the shadowed woods, eyes narrowing. Unease coiled in her gut, a nagging sensation that something—or someone—was watching them from the darkness, just out of sight. "That's still a lot of ground to cover—National Parks, landmarks, you name it. Finding them'll be like hunting a needle in a haystack."

"Then we'll burn the damn hay to find it," he replied.

"That's a very Percy solution," Thalia smirked as she fell into step beside him, her silver circlet glinting faintly in the fading light. "Arson's always your answer when you're stumped."

"If it works, it works."

The girls rolled their eyes, their footsteps dragging along the weathered road that stretched endlessly before them. Dense woods loomed on one side, their shadowed branches clawing at the sky, while a sheer drop into a jagged ravine flanked the other. The sun had just slipped below the horizon, its last rays painting the landscape in soft strokes of gold and purple. The serene beauty, though striking, did nothing to unravel the tight knot twisting in Percy's chest.

Each step they took felt like a countdown—every minute wasted trudging this path was another minute their friends might be locked in battle, or worse. The uncertainty gnawed at him. He hated being here, miles away, instead of at their side. Hated the suffocating doubt—constantly asking himself if they were okay? He knew they were capable, tough as nails, but that didn't stop the worry from sinking its teeth into him. Was this what Chiron felt, he wondered, every time he waved campers off on a quest? If it was, how had the old centaur borne this restless, churning unease for centuries? He wasn't sure he could stand it much longer himself.

After a few more miles of walking in agonizing silence, Percy and the hunters soon noticed the faint lights of a town looming in the distance. The distant glow of the town flickered like a beacon against the deepening twilight, promising a brief respite from their relentless march. His pace quickened instinctively, the others matching his stride as the road began to slope gently downward. The air carried a faint hint of woodsmoke and gasoline now, overcoming the stench of monster corpses they'd left behind. It was a small comfort—a sign of life, of people who hadn't yet been touched by the chaos of the war.

"Finally," Evelyn muttered, breaking the heavy silence. She adjusted the straps of her pack, her shoulders visibly relaxing. "I was starting to think we'd be sleeping on rocks tonight."

"Don't get too excited," Atalanta warned, her sharp eyes scanning the town. "Towns mean people, and people mean questions. We don't exactly blend in."

"That's why we're in and out of here," Percy replied, looking back over his shoulder at them. "We snatch a car and we're gone."

"Yeah but even then that won't help us find them," Thalia said. "All we know is that they headed northwest."

The son of Poseidon nodded absently. He knew she was right but at the moment all he cared about was getting off his feet and into something that could cover distance. They would figure out the details once they were on the road. For now, however, the town was a means to an end, nothing more.

As they drew closer, the outlines of buildings sharpened against the dusk. It was a small place, barely more than a handful of streets crisscrossing around a blinking traffic light. A gas station glowed at the edge, its neon sign buzzing faintly, while a diner sat squat and quiet across from it, its windows spilling warm light onto the cracked pavement. A few pickup trucks were scattered along the curb, their paint chipped and faded from years of hard use. The faint hum of a radio drifted from somewhere, mingling with the chirp of crickets in the surrounding fields.

"Looks like a pit stop kind of place," Evelyn observed. "Bet they don't get many strangers."

"Which is why we keep our heads down," Thalia replied, her gaze looking over at the diner that was filled with some people. "No heroics, no monster talk. We're just passing through."

Percy smirked faintly. "You're telling me to behave? That's rich."

She shot him a sidelong glare, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. "Just don't blow anything up, Kelp-For-Brains. That's all I'm asking."

The group reached the gas station first, its flickering fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows over the pumps. A lone attendant sat inside the glass-walled booth, flipping through a magazine, oblivious to their approach. Atalanta lingered near the edge of the lot, her bow discreetly tucked under her cloak, while Evelyn and Thalia flanked Percy as he scanned the area for a vehicle they could "borrow."

"There," he nodded toward a beat-up red truck parked near the diner. It was old, rust creeping along the wheel wells, but the tires looked solid enough. "Doesn't scream 'please chase me,' but it'll do."

"You sure you can hotwire that thing?" Evelyn asked, arching a brow.

Percy grinned, a flicker of his old mischief surfacing. "I've been breaking rules since I was five. Trust me, I've got this."

"Famous last words," Thalia muttered, but didn't argue. She kept watch as he ambled toward the car, his movements casual to avoid drawing attention.

He crouched by the driver's side door, pulling a small knife from his pocket to jimmy the lock. The blade clicked against the mechanism, and after a tense moment, the lock popped open with a soft thunk. He slipped inside, ducking low to work on the wires beneath the steering column. Sparks flew as he twisted them, but the engine wasn't coming to life. Cursing under his breath, he continued to try, oblivious to the approaching sound of footsteps against gravel.

"And what do you think you're doing in my truck, young man?" A gravelly, dry voice cut through the night, ceasing the demigod's efforts.

The demigod's hands froze, his head peering up to see an old man suddenly standing by the door, looking at him. He was hunched slightly, leaning on a gnarled wooden cane, his weathered face creased with age and suspicion. His flannel shirt hung loose over a wiry frame, and a faded baseball cap shadowed his sharp, piercing eyes. Those eyes locked onto Percy with an intensity that made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

"Uh…" Percy straightened slowly, sliding out of the truck and raising his hands in a placating gesture. "Just… checking it out. Nice ride."

The old man snorted, his grip tightening on the cane. "You know damn well you don't like this truck. It's twenty years old and has more rust than gears."

"1987 F-250, right? I know all about it. Saw it one time when I was a kid. Been wanting one ever since."

The old man raised a bushy, grey eyebrow, clearly unimpressed but momentarily thrown off by Percy's quick pivot. "You're a terrible liar, kid. I've been around before you were even a thought in your daddy's ballsack. That ain't gonna fly past me."

Percy flashed a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck as he glared at Thalia for letting this old man slip past her eyes. How in the world were she and the rest of the girls hunters but couldn't spot an old man on his deathbed walk past them. "Okay, fair. Look, we're in a bind, and we just need to borrow it for a bit. We'll bring it back, I swear."

"Borrow, huh?" The old man's voice dripped with skepticism. He tapped his cane against the ground, the sound sharp in the quiet night. "The last time I let someone borrow something of mine, he sold it to David's pawn shop across the street for a couple bucks. Know what he did with that money? He tried to buy crack! Too bad the idiot didn't realize it was an undercover cop."

Thalia moved forward smoothly, her hands raised in a calming gesture as she tried to take control of the situation. "Sir, we're not thieves—well, not usually," she amended with a glance at Percy. "We're just trying to help some friends who are in trouble. Let me explain—"

She trailed off as she subtly waved her hand, summoning the Mist. The air shimmered faintly, bending the light around them in an attempt to soften the old man's perception, to make him see them as harmless travelers who'd simply mistaken the truck for their own. Percy watched, expecting the familiar glaze to settle over the man's eyes.

But the old man's gaze didn't waver. Instead, his lips curled into a scowl, and he jabbed his cane toward Thalia. "Cut that nonsense out, girl. I ain't some dim-witted fool you can hoodwink with your magic tricks. I see you clear as I see the stars."

Thalia's hand dropped, her eyes widening slightly. "You—what?"

"You heard me," he snapped. "I know what you are. God-touched, every last one of ya."

Percy's stomach twisted, his hand instinctively brushing against Riptide in his pocket. This wasn't just a stubborn mortal—this was someone who knew. The others shifted behind him, Atalanta's fingers tightening on her concealed bow, Evelyn's posture stiffening as she eyed the old man warily.

"You're all just like my boy," the old man went on, his voice edged with nostalgia. He jabbed his cane toward the son of Poseidon. "Especially you. You look just like him—except for the eyes. Yours are cold."

Percy blinked, caught off guard by the man's words. The comparison hung in the air, heavy and unexpected, stirring something uneasy in his chest. He opened his mouth to respond, but the old man barreled on, his sharp gaze flicking between them like he was sizing up a pack of stray dogs.

"My boy—name was Jack," he said. "He was one of you. Half-blood, demigod, God-touched whatever you call it these days. Said his ma was some goddess—Harmonia, I think. I don't remember her. Must've been drunk when I bedded her. Peace and balance, or some such nonsense. Didn't stop the world from chewin' him up and spittin' him out, though."

"A clear-sighted mortal," Thalia muttered, her tone a mix of surprise and realization as she pieced it together. "That's why the Mist doesn't work on you."

"Damn right," the old man shot back, tapping his cane again for emphasis. "Ain't no smoke and mirrors gonna cloud these eyes. Jack tried explainin' it once—said I had a gift, seein' through the shit of your world. Been that way my whole life, but it got sharper after he came along. Watched him fight monsters, watched him bleed for it, watched him leave one day and never come back."

The demigods sat in heavy silence, uncertain of what to say. It was a tale as old as their lineage, one they had encountered time and again through the years—a demigod vanishing without a trace, an occurrence far too common to stir surprise. Yet there was a quiet sorrow in hearing the story from the parents' perspective, a viewpoint they had rarely, if ever, considered. How many mortal parents of demigods, they wondered, carried the same ache as this weary old man? How many had clung to the hope of reuniting with their children after the war against Gaea, only to be left with silence? Countless probably. Hundreds had died on the battlefield that day.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Percy finally uttered sincerely.

The old man's gaze softened for a moment, the hardness in his eyes giving way to something more vulnerable. He looked down at his cane, his fingers tightening around the gnarled wood as if it were the only thing grounding him.

"Such is the life of a demigod, I guess," he muttered low and weary. His gaze shifted back to the son of Poseidon, lingering for a moment. "You know it too, don't you? I can see it in your eyes—that cold, hardened edge, like steel forged in battle. You've seen your share of hell, haven't you?"

"More than you know,"

"Oh, I think I might have some idea," the man replied, slapping his lame leg. "Three tours in 'Nam. They say the third time's a charm, but all it got me was stepping on a mine. Lucky I didn't lose the damn thing altogether, I suppose."

Percy nodded slowly, a flicker of respect passing through him as he studied the old man. He'd met plenty of mortals who'd stumbled into their world—some by accident, some by blood—but few carried themselves with this kind of grit. Three tours in Vietnam, a blown leg, and a demigod son lost to the chaos of their cursed existence? This guy had every right to be bitter, yet here he was, still standing, still sharp as a tack.

"Sounds like you've got your own war stories," Percy said, his tone quieter now, less guarded. "I'd bet they'd give ours a run for their money."

The old man huffed a dry laugh, though it carried no real humor. "War's war, kid. Doesn't matter if it's guns or gods. You either come out scarred or you don't come out at all. But I bet mine pale in comparison to what you've gone through. I heard what happened in New York. The city is practically destroyed. That wasn't caused by just some freak storm, wasn't it?"

"No," the demigod shook his head, leaning back on the truck. "No, Gaea caused that. We had to fight her there and at our camp. She destroyed both of them which is why we're out here."

"So that explains why you're all out here where the war didn't hit. Reckon you're trying to build a new camp away from all that shit?"

"Exactly," Thalia pitched in, stepping forward with a cautious nod. "There's more of us out there but we got separated from one another. Monsters have been chasing them and we need to catch up to them fast.

"Hence–"

"Hence you needing my truck," the old man finished with a weary sigh. "I heard there was a big scuffle between some kids and cops on Highway 87. You think that was y'all's group?

Percy's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing at the old man's words. "Highway 87? When was this?"

The old man shifted his weight on his cane, his brow furrowing as he dredged up the memory. "A day or two I reckon. Heard it on the radio while I was fiddlin' with the carburetor in the garage. Cops were all riled up—said a bunch of kids in beat-up vans tore through a roadblock, and nearly killed three officers. Sounded like a damn chase scene outta one of them action flicks. They lost 'em somewhere up in the hills though heading northwest—no idea where they went after that."

Thalia exchanged a quick glance with Percy, her expression tightening. "That's got to be them. No one else would be crazy enough to pull something like that around here."

"Or desperate enough," Atalanta added, her voice low as she stepped closer, arms crossed. "If they're tangling with cops, they're either out of options or the monsters were breathing down their necks."

"At least we have an idea where they are now," the son of Poseidon sighed in relief. "That's a start."

"It sounded like they were in some deep shit though," the man finished, raising an eyebrow. "You sure you're up for wadin' into that mess?"

"We don't have a choice," Evelyn replied, her tone sharp as she adjusted the strap of her pack. "They're our people. We don't leave them behind."

He grunted, a flicker of approval crossing his weathered face. "Loyalty's a rare thing these days. Guess that's somethin' you god-touched types still got goin' for ya."

The old man leaned heavily on his cane, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied the group. The weight of his gaze seemed to pierce through them, as if he were measuring their worth, their desperation, and their resolve. The silence stretched, broken only by the faint hum of the gas station lights and the distant chirp of crickets. Finally, he let out a long, slow breath, his shoulders sagging slightly.

"Alright," he said, his voice gruff but resigned. "You can take the truck."

Percy blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. "Wait, just like that?"

The old man snorted, tapping his cane against the ground. "Don't get me wrong, kid. I ain't doing this 'cause I like you. Hell, I don't even know you. But I know what's at stake. If you're out here fighting the same kind of monsters that took my boy, then I'm not gonna stand in your way. Just…" He paused, his words cracking slightly. "Just promise me one thing."

The man's eyes locked onto his, and for a moment, Percy saw the raw pain of a father who had lost his son to a world he could never fully understand. "Promise me you'll do whatever it takes to make sure no more kids like Jack end up like he did. No more parents left wondering where their children went. No more lives lost to war."

The son of Poseidon hesitated, reluctant to make a promise he knew he could never truly keep. War and monsters would always lurk in the shadows, and death would forever be woven into their lives. There was no escaping it.

"I can't promise that I can protect everyone," he finally answered. "But I can promise that I'll fight like hell to keep as many of them safe as I can. That's all I've ever done, and it's all I'll keep doing until the end of my days."

The old man held his gaze for a long moment, as if weighing the sincerity in Percy's words. Finally, he gave a curt nod, the lines in his weathered face softening ever so slightly. "Good enough, I suppose. Better than nothing."

He reached into his pocket with a trembling hand and pulled out a set of keys, tossing them toward Percy with a flick of his wrist. The demigod caught them midair, the cold metal biting into his palm as he closed his fingers around them.

"She's old, but she runs," the old man said, jerking his chin toward the truck. "Don't push her too hard, or she'll quit on you. And if you scratch her up, I'll haunt you from the grave."

Percy cracked a faint smile, pocketing the keys. "Deal. Thanks… uh, what's your name?"

"Name's Earl," the old man replied gruffly. "Not that it matters much out here."

"Earl," he repeated, committing it to memory. "We owe you one."

Earl waved a dismissive hand, turning away with a grunt. "Just don't get yourselves killed. I'd hate to think I wasted my truck on a bunch of dead kids."

Thalia stepped forward, her voice softer than usual. "We'll bring it back if we can. You've got my word."

Earl paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "Don't make promises you can't keep, girl. I've heard enough of those in my life. Just go find your friends and get that new camp of yours built."

With that, he hobbled off toward the diner, his cane tapping a steady rhythm against the pavement. The group watched him go, feeling gratitude but sadness as they watched the old man disappear inside. Percy turned the keys over in his hand, feeling the ridges press into his skin. He hated to take one of the last things that had stuck by the old man for years. He had already lost so much from their world. He felt like a piece of shit for taking another but this truck was more than just that. It was their lifeline, and one of their last hopes in reuniting with the others.

"Let's go," he muttered, exhaling sharply as he cast a final glance toward Earl, who had settled by the window, lost in thought and oblivious to their departure. He slid into the driver's seat, the door groaning in protest as it swung shut. The cab reeked of gasoline and stale cigarettes, and the cracked leather seats offered little comfort, worn thin by years of use. But comfort wasn't their priority now.

He adjusted the rearview mirror, catching Thalia as she slipped into the passenger seat beside him. Evelyn and Atalanta piled in after her, the cab instantly feeling cramped. Thalia's legs sprawled awkwardly across his, but there was no other way—it was too cold for anyone to ride in the bed of the truck. They'd just have to make it work.

Percy turned the key in the ignition, and the old truck sputtered to life with a reluctant growl. The engine coughed and rattled like it was clearing its throat after years of neglect, but it held steady enough. He gave the dashboard an appreciative pat, as if coaxing it to cooperate. "Alright, girl, don't let us down now."

Thalia shifted beside him, her elbow jabbing into his ribs as she tried to find a comfortable position in the overcrowded cab. "If this thing breaks down halfway to Highway 87, I'm blaming you," she muttered, though her words carried a faint trace of amusement.

"Now why would you say that?! Don't jinx us!", he shot back, easing the truck out of the parking lot and onto the road. The headlights flickered weakly, casting a dim glow over the asphalt as they rolled away from the town's faint lights. The world beyond the windshield darkened quickly, swallowed by the sprawling wilderness that stretched out in every direction.

Atalanta, sitting closest to the passenger door, rummaged through her backpack before pulling out an old map of Montana. "Earl said they lost them in the hills northwest of 87. That's a big area—mostly forest and backroads. Any ideas on where they might've gone?"

Percy kept his eyes on the road, the truck's headlights cutting through the thickening night as he mulled over Atalanta's question. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles whitening as his mind raced through possibilities.

"They went to Lewis and Clark National Forest first," he finally answered, trying to piece together the puzzle that was ever-shifting. "That place was dense with forest and mountains. A perfect place to lay low after the shitstorm we kicked up."

"Then, after that, they went northwest on 87." Evelyn continued, peering downward at the map, her face slightly rubbing against Atalanta's due to the crampness of the truck. "What's over in that direction?"

"Glacier National Park," Atalanta answered, looking up at the son of Poseidon. "Think they might've gone there?"

"No, that place is visited by mortals too much. They'd get caught as soon as they settled," he answered, gnawing at his cheek as he tried to rack his brain for answers.

"Well there's not much after that. Just some more national forest and wilderness before it bleeds over to Washington."

The group was silent for a moment as they tried to think. It was easy to just spew out locations but it was another to actually go there and search. It could take months–perhaps even years to find them out there.

"They'd want to go somewhere that doesn't often have visitors," Thalia pitched in, circling her finger on Percy's leg subconsciously. "And they need a place that's defensible but has the resources to hide and survive. Mountains, rivers, forests."

"That still leaves a lot of places though," Atalanta grumbled, tracing her finger along the map. "Montana has a lot of those things."

"Will said something to me one night when we had first set off for Montana," Percy pitched in, his voice low as he dredged up the memory. "It was late—most of us were half-asleep by the fire. He was on watch and I asked him where he'd want to go once we got to Montana. At first he said Glacier National Park. He always wanted to see that place."

The truck hit a pothole, jolting everyone and cutting him off mid-sentence. Percy grimaced as the vehicle shuddered before steadying itself. With an annoyed groan, he continued.

"But after I told him the same thing about how there were too many mortals there, he started talking about a place he'd heard about from his mom, some old story she told him when he was a kid. The Bob Marshall Wilderness. Called it 'the last real wild place'—no roads, no people, just mountains and rivers stretching on forever. Said if he ever needed to disappear, that's where he'd go. Of course, we disregarded the place at the time because we wanted a place that was relatively close to civilization in case we ever needed supplies. But the situation has changed. I think that's where they're headed."

Thalia's finger stilled on his leg, her brows knitting together. "The Bob Marshall Wilderness? That's… what, a million acres of nothing but mountains and forest?"

"Over a million, actually," Atalanta corrected, her eyes flicking back to the map. She unfolded it further, the crinkling paper loud in the cramped cab. Her finger traced a jagged line northwest of Highway 87, landing on a vast green expanse marked with ridges and rivers. "It's one of the biggest wilderness areas in the country. No roads, no towns—just pure backcountry. You think Will would take them there?"

Percy nodded, his jaw tightening as the pieces clicked into place. "It fits. Will's smart—he'd know a place like that could hide a group of demigods. It's got water, game, cover from monsters and mortals alike. Plus, it's northwest of 87, right where Earl said they lost the trail. If they were desperate to shake the cops and the monsters, that's where they'd go."

Evelyn leaned forward some more, squinting at the map. "That's a hell of a trek, though. They'd have to ditch the vans and go on foot—no way those beat-up junkers could handle that terrain. And with monsters on their tail? They'd be moving slow, leaving a trail a mile wide."

"Which is why we need to get there fast," he replied, stepping down on the gas pedal. The truck groaned in protest but picked up speed, the engine rumbling as it carried them deeper into the night. "They're vulnerable on foot like that.

Thalia shifted beside him, her elbow digging into his side again as she adjusted her position. "Assuming they even made it that far. A million acres is a lot of ground to cover, Percy. We could be chasing ghosts out there."

"Then we'll chase ghosts," he replied, his tone clipped. "I'm not leaving them out there to fend for themselves. Not after everything we've been through."

The cab fell silent, the weight of his words settling over them like a heavy fog. They all knew the stakes—too many friends had been lost already, too many names etched into their memories as casualties of a war that never seemed to end. The thought of adding more to that list was unbearable.

Atalanta folded the map with a crisp snap, tucking it back into her pack. "If they're in the Bob Marshall, we'll need more than this truck. We'll have to ditch it at the edge and go in on foot ourselves. Horses might help if we can find some, but even then, it's rough country—rivers, cliffs, grizzlies. Not to mention whatever the Father's cooking up."

"Grizzlies I can handle," Evelyn muttered, leaning her head against the back glass panel. "It's the monsters I'm worried about. Those things back there weren't normal. If he's got more of them chasing after them, we're walking into a trap."

"Maybe," the green-eyed demigod admitted, his eyes still fixed on the road ahead. The headlights caught fleeting glimpses of trees and mile markers as they sped past, the world beyond the asphalt blurring into shadow. "But if it's a trap, it's one they're caught in too. We don't have time to second-guess this."

The daughter of Zeus nodded, her expression grim. "Agreed. We head for Highway 87, follow it northwest until we hit the edge of the wilderness. If we're lucky, we'll pick up their trail—or at least some sign they made it that far."

"Lucky," Evelyn snorted. "When's the last time we had luck on our side?"

"When we got this truck just an hour ago," Percy smirked faintly, happy to see the sideeye the huntress gave him.

"You were just waiting to say that, weren't you?"

Thalia smirked, her fingers trailing higher on his leg this time, absentmindedly. He noticed but chose not to point it out, not after what had happened between them in the tent that night. He had a feeling Evelyn and Atalanta wouldn't be as forgiving this time.

He rolled his neck, trying to shake off the tension, and shifted in the worn leather seat. The truck roared down the road, its engine straining at speeds it hadn't touched in years. Every second counted, and he wasn't about to waste a single one. He'd get there as fast as humanly possible, and when he did, he'd move heaven and earth to find his friends.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel, his jaw set with determination. "I swear I'll find you," he muttered under his breath, the words a quiet promise to the open road ahead.

Chapter Text

The Bob Marshall Wilderness stretched out like a living, breathing beast, its vast expanse swallowing the horizon in every direction.  Towering pines and firs clawed at the sky, their dark, needle-laden branches swaying in a restless dance with the wind. Beneath them, the undergrowth thrived—ferns unfurling in vibrant green curls, moss cloaking rocks in soft, damp blankets, and wildflowers bursting forth in fleeting explosions of color. Rugged peaks, jagged and snow-dusted even in the height of summer, loomed as silent sentinels, their granite faces carved by eons of relentless weather. Crystal-clear rivers snaked through the landscape, their waters roaring with untamed energy as they etched paths through the earth. The air hung thick with the scent of pine resin and wet soil, pierced occasionally by the sharp cry of a hawk circling overhead or the distant, mournful howl of a wolf. It was a place untouched by time, raw and primal, where every rustle in the brush or snap of a twig hinted at the unseen life pulsing through its depths.

“I need a break, Clarisse. My feet are killing me,” Piper grimaced, leaning against a large tree as she tried to catch her breath. 

“Me too,” Will panted, sitting down on the beaten path with a weary sigh. The other demigods following behind echoed the same sentiment, practically collapsing against the soft grass to rest for a while.

Clarisse stopped mid-stride, her boots crunching against the dirt trail as she turned to face the line of demigods behind her. Her brow furrowed, lips pressing into a thin line of barely concealed frustration. “Seriously? All of you?”

Will peered up at her, his blond hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. He swiped a grimy hand across his face and managed a faint, lopsided grin. “Try hauling crates of gear up a mountain and see how you feel. Not everyone’s got your stamina.”

Katie, leaning against a boulder, gave a tired smirk. “Yeah, we’re not all war machines. I’m half-human, and right now, that half’s screaming.” She tugged off a boot, wincing at the raw, red blister on her heel, and rubbed it gingerly.

The wilderness pulsed on around them, heedless of their complaints. A gust swept through the treetops, scattering pine needles like a gentle drizzle, while the distant rumble of a river promised respite if they could reach it. The daughter of Ares glared at the group for a moment longer before letting out a sharp, reluctant breath and shrugging off her pack. It hit the ground with a solid thunk.

“Alright, fifteen minutes,” she grumbled, her tone making it clear she wasn’t thrilled. “But that’s it. We have to keep moving. We’re still not deep enough in the wilderness.” 

Piper slid down the tree trunk until she was sitting at its base, her legs splayed out in front of her. She tilted her head back, letting the cool bark press against her scalp as she closed her eyes for a moment. “Fifteen minutes isn’t gonna fix my feet, but I’ll take it,” she muttered, massaging her calves through her dust-caked jeans. The faint ache in her muscles pulsed in time with her heartbeat, a reminder of just how far they’d already come.

Will rummaged through his pack, pulling out a battered canteen. He took a long swig, then offered it to Katie, who accepted it with a grateful nod. “You’d think we’d be used to this by now,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Chasing monsters, dodging death, hiking through the middle of nowhere–we’ve been doing it for weeks now since New York.”

“Yeah, well, we didn’t have to lug crates that weigh more than a horse on our backs,” Nico replied, snatching the canteen from the daughter of Demeter’s hands. He groaned, stretching his shoulders. “I feel like an old man with a hunched back at this point.”

“You are an old man, Nico,” Butch remarked, his eyes scanning the jagged mountains that towered around them with binoculars. “Weren’t you born in, like, the 1930s or something?”

Nico shot the son of Iris a withering glare, his dark eyes narrowing as he took a deliberate sip from the canteen. “Yeah, and I still look better than you after hauling this junk halfway up a mountain,” he retorted, his voice laced with dry sarcasm. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his black jacket, the fabric already streaked with dirt and pine sap, before tossing the canteen back to Katie.

Butch smirked, unfazed, and adjusted the lenses. “Keep telling yourself that, di Angelo. Maybe it’ll make the next mile feel shorter.” He turned his attention back to the towering peaks, his broad shoulders tensing slightly as he scanned the ridgeline. Something had caught his eye—a flicker of movement in the brush. It was distant, subtle, but enough to make him pause. 

The wilderness seemed to hold its breath for a moment, the rustling leaves and distant river sounds fading into an eerie stillness. He lowered the binoculars slowly, his smirk replaced by a faint crease of concern between his brows. “Heads up,” he announced to the group. “We might be being tailed.”

Clarisse’s head snapped toward him, her hand instinctively dropping to the hilt of the short sword strapped to her hip. “What’d you see?” she demanded, walking over next to him. The exhaustion that had weighed on her moments ago vanished, replaced by the sharp focus of a warrior as she scanned the distant hills and valleys. 

Butch squinted into the distance, pointing toward a dense thicket of pines clinging to the slope of a nearby ridge. “Something moved. Too big to be a deer. Couldn’t get a good look before it ducked out of sight.”

Katie groaned softly as she pushed herself back to her feet, brushing dirt off her jeans. “Great. Just what we needed—who wants to bet it's those monsters from the highway?” 

Piper opened her eyes, her brief moment of peace shattered as she hauled herself upright, gripping the tree for support. “If it’s those same Orc looking things again, I swear I’m going to charm-speak them into jumping off a cliff,” she muttered, brushing pine needles from her hair. Her voice carried a mix of exhaustion and irritation, but her hand was already drifting toward the dagger sheathed at her waist.

Clarisse’s grip tightened on her sword hilt, her jaw clenching as she scanned the ridge Butch had pointed out. “Whatever it is—if it’s dumb enough to follow us, it’s dumb enough to die.” She shot a glance at the group, her eyes narrowing. “Break’s over. Get up.” 

The hundred demigods hauled themselves upright, their groans mingling with a symphony of grumbled protests. "That wasn’t even five minutes!" several of them chorused, voices thick with exhaustion. But the daughter of Ares remained unmoved, her expression steely as she ignored their complaints. They couldn’t afford to linger—not if they wanted to avoid a repeat of the chaos that had erupted at Lewis and Clark National Forest. She had a sinking feeling that if trouble struck again, their luck wouldn’t hold, and this time, they might not escape unscathed.

Katie stood up slowly, adjusting the straps of her pack as she prepared to trek across the vast wilderness once more. Her eyes, however, flickered to someone who had yet to get up from the ground. It was Travis, who was sitting a few feet away from the others behind a tree as if trying to hide. His usual mischievous grin was absent, replaced by a pale, sickly pallor that made her stomach twist with worry. His breathing was shallow, and his hand was pressed against his ribcage, where a bloodstained bandage peeked out from beneath his shirt.

Her gaze lingered on the son of Hermes, her brows knitting together as she took a hesitant step toward him. “Travis?” she called softly, her voice cutting through the murmur of the group as they shuffled to their feet. “You okay?

He didn’t respond right away. His head was bowed, dark curls falling into his face, and his fingers tightened around the edge of his shirt as if trying to mask the pain. The others hadn’t noticed yet—too busy griping about sore muscles or scanning the ridge for whatever Butch had spotted—but Katie’s sharp eyes caught the faint tremor in his shoulders. She dropped to a knee beside him, her hand hovering uncertainly over his arm.

“Hey,” she said, her tone laced with concern. “Is your wound acting up? Need more painkillers?” 

Travis finally lifted his head, his lips twitching into a weak attempt at his usual smirk. “Just… catching my breath, Katie-Kat,” he rasped, but the nickname lacked its usual playful bite. His voice was strained, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead despite the cool mountain air. Up close, she could see the dark circles under his eyes, the way his skin had taken on an ashen hue.

“Will!” Katie called out urgently, alerting the demigods around that something was wrong. Will’s head jerked up from where he was slinging his pack over his shoulder, his healer instincts kicking in instantly. He jogged over, his blue eyes narrowing as he took in his friend’s slumped posture and the faint grimace twisting his features.

“What’s going on?” He asked, dropping to his knees beside Katie. His hands were already moving, practiced and steady, as he gently nudged Travis’s arm aside to get a better look at the bandage. The son of Hermes flinched at the touch, a low hiss escaping through gritted teeth.

“It’s nothing,” Travis muttered, trying to wave him off. “Just sore from the fight. I’ll be fine.”

Will didn’t buy it for a second. “Yeah, and I’m the king of the satyrs,” he shot back as he peeled back the edge of the blood-crusted bandage, revealing a jagged gash along the ribs. The wound itself wasn’t deep—more of a glancing blow from the skirmish two days ago—but the skin around it was inflamed, streaked with angry red lines that spiderwebbed outward. Worse still, a faint black tinge clung to the edges, and a thin, sickly sheen coated the raw flesh.

Katie sucked in a breath, her hand flying to her mouth. “That doesn’t look right,” she said, her voice tight with alarm. “Will, is that—?”

“Poison,” Will confirmed grimly, his jaw tightening as he pressed two fingers gently against the swollen skin. Travis flinched again, his breathing hitching. “And not a weak one, either. Whatever cut him back at the forest had something nasty on its blade. Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?!” 

“Didn’t-didn’t want to slow the group down,” he managed to grit out, his voice barely above a whisper now. His attempt at nonchalance crumbled as another wave of pain flickered across his face, his body slumping further against the tree he’d propped himself against. “Thought I could tough it out. Guess I was wrong.”

Will’s expression softened for a split second—sympathy flashing in his blue eyes—before it hardened again into the focused determination of a medic in crisis. “Toughing it out doesn’t work when you’re poisoned, genius,” he snapped worriedly. He glanced up at Katie, his hands already digging into his pack for supplies. “Help me get his shirt off. I need to see how far this has spread.”

The daughter of Demeter quickly nodded, shifting closer to Travis. She hesitated only a moment before gripping the hem of his tattered shirt, carefully peeling it upward. He groaned as the fabric tugged against the wound, the sound low and raw, but he didn’t resist. The shirt came away stained with dried blood and sweat, revealing the full extent of the damage. The gash ran diagonally across his lower ribs, shallow but vicious, and those ominous red streaks had begun creeping up toward his chest. The faint black tinge seemed to pulse faintly, like a living thing burrowing deeper into his flesh.

Clarisse, who had been pacing a few steps away with her eyes still locked on the ridge, finally noticed the commotion. She strode over, her boots thudding against the earth, and stopped short when she saw the injured demigod. “What in Hades is this? Why didn’t anyone say he was hurt this bad?”

“He didn’t tell us,” Katie replied, her tone defensive as she held Travis’s shirt bunched in her hands. “I knew he was hurt but I thought it was just a simple wound. He’s been hiding it since the forest fight.”

Clarisse’s gaze snapped to Travis, her eyes narrowing as if she could will him back to health through sheer force of glare. “You idiot,” she muttered, though there was a flicker of something softer beneath her irritation—concern, maybe. She turned to Will. “Can you fix him?”

The blonde-haired didn’t look up from his work, his hands moving swiftly as he pulled out a small vial of nectar and a cloth from his pack. “I can try,” he said, his voice tight. “But this isn’t just a cut. The poison’s spreading fast—too fast. And I don’t know what it is either.” 

“It looks like the same stuff that was on the monsters we fought,” Reyna kneeled down next to the son of Hermes, her eyes narrowingly slightly as she inspected the black tendrils underneath the white skin. 

“Jason had the same stuff on him too,” Piper added, her words catching as the memory of that night back at Camp Half-Blood replayed itself in her mind. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her dagger, as if gripping it could somehow steady the tremor in her words. “It’s the Father’s power.” 

The mention of the Father hung heavy in the air, a dark cloud settling over the group as the wilderness seemed to close in tighter around them. The wind picked up, rustling the pines with a low, mournful howl that sent a shiver down Piper’s spine. She swallowed hard, forcing the memory of Jason—streaked with that same unnatural black poison—back into the depths of her mind. She couldn’t let it break her now, not when Travis needed them.

Will’s hands stilled for a moment, his blue eyes flicking up to meet Piper’s. “The Father’s power,” he repeated, his voice low and edged with a rare tremor. “We’re in deeper shit than I thought. This isn’t some run-of-the-mill monster venom—it’s divine, and it’s eating him from the inside.”

Travis let out a weak, pained chuckle, his head lolling slightly against the tree trunk. “Great… I get to be the guinea pig for some godly poison. Lucky me.”

"Shut the fuck up," Connor snapped, shooting his brother a glare. But there was no real anger in his words—only worry. Fear gnawed at him, a silent dread of what the poison might do if left untreated. “Now's not the time for jokes.” 

Will ignored the banter, his focus razor-sharp as he uncorked the vial of nectar with his teeth and tipped it carefully onto the cloth. The golden liquid shimmered faintly in the dim forest light, its sweet, honeyed scent cutting through the earthy musk of the wilderness. He pressed the soaked cloth against Travis’s wound, eliciting a sharp hiss from the son of Hermes as the nectar seeped into the gash. The inflamed skin seemed to calm slightly, the angry red streaks dulling, but the black tendrils pulsed defiantly, resisting the divine remedy.

“It’s slowing it down,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “But it’s not stopping it. Nectar’s not enough.” He rocked back on his heels, wiping his hands on his pants as he scanned the group. “We need something stronger—ambrosia might buy us time. Do we have any more left?” 

“One more square but that’s it,” Alyssa, a Roman daughter of Apollo, pushed through the gathering crowd, handing over the last remaining items to her brother. “Had to use the rest to close up Reyna’s wound.” 

“I’m sorry,” the daughter of Bellona dropped her head with a sigh, frustrated at herself for being so weak. 

“Don’t be,” Will said, taking the ambrosia. “Your wound was serious too. You would’ve died had we not given you some.” 

The son of Apollo tore open the small packet containing the ambrosia, the golden square glowing faintly as he broke it in half. He handed the smaller piece to Travis, who took it with a shaky hand. “Eat this, slowly,” he instructed firm but gently. “It’s not a cure, but it might keep you stable until we figure this out.”

The brown-haired boy nodded weakly, popping the ambrosia into his mouth. He chewed slowly, grimacing as the rich, buttery taste clashed with the bitter ache radiating from his wound. The warmth of the godly food spread through him almost instantly, easing the tension in his shoulders and softening the sharp edge of his pain. The black tendrils didn’t retreat, but their pulsing slowed, as if the ambrosia had thrown a temporary dam against the poison’s advance.

Connor hovered nearby, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he watched his brother with a mixture of relief and frustration. “You’re such an idiot,” he muttered under his breath, kicking at a loose stone on the path. “Hiding this? Really?”

Travis managed a faint grin, his voice hoarse but steadier now. “Had to keep up my reputation as the tougher Stoll brother. Couldn’t let you steal the spotlight.”

“Yeah, well, you’re doing a bang-up job of that,” Connor shot back. He turned away quickly, pretending to adjust his pack so no one would see the worry still etched into his features.

Clarisse, meanwhile, had stepped away from the cluster around the son of Hermes, her gaze flicking back to the ridge where Butch had spotted movement. “We can’t stay here,” she said loud enough for everyone to hear. “Poison or no poison, something’s out there, and I’d rather not wait around for it to find us.”

“She’s right,” Butch agreed, lowering the binoculars again. “Whatever it was, it’s gone now—or it’s hiding. Either way, sitting here makes us easy targets.”

Piper stood up fully, brushing the last of the pine needles from her jeans as she glanced at Travis. “Can he move?” she asked Will, her brow creasing with concern.

Will hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he studied Travis. The son of Hermes was still pale, his breathing uneven, but the ambrosia had given him a faint flush of color. “He shouldn’t,” Will admitted, “but we don’t have a choice. If we stay put, whatever’s stalking us will catch up. I’ll keep an eye on him—just help me get him on his feet.”

Katie and Connor moved in unison, each slipping an arm under Travis’s shoulders. He groaned as they hauled him upright, his legs wobbling for a moment before he steadied himself with their support. “I’m fine,” he insisted through gritted teeth, though the sweat beading on his forehead told a different story.

“You’re not fine,” Katie snapped, her voice sharp with worry. “Stop pretending you are. We’ve got you.”

Travis didn’t argue this time, letting his weight lean slightly against her and Connor as they started moving. The group fell into a ragged formation behind Clarisse, who took point with her sword drawn, her eyes scanning the trees with predatory focus. Butch flanked her, binoculars dangling around his neck as he kept a hand on the hilt of his own weapon—a sturdy short blade. The rest of the demigods followed in a loose, weary line, their packs and containers they were carrying clanking softly with every step.

The wilderness seemed to shift around them as they pressed deeper into its heart. The towering pines grew denser, their branches knitting together overhead to form a canopy that filtered the sunlight into a dim, mottled glow. The air grew cooler, heavier, carrying the faint tang of something metallic beneath the usual pine-and-earth scent. Every snap of a twig or rustle of leaves made the group tense, hands hovering near weapons as they strained to hear over the steady roar of the river growing closer.

Nico lagged near the back of the group, his dark eyes darting between the shadows cast by the trees. The weight of his sword at his side was a familiar comfort, but it did little to ease the unease gnawing at him. Something about this place—the sheer, untamed wildness of it—set his nerves on edge. He’d been in plenty of dangerous spots before, from the depths of Tartarus to the labyrinthine ruins of old battlegrounds, but the wilderness felt… different. Alive in a way that went beyond the rustling leaves or the distant calls of wildlife. It was as if the land itself was watching them, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

He adjusted the strap of his pack, wincing as it dug into his already sore shoulders, and muttered under his breath, “This better be worth it.”

Up ahead, Clarisse shot him a glance over her shoulder, catching his grumbling. “Quit whining, di Angelo. We’re all tired. You don’t see me complaining.”

“You don’t complain because you’re too stubborn to admit you’re human,” Nico fired back. “Some of us don’t have Ares’ blood keeping us upright.”

She snorted, turning her attention back to the trail. “Keep talking, Death Boy. Maybe whatever’s out there will hear you and put us all out of our misery.”

Despite her bravado, her grip on her sword tightened, her knuckles whitening. She didn’t like this any more than the rest of them—being hunted, uncertain of what they were up against. 

The group trudged on, the uneven terrain forcing them to pick their way carefully over roots and rocks. The river’s roar grew louder, a steady thunder that vibrated through the ground beneath their feet. It wasn’t far now—just beyond the next rise. Water meant a chance to refill their canteens, maybe even wash the grime and blood from their hands. But it also meant exposure, open ground where whatever was stalking them could get a clear shot.

Will kept pace beside Travis, his eyes flicking between the son of Hermes and the path ahead. The ambrosia had bought them some time, but Travis’s steps were growing heavier, his breaths more labored. His jaw clenched as he adjusted his grip on his own pack, the weight of their dwindling supplies pressing on him as much as the physical load. He hated this—hated not knowing what they were dealing with, hated that his skills as a healer were being pushed to their limits with no clear solution in sight.

“How you holding up?” he asked quietly, keeping his voice low so the others wouldn’t overhear.

Travis managed a weak shrug, his arm still slung over Connor’s shoulder. “Been better,” he admitted raspily. “Feels like someone’s twisting a knife in my ribs, but I’m not dead yet.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Connor said sharper than he intended. He tightened his grip on his brother, his knuckles brushing against Katie’s arm as she supported his other side. “You’re not gonna die. Not if I have to say anything about it.” 

Travis chuckled faintly, the sound cut short by a wince as his foot caught on a root. “Wouldn’t dream of it, little bro.”

Katie shot him a small, reassuring smile, though her eyes remained clouded with worry. “He’s too stubborn to check out now, especially after everything we’ve been through. Right, Travis?”

“Damn right,” he muttered, though the effort to keep up the bravado was clearly wearing on him. His legs trembled slightly with each step, and the black tendrils beneath his skin seemed to pulse faintly in rhythm with his heartbeat.

Piper, walking a few paces behind with Reyna, glanced at the trio, her lips pressing into a thin line. She was worried for the son of Hermes. Worried that he wasn’t going to make it. No one wanted to say it but everyone was thinking it. If the rate of the poison kept up and Will couldn’t find more ways to stop it once the nectar and ambrosia were out, then that was it for Travis. 

“Godsdamnit,” The word slipped out under her breath, a quiet curse laced with frustration and fear. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to keep her emotions in check. The wilderness didn’t care about their struggles—it pressed on, indifferent, its beauty masking the danger lurking within. She cast a sidelong glance at Reyna, whose own expression was a mask of grim determination, though the faint tightness around her mouth betrayed her concern.

“I know,” the daughter of Bellona simply stated. She knew what Piper was thinking. She knew what unspoken thoughts were churning inside her mind. She knew that eventually, they would have to face the reality that Travis would die. 

The wilderness continued to unfold around the demigods like an endless tapestry of raw, untamed power, its vastness both a shield and a threat. The river’s roar was a constant now, a deep, thrumming pulse that seemed to echo the urgency thrumming through their veins. The group crested the rise, and there it was—a wide, churning ribbon of water cutting through the valley below, its surface glinting like molten silver under the fractured sunlight. The sight should have been a relief, a promise of rest and replenishment, but the open ground it carved through the forest left them exposed, vulnerable.

Clarisse halted at the edge of the rise, her sword still drawn as she surveyed the terrain. The wind tugged at her dark hair, whipping strands across her face, but she didn’t flinch. Her eyes narrowed, tracing the riverbank, the dense tree line beyond, the shadowed hollows where anything could be lying in wait. “We’ll stop there,” she said finally, her voice cutting through the group’s ragged breathing. “Refill the canteens, clean up and rest a little. Be ready to move out at a moment’s notice though.” 

The group descended toward the river in a cautious, staggered line, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet of pine needles and moss. Will stayed close to Travis, his healer’s gaze never straying far from the son of Hermes as Katie and Connor half-carried him down the slope. The ambrosia had steadied him for now, but the black tendrils beneath his skin were a ticking clock, and every faltering step he took, every gasp of air, every grimace, tightened the knot in the son of Apollo’s chest.

When they reached the riverbank, the demigods spread out along the rocky shore. Some dropped to their knees, splashing cold water on their faces or filling canteens, while others stood guard, hands on the pommel of their weapons.. The water was frigid, fed by snowmelt from the towering peaks, and it bit at their skin with a sharp, bracing clarity. Piper knelt by the edge, cupping her hands to drink, letting the icy shock jolt her senses awake. She glanced at Travis, now propped against a smooth boulder with Connor fetching some water for him to drink. 

Will crouched beside him, peeling back the bandage again to check the wound. The nectar-soaked cloth had dried into a crusty mess, and he grimaced as he tugged it free, revealing the gash beneath. The red streaks had dulled further, but the black tendrils remained stubbornly etched into Travis’s flesh, their edges faintly shimmering as if alive. “It’s not spreading as fast,” he murmured clinically but strained. “The ambrosia’s holding it back, but we’re on borrowed time. I need to figure out what this is—really figure it out—or it’s going to kill him.”

Travis managed a crooked grin, though his eyes were glassy with pain. “You’re doing great, Doc. I’m still breathing, aren’t I?”

“Barely,” Connor muttered, returning with a canteen filled with water. He softly pressed it against his brother’s lips which allowed him to drink its contents. He ran a hand through his messy curls, mirroring Travis’s own, and shot Will a pleading look. “There’s got to be something else we can do.”

“Nothing we have will help besides the last of our ambrosia and nectar,” the blue-eyed demigod replied with an agitated sigh. “No herb or mortal medicine will help heal something of divine nature.” 

His words hung heavy in the air with finality. The river’s relentless roar and the valley’s wind filling the silence that encompassed the group of demigods who exchanged uneasy glances with one another. 

“What do you suggest then?” 

“We have to find a place we can settle and fast. That way I won’t be rushed.” 

Clarisse, standing a few paces away, shifted her weight impatiently. “Then that’s what we’ll do,” she said. “Sitting here waiting for a miracle isn’t an option. We need to find a place to hole up, and figure this out.” She glanced at Will then Travis, her dark eyes narrowing. “How long can he hold out?”

Will didn’t meet her gaze right away, his focus still on Travis as he pressed a fresh strip of cloth—from one of the crates they were carrying—against the wound. “A day, maybe two if we’re lucky,” he said finally. “The ambrosia’s slowing it, but it’s not a fix. If we push him too hard, it’ll burn through what little strength he’s got left.”

“Then we don’t push him,” Katie interjected, her voice firm despite the tremor in her hands as she adjusted her grip on Travis’s arm. “We carry him if we have to. He’s not dying out here.”

Travis let out a weak laugh, the sound rasping in his throat. “Love the optimism, Katie-Kat, but I’m not exactly light. You’ll throw your back out before we make it a mile.”

“Shut up,” she snapped, though her eyes softened as she looked at him. “We’ve got enough muscle here to manage. You’re not getting out of this that easy.”

Connor nodded, crossing his arms. “She’s right. I’ll carry you myself if it comes to it. You’re not ditching me, bro.”

Clarisse turned her attention back to the riverbank and the dense forest beyond. “Fine. We’ll rig something up—a stretcher, whatever. But we’re not stopping here long.” 

She scanned the tree line above again, her instincts prickling with the unshakable feeling that they were still being watched. The wilderness was too quiet now, the usual chorus of birdsong and rustling leaves muted, as if the forest itself was holding its breath. Whatever Butch had glimpsed earlier hadn’t shown itself again, but that didn’t mean it was gone. It was out there, lurking, biding its time.

Katie and Will worked quickly to improvise a solution for Travis. She rummaged through one of the crates, pulling out a sturdy tarp and a couple of lightweight metal poles—part of the gear they’d been hauling since New York. “We can make a stretcher,” she said, her hands moving with purpose. “It’s not perfect, but it’ll keep him off his feet.”

Will nodded, already tearing strips from a spare shirt to bind the poles together. “Good thinking. We’ll lash it tight—should hold his weight if we’re careful.” He glanced at Travis, who was still propped against the boulder, his head tilted back as he took shallow, deliberate breaths. “You hanging in there?”

The son of Hermes cracked one eye open, managing a faint smirk. “Peachy. Just don’t drop me, alright? I’d hate to ruin my good looks with a face full of dirt.”

Connor snorted, kneeling beside him with a canteen. “Your ‘good looks’ are already a lost cause. Just try not to puke on me when we’re carrying you.” Despite the jab, his hands were gentle as he helped his brother sip more water, the worry in his eyes betraying the casual tone.

Piper and Reyna worked together, collecting sturdy branches from the riverbank to strengthen the stretcher. The daughter of Aphrodite moved quietly, her jaw clenched as she broke twigs from a fallen limb with sharp, deliberate snaps. Her mind churned with relentless thoughts, each one heavier than the last. What if Travis ended up like Jason—transformed into something unrecognizable? What if death didn’t release him, but instead bound him to the Father’s will? What would they do then? Would they be forced to fight him—kill him? She stole a glance at the broken boy lying nearby, her trembling lip caught between her teeth. The idea of raising a weapon against him twisted her stomach. She wasn’t sure she had the strength for it.

They’d grown so close—Travis, Reyna, and everyone else on this journey. They weren’t just companions anymore; they were a family, forged stronger than ever through shared trials. The thought of losing him, of having to strike down someone she’d come to see as a brother, filled her with a quiet dread she couldn’t shake.

“I’ll do it if it comes down to it,” Reyna said, her voice low but resolute as she handed Piper another branch. She’d caught the flicker of anguish in her eyes, the unspoken fear that hung between them like a shadow. The daughter of Bellona’s face was a mask of resolve, but her dark eyes softened with understanding. “If he turns—if it’s too late—I’ll take care of it. None of you will have to.”

Piper’s hands stilled, her fingers tightening around the rough bark until it bit into her skin. She met her gaze, searching for something—reassurance, maybe, or a crack in the Roman’s ironclad determination. She found neither, just the quiet strength that had always defined Reyna, tempered now with a grim acceptance of what might lie ahead. “You shouldn’t have to either,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the river’s roar. “None of us should.”

Reyna didn’t reply right away. She straightened, brushing dirt from her hands, and cast a glance toward Travis. “We don’t get to choose the battles we fight,” she said finally. “Only how we face them.” 

Within minutes, the stretcher was ready—a rough but functional contraption of tarp, poles, and tied-off branches. Katie and Will tested it, tugging at the bindings to ensure it wouldn’t give under Travis’s weight. Satisfied, they motioned for Connor and Butch to help lift him onto it. Travis groaned as they maneuvered him, his body stiffening against the pain, but he didn’t protest. Once settled, he let his head fall back against the tarp, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

“Comfy?” Connor asked, forcing a grin as he adjusted the edge of the stretcher.

“Like a king on a throne,” he rasped, managing a weak thumbs-up. “Just don’t jostle me too much, or I’ll haunt you from the Underworld.”

“Noted,” Butch said with a faint smirk, taking one end of the stretcher while Connor grabbed the other. The two hefted it with a grunt, their muscles straining under the load but holding steady.

Clarisse watched the process with her arms crossed, her impatience warring with the flicker of concern she couldn’t quite hide. “Let’s move,” she barked once the son of Hermes was secure. “We’ve wasted enough time. Keep your eyes open!”

The group reformed, falling into a tighter formation this time. Butch and Connor carried Travis near the center, flanked by Katie and Will, who kept a close watch on his condition. Clarisse led the way, her sword gleaming faintly in the dappled light as she hacked through low-hanging branches that encroached on the faint trail. Nico and Reyna took up the rear, their senses attuned to the slightest shift in the wilderness around them. Piper walked alongside Alyssa, the Roman daughter of Apollo, her dagger drawn and her nerves taut as she scanned the trees.

The river stayed to their left, its churning waters a constant companion as they followed its course deeper into the valley. The terrain grew rougher, the ground rising and falling in uneven swells, forcing the group to slow their pace. Roots twisted across the path like gnarled hands, and loose stones skittered underfoot, threatening to trip the unwary. The air grew colder, the scent of snowmelt mingling with the earthy musk of the forest, and the canopy overhead thickened until only slivers of sunlight pierced through.

Travis’s breathing grew more labored as they went, each jolt of the stretcher drawing a faint wince or a muffled curse. Will hovered close, his hand occasionally brushing the son of Hermes’s forehead to check for fever. The ambrosia’s effects were holding—for now—but the black tendrils beneath his skin pulsed faintly, a reminder that time was slipping through their fingers.

It wasn’t until they reached the base of another large hill that they took a break. The sun was well past the horizon, casting long shadows across the valley as the last vestiges of daylight bled into a bruised purple sky. The group paused, lowering Travis’s stretcher gently onto a patch of mossy ground near the base of the hill. The air was cold now, tinged with the sting of approaching night, and the river’s roar had softened into a steady murmur as it widened into a shallow bend a few dozen yards away. The wilderness stretched on past what they could see, vast and unyielding, its secrets hidden in the deepening gloom.

Clarisse planted her sword point-first into the dirt, leaning on it as she surveyed the area. Her chest heaved slightly from the exertion, but her eyes were sharp, darting from the shadowed tree line to the rocky incline ahead. “We camp here for the night,” she declared, her voice cutting through the group’s weary silence. “It’s defensible—hill at our back, river to the side. We’ll set a perimeter and take shifts. No surprises tonight.”

No one argued. The exhaustion was palpable, a heavy weight pressing down on every shoulder, but the unspoken threat of whatever—or whoever—had been tailing them kept their nerves taut. Butch and Connor eased Travis’s stretcher into a sheltered spot beneath a low-hanging pine, its branches offering a makeshift canopy against the chill. The son of Hermes groaned as they set him down, his hand pressing weakly against his side.

“Still with us?” Connor asked, kneeling beside him with a forced grin.

“Y-yeah…” His brother replied with a faint, fragile whisper. Travis’s voice was barely audible, a fragile thread woven into the growing darkness. His chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath a quiet battle against the poison seeping through his veins. Connor’s grin faltered as he brushed a hand over his brother’s clammy forehead. The faint tremor in his fingers betrayed the fear he was trying so hard to mask.

Will dropped to his knees next to the stretcher, his hands already moving with practiced urgency. He peeled back the fresh cloth he’d tied earlier, his jaw tightening as he studied the wound in the dimming light. The black tendrils had spread further—subtle, insidious threads creeping outward like cracks in glass. The ambrosia’s golden warmth was fading, its power no match for the divine malice eating away at Travis’s flesh.

“It’s accelerating faster than I expected,” Will muttered, his voice low and clipped. He pressed his fingers gently against the inflamed skin, feeling the unnatural heat radiating from it. “The ambrosia’s wearing off faster due to combating the poison. We’re running out of time.”

He rummaged through his pack before pulling out the last half of the ambrosia square he split earlier. The son of Hermes was so weak and tired that he couldn’t even chew the small square, resorting to Will having to chew it and force it down his throat like a baby bird. 

The sight of him chewing the ambrosia and carefully pressing it into Travis’s mouth sent a ripple of unease through the group. It was a stark, visceral reminder of how dire things had become—Travis, the quick-witted trickster who’d once stolen half the camp’s supplies just to prove he could, reduced to this frail shadow, barely clinging to life. Connor turned away, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached, unable to watch his brother’s vulnerability laid bare like that. Katie hovered nearby, her hands twisting together as she fought to keep her composure, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

The son of Apollo wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his expression grim as he leaned back on his heels. “That’s the last of it,” he said, his voice rough with exhaustion and frustration. “It’ll buy him a few more hours, maybe until morning if we’re lucky. But after that…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. Everyone knew. 

The group worked in heavy silence as they prepared camp for the night. Flickering fires were lit, sleeping bags unfurled, and meager rations warmed and consumed without enthusiasm. A palpable sense of dread weighed on each of them as they settled in, the unspoken fear lingering in the air: when morning came, there might be one fewer among them to greet the dawn.

Clarisse stood at the edge of the camp, her silhouette rigid against the firelight as she scanned the perimeter. Her sword rested loosely in her sheath, its blade catching the occasional glint of flame. She hadn’t sat down since they’d stopped—not out of stubbornness this time, but because the weight of responsibility kept her on her feet. She’d led them this far, through monster ambushes and vast terrain, and now with Travis fading, every rustle in the brush felt like a personal challenge. She was exhausted, dark circles formed underneath her eyes and her muscles ached from overuse. But she couldn’t stop. Couldn’t rest. Not until they found a permanent place to settle.

Nico lingered near her, his own dark figure blending into the shadows as he leaned against a tree. His sword was sheathed, but his hand rested on its hilt, ready to draw at a moment’s notice. He tilted his head slightly, listening to the night, his senses attuned to the faint whispers of death that always seemed to linger around him. “You need to rest,” he muttered, rolling his stiff shoulders. “It’ll do you no good not getting any tonight.” 

“No rest for the wicked,” she replied with a huff, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small protein bar. “Get some sleep, Nico. I’ll handle watch.” 

The son of Hades shook his head in exasperation. “You’re just like Percy. Stubborn as fuck and always thinking of others before yourselves.” He didn’t push further, though—he knew better than to waste his breath on someone whose will was forged in the same fire as her father’s. Instead, he shifted his weight off the tree, rolling his shoulders again to ease the stiffness that had settled into his bones. “Fine. But if you fall over from exhaustion, don’t expect me to drag your sorry ass back to camp.”

Clarisse smirked faintly, tearing into the protein bar with her teeth. “You couldn’t even pick me up with those scrawny bones you call muscles, Death Boy.” The nickname rolled off her tongue with a familiar bite, but it lacked its usual venom. She chewed mechanically, her gaze never straying from the shadowed expanse beyond the firelight. The wilderness stretched out before them, a sea of black pines and jagged peaks swallowed by the night, and every gust of wind through the branches felt like a whisper of warning.

Nico lingered a moment longer, his pale face illuminated faintly by the flickering flames. He cast a glance toward Travis, still sprawled on the stretcher, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven rhythms. The son of Hades could feel it—the faint pull of death hovering around him, not yet close enough to claim him, but circling like a vulture over a dying animal. It was a sensation he knew too well, one that made his skin prickle and his stomach twist. He clenched his jaw, shoving the feeling down, and turned back to Clarisse. “Wake me for the next shift. I mean it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, waving him off without turning around. “Go play with your shadows.”

Nico gave her one last exasperated look before slipping into the shadows of the camp, his dark figure melding with the night as he found a spot to rest near the base of the hill. The fire crackled softly in front of him, its warmth barely reaching the edges of the perimeter where the cold night air pressed in. The other demigods settled into their makeshift beds—sleeping bags and cloaks spread over the mossy ground—though few seemed eager to close their eyes. The weight of Travis’s condition hung over them like a storm cloud, and the eerie stillness of the wilderness only deepened their unease.

Piper sat cross-legged near the fire, her dagger resting across her knees as she stared into the flames. The flickering light danced across her face, casting shadows that mirrored the turmoil churning inside her. Reyna settled beside her, her own weapon—a sleek Roman gladius—propped against her thigh. The two shared a quiet understanding, their silence speaking louder than words. Neither wanted to voice the dread gnawing at them, but it lingered in the air between them all the same.

Will remained by Travis’s side, his hands resting on his knees as he watched the son of Hermes breathe. The last of the ambrosia had dulled the pain enough for him to drift into a fitful sleep, but the black tendrils beneath his skin pulsed stronger with every shallow rise of his chest. Connor sat nearby, his back against a tree, his knees drawn up as he stared blankly at the ground. Katie had curled up a few feet away, her head resting on her pack, but her eyes stayed open, fixed on Travis with a quiet intensity that betrayed her exhaustion.

The night deepened, the stars obscured by the thick canopy overhead. The river’s murmur blended with the soft rustle of leaves, a deceptive lullaby that did little to soothe the group’s frayed nerves. Clarisse paced the perimeter, her boots crunching softly against the pine needles, her senses straining for any sign of movement beyond the firelight. The wilderness felt alive—too alive—and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled with the instinct that something was out there, watching, waiting.

“It’ll be nice to die like this,” the son of Hermes murmured suddenly, his voice cutting through the heavy silence as his weary eyes fluttered open.

Will’s hands paused, his fingers tightening around the damp cloth he’d been using to wipe Travis’s brow. “Don’t say that,” he muttered. “Just… get some rest, okay?”

“Can’t,” Travis breathed, his voice trembling as he winced. “It hurts too much.”

The son of Apollo’s hand lingered on Travis’s forehead, the feverish heat radiating through his palm like a silent plea. His chest tightened, his instincts screaming at him to act, to fix this, to do something . But the truth was a bitter weight in his throat—there was nothing more he could do. Swallowing hard, he shifted closer, adjusting the makeshift pillow beneath Travis’s head with careful hands, as if this small gesture could somehow stave off the inevitable.

“I’m serious though. I can’t think of a better way to die,” he said, looking past Will’s head upward toward the sky. “Beneath the stars, surrounded by my friends. It’s a better death than most demigods receive.” 

His voice was soft, fragile, like a thread about to snap, but there was a strange calm in it—a resignation that sent a chill through Will’s bones despite the fire’s warmth. The son of Apollo froze, his hand still resting on Travis’s forehead, the damp cloth forgotten as he stared down at him.

“Don’t talk like that,” Will’s voice cracked and trembled, a lone tear spilled down his face. “Please don’t say that. You’re not going to die. Not here. Not now.” 

Travis’s lips twitched into a faint, crooked smile, the kind he’d always flashed when he was about to pull a prank or talk his way out of trouble. But it didn’t reach his eyes which were glassy, distant, reflecting the firelight in a way that made them look like they were already slipping away. “Come on, Will. You’re the healer. You know better than anyone how this ends.”

The blonde-haired demigod’s breath hitched, his hand trembling as he pulled it back from Travis’s forehead. The damp cloth slipped from his fingers, landing in the dirt with a soft thud. He wanted to argue, to snap back with some sharp retort about how he didn’t get to decide when it was over—but the words wouldn’t come. They stuck in his throat, tangled up with the lump of grief he couldn’t swallow down. Instead, he clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms, and glared at the ground as if he could will the earth itself to give him an answer, a cure, anything.

The son of Hermes’s faint smile lingered, his head tilting gently to the side as his eyes fixed on the endless, inky expanse above. The vastness of the night sky held him captive, its beauty more profound than he had ever noticed in life. He hadn’t appreciated it then—hadn’t appreciated so many things. The weight of that regret settled softly in his chest. “Don’t look so mad, Doc,” he murmured, his voice a fragile thread of sound, barely audible. “This isn’t on you. Don’t ever think this is your fault. Promise me you’ll remember that.” 

Will’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching harder until his knuckles turned white. The firelight flickered across his face, illuminating the sheen of unshed tears pooling in his blue eyes. He wanted to scream, to shake his friend by the shoulders and demand he stop talking like this—like he’d already given up—but the raw truth in his words pinned him in place. He couldn’t fix this. 

“I—” his voice broke, and he swiped angrily at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I promise,” he managed finally, the words tasting like ash on his tongue. 

By now, the others had noticed the quiet commotion and drifted over, drawn by the weight of the moment. Connor was the first to drop to his knees beside his brother, his hands trembling as he reached for Travis’s. They felt pale and cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of memory. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over as he struggled to hold himself together.

“I love you, brother,” he choked out. “I know I didn’t say it enough, but I do. I always have.” His grip tightened, as if he could anchor him to this world through sheer will. A sob tore from his throat, raw and unfiltered, as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to his brother’s. “Please,” he whispered, the word a fragile plea, repeated like a mantra. “Please don’t leave me.” 

Travis’s hand twitched faintly in his brother’s grasp, his fingers curling weakly around his brother’s as if trying to hold on just a little longer. The effort cost him, his breath hitching in a ragged gasp, but he managed to squeeze back, a ghost of strength lingering in the gesture. 

“You’ll… be fine,” he murmured. “You’re the better thief anyway. Always… had the lighter touch.” His eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open, but they locked onto Connor’s with a quiet intensity, as if he were trying to memorize his brother’s face one last time.

Katie stood a step behind, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if holding her own grief at bay. Tears streaked her dirt-smudged face, but she didn’t wipe them away. She wanted to say something—anything—to fill the unbearable silence, to tell Travis how much he meant to her, how his stupid pranks and relentless optimism had kept her going through the darkest days. But the words tangled in her throat, and all she could do was watch, helpless, as the light in his eyes dimmed.

“Katie…” Travis reached out a hand, beckoning her closer with a faint, trembling motion. Every word he uttered sounded labored, as if every breath hurt. The daughter of Demeter didn’t hesitate to drop to her knees beside him. She took his outstretched hand in both of hers, cradling it gently as if it were one of her plants.

“I’m right here,” she managed, her voice thick with emotion. Her thumbs brushed over his knuckles, tracing the familiar calluses earned from years of mischief and survival.

He blinked slowly, his gaze softening as it settled on her. “Keep… keep growing things,” he rasped, a flicker of his old teasing spark lighting his words. “Someone’s gotta… make this world less ugly. You’re good at that.”

A sob broke free from her chest, half-laugh, half-cry, and she squeezed his hand tighter. “You’re such an idiot,” she choked out, shaking her head as tears spilled freely down her cheeks. “Who’s gonna steal my strawberries now? Who’s gonna drive me crazy?”

Travis’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles, a shadow of his usual grin. “Connor’ll… pick up the slack,” he murmured. “Give him hell… for me, okay?” 

She nodded, unable to speak, her vision blurring as she pressed his hand to her cheek. The warmth was fading from his skin, slipping away with every shallow breath, and she clung to it desperately

"Did you…did you ever love me?" The words tumbled out, fragile and raw, and he knew how foolish they sounded in the face of everything. But he had to ask. He needed to know, before the darkness claimed him, if there had ever been a chance—if he had ever meant something to her.

The daughter of Demeter went utterly still, her breath hitching as her fingers tightened around his. The world seemed to hold its breath—the fire’s crackle, the whisper of pines, the river’s distant song—all fading into a hollow silence. Her gaze locked onto his, and in those familiar brown eyes, now clouded with pain and poison, she saw it: a flicker of something desperate, something unguarded, pleading for an answer she wasn’t sure she could give.

She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come—not at first. They were trapped behind a flood of memories: the way he’d tease her relentlessly about her garden, sneaking strawberries just to watch her scowl; the late-night talks by the campfire when he’d drop the bravado and let her see the real him. It was all too much for her to bear. 

“I…” Her voice cracked as she struggled to find the right words. She didn’t want to lie—not now, not when every second felt like it could be his last—but the truth was a jagged thing, sharp-edged and complicated. She knew it would hurt him but she just couldn’t live knowing she told him a lie in his very last moments on this Earth. She swallowed hard, her throat burning with unshed tears. “You’re my family. You’ve always been like a brother to me. I love you… but not like that.”

His eyes flickered, a faint shadow of disappointment passing through them before it softened into something else—acceptance, maybe, or resignation. The corner of his mouth twitched upward again, a ghost of his usual smirk, though it lacked its old fire. “Figures,” he rasped, his voice barely audible over the crackling fire. “Always knew… I’d lose out to Percy.”

Katie’s heart lurched at the name, a fresh wave of guilt crashing over her. She’d never meant to hurt him, never meant for her feelings to carve this wound between them. Percy—brash, reckless, sea-green-eyed Percy—had stolen her heart long ago, a truth she’d buried beneath layers of duty and friendship. She knew Travis liked her but she never really thought about how he truly felt until this very moment. 

“I’m sorry,” 

“Don’t,” he cut her off, his words faint but firm, a spark of his old stubbornness flaring through the haze of pain. “Don’t apologize. Not your fault… I’m just a dumbass who reads too much into things.” He coughed weakly, a shudder running through him, and his eyes fluttered shut for a moment before forcing them open again. “Just… tell Percy he’s a lucky bastard, alright?”

A choked laugh escaped her, mingling with a sob as she nodded. “I will. I promise.” Her tears fell freely now, dripping onto his hand, and she didn’t bother wiping them away. “But you’re not a dumbass, Travis. You’re the best friend I could’ve asked for. You mean everything to me.”

His smile widened faintly, a flicker of genuine warmth breaking through the pallor of his face. “Good enough for me,” he murmured. His gaze drifted past her, up to the canopy of stars peeking through the pines, their faint silver light piercing the darkness like a thousand distant promises he’d never get to keep. The towering trees whispered in the wind, their branches swaying as if mourning in their own silent way. The air was crisp, laced with the scent of pine resin, firewood and damp earth, and the river’s steady murmur seemed to hum a lullaby just for him.

His chest rose once more, a shallow, shuddering breath that rattled through him like a final chord. His hand, still clasped in Katie’s, went slack, the last vestiges of strength slipping away. His eyes, fixed on the stars, glimmered faintly—reflecting the endless sky above—before the light within them dimmed and extinguished. With one final exhale, a soft sigh that carried his spirit into the night, he was gone.

The silence that followed was deafening. The fire crackled on, oblivious, but the wilderness seemed to pause, the rustling leaves and distant wolf howls fading into a stillness that pressed against the group like a physical weight. Katie’s hands trembled as she held onto his, her breath hitching in sharp, uneven gasps. She didn’t let go—not yet—her fingers curling tighter as if she could pull him back, as if the warmth of her touch could reignite the spark that had slipped away.

Connor’s head dropped, his shoulders shaking as silent sobs wracked his frame. His hands, still hovering near his brother’s, clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms until blood welled beneath them. He didn’t cry out, didn’t scream—just sat there, breaking apart in a quiet, devastating collapse, the bond of brotherhood severed in a way he’d never imagined.

Will stared at Travis’s still form, his hands frozen mid-motion, the damp cloth crumpled in his lap. His promise—to not let this be his fault—echoed hollowly in his mind, a vow he couldn’t keep despite every ounce of skill and willpower he’d poured into it. Tears streamed down his face now, unchecked, carving clean tracks through the dirt and grime. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words barely audible, a confession to the night and to the friend he couldn’t save. “I’m so sorry.”

Katie’s sob broke the silence first, a raw, guttural sound that tore from her throat as she pressed Travis’s hand to her forehead. “No,” she choked out, shaking her head as if denying it could make it untrue. “No, no, no—” Her voice cracked, dissolving into a wail that echoed through the trees, a sound of pure, unfiltered grief that drew the others closer.

Piper was at her side in an instant, dropping to her knees and wrapping her arms around Katie’s shaking shoulders. She didn’t say anything—there were no words that could mend this—but she held her tightly, her own tears falling silently as she pressed her cheek against her friend’s hair. Reyna stood behind them, her gladius forgotten on the ground, her hands clenched at her sides as she stared at the son of Hermes’s body. Her face was a mask of stoic resolve, but her eyes betrayed her—glistening with a pain she wouldn’t let herself voice.

Clarisse remained at her post, a silent sentinel in the shadows, her back turned to the scene unfolding behind her. She had heard everything—every word, every cry—and that was enough. To witness it firsthand would be unbearable. Her shoulders tensed involuntarily as Katie’s anguished wail pierced the air, its raw, unfiltered pain striking a chord deep within her. The sound scared her more than she dared to acknowledge.

Her eyes stayed locked on the darkened wilderness ahead, unblinking, as if the void beyond could swallow her unease. Her fingers clenched the hilt of her sword with such force that her knuckles burned white, the ache a grounding counterpoint to the turmoil inside. Tears threatened to betray her, stinging at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She bit down hard on her lip, the sharp pain silencing the sob that clawed at her throat. For once, she was glad no one was looking at her.

The cries, the embraces, the shared grief—it all suddenly came to an abrupt halt as a monstrous roar shattered the stillness, drowning out every other sound. The demigods froze, their hearts seizing in unison as the ground beneath them trembled violently, as if the earth itself recoiled in fear. 

“Oh shit…” Clarisse muttered, her voice barely audible over the deafening noise. Her eyes widened as distant trees began to topple, one after another, like dominos. Something massive was tearing through the forest, barreling toward them with terrifying speed. 

The roar reverberated through the valley again, a primal, guttural bellow that seemed to shake the very roots of the mountains. The raw power shook the trees next to them as if a storm was near, raining down pine needles atop their heads. The demigods snapped out of their grief-stricken stupor, hands flying to weapons as instincts honed by years of survival kicked in.

The daughter of Ares knew that forming a defensive line would do no good against whatever was coming at them. It was too big and too fast. Thinking fast, she screamed out for everyone to climb up the hill. Using the terrain to their advantage would be their only hope. 

The demigods scrambled into action, their grief momentarily eclipsed by the primal instinct to survive. Clarisse’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade, sharp and commanding. “Move! Up the hill—now!” She pulled out her sword, spinning on her heel to run, her exhaustion buried beneath a surge of adrenaline.

The roar sounded again, closer this time, a bone-rattling bellow that sent a cascade of loose stones tumbling down the hillside. The ground shuddered beneath their feet, the vibrations growing stronger with every passing second. Trees snapped and splintered in the distance, their trunks crashing to the earth with deafening cracks as whatever was charging toward them carved a relentless path through the wilderness. 

Piper grabbed Katie’s arm, hauling her to her feet with a strength born of desperation. “Come on—we’ve got to go!” she urged. Katie stumbled, her tear-streaked face dazed, but Piper’s grip was unyielding. She dragged her toward the slope, half-supporting her as they started to climb.

Reyna scooped up her gladius and sprinted to Travis’s stretcher, her jaw set with grim determination. “Help me!” she barked at Connor, who was still kneeling beside his brother’s body, frozen in shock. He blinked up at her, his face pale and streaked with tears, but the urgency in her tone snapped him out of his stupor. Together, they lifted the stretcher—Travis’s lifeless form still strapped to it—and began hauling it up the incline. They weren’t leaving him behind, not yet, not even with death bearing down on them.

Will scrambled after them, shoving his pack onto his shoulders as he climbed. His hands shook, slick with sweat and Travis’s blood, but he forced himself to focus. “Keep moving!” he shouted to the others, his voice cracking under the strain. “Don’t stop!”

Nico darted ahead, his dark figure a blur as he scaled the hill with surprising agility. His sword was drawn now, the Stygian iron sucking in any light the world around them provided. Butch and Alyssa brought up the rear, ushering the rest of the demigods upward. Butch had abandoned his binoculars, his short blade clutched tightly in one hand as he shoved a younger camper ahead of him. “Go, go, go!” he yelled, his broad frame a shield against whatever might burst from the trees. Alyssa stayed close, her bow already notched with an arrow, her sharp eyes darting between the shadows below.

The hill was steep, its surface a treacherous mix of loose dirt, tangled roots, and jagged rocks. The demigods clawed their way up, slipping and cursing as the ground shifted beneath them. The roar came again, so close now that it felt like it was rattling their bones, and the air grew thick with the scent of crushed pine and something acrid—something metallic and unnatural.

Clarisse reached the crest of the hill first, her boots skidding on the loose soil as she turned to survey the chaos below. Her chest heaved, sweat streaking down her face, but her grip on her sword remained steady. The firelight from their abandoned camp flickered faintly in the distance below, a fragile glow swallowed by the encroaching darkness as the monstrous force tore closer. She squinted into the shadows, her warrior’s instincts screaming at her to prepare for a fight they might not win—but survival was the priority now, not a stand.

“Keep going!” she bellowed, her voice raw but commanding as she waved the others past her. “Get to the top and spread out—use the ridge for cover!”

Piper and Katie stumbled up beside her, the daughter of Aphrodite’s arm still locked around her friend’s waist. Katie’s legs trembled, her grief-heavy eyes darting back toward Travis’s stretcher, but Piper’s firm grip kept her moving. “We’re almost there,” she panted, her voice laced with urgency. “Just a little more, Katie—come on!”

Reyna and Connor followed, their faces grim as they hauled Travis’s stretcher between them. The tarp sagged under his weight, the poles creaking with every jarring step, but they didn’t falter. They were worried that they might accidentally drop the stretcher due to the steep height, but they refused to let that happen. No one was going to be left behind. They reached the crest just as Nico scrambled up beside them, his dark eyes scanning the land below as he helped drag them up to the top.

The ridge atop the hill offered a jagged circle of rock and earth, studded with wind-twisted pines that clung stubbornly to the incline. The demigods spilled over the crest, breathless and battered, their movements frantic as they sought cover among the natural fortifications. Clarisse directed them with sharp gestures, her sword still drawn as she took up a position near the edge, peering down into the roiling darkness of the valley below.

The air vibrated with the monstrous roar again, closer now—so close that the ground beneath their feet seemed to pulse in time with it. The firelight from their abandoned camp was snuffed out in an instant as something massive crashed through the trees, flattening the undergrowth and sending a plume of dust and splintered wood billowing into the night. The sound was deafening—a cacophony of snapping timber, grinding earth, and that unearthly bellow that seemed to claw at their very souls.

“Spread out!” Clarisse barked, her voice cutting through the chaos. “Get behind the rocks—stay low!” She dropped into a crouch behind a slab of granite, her eyes narrowing as she tried to make out the shape of their pursuer through the haze of debris below.

Piper pulled Katie down beside her, pressing them both against a gnarled tree trunk that jutted from the ridge. The daughter of Demeter’s breaths came in short, ragged gasps, her hands still trembling, but the adrenaline surging through her veins sharpened her focus. Piper gripped her dagger tightly, her knuckles white as she peeked over the edge, her heart pounding against her ribs.

Reyna and Connor maneuvered Travis’s stretcher behind a cluster of boulders, setting it down with a gentleness that belied the urgency of the moment. Reyna’s gladius gleamed faintly in the dim starlight as she positioned herself in front of the stretcher, her stance wide and ready. Connor crouched beside his brother’s body, one hand resting on the tarp as if to shield him, the other clutching a short sword he’d drawn from his belt. His tear-streaked face was set in a mask of determination, grief fueling his resolve.

Will scrambled up next to them, his pack sliding off his shoulder as he ducked behind the same boulders. He pressed a hand to Travis’s chest, a futile gesture to check for a pulse he knew wouldn’t be there, but the instinct was too ingrained to ignore. His blue eyes darted toward the valley, wide with a mix of fear and exhaustion. “What is that thing?”

“No clue but it's massive,” Nico answered. “It tore through the forest like a hurricane!” 

The demigods settled down for a moment, hoping that their silence would lead to whatever was chasing them to leave. But to no avail, however, as the unknown beast let out a deafening roar again as if angered even further. 

“It’s climbing up here!” Alyssa alerted the others, notching back an arrow before letting loose. Her eyes were filled with terror as she watched the monster inevitably climb toward them. “What the fuck is that thing?!

The arrow streaked through the night, a fleeting glint of silver swallowed by the shadows below. A guttural snarl answered its flight, sharp and furious, as the creature’s massive form shifted in the darkness. The ridge trembled beneath the demigods’ feet, loose pebbles skittering down the slope as the beast’s claws dug into the earth, hauling itself upward with terrifying speed. The air thickened with the stench of rot, a rancid heat that clashed with the crisp mountain breeze.

Alyssa notched another arrow, her hands steady despite the fear flashing in her eyes. “It’s not stopping!” she shouted, losing the second shot. The arrow vanished into the void, and this time, a wet, guttural sound—like flesh tearing—followed, accompanied by an enraged bellow that shook the trees. Whatever it was, her arrows were only pissing it off.

“Get ready!” Clarisse roared, rising from her position to situate herself in front of the less capable demigods. Her sword gleamed in her grip, the blade an extension of her anger as she braced for the inevitable clash. Her exhaustion was a distant memory now, burned away by the fire of battle surging through her veins. She didn’t care what this thing was—monster, god, or something worse—she wouldn’t let it take any of her friends. She had already lost one too many tonight.

The creature breached the edge of the ridge, its massive silhouette blotting out the moon as it hauled itself into view. The demigods froze, weapons raised, their breaths catching in their throats as the firelight from below flickered across its form. It was enormous—easily fifteen feet tall at the shoulder—its body a grotesque amalgamation of muscle, fur, and blood. Thick, sinewy limbs ended in claws that gouged the earth, each digit tipped with black claws that shimmered like obsidian. Its hide was a patchwork of jagged scars and matted fur, oozing with a dark, viscous ichor that dripped onto the ground, sizzling where it landed. A mane of spines bristled along its spine, glinting with a red and black sheen, and its head—gods, its head—was a nightmare made flesh.

The beast’s skull was broad and resembled a bear’s, with a maw that split wide to reveal rows of serrated teeth, each one glistening with a sickly black venom that dribbled onto the rocks below. Its eyes—or where eyes should have been—were hollow pits, glowing with a faint, malevolent red that pulsed like embers in a dying fire. When it roared again, the sound was a physical force, slamming into the demigods like a tidal wave and sending a few stumbling back.

“What is that thing?!” Piper yelled, her voice shrill with panic as she tightened her grip on her dagger. Her charmspeak wavered in her throat, instinct telling her this thing was beyond her power to sway. It wasn’t just a monster—it was something wrong , a blight on the world that radiated pure malice. It shouldn’t exist yet here it was, salivating at the thought of killing these pitiful ants that dared stood against it.  

The creature’s presence warped the air around it, a miasma of dread that pressed against the demigods like a tangible weight. The wilderness itself recoiled—pine needles shriveled where its ichor splattered, and the wind seemed to stutter, as if afraid to touch the beast. Its hollow, glowing eyes swept over the ridge, locking onto the cluster of demigods with a hunger that transcended mere predation. This wasn’t just a hunt. This was annihilation.

Clarisse didn’t hesitate. “Spread out—flank it!” she bellowed, charging forward with her sword raised, her boots pounding the earth. The daughter of Ares moved like a storm, fearless and relentless, her blade slashing toward the creature’s nearest limb. The metal bit into its flesh, carving a shallow gash that oozed black sludge, but the beast barely flinched. It swung a massive paw in retaliation, the air whistling as the strike narrowly missed her, forcing her to roll aside. The ground where she’d stood cracked under the impact, dirt exploding outward in a shower of debris.

“Keep it distracted!” Reyna shouted, darting to the left with her gladius in hand. She moved with the precision of a Roman soldier, her steps measured but swift as she aimed for the creature’s flank. Her blade struck true, slicing into the sinewy muscle of its hind leg, but the ichor that sprayed from the wound burned her skin where it splashed, forcing her to grit her teeth against the pain. She ducked under another swipe, her armor scraping against the rocky ground as she evaded its reach.

Nico surged forward from the shadows, his Stygian iron sword a dark blur as he aimed for the beast’s underbelly. The blade sank deep, drawing a guttural snarl from the creature, and for a moment, the red glow in its hollow eyes flickered. But the victory was fleeting—the monster reared back, its spines rattling like a warning, and slammed a claw down toward him. He shadow-traveled just in time before being crushed, reappearing a few feet away, panting, his pale face streaked with sweat and dirt. “It’s not slowing down!” he yelled, fear etched into his words.

The beast’s roar shook the ridge once more, a sound so primal it seemed to claw at the very fabric of the night. Its massive form loomed over the demigods, an unstoppable force of rage and ruin, its ichor-slicked claws raking the earth as it lunged toward them. Clarisse scrambled back to her feet, her sword dripping with the creature’s black blood, her chest heaving as she braced for another strike. Reyna circled to its flank, her gladius flashing in the dim light, while Nico darted in and out of the shadows, his blade a fleeting whisper of death. But their efforts felt like pinpricks against a mountain—futile, fleeting, and far too small to topple the monstrosity before them.

“It’s not stopping!” Alyssa cried, losing another arrow that sank into the beast’s shoulder. The shaft quivered briefly before snapping under the creature’s thrashing, the wound closing almost instantly as more ichor oozed forth. Her voice cracked with desperation. “We can’t kill it!”

The monster swung its massive head toward her, its hollow eyes flaring red, and charged. Butch tackled her out of the way just as its claws gouged the earth where she’d stood, sending a spray of dirt and rock into the air. The two rolled behind a boulder, gasping, as the beast’s tail—a whip-like appendage lined with jagged spines—lashed out, splintering a nearby pine with a deafening crack.

Clarisse gritted her teeth, her muscles screaming as she dodged another blow and slashed at the beast’s foreleg. The blade bit deep, but the creature barely flinched, its roar drowning out her frustrated curse. “Then we make it bleed until it can’t move!” she yelled, defiant even as the odds stacked higher against them. But deep down, she knew—they all knew—this wasn’t a fight they could win. Not like this.

The beast reared up, its massive form casting a shadow that swallowed the ridge, its claws gleaming as it prepared to slam down on the scattered demigods. Time seemed to slow, the air thick with the stench of rot and the promise of death. Piper braced herself, pulling Katie closer; Reyna raised her gladius in a futile stand; Connor stepped in front of Travis’s stretcher, his sword trembling in his grip. They were out of options, out of time—

Suddenly, as if a blessing from the Fates themselves showed itself, a sharp, piercing whistle of a silver arrow barreled through the night air before embedding itself into the creature’s jaw. The arrow struck with a sickening thunk , burying itself deep into the beast’s jaw, cutting off its roar mid-bellow. Black ichor sprayed from the wound, splattering the ground as the monster staggered, its massive head whipping to the side. The force of the impact sent a shudder through its hulking frame, and for the first time, it seemed to falter, its hollow red eyes flickering as if dazed. 

The demigods froze, their weapons still raised, breaths held in stunned silence as they watched a volley of silver arrows rain down from the darkness, streaking through the night like a swarm of vengeful stars. Each one found its mark with deadly precision—embedding into the beast’s thick hide, piercing its sinewy limbs, and sinking into the base of its spined mane. The creature thrashed wildly, its roars morphing into guttural shrieks of pain and fury as the barrage forced it back, step by staggering step. Ichor poured from its wounds, pooling on the rocky ridge in sizzling black puddles that ate into the earth.

Clarisse lowered her sword slightly, her chest heaving as she squinted into the shadowed tree line where the arrows had originated. “What in Hades—?” she muttered in disbelief. The others followed her gaze, their weapons still at the ready, uncertainty rippling through the group like a shared heartbeat.

From the gloom beyond the ridge, shapes began to emerge—lithe, graceful figures clad in silver and gray, their movements silent and deliberate. The flicker of moonlight caught on the curves of their bows, the glint of arrowheads, and the shimmer of silver jackets. The Hunters of Artemis had arrived. The realization hit the demigods like a wave, relief warring with the adrenaline still coursing through their veins.

The hunters moved with a fluid precision that seemed almost otherworldly as they flanked the beast. Each arrow they loosed sang through the air, a deadly chorus that drove the monster back toward the edge of the hill. The creature’s roars grew more frantic, its massive limbs flailing as it tried to swipe at the elusive figures darting through the shadows, but the Hunters were too quick, too coordinated—untouchable wraiths in the night.

Clarisse straightened, her sword still gripped tightly as she watched the onslaught. Her warrior’s instincts screamed at her to join the fray, but even she could see the tide had shifted. The beast, for all its monstrous power, was faltering under the relentless assault. Its ichor-slicked hide bristled with silver shafts, each one a testament to the hunters’ unerring aim, and its movements grew sluggish, its roars weakening into pained bellows.

From the center of the Hunters’ formation, a figure stepped forward—her silver circlet glinting atop a cascade of dark hair. Thalia Grace, lieutenant of Artemis, lowered her bow slightly, her electric-blue eyes fixed on the beast with a cold, unyielding focus. She raised a hand, and the volley of arrows ceased as if on a silent command, the two hunters behind her holding their positions like statues carved from moonlight. The creature staggered, its massive form swaying dangerously close to the drop, its claws scraping the earth in a desperate bid to steady itself.

“Thalia?” Nico whispered in disbelief. The son of Hades took a step forward, his Stygian blade dropped slightly in his hand, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. How was this possible? How was she alive? How did she find them? So many questions racked his brain but he knew all would be answered later. For now, they needed to kill this monstrosity before them. 

The ridge trembled beneath the demigods’ feet as the beast let out a guttural snarl, its hollow red eyes flaring with a last surge of defiance. Its massive form teetered on the edge, ichor streaming from countless wounds, the silver arrows protruding from its hide like a grotesque pincushion. It slowly raised itself on its hind legs, its massive form blotting out the stars as it prepared to charge. 

Thalia, and the two other hunters, drew back arrows, prepared to meet this abomination head on if need be. The demigods felt the same way, each planting their feet firmly into the ground as they raised their weapons, ready to fight until their last breath. 

Before anyone could react—before the monstrous beast could charge—a flash of bronze streaked behind its hind legs, moving with a velocity no ordinary demigod could hope to rival. It was a blur of deadly precision, cutting through the air like a honed blade. Sparks erupted as metal struck bone, igniting a bone-rattling howl from the creature’s gaping maw—a primal, agonized sound that reverberated through the ridge, shaking the earth itself. The beast’s colossal frame faltered, its rear legs buckling as they were cleaved clean from its body. Thick, black ichor spurted from the wounds, hissing as it pooled into the dirt like some corrosive venom.

The monster crashed onto its mutilated stumps, clawing futilely at the empty air in a desperate bid to flee. But escape was a lost cause. The bronze blur struck again, piercing its back and bursting through the front of its torso, right where a heart might pulse. There, embedded in its flesh, gleamed a legendary bronze sword—a weapon instantly recognizable to every demigod, deity, and monster alike. Its blade shimmered, coated in the creature’s dark ichor and kissed by faint starlight. The beast unleashed one last, defiant roar, a guttural cry of rage and despair, before the sword was yanked back and whipped through its neck in a single, fluid arc. The head toppled, severed cleanly, and the monster fell silent, dead at last.

The monstrous head rolled to a stop at the edge of the ridge before falling off into the darkness below, its hollow red eyes dimming to lifeless voids as the last echoes of its roar faded into the night. The beast’s massive body slumped forward, a grotesque heap of fur, muscle, and spines, its reign of terror ended in a single, breathtaking strike. The wilderness exhaled—a rustle of leaves, a distant hawk’s cry—as if the land itself sighed in relief.

Standing behind where the monster once stood, his silhouette framed against the starlit sky, was a figure no one had expected. His sea-green eyes glinted with a fierce intensity, his dark hair tousled and streaked with dirt, and his hand still carrying Riptide, the blade hissing with the black ichor coating it. The air around him crackled with an almost tangible energy—the raw, untamed power of the sea, tempered by the years of survival that had forged him into the warrior he was now.

For a heartbeat, no one moved, breathed or even blinked. It was as if they were all seeing a ghost for the first time.

Then he spoke, and with three words, the dam of pent-up emotions shattered within everyone. Relief surged forth, mingling with happiness, sorrow and guilt, a torrent unleashed merely by his voice.

“Kept my promise,” Percy Jackson said, his familiar smirk curling across his lips.

A/N- I’m sorry its such a long chapter. I couldn’t find a good stopping point. This is almost 15,000 words which is three chapters in one. I hope you enjoyed it and I’ll see you in the next one!

Chapter Text

“Kept my promise.”

The ridge fell silent, save for the soft hiss of the beast’s ichor sizzling into the earth and the faint rustle of trees settling in the aftermath. Percy stood there, Riptide still dripping in his hand, his chest heaving slightly from the exertion of the kill. The moonlight caught the edges of his face, illuminating the familiar lines of determination and regal power etched into his features. His sea-green eyes swept over the group, taking in their stunned faces, their trembling hands, and the tears streaking down some of their faces. 

“Percy?” Piper was the first to break out of the trance, her tone fragile and disbelieving, as if saying his name aloud might make him vanish like a mirage. She stepped forward, her dagger slipping from her grasp to clatter against the rocks. Her hands shook as she reached out, then hesitated, as if afraid he wasn’t real.

He sheathed Riptide with a practiced flick, the blade collapsing into its pen form, and took a step toward her. “Hey, Pipes,” he said warmly. “Miss me?” 

The dam broke. Piper launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck in a fierce hug that nearly knocked him back a step. He caught her, steadying them both, and for a moment, he just held her, his chin resting atop her head as she buried her face in his shoulder. Her sobs were muffled against his tattered shirt, a mix of relief and grief spilling out in waves.

“You’re alive,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “We knew you were alive. I just–just thought...”

“Told you I’d come back,” he murmured, his hand rubbing her back in a comforting circle. “Takes more than a collapsed bridge to stop me.” 

Katie stumbled forward next, practically collapsing in his arms. She trembled in his frame, her fingers clutching at his shirt as if anchoring herself to him would keep her from falling apart entirely. 

Percy’s arms tightened around Katie, his grip steady and grounding as she shook against him. Her tears soaked into his shirt, but he didn’t pull away, letting her cling to him as the weight of everything—Travis’s death, the monster attacks, the endless days of uncertainty—poured out of her. “I’ve got you,” he said reassuringly, the same tone that had calmed so many of them through battles and losses before. “I’m here now.” 

She pulled back just enough to look up at him, her brown eyes red-rimmed and glistening. “Travis…” she started, her voice breaking as she gestured weakly toward the stretcher behind her. “He’s gone, Percy. He—he didn’t make it.”

The son of Poseidon felt his heart stop as he followed her gesture, his eyes landing on Travis’s still form draped across the tarp. He peeled away from Katie and Piper gently, moving toward the stretcher with a heaviness in his stride that hadn’t been there moments ago. The other demigods parted like the Red Sea, allowing him to walk forward. It looked like everyone wanted to say something to him, to greet him, to hug him but no one dared interrupt the gravity of the moment. The air grew thick with unspoken words and the weight of loss as Percy knelt beside the son of Hermes’s body. His hand hovered over the tarp for a heartbeat, hesitating, before he gently pulled it back to reveal his friend’s face.

His features were slack, his once-mischievous grin erased by the stillness of death. The pallor of his skin was stark against the dark curls framing his face, and the faint traces of black tendrils lingered beneath the surface, a cruel reminder of the poison that had claimed him. Percy’s breath caught in his throat, a sharp pang twisting in his chest as he took in the sight. He’d seen death before—too many times—but this hit differently. Travis was a constant in his life, ever since he first learned of his heritage. He considered the man a brother. 

“Gods damn it,” the green-eyed demigod muttered roughly with a mix of grief and anger. He pressed a hand to Travis’s forehead, the skin cold beneath his palm, and closed his eyes for a moment. “You didn’t deserve this, man. Not like this.”

Connor stepped up beside him, his shoulders hunched and his hands balled into fists at his sides. His eyes were red, his face a mask of raw pain, but he managed a shaky nod. “Poisoned by the Father’s power,” he answered the unasked question. 

Percy’s hand lingered on his forehead, the coldness of his skin seeping into his palm like a silent accusation. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his face tightening as Connor’s words sank in. “The Father’s power,” he repeated, a storm raging beneath the surface of his words. He pulled his hand back slowly, curling it into a fist as he rose to his feet, his sea-green eyes blazing with a fury that seemed to ripple through the air around him. “He’s been following us. Ever since New York.” 

The remaining son of Hermes nodded, his own grief sharpening into something harder, something edged with vengeance. “Got into a skirmish with his minions out at Lewis and Clark Forest a couple days ago,” he replied, the memory still very fresh in his mind. “That’s where…where he got hit. Will tried everything to help save him but the poison was just too strong.” 

His gaze flicked to Will, who stood a few paces away, his face etched with exhaustion and guilt. The son of Apollo met his eyes briefly before looking away, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his failure. Percy didn’t need to ask—he could see it in his posture, in the way his hands trembled slightly at his sides. He’d fought tooth and nail to save Travis, and it still hadn’t been enough. 

His eyes lingered for a moment longer, a flicker of understanding passing through them. He knew that guilt all too well—the kind that gnawed at you when you couldn’t save someone, no matter how hard you tried. But then his gaze dropped back to Travis, and something shifted in him. His brows furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line as an unwanted memory he long since suppressed sparked in the depths of his mind, sharp and sudden like a crack of lightning over the sea.

Poison

He’d faced it before. Not just that— controlled it. The realization hit him like a tidal wave, breaking through the fog of grief and exhaustion. His breath hitched as he remembered the fight with Akhlys in Tartarus, the way he’d bent her poisons to his will, turned them against her. It hadn’t been just water he’d manipulated—it was everything tied to it, every dark and deadly thing that flowed like liquid through the veins of the world. Poison was no exception.

Could he control the Father’s poison though? Was it like Akhlys’s or was it stronger? More unyielding to his will? His mind brimmed with questions he didn’t have the answers to unless he tried. He remembered the air down in Tartarus had been thick with misery, the rivers churning with venom and despair. Akhlys’s wails still echoed faintly in his ears, her tear-streaked face contorted in terror as he’d seized her own poison and twisted it against her. He could still feel the surge of power in his veins, the way the dark liquid had bent to his command, obedient and alive under his touch. It had been instinct then—raw, desperate, and unchecked. But it had worked.

His eyes narrowed as he stared down at Travis’s lifeless form, the black tendrils beneath his skin mocking him with their ever-growing permanence. Could he do it again? Could he reach into that same well of power and pull the poison out, even now, after death had already staked its claim? The thought was a long shot, a reckless gamble born of grief and defiance, but he had never been one to back down from impossible odds. He had controlled his own blood on the verge of death. Had killed a living being with its own as well. If he reached deep enough, he could control this too. 

He had promised Annabeth never to do such a thing again. After all, some things weren’t meant to be controlled. But promises were fragile things—breakable under the weight of necessity, of love, of the unbearable ache of losing someone you couldn’t save. He knew he was going down a path that he couldn’t come back from. His hand hovered over Travis’s ribs, trembling slightly as the memory of Annabeth’s voice clawed its way to the forefront of his mind. “Promise me, Percy. Promise you won’t ever do that again.” Her gray eyes had been wide with fear—not for him, but of him—when she’d said it, her hands gripping his arms as if she could anchor him to the light he’d nearly lost in Tartarus. He’d nodded then, his throat tight, swearing he’d never reach into that dark part of himself again. But now, staring at his friend’s lifeless body, that promise felt like a chain dragging him down into the depths of his own helplessness.

He will never be that helpless again.

He clenched his fist, nails digging into his palm until he felt the sting of blood. The others watched him, their silence heavy with confusion. Piper’s tear-streaked face tilted toward him, her brows furrowing as she sensed the shift in his demeanor. Connor’s fists remained balled at his sides, his gaze darting between Percy and his brother’s body, as if he could feel the storm brewing in the son of Poseidon’s heart. Will took a hesitant step forward, his instincts kicking in, but he stopped when Percy’s eyes flicked up to meet his—sharp, wild, and unreadable.

“Don’t,” he said barely above a whisper. “Percy, whatever you’re thinking… don’t.”

But Percy didn’t respond. His focus snapped back to Travis, to the faint black veins spiderwebbing beneath his skin. The Father’s poison. It wasn’t like Akhlys’s—it was older, deeper, tied to something primal and vast. He could feel it now, a faint pulse in the air, a whisper of power that wasn’t his own but called to him nonetheless. It was in the ground where blood had spilled, in the faint shimmer of ichor still evaporating from the beast he’d slain. It was everywhere, mocking him, daring him to try.

He knelt again, pressing both hands flat against Travis’s chest. The coldness of his body seeped into his skin, but he pushed past it, reaching for that familiar thread of power buried deep within himself. It was still there, coiled like a serpent in the pit of his soul, waiting. He tugged at it, tentative at first, feeling the rush of it flood his veins—dark, heady, and alive. His breath hitched as the sensation swelled, the world around him sharpening into focus. The rustle of leaves grew louder, the scent of pine and blood sharper, the faint hum of the earth beneath him thrumming in time with his heartbeat.

“Percy!” Piper’s voice cut through the haze, urgent and pleading. She grabbed his arm, her fingers digging in. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer, couldn’t. His vision tunneled, narrowing to the black tendrils beneath Travis’s skin. He reached for them—not with his hands, but with his will—searching for the poison’s essence, its flow, its life. It resisted him at first, slippery and defiant, like trying to grasp oil in water. But he pressed harder, his jaw tightening as he poured more of himself into the effort.

The others stepped back instinctively, their breaths catching as the ridge seemed to shudder beneath their feet. Will’s eyes widened as fear overtook him. “Percy, stop—please, you don’t know what this’ll do!”

But Percy was beyond hearing them now. He couldn’t. The sound of his own blood rushing in his ears drowned out everything. He could feel it—the poison wasn’t just liquid, wasn’t just death. It was a force, a fragment of something ancient and vengeful, woven into Travis’s blood and bones. It fought him, pushing back with a malice that made his head throb and his stomach churn. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his arms trembling as he dug deeper, forcing his will against its resistance.

The air around everyone thickened, heavy with an unnatural pressure that pressed against their shoulders like a storm about to break. The ground beneath trembled faintly, pebbles rattling as if stirred by an unseen current. The black tendrils beneath the skin pulsed once, twice, as if alive, resisting Percy’s intrusion with a stubborn ferocity. He pushed harder, his mind sinking into the sensation of the poison. It wasn’t just a substance—it was a presence, a thread of the Father’s will woven into Travis’s body. He could feel its cold, serpentine essence slithering through the dead demigod’s veins, clinging to him like a parasite refusing to let go. 

His power surged, a tidal wave crashing against the poison’s defiance. The black tendrils twitched violently, then began to shift, inching upward toward the surface of Travis’s skin as if drawn by an invisible force. Percy’s breath came in sharp, ragged gasps, his vision blurring at the edges as the effort clawed at him. It was working—he could feel it—but it was taking everything he had.

And then, just as the first bead of inky blackness broke through Travis’s skin, a voice sliced through his mind like a bullet. It was sharp, deep, and sounded like a growl against a chalkboard. 

“ Cease ,” it commanded, causing the son of Poseidon to scream out in pain, clutching his head as the voice reverberated through his skull, a jagged blade of sound that split his focus apart. His hands jerked back from Travis’s chest as if burned, and he staggered, nearly collapsing.

The ridge plunged into chaos. Percy’s scream shattered the fragile stillness, his knees buckling as he gripped his head, fingers digging into his scalp as though he could claw the voice out. The air pulsed with a low, menacing hum, a vibration that rattled teeth and set the demigods’ nerves ablaze. Piper dropped to her knees beside him, her hands hovering over his shoulders, torn between touching him and pulling back. “Percy! Percy, what’s happening?!”

He couldn’t answer. His vision swam, dark spots blooming across it as the voice lingered, its echo searing through his mind like acid. Cease. It wasn’t just a word—it was a force, a command laced with power so ancient and vast it made his bones ache. He’d felt power before—gods, Titans, even Gaia herself—but this was different. This was raw, unfiltered, and radiated such hatred that not even Tartarus himself could compare. 

The black tendrils on Travis’s skin writhed, snapping back beneath the surface like a whip recoiling. The ground trembled again, harder this time, a deep groan rising from the earth as if something beneath it stirred in anger. Connor stumbled forward, his face pale and confused. “What did you do , Percy? What’s happening to him?!”

“I—” Percy gasped, his voice hoarse as he forced himself to his knees, one hand braced against the dirt. His sea-green eyes were wild, dilated with pain and something else—fear, maybe, or recognition. “I felt it. The poison… it’s not just poison. It’s him .”

“Him?” Katie’s voice trembled as she clutched her arms around herself, her gaze darting between Percy and Travis’s body. “What do you mean, him ?”

“The Father,” Percy rasped, his breath still uneven as he pushed himself upright. His hands shook, blood trickling from where his nails had bitten into his palms. “It’s an extension of him. It’s connected. All of it. The tendrils on Travis, Jason, and Annabeth. The black ichor inside the monsters. All of it is him!” 

Percy groaned out shakily, his hands trembling at what he’d just experienced. That singular word echoed throughout his mind like a thunderclap trapped in a cavern, reverberating endlessly until it felt like his skull might split apart. He never wanted to experience such a thing again. Never wanted to hear that voice again. His hands clenched into fists again, the sting of his own blood grounding him as he fought to steady his breathing. 

But he had to. He had to try again. There was still a chance. He almost had it. He could control this poison. It was within his grasp. All he needed to do was push through the pain, the voice, and dig even deeper into his power more than he had ever done before.

“No, Percy,” Will moaned, watching as the son of Poseidon put his hands on Travis’s chest again. “You don’t know if this could kill you! Your screams sounded like you were being torn apart from this inside!” 

“I don’t care,” Percy growled through gritted teeth, his voice raw and resolute. His hands pressed harder against Travis’s chest, fingers splaying as if he could anchor himself to the lifeless body through sheer force of will. The air around him crackled with tension, the faint hum of power building again as he reached inward, clawing at that dark coil of energy he’d tapped into before. 

“Travis is gone, Percy! He’s dead! This won’t bring him back!” 

He flinched, the words cutting deep. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Will was right—Travis was gone. The cold, still weight of his body was proof enough. But the part of him that had clawed its way out of Tartarus, that had defied Gods and monsters and fate itself, refused to accept it. Not fully. Not yet.

His jaw tightened, his sea-green eyes narrowing as he glared down at his lifeless form. Will’s words echoed in his ears, sharp and piercing, but they only fueled the fire burning in his chest. He wasn’t ready to let go—not of Travis, not of the promise he’d made to himself to protect the people he loved. He’d failed too many times before, watched too many friends slip through his fingers. Not this time. Not if he could help it.

“I don’t care if he’s gone,” Percy said, trembling. “I’m not letting that bastard win.” His hands pressed harder against Travis’s chest, the cold seeping into his palms like a taunt. “If there’s even a chance—just a shred of a chance—I’m taking it.”

“Percy, please,” Piper pleaded, her voice breaking as she knelt beside him again, her hand resting on his arm. Her touch was warm, grounding, but it couldn’t pull him back from the edge he was teetering on. “You’re going to kill yourself. You heard that voice—it’s not just poison, it’s him. You can’t fight that alone.”

“I’ve fought worse,” he shot back, though the strain in his tone betrayed the lie. He hadn’t fought worse—not like this. The Father’s presence wasn’t like anything he’d faced before. It wasn’t a Titan’s brute strength or a god’s arrogance. It was something unimaginable, something that seeped into the cracks of the world and festered there, patient and inevitable. But he didn’t care. He couldn’t afford to.

He closed his eyes, shutting out the protest. He shut it all out and reached for that power again, the dark thread woven into the core of who he was. It surged up to meet him, eager and wild, flooding his veins with a cold, electric rush that made his breath hitch. The world around him faded, the ridge and the demigods blurring into the background as his senses honed in on Travis’s body.

The poison was still there, coiled and defiant, pulsing faintly beneath the surface of skin. He could feel it mocking him, daring him to try again. He gritted his teeth and pushed, his will slamming against the Father’s power like a wave crashing against a cliff. The black tendrils twitched, resisting, but he didn’t let up. He poured more of himself into it, every ounce of strength, every shred of desperation, until the air around him buzzed with the weight of his intent.

The ground trembled again, harder this time, a low rumble that sent dirt cascading down the ridge. The demigods stumbled, clutching at each other for balance, but Percy didn’t falter. His hands shook, sweat dripping down his face, but he held fast, his mind locked on the poison. He could feel it giving way, inch by agonizing inch, the tendrils loosening their grip on Travis’s body as he dragged them toward the surface.

And then it came again—that voice. “ Cease .” It tore through his mind like a blade, sharper and more vicious than before, a sound that clawed at his sanity and set his nerves ablaze. Percy cried out, his body jerking as the pain ripped through him, but he didn’t let go. He couldn’t. Not now. Not when he was so close.

“Percy!” Katie shouted, lunging forward, but Will grabbed her arm, holding her back. “Let me go—he’s killing himself!”

“You don’t know what’ll happen if you touch him!” He replied, keeping his hold tight on her.

The black tendrils broke through Travis’s skin, oozing out in thin, writhing streams that glistened like oil under the moonlight. Percy’s breath came in ragged gasps, his vision swimming as he forced the poison to obey him. It fought back, lashing at his mind with every inch he gained, but he pressed harder, his power surging like a tide he couldn’t hold back. The tendrils pooled on Travis’s chest, a wriggling mass of darkness that pulsed with malevolent life. His hands shook violently, blood dripping from his nose as the effort tore at him, but he didn’t stop. 

This continued for what felt like an eternity until eventually, all sent still. It was as if he was in a dream, his mind shifted away from the ridge he was standing on. No longer was he surrounded by his friends, or beneath the swirling mass of twinkling stars. Instead, he found himself plunged into a void—a vast, endless expanse of shadow that swallowed light and sound alike. The air was thick, suffocating, pressing against his chest like smoke. His hands no longer rested on Travis’s cold body; they hung uselessly at his sides, trembling from the strain he’d just endured. 

He blinked, trying to focus, but there was nothing to see—only an inky blackness that pulsed faintly, as if it had a heartbeat of its own. His breath echoed in the silence, shallow and uneven, the only sound in this desolate place. He didn’t know where he or what this place was but he did know one thing. The Father’s presence lingered here. It seeped into his bones and tugged at the corners of his mind. It was everywhere, a force so immense it threatened to crush him like a bug. 

“Where am I?” he rasped, his voice small against the vastness. He turned, searching for something—anything—to anchor himself, but the void offered no answers, no landmarks, no escape. His sea-green eyes darted wildly, pupils dilated, as panic clawed at his chest. Was this death? Had he pushed too far, broken himself beyond repair?

Suddenly, a low, guttural rumble rippled through the darkness, vibrating through the soles of his feet and up his spine. It wasn’t a sound he heard so much as felt, a primal resonance that clattered against his teeth. The air shifted, thickening further, and then he saw it—a faint shimmer in the distance, like the glint of light on water. It flickered, growing brighter, until it resolved into a shape: a towering silhouette, humanoid but impossibly vast, its edges bleeding into the void like ink dissolving in water.

Percy’s breath caught as the figure took form. It wasn’t solid—not entirely—but it radiated power, a presence so malevolent it made the hairs on his arms stand on end. Its eyes glowed, two piercing points of sickly yellow light that bore into him, unblinking and unrelenting. He couldn’t make out a face, only the vague impression of jagged features, a maw that might have been a mouth, and tendrils of shadow curling from its form like living smoke.

“Who the fuck are you?!” he spat out, his hand instinctively reaching for Riptide in his pocket. To his horror, however, he couldn’t feel it. 

"Kneel! "

The command slammed into him like a physical blow, a force that drove him to his knees before he could even think to resist. The void trembled around him, the air tightening as if it were squeezing the life from his lungs. His hands hit the unseen ground, palms splayed against a surface that felt neither solid nor liquid—just cold, endless nothing. His chest heaved, each breath a struggle against the crushing weight of the presence before him. Those sickly yellow eyes loomed closer, unyielding and rageful, pinning him in place with a gaze that stripped him bare.

“Fuck you,” Percy growled, slowly lifting his gaze to meet the figure’s eyes despite the immense gravity pushing downward on him. 

The shadow didn’t answer, not with words. Instead, the rumble deepened, a sound that wasn’t just heard but felt in his bones, his blood, his soul. It was laughter—dark, guttural, and utterly devoid of warmth. The tendrils of shadow writhed faster, curling toward him like eager fingers, and Percy’s stomach churned as he felt his skin caressed. 

“I don’t kneel to anyone,” he spat, his voice raw as he slowly but surely straightened. The pain was unbearable, like his spinal column collapsing by the vertebrae. But he refused to show weakness. “Not Gods, not Titans, and sure as hell not you.”

The laughter came again, louder this time, a grating roar that shook the void and sent ripples through the darkness. The silhouette loomed larger, its form swelling until it enveloped Percy in a shroud of shadow. The tendrils tightened their grip, coiling around his arms, his chest, his throat—not enough to choke him, but enough to make every breath a deliberate act of rebellion.

"I’ve heard the stories of your bravery ," the shadow finally spoke, his words mocking. “ Now I see that they were false. You’re just stupid enough to walk into the fires of Hell .”

The son of Poseidon’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together as the shadow’s voice slithered through the void, each word dripping with venomous disdain. The tendrils tightened their hold, cold and slick against his skin, but he forced himself to stay upright, his sea-green eyes blazing with defiance. The pain was excruciating—his bones screamed in protest, his muscles trembled under the strain—but he’d endured worse. He’d walked through Tartarus, faced unimaginable horrors, and stared death in the face more times than he could count. This deity wouldn’t break him.

“Stupid, huh?” he gave a short chuckle, “Maybe. But I’m still standing. Even after you sent all your little minions after me.” 

The shadow’s yellow eyes flared, a flicker of something—anger, amusement?—passing through them. The tendrils pulsed, squeezing harder, and Percy grunted as the pressure threatened to crush his ribs. But he didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. He met that gaze head-on, his own fury rising to match the shadow’s malice. It seemed he had hit the nail on the head. This was the Father. The deity that had caused them so much trouble over the weeks. The person who had turned Jason and Annabeth into something that couldn’t fully be explained. 

"That was merely a welcoming party, child of the sea," the Father hissed, his words scraping out the last bit of sanity Percy was desperately holding on to. 

“Some welcome,” he gasped out as the tendrils began to squeeze him even harder to the point he thought his eyeballs would pop out. “Send flowers next time, will ya?” 

"And yet he continues to jest even in the face of death," The father’s laugh reverberated through the air once more, in an almost disbelieving tone. "At least some of the stories hold some truth ."

Percy’s chest burned as the tendrils constricted further, each breath a ragged rebellion against the suffocating grip. His vision blurred at the edges, dark spots dancing in his periphery, but he clung to consciousness with the same stubborn ferocity that had carried him through every impossible fight. The demigod forced a smirk, his lips trembling with the effort.

“Truth?” he spat out defiantly. “Here’s some truth for you—when you decide to come out of the shadows, I’ll fucking gut you just like I did to Kronos! To Gaea! To all of my enemies!”

The Father’s laughter ceased abruptly, the void plunging into a silence so absolute it felt like the absence of existence itself. The yellow eyes narrowed, their glow intensifying until they burned like twin suns, searing into Percy’s soul. The tendrils froze mid-motion, their icy grip tightening just enough to make his ribs creak, a warning teetering on the edge of lethal. For a moment, the shadow seemed to consider him—not as a mere annoyance, but as something worthy of scrutiny, a spark of defiance in a world it sought to smother.

"Bold words," the Father rumbled, his voice no longer mocking but laced with a cold, calculating edge. "You wield your victories like a shield, child of the sea, but they will not protect you from what is to come. Kronos was a flickering ember, Gaea a fleeting tremor. I am the abyss that swallows all light. You cannot gut what has no form, no end."

Percy’s smirk faltered, but only for a heartbeat. “I’ve heard that time and time again.” he heaved, spitting a glob of blood outward to where he thought the shadow’s face might be. “And time and time again it never turns out to be true. My enemies all failed to kill me and you will too!” 

The shadow shifted, its form rippling like a storm cloud on the verge of bursting. The tendrils loosened slightly—not out of mercy, but as if the Father were adjusting its grip, toying with him. Those yellow eyes bore deeper, peeling back layers of bravado to the raw, unyielding core beneath. Percy felt it—a probing, invasive force that scraped against his mind, searching for weakness, for fear. He clenched his fists, nails biting deeper into his palms, and pushed back with every ounce of will he had left.

"You breathe because I allow it," the Father growled. "You stand because I permit it. Your defiance is a flicker in the dark—a fleeting spark I could snuff out with a thought. But I find it… amusing. For now. It’s wonderful to see such hope in a living being's eyes. The obliviousness of life before it all comes crashing down."

“Hope?” the green-eyed demigod did his best to laugh but it came out more as a dry cough.  “That’s where you’re wrong. This isn’t hope—it’s certainty. You’re just another name on the list.”

That insult seemed to finally poke through the Father’s steely exterior. His eyes flared, the sickly yellow light pulsing with a fury that made the void tremble. The tendrils snapped tighter, wrenching a grunt from Percy as they dug into his flesh, cold and unrelenting. The air thickened further, pressing against his lungs until each breath felt like swallowing glass. The shadow loomed closer, its form swelling until it blotted out what little sense of space remained, a towering wall of darkness that radiated an ancient, fathomless wrath.

"Certainty," the Father echoed, the word dripping with scorn. "You cling to your mortal arrogance as if it were a weapon. You think your petty triumphs define you, but they are nothing—grains of sand against the tide of eternity. I am no Titan, no Earth Mother. I am the Father of rot, the wellspring of all that festers and decays. Your victories mean nothing to me, for I am beyond victory, beyond defeat ."

Every fiber in Percy’s body snapped and frayed, as though his very being were unraveling. Blood oozed from his pores, warm and sticky, pooling in dark crimson beneath his feet. The pain was searing—his vision blurred with flashes of white, his ears screamed with a piercing whine—but through it all, he clung to that flickering ember of defiance. His eyes locked onto the Father, burning with a resolve that refused to falter. Even as his strength waned, his glare spoke what his voice could not: nothing—not agony, not death itself—would keep him from protecting his friends.

The deity, sensing the demigod’s unyielding spirit even under such crushing torment, let out a guttural snarl, frustration twisting its divine features. With a flick of its will, a razor-sharp tendril rose, glinting ominously as it hovered against Percy’s throat.

"Here’s a taste of what yet is to come," the Father hissed. Then, in one swift, merciless stroke, the tendril sliced clean through Percy’s neck.

The son of Poseidon’s world erupted into agony, a white-hot scream tearing from his throat as the tendril severed flesh and bone with surgical precision. His head snapped back, blood spraying in an arc that painted the void crimson before dissolving into the endless dark. For a fleeting, eternal moment, he felt everything—the sharp, blinding pain, the rush of air against the raw wound, the sickening warmth of his own life spilling out. His hands flew to his throat instinctively, clutching at the gaping gash, but there was no holding it together. His knees buckled, and he collapsed into the nothingness, his body crumpling like a marionette with its strings cut.

The Father’s laughter faded distantly through the void, deep and triumphant. Those sickly yellow eyes gleamed with sadistic satisfaction, watching as Percy writhed in the throes of death—or what should have been death.

Then, as if it were all just a dream, his vision shifted back to reality. He gasped like a fish out of water, his entire body flying backward from Travis into Katie and Will who caught him. The ridge snapped back into focus with a jarring clarity, the void’s oppressive darkness replaced by the cool night air and the familiar scent of pine and blood. His chest heaved as he sucked in ragged breaths, his hands clawing at his throat where the phantom tendril had sliced through him. His skin was intact—no blood, no gash—but the memory of the pain lingered, sharp and visceral, as if his body hadn’t yet caught up to the fact that he was still alive. His sea-green eyes were wide, wild with a mix of terror and fury, darting around as if expecting the Father to materialize from the shadows of the trees.

“Percy!” Katie’s voice broke through the haze, her arms tightening around him as she and Will steadied his trembling frame. Her hands gripped his shoulders, her nails digging in as if to anchor him to the here and now. “What happened? Are you okay?”

He couldn’t answer right away. His throat burned, raw from the scream that had ripped out of him in the void, and his mind reeled, still caught between the Father’s realm and reality. He pressed a shaking hand to his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat, proof he hadn’t been severed from life despite what he’d just endured.

Will knelt in front of him, his healer’s instincts kicking in as he scanned Percy’s face. “You’re bleeding,” he said with concern as he wiped a trickle of blood from his nose with the sleeve of his shirt.

Percy blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the disorientation as his friend’s words cut through the fog in his mind. He swiped at his nose with the back of his hand, smearing the blood across his knuckles, and grimaced at the sight. The metallic tang lingered in his throat, a bitter reminder of the Father’s power—of how close he’d come to losing everything. His body ached, every muscle screaming in protest as though he’d been pummeled by a Titan, but he was alive. Somehow, he was still alive.

“I’m fine,” he croaked, though the tremor in his hands betrayed the lie. He pushed himself upright, leaning heavily on Katie and Will for a moment before finding his balance. His sea-green eyes darted back to Travis’s lifeless form, a flicker of relief passing through him as he saw the black tendrils had vanished from his friend’s body. Yet that fleeting comfort curdled into nausea as he registered the ashen pallor still clinging to his skin, the icy chill that refused to thaw. Even with the poison drawn out, no spark of life stirred—no rise of breath, no flicker of warmth.

“No…” Percy’s voice cracked, a broken whisper escaping as he sank to his knees beside the son of Hermes. “No, no, no! ” The words tore from him, raw and desperate, his fist slamming into the stone beneath him with such force that blood welled from his knuckles, pooling in the cracks of the rock, but he didn’t feel the pain—not physically. The ache in his chest was deeper, a gnawing dread that swallowed every ounce of hope he’d clung to. He stared at Travis’s lifeless body, willing it to move, to twitch, to show any sign that he’d succeeded. But there was nothing—just the stillness of death, cold and unyielding.

“Percy…” Piper said softly as she knelt beside him. Her hand hovered over his shoulder, hesitant, before settling there gently. “You did everything you could.”

“Did I?” he snapped with self-loathing. He didn’t look at her, couldn’t tear his eyes away from Travis’s face. “I pulled the poison out. Why isn’t he—” His words choked off, his throat tightening as he slammed his fist into the ground again, harder this time. The fresh wave of pain barely registered over the storm raging inside him.

Will crouched on Travis’s other side, his hands moving with practiced care as he pressed two fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse that wasn’t there. His face tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line as he shook his head. “The poison’s gone,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with resignation. “But… it’s too late, Percy. His heart stopped too long ago. Even without the poison, there’s nothing left to bring back.”

“No.” Percy’s voice was a low growl, barely human, as he shoved himself forward, his blood-streaked hands pressing against Travis’s chest again. “I’m not done. I can do this. I have to do this.”

“Percy, stop!” Connor’s shout cut through the air, sharp and desperate. He stumbled forward, his face twisted with grief and fury as he grabbed his friend’s arm, yanking him back. “He’s gone! You can’t—you can’t fix this! Don’t you get it? He’s gone !”

The son of Poseidon wrenched his arm free, his sea-green eyes blazing as he rounded on Connor. “I promised!” he roared. “I promised that I’ll keep everyone safe! I promised I’d come back for all of you! I’m not letting him go—not like this!”

Connor staggered back as if struck, his own tears spilling over as he stared at him. The raw pain in his brother’s still form reflected in his eyes, but there was something else there too—anger, helplessness, a mirror of Percy’s own torment. “You think I don’t want him back?” he choked out. “You think I wouldn’t give anything— anything —to hear him laugh again, to see him pull some stupid prank? But he’s dead, Percy. He’s dead, and you’re tearing yourself apart for nothing!”

The words hit Percy like a punch to the gut, stealing the air from his lungs. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, his vision blurring as tears welled up, hot and stinging. He didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t. Not after everything he’d just endured, not after facing the Father himself and pulling that cursed poison out of Travis’s veins. But the truth was undeniable. His chest remained still, his skin cold and lifeless beneath the son of Poseidon’s trembling hands. The black tendrils were gone, yes—extracted by a power he’d barely understood, a power that had nearly torn him apart—but it hadn’t been enough. The poison had already done its work, snuffing out the spark of life long before he had even arrived. He’d been too late. Again. He failed just like he failed Annabeth.

His hands clenched into fists against Travis’s chest, nails digging into his palms as blood mingled with the dirt and stone beneath him. The ridge was silent now, save for the faint rustle of wind through the trees and the quiet sobs of his friends behind him. The weight of their eyes pressed against his back, a mixture of pity, fear, and exhaustion he couldn’t bear to face. He’d failed them. And that failure burned hotter than the Father’s voice, sharper than the tendril that had sliced through his throat in the void.

“I can do this,” he muttered crazily under his breath, his voice shaking as he pressed his hands harder against Travis’s chest. “I have to do this.” It wasn’t a plea—it was a command, a desperate order to the universe, to himself, to the blood that ran through his veins. He’d controlled poison before. He’d bent the rivers of Tartarus to his will, twisted the lifeblood of living beings. Why couldn’t he do this? Why couldn’t he reach into Travis’s body, find that last flicker of life, and pull it back?

“Percy, stop.” Will’s voice was firm now, cutting through the haze of his spiraling thoughts. The son of Apollo stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder—not gently, but with the steady grip of someone who’d seen too much death to let hope cloud reality. “You’re not a god. You can’t bring him back.”

Percy’s eyes flashed, a storm brewing in their depths. He straightened, his presence suddenly overwhelming, as if the ocean itself had risen to stand beside him. “Not a god?” he said, his words low but carrying the force of a hurricane. “Maybe not. But I’ve held the sky on my shoulders. I’ve stood in the heart of Tartarus. I’ve faced gods and monsters and made them fear me.” He leaned closer over the son of Hermes body, the air crackling with power. “So don’t tell me what I can’t do. I’ve got the power of the sea in my veins, and if I have to tear apart the heavens or drain the oceans to bring him back, I will. I don’t care who or what stands in my way!”

His sea-green eyes were wild, rimmed with red, tears spilling over despite his efforts to hold them back. Before anyone could stop him, he closed his eyes and reached inward again, diving into that dark well of power he’d tapped into before. It surged up to meet him, cold and wild, flooding his veins with a rush that made his head spin. The air around him thickened, the ground trembling faintly as he focused every ounce of his will on Travis’s body—not on the poison this time, but on the blood itself, the life that had once flowed through his veins.

“Percy, no!” Will shouted, lunging forward, but Piper grabbed his arm, holding him back. “Let him try,” she whispered brokenheartedly. “He needs to.”

Percy’s hands pressed harder against Travis’s chest, his fingers splaying as he reached for the blood beneath the skin. It was still there—stagnant, lifeless, but present. He could feel it, a faint echo of the vitality it once held, pooling in his veins like a river dammed by death. His power coiled around it, tentative at first, testing its limits. He’d controlled blood before—his own and a rabbit’s admittedly—but this was different. This was his friend, his brother. The weight of it pressed against his mind, a line he knew he shouldn’t cross, but he shoved the doubt aside.

“Come on,” he growled under his breath, his voice shaking with effort. “Come on, Travis. Work with me here.”

The air buzzed with energy, a low hum that set the demigods on edge. The ground beneath them shuddered, pebbles rattling as his power surged, a tidal wave crashing against the fragile barrier of death. He could feel the blood now, thick and sluggish, resisting his pull. It wasn’t like water—it was heavier, denser, tied to the very essence of life. But he didn’t care. He pushed harder, his will wrapping around it, coaxing it to move, to flow, to live .

A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, mixing with the blood still trickling from his nose. His arms trembled, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps as he poured everything into the effort. The blood stirred—slowly at first, a faint ripple beneath Travis’s skin, then stronger, a sluggish pulse that mirrored the thudding of Percy’s own heart. He latched onto it, forcing it to circulate, dragging it through veins that had gone still too long ago.

“Percy, stop!” Katie cried, her voice shrill with panic. “You’re killing yourself!”

But he didn’t hear her. His vision tunneled, narrowing to the sensation of blood bending to his will. It was working—he could feel it moving, sluggish but obedient, flowing through arteries and veins like a river breaking free of ice. His hands pressed harder, his power surging as he willed the heart beneath them to beat, to pick up where the blood left off.

And then it happened—a faint thud, so weak it might’ve been his imagination, pulsed against his palms. Percy’s eyes snapped open, his breath catching as he felt it again, stronger this time. A heartbeat. Faint, erratic, but there. Travis’s chest twitched, a shallow rise and fall that sent a jolt of adrenaline through everyone’s veins.

“Holy shit,” Connor breathed, his voice trembling as he stared at his brother’s body. “Holy shit, he’s—”

Percy couldn’t hear the rest of what was said before his eyes rolled upward to the back of his head and the sweeping darkness overtook him. 

Chapter Text

When he stirred awake, a fleeting whisper of thought convinced him he had ascended to Mount Olympus. The sun blazed overhead, a radiant orb of gold that poured its warmth across his skin like a tender caress. A gentle wind wove through the air, teasing his hair and nudging his eyes open to unveil a stunning tapestry of mountains, rivers, and valleys, all draped in the sun’s shimmering glow. He blinked slowly, the brilliance etching itself into his sight as his mind scrambled to anchor itself in the moment.

The air was sharp and clean, kissed with the subtle sweetness of wildflowers, while the rhythmic rush of a river sang softly in his ears. For an instant, he indulged the illusion—that he stood upon Mount Olympus, or perhaps in a realm even more ethereal, a haven where the burdens of sorrow and duty could not reach. His body felt buoyant, unshackled; the deep ache in his bones and the bite of his wounds melted away beneath the sun’s soothing embrace.

The illusion was swept away, however, as his head rolled to the side, suddenly noticing that he was in the lap of someone. He looked up to see Reyna softly smiling down at him, her pearly white teeth shining just as bright as the sun. His ears twinged red for a moment as he realized the position he was in but made no effort to move away. Admittedly, her legs were a more welcoming pillow than the rocks and dirt he had been sleeping on previously for a week. 

Reyna’s dark eyes glimmered with quiet amusement as she gazed down at him, her expression a blend of warmth and something unspoken—relief, perhaps, or a flicker of tenderness she rarely let slip. Her calloused fingers brushed lightly against his forehead, sweeping a stray lock of hair from his eyes. The gesture was fleeting, almost absentminded, but it sent a jolt through him, grounding him firmly back in reality.

“Morning sleeping beauty,” she greeted softly. 

“That’s my line,” he replied, surprised at how gruff and tired his voice sounded. 

Her lips twitched into a faint smirk at his retort, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of concern that she quickly masked. She shifted slightly, adjusting her position so he could sit up if he wanted, but her hand lingered near his shoulder, as if reluctant to break the contact entirely.

Percy groaned as he pushed himself upright, every muscle protesting the movement. The golden haze of the moment shattered fully now, replaced by the dull throb of exhaustion and the lingering sting of his injuries. His hands flexed instinctively, the memory of Travis’s cold chest beneath them flashing through his mind like a jagged bolt of lightning. He winced, rubbing at his temple where a headache pulsed in time with his heartbeat.

“Are we still on the ridge?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Reyna answered with a sigh, looking back at the other demigods who were just beginning to awaken. “We decided to stay here for the night. Everyone was too exhausted to move somewhere else. Plus with you and Travis out of commission, we couldn’t risk moving you. 

Percy’s breath suddenly hitched as the memories of last night flooded him in waves. His friend’s lifeless body, the black tendrils writhing beneath his skin, the Father’s voice slicing through his mind, the void’s crushing darkness—all of it crashed over him, vivid and suffocating. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms as the phantom pain of the tendril slicing his throat flared anew, a ghost of agony that made his breath stutter. But beneath it all, one memory burned brighter than the rest: that faint, fleeting heartbeat beneath his palms, the fragile twitch of Travis’s chest.

“Travis,” he stated, barely above a whisper as his head snapped toward the cluster of demigods stirring awake nearby. His sea-green eyes darted frantically, searching for the stretcher, for any sign of his friend. “Is he—?”

Reyna’s hand tightened on his shoulder, steady and firm, anchoring him before he could spiral further. “He’s alive,” she answered. “Barely. But he’s alive. You saved him.”

The words punched the air from his lungs, a dizzying mix of relief and disbelief washing over him. He twisted to face her fully, his gaze locking onto hers, searching for any hint of doubt or pity. But her eyes held steady, unwavering, and for once, he let himself believe. His shoulders sagged, the tension bleeding out of him as he exhaled a shaky breath.

“Where is he?” he asked, already shifting to stand despite the protest of his aching body.

“Over there,” Reyna replied, nodding toward a green tent a few yards away. She rose with him, her hand sliding from his shoulder to his arm, offering support he didn’t realize he needed until his legs wobbled beneath him. “Easy. You pushed yourself too far last night. You’re lucky you didn’t join him in the underworld.” 

He flashed her a crooked grin that never quite touched his eyes. “Gonna take more than that to kill me,” he said, carrying a bravado he didn’t quite feel.

Because deep down, he knew it was a lie. Death had brushed so close he could still feel its cold fingers lingering on his skin. His body ached, fractured and hollowed out, his soul stretched thin from the torrent of power he’d poured into bringing Travis back—a raw, unruly energy he barely grasped, let alone mastered. It was a wonder he hadn’t crumbled to ash or collapsed from a heart attack. The thought of dying wasn’t what scared him though. He had come to terms with it since he was twelve. No, what truly scared him was leaving his friends behind. Leaving them to fend for themselves in a world that they no longer recognized. 

Her grip on his arm tightened briefly, as if she could sense the weight of those unspoken fears pressing down on him. She didn’t call him out on the bravado, though—didn’t poke at the cracks in his armor. Instead, she gave a small, knowing nod, her lips pressing into a thin line that suggested she’d seen through the grin anyway.

“Come on,” she said, steering him gently toward a tent. “He’s been asking for you. Well, muttering your name, at least. Hard to tell if it’s gratitude or a curse.”

Percy let out a weak huff of laughter, the sound frayed at the edges. “With Travis, it’s probably both.” 

As they approached the makeshift camp, the murmur of waking demigods filled the air—soft groans, rustling fabric, and the occasional clink of metal as weapons were shifted or checked. The golden light of the morning spilled over the ridge, casting long shadows that danced across the rocky ground. Percy’s eyes zeroed in on the small tent nestled against a jagged outcrop, its patched canvas fluttering slightly in the breeze. His heart thudded unevenly in his chest, a mix of anticipation and dread coiling tight in his gut.

Reyna guided him forward, her presence a steady anchor as his legs threatened to give out again. A familiar mop of curly brown hair caught his eye—Connor kneeled just outside the entrance, his shoulders hunched and his hands clasped tightly together. The sight of him sent a fresh wave of relief crashing over Percy. He hadn’t just saved Travis last night; he’d saved a brother from losing the only family he had left.

The son of Hermes’s head snapped up as they approached, his tired eyes locking onto Percy’s. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Connor surged to his feet, crossing the distance in two quick strides and pulling the green-eyed demigod into a rough, bone-crushing hug. Percy stiffened at the sudden contact, his sore muscles screaming in protest, but he didn’t pull away. He could feel the tremor in Connor’s frame, the unspoken gratitude, and terror warring beneath the surface.

“You bastard,” he muttered into his shoulder. “You stupid, reckless bastard. Thank you.”

Percy clapped a hand on Connor’s back, as if he could physically steady the other demigod’s trembling. “Yeah, well,” he rasped, his throat dry and scratchy, “couldn’t let you deal with being an only child. You’d be insufferable.”

Connor barked out a laugh, a sound he felt like he hadn’t heard in an eternity. His face was pale, streaked with dirt and exhaustion, but the faint spark of his usual mischief flickered beneath the surface. “You’re one to talk.”

The son of Poseidon managed a faint smirk. The familiar banter with his friend a welcome change to the relentless chaos they’d endured for weeks on end. His eyes flicked toward the tent, then back to Connor, a silent question hanging between them. He gave a small nod, understanding what he wanted. He took a step forward, but Connor’s hand shot out, gripping his wrist.

“He’s… not all there yet,” he warned. “He’s awake, sort of, but he keeps fading in and out. Keeps muttering stuff—your name, mostly, and something about rot. Whatever that means.” 

Once again, Percy could feel his heart stop for a moment, the mention of “ rot ” sending a cold ripple across his skin. It wasn’t just a random word–no, it was so much more. And only he and now Travis could understand truly what it meant. Trying not to show the apprehension he was feeling, he nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

“Thanks for the heads-up,” 

He gave Connor’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze before stepping past him, ducking under the low flap of the tent with Reyna close behind. The air inside was cooler, tinged with the faint metallic scent of blood and the earthy musk of herbs—likely some makeshift healing concoction Will or Katie had managed to whip up. A single shaft of sunlight pierced through a tear in the canvas, illuminating the figure sprawled across a thin bedroll in the center.

Travis laid there, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. His skin was ashen, almost translucent, the dark veins that had snaked beneath it last night now nowhere to be seen. Percy slowly walked over to his side, carefully kneeling down as his eyes were still transfixed on his sleeping face. He looked fragile, like a cracked statue teetering on the edge of collapse. The absence of those sinister tendrils should have been a relief, but instead, it left an eerie emptiness—an unsettling reminder of the unnatural force that had nearly claimed him. His curly hair clung damply to his forehead, and his lips were parted slightly, murmuring something too faint to make out. 

Reyna lingered near the entrance, her silhouette framed against the sunlight filtering through the tent flap. She didn’t say anything, but her presence was a quiet reassurance, a tether to the world outside the suffocating weight of this moment. Percy’s gaze flicked back, his heart hammering as he leaned closer, straining to catch the whispered words tumbling from his friend’s lips.

“Make…it…stop…”

Percy’s breath caught in his throat, the faint plea echoing through his head like a bell being struck.  He reached out instinctively, his hand hovering over Travis’s shoulder, hesitant to touch him—as if the contact might shatter whatever fragile thread was keeping his friend tethered to life.

“Travis,” he called out, testing the waters. “Hey, man, it’s me. You’re okay. You’re here.”

The muttering ceased, and for a heartbeat, the tent fell into a fragile silence, broken only by the shallow, ragged rhythm of breathing. Then, his eyelids trembled, parting just enough to reveal a sliver of glassy, unfocused blue. His gaze wandered aimlessly, adrift, before finally anchoring itself on Percy’s face. A flicker of recognition sparked in his eyes—faint, but unmistakable. But that fleeting moment of clarity shattered the instant he realized who stood before him: the son of Poseidon.

In a sudden, violent motion, he surged upward, his hand clamping around Percy’s arm with a strength that defied his weakened state. His breaths came in frantic, uneven gasps, his eyes wild and desperate, like those of a creature backed into a corner. Tears welled at the edges of his vision, glistening with a mix of terror and despair.

“The rot—” he screamed out wildly. “Make it stop, please—make it stop!”

“Travis, hey—hey, look at me,” Percy replied. He shifted closer, ignoring the ache in his knees as they pressed into the hard ground. His free hand moved to rest lightly on Travis’s shoulder, hoping that would help calm him down somewhat. “You’re safe. It’s gone. The poison is out of you.” 

The son of Hermes’s chest still heaved erratically, as though the air itself refused to fill his lungs. His grip tightened, nails biting into his friend’s skin. The wildness in his eyes didn’t fade, but it softened, just enough for a sliver of coherence to seep through the cracks.

“It’s everywhere ,” he whined, trembling with a terror that seemed to echo from somewhere far deeper than his words could reach. “I felt it- crawling, rotting–beneath the Earth. Please, Percy, you have to–

His plea shattered into a strangled sob, his body folding in on itself as he clawed at his ribs, where the poison had once seared through him. He trembled violently, a broken figure unraveling before them. Percy glanced back to see Reyna and Connor frozen at the entrance, their faces carved with horror at the sight they’d walked upon. He couldn’t fault their paralysis; he was just as lost, grappling for a way to anchor the boy’s spiraling terror. 

“Travis,” he tried again, his voice firm but gentle. “You’re alive. You’re here, with me, with us. There is no poison in you anymore. You’re going to be fine.” 

But he shook his head violently, his curls sticking to his sweat-drenched forehead. “You don’t understand,” he gasped. “It’s not gone. It’s never gone. It’s—it’s in the ground, in the air, in the water. I felt it when I died! I felt him take my body and try to rot it from the inside out!”

Percy's blood turned to ice, dread pooling in his gut as his worst nightmare clawed its way into reality. He had clung to a desperate hope—prayed, even—that Travis had been spared the horrors of that encounter. Spared the torment, the venomous hatred that radiated from the Father like a suffocating miasma. But one look at his friend’s eyes—wild, fractured with raw terror—shattered that illusion. He hadn’t merely brushed against death the night before. He’d been dragged, kicking and screaming, into the abyss where that malevolent deity festered.

“Brother…” Connor ventured tentatively, as if words alone could stitch together the unraveling edges of Travis’s sanity.

“You don’t get it,” he hissed, his fingers clawing at his hair like a man teetering on the brink of madness. “None of you get it! The rot—it’s spreading. He showed me—rivers choking black, forests collapsing into ash, Olympus itself crumbling to ruin!” His words spilled out in a frantic torrent, each one a jagged shard of the nightmare still clawing at his mind.

Percy’s heart sank deeper with every word, a leaden weight settling in his chest as the vivid images clawed their way into his own mind. Why hadn’t the Father shown him the same thing? Why did he not try to drive his mind to the brink of madness the same way he did to his friend?  Was it the poison? Or was the deity only toying with him?

“Listen to me. Whatever you saw, whatever he showed you—it’s not here yet. We’re still breathing. We’re still fighting. You’re not alone in this.”

The son of Hermes's eyes drifted to his face, searching for a lifeline in the internal turmoil festering within. His breathing began to slow as exhaustion crept in, his hands going slack underneath the blankets. “You… you saw him too, didn’t you?” he whispered horridly. “You saw the Father.” 

The green-eyed demigod’s jaw clenched, his mind flooded with the memory of those venomous yellow eyes, the icy, unrestrained fury that had radiated from the deity’s presence. He could still feel the phantom sting of his throat being sliced open, the warmth of blood trickling down his skin, a visceral reminder of the terror that had gripped him.

He hesitated, wanting to lie, to shield his friend from the shared nightmare that still lingered in the corners of his own mind. But the desperation in Travis’s eyes demanded honesty, a tether to pull him back from the brink. 

Percy swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he admitted, the word scraping against his throat. “I saw him.”

“Then you…know,” Travis began to drift, his eyes slowly shutting. “That we…cannot…defeat him.”

The tent fell silent, save for the faint rasp of his breathing, now steadier but still shallow. Percy’s hand lingered on his shoulder, his fingers trembling slightly as he fought to process the despair that had spilled from Travis’s lips.

“We cannot defeat him.”

The statement echoed in his mind, reverberating against every ounce of defiance he’d clung to since he was a kid thrust into a world of gods and monsters. He wanted to reject it, to shove it back into the shadows where it belonged, but the raw terror in his voice—the certainty—it made him hesitate. Just what unimaginable horrors did the Father show to make a person who had fought in two wars believe they were utterly powerless? They had faced Titans, Giants, even Primordials, and come out the other side bruised but standing. Yet this—this unseen rot, this Father—felt different. He wasn’t just a threat to their lives; he was a poison seeping into the very fabric of the world. And so far, it seemed like nothing was standing in his way. 

He exhaled sharply, forcing the rising panic back down, and glanced over his shoulder at Reyna and Connor. Both stood rigid, their expressions a mirror of his own turmoil—haunted and uncertain. 

“Not a word of any of this for now,” Percy stated, his words carrying the weight of authority he rarely wielded so openly. “Not until we figure out what we’re dealing with. We don’t need everyone panicking over something we don’t even understand.”

Reyna’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, assessing him with that piercing gaze she’d honed as a praetor. For a moment, he thought she might argue—her instinct to face threats head-on was as ingrained as his own stubbornness—but she gave a curt nod instead, her lips pressing into a tight line. “Agreed,” she said, resolute. 

The son of Poseidon slowly made his way out of the tent, noticing that there was a gathering crowd who had overheard the commotion inside. Connor lingered a moment longer, his gaze flickering between Percy and the frail figure of his brother, now slumped back into uneasy rest. His hands twitched at his sides, as if itching to do something—anything—to fix this, but the helplessness etched into his features betrayed him. 

“Keep an eye on him,” Percy muttered, patting his shoulder reassuringly. “If he wakes up again, if he says anything else… let me know. Please.”

“Yeah. I’ve got him,” he replied, stepping closer to the bedroll and sinking down beside him. His hand hovered over his brother’s forehead, hesitant, before settling there gently, as if to reassure himself that he was still real, still breathing.

He pushed himself out of the tent back into the open air, wincing as his body protested the movement. Reyna was at his side in an instant, her hand slipping under his elbow with a quiet steadiness that didn’t demand acknowledgment. He didn’t resist—couldn’t, really—not when every step felt like dragging his bones through quicksand. Together, they made their way over to a small gathering where some of their friends were preparing breakfast. 

The campsite buzzed with a muted energy as the other demigods went about their morning routines, the clatter of tin plates and the crackle of a small fire filling the air. The scent of sizzling meat—probably something they had stolen from the warehouse in Billings or some scavenged game—mingled with the sharp tang of smoke, cutting through the lingering sweetness of wildflowers. His stomach growled faintly, a reminder that he hadn’t eaten since… Gods, he couldn’t even remember. 

Thalia stood by the fire, along with Piper, Katie, and a few others. As they approached, her sharp blue eyes flicked up, catching his gaze. Her expression shifted—a quick flash of relief softened her usual intensity. “Everything okay with Travis? We heard yelling.” 

“We’ll,” Percy hesitated, unsure of how to exactly answer that. “We’ll talk about that later,” he replied, practically collapsing onto a small rock. His body still needed rest and the scent of food seemed to only make it more noticeable. 

The daughter of Zeus pushed the question no further, sensing the tension radiating off of her cousin’s shoulders. Instead, she handed him a small plate of eggs—powdered eggs, not real ones sadly—and venison which he eagerly took and scarfed down within the blink of an eye. 

He could feel Piper’s gaze on him as he ate, her kaleidoscopic eyes searching for something he himself didn’t know. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

He paused mid-bite, the fork hovering near his mouth as her question hung in the air. The warmth of the food now in his stomach was a fleeting comfort, but it couldn’t touch the cold knot of exhaustion and dread coiled deep inside him. He lowered the plate slowly, resting it on his knee, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His sea-green eyes met hers, and for a moment, he considered brushing her off with a quick “I’m fine”—the kind of lie he’d perfected over years of pretending the weight of the world didn’t crush him. But Piper’s gaze was steady, piercing through the cracks in his armor with that quiet, subtle intensity she wielded like a blade. She’d see through it. She always did.

“Like I’ve been dragged through Tartarus and back again,” he admitted finally. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and ran a hand through his messy hair, tugging at the strands. “I’m alive, though. That’s something.”

The daughter of Aphrodite’s lips pressed into a faint, sympathetic smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She shifted closer, sitting on a nearby log, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “That’s not what I meant,” she replied softly. “What you did last night… Percy, I’ve never seen you like that. None of us have.”

“You almost killed yourself,” Katie interjected sharply, crossing her arms. “You didn’t see yourself. The blood, the way you screamed—it wasn’t just Travis we were scared of losing.”

Her words stung, and he flinched despite himself. He hadn’t meant to scare them—hadn’t even thought about what it looked like from the outside. All he’d seen was a friend slipping away, another name carved into the endless list of people he couldn’t save. He’d acted on instinct, on desperation, reaching into a part of himself he’d sworn never to touch again. And now they were looking at him like he was something fragile—or worse, something dangerous.

“Sorry,” was the only thing he could bring himself to say. He was sorry for putting them through such a thing. He knew it must’ve hurt Katie especially to see him in such a state after just getting back to them. But if he had to, he wouldn’t hesitate to do it all over again. He had saved Travis. That’s all that mattered. 

Thalia snorted, breaking the heavy silence that followed his apology. “Sorry? Gods, you don’t get to pull the martyr card and then just apologize like it’s nothing.” She stabbed a piece of venison with her fork, pointing it at him like a weapon. “You scared the Hades out of us. Next time you decide to play hero with your life on the line, at least give us a heads-up.” 

He managed a weak half-smile, grateful for the familiar bite of her sarcasm. “Yeah, I’ll send out a memo next time,” he quipped, looking back down at his plate. “Subject: About to do something stupid. Prepare accordingly.”

The daughter of Demeter let out a small laugh, though it sounded more like a release of pent-up worry than genuine amusement. “We’d need a whole filing system for you at this point.” She reached out, her hand resting lightly on his forearm, her touch warm and grounding. “Just… don’t do it again, okay? I–we can’t lose you too.”

The weight of her words settled over him like a shroud, and he nodded, unable to meet her gaze. He knew what she meant—what they all meant. They’d lost too many already: friends, siblings, comrades who’d fought beside them through wars and quests only to fall to blades, monsters, or the cruel whims of fate. Each loss had carved a piece out of him, leaving jagged edges that never quite healed. And last night, with Travis teetering on the brink, he’d felt that old, familiar terror clawing at him.

“Alright, enough of that shit. We’re all alive. That’s all that matters now,” Reyna finally spoke, breaking up the tense atmosphere. Percy couldn’t have been more thankful to hear that. Finishing the rest of his food, he set his empty plate aside before looking out at the landscape before him once again. The crackle of burning wood filled his senses, mingling with the low hum of conversation as the other demigods began to gather around. Piper stood, brushing dirt from her jeans, and moved to help Katie distribute the rest of the food. The normalcy of it all—the clatter of plates, the murmured thanks, the faint laughter from someone nearby—felt almost surreal after the nightmare of the previous night.

“What’s the game plan?” Thalia asked, squeezing herself to his right. He peeled his eyes away from the beautiful picture back to her. 

“Well, I suppose we go our separate ways now,” he smirked in reply. “You got me back to my friends, so thanks,” he stuck out a hand for her to shake which she promptly slapped away. 

“You think I dragged my ass across the continent just to drop you off like some lost puppy and call it a day? Nice try, Seaweed Brain. You’re stuck with me.” 

Percy’s smirk faltered into a genuine grin, the familiar nickname tugging at a corner of his heart. He rubbed the back of his hand where she had swatted it, feigning offense. “Stuck with you? That’s a punishment worse than anything Hades could dream up.”

Thalia rolled her eyes, but the spark of amusement in her electric blue gaze betrayed her. “Keep talking, Kelp Head. I’ll make sure you won’t wake up next time.” 

He chuckled at her remark, slowly getting to his feet unaided this time. Looking around at the hundred demigods preparing for the day, he knew what needed to be done. He hated to make them walk some more across the rugged terrain but after last night, after the encounter with that abomination, they needed to move. They needed to find a place to settle and fast. There was no telling if more monsters like the one they faced were after them still. No telling what the Father was scheming against them. 

We can’t stay here,” he said firmly. “Not after what happened. Whatever that thing was—whatever the Father sent after us—there will be more. We need to move out.” 

“And where exactly will we be moving out to?” Clarisse walked into the picture, her spear strapped across her back glinted faintly in the morning light. “We’ve been hiking through this wilderness for days now and we can’t find a single fucking piece of suitable land to live on.” 

“And we’re running low on rations,” Piper quipped in, opening a now empty crate they had stolen from the warehouse. It was a relief to some since now they wouldn’t have to carry the damn thing on their backs but it was also a worry. No food meant they would have to travel back to civilization which was miles upon miles away. They wouldn’t make it in time before they died of starvation.

“Not to mention Travis,” Will said from across the rock, eating the last of his food. “He’s in no hiking shape and I’m afraid if we move him, something might change in his condition.” 

Percy tried to hold in the exhausted sigh that spilled from his lips. The golden morning light that had felt so comforting earlier now seemed to mock them, illuminating the harsh reality of their predicament: a ragged band of demigods, battered and bruised, stranded in the middle of nowhere with no clear path forward. He rubbed a hand over his face, buying himself a moment to think. The Father’s presence still loomed in his mind, a dark shadow tainting every decision, every breath. Travis’s words— “We cannot defeat him” —echoed like a curse, threatening to unravel the fragile resolve he’d pieced together. But he couldn’t let it. Not now. Not when they were all looking to him.

“We don’t have a choice,” he said finally, noticing the exhaustion in everyone’s features suddenly getting even deeper. “We’re sitting ducks right now. No cover, no defenses, no supplies. We move, or we die.”

Percy’s words hung heavy in the air, cutting through the murmur of the camp. The demigods around him shifted uneasily, their faces etched with fatigue and the kind of bone-deep weariness that came from too many battles fought, too many nights spent running. He could see it in their eyes—the flicker of doubt, the quiet plea for a reprieve that wouldn’t come. But he also saw the spark of trust, the unspoken agreement that if he said they had to move, they’d move.

The daughter of Ares crossed her arms, her scowl deepening, though it wasn’t directed at him—not entirely. “Fine. We move. But you still haven’t answered the question, Jackson. Where ? We’re in the middle of nowhere, and half of us can barely walk, let alone fight off whatever that bastard throws at us next.”

“She’s right,” Will chimed in, setting his empty plate aside. His voice was steady, but the shadows under his eyes betrayed his exhaustion from taking care of everyone over the night. “Travis isn’t the only one who’s hurt. I’ve got at least a dozen others with injuries—broken ribs, sprains, cuts that need time to heal. We push too hard, and we’re risking more than just starvation.”

Percy’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the group, taking in the slumped shoulders, the bandages peeking out from torn clothing, the way some of them leaned on each other just to stay upright. They were a mess—a glorious, stubborn mess—and he loved them for it. But they were right. They couldn’t keep running blind. They needed a destination, a plan, something to hold onto beyond sheer survival.

Thalia suddenly stood up beside him, whispering softly in his ear. “Let me and the girls scout on ahead. We can cover more distance faster. Plus that’ll help you guys move at a slower pace, conserve what strength you’ve got left.” 

Her suggestion made sense—too much sense, really. The Hunters of Artemis were built for this: swift, silent, and deadly efficient. If anyone could scout ahead and find a viable path through this mess, it was them. He glanced at her, catching the glint of determination in her electric blue eyes, and gave a small, appreciative nod.

“Be careful,” he replied sincerely, clasping her shoulder. “If you run into trouble, get back to us. No heroics.” 

“No heroics?” she shot back with a smirk, walking ahead to grab her things. “I should be telling you that. Atalanta, Evelyn, let’s go! We got ground to cover!” 

Everyone watched the three hunters move with purpose, gathering bows and quivers as they prepared for their journey. Before anyone else had the chance to say their goodbyes, they were gone, disappearing down the ridge with swift, graceful movements. The son of Poseidon looked to the direction they were running to, noticing flashes of silver shimmering in the distance trees below. His chest tightened with a familiar mix of gratitude and unease. There they go, risking themselves again, all because he’d asked—because they trusted him to hold this fractured band together. 

He turned back to the others, forcing his mind to focus. “Alright,” he said, his voice cutting through the murmur of the camp. “Thalia’s crew will find us a path. In the meantime, we pack up what we’ve got and get ready to move. Slow and steady—priority is keeping everyone upright.”

Clarisse grunted, already hefting her spear and barking orders at a cluster of demigods nearby who were fumbling with their gear. “You heard him, idiots! Quit dragging your feet and start moving! I’m not carrying your sorry asses when you collapse.” Her tone was harsh, but there was a steadiness to it—a lifeline for those too tired to think straight.

Will stepped forward, rubbing his hands together as if to shake off the exhaustion clinging to him. “We still have the stretcher for Travis. I need anyone who has strength left to help carrying him!” 

Soon enough, the camp was moving like a well-oiled machine, everyone gathering things and preparing for the day’s hike ahead. The clatter of metal and rustle of fabric filled the air, punctuated by the occasional groan or muttered curse as sore muscles were forced into motion. Percy moved among them, offering a hand where he could—helping to roll up bedrolls, steadying a demigod who stumbled under the weight of a pack, or simply nodding in silent encouragement. His own body screamed with every step, a dull ache radiating from his core, but he shoved it down.

Reyna stayed close, her presence a steady shadow at his side. She didn’t hover—didn’t need to—but her sharp eyes tracked his every move, ready to step in if he pushed himself too far. He caught her gaze once, and the faint quirk of her brow said it all: Don’t be an idiot. He flashed her a crooked grin in response, earning a subtle roll of her eyes before she turned to help Piper secure the last of their supplies.

Connor and Will took the lead in organizing the rotation of carriers for Travs, their voices firm as they rallied a handful of demigods still strong enough to bear the load. He watched as they carefully lifted his limp form, his friend’s head lolling slightly to the side, his breathing shallow but steady. The sight twisted something deep in his chest, a pang of guilt and relief warring within him. He’s alive, he reminded himself. That’s what matters.

“Ready when you are, Percy,” the son of Apollo called out, adjusting his grip on the stretcher’s front end. His golden hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, but his expression was resolute, a healer’s determination shining through the fatigue. 

He nodded, turning to survey the group one last time. The camp was nearly gone, reduced to a scattering of trampled grass and a smoldering fire pit. A hundred pairs of eyes looked to him—some wary, some trusting, all exhausted—and he felt the weight of their expectation settle over him like a mantle. He straightened despite the protest of his battered body, drawing on a reserve of strength he wasn’t sure he had.

“Let’s move,” he said, his words carrying across the ridge. “Stay together, keep your eyes open. We don’t stop until we’ve got a safe place to rest.”

The group began to shift, falling into a loose formation as they started their descent from the ridge. The terrain was unforgiving—jagged rocks jutted from the earth, roots snaked across the path, and the slope was steep enough to make every step a gamble. Percy took point, his boots crunching against the gravel as he scanned the landscape ahead. The sun climbed higher, its golden warmth giving way to a harsher heat that prickled against his skin. Sweat beaded on his brow, stinging the cuts he hadn’t bothered to clean.

Behind him, the soft thud of footsteps mingled with the creak of the stretcher and the occasional murmur of conversation. Clarisse marched behind him, her eyes darting to every shadow as if daring something to leap out. He hoped that wouldn’t happen. He had a feeling no one was in a fighting mood today. 

The hours bled together as they trudged onward, the landscape shifting from rocky outcrops to a dense forest of towering pines. The air grew cooler under the canopy, thick with the scent of resin and damp earth, but it did little to ease the strain. Percy’s legs burned, his breaths coming shorter, sharper, but he kept moving, one foot in front of the other. Every rustle in the underbrush made his hand twitch toward Riptide, the pen a comforting weight in his pocket.

It was nearing evening when they decided to stop for the night. The sky had softened into a bruised purple, streaked with threads of orange and pink as the sun dipped below the horizon. The forest around them hummed with the quiet chorus of evening—crickets chirping, leaves rustling in the faint breeze, and the distant hoot of an owl settling into its nightly watch. Percy called for a halt, his voice cutting through the weary shuffle of the group as he raised a hand.

“Here,” he said, gesturing to a small clearing nestled between the pines. The ground was relatively flat, carpeted with grass and small wildflowers that cushioned each step, and a trickling stream ran nearby, its gentle gurgle a welcome promise of fresh water. “We’ll camp here tonight.”

A collective sigh of relief and groans rippled through the demigods as they dropped their packs and slumped to the ground, some collapsing outright onto the soft earth. He felt the same, wanting nothing more than to fall flat into the grass and let it take him to the land of Morpheus. But there was still much to be done before he could take part in rest. He stayed on his feet, scanning the perimeter while the others began to set up camp.

Reyna stepped up beside him, her gaze following his as she surveyed the clearing. “Good spot,” she murmured approvingly. “The stream’s a bonus. We can refill what’s left of our canteens.”

“Yeah,” Percy agreed, rubbing the back of his neck where a dull ache had settled. “Let’s just hope it stays quiet tonight.”

She gave him a sidelong glance, her dark eyes sharp with understanding. “You don’t think it will.”

“Do you?” 

The daughter of Bellona let out an indignant huff of air. “Since when have we ever had quiet in our lives.”

He couldn’t help the tired chuckle that escaped from his lips, shaking his head as he looked upward, noticing the first set of stars twinkling against the fading light. They’d earned a night of peace—Gods knew they needed it—but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something big was going to happen tonight. He hated his intuition sometimes. 

The camp came together quickly despite everyone’s weariness. Tents were pitched with practiced efficiency, their patched canvases sagging slightly under the weight of too many repairs. Fires crackled to life in the clearing, their warm glow pushing back the encroaching dusk. The scent of smoke mingled with the earthy dampness of the forest floor, and soon the faint sizzle of whatever scraps of food they’d managed to scrounge filled the air. It wasn’t much—just some stale bread, a handful of berries Katie had deemed safe, and whatever meat they had left—but it was enough to quiet the growling stomachs for now.

Percy moved through the camp, checking on the others as they settled in. He stopped by Will and Connor, who were tending to Travis near the edge of the clearing. The stretcher rested on an unfurled sleeping bag, the son of Apollo checking his vitals. 

“How’s he doing?” he asked, kneeling down next to them.

Will glanced up, sighing as he pulled his hands back. “Stable, for now. No sign of fever or lingering poison. Whatever you did last night, it worked really well. But he’s still weak. Too weak. I don’t know how much more his body can take going up and down this landscape.” 

Percy nodded, resting a hand briefly on Connor’s shoulder. “He’s a fighter. He’ll pull through. Let me know if anything changes.” 

Will gave a small nod, already turning back to his work, while Connor murmured a quiet, “Will do.” 

He straightened, his knees popping audibly as he rose, and made his way toward the fire where the others had gathered. He noticed Clarisse sitting off to the side with Chris Rodriguez, leaning against a tree while he tended to some cuts she had obtained from their journey today. 

“Hey, Perce,” he greeted, his eyes still trained on the task at hand. 

The son of Poseidon greeted the pair, sitting on a nearby log before asking if he could be left alone a moment with her. Chris glanced up from his work, his hands pausing mid-motion as he wrapped a strip of cloth around Clarisse’s forearm. His dark eyes flicked between Percy and the daughter of Ares, reading the unspoken tension in the air. With a small nod, he secured the bandage and stood, brushing dirt off his knees.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, his voice steady but laced with curiosity he didn’t voice. “I’ll go check on the perimeter. Holler if you need me.” He gave Clarisse a quick, reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before stepping away, his footsteps fading into the soft rustle of the camp.

Percy waited until Chris was out of earshot before shifting his gaze to Clarisse. She sat slouched against the tree, her spear propped beside her like a silent sentinel. The firelight danced across her face, highlighting the sharp angles of her jaw and the faint sheen of sweat on her brow. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, a defensive wall he knew too well, but her eyes—those fierce, stormy eyes–stared distantly into the fire, reflecting an inner turmoil she dared not show openly. 

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as he searched for the right words. The weight of everything that had occurred over the weeks pressed heavily on his shoulders but this wasn’t about him. Not entirely. 

“You okay?” he asked finally, his words cutting through the crackle of the fire and the murmur of the other conversations. 

Clarisse snorted, a sharp, humorless sound. “What, you playing camp counselor now, Jackson? I’m fine. Few scratches aren’t gonna kill me.” She flexed her bandaged arm as if to prove it, though the slight wince that followed betrayed her bravado.

Percy didn’t smile. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. “That’s not what I meant.”

Her scowl deepened, but something flickered in her expression—something raw and unguarded that she quickly buried beneath her usual armor. She shifted, uncrossing her arms to pick at the frayed edge of her sleeve, avoiding his gaze for the first time. 

“I don’t need a pep talk. I’m okay. Everyone is okay. That’s all that matters.”

“I’m not here to pep-talk you,” he replied, keeping his tone even. “I just…I saw you out there today. You’ve pushed yourself harder than ever keeping everyone moving.” 

“Everyone alive ,” she interrupted, her eyes finally glancing up at his. “I kept everyone alive while you were gone playing house with Zeus’s girl.” 

Percy’s jaw tightened at the jab, but he didn’t rise to it. He knew Clarisse well enough by now—her sharp tongue was a shield, a way to deflect anything that cut too close to the bone. And he wasn’t here to trade barbs or dig into old wounds. Not tonight. The fire crackled between them, spitting embers into the air as the silence stretched, taut and heavy.

“You did. You kept them alive. I’m not questioning that.” He paused, letting his words settle before pressing on. “But I’m not blind. You’re running on fumes, same as the rest of us. And I know you—you don’t stop until there’s nothing left to give.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, he thought she’d snap back with another biting retort. But instead, she leaned her head back against the tree, closing her eyes as if the weight of his words had finally pinned her in place. Her chest rose and fell with a slow, deliberate breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was quieter, less rough.

“I always thought myself a leader. I thought I had it in me to lead while you were missing.” The firelight flickered across her face, casting shadows that danced over the hard lines of her features, softening them just enough to reveal the exhaustion she’d been hiding.

“I thought I could handle it,” she continued, her voice low, almost swallowed by the crackle of the flames. “You were gone, and someone had to step up. I’ve trained for this—wars, quests, keeping people in line. I’m Ares’ daughter , for Gods’ sake. Leading’s supposed to be in my blood.” She let out a bitter huff, her fingers tightening around the frayed edge of her sleeve until the fabric strained. “But this? This isn’t war. No battle lines, no enemy I can just stab and be done with. It’s running, hiding, scraping by, keeping people alive—and every day, I’m waiting for the next hit, wondering who I might lose next.”

Percy stayed silent, letting her words hang between them. He knew that feeling—the gnawing dread, the relentless pressure of holding everyone together when the world kept trying to rip them apart. He’d carried it for years, and seeing it mirrored in her now stirred something deep in his chest. Not pity—she’d hate that—but recognition. Understanding.

“You’re not alone in that,” he said after a moment.  “None of us were built for this—not really. Wars, monsters, prophecies? Sure. But this… this endless running, trying to find a place to build a new camp for generations of demigods? It’s different than anything we or our ancestors have ever had to face.” 

She opened her eyes, fixing him with a hard stare that didn’t quite mask the vulnerability beneath it. “Yeah, well, you make it look easy, Jackson. Always have. Everyone looks to you, and you just… keep going. Like it doesn’t touch you.”

He let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You think it doesn’t touch me? Gods, Clarisse, I’m a mess. I mean l almost killed myself last night saving one person. Half the time, I’m just pretending I know what I’m doing so no one else loses it.” 

She studied him, the firelight catching the faint sheen of sweat on his brow, the way his shoulders slumped despite his attempt to sit tall. For once, she didn’t fire back with a jab or a dismissal. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, as if seeing him—really seeing him—for the first time in a while.

“Look, I know we don’t usually talk together like this but I just wanted to come over here and say…thank you. For leading the group while I was gone. I wouldn’t want anyone else.” 

With that, Percy nodded to her before walking away, leaving Clarisse sitting there, the firelight flickering over her still form as she processed his words. He didn’t look back—didn’t need to. He could feel the weight of her gaze lingering on him, a silent acknowledgment that didn’t require a response. For once, there was no biting retort, no challenge. Just a moment of quiet between two people who’d carried more than their fair share of burdens.

The daughter of Ares sat in silence, her fingers digging into the palms of her hands as one lone tear streaked down her face. The pent-up emotions from everything that had happened over the weeks finally breaking free. 

He trudged his way to the stream nearby, his boots sinking slightly into the soft earth as he approached the water’s edge. The gentle gurgle of the stream intermingled with the night’s sound, its cold mist mingling with the chilled air. He crouched down, dipping his hands into the cool current, letting the icy bite of it seep into his skin. For a moment, he just stayed there, watching the ripples spread outward from his fingertips, the water catching the last fading hues of twilight in shimmering streaks of silver and violet.

The stream wasn’t deep—barely more than a shallow ribbon winding through the forest—but it was alive, pulsing with a quiet energy that tugged at something deep within him. He closed his eyes, letting the familiar pull of the water steady his frayed nerves. It wasn’t the sea, not by a long shot, but it was enough to remind him of who he was—of the strength he could draw from it when everything else felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

He splashed some of the water onto his face, the cold shock snapping him out of the haze that had settled over him. Droplets trickled down his cheeks, mingling with the dirt and sweat of the day, and he scrubbed at his skin with his sleeve, trying to wash away more than just the grime. Travis’s broken pleas, Clarisse’s unguarded confession, the weight of a hundred demigods looking to him for answers—it all pressed down on him, heavier than the Titan’s curse he’d once borne. But the water helped, if only a little. It always did.

As he relaxed in the water, a sudden prickle of awareness jolted through him. His senses sharpened, honed by the water’s sudden surge of energy pulsing through him. He froze, lifting his head as he pushed his senses to its limits. It wasn’t the rustle of leaves or the snap of a twig that alerted him—it was something deeper, a pulse that thrummed through the earth and into his bones. Blood. He could feel it, a distant rhythm echoing in his veins, faint but growing stronger with every passing second. People were approaching, moving through the trees.

Instinctively, his hand dropped to his pocket, fingers curling around Riptide’s familiar weight. The warrior in him braced for a fight, his muscles tensing as he rose to his feet, water dripping from his hands onto the mossy ground. His sea-green eyes narrowed like a wolf’s, scanning the shadowed forest beyond the clearing. The pulse of blood wasn’t monstrous—no twisted, erratic thrum of a beast or the cold void of an undead thing—but human, warm, alive. Still, after everything they’d been through, trust was a luxury he couldn’t afford. He straightened, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, ready to spring into action if whatever—or whoever—was out there proved hostile.

The camp behind him hummed with quiet activity, the demigods too absorbed in their tasks or too exhausted to notice the subtle shift in his posture. Reyna, though, caught it instantly. She appeared at his side without a word, her own hand resting lightly on the hilt of her sword, her dark eyes following his gaze into the trees. She didn’t ask—he didn’t need her to. Their silent understanding was enough.

“Something’s coming,” he murmured, keeping his voice low so it wouldn’t carry to the others. “Through the forest. I can feel it.”

Her jaw tightened, and she gave a curt nod. “How many?”

“Three, maybe four. Human, I think. But—” He hesitated, the sensation sharpening as the figures drew closer. The rhythm of their blood was familiar, a cadence he’d felt before, though exhaustion muddled his ability to place it. “I don’t know.”

“Better safe than sorry,” she replied. She shifted slightly, positioning herself to cover his flank, a silent promise that whatever came through those trees, they’d face it together.

Percy’s grip on Riptide tightened, the pen’s cool metal grounding him as he waited, every nerve alight. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the evening sounds dimming as if the world itself sensed the tension coiling in the air. Then, through the dense curtain of pines, silver flashed—quick, deliberate movements cutting through the shadows. His heart thudded against his ribs, adrenaline surging as he uncapped his pen. But suddenly, a familiar voice pierced the stillness.

“Percy, stand down! It’s us!” 

Thalia’s sharp tone rang out, laced with exasperation and a hint of amusement. Relief flooded him so fiercely his knees nearly buckled, though he masked it with a quick exhale, loosening his grip on Riptide. Reyna’s hand fell from her sword, though her posture remained taut, her eyes narrowing as three figures emerged from the trees.

Thalia strode into the clearing first, her bow slung over her shoulder, her electric blue eyes glinting with a mix of triumph and irritation. Behind her came Atalanta, her dark hair pulled back in a tight braid, her lithe form moving with the grace of a predator, and Evelyn, her freckled face flushed from the exertion of their trek, a quiver of arrows rattling softly at her side. The Hunters of Artemis looked winded but unharmed, their silver tunics catching the firelight as they approached.

Percy capped his sword pack into his pocket, the tension bleeding out of him as he stepped forward to meet them. “Gods, Thalia, you couldn’t have made a little more noise? I almost killed you.”

She snorted, brushing past him with a playful shove to his shoulder. “Maybe if you weren’t so jumpy, Seaweed Brain, you’d have recognized us sooner. What’s the matter—lose your edge out here in the wild?”

“More like I’ve had to use it too much lately,” he shot back, though a faint grin tugged at his lips.

Reyna relaxed fully now, stepping forward to greet the Hunters with a nod. “You’re back sooner than we expected. Find something?”

The daughter of Zeus’s grin faltered which didn’t go unnoticed. “Yeah, we did.”

His grin faded as he caught the shift in Thalia’s expression, the flicker of unease that dulled the usual fire in her eyes. He stepped closer, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

Thalia exchanged a quick glance with Atalanta and Evelyn, who stood silently behind her, their faces taut with something unspoken. She straightened, brushing a stray lock of black hair from her face as she met Percy’s gaze head-on.

“It’s better if we just show you,” she replied. “You up for some running? It’s an hour away from here.” 

Percy’s brow furrowed, his instincts prickling again. The way she avoided specifics, the guarded looks the Hunters shared—it wasn’t like his cousin to be cryptic unless something big was at play. He glanced at Reyna, who met his eyes with a subtle nod, already shifting into praetor mode, her mind likely racing through the same questions he was.

“You coming with?” He asked her but Atalanta stepped in before the daughter of Bellona could giver her answer. 

“It’s better if only you come. Too many people could draw attention.”

“Attention from what?” he asked, his tone sharpening as he crossed his arms. “You’re not giving me much to work with here.”

Thalia’s lips twitched, a ghost of her usual smirk, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You’ll see when we get there. Trust me, Percy—it’s not something we can just explain. You need to see it for yourself.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but Reyna’s hand brushed his arm, a subtle gesture that stilled him. “It’s fine. I’ll make sure things are okay here.”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering between her steady resolve and Thalia’s guarded urgency. But whatever the Hunters had found, it wasn’t trivial. And if they thought he needed to see it alone, he trusted them enough to follow.

“Alright,” he said finally, his voice firm despite the exhaustion clawing at him. “Let’s go.”

Reyna gave a curt nod, her hand slipping from his arm as she stepped back. “I’ll hold the fort. Be careful—and don’t do anything stupid without me there to pull you out of it.”

He flashed her a faint, crooked grin. “No promises.”

Thalia rolled her eyes but didn’t waste time on banter. She jerked her head toward the forest, signaling Atalanta and Evelyn to take point. “Come on, Seaweed Brain. Keep up.”

With that, the Hunters moved, their silver-clad forms slipping into the trees with the fluid grace of wolves on the hunt. Percy fell in behind them, his legs protesting as he matched their pace. The cool night air bit at his lungs, sharp and crisp, laced with the scent of pine and damp earth. The forest swallowed them quickly, the faint glow of the camp’s fires fading into a distant memory as darkness closed in. Above, the stars glittered through gaps in the canopy, their light cold, and unyielding.

The trek was grueling, even for him. The terrain sloped upward, roots and rocks jutting from the ground like traps waiting to snag an unwary foot. His boots thudded against the earth, each step sending a dull ache through his battered body, but he grit his teeth and pushed on. Thalia stayed close, her bow unslung now, her sharp eyes scanning the shadows. Atalanta and Evelyn flanked him silently, their movements near-soundless, their presence a quiet reassurance amid the unknown.

An hour stretched into what felt like an eternity, the forest growing denser, the air heavier with moisture. His senses hummed, attuned to the subtle shifts around him—the rustle of leaves, the distant snap of a twig, the faint pulse of water somewhere deep underground. He could feel it, a thread of life weaving through the earth, steadying him even as his stamina waned.

Finally, Thalia raised a hand, signaling them to stop. They stood at the edge of a rise, the trees thinning to reveal a breathtaking expanse below. Percy stepped forward, his breath catching as he took in the sight.

A valley unfurled before them, cradled between towering mountains that loomed like silent sentinels against the night sky. Moonlight spilled across the landscape, painting the rolling hills and lush meadows in shades of silver and shadow. A river wound through the heart of it, its waters glinting like liquid starlight, flanked by dense groves of trees and patches of wildflowers that shimmered faintly in the breeze. The air here was sweeter, richer, carrying the promise of fertile soil and clean water—an oasis carved into the wilderness.

For a moment, Percy forgot the ache in his bones, the burning fire in his lungs. It was perfect. More than perfect. It was a place they could live—really live—not just survive. A place to build, to plant roots, to protect the next generation of demigods from the chaos that had chased them across the continent. He could almost see it: cabins dotting the hills, fields blooming with crops, laughter echoing along the riverbanks. A home.

But as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, that fleeting vision of peace shattered. Across the valley, faint flickers of orange and red danced like restless spirits—fires, dozens of them, scattered across the meadows and clustered near the river. The soft glow should have signaled refuge, a sign of others who might share this haven. Yet something about them twisted his gut, a primal instinct honed by years of facing monsters whispering that this was no sanctuary.

Thalia kneeled beside him, her bow gripped tightly, her voice a low murmur. “That’s what we found. It’s not empty, Percy. It’s… settled.”

He squinted, straining to make out details in the moonlight. Shadows moved around the fires—hulking, uneven shapes that didn’t carry the familiar rhythm of human steps. Some were too large, others too jagged, their silhouettes shifting unnaturally against the glow. A faint sound drifted up on the wind—not laughter or conversation, but a guttural chorus of growls, hisses, and the occasional clatter of something hard striking stone. His blood ran cold as realization sank in.

“Monsters,” he breathed, the word tasting like ash on his tongue. “This isn’t a valley—it’s a breeding ground.”

Chapter Text

The forest lay cloaked in the deep hush of night, its towering pines standing beneath a sky strewn with stars. In a small clearing, the faint crackle of a campfire pierced the stillness, its warm glow casting a fragile circle of light against the encroaching dark. The demigods had gathered here, a weary band of survivors huddled close to the flames, their faces etched with exhaustion and the flicker of hope that refused to die.

Percy sat on a weathered log near the fire, his elbows propped on his knees, hands clasped tightly as he stared into the dancing flames. The heat prickled against his skin, but it couldn't touch the cold knot of unease coiled deep in his chest. He'd returned from the valley less than an hour ago, the trek back with Thalia and the Hunters a blur of aching muscles and racing thoughts. The image of that silver-lit expanse—meadows and rivers tainted by the glow of monster fires—burned behind his eyes, a vision of paradise and peril locked in a single breath. Now, as the camp settled into an uneasy quiet, he knew it was time to share what they'd seen. The weight of their gazes a silent demand for answers he wasn't sure he could give, but he straightened nonetheless, drawing a slow breath of smoke-tinged air.

"We found a valley," he began, cutting through the soft murmurs of the group. "About an hour from here, tucked between the mountains. It's… beautiful. Rolling hills, a river cutting through the middle, fertile land. The kind of place we've been searching for—a real shot at a home, somewhere we could build and stop running."

A ripple of relief passed through the demigods—shoulders eased, shouts of cheer rang out, some even hugged one another. But the fleeting spark of hope dimmed as Percy's expression remained grim, his sea-green eyes shadowed by something heavier than exhaustion. He raised a hand, silencing the murmurs before they could swell into further celebration.

"But we have a problem," he continued, his tone tense which pulled the group back to the edge of their seats. "The valley's not empty. It's crawling with monsters—dozens, maybe hundreds. And they're not just passing through. They've settled there, claimed it."

The air thickened with dread, the crackle of the fire suddenly too loud in the stillness that followed. Faces that had brightened moments ago hardened once more, the familiar weight of survival pressing down on them. He let his words settle, his gaze sweeping over the group—Clarisse's scowl deepened, Will's hands stilled mid-motion as he adjusted a bandage, Piper's kaleidoscopic eyes narrowed as she processed the implications. Reyna stood near the edge of the circle, her arms crossed, praetor's mask firmly in place, though he caught the subtle tightening of her jaw.

"Monsters?" Connor broke the silence, his voice rough with disbelief. He sat cross-legged near Travis's stretcher, his brother still unconscious, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his pale forehead. "You're telling me we finally find a place after all this fucking walking, all the shit we've been through over the weeks and its a godsdamn monster nest?"

Percy nodded, the motion heavy with resignation. "Yeah. That's exactly what I'm saying." He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, feeling the grit of dirt and sweat beneath his fingers. "We scouted the perimeter. Saw Cyclops, Hellhounds, Dracaena, the whole sha-bang. Thankfully, we didn't see any of those Orcs nor did any of the monsters we did see have black tendrils on them. They're just regular thankfully."

"Thankfully," Butch let out a bitter laugh, running his hand over his face exasperatedly. "Gods, I can't believe it's gotten to the point where we're thankful for over a hundred regular monsters."

"So what's the play?" Clarisse asked, leaning forward. Her spear rested against the log beside her, its tip gleaming faintly in the firelight. "We march in, clear 'em out?

"Clear them out?!" Will replied indignantly. "We can't clear out that many monsters! Not in our current state!"

The fire snapped, sending a flurry of sparks skyward as tension coiled tighter among the demigods. The son of Apollo's words, sharp with frustration, hung in the air, his hands gesturing toward the group as if to underline their collective fragility. "Look at us, Clarisse! Half of us can barely stand, let alone fight.

Clarisse's scowl deepened, her knuckles whitening around the shaft of her spear. "So we just sit here and what…do nothing?! Pass up on the only suitable place we've found?! Go back to scrounging and walking aimlessly for miles?!"

Percy let the argument simmer for a moment, his eyes passing over each and every demigod listening in on the argument. He wanted to gauge their reactions, see how they personally felt about the situation. Most looked dejected, knowing that they were probably going to have to pass up on this valley. Others looked like Clarisse, burning hot with determination. They were sick of walking, sick of sleeping on rocks and dirt. They wanted this valley bad. If it meant taking on hundreds of monsters, so be it.

"Will's right," Percy said finally, cutting through the rising voices with a quiet authority that stilled them. "We're not in any shape to storm that valley tonight, tomorrow, or even a week from now. Half of us can't swing a sword without collapsing, and the other half are running on fumes. We'd be walking into a slaughter."

Clarisse opened her mouth to argue, but he raised a hand, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made her pause. "But Clarisse is right too," he continued. "We can't just walk away from this. That valley—it's too good to give up. We've been running for weeks, scraping by, and this is the first real chance we've had at something permanent. We're not abandoning it."

A murmur rippled through the group, a mix of confusion and cautious hope. "So what's the plan, then? We can't fight, but we can't leave. What's left?"

Percy straightened his back, his hands fiddling with Riptide openly, the fire dancing across the bronze sheen. "We don't fight—not yet. We scout, we plan, and we wait. The Hunters already got us a lay of the land, but we need more. We figure out what we're dealing with—exactly how many monsters, where they're concentrated, what they're doing there. Then we come up with a way to take it back, piece by piece if we have to."

Reyna spoke up, a sly eagerness in her words that didn't go unnoticed. It seemed even she wanted to fight, something she had been denied of ever since their journey started due to the wound she gained in the battle against Gaea. "Piece by piece could work," she said. "If we can't take the valley in one push, we isolate them—draw them out in smaller groups, thin their numbers over time. Guerrilla tactics. We've done it before."

"Could also set up traps in the forest," Thalia continued with a shrug.

His lips twitched into a faint, grim smile. "That's the spirit. We don't need to win the valley tonight. We just need to start stacking the deck in our favor."

Clarisse huffed, though the fire in her eyes had shifted from defiance to calculation. "Fine. Scout and scheme. But we're not waiting forever, Jackson. I'm not waiting here while monsters squat in our land."

"No one's waiting," Percy shot back. "We move as soon as we're ready—when we've got a real shot. Not before."

Will exhaled sharply, running a hand through his tangled blond hair. He didn't like this one bit but it seemed everyone was starting to get on board with the idea of taking the valley. "Okay, say we pull this off. We scout, we trap, we whittle them down. What about the wounded? Travis is still out cold, and I've got others who can't even sit up without help. We can't drag them into a war zone.

"Then we don't," he said, his eyes softening as it shifted to Travis's still form. "We set up a safe camp here—fortify it, keep it hidden. You and whoever else can't fight stay back, hold the line. The rest of us take shifts scouting and hitting the valley. We rotate, keep everyone fresh."

Butch raised an eyebrow, his massive frame shifting as he crossed his arms. "And if those monsters decide to come looking for us instead? We're not exactly subtle."

"He's got a point," Connor muttered, his hand resting protectively on Travis's stretcher. "One stray Hellhound catches our scent, and this little powwow turns into a buffet."

Percy's jaw tightened, the flicker of the fire reflecting in his eyes as he considered the question. "Then we make sure they don't find us," he replied, looking down at the grass beneath his feet. "We cover our tracks—literally. Use the river, mud, whatever else to mask our scent. The Hunters are good at that type of stuff; they can teach us a few tricks. We're not helpless here."

The group fell silent, digesting his words. They were starting to get excited. This was a real chance to start building their home. A real chance to live, not just survive. But, like all things in their lives, they would have to fight for it.

Thalia shifted where she stood, her silver circlet glinting faintly as she scanned the faces around the circle. "We can start at first light," she announced. "We'll take a small team back to the valley, get a better count of what we're up against. Map their patrols, their camps. Anything we can use."

Percy nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before sweeping back over the group. "Good. That's where we start. Girls, pick your team—keep it small, fast, and quiet. The rest of us will dig in here, get this camp secure. We'll need sentries, traps around the perimeter, and a system for signals if anything goes wrong."

The firelight flickered across the faces of the demigods, casting their features in sharp relief—determination warring with exhaustion, hope tangled with fear. It wasn't a perfect plan, not by a long shot. They were battered, outnumbered, and teetering on the edge of collapse. But it was something—a thread to cling to, a purpose to rally behind. And for now, that was enough.

"Alright," he said, rising to his feet. "Get some rest tonight. Eat what you can, patch yourselves up. Tomorrow, we start taking our lives back."

A quiet ripple of excitement went through the air, subdued but resolute. The demigods began to disperse, some heading to their tents, others lingering by the fire to finish their meager rations. Clarisse stayed where she was, her spear now resting across her lap, the campfire's flames danced in her eyes, looking exactly like her father's just before a battle.

He slipped away from the fire, his boots crunching softly against the grass as he made his way out of the camp. He knew that walking away might've not been the best of ideas but he had felt a natural spring a couple hundred yards away. It called to him like a siren in the ocean. The idea of taking a bath, something he hadn't had in what felt like an eternity, was too good to pass up. The camp's muted sounds faded behind him—the crackle of flames, the low murmur of voices, the occasional clink of metal as someone sharpened a blade.

The night air was cool against his skin, laced with the earthy scent of pine and the faint tang of the water. He moved with ease through the trees, guided by the subtle pull of the water he could feel in his bones. After a few minutes of walking, the forest opened into a small hollow where the spring was, its surface shimmering faintly under the starlight. It was modest, no more than a shallow pool fed by a trickle of water cascading over moss-slick rocks, but to him, it was a lifeline. The grime of weeks on the run clung to him like a second skin—dirt, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of blood. Yeah, he needed this.

Without hesitation he stripped bare, peeling off the tattered remnants of his shirt and pants with a wince as the fabric tugged at scabs and bruises. The cool air kissed his bare flesh, raising goosebumps, but he didn't linger on the sensation. He stepped into the water, using his powers to heat it up until it bubbled and steamed. The water lapped at his ankles, then his knees, before he sank down fully, letting it envelop him up to his chest. The warmth enveloped him like a long-lost embrace, seeping into his aching muscles and coaxing a sigh from his lips. The steam curled upward, mingling with the night air, and for the first time in weeks, he let his guard drop—just a fraction. His eyes drifted shut, the gentle burble of the spring and the distant rustle of leaves lulling his frayed nerves. The tension in his shoulders began to unravel, thread by thread until eventually, he thought he had attained nirvana.

He dipped his head beneath the surface, letting the heated water wash over his face, threading through his hair and carrying away the grime of battle and travel. For a moment, he stayed there, suspended in the quiet, the world above muffled by the liquid cocoon. It was a fleeting reprieve, a stolen breath of peace in a life that rarely offered such luxuries. The pulse of the water thrummed against his skin, syncing with the rhythm of his own blood—a reminder of his connection to the sea, to his father. Gods, he missed him. He could almost see him now, standing tall against the horizon of the sea, trident in hand, his eyes carrying the weight of storms and the glint of something softer, something reserved just for him.

When he surfaced, water droplets streamed down his face, catching the starlight in fleeting glints before dripping back into the spring. Percy tilted his head back, letting his gaze drift upward to the vast expanse of the sky. The stars shimmered like scattered shards of glass, indifferent to the struggles below. He exhaled slowly, watching his breath mist in the cool air above and let his mind wander.

The valley lingered in his thoughts, its promise and its peril intertwined. He could still see it so clearly: the rivers winding through lush meadows, the gentle rise of mountains cradling the land like a protective embrace. It was the kind of place he'd dreamed of as a kid—somewhere safe, somewhere he could build a life that didn't revolve around fighting or running. But the reality of it, the monster-infested truth, gnawed at that fragile hope. This wasn't just about survival anymore; it was about carving out a future. And he'd give anything to see it come true.

A twig snapped in the distance, sharp and sudden, yanking him from his reverie. His eyes snapped open, muscles tensing as his hand instinctively reached for Riptide, still capped and resting atop his discarded clothes on the bank. The water rippled around him as he shifted, senses sharpening, straining to catch any hint of movement beyond the spring's edge. The forest held its breath, the usual chorus of night sounds—crickets, rustling leaves—stilled in the wake of that single sound. His heart thudded against his ribs, adrenaline chasing away the warmth he'd only just begun to savor.

"I know you're there," he called out, his eyes narrowing like a wolf's as he felt the person's blood rush through their veins. He could even feel their heartrate spike when he called them out. A figure emerged from the shadows of the trees, stepping into the faint starlight that bathed the hollow. It was Katie, her blonde hair tangled with bits of leaves and her clothes streaked with dirt from the long weeks on the move. Her hazel eyes caught the shimmer of the spring, the mist rising high in the air, and his body. She swallowed deeply as she looked down at him, his tanned, scarred muscles wetly glistening against the pale moon's light.

The girl hesitated at the edge of the spring, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her tattered jacket. She looked like she hadn't slept in days, dark circles under her eyes and a weariness in her posture that mirrored Percy's own. But there was something else in her expression—something softer, more vulnerable.

"Sorry," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to intrude. I just… needed some air. And then I saw the mist in the air. I thought it might be you."

Percy relaxed, snaking back down into the warm water. "It's fine," he replied with a smirk. "You're not intruding. Just… maybe give a guy a heads-up next time before sneaking up on him in the middle of a bath."

Katie let out a small, nervous laugh, her cheeks flushing as she averted her gaze. "Yeah, sorry about that. I wasn't really thinking. It's just… been a long day. A long week. A long… everything." She sighed, her shoulders slumping as she took a tentative step closer to the spring. "I couldn't stop thinking about what you said. About the valley."

"It's a lot to process," he replied quietly. "I get it. I've been turning it over in my head since we got back."

She nodded, her fingers still picking at the frayed edge of her jacket. She hesitated for a moment before slipping off her shoes and sitting down on a moss-covered rock near the edge of the water. She dipped her pale toes in, sighing at the sensation of warm water on her skin.

"It's not just the fight with the monsters I've been thinking about either," she admitted, looking up at the stars. "It's the idea of finally having a place to call home. A real home. Not just some temporary camp or a safe house we'll have to abandon when the next big threat comes along. I… I want that so badly, Percy. But I'm scared. Scared we'll get there and lose it all over again."

Her words hit him like a knife to the chest. He'd felt that fear too—felt it every time he let himself imagine what the valley could be. A home. A future. But the cost of getting there, the risk of losing it all… it was a weight he wasn't sure any of them could bear.

"I'm scared too," he admitted, his voice low and rough. He leaned back against the smooth rocks of the spring, letting the warm water lap at his abs. "Every time I think about it, I see it all going wrong. The monsters overrunning us, the valley burning, everyone I care about… gone. But I also see what it could be. A place where we don't have to run anymore. Where we can build something that lasts. And I think… I think it's worth fighting for. Even if it scares the hell out of me."

"You really think we can do it?" she whispered. "Take the valley, I mean. Build something there?"

Percy hesitated, his gaze also drifting to the stars above. He wanted to give her a confident answer, to reassure her that they could do it, that they'd win no matter what. But the truth was, he didn't know. He couldn't promise her victory, not when the odds were so stacked against them. What he could promise, though, was that he'd fight for it—for her, for all of them.

"I don't know if we can," he replied honestly. "But I know we have to try. We've come this far, Katie. We've lost so much, but we're still here. And as long as we're still here, we've got a shot. That's all we can ask for, right? A shot."

Her lips curved into a faint smile, and she nodded slowly. "A shot," she repeated, as if testing the weight of the word. "Yeah. I guess that's all we've ever had."

Katie's gaze lingered on Percy for a moment longer, her hazel eyes reflecting the faint starlight and the flicker of something deeper—something unspoken. The tension between them was palpable, a quiet understanding that went beyond words. She shifted on the rock, her toes still trailing in the warm water, and then, with a deep breath, she stood.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked. Her hands moved to the hem of her shirt, hesitating for just a moment before pulling it over her head. The moonlight caught the curve of her shoulders, the faint scars that marked her skin—reminders of battles fought and survived. She didn't wait for his response, afraid she might lose her nerve, and quickly slipped out of the rest of her clothes, folding them neatly on the rock beside her.

Percy's breath hitched, his sea-green eyes widening slightly as he watched her. Catching himself, he turned around, noticing his own blood beginning to pump faster than normal. He could feel her step into the spring, the water rippling around her as she sank down, her blonde hair fanning out like a halo as she submerged herself for a moment before resurfacing. The warmth of the water enveloped her, and she let out a soft sigh, her eyes closing briefly as she leaned back against the rocks. For a moment, they sat in silence, the only sounds the gentle burble of the spring and the distant hoot of an owl.

"This is nice," Katie murmured after a while, her words laxed. She opened her eyes, glancing at Percy's back with a small, almost shy smile. "I haven't felt this… relaxed in a long time."

He turned slightly, catching her gaze over his shoulder. The moonlight softened her features, and for a moment, she looked almost ethereal, like a nymph from one of the old myths. He felt a pang of something—gratitude, maybe, or relief—that she was here, that she trusted him enough to share this quiet moment.

"Yeah," he said warmly. "It's been a while since any of us could just… breathe. Feels good to let go, even if it's just for a little while."

She nodded, her fingers trailing absently through the water. "Do you ever think about what it'll be like? After all this, I mean. If we actually make it to the valley, if we win… what comes next?"

Percy leaned back, letting the water cradle him as he considered her question. "Honestly?" he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I think about it all the time. I imagine building cabins, maybe even a proper campfire circle where we can all sit and tell stories without worrying about monsters sneaking up on us. I think about planting gardens, fishing in the river, maybe even teaching some of the younger kids how to sword fight. Just… living, you know?

Katie's smile widened, and she let out a soft laugh. "Gardens, huh? I remember you back at Camp trying to plant strawberry seeds. You were terrible at it!"

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, rippling through the steam rising from the spring. "Hey, I wasn't that bad. I mean, sure, I might've drowned a few seedlings, but I've got the whole water thing down now. I could irrigate the hell out of a garden if I wanted to."

Her laugh echoed softly across the hollow, light and unguarded in a way that felt rare these days. "Oh, gods, I can see it now—Percy Jackson, farmer extraordinaire, flooding the fields because he got distracted. We'd have the soggiest crops in history."

He grinned, the image flashing through his mind like an old reel. "Better soggy than dead. Besides, you'd be there to save the day, right? Daughter of Demeter, Goddess of the harvest—you'd have those plants thriving before I could even blink."

There was a moment of silence between their conversation, confusing him somewhat. He almost turned around to make sure she was still there. Had she left? But then, just before he did, he felt a small weight pressed against his back. Katie had shifted closer, her warmth a stark difference from the water's. Hers was hotter against his skin, although he was sure some of it was because of the ever-increasing rate of blood pumping through his veins. The contact was tentative, almost hesitant, as if she wasn't entirely sure of her own boldness. Her breath brushed against his skin, soft and unsteady, carrying the faintest tremble of vulnerability.

Percy froze for a heartbeat, the unexpected touch sending a jolt through him, stirring the calm he'd only just begun to settle into. The water lapped gently around them, the steam curling upward in delicate tendrils, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

"I'd try," she whispered against his back, so quiet he almost missed it over the burble of the spring. "To make things grow, I mean. For us. I'd… I'd want it to work." Her words carried a weight beyond the playful banter of a moment ago, laced with a raw honesty that caught him off guard.

He swallowed, his throat tightening as he processed the shift in her tone. Slowly, carefully, he turned his head just enough to glance at her out of the corner of his eye. Her blonde hair clung to her damp shoulders, strands sticking to her skin where the water had kissed it. Her eyes were closed, her brow furrowed slightly, as if she were bracing herself for something—for his reaction, maybe, or for the fear she'd just laid bare.

"Katie…" he started, his voice uncertain. He wasn't sure what to say, how to bridge the fragile space that had opened between them. Taking the risk, he shifted, fully facing her. Their bodies were fully pressed against one another now. He could feel her soft curves pressed against his skin, the waterdrops that intermingled with one another, the heat of not just the spring but her body. Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, meeting his with a mix of trepidation and something deeper—something that mirrored the ache in his own chest. The starlight danced across her face, illuminating the true vulnerability she rarely let anyone see, and for a moment, Percy forgot the valley, the monsters, the endless fight. It was just them, suspended in this quiet hollow, the world beyond the trees fading into irrelevance.

He reached out instinctively, his hand finding hers beneath the water. Their fingers brushed, then intertwined, the contact grounding him as much as it seemed to steady her. Her skin was warm, soft despite the calluses earned from weeks of survival, and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, a silent promise he wasn't sure he could fully articulate.

"We'll make it work," he whispered, looking into her eyes. "Not just the gardens. All of it. The valley, the cabins, the life we've been chasing. I don't know how yet, but I know we will. Together."

Her lips parted, a shaky breath escaping as she searched his face. Whatever she found there—determination, sincerity, maybe a flicker of the same desperate hope she carried—seemed to ease the tension in her frame. She squeezed his hand back, her grip tightening as if anchoring herself to his words.

"Together," she echoed, soft but resolute. Her eyes held his, unwavering now, and the space between them shrank as she leaned in closer. The water shifted around them, rippling outward in gentle waves, and Percy felt his pulse quicken, a steady drumbeat against the quiet of the night.

For a heartbeat, he hesitated—years of instinct screaming at him to keep his walls up, to protect himself from the inevitable pain of loss. But then he saw the trust in her gaze, the quiet courage it had taken her to step into this moment, and something in him gave way. He closed the distance, his lips softly against hers. His forehead rested gently against hers, their breaths intermingling in the steam-laden air.

Neither of them spoke. They didn't need to. The warmth of the spring enveloped them, a cocoon of heat and starlight, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Percy let himself believe in something beyond survival. Not just a valley, not just a home—but a future where they could be more than warriors, more than survivors. Where they could be this—two souls finding solace in each other amidst the chaos.

Katie's free hand rose, trembling slightly as it brushed against his cheek, her thumb tracing the line of a scar he'd earned somewhere along their endless road. Her touch was featherlight, tentative, but it sent a shiver down his spine all the same. She attempted to deepen the kiss but a sharp crack of a branch breaking brought them out of their moment.

Percy's head snapped toward the sound, his body tensing as instinct roared back to life. Katie pulled back abruptly, her hand slipping from his cheek to clutch at the water's surface, her breath catching in her throat. The warmth of the spring still clung to them, but the spell was broken, replaced by the cold rush of adrenaline. His eyes narrowed, scanning the dark tree line for any sign of movement. But after a moment, with no more sound, he let out a sigh.

"Probably just a deer," he muttered, turning back to her. Her hazel eyes were wide, still fixed on the shadows beyond the spring, her chest rising and falling a little too quickly. He offered her a small, reassuring smile, trying to pull them both back from the edge of alarm. "Or maybe a really clumsy squirrel."

Katie exhaled a shaky laugh, her hand loosening its grip on the water as she met his gaze. "Yeah, or maybe one of the Hunters is out there keeping tabs on us," she teased, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her attempt at levity. She tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers lingering there as if to steady herself.

"Let's hope not," Percy replied, his tone light but his eyes still flicking briefly to the trees. "They would pelt me with arrows for "defiling" a young maiden."

The moment they'd shared still hung between them, fragile and unfinished, but the interruption had sharpened the edges of the world again, reminding them of the dangers lurking just beyond their sanctuary.

The daughter of Demeter nodded, looking slightly agitated, but agreed nevertheless. "We should probably head back soon," she said quietly, her gaze drifting to the starry sky above. "Before someone comes looking for us and we have to explain… this." Her lips quirked into a faint smile, a flicker of the warmth from moments ago returning.

"Yeah," he agreed, though he made no immediate move to leave. He let the silence stretch for a beat, savoring the last traces of peace the spring offered. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he pushed himself up, water cascading off him as he stood. The cool night air bit at his wet skin, raising goosebumps, but he ignored it as he waded to the edge and climbed out. Katie followed a moment later, her movements slower, more deliberate. She stepped out of the spring, water streaming down her legs. She shivered slightly as the night's chill settled over her glistening body.

Using his powers to dry both of them off, they wordlessly slipped their clothes back on before beginning to make their way back to their makeshift camp. As they walked through the shadowed forest, he used the cover of darkness to steal a glance at her–noticing she held a small, almost sly smile. Her eyes looked bright too, like she had just gotten a full night's sleep. He supposed their talk and the moment they shared was the cause of that. Whatever had passed between them at the spring felt like a secret they'd tucked away for safekeeping, a fragile ember they'd shield until the time was right to let it flare again.

As they neared the camp, the faint glow of the campfire flickered through the trees, casting long shadows that danced across the forest floor. It seemed everyone had gone to sleep save the one or two watchmen for the night. Before they entered the camp's outer perimeter, he felt something in his pocket. It wasn't Riptide. It was something heavier, something wooden. Reaching in, he pulled out a familiar carving of a swordsman. The same one he had picked up back at the Lewis and Clark Forest. He had frankly forgotten about the thing, too busy getting back to his friends.

Percy turned the wooden swordsman over in his hand, its rough edges catching faintly in the dim light filtering through the trees. The carving was simple yet detailed—worn smooth in places from time or touch, the figure's stance resolute, blade raised as if ready to strike. He still thought it resembled him though that could be his ego talking.

"Hey, do you know who made this?" He stopped Katie, holding it out for her to examine. "I found it at the site where you all had that battle with the Orcs."

Her eyes widened slightly as she took the wooden figure from him, her fingers brushing against his as she did so. She turned it over in her hands, her expression softening as she traced the rough edges of the familiar carving.

"I don't know," she replied softly, taking one last look at it before placing it back into his hand, her fingers lingering against his. "But I do know that whoever made it, would want you to keep it. It kind of looks like you."

Percy's lips quirked into a faint grin as he tucked the wooden swordsman back into his pocket, the weight of it oddly comforting against his hip. "I thought the same. It has the same handsome features."

Katie rolled her eyes at his quip, but the faint smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. He gave her a playful nudge with his elbow, and she shoved him back lightly, their steps falling into sync as they finally crossed into the camp. He paused at the edge of the clearing, glancing back at her as she veered toward her own tent. She caught his gaze over her shoulder, her hazel eyes bright even in the dimness, and offered him a small, lingering smile—a silent echo of their moment at the spring. He returned it with a slight nod, a promise unspoken but understood, before she disappeared into the shadows of her tent.

He lingered for a moment, watching the spot where she had vanished, the faint rustle of the tent flaps settling into silence. The camp was quiet now, the fire reduced to glowing embers, and the soft snores of the sleeping demigods filled the air. He exhaled slowly, the weight of the night pressing down on him, but there was a lightness in his chest too—a flicker of hope that hadn't been there before.

"Had fun getting your rocks off?" A voice asked from his right.

The son of Poseidon all but leapt into the air, his hand reaching for Riptide in the fraction of a second. He let out a groan of indigitation though when he saw a familiar, pale face walk out of the shadows.

"Gods, Nico! Quit doing that!" Percy let out a shaky breath.

Nico stepped into the faint glow of the dying campfire, his dark eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and something sharper, more knowing. His black hair was tousled, shadows clinging to him like a second skin, and his lips twitched into a smirk that was equal parts teasing and sardonic. He crossed his arms, leaning casually against a nearby tree as if he hadn't just scared him half to death.

"Doing what?" He asked, his tone dry. "Checking in on my favorite reckless hero? You're welcome, by the way. Someone's got to make sure you don't drown in a puddle—or get ambushed mid-bath by something nastier than a deer."

Percy rolled his eyes, his hand dropping from Riptide's hilt as the adrenaline ebbed. "Yeah, well, maybe announce yourself next time instead of lurking like some creepy underworld perverted stalker. I nearly killed you."

"You couldn't even if you tried," Nico shot back, unfazed. His smirk faded slightly as he tilted his head, studying his cousin with that unnerving intensity he'd mastered over the years. "You didn't answer my question, though. Springtime rendezvous keeping you warm out there?"

Percy's face heated, and he shot him a glare, though it lacked any real venom. "It wasn't like that," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets—one brushing against the wooden swordsman again. "We were just talking. About the valley, the plan… you know, important stuff."

The son of Hades raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Talking. Right. With steam rising, clothes optional and saliva exchanged. Very strategic." He pushed off the tree, stepping closer, his boots silent against the grass. "I'm not here to judge. Just don't let your guard down too much. We're not exactly in a 'relax by the hot springs' kind of situation."

Percy sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know. Believe me, I know. One twig snaps, and I'm back to thinking we're all dead. But… I needed a minute, okay? We all do sometimes."

"Fair enough. You're not wrong. I've seen what this endless march is doing to everyone—Clarisse is one bad day from skewering someone just to feel better, and Will's about to snap from stitching people up with no supplies. You're keeping them together, though. That counts for something."

The son of Poseidon smirked, the tension between them easing into something familiar—something almost comfortable. "You could use a bath too, you know. You're starting to smell like the Underworld."

Nico barked a short laugh, rare and rough, shaking his head. "Pass. I'd rather stink than skinny-dip with you. Besides, someone's got to keep watch while you're off playing house."

"Go fuck yourself," Percy replied, smiling one last time at his cousin as he sunk back in the shadows, continuing to watch over the camp like a silent wraith in the night. Deciding it was time to finally call it, he ducked into his tent, the canvas flap brushing against his shoulder as he stepped inside. The space was sparse—a rolled-up blanket, a dented canteen, and his backpack. Riptide lay within arm's reach, its familiar weight a constant reassurance. He dropped onto the blanket, not bothering to unroll it fully, and let his head rest against the rough fabric.

His mind drifted, replaying the night's events—the firelit meeting, the valley's promise, and Katie. Her words echoed in his skull: "I'd want it to work. For us." He hadn't expected that—not the vulnerability in her voice, nor the way it had stirred something in him he'd long buried beneath layers of duty and survival. He wasn't sure what "us" meant yet, not fully, but the possibility of it—of something more than just fighting side by side—felt like a lifeline he hadn't known he needed.

Sleep tugged at him, heavy and insistent, but his thoughts kept circling back to the valley. The monsters. The plan. They'd start at dawn—Thalia and her team slipping through the forest, silent as shadows, while the rest of them turned this ragged camp into something defensible. It wasn't much, but it was a beginning. A shot, like he'd told her. He clung to that thought as his eyes fluttered shut, the distant hoot of an owl lulling him into a restless slumber.

A/N- Just wanted to say thank you for all the reviews, kudos/upvotes! It really means a lot. I've been having so much fun writing this story. Also I finally found out why the story on FFN has been messed up. The chapters not showing up, the story not showing up, yadadadada. Its…surprise, surprise, the actual website that's glitchy. Anyway I saw on their twitter that the problems should be fixed soon so fingers crossed. Thanks for reading and I'll see you in the next one!"

Chapter Text

The light of dawn hadn't even shown itself yet when he was awakened by a boot hitting his leg. He jolted upward instantly, his hand instinctively snapping to Riptide, heart pounding in his chest. The dim interior of the tent swam into focus, revealing a figure standing above him, already dressed for the day ahead.

"Get up, Percy," Thalia's whisper floated through the still air. "We need to head out before light hits."

He blinked the sleep from his eyes, the groggy haze of exhaustion clinging to him like damp fog. "Yeah, yeah, I'm up," he grumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face as he swung his legs off the blanket. His muscles protested, stiff from the night on the hard ground, but he ignored the ache. Riptide's familiar weight brushed against his fingers as he grabbed it, slipping the pen into his pocket. "Give me a sec to shake off the dream about drowning in paperwork instead of monsters for once."

She snorted, stepping back to give him room as he hauled himself to his feet. "Dreams of bureaucracy? Gods, you're getting old. Next, you'll be complaining about your back."

"Already there," he replied, rolling his shoulders with a wince. He didn't want to tell Thalia what he had actually dreamt of. It would be too painful to talk about, even with her, one of the people he trusted the most. He had dreamt of Annabeth last night. The memory lingered like a ghost at the edge of his mind—her gray eyes piercing through the haze, her broken voice calling out to him, telling him that he had betrayed their love for another. He supposed he had dreamt such a thing because he was feeling somewhat guilty for what had transpired with Katie last night.

He shook his head, forcing the image of the daughter of Demeter's pale, ethereal body away as he stepped out of the tent into the pre-dawn chill. The camp was still shrouded in shadow, the embers of last night's fire barely flickering in the gloom. The sky above was a deep indigo, stars fading into the creeping gray of dawn.

Thalia stood waiting, her silver circlet glinting faintly as she adjusted the quiver slung across her back. She didn't waste time as she jerked her head toward the edge of the clearing where the stream was. There was a person there already, their dark clothing blending with the mist that hung low among the grass. "We're keeping it tight–me, you, and Connor. Atalanta's and Evelyn's groups are already on their way to the valley."

Percy nodded, his mind sharpening as the last vestiges of sleep sloughed off like dead skin. "Connor, huh? Good choice. He's quick and quiet when he needs to be." He glanced toward the figure by the stream—Connor's lean silhouette barely discernible in the pre-dawn haze, his hands busy filling a canteen. The son of Hermes had a restless energy about him even now, a coiled spring waiting to unwind.

She smirked faintly. "Yeah, well, he insisted. After Will told him Travis was stable and just needed rest, he's all but ready to start helping out."

"Fair enough," he replied, stretching his arms overhead to loosen the knots in his back. He cast a quick glance around the camp, making sure things were squared away here before leaving for the hour trek to the valley. Reyna and Clarisse would handle things here; he trusted them to keep things in order. "Let's get moving then. Sooner we scope out that valley, sooner we can figure out how to take it."

"Not so fast, kelp-for-brains," Thalia stopped him just as they reached Connor who greeted them with a yawn. "There's something we have to do before we head out."

"And what's that?" Percy asked, watching as his cousin bent down and began to scoop mud from the stream's edge with her hands. The thick, dark sludge oozed between her fingers as she straightened, a mischievous glint in her electric blue eyes. "Oh, you gotta be shitting me!" He groaned in exasperation, already knowing what she was about to do.

"We have to," she replied, reaching upward and smearing a streak of mud across his cheek. "Monsters might not have spotted us last night, but we're not taking chances today. Hellhounds can sniff us out from miles away if we're not careful."

He grimaced as the cold, wet mud squished against his skin, the earthy scent sharp in his nose. He swiped a hand across his cheek, smearing it further, and shot his cousin a half-hearted glare. "You're enjoying this way too much," he muttered.

"Gotta find joy where I can," she quipped, already scooping another handful from the stream's edge. "Plus, you said you wanted the Hunters to teach you some new tricks. This is what we do sometimes to help cover up our scent." She smeared the mud further across his skin, mostly his face, his hands, and neck. "The neck gives away the most scent. It's why the monsters always go for it first."

Percy sighed, resigned to his fate as she worked with brisk efficiency, coating his exposed skin with the slick, cool substance The texture was unpleasant, clinging to him like a second skin, but he couldn't argue with the logic. If it kept the monsters off their trail, he'd roll in the stuff if he had to. He caught Connor's eye, his own face already streaked with dark smears, a faint grin tugging at his lips despite the early hour.

"Looking good, Perce," he teased, flicking a bit of mud from his fingers. "Real rugged. Maybe you'll start a new trend—'swamp chic.'"

"Laugh it up," the green-eyed demigod shot back, scooping a handful of mud from the stream and lobbing it at Connor. It splattered across his chest, earning a mock-indignant yelp. "You're not exactly runway-ready yourself."

Thalia rolled her eyes at their antics, wiping her hands on her pants as she stood. "Children, the both of you. Let's move before the sun's up and we lose our cover." There was a flicker of amusement in her gaze, however, as she turned toward the forest, gesturing for them to follow.

The trio slipped into the trees, their footsteps muffled by the damp earth and the thick carpet of pine needles and grass. The air was crisp, heavy with the scent of resin and the faint tang of the stream they'd left behind. Dawn was still a whisper on the horizon, the sky a bruised purple that bled into the shadows of the forest. Percy kept pace with Thalia, her lithe form moving with the practiced grace of a Hunter, while Connor trailed just behind, his restless energy tempered by the need for silence.

The trek to the valley was familiar now, the route etched into his mind from the night before—every twist of the path, every jutting root or moss-slick rock. The mud on his skin dried into a tight, cracked mask, itching faintly, but he ignored it, his senses tuned to the world around them. The forest was alive with subtle sounds: the rustle of leaves stirred by a pre-dawn breeze and the distant trill of waking birds. The daughter of Zeus led them with quiet confidence, her bow slung across her back, hands free but ready to draw at a moment's notice. She'd always had a knack for navigating the wild, a gift from Artemis that made her as much a part of the forest as the trees themselves. Connor also kept up well, his thief's instincts keeping his movements light and his eyes sharp.

As the minutes blurred and the fire in his lungs began to grow stronger, the terrain began to shift. The ground sloped downward, the trees thinning to reveal glimpses of the expanse below. Percy felt the familiar tug in his chest, that mix of awe and dread the valley inspired. They slowed, crouching low as Thalia raised a hand, signaling them to stop. The ridge they'd reached offered a vantage point—a jagged outcrop of rock overlooking the meadows, hills and winding river they'd seen the night before. But now, in the faint pre-dawn light, the monster presence was even more starkly visible.

The land sprawled beneath them, a tapestry of beauty marred by the flicker of campfires—not the warm, welcoming kind, but the harsh, smoky glow of monster encampments. Cyclopes lumbered between crude tents, their single eyes glinting like lanterns in the dimness. Hellhounds prowled the perimeter, noses to the ground, their growls a low rumble that carried on the wind. Dracaena slithered through the grass, their serpentine tails leaving trails in the dew-soaked earth. It was a chaotic, sprawling mess of activity—dozens, maybe hundreds, just as he had warned.

Beside him, Thalia's jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the expanse below. "Looks like they've dug in deeper since last night," she murmured over the faint rustle of the wind through the trees. "More patrols, too. They're not just squatting—they're fortifying."

Connor kneeled lower, his muddy hands gripping the edge of the rock as he peered over. "Gods, that's a lot of ugly down there," he said in somewhat awe. "What, did every monster in the tri-state area RSVP to this party?"

"Seems like it," Percy replied as he tracked a pair of Hellhounds sniffing along the riverbank. Their glowing red eyes cut through the dimness like embers, and he could almost feel their hunger radiating across the distance. "They're not moving like a random mob, either. Look at the way they're spread out—patrols on the edges, camps clustered near the water. They've got a system."

"They're organized." She nodded in agreement. "That's bad news. Means someone—or something—is calling the shots." She pointed toward a larger fire near the center of the valley, its flames licking higher than the others. Shadows moved around it, too distant to make out clearly, but there was a purposeful rhythm to their actions. "That's the hub, I'd bet. If there's a leader, they're there."

Percy squinted, trying to pierce the haze of smoke and distance. The figures near the central fire were bigger than the rest—hulking shapes that could've been Cyclopes, or maybe something worse. His gut twisted, a familiar instinct warning him that whatever was down there wasn't just another grunt in the monster ranks. "We need to get closer," he said, shifting his weight as he prepared to move. "Figure out what's running this show."

"Not yet," Thalia countered, her hand snapping out to grip his arm. Her touch was firm, grounding him before he could take a step. "We're here to scout, not engage. Atalanta and Evelyn's groups are already circling the perimeter—they'll flush out what they can from the edges. We stick to the plan: watch, count, map. No heroics."

He bristled slightly, the urge to act clawing at him, but he forced it down. She was right—they couldn't afford to tip their hand, not when they were this outmatched. "Fine," he relented, settling back into a crouch. "But we're not leaving until we've got something solid to work with."

"Already ahead of you, Seaweed-Brain," she replied, dipping her hand into her backpack before pulling out what looked to be a small locket of some sort. It was shaped like a crescent moon but when she opened it, it revealed a smooth, reflective surface that gleamed faintly in the dim light.

Percy raised an eyebrow, his gaze fixed on Thalia as she carefully angled the crescent-shaped locket toward the valley below. The reflective glass inside caught the faint glimmer of starlight, sending a brief flicker of light into the darkness. With a smooth, practiced twist of her wrist, she adjusted the locket, her movements precise. The two men held their breath, their eyes locked on the scene, anticipation hanging heavy in the air as they waited to see what would happen next.

Then, suddenly after a moment, a faint silver light broke through the shadows of the forest below. It pulsed rhythmically, flashing in deliberate intervals, almost like a coded message. Percy squinted, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a second silver light piercing the darkness in the distance. It, too, flashed in sync, as if responding to the first. The forest seemed to come alive with this silent, shimmering conversation, and he couldn't help but feel a thrill of curiosity.

"What in Hades is that?" Connor whispered.

"Artemis's signal mirror," she replied, her words slightly tinged in pride. "The Hunters use them to communicate over distances—silent, no magic signature to trace. Atalanta's and Evelyn's groups are signaling back. They've got eyes on the western and eastern edge of the valley."

The faint silver pulses continued, a dance of light between the ridge and the distant trees. After a couple more seconds, however, they stopped, leaving the valley in a shroud of black and hazy orange.

"What'd they say?" He asked.

Thalia's eyes remained fixed on the valley as she snapped the locket shut with a soft click, her fingers lingering on its crescent edge for a moment before she slipped it back into her pack. "They've confirmed what we're seeing—Eveyln said monsters are thickening their lines on the western flank, near the river's bend. Atalanta's team says the eastern edge is lighter, mostly scouts and a few stray hellhounds, but it's got more tree cover. They're guessing it's a fallback point if things go south for them."

Percy nodded, his mind already racing as he processed the information. The valley sprawled out below them like a living map, its contours and shadows shifting in the creeping light of dawn. The monsters' movements weren't random—there was strategy here, a design he could almost grasp if he squinted hard enough.

"Smart," he muttered, rubbing a muddy hand across his jaw. The dried sludge cracked under his fingers, flaking off in little clumps. "They're anchoring their heavy hitters where the river gives them a natural barrier. Harder to flank them there. East might be a feint—lure us in, then close the jaws."

Thalia tilted her head, considering his words as her electric blue eyes flicked back to the valley. "Could be. Or they're just stretched thin and prioritizing the water for something. Either way, we're not cracking this nut today."

"So what's the play?" Connor leaned back from the edge, looking to the son of Poseidon. "Sit here counting heads until the sun's up, or hightail it back and tell everyone to start sharpening spears?"

"I say we watch a little longer," she interjected, looking back at him. "Get a solid count on those patrols and whatever's by that big fire. Then we move."

The green-eyed demigod pondered for a moment before ultimately deciding that was the best play. There was still much to be uncovered and learned before they could start taking this land from the monsters. "Alright," he agreed. "We watch. But we leave at the first hint of light—sun's not gonna wait for us."

Thalia nodded, her sharp eyes already tracking the movements below. She pulled a small, worn notebook from her pack—nothing fancy, just a battered thing with frayed edges—and flipped it open to a blank page. With a stubby pencil she fished from her pocket, she began sketching a rough outline of the valley: the winding river, the clusters of campfires, the jagged tree line. Her strokes were fast but precise, years of Hunter instincts guiding her hand.

"Connor, you take the eastern edge," she said without looking up. "Count the scouts, note anything moving in or out of the trees. Percy, you've got the river and I'll handle the center of the camp."

He settled low, focusing on the river snaking through the valley below. The water glinted faintly, catching the last whispers of starlight before the dawn erased them entirely. He squinted, letting his senses stretch toward it—there was something comforting about the pull of the current, even from this distance, a quiet hum in his blood that steadied his nerves. But comfort wasn't the goal now; information was.

The Hellhounds along the riverbank were the first thing he noticed. He counted eleven in total, spaced evenly along the water's edge, their movements deliberate but restless. Every so often, one would pause, snout twitching as it sniffed the air, then resume its patrol. They weren't just guarding the river—they were searching for something.

Beyond them, closer to the water, a trio of Dracaena slithered into view. Their serpentine tails churned the muddy bank, leaving slick trails as they hissed to one another in low, guttural tones. One carried a crude spear, its tip glinting dully, while the others dragged what looked like a net between them—weighted with stones. He watched them dip the net into the river, pulling it back with a sluggish heft. Whatever they were fishing for, it wasn't dinner.

"River's got eleven Hellhounds, three Dracaena," he murmured, hearing the pencil scribble his observation faintly behind him. "They're dragging something out of the water—maybe traps. Can't tell what's in 'em from here."

Thalia's hand paused mid-sketch, her brow furrowing as she glanced at him. "Traps? That's new. They don't usually bother with that kind of prep unless they're expecting trouble."

Connor shifted beside them, his gaze still locked on the eastern edge. "Over here, I've got thirty Empousai, ten Harpies, and three Cyclops. Maybe more? Hard to tell with the trees. They're not moving much, just pacing the perimeter. Looks like they're waiting for something to come to them." He rubbed his hands together, flicking off a bit of dried mud. "Oh, and there's a gap in the tree line. Could be a path."

"Waiting, huh?" Percy muttered, his mind churning. The pieces were starting to form a picture, but it was still blurry, like a puzzle with half the edges missing. The monsters weren't just holding ground—they were preparing, guarding, maybe even baiting. He glanced at Thalia's sketch, her pencil now shading in the eastern treeline where Connor had pointed.

"Anything else?"

"No, but they're starting to get antsy," the son of Hermes replied. "They're definitely expecting something. Think they know there are demigods nearby?"

"No," Thalia answered, outlining the last traces of the landscape below before closing the notebook. "Whatever they're waiting for though, we'll have to find out another time." She glanced up at the sky, the first rays of light being to poke out behind the looming mountains overhead.

He followed her gaze, noting the subtle shift above. Time was slipping away, and with it, their cover.

"Sun's coming. "We've got what we need for now. Let's move."

Connor rose from his position, brushing off his knees though the mud clung stubbornly to his clothes. "Agreed, I'd rather not stick around to see if those Hellhounds get a whiff of us. Mud or no mud, I'm not betting my life on Thalia's swamp perfume trick."

She shot him a dry look, the corner of her mouth twitching. The trio took one last glance down at the valley. The monster encampments were still shrouded in shadow but growing sharper as the light crept in. The hulking figures near the central fire hadn't moved much, but their presence gnawed at him—an unanswered question they couldn't shake. Whatever was down there, it wasn't just muscle. It had a mind behind it, and that made it dangerous.

As they turned to retreat, they had barely stepped back into the forest when something stopped them dead in their tracks. A low, resonant sound pierced the air–a deep, guttural note that seemed to rise from the earth itself. It was so loud Percy had thought for a moment it was the groan of one of the mountains nearby, waking from its slumber.

Thalia whipped her head back toward the valley. "What the Hades was that?" she hissed, her hand hovered near her bow, fingers twitching as if itching to draw it.

"Sounded like… a horn?" Connor replied, edging his way back over to the outcrop.

Percy followed his example, peering over the rocky lip down into the valley. The monster encampments below stirred, a ripple of movement spreading through the ranks. Looking closer, he could see that almost every monster down there had started to move toward the eastern edge of the valley Connor had pointed out moments ago.

"This isn't good," the son of Hermes muttered. His eyes darted across the scene below, tracking the sudden shift in the monsters' behavior. "Whatever that horn was, it's got them all riled up."

The trio held their breath, their eyes locked on the monsters moving with unsettling purpose. The green-eyed demigod, lost in thought as he tried to decipher their intentions, failed to notice the faint rustling from the path cutting through the eastern forest. It wasn't until Thalia's sharp gasp shattered the silence that he snapped out of his reverie, his gaze darting in the direction of the disturbance. His breath caught in his throat as he saw it.

"Fuck," he muttered, his eyes widening in disbelief. Emerging from the shadows of the woods, hundreds of monsters marched in disciplined ranks, their forms dark and menacing against the dim light. But it wasn't just their numbers that sent his heart racing. It was what they were.

The Father's monsters.

His pulse pounded in his ears as he stared down Orcs spilling out of the trees, their thunderous marching echoing across the entirety of the valley. They were all clad in crude armor, some made of bone, others black, rusted metal. Their guttural growls mingled with the clatter of jagged weapons, axes and swords banging against shields in a rhythm that reverberated like a war drum. Each step they took shook the ground, a low tremor that Percy could feel through the soles of his boots. These weren't the chaotic, mindless beasts he was used to facing. These were soldiers, disciplined and driven, their yellowed eyes–so similar to the Father's–glinting with a savage purpose.

"This is an army," Connor pointed a mud-caked finger toward the lines. "Look at the banners."

Percy narrowed his eyes, struggling to discern the tattered standards flapping violently in the wind. The fabric was dark, almost black, and streaked with what could only be dried blood. At its center was a single, glaring yellow eye, its pupil slit like a serpent's, staring out from the cloth with an unnerving, unblinking gaze. The eye seemed alive, piercing through the distance as if it could see them—see into them. A cold shiver raced down each of their spines. It radiated the same kind of aura as Thalia's shield. A curse meant to paralyze its victims, to crush their will and make them believe there was no escape—no place to hide.

"The Father," he growled the name like poison, anger swelling within his chest. "This is his doing. Those monsters are his army."

The son of Hermes swallowed hard, sweat beginning to bleed through the dried mud on his skin. "How many do you think there are?"

"Too many," Thalia replied grimly, slowly backing away from the edge. "We need to leave. Atalanta and Evelyn's groups should be gone by now. Connor, you're with me—keep your eyes peeled for anything trailing us. Percy, you take point."

She didn't wait for a response before turning and striding toward the trees, Connor swiftly matching her pace. But after a few steps, they both halted, realizing he wasn't following. He remained at the edge of the outcrop, his eyes still transfixed on the valley below. The Orcs had come to a standstill in the center of the meadow, their formation rigid and precise. In front of them, with only a few yards separating them, were the monsters that had settled the land. They formed their own ranks, though their lines were chaotic and disorganized compared to the disciplined Orcs of the Father.

"Percy!" He glanced back to see her and Connor already half-hidden among the trees, her electric blue eyes blazing with urgency. "Move it, now!"

He hesitated, his focus snapping back to the horde of monsters. Something was happening among them. The Orcs began to move, their actions unnervingly precise, as if guided by a single mind. They parted ranks in perfect unison, forming a grim corridor through their lines. From the heart of the formation, a figure emerged—an Orc that dwarfed the others, its presence radiating a palpable, oppressive energy that seemed to thicken the air, making it feel oily.

This Orc was clad in bone armor, but unlike the others, it wasn't crafted from the bones of animals. No, the realization hit him like a blow—it was made from human remains. A tattered cloak hung from its shoulders, the fabric frayed and crusted with dark, dried blood that whispered of countless atrocities. In its right hand, it clutched a staff crowned with a jagged, pulsating crystal that glowed with a sickly purple light, throbbing like a diseased heart. The eerie illumination spilled across the ground, staining the grass with an unnatural hue.

The crystal pulsed with a steady, ominous rhythm, each thrum sending a wave of unease that reverberated deep into his bones. Around him, the other creatures—those that had held the valley before the Orcs' arrival—shifted restlessly, their earlier bravado wavering as the towering Orc stepped forward. In its massive hand, the staff rose, and the purple light at its tip flared brighter, casting grotesque, elongated shadows that writhed like living things.

A low, guttural chant soon swelled from the ranks, a sound that scraped against Percy's ears like rusted blades grinding on stone. The words were foreign and harsh, each syllable clawing at his mind as if desperate to etch their meaning into his skull. He didn't need to understand the language to feel the weight of their intent—power, domination, obedience, and something darker, more primal, lurking beneath the surface. Perhaps it was a hymn, a prayer to the Father.

The chant grew louder, blocking out the pleas from Connor and Thalia, begging him to get up and run. But he couldn't. He couldn't tear his eyes away, couldn't stop listening to their throaty bellows. He was put into what almost felt like a trance. A trance not caused by the Orc's or the unknown crystal's power. But his own anger. His own rage. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles turning white beneath the dried mud. It was unlike anything he had felt before. It wasn't the quick, fiery anger that came in the heat of battle, nor the simmering frustration of being outsmarted. This was deeper, darker, a storm that had been brewing in the depths of his soul ever since the Father had first crossed his path.

And now, as he sat there, staring down at the Orc warlord and its grotesque army, that rage threatened to consume him entirely. These monsters thought they could just take this valley for themselves? Take away his last hope of building a future? Take away everything that they've fought for, cried for, bled for.

No. He wouldn't let them. Not again.

"Percy! We need to leave!" Thalia pleaded but it had fallen on deaf ears. Without an explanation, the son of Poseidon jumped down the outcrop, beginning his descent into the valley below. "Don't you dare!" She whispered fiery, her words cracking like a whip.

But it was too late. He was already moving, his body propelled by a mix of fury and determination. The slope was steep, the rocks loose and treacherous, but he navigated it with the agility of someone who had spent a lifetime climbing down the lava wall back at Camp Half-Blood. His heart pounded in his chest, not from fear, but from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. The mud on his skin cracked and flaked as he moved, but he barely noticed. His focus was singular, his mind a storm of rage and resolve. He needed to know why the Orcs were here. Why they wanted this valley. And what they wanted with the monsters that had already settled here.

"Percy, stop! This is suicide!" He could hear Connor try to reason. He couldn't help but agree with that statement. It was suicide. It was stupid, reckless, and just plain idiotic. But it was necessary. They needed answers and this was the only way they were going to get them. Soon, his friend's words were swallowed by the distance as he plunged deeper into the valley, their overhead figures growing smaller against the vast expanse of the cliff.

The descent was a blur of motion and adrenaline. His feet skidded on loose gravel, his hands scraping against jagged rocks as he half-slid, half-ran down the steep slope. The cold morning air bit at his lungs, but he barely felt it. Soon, after another minute, the ground leveled out beneath his boots, their soles sinking into the soft, fertile grass. The valley floor stretched out before him, a vast expanse of damp earth and sprawling trees, seeping out the morning light from the cracks in the canopy above. The air was thick down here, tinged with the acrid stench of monsters and smoke.

Percy crouched low, weaving his way through the gnarled trees. He moved quickly and quietly, his senses on high alert as he grew closer to the monsters. He could see the two armies through the gaps in the foliage, their loud growls and chants shaking the very leaves. Pressing himself against the rough bark of a towering pine, he pulled Riptide out of his pocket, the familiar weight a welcomed feeling. Trying to control his breathing and racing heart, he peaked out from behind the trunk, his green eyes narrowing as he took in the scene unfolding just yards away. The Orc warlord stood at the center of the corridor formed by its army, its towering frame a grotesque silhouette against the rising sun peaking out from behind the mountains.

It raised its staff higher, and the chanting from the Orc ranks swelled, a guttural crescendo that vibrated through the earth. The crystal flared, its sickly purple light washing over the land, and Percy felt a sudden, sharp tug in his gut—not fear, but something primal, urging him to run. It was the same feeling he had felt during his encounter with the Father. He gritted his teeth, forcing the instinct down. He wasn't here to flee. He was here for answers.

The Orc, with all the might it could muster, slammed the staff into the ground, causing the chanting to cease instantaneously. A heavy stillness blanketed the scene, the monsters that had settled the land shifting uneasily against the menacing power displayed before them.

"Kneel!" The warlord command, its voice garbled like it was speaking through a mouthful of gravel. Yet that one word carried an undeniable authority that sent a ripple through the gathered monsters. The Father's army, already disciplined, dropped to one knee in unison, their weapons and armor clattering against the ground as they bowed their heads in submission. But the other monsters–Dracaena, Hellhounds, Cyclopes, and Empousai–refused to do so.

Percy's eyes narrowed in confusion as he watched the scene unfold. The warlord's yellow eyes, glowing like twin suns, swept over the stubborn subjects. Its lips curled into a sneer, revealing jagged, yellowed teeth. "Kneel," it repeated, anger beginning to rise within. But the monsters refused to give in, clinging to their autonomy. Cyclops batted their clubs against their chest, Hellhounds bared their fangs, and Dracaena hissed in defiance.

The Orc leader growled out in rage, the crystal atop its staff pulsing brighter with every heartbeat. The sickly purple light cast grotesque shadows across its face, revealing a swarm of inky black tendrils swimming beneath its grey skin.

"You will obey the Father's will!" It screamed out, pointing at each and every soul that dared defy its command. It took a step forward, the ground trembling beneath its massive, bone-clad feet. "You will kneel, or you will die."

Silence, once again, ensued across the valley until a lone Cyclops stepped forward, its single eye blazing with defiance. It was larger than the others, its muscles rippling beneath its rough, leathery skin. In its hand, it clutched a massive club, the wood splintered and stained with the blood of countless battles. The six-meter-tall monster answered the Orc's demand with a roar, slamming its club against his chest.

"We serve no master but ourselves!" the Cyclops's deep voice bellowed, echoing across the meadow.

"Fool," the warlord spat, the word dripping with contempt. "You think your defiance will save you? You think your strength will protect you? You know nothing of strength! Of power! But the Father can show you. He can show you true power. But you must kneel. You must submit yourselves to him. For what is strength without purpose? What is power without obedience?"

"We will not be slaves again!" the one-eyed monster replied. "We were slaves under Kronos, under Gaea. No more! We will not feed into the lies we've been told for millennia!"

The declaration hung in the air like a challenge, reuniting the passion and anger within the monsters standing behind their leader. The tension between the two factions was suffocating, a storm brewing on the edge of violence. Orcs gripped their weapons, black drool frothing down their mouths. They wanted nothing more than to end these pitiful being's lives. To be granted a place in the Father's army was a privilege! An honor! To deny such a thing was heresy of the highest order.

"Slaves?" the Orc leader repeated. "You think he seeks slaves? No. He seeks warriors! Those who will rise above the petty squabbles that plagued the Titan Father and Earth Mother and unite under his banner! The Father does not chain his children—he empowers them. He gives them purpose. Strength. Victory."

Percy's grip tightened on Riptide, the pen's cool metal stark against his heated skin. He could feel the weight of the warlord's rhetoric pressing against his mind, insidious and heavy, like oil seeping into cracks. The Father didn't want slaves—he wanted soldiers, loyal and unwavering, bound by something stronger than chains: belief. It was a lie wrapped in half-truths, and he hated how it echoed the same manipulations he'd seen before—Kronos promising power, Gaea whispering destiny. Different faces, same game.

"Purpose?" The Cyclops tilted its head, its hands gripping its wooden weapon with such strength that it threatened to crack beneath the force. "Your Father offers nothing but a leash dressed as freedom! We've finally tasted freedom–escaped the clutches of masters that held no ounce of care for us. You think we'll trade that for another tyrant's promises?"

"Freedom? You call this chaos freedom?" He laughed and gestured to the monster's camp behind them. "You wander aimlessly, squabbling over scraps and bugs, fighting for nothing but survival. We offer more than survival—we offer dominion. We offer a world where monsters like us will no longer cower in the shadows, where we will no longer be hunted like beasts…But to claim that world, you must first submit. You must kneel."

The Monsters roared in defiance once more, their screams carrying across the air. The Cyclops lead raised its club high, the splintered wood gleaming in the eerie light of the crystal. "We will not kneel! We will fight for our freedom, even if it means our deaths!"

The warlord's lips curled into a grotesque smile. It was as if he had wanted them to say that. "Two days," he finally said, pointing to the sun sitting high above the clouds now. "I'll give you two days to reconsider. After that, the Father's will shall be done."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence, ominous and final. The monsters before him shifted uneasily, their defiance wavering under the weight of the ultimatum. The Cyclops leader, however, stood firm, its single eye blazing with unyielding resolve. The son of Poseidon sank back behind the tree, his mind racing. Two days. Two days before this land erupted in chaos. This wasn't just a territorial grab; it was a recruitment drive, a power play to swell the Father's ranks with every monster too stubborn or too broken to bow willingly. And if they wouldn't kneel, they'd be fodder for the Orcs' blades.

Percy didn't dare to peak out again, even when he heard a steady, ominous rhythm of clanking armor and thudding boots that faded into the eastern forest like a receding storm. He waited, counting the seconds until the last metallic clatter dissolved into the distance. Only then did he ease away from the tree, his muscles taut and protesting from the tension. Riptide remained clenched in his fist, still capped. He looked upward toward the canopy of the trees, the sun's filtered light hitting against his face. Two days was all they had before this valley was up for grabs. Two days before it was potentially destroyed by the acts of battle.

He exhaled sharply, trying to quell his racing heart. He glanced back up the slope he'd descended, the jagged outcrop where Thalia and Connor had been watching now a distant smudge against the brightening sky. They'd be furious—Thalia especially. He could already hear her voice, telling him how stupid he was. She might even deliver a lightning-coated fist to his gut. Ah, who was he kidding, he knew she was going to do that when they were back at camp.

But he had to do this. He had to understand what they were up against. The Orc army wasn't just a horde of mindless monsters—it was a force with purpose, with strategy, and with a leader who knew how to manipulate and control. And if they didn't learn more things about their enemy, about what they planned to do to a world unprotected by the Gods, then he feared that a new age of darkness would descend upon them all.

Peaking out from the shadows once more, he could see that the monsters that had stayed behind were beginning to disperse. Some went back to their camp while others went to their post throughout the woods, making sure no outsiders would sneak inside their perimeter.

"Shit," he cursed, watching as one lone monster, an Empousa, began to make their way over to his position.

The Empousa's uneven gait sent a ripple of tension through Percy's body as she drew closer, her bronze leg glinting faintly in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. Her hair flickered like flames, a chaotic dance of red and orange that seemed to mock the greenery of the forest. He pressed himself back against the pine, the rough bark biting into his back as he held his breath. The air carried her scent now—charred metal and something sickly sweet, like perfume.

His fingers tightened around Riptide, ready to uncap it at a moment's notice. The monster's grooves grew closer, her head tilted, sniffing the air with a predator's focus, glowing eyes sweeping the shadows. He cursed internally—the mud trick might've dulled his scent, but it wouldn't hold up under close scrutiny. Not with a monster this attuned, this hungry. He could hear her low, rasping hum, a sound that slithered through the trees like a warning.

The son of Poseidon weighed his options. Running wasn't an option—not with her this close and the valley still crawling with monsters. Fighting might draw attention, but if she spotted him, he'd have no choice. His pulse thrummed in his ears as he heard her get closer, so close that he could hear her licking her lips.

The Empousa paused, her bronze leg glinting as she shifted her weight, her clawed hand brushing against a low branch. She was less than five yards away now, her head swiveling as if she sensed something—someone—nearby.

"Something's here," she murmured, her sickly sweet tone a mix of silk and venom. "Something… fresh."

Percy's jaw clenched, knowing that the game was up. He couldn't wait her out—she was too close, too sharp. His thumb hovered over Riptide's cap, ready to let the blade spring free. One quick strike might silence her before she could scream. The monster took another hesitant step forward, her senses honing in on one specific spot deep within the shadows. Her tongue flicked out, tasting the air.

"Something tastes…familiar,"

Familiar? What did that mean? He didn't have time to dwell on it. The Empousa's glowing eyes narrowed, zeroing in on the tree he hid behind. Her bronze leg scraped the ground as she took another step, claws flexing with anticipation. The sickly sweet scent grew stronger, cloying, mixing with the tang of metal. Another moment of agonizing silence ensued before a clawed hand brushed against the bark of the tree just inches from his face.

Deciding it was time to leap into action, Riptide sprang to life in his hand, the celestial bronze blade gleaming faintly. He didn't hesitate. With a swift, fluid motion honed by years of battle, he stepped out from behind the tree and swung the sword in a tight arc, aiming for the monster's neck. But she was fast—too fast. Her head snapped toward him, glowing eyes widening in recognition as she twisted her body with unnatural agility, dodging the strike by a hair's breadth. The blade sliced through empty air, embedding itself briefly in the pine trunk with a dull thunk!

"Well, well," the Empousa purred, her voice dripping with mockery as she straightened, her flaming hair flaring brighter. "Percy Jackson. I'd know that scent anywhere—sea salt, rage, and power. Kelli never forgets a meal she didn't get to finish."

Kelli. That name whiplashed him as old memories flashed through his mind. The cheerleader-turned-monster from his early days at Goode High School—her bronze leg, her fiery hair, her vicious glee as she'd tried to rip him apart in the band room. He'd thought she would still be in Tartarus after he killed her there but here she was, alive, smirking, her claws itching to tear into him again.

He yanked Riptide free from the tree trunk, the blade humming faintly as he leveled it at her. His stance widened instinctively, feet sinking into the soft earth, ready for her next move. Her glowing eyes locked onto his, a predatory glint dancing in their depths. Her lips curled into a wicked smile, revealing sharp fangs that gleamed like polished obsidian.

"Miss me, hero?" Kelli taunted. She took a step closer, her bronze leg clicking against a root. "I've been dying to sink my claws into you again. Tartarus spit me back out just for this little reunion and I will not lose this–

She couldn't finish the sentence before the demigod was on her. He raised his sword high as if he were going to aim for her head. Her eyes widened at the sheer speed displayed by the man, not prepared for such an attack. She reacted instinctively, her claws slashing upward to intercept the blade she thought was aimed at her neck. But it was a feint—his true target wasn't her head. Using his height and weight to his advantage, he pushed her off balance and drove his boot down hard onto her bronze leg. The metal groaned under the force, bending unnaturally as a sharp crack echoed through the trees.

Percy wasn't done, not even giving her a chance to cry out in pain. With her momentarily off-kilter, he swung his head forward, slamming his forehead into hers with a brutal headbutt. The impact reverberated through his skull, a dull ache blooming behind his eyes, but it did the job. Kelli's glowing eyes rolled back, her body going limp as she crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Her bronze leg twitched once, then stilled, the faint hiss of her fiery hair snuffing out against the damp earth.

He stood over her, wiping a trickle of sweat off his brow as he capped his sword. "Shut up," he muttered.

The forest around him settled into an uneasy quiet, the distant growls and clatter of the monster camps muffled by the thick trees. It seemed that thankfully they hadn't heard their little scuffle. He sighed, realizing the predicament he was in now. He couldn't just leave her here. Not like this. If she woke up—or worse, if another monster stumbled across her—she'd sound the alarm, and they'd search for miles and miles until they stumbled upon their rag-tag camp. Killing her was an option, sure, but something about that didn't sit right. Not because he had any mercy in his heart for her, no. It seemed like a wasted opportunity to just send her back to Tartarus.

Kneeling down next to her, he got to work quickly. Using his hands, he snapped her claws, the obsidian-colored weapons crunching like dried leaves under his brutal strength. He tried not to grimace as the broken shards nicked his skin. Her fangs were trickier—jagged and rooted deep—but he managed to crush them with a twist of his wrist.

He sat back on his heels, catching his breath as he studied her unconscious form. She looked less menacing now, stripped of her natural weapons, but he knew better than to underestimate her. Even fangless and clawless, she was a monster—resilient, cunning, and connected to forces he didn't fully understand. The Father's army, the monsters in the valley–it was all connected, and Kelli might be a key to unraveling it. Killing her would be easy but answers? Answers were worth the risk.

He glanced around, ensuring the forest remained still. The distant clamor of the monster camps hadn't changed—no shouts, no pounding footsteps racing toward him. He'd gotten lucky. For now. But luck wouldn't hold forever, and he needed to move before she stirred or something else sniffed him out. Picking her up, he was relieved to find that she was lighter than he had expected. Hoisting her limp body over his shoulder, he began to make his way back toward Thalia and Connor. Her bronze leg dangled awkwardly, the bent metal scraping against his back as he steadied her. The faint warmth of her fiery hair brushed his neck, now dulled to a smoldering ember in her unconscious state. He kept Riptide in his free hand, capped but ready, as he scanned the forest for the quickest route back up the slope. He'd have to move fast—carrying dead weight through monster-infested woods wasn't exactly a stroll in the park.

The climb back up the outcrop was slower than his reckless descent. His boots dug into the loose earth, kicking up small clouds of dirt as he hauled himself and Kelli upward. Every rustle of leaves or snap of a twig set his nerves on edge, but he pushed forward, fueled by the urgency of what he'd seen—and what he now carried. His muscles burned, and lungs ached, but the thought of Thalia and Connor waiting at the top kept him moving. They'd be pissed, no doubt, but he'd deal with that when he got there.

After what felt like an eternity, he crested the ridge, the jagged outcrop coming into view. Thalia and Connor were still there, crouched low among the trees, their silhouettes tense against the brightening sky. His cousin's head snapped toward him as he emerged, her electric blue eyes blazing with a mix of fury and relief. Connor's jaw dropped, his gaze darting between him and the unconscious Empousa slung over his shoulder.

"What the fuck, Percy?" Thalia hissed, her voice a sharp whisper as she stormed toward him. Her hands were balled into fists, and he could practically feel the static crackling off her. "You jumped down there alone, and now you're hauling a monster back like it's some damn trophy? Have you lost your mind?"

"Nice to see you too," he muttered, easing Kelli off his shoulder and setting her down against a tree. Her head lolled to the side. He straightened, wiping sweat and mud from his brow as he met Thalia's glare. "I didn't plan on bringing her back, but things escalated."

"Escalated?" Connor echoed, stepping closer to peer at her crumpled form. His nose wrinkled as he took in her broken claws and crushed fangs. "Gods, man, what'd you do to her? She looks like she got hit by a truck."

"It's Kelli. From Goode High School," he replied as if that answered everything. Seeing his friend's blank faces, he rolled his eyes. "She smelt my scent, found me, recognized me, and tried to fight me. I couldn't leave her to wake up and squeal."

"But why?" the daughter of Zeus seethed, anger still ever-present in her features. "Why'd you kidnap a monster?"

"Because we need answers," Percy replied, picking the Empousa back up after having had a small break. "After what I heard discussed down there between the Orcs and the other monsters, there are a lot of questions on my mind and she might have them."

Thalia's glare didn't soften, but the crackle of static around her seemed to ebb slightly as she processed his words. Her fists unclenched, though her arms stayed crossed tightly over her chest, a storm still brewing behind her electric blue eyes. "Answers," she repeated, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. "You risked your neck—and ours—for a hunch? You could've gotten yourself killed! Or worse, led them straight back to camp!"

"She's right," the son of Hermes chimed in.

"Look, I get it—I went rogue, and it was stupid. But I heard something down there we can't ignore. The Father's army isn't just taking territory; they're recruiting. They gave the monsters in the valley two days to fall in place or die. Two days, guys. That's all we've got before this place turns into a bloodbath and potentially destroyed."

The weight of his words sank in, tempering their anger with the cold reality of their situation. "Two days," she muttered, uncrossing her arms as she began to follow Percy into the forest. "Great. So we've got a ticking clock and a half-dead monster as our only lead. You'd better hope she's worth it, Seaweed Brain, because if this blows up in our faces, I'm frying you first."

"Noted," the son of Poseidon replied dryly.

The trek back to camp was a tense, unspoken race against the rising sun. Percy led the way, Kelli's limp form dangling over his shoulder like a ragdoll. The tension between the trio of demigods was palpable, but there was no time for arguments. That could be settled later. As they neared the edge of the forest, the camp came into view. The tents were still pitched in a tight circle, the embers of last night's fire smoldering in the center. Kelli began to shift slightly against him, a low groan escaping her lips as her head lolled against his back.

"They're back!" A shout from one of the watchmen alerted the camp, waving as they crossed into friendly territory. That hand slowly dipped back down though when they saw what Percy was carrying.

Reyna was the first to stride forward, her eyes narrowing at the sight of the monster before flicking upward to Percy's mud-streaked face. Clarisse followed close behind, her spear already in hand, the tip glinting as she planted it in the dirt with a thud.

"Percy," the daughter of Bellona said curtly. "explain. Now."

He shifted Kelli's weight, her broken leg scraping faintly against his side as he met everyone's curious gazes. "Scouting mission went sideways. This is Kelli—an Empousa I've run into before. I knocked her out and figured we could use her for intel."

Clarisse snorted, stepping closer to peer at Kelli's limp form. "Intel? From a monster? You've got some balls bringing that thing here, Prissy. What's stopping her from waking up and tearing through camp?"

"She's declawed and defanged," he replied easily, as if he were speaking of a cat up for adoption. "She's not ripping through anything anytime soon. Besides, we've got bigger problems than her."

"He's not wrong, as much as I hate to admit it," Thalia sighed, stepping forward. "The valley's crawling with monsters—way more than we thought. And that's not the worst of it. The Father's army showed up. Orcs, hundreds of them, armed to the teeth. They're trying to recruit the monsters in the valley but they refused. Gave them two days to change their minds before they slaughter everyone."

The camp quickly filled with a mixture of groans and curses of indignation. It seemed they had already thrown in the towel, already mentally preparing to pack up and get the Hades out of dodge before the warzone found its way to them.

"Two days," Reyna repeated, the word laced with steel. She stepped closer, her tilting upward toward Percy. "You're telling me we've got two days before that valley turns into a war zone? And you brought back a monster instead of a plan?"

The son of Poseidon leaned the monster against a tree, binding her arms and legs with some rope Will had brought over to him. "I brought back both," he said, straightening back up. "The valley's our one shot at a home, but we're not the only ones who want it. Those monsters–Kelli's friends–are willing to fight to the death against those Orcs for it."

"Fight to the death," Clarisse muttered, her grip tightening on her spear. She gave Kelli's unconscious form a disdainful nudge with her boot, the bent leg clanking faintly against the ground. "So what, we just sit back and let them tear each other apart? Sounds like a win to me—fewer monsters for us to deal with."

"It's not that simple," Connor continued. "The Father's army isn't just here to flex muscle. They're recruiting—building up their army. If those valley monsters don't kneel, the Orcs'll kill them, sure, but then they'll take the valley for themselves. And if they get it…" He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

"They'll have a foothold," Reyna finished. "A fortified base this close to us. They'll eventually find us and finish us off once and for all."

The weight of the situation settled over the camp like a storm cloud. The demigods shifted uneasily, realizing their situation had gone from bad to worse. No one knew what to think now.

"Yup," Percy finished. "So we need answers from her to figure out the game plan," he pointed to the monster behind him.

Clarisse snorted again, louder this time. "Good luck with that, Jackson. Monsters don't exactly spill their guts unless you're carving 'em open. You planning to torture her or just hope she's feeling chatty?"

"Yeah. If it comes to that," he replied deathly serious, his wolf-like eyes boring into the daughter of Ares with an intensity that made her pause. Torture wasn't a line they'd crossed often—not out of mercy, but practicality. Monsters didn't break like mortals did; they thrived on pain, and turned it into spite. But Percy's gaze held no hesitation, only a cold resolve that sent a ripple of unease through the group.

"Gag her if she starts screaming. Can't draw attention," Reyna ordered, inspecting Kelli with disgust in her eyes. She had never been so close to a monster before without killing it. To be mere inches from one set alarm bells off in her head.

Will nodded, already moving toward the medical supplies, though his brow furrowed with reluctance. "Got it. But if she's as stubborn as most monsters, we might be wasting our time."

"She'll talk," Percy said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. He knelt beside Kelli, double-checking the ropes binding her wrists and ankles. The Empousa's head lolled slightly, a faint groan escaping her lips as the effects of the headbutt began to wear off. He tightened the knots, his movements methodical, almost detached. "She's got history with me. That's leverage."

Just as he said that, Kelli's glowing eyes fluttered open, hazy at first, then sharpening with a predatory glint as they locked onto his. Her mouth parted, ready to lock onto his neck with her fangs. But she quickly noticed that something was wrong with her. Her features were etched with confusion then flared with rage as she realized what had been done to her. Her clawed hands jerked against the ropes, only to find her once-deadly talons reduced to jagged, broken remnants. A guttural snarl escaped her throat, raw and furious, as she thrashed against her bindings. The ropes held firm, biting into her wrists and ankles, but her fiery hair flared brighter, licking the air like a cornered animal's warning.

"Jackson," she hissed, her voice a venomous rasp despite her ruined mouth. "You miserable little fuck! What did you do to me?" Her bronze leg twitched, the bent metal scraping uselessly against the ground as she tried to lunge at him. The effort was futile, and she slumped back, panting, glaring at him with unfiltered hatred.

Percy didn't flinch, kneeling just out of her reach. His eyes met hers, holding no ounce of sympathy or mercy within them. If one of the Olympians were here, they would say he looked just like his Father before he would send a tsunami onto thousands of mortals in the ancient days. "I took your toys away."

Her lips curled into a sneer, though it lacked its usual menace without her fangs. "I know what this is! You think I'll talk? To you? I'd rather choke on my own blood, hero." She spat the last word like a curse, a glob of dark ichor landing on his cheek.

The son of Poseidon didn't flinch when the liquid made contact with his skin. Didn't even blink. He slowly wiped the ichor off his cheek with the back of his hand, the dark smear glistening faintly against his mud-cracked skin before he flicked it to the ground. His expression remained unreadable, a calm mask over the storm raging beneath. Her defiance didn't faze him—he'd expected it, maybe even counted on it. She was a monster, after all, and monsters didn't bend easily. But he's made them do it before so many countless times. This will be no different.

"You'll talk," he muttered lowly, like he had all the time in the world. "Not because I'm asking nicely, but because you don't have a choice."

Kelli's snarl faltered for a fraction of a second, beginning to truly realize the predicament she was in. Without her fangs or claws, she was practically useless. She could've tried to charmspeak her way out but that daughter of Aphrodite behind Perseus would put an instant stop to that. True fear began to seep into her bones as she realized she was at the complete mercy of the most powerful demigod alive. She masked it quickly though, baring her broken fangs in a mockery of a grin. "Big words, Jackson. You think you scare me? I've crawled out of Tartarus. You're just a demigod playing tough."

Percy didn't respond immediately. Instead, he reached down, his movements deliberate, and uncapped Riptide. The celestial bronze blade sprang to life, its faint glow casting eerie shadows across Kelli's face. He held it loosely in his hand, not threatening her with it—not yet—but letting its presence speak for itself. The air around them seemed to hum with its power, a subtle reminder of what he could do, what he had done.

"You seem to forget," he began, examining his blade as countless memories—none of them particularly good—flashed through his mind. "That I've crawled out of Tartarus as well. I can show you so many things I learned down there."

"Do your worst," she said though her words cracked at the tail-end. "I don't fear you."

The green-eyed demigod didn't bite at the jab. He tilted his head slightly, studying her like he studied a battlefield just before he joined in the fray. The glow of Riptide reflected in his sea-green eyes, giving them an ominous shade of green. This was a different side of Percy that no one knew. The person before them wasn't the impulsive, sarcastic kid who'd stumble into heroism with a grin. This person was something harder, colder, a blade tempered by too much death and too little mercy.

"You should," he whispered, leaning so close to her face that she could see the pores on his skin. "And you will."

Chapter Text

“This is a stupid idea, Perseus!” Kelli screamed, uselessly hitting his broad back with her declawed hands. “You can’t possibly believe it’ll work!”

The son of Poseidon bit his cheek in annoyance. “Shut up,” he muttered, shifting her slightly against his shoulder to keep her bent bronze leg from snagging on a low branch. Her protests had been relentless since they’d left camp, a mix of insults and half-hearted threats, but her voice was growing hoarse, her energy waning. He had not been kind during the interrogation, delivering on the promise that she would fear him. At first, he tried to just talk to her but that didn’t work. Then, he used Riptide to draw long cuts across her body. That didn’t work. Clarisse then came over and just pummeled her with punches and kicks but that didn’t work either.

He had started to grow desperate then. If nothing was going to get her to talk then the valley might truly be lost and their one chance at a home gone. That desperation had quickly turned into anger and in the midst of it, he had subconsciously used his power of bloodbending on her. He didn’t even know he could do such a thing to monsters. There was no blood in them after all. But there was black ichor. It was coarse and sluggish, much thicker than any animal or human. But he found it much easier to control. He didn’t know why that was. Perhaps it’s because a monster’s will is lesser than mortal beings? After all, when monsters “died”, they would just reform in Tartarus. They didn’t have that will to survive, that desperation to cling to life like mortals did.

That was the moment when Kelli truly began to fear him. He saw it in her eyes when she realized he had complete control over her body. With a snap of his fingers or tilt of his head, he could deliver unimaginable pain. Pain unlike anything she had ever felt before in her countless years of existence. He heated the ichor in her veins to searing levels, making her skin boil and bubble. He’d stop her heart or make it beat erratically. He’d control her limbs, twisting them at such odd degrees that the strain threatened to snap her bones.

Her screaming still reverberated through his skull even now, long after the interrogation was over. It had been horrific to witness until Reyna had gagged her, preventing her from making any noise, her one last semblance of defiance. After that, it had only taken five minutes for him to break her. Five minutes to completely dismantle the walls of resistance she’d built over centuries. Five minutes for her to tell him anything he’d wanted to know. But after it was over and he got what he wanted, the victory felt hollow, tainted by the thought of what he’d become in those moments. A monster, no different from her.

He was disgusted with himself. Not because of what he had done to Kelli. Not because he had broken his promise to Annabeth to never use that power again. Not even because of the way his friends looked at him after it was over. It was because of how he felt as he stood over her trembling form, her eyes welling with tears as she silently pleaded for the pain to stop. There was a strange, twisted satisfaction curling in his chest when he knew he had broken her. He had relished the power he had over her, the dominance, the way her fate rested entirely in his hands. He had felt like a God at that moment.

But once the heat of the moment had seeped away, he was only left with disgust.

But he got the answers that he needed. That was what was most important. Right? It turns out that the monsters in the valley had fought in the war with Gaea. They had all been some lowly minions sent to the frontlines to become fodder. By the time they reached it, however, the battle had been over and they were forced into hiding. With nowhere else to go and no master to lead them, they had the same idea as the demigods. Go somewhere safe, away from all the chaos, and try to start life anew. Little did they realize that the subjects of Olympus had been hot on their trail.

Percy continued his trek through the forest, looking up at the sunlight that filtered through the dense trees. They probably only had an hour or two of daylight left. Behind him, he could hear the crunch of footsteps against rock. He turned to see a handful of demigods had followed along, making sure to help him in case the plan went south.

“You’re a real hero, Jackson,” Kelli’s sarcastic rasp broke his train of thought, weakly pounding her fist against his back once more. “Dragging me around like a prize pig. What are going to do now? Parade me through the valley and hope the others quake in their boots? It won’t work! Your plan will never work!”

“Something like that,” he replied, though that wasn’t the full extent of it. The valley monsters weren’t just a ragtag band of survivors; they were deserters, battle-worn and disillusioned, clinging to their newfound freedom with a desperation that mirrored his own. They’d fought for Gaea, lost, and scattered, only to stumble into the same haven he’d pinned his hopes on. They weren’t just going to give it up if he showed up and flaunted a monster he had broken into submission. That would only piss them off even more, especially once they realized who had done such a thing. He wasn’t exactly popular among the monsters.

“Hate to say it but I agree with the Empousa, Percy.” Nico echoed the same sentiment, hopping over a downed tree.

“Got any better ideas?” Percy shot back, sharper than he intended. “Because last I checked, we’re running out of time.”

Kelli let out a dry, wheezing laugh. “Listen to the little ghost boy. He’s smarter than you. They’ll rip you apart before you can even open your mouth. After they see what you’ve done to me, their Queen, they’ll be ruthless.”

“Queen?” He stopped dead in his tracks, nearly dropping her as he craned his head to look at her. “What do you mean Queen?! What haven’t you told me?”

Her lips curled into a weak, venomous smirk, despite the exhaustion etched into her features. “Oh, did I forget to mention that part? Oops.” She mocked.

Percy couldn’t help the growl that escaped from his lips. Of course there was more to the story than she let on. He readjusted his grip on her, tighter this time, before continuing to make his way toward the monster camp. He didn’t have time to get the answer out of her. It didn’t matter though. The plan still hasn’t changed.

The minutes blurred as they continued to walk through the forest, the trees eventually thinning to reveal the valley that stretched out before them, bathed in the fading evening light. He could see the monster encampment below was still there, the faint haze of campfire smoke billowing into the sky. Percy paused at the edge of the cliff, reevaluating if this truly was the right way to go about things. The others fanned out behind him—Nico, Reyna, Clarisse, Connor, Piper, and a handful of other demigods who’d volunteered to see this reckless plan through. Their features were apprehensive, hands resting nervously on their weapons and eyes scanning the land below.

“Look at them,” the Empousa chuckled. “They know I’m missing. They’re looking for me.”

Percy’s jaw tightened as he stared down at the faint outlines of monstrous figures moving quickly between crude tents and makeshift barricades. “I know you’re not the leader,” he replied, looking back at her. “You’re too stupid.”

Kelli’s smirk faltered for a split second, her eyes narrowing at the insult, but she quickly recovered, baring her jagged, broken fangs in a sneer.

“So who’s the King?” he arched an eyebrow. “Who’s the actual person running this place?”

Her sneer twisted into something uglier, her fiery hair flickering weakly as she glared at him. “You think I’d spill that to you, Jackson? After everything you’ve done to me? You’ll meet him soon enough. And when you do, you’ll wish you’d stayed in your little camp playing hero.”

He didn’t rise to the bait and instead shifted her weight on his shoulder, his gaze drifting back to the valley below. The monsters were indeed on edge—more than they’d been that morning. Patrols moved faster, their growls and hisses carrying faintly on the wind. Hellhounds sniffed the air with renewed vigor, their glowing eyes cutting through the haze. If Kelli was indeed their Queen, or even just a figurehead, her absence had stirred them into a frenzy. That could work in his favor—or it could blow up in his face.

“King or no king,” he shrugged. “your buddies down there are about to have a bad day. Two days until the Father’s army rolls through, and they’re running around with their heads cut off. Sounds like a losing team to me.”

Kelli’s broken claws twitched against his back, a futile gesture of frustration. “They’ll fight,” she spat. “They’ve got more spine than you think. They won’t bow to your kind or the Father’s. You’re the fool if you think you can waltz in and play peacemaker.”

“Maybe I don’t want peace,” he replied, his voice low and edged with something dark. “Maybe I just want war.”

The demigods behind him shifted uneasily, exchanging glances but saying nothing. Even Nico, usually unflappable, raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes studying his cousin with a mix of curiosity and concern. Reyna’s hand tightened around the hilt of her sword, her lips pressing into a thin line, while Clarisse let out a low grunt—whether in approval or disbelief, Percy couldn’t tell.

With that haunting declaration permeating through the air, he began his descent down into the valley. His friends would stay behind and watch from a distance, prepared to step in at a moment’s notice. He carefully picked his way down the steep incline, the loose dirt and rocks crunching under his boots.

“Percy.” Reyna’s voice called out to him from above. He stopped and looked upward, finding the daughter of Bellona looking down at him with a mix of worry and apprehension on her face. “Be careful.”

He gave her a curt nod, his heart slightly squeezing at the sight of her concern for him. “Always am,” he lied, flashing a grin before descending down the rock once more. The air grew thicker as they neared the valley floor, the faint stench of sulfur and rot wafting up from the monster camp. He reached into his pocket before pulling out his pen, grasping it in his hand tightly, ready for whatever monster may fling itself at him.

Walking through the same trees Kelli and he had their scuffle, the monster camp soon came into view. Now with a closer look, he could see it was a chaotic sprawl of animal hide tents, smoldering fires, and jagged barricades fashioned from splintered trees and bones. With the “Queen” still slung on his shoulder like a sack of grain, he stepped out of the treeline, making his presence known.

“Hey!” he shouted at the nearest monster, a Hellhound, who bared its fangs before lifting its head and howling into the air, alerting the camp of the intruder. Soon came the thundering steps of Cyclops approaching, their singular eyes glaring down at him with fury. Harpies screeched overhead, their wings beating the air into a frenzy as they circled above. From the tents, Dracaena slithered out, hissing into the air with their weapons raised high. It seemed the entire camp had come out of the woodwork to kill him.

Quickly, Percy found himself surrounded on all sides, leaving nowhere for him to escape to. He stood his ground, Riptide uncapped and gleaming in his hand, its celestial bronze blade casting a faint glow against the encroaching dusk. The sight of the infamous weapon seemed to give pause to the monsters, their growls and hisses faltering as they quickly realized who it was they stood before.

He seized the moment, reaching back and holding Kelli out in front of his chest. “I’ve got your Queen!” he announced, showing his enemies the Empousa.

The monsters froze, their collective gaze snapping to Kelli’s battered form dangling limply in Percy’s grip. Her bronze leg glinted dully in the fading light, bent and mangled from their earlier talk, and her fiery hair hung in tangled strands over her face. A ripple of shock—and then fury—passed through the camp. It seemed everyone was about to charge at the demigod to get their Queen back but before they could, he leveled his sword against her neck.

“No, no,” Percy clicked his tongue mockingly. “Back off unless you want her head rolling at your feet.”

The monsters faltered, their rage simmering into an uneasy stillness. Kelli writhed weakly in his grip, her battered form a desperate plea for her monstrous allies to lose control and charge at the son of Poseidon. But they held back. Whether out of fear for her life or sheer terror of Percy himself, they remained frozen. None had anticipated that the legendary son of Poseidon—the bane of their kind, the slayer of countless monsters—would appear at their doorstep.

A low growl rumbled from a Cyclops near the front, its massive fists clenching as it took a half-step forward, only to freeze when Percy pressed Riptide’s edge closer to Kelli’s throat. A thin line of ichor welled up where the blade kissed her skin, and she hissed, her body tensing in his grip.

“Stay where you are,” he warned, his voice steady despite the adrenaline pumping through him. “I didn’t come here to fight. Not yet, anyway.”

The monsters exchanged uneasy glances, their weapons still raised but their movements stalled. A Dracaena with a scarred tail flicked her tongue, her serpentine eyes narrowing as she hissed, “You dare bring her to us like thissss, ssson of the sea? What do you want?”

Percy’s wolf-like eyes swept over the monster, hiding the satisfaction he felt when she took a step back at the sight of him. “I want to talk,” he replied loudly enough for everyone to hear. “To whoever’s really in charge here. Not her—” he gave Kelli a slight shake, eliciting a weak snarl from her lips—“but the one pulling the strings. The King, she called him.”

A murmur rippled through the monsters, a mix of confusion and suspicion. The Cyclops at the front squinted its single eye, its meaty hand tightening around a club fashioned from a tree trunk. “You think you can march in here, threaten our Queen, and demand an audience?”

“Yeah, I can,” he replied, pressing the sword tighter against the Empousa’s neck. “Unless you want me to kill her then use that river right next to us to drown you all, I suggest you listen.”

The monsters shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting between Percy, Kelli, and the lazy flow of the river that snaked alongside their camp. The water gleamed under the dying sunlight, a quiet threat that amplified his words. They knew what he was capable of—stories of his exploits had spread even among their kind, whispered in the dark corners of Tartarus, and hissed over campfires like the ones in this valley. He wasn’t just a demigod; he was a force of nature, and right now, that force held their Queen’s life in his hands.

The standoff stretched on, the tension thick enough to choke on. Then, one by one, the monsters began to part, allowing him to walk forward into their camp. Percy stepped forward, his boots crunching against the uneven ground as the sea of monsters reluctantly parted. Their growls and hisses followed him like a shadow, but none dared to lunge as he walked past. As he walked, the air began to reek further of sulfur, sweat, and something metallic, like blood long since dried. His eyes scanned the crowd, searching for any sign of this so-called “King” Kelli had taunted him about. But no one around struck him as kingly. These were all grunts.

When he was deeper into the camp, he noticed a tent–more like a massive circus tent–with a large fire in front of it. Its frame was reinforced with what looked like the ribs of some massive beast. The hide covering it was patched and scarred, stained with streaks of dark ichor. Standing before the structure, he realized this was what he had seen from the cliff. This was the center of the camp. The command post. Whatever was behind those flaps probably was the King.

Two guards, both Cyclops, stood at the entrance of the tent, wielding axes larger than Percy’s body. They regarded him with a sneer, itching to just stomp him to death with their massive feet. Nevertheless, they pushed the flaps open, allowing him to enter. Stepping inside, he noticed the scent of charred wood and something sour—like decay that had been left to fester. Crude shelves lined one side, cluttered with dented goblets, rusted weapons, and what looked like trophies: a cracked helm, a string of teeth, and a jagged claw preserved in a jar of murky liquid.

At the far end of the tent, sprawled across a throne of splintered wood and furs, sat the figure Percy had been searching for. The King. He was massive, even seated—broad-shouldered and towering, with a presence that seemed to suck the air from the room. His skin was a mottled gray-green, scarred and pitted like the surface of a battlefield, and his eye glowed a sickly white. A mane of coarse, black hair spilled down his back, tangled with bits of bone and metal, and a pair of curved horns jutted from his skull, gleaming faintly in the firelight. He wore no armor, only a tattered cloak of hides stitched together with sinew, but the sheer bulk of him suggested he didn’t need it. In one hand, he gripped a goblet, its contents sloshing as he tilted it lazily to his lips.

Percy’s grip on Riptide tightened as he took in the monster before him. This wasn’t some lowlife minion or deserter scraping by. This was a Cyclops of the highest order. He was taller, stronger, smarter than any of his kin. Perhaps even the most handsome considering this was the first time he had ever seen one have hair on its head.

The King’s single eye locked onto him, narrowing slightly as it roamed over him and the battered Empousa dangling from his grip. The air in the tent grew heavier, the flickering light from a central brazier casting jagged shadows across the monster’s scarred face. For a long moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the faint drip of ichor from Kelli’s wounds, pooling in a small, dark stain on the dirt floor. Then, in the blink of an eye, the Cyclops had darted off his throne.

Percy froze. He had never witnessed anything so massive move with such terrifying speed. Every instinct screamed at him to strike—to sever Kelli’s head and free himself for the looming threat of the King. His fingers twitched, itching to act, but he hesitated. She was the key to everything. If he killed her now, the plan would crumble, the valley would be lost, and their one chance at a home would vanish in an instant. Swallowing his rage, he stood his ground, his blade poised in a desperate bluff, hoping to convince the monster—and himself—that he was ready to end her life if pushed.

The Cyclops loomed closer, his massive frame casting a shadow that swallowed Percy whole. He tightened his grip on Kelli, her shallow breaths rasping against his arm as he held Riptide steady at her throat. The King’s eye bore into him, unblinking, a storm of emotion swirling in its sickly white depths. Then, to his shock, just before the monster squashed him a bug, he stopped short. His clawed hand dropped the goblet, letting it clatter to the ground, spilling dark liquid into the dirt. A low, guttural sound rumbled from his chest—not a growl, not a roar, but a…sob? The King’s eye glistened, and tears, thick and shimmering, began to spill down his scarred face.

“Kelli…” he rasped, his voice a deep, broken thing. “What… what have they done to you?”

The son of Poseidon blinked, caught off guard. He’d braced himself for a fight, for the Cyclops to charge him in a blind fury, to swing one of those massive fists and turn him into a smear on the tent walls. Instead, the King sank to his knees, the impact shaking the ground, and reached out with trembling hands toward the Empousa in his arms. His eye never left her battered form—her twisted bronze leg, her matted hair, the trails of ichor seeping from the cuts Percy had carved into her.

Kelli squirmed weakly in Percy’s grip, her head lolling to the side as she met the Cyclops’s gaze. “Don’t…don’t give in, Cupcake! Kill him! Kill him now!”

It seemed her demand had fallen on deaf ears, however. The King instead continued to bawl his eye out, snot trailing down his nose as he tried to give her–and inadvertently Percy–a hug. The demigod stumbled back a step, instinctively tightening his grip on the monster in his arms as the Cyclops’s massive limbs stretched toward them. The sheer absurdity of the moment—a towering, battle-scarred monster sobbing like a heartbroken child—threw him off balance. Riptide wavered at her throat, the blade catching the firelight as he struggled to process what was unfolding. This wasn’t the brutal, ruthless king he’d expected. This was…he couldn’t even find the words for what this situation was.

“Cupcake?” Percy repeated, his brow furrowing as he dodged the Cyclops’s clumsy attempt at an embrace. He shifted Kelli higher, using her as a makeshift shield between himself and the blubbering giant. “Back the fuck off Cupcake!”

The King’s tears splashed onto the dirt floor, mixing with the spilled contents of his goblet to form a dark, muddy puddle. He did as he was told, stepping back a foot or two, his clawed hands hovering, trembling in the air. “My Queen… my light…” he choked out a raw, guttural wail. “I failed you. I let them take you.”

Kelli hissed weakly, her fangless mouth bared as she glared up at Percy with venomous defiance. “Don’t you dare pity me, you oversized oaf! Get up! Rip his head off! Do something!”

But Cupcake didn’t move to attack. Instead, he slumped further, his massive shoulders heaving with each shuddering sob. The sight was so surreal that Percy almost lowered his sword—almost. He caught himself just in time, keeping Riptide pressed against Kelli’s throat as he studied the King. This wasn’t a trick. The grief was real, raw, and unguarded, spilling out of the monster like a dam had burst. For all his size and menace, the Cyclops was a wreck, undone by the sight of his battered Queen.

Percy’s mind raced. This changed everything. Kelli wasn’t just a figurehead—she was the emotional linchpin of this camp, at least for the King. And the King… he wasn’t the cold, calculating tyrant he had imagined. He was vulnerable. Emotional. A…pussy. A flicker of unease stirred in his chest, mingling with the disgust that still lingered from his earlier actions. He’d come here expecting a fight, ready to leverage Kelli’s life to force a confrontation. But this? This was a different battlefield entirely.

“Alright, big guy,” he said, cutting through the Cyclops’s sobs. He adjusted his grip on Kelli, holding her out like an offering while keeping Riptide poised. “You want her back? Let’s talk.”

The King’s eye snapped up, locking onto Percy with a sudden intensity that made the air in the tent feel suffocating. Tears still streamed down his face, but there was a spark of something harder beneath the grief—anger, and desperation. He wiped a meaty hand across his snot-streaked face, smearing it messily as he rose to his full height. Even hunched, he towered over him, his shadow swallowing the dim light from the brazier.

“You…” Cupcake growled, the word thick with emotion. “You did this to her. You broke her. Why should I listen to you?”

The demigod didn’t flinch, though his pulse hammered in his ears. “Because I’ve got her life in my hands,” he said evenly, tilting Riptide just enough to draw another thin trickle of ichor from Kelli’s neck. She squirmed, letting out a choked snarl, but her strength had long since faded. “And because I’m not here to kill her—or you. Not unless you make me.”

The King’s eye narrowed, his massive fists clenching at his sides. For a moment, Percy thought he’d pushed too far—that the Cyclops would lunge and damn the consequences. But then the monster’s gaze shifted back to Kelli, and the fight seemed to drain out of him all over again. His shoulders sagged, and he let out a low, mournful sound that vibrated through the tent.

“What do you want, demigod?” he asked finally, his voice quieter now, though still laced with bitterness. “The valley? It’s ours. We bled for it. We hid here when Mother Earth lost. You think you can just take it?”

“I don’t want to take it,” Percy lied, softening his tone just enough to sound sincere. “We already have a home. But I saw the Father’s army this morning down here. I heard what his minion said. Two days. We have two days before they’re here and kill you all.”

“Why do you care what happens to us?”

He hesitated, the weight of the question pressing down on him like the stifling air in the tent. The King’s single eye bore into him, searching for a lie, a weakness—anything to latch onto. Kelli’s ragged breathing rasped in his ears, her battered form still dangling from his grip, a constant reminder of the line he’d crossed to get here.

I don’t,” he said frankly. “Not about you, not about her, not about any of this freak show you’ve got going on here. But I do care about what happens when the Father’s army rolls through. They’re not just coming for you—they’re coming for everyone. They’ll find my people too. And we’ll share the same fate if we don’t do something about it.”

The King’s eye flickered, a mix of suspicion and curiosity breaking through the haze of grief. He tilted his head slightly, the horns on his skull catching the firelight as he processed Percy’s words. “Your people,” he rumbled, the bitterness creeping back into his tone. “The ones who hunt us. The ones who slaughter us and call it glory. Why should I believe you’d lift a finger to save us?”

“I’m not here to save you,” Percy shot back. “I’m here to save us. If the Father’s army wipes you out, they’ll keep marching. Straight through this valley, straight to our home. You think they’re going to stop and shake hands after they’re done with you? They’ll burn everything. I’ve seen what they do. I’ve fought them before. You haven’t got a chance unless we work together.”

A heavy silence settled over the tent, broken only by the faint crackle of the brazier and Kelli’s labored breaths. The King’s massive chest rose and fell as he stared at Percy, his clawed hands flexing at his sides. “You expect me to trust you?” he asked. “After what you’ve done to her? After you march in here with her blood on your blade?”

He held the Cyclops’s gaze, unflinching despite the weight of the accusation hanging between them. Black ichor still glistened on Riptide’s edge, a stark reminder of the brutality that had brought him here. He couldn’t deny it, and he wouldn’t try. The truth was his leverage now, raw and unpolished as it was.

“Trust?” he said with a bitter edge. “I don’t expect you to trust me. I wouldn’t if I were you. But this isn’t about trust—it’s about survival. You’ve got two days before the Father’s Orcs turn this valley into a graveyard. I’ve got people counting on me to keep them alive. We don’t have to like each other to see this through.”

Survival,” he repeated, tasting the word like it left a sour tang in his mouth. “You think we haven’t survived already? We clawed our way out of Gaea’s war, hid from your kind, built this—” he gestured vaguely at the tent, the camp beyond it—“from nothing. And now you waltz in here, dragging my Queen like a trophy, telling me we need you?”

Kelli let out a weak, rasping laugh, her head leaning against Percy’s arm. “He’s desperate, Cupcake,” she croaked. “Look at him—shaking in his boots, begging for our help. He knows his little demigod camp’s done for without us.”

The son of Poseidon tightened his grip on her, resisting the urge to snap her neck. “Keep talking,” he whispered dangerously in her ear. “and I’ll finish what I started.” He turned his attention back to the King, raising his voice to cut through her taunts. “Desperate? Maybe. But so are you. You saw those Orcs this morning–hundreds of them, organized, armed, ready to roll over anything in their way. You think your people are going to hold against that?”

Cupcake’s snarl faded into a low, simmering growl, his massive chest heaving as he processed Percy’s words. His eye flicked back to Kelli, lingering on the ichor staining her skin, the bent bronze leg, the shattered remnants of her claws. The grief was still there, raw and jagged, but something else flickered beneath it now—calculation, maybe even doubt.

“Together,” he echoed the word with suspicion. “You and us. Monsters and demigods. You expect me to believe you’d stand with us? After centuries of your kind hunting mine?”

Percy lowered Riptide slightly, easing the blade away from Kelli’s throat but keeping it poised, a silent promise of what he could still do. “I could say the same thing to you,” he replied with a shrug. “We’ve killed each other for millennia. I’m not going to pretend I like you, or that this is some happy alliance. But the Father’s not my friend either. He’s my enemy–but the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

The King’s single eye narrowed further, the sickly white glow dimming against the low-hanging sun peeking through the entrance flaps. Cupcake’s massive frame remained still, but his clawed fingers twitched, betraying the storm of thoughts churning behind that scarred face. For a moment, The demigod wondered if the monster would lash out—if grief and pride would override reason, and this fragile negotiation would end in blood.

Then, slowly, the King exhaled, a deep, rumbling sound that shook the dirt floor beneath Percy’s boots. “Enemy of my enemy,” he muttered. His gaze shifted back to Kelli, still dangling limply in Percy’s grip, her fiery hair flickering weakly with every shallow breath. “You think that’s enough? Words don’t erase what you’ve done to her.”

Percy didn’t flinch. He’d expected this—the monster’s rage, the accusation. He couldn’t undo what he’d done to her, and he wasn’t about to apologize for it. “No,” he admitted. “It doesn’t. But it’s not about erasing anything. It’s about what happens next. You can sit here, cry over her, and wait for the Father’s army to turn this camp into ash. Or you can use that head of yours and see the bigger picture.”

Kelli hissed, a weak, venomous sound that barely carried past her lips. “Don’t listen to him, Cupcake,” she said. “He’s a liar—a killer. He’ll turn on us the second he gets what he wants.”

The King’s eye flicked to her, softening for a fleeting second before hardening again as it returned to the son of Poseidon. “She’s right about one thing,” he growled. “You’re a killer. You’ve killed thousands of my people singlehandedly. Why should I think you won’t do the same to us after all is said and done?”

He sighed, lowering his shoulders slightly in mock exhaustion. The Cyclops wasn’t wrong—his hands were stained with the ichor of countless monsters, their deaths etched into the lines of his palms, the grip of Riptide a testament to every battle he’d fought

“Because I don’t want to,” he replied finally. “I’m tired of killing. Tired of fighting. You think I enjoy this? Dragging her here, breaking her, standing in this stinking tent threatening you? I don’t. But I’ll do it if it means keeping my people alive. And right now, keeping you alive keeps them alive. That’s the deal.”

The King’s single eye widened slightly, a flicker of surprise breaking through the storm of grief and suspicion. He tilted his head, the horns on his skull casting jagged shadows across the tent walls as he studied Percy. “Tired,” he repeated. “You expect me to believe the great Perseus Jackson, slayer of Titans, bane of our kind, is tired?”

“Believe what you want. I’m not here to cry you a river about it. I’m here because we’re both screwed if we don’t figure this out. You’ve got numbers, a camp, a foothold in this valley. I’ve got a sword, a handful of demigods, and a knack for pissing off the wrong people. We’re not exactly a dream team, but it’s better than dying alone.”

“You talk a big game, demigod,” he said after some internal debating. “But words are cheap. You’ve got my Queen bleeding in your hands. You’ve got your blade at her throat. What’s to stop me from crushing you right now and taking her back?”

Percy didn’t hesitate. “You could try,” he said, lifting Riptide just enough to catch the firelight, the celestial bronze gleaming like a warning. “But you won’t because you know I’m right. But if you decide to try to kill me just know she goes with me.” He gave Kelli a slight shake, drawing a weak hiss from her lips. “You willing to risk that?”

The Cyclops didn’t respond for a long time, his one eye lost in thought as he stared at his Queen. But after weighing the odds, his shoulders slumped and head lowered in defeat.

“You’re a bastard, Jackson,” he growled. “A cold-blooded bastard.”

“Yeah,” Percy said. “I am. So what’s it gonna be? You gonna sit there and sulk, or are we gonna figure out how to keep this valley from turning into a slaughterhouse?”

“You’re wasting your breath,” Kelli interjected. “He’ll never bend to you. He’s got pride—more than you’ll ever understand.”

“Pride,” the King muttered, almost to himself. He reached out a trembling hand, stopping short of touching her, as if afraid she’d shatter under his massive fingers. “Pride didn’t keep you safe, did it?” His gaze hardened as it swung back to who was supposed to be his enemy. “What’s your plan then, Perseus?”

The son of Poseidon did his best to contain the smirk that threatened to spill across his face. He tossed the limp Empousa in his arms to the Cyclops who caught her.

“We fight…together.” 

Chapter Text

"We fight together."

Percy could hardly believe the plan had worked. He'd walked into the monster camp half-expecting to slaughter everyone. Most monsters didn't negotiate with demigods—they didn't reason, they didn't compromise. But Cupcake was different. For a Cyclops, he was sharp, almost unnervingly so. He reminded Percy a lot of Tyson, and that made it harder to hate him. Cupcake had understood the stakes: standing alone against the Father's army meant certain defeat. Allying with the demigods was the only logical move—though Percy had made sure the stakes were crystal clear. He'd held his blade to his girlfriend's throat, leaving no room for debate. Combine forces, or Percy would end them all.

"You're a killer. A cold-hearted bastard."

Those words echoed in his mind, and he wouldn't deny them. Maybe they were true. He felt no sympathy for these creatures, no mercy. Why should he? They'd shown him none over the years. How many demigods had they slaughtered? Kelli, Cupcake, the other monsters in the camp—how many lives had they taken? The number was probably beyond counting. The thought made his blood boil, his skin crawl with rage. Aligning with the very monsters who had killed his friends felt like a betrayal, like he was spitting on the memories of those he'd lost. But what choice did he have? The Orc legion was coming, and if they didn't stand together, they'd all fall.

Sometimes, survival meant making deals with the devil. Though who the devil was depended on which side of the table you were on.

After giving back Kelli, he and the Cyclops King discussed their next moves. It had been a tense conversation, both sides unwilling to give an inch about how they should combat their problem. Cupcake, despite being one of the smartest monsters Percy had ever seen, was still just a monster. He had suggested to simply wait for the Father's army to come, deploy every single troop under his command, and charge straight into their ranks. It was simply idiotic for the demigod to even entertain the idea. There was more to battle than just blindly sending men out into the field to die. If they wanted a chance to see the day after tomorrow then there needed to be strategy, tactics, and a level of cunning that Cupcake's brute-force approach sorely lacked. He had to remind himself that, despite the Cyclops' intelligence, he was still a creature of instinct and raw power. Strategy wasn't exactly in his nature.

"Look," Percy began, doing his best to keep his tone measured. "I get it. You've got numbers. You've got claws, teeth, and muscle. Charging headfirst into a fight might've worked for you before, but this isn't some skirmish with a lost demigod patrol. The Father's army isn't a bunch of grunts you can scare off with a loud roar. They're organized, disciplined, and have a plan. If we do as you suggest, we're all dead."

"You think we're fools?" the Cyclops sneered. "We've fought before. We survived Gaea's war—survived your kind hunting us down like dogs. I say we meet them on the field, crush their skulls, and send them running back to their Father with their tails between their legs."

The son of Poseidon couldn't help rolling his eyes. It seemed his words still hadn't hit home yet. "And how'd that work out for you last time? Oh, right—you lost. Gaea's gone, and you're hiding out here in a valley with a bunch of deserters playing house. Charging in blind didn't win you that war, and it won't win this one."

The King stood up abruptly from his throne, looking down at the demigod before him with fire in his cold, pale eye. "Say that again, demigod, and I'll repay you with everything you'd done to my Queen."

"Don't!" Percy abruptly shouted, staring right up at the monster with poisonous sea-green eyes. His hand gripped his pen with the strength of a Titan, its metal threatening to crack beneath the force. He walked up closely to the towering behemoth of a Cyclops, making sure he could see the glint of bronze loosely peeking out from his pocket. "Don't fucking test me. I swear to the Gods I'll kill you just like I've done to thousands and thousands of your kind."

"You couldn't," Cupcake growled.

"Oh, I couldn't?" Percy gave a crazed, almost maniacal laugh. "I couldn't? Why don't you ask your little girlfriend what I did to her? Ask her how it felt to feel her heart almost combust. How her ichor boiled beneath her skin. Ask her how long it took for me to break her. No, no, I'll answer that one for you–five minutes. Do you honestly think you're any different? Do you really believe I can't do the same to you?"

For a moment, it seemed like the fragile alliance was about to shatter before it even began. The air crackled with the threat of violence, and the other monsters in the room shifted uneasily, their claws flexing, eyes darting between their King and the demigod who dared to challenge him. Cupcake's massive shoulders heaved as he glared down at Percy, his single eye narrowing into a slit of barely contained rage. The King was no stranger to threats—everyone could see that much. He'd probably crushed skulls for less than what Percy had just thrown at him. But something flickered behind that pale, furious gaze. Maybe it was the memory of Kelli's trembling voice recounting her ordeal, or maybe it was the cold, hard gaze the demigod was giving him. Whatever it was, it kept the monster's massive fist from swinging.

"Sit," the son of Poseidon said, gesturing to the throne that was now vacated. It wasn't a request, just a blunt command. "We're wasting time."

The Cyclops hesitated, his pride warring with every other emotion firing off in his brain. After a long, agonizing beat, he lowered himself back onto the throne, the wood creaking under his weight. The other monsters in the room seemed to exhale as one, though their eyes never left Percy. He could feel their hatred boring into him, but he didn't care. Let them hate him.

"We fight together," he said finally after reigning back his outburst. "But we do it my way. No charging in like a bunch of brain-dead hellhounds. We use the terrain, we set traps, we hit them where they're weak. That is the only way we can win."

Cupcake's jaw tightened, his teeth grinding audibly as he leaned forward on his throne. "And what makes you think you're the one to lead us, demigod? You think holding a blade to my Queen's throat makes you King?"

"I'm not here to play King. I'm here because we're both staring down the same barrel of a gun that's about to blow our fucking faces off. You want to lead? Fine. But if you think charging into the Father's army with no plan is leadership, then you're not just risking your life—you're risking everyone's. Including hers." He nodded toward the corner where Kelli was being tended for her wounds, her arms crossed, eyes still smoldering with a mix of fear and fury.

Cupcake's gaze flickered to his girlfriend, and for a split second, the fire in his eye dimmed. Percy caught it—the crack in the Cyclops' armor. He pressed on, using that to his advantage. "You're smart, Cupcake. Smarter than most monsters I've met. That's why you're still alive, why you've got this camp, why you didn't gut me the second I walked in here. You know I'm right. We can't just throw bodies at this problem and hope it works out. They will chew through our troops and spit out the bones before we even get close to their lines."

"What's your grand plan, then? Hide in the bushes and hope they trip over us?"

Percy smirked, just a faint twitch of his lips. "Not quite. We've got a valley here—narrow entry points, high ground on both sides. They'll have to funnel in to get to us. We set up ambushes along the ridges, drop rocks, fire, anything that'll slow them down and break their formation. Your heavy hitters—like you—hold the choke points. My people handle the quick strikes, hit their flanks, keep them off balance. We bleed them dry before they even reach the camp."

Cupcake tilted his head, his single eye narrowing as he processed the idea. It wasn't the full-on brawl he'd envisioned, but Percy could tell the gears were turning. The Cyclops wasn't stupid—he could see the logic. Still, his pride wasn't ready to bend that far. "And if they break through? If your little traps don't hold?"

"Then you get the bloodbath you want," he shrugged. "But at least we'll have softened them up, taken out some of their numbers, and thrown them into chaos. It's a hell of a lot better than running straight into their spears and calling it bravery."

The room stayed quiet for a long moment, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire pit in the corner. The King's massive hand drummed against the arm of his throne, each tap like a hammer on stone. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and grudging. "You've got a tongue on you, Jackson. And guts, I'll give you that. Fine. We'll try it your way. But if this fails—if my people die because of your schemes—I'll rip that pretty head off your shoulders and feed it to the Orcs myself."

Percy didn't flinch. "Fair enough. If this works, we can all go our separate ways. You guys get to continue to live peacefully in the valley. My people don't have to worry about the Father any longer."

Cupcake grunted, a sound that might've been agreement or just exhaustion from the argument. Either way, it was as close to a truce as they were going to get. Neither one trusted each other—not fully—but they didn't need to. Trust wasn't the point. Survival was. And for now, their goals aligned. That was enough.

"We've got two days–really only one now– before they're on us. We need to start moving now—scout the ridges, rig the traps, figure out where they're most likely to hit."

The Cyclops waved a massive hand, dismissing the lesser monsters lurking in the shadows. "You lot—get out. Spread the word. We're working with the demigods." The command was met with low growls and reluctant shuffles, but they obeyed, filing out of the crude throne room.

"We'll need to split tasks. Your people know this valley better than mine do—point us to the best spots for ambushes and traps."

The monster nodded slowly, the firelight danced across his scarred features, casting deep shadows that made him look even more imposing—if that was possible. "The eastern forest," he rumbled. "Where they came through this morning. It's the only feasible entrance for an army of that size. Their lines will have to narrow to fit. That's where we hit them."

Percy nodded, already mapping the terrain in his head. "Eastern forest it is. Narrow pass means they'll be bottlenecked—perfect for what we need. We'll set up on the ridges overlooking that stretch and pelt them like fish in a barrel."

The Cyclops gave a slow, approving nod, his single eye glinting with something close to respect. "You've got a nasty mind, Perseus. I like it."

"Years of practice," he muttered, brushing off the comment. He didn't need Cupcake's approval—he just needed the plan to work. "What about their scouts? They'll send some ahead to sniff us out. We can't let them report back."

"I'll send a few scouts out there. The faster, quieter ones. They'll pick them off before they get close."

"Good. Just make sure they don't leave a trail. The last thing we need is the army knowing we're ready for them."

The King smirked, a jagged twist of his lips that showed off his uneven fangs. "My people know how to clean up a mess. You worry about your end, demigod."

With that, their conversation had come to a close. Announcing that it was time for himself to leave and spread the word to his fellow demigods, Percy made his way out. He stepped out of the tent, the cool night air hitting his face like a slap after the stifling heat inside. The monster camp sprawled out before him, chaotic and alive with movement now that the King's orders were rippling through the ranks. Harpies screeched as they took flight, their wings beating against the dusk sky, while Cyclopes lumbered toward the eastern forest, dragging crude tools and salvaged weapons behind them. Dracaena slithered through the dirt, hissing commands to one another, their serpentine tails leaving winding trails in their wake. It was a mess of claws, fangs, and barely contained rage, but it was moving—toward something resembling a purpose.

He glanced back at the tent flaps as they swung shut behind him, catching a fleeting glimpse of Cupcake cradling Kelli in his massive arms. The Empousa's fiery hair flickered weakly as she muttered something to him, her voice too low to carry. For a moment, he wondered what she was saying—probably more venom, more defiance, urging the Cyclops to betray him the second his back was turned. He wouldn't put it past her. But Cupcake's eye had stayed on her, soft and broken in a way that made Percy's stomach twist. That kind of loyalty wasn't something he could predict or control. It was a wildcard, and he didn't like wildcards.

Trudging his way through the woods and back up the steep incline where his friends were waiting, he breathed a sigh of fresh air. Cresting the ridge, the silhouettes of his friends came into view, dark shapes against the last slivers of twilight. They'd spread out along the cliff's edge, weapons drawn, eyes fixed on the valley below. Reyna stood at the center, her posture rigid, sword still gripped tightly in her hand. Nico leaned against a tree nearby, shadows curling faintly around his feet, while Clarisse paced like a caged animal, her spear tapping restlessly against her shoulder. Piper and Connor lingered a few steps back, their faces tense, and the handful of other demigods who'd followed him stood in a loose semicircle, waiting.

Reyna spotted him first, her sharp gaze locking onto him as he emerged from the trees. "You're alive," she said, unable to control the relief that spread across her features.

"They're in." The son of Poseidon simply replied, taking a seat on a rather large rock as he looked back at the valley.

"In?" Clarisse stopped pacing, her eyes narrowing as she planted her spear in the ground. "You mean you actually convinced those freaks to fight with us?

"Well, it was more like join us or I'll kill every single one of you but yeah, they'll help us fight the Orcs."

Nico pushed off the tree, his pale face unreadable in the dim light. "And you trust them to hold up their end? They're monsters, Percy. They don't exactly have a track record for loyalty."

"I don't trust them," Percy said, his voice flat as he stared out at the valley. The distant sounds of the monster camp drifted up—growls, clanging metal, the occasional roar. "I trust that they don't want to die any more than we do. That's enough for now."

Reyna sheathed her sword, though her hand lingered near the hilt. "It's a gamble. If they turn on us mid-battle—"

"They won't," he cut in sharply. "Not while the King is in charge. He's got too much to lose." He didn't elaborate, but the image of the Cyclops cradling Kelli flashed through his mind again. That bond—it was a leash, whether Cupcake realized it or not. Percy intended to keep it pulled tight.

"So what's the plan?" Piper stepped up behind him, running a soothing hand over his shoulder that didn't go unnoticed by the group.

He exhaled through his nose, leaning forward on the rock, elbows resting on his knees. "We've got one day to pull this off. The Father's army will hit the valley from the eastern forest. It's a narrow pass, their only way in with a force that size. We're turning it into a kill zone."

Clarisse's lips curled into a grim smile, the first sign of approval she'd shown since he'd returned. "Ambush. I like it. Hit 'em hard before they even know what's coming."

"Exactly," Percy nodded. "The monsters know the terrain—they're setting up traps along the ridges. Rocks, fire, whatever they can rig to drop on the Orcs as they march through. Their heavy hitters will hold the choke points, keep them pinned. We—" he gestured to the group—"take the flanks and the ridges above. Quick strikes and raining arrows down on them, in and out, keep them scrambling."

Connor smirked, twirling a dagger between his fingers. "So we're actually doing this. We're teaming up with the very things that hate us. Gotta say, Percy, you've got a weird way of making friends."

"Not friends," he corrected, his voice hardening. "Tools. That's all they are."

Piper's hand stilled on his shoulder, her touch lingering a moment longer before she pulled back. Her kaleidoscopic eyes studied him, searching for something he wasn't sure he wanted her to find. "You're playing a dangerous game," she said softly. "If this goes wrong—"

"It won't," Percy cut her off, standing abruptly from the rock. He couldn't afford to let doubt creep in—not now, not when they were this close. "We've got one shot at this. The monsters are already moving, setting up their end. We need to do ours."

By the time they returned to camp to spread the news, the night had deepened well past its prime, the sky a velvet black studded with stars that seemed too distant to care about the approaching battle. The demigod camp buzzed with a restless energy as Percy relayed the plan, his voice cutting through the murmurs and the crackle of campfires. The others listened intently—some nodding, some frowning, but all understanding the stakes. There was no room for hesitation now. The Orcs were coming, and with it, a reckoning none of them could outrun.

Clarisse snorted from her spot against the campfire, her boyfriend sitting close next to her as Percy's plan replayed itself in their minds. "You're a real heartless bastard sometimes, Jackson. This is one twisted plan of yours."

"Yeah, well, twisted keeps us alive," the son of Poseidon replied, the campfire's flames reflecting in his eyes. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep it that way. To give us a home."

The firelight flickered across his face, casting sharp shadows that deepened the hollows under his eyes. He stood there, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders squared as if daring anyone to challenge him. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, a grim promise wrapped in resolve. Around the campfire, the demigods exchanged glances—some uneasy, some resolute—but no one spoke up to contradict him. Not tonight. Not when the clock was ticking down to a battle that could end them all.

Reyna stepped forward, her praetor's presence cutting through the tension. "We've got our orders. Rest up tonight because in the morning we move at first light. Every minute counts."

The group dispersed with a murmur of agreement, most heading back to their tents to catch up on the sleep they were interrupted from. Clarisse lingered by the fire, Chris at her side, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like "crazy bastard" before she too stalked off to prepare. Before he knew it, he was the only one that stood alone next to the fire. Its flames crackled and popped, sending sparks spiraling into the night sky. He sighed as he watched the embers mingle with the stars, his fingers still brushing against the cool metal of Riptide, a familiar weight that somewhat settled his anxious thoughts.

Heartless

That's the second time now he's been called that. He'd heard it before—too many times if he was honest—but tonight, it stung more than usual. Maybe because it came from Clarisse, someone who'd fought beside him, bled with him, and knew what it took to survive. Or maybe because, somewhere beneath the layers of defiance and grit, he was starting to wonder if they were right.

This plan…it wasn't noble, it wasn't heroic—it was dirty, desperate, and cold. Maybe they were right. Maybe he was truly heartless. Maybe this journey was changing him into something he couldn't recognize. But this is what their new world required of him. To be heartless. To get his hands dirty. To use powers that weren't natural. He wasn't the wide-eyed kid anymore, the one who'd stumbled into Camp Half-Blood with a grin and a knack for trouble. That Percy had drowned somewhere along the way—maybe in the Styx, maybe in Tartarus, maybe in the blood of all his friends that died in the wars.

All that was left was a hardened soul forged in the crucible of loss and necessity. Heartless or not, he'd carry that weight. He'd bear the blood on his hands, the ghosts in his dreams, if it meant his people got to see another sunrise. That's what leadership was now—not glory, not honor, but the brutal arithmetic of survival. And if that made him a heartless killer in their eyes, so be it.

The fire snapped again, a log collapsing into ash, and Percy blinked, pulling himself out of the spiral of his thoughts. He couldn't afford to dwell—not tonight. Tomorrow, they'd march down that ridge, align with monsters who'd sooner rip his throat out than thank him, and face an army that wanted them all dead. There was no room for doubt, no space for the kid he used to be. He straightened, rolling his shoulders as if he could physically shrug off the unease clinging to him like a damp mist.

Footsteps crunched behind him, soft but deliberate. He didn't turn, already knowing who it was by the rhythm of the stride. Reyna settled beside him, close enough that her shoulder brushed his. She didn't say anything at first, just stared into the fire with him, the flames painting her face in shifting shades of gold and shadow.

"You're not heartless, you know," she said finally, her voice quiet but cutting through the crackle of the blaze. "Don't let Clarisse get in your head."

Percy snorted, a dry, humorless sound. "She's not wrong, though. This isn't exactly the kind of plan the Muses write songs about.

"Maybe not," Reyna conceded, tilting her head to look at him. Her eyes caught the firelight, flickering with something unreadable within them. "But we don't always get to pick clean fights. Sometimes it's about doing the ugly thing because it's the only thing that works. You're not heartless—you're just… practical. The same as me."

"Practical," he echoed, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. "That's one way to spin it."

She nudged him lightly with her elbow, a small gesture that felt more grounding than he wanted to admit. "You think any of us would still be here if you weren't? You're not the only one who's changed, Percy. We all have. This world doesn't let us stay soft."

He turned his head to meet her gaze, and for a moment, the firelight seemed to blur the edges of the world around them. Her face was close—too close, maybe—and the intensity in her dark eyes pinned him in place. There was no judgment there, no accusation, just a quiet understanding that made his chest ache in a way he couldn't quite name. Her words hung between them, heavy with truth, and the space separating them felt suddenly charged, like the air before a storm.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice rougher than he intended. "Soft doesn't win battles."

Her lips twitched, not quite a smile but something softer, something that lingered on the edge of vulnerability. "No, it doesn't. But it's still in there, somewhere." She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against his chest, right over his heart. "You wouldn't fight this hard for us if it wasn't."

Percy froze, caught off guard by the warmth of her hand hovering so near. He could feel the heat of her skin through his shirt, the faint pressure of her fingertips like a tether pulling him back from the abyss he'd been teetering on. His eyes flicked down to her hand, then back up to her face, and the air between them thickened with something unspoken. The fire crackled, oblivious, but it might as well have been miles away.

"Reyna…" he started, uncertain. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say—maybe to push her away, maybe to pull her closer. The words died in his throat as her gaze held his, steady and unflinching, like she could see straight through the walls he'd built.

"Don't," she said softly, cutting him off before he could find his footing. "Don't argue with me on this. Not tonight." Her hand lingered a second longer before dropping back to her side, but the space where it had been still burned against his skin. She didn't step away, though—didn't retreat—and the closeness of her felt like a dare, a challenge he wasn't sure he could meet.

He swallowed hard, his pulse thudding in his ears. "You're too good at this, you know that? Seeing through people."

"Years of practice," she shot back with a faint smirk. But her eyes didn't match the lightness of her tone—they were searching, tracing the lines of his face like she was memorizing him. "You're not as hard to read as you think."

"Could've fooled me."

"You're not fooling anyone," she got even closer to him, standing on her toes to whisper into his ear. "Not me, anyway."

Her breath brushed against his ear, warm and fleeting, and Percy felt a shiver race down his spine that had nothing to do with the night's chill. For a heartbeat, Neither moved. Didn't breathe. The firelight danced across Reyna's features, highlighting the curve of her jaw, the faint scar above her eyebrow, the way her lips parted just slightly as she waited for him to respond. He could feel the pull of her, magnetic and undeniable, tugging at something deep in his chest that he'd thought he buried. It seemed Katie and now her had dug it up again.

His fingers grazed her knuckles, tentative, testing, and she didn't pull away. Her skin was warm, calloused from years of fighting, and the contact sent a jolt of electricity through both of their bodies.

"Sleep with me tonight," Reyna whispered suddenly.

Percy's breath caught in his throat, her words hanging in the air like smoke from the dying fire. For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them—her dark eyes locked on his, the heat of her body so close he could feel it radiating through the thin space between them, the faint tremble in her voice that betrayed how much those four words cost her to say. His mind raced, a chaotic swirl of instinct and reason crashing against each other. He wanted to step back, to deflect with a joke or a casual shrug like he always did when things got too real. But her gaze held him captive, and the raw honesty in it stripped away any chance of retreat.

It wasn't a command, nor a Praetor's order. It was a request, vulnerable and unguarded, and it hit him harder than any blow he'd taken in battle. She didn't flinch, didn't back down when he couldn't find the words. Her chin tilted up slightly, defiant even now, but her eyes softened, waiting. "I'm not asking for forever, Percy. Just tonight. We don't know what happens tomorrow. I can't…I can't risk parting from this world without knowing what it feels like to truly be a woman."

"Reyna," he managed finally. "You don't—you don't have to—"

"I know I don't have to," she interrupted, stepping closer until the space between them was nothing but a whisper of air. Percy bit the inside of his cheek when he felt the curves of her body press against him. He could even feel her heartbeat rapidly pulsing against his chest. Her eyes burned into his fiercely. "I want to. I don't want anyone else."

Percy sighed, trying to think what he should say or do. The vulnerability in her voice, the way it trembled just enough to let him see past the Praetor's armor, unraveled something inside him. He'd faced Gods, Titans, and monsters without flinching, but this—this quiet, fierce confession—left him defenseless. His hand, still hovering near hers, hesitated for a fraction of a second before closing the distance. His fingers curled around her knuckles, rough and calloused like his own, and the contact sent a spark racing up his arm. Her breath hitched, barely audible, but he felt it in the way her chest rose against his. The air between them crackled, thick with unspoken things, and for once, Percy didn't fight it. He didn't push it away.

"Okay," he said, low and rough, the emotions clawing at his throat. "Tonight."

Reyna's eyes flickered with something—relief, maybe, or triumph—and her lips parted as if she might say more. But she didn't. Instead, she stepped back just enough to take his hand fully in hers, her grip firm and sure, and tugged him gently toward her tent. The night swallowed them as they moved, the campfire's glow fading into a distant flicker behind the trees. The camp was quiet now, the snores of the other sleeping demigods lost to the rustle of leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl perched somewhere in the darkness. Percy let Reyna lead, her hand steady in his, guiding him through the maze of tents and shadows. He could still feel the heat of her words lingering in his chest, the weight of her confession pressing against his ribs like a second heartbeat.

Her tent stood at the edge of the camp, a simple structure of weathered canvas staked into the earth. It wasn't much—none of their shelters were—but it was hers, marked by the faint gleam of a Roman eagle stitched into the flap, a quiet nod to the life she had before all this. She pushed the flap aside with her free hand, stepping in without letting go of him, and the dim interior enveloped them both. A single lantern hung from the center pole, casting a soft, amber light that danced across the sparse furnishings: a bedroll neatly laid out, a small wooden crate serving as a table, a gladius propped against it within easy reach. It was practical, disciplined—like her.

Reyna released his hand only to turn and face him fully, the lantern light catching the sharp lines of her face. She didn't speak right away, and neither did he. The silence stretched taut between them, heavy with anticipation, until she took a step closer, closing the distance again. Her fingers brushed his jaw, tentative at first, then firmer as they traced the stubble there, mapping the shape of him like she was committing it to memory.

"You're sure?" he asked, giving her one last out even as his grip tightened slightly. He needed to hear it again, needed to know this wasn't just the adrenaline of the looming battle talking.

Her lips curved into a faint, almost defiant smile. "I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't."

That was all he needed. He leaned down, closing the space between them, and kissed her. It wasn't soft or hesitant—it couldn't be, not with them. It was fierce, hungry, a collision of pent-up tension and unspoken need that had been simmering for longer than either would admit. Her hands slid up to his shoulders, fingers digging in as she pressed herself closer, and he could feel the strength in her, the unyielding core that had carried her through wars and loss and everything in between.

They stumbled back toward the bedroll, clumsy in their urgency, neither willing to break apart. His knee hit the crate, knocking it aside with a dull thud, but he barely registered it. All he could feel was her—the heat of her skin, the way her breath caught when his hands slipped beneath her shirt, finding the smooth expanse of her back. She tugged at his shirt in return, pulling it over his head in one swift motion, and the cool air hit his skin just long enough for her hands to replace it, warm and calloused and sure.

They fell onto the bedroll together, a tangle of limbs and ragged breaths. The canvas beneath them was rough, and unforgiving, but it didn't matter. Nothing else did—not the battle tomorrow, not the monsters waiting in the valley, not the ghosts that haunted them both. For now, it was just them, stripping away the armor they wore for the world and finding something raw and real underneath.

Their union lasted through the night, passionate and unyielding. If any demigods were still awake, they would have undoubtedly heard the echoes of their fervor. Reyna, lost in the intensity of the moment, had spent most of the night whispering his name like a sacred mantra, a prayer repeated with every breath.

It felt as if he had only just shut his eyes when the first light of dawn crept through the gaps in the tent's canvas, a pale gray that softened the amber glow of the dying lantern. Percy lay on his back, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other resting loosely across Reyna's waist. She was curled against him, her head on his chest, her dark hair spilling over his skin like ink. Her breathing was slow and steady now, a stark contrast from hours before. The air still carried the faint scent of sweat and earth, mingled with the lingering warmth of their closeness. The bedroll beneath them was a mess, bunched and twisted from their restless night, but neither had cared enough to fix it.

He stared up at the tent's ceiling, tracing the faint outlines of the poles against the fabric. His body ached—not just from the night, but from the weight of what lay ahead. The battle was less than twenty-four hours away now. This would be the last time they would be getting any rest before it happened. Odds were they'd be hiding out on the ridges and in the eastern forest tonight in wait. Reyna suddenly shifted slightly, her fingers flexing against his side, and he tightened his grip on her instinctively, as if he could anchor them both here a little longer.

"You're awake," she murmured, her voice rough with sleep. She didn't lift her head, but her hand slid up to rest over his heart, feeling the steady thud beneath her palm.

"Yeah," he replied, just as quiet. "Didn't want to move. Figured you needed the rest."

She let out a soft huff, almost a laugh, but didn't argue. Instead, she pressed her forehead against his chest for a moment, breathing in his scent. "I don't think either of us got much rest."

Reyna lifted her head slightly, her dark eyes meeting his. For a moment, they just looked at each other, the weight of everything unspoken hanging between them. Then she leaned up, pressing a kiss to his lips—slow, lingering, and full of something he couldn't quite name. When she pulled back, her expression was serious, the Praetor's mask slipping back into place.

"We should get up," she said with reluctance. "The others will be moving soon."

As soon as she said that, it seemed the Fates themselves had heard her. The tent flap rustled, and before either of them could react, it swung open with a sharp tug. Piper stood there frozen, silhouetted against the pale dawn light, her kaleidoscopic eyes wide with shock as she took in the sight of the pair. The air thickened with an awkward silence, the kind that buzzed in your ears and made your skin prickle. Percy's arm stiffened around the daughter of Bellona, but he didn't pull away—not yet. Reyna, for her part, didn't flinch, though her jaw tightened imperceptibly as she met Piper's stare head-on. The lantern's faint glow cast long shadows across the tent, highlighting the tangled bedroll, the discarded shirts, and the undeniable intimacy of the scene.

Piper's gaze darted between them, her lips parting slightly as if she might say something, but no words came. The shock in her eyes flickered into something sharper—something that Percy didn't catch but Reyna certainly did.

"Piper," he said, breaking the awkward silence like a stone dropped into still water. He shifted slightly, sitting up just enough to pull the edge of the blanket over his lap, though the gesture felt futile under her piercing gaze. "You're up early."

Her eyes narrowed, flicking from him to Reyna and back again, the kaleidoscope of colors swirling with emotions too tangled to name. "Apparently not as early as some," she replied as calmly as she could. She crossed her arms, leaning against the tent pole as if to steady herself, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her calm.

Reyna didn't cover herself beyond the casual drape of the blanket across her chest. She sat up beside Percy, her posture straight and unapologetic, dark hair falling over one shoulder like a shield. "Something you need, Piper?" she asked, her voice cool and even, the Praetor's authority slipping seamlessly into place. There was no shame in her tone, no hint of retreat—just the quiet steel of someone who'd made a choice and wouldn't flinch from its consequences.

Piper's lips pressed into a thin line, her fingers tightening against her arms. "Yeah," she said after a beat, her gaze locking onto Percy with an intensity that made his stomach twist. "Just came to tell you that we're about ready to head to the valley and start setting up the traps."

"Understood," he replied. "We'll be out in a minute."

The daughter of Aphrodite didn't move right away. Her eyes lingered on him, searching, as if she could peel back the layers of his calm exterior. Then her gaze flicked to Reyna again who leaned back on Percy's chest, as if to mark her territory. Something unspoken passed between the two women—a flash of challenge, a silent gauntlet thrown down in the dim light of the tent.

Piper's jaw tightened before she eventually peeled her eyes away and exited the tent without another word. The green-eyed demigod exhaled slowly, running a hand through his tangled hair as the tension drained from his shoulders. Beside him, Reyna shifted, her movements deliberate as she disentangled herself from the bedroll and reached for her discarded shirt. She didn't look at him right away, focusing instead on pulling the fabric over her head, her motions smooth and practiced despite the faint tremor in her fingers.

"I should head out," Percy said, reaching for his clothes as well. "Before anyone else sees us."

"I'll see you out there," she replied simply, her back still turned to him. But just as he was about to exit the tent, she stopped him one last time. "Thank you…for last night."

He paused at the tent flap, his hand gripping the rough canvas. He turned his head just enough to catch her profile in the morning light. Her gratitude hung in the air, fragile and vulnerable, and it stirred something in him he couldn't quite name.

"Don't thank me," he replied with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I needed it too."

Percy stepped out into the dawn, the cool air hitting his face like a slap, chasing away the last remnants of warmth from the tent. The camp was stirring now, demigods preparing for the day ahead by sharpening swords and prepping armor.

"We move out in five people!" Clarisse bellowed through the activity, walking past the son of Poseidon with what looked to be a bundle of arrows in her arms. "Move it or I'll drag you to the valley myself!"

He spotted Nico near the edge of the ridge, sharpening his Stygian iron blade with slow, deliberate strokes. The son of Hades didn't look up as Percy approached, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips said he knew more than he'd let on. "Rough night?" he asked, his tone dry but knowing.

Percy snorted, dropping onto a nearby stump. "You could say that." He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the ache of too little sleep and too much everything else. "You ready for this?"

Nico's dark eyes flicked up to meet his. "Ready as I'll ever be. I just hope this works."

"Hope's all we've got left," he muttered, more to himself than to his cousin. He stood, brushing the dirt off his jeans, and clapped the younger demigod on the shoulder. "Let's get moving. We've got traps to set and Orcs to kill."

Nico sheathed his blade with a fluid motion, rising to his feet with a faint shimmer of shadows trailing behind him. "Lead the way, boss."

By the time the sun had fully crested the horizon, the demigods had already made the hour-long trek to the valley. The son of Poseidon moved among them, barking orders where needed, checking supplies, and double-checking positions with a restless energy that kept his mind from wandering back to last night or to the encounter with Piper. No one seemed to notice the tension between the two women as they walked together through the forest, neither one looking at the other nor saying a word. If they did notice, they didn't comment. There was no time for personal drama—not when the eastern forest loomed ahead, waiting to become a battlefield.

Once they reached the cliff that overlooked the valley, Percy ordered everyone to stop for a moment.

"Will!" he called out, catching the attention of the son of Apollo, who was adjusting the strap of his quiver nearby. He jogged over, his blonde hair glinting in the morning light, a faint sheen of sweat already on his brow from the trek.

"Yeah, Percy?"

"Set up a staging area here. Have anyone that's too young or too injured to fight stay here." Percy ordered, looking down below and noticing a pair of Cyclops hauling massive boulders to the eastern ridges. "Once that's done, I need you down there with me. We need every capable pair of hands."

Will nodded, his expression tightening with the weight of responsibility. "Got it. Give me twenty minutes to get them settled, and I'll be down with you."

The monsters seemed to be making steady progress. He could see Cupcake among them, barking orders in a guttural roar that echoed faintly up the cliffs. The monster king's single eye glinted in the sunlight as he heaved a rock the size of a small car into place, his muscles bulging under scarred, leathery skin. Kelli lingered nearby, her fiery hair a stark contrast to the muted greens and browns of the forest. She wasn't lifting anything—her arms were still bandaged from Percy's earlier "negotiation"—but her leg seemed to be back in place.

"Let's head down there," Percy announced, turning to the large group gathered behind him. "But remember that we are allies with these guys. Do not rile them up or try to fight them. I want us only killing Orcs."

The demigods carefully descended the cliff in a loose, disciplined line. The air grew heavier as they approached the valley floor, thick with the scent of earth, sulfur, and the metallic tang of monster sweat. Percy led the way, his sea-green eyes scanning the terrain ahead, mapping out the choke points and ridges he'd envisioned in his plan.

As they reached the base of the eastern forest, the monsters came fully into view. They were a sprawling, chaotic mess of activity—Cyclopes hauling boulders and sharpening crude spears, Harpies screeching as they darted through the canopy with bundles of vines and jagged rocks, Dracaena slithering between trees to rig tripwires and snares. The noise was a cacophony of growls, hisses, and the occasional crash of something heavy being dropped. It was a far cry from the precision of a Roman legion or the scrappy coordination of Camp Half-Blood, but they were effective in their own brutal way.

Cupcake spotted Percy, his eye narrowing as he straightened from his work. The Cyclops King towered over his kin, his massive frame casting a shadow that stretched across the forest floor. He wiped a meaty hand across his brow, smearing dirt and sweat, before lumbering toward the demigods.

"Demigods," Cupcake rumbled, his voice like gravel grinding together. "You're late. My people been hauling ass since dawn."

The son of Poseidon met his gaze. "We're here now. Looks like you've got a good start. Where do you need us?"

He grunted, jerking his head toward the eastern forest, specifically the narrow path Connor had spotted yesterday morning. "The ridges are already loaded up with rocks and logs but your puny arms might be better at settin' the traps—less smashin', more thinkin'. My boys ain't exactly delicate."

"Yeah, I noticed. We'll handle the finesse work. Let's just get this done quick—those Orcs won't wait for us to finish decorating. When are we expecting them to get here?"

Cupcake's single eye glinted as he squinted toward the eastern horizon, as if he could already see the dust cloud of the approaching legion. "Scouts say they're moving fast. Could be here by nightfall if they don't stop to rest. Tomorrow morning at the latest. Depends how eager they are to die."

Percy nodded, his jaw tightening as he processed the timeline. Nightfall was too soon—they'd barely have time to rest after they were done setting traps and getting into position. Tomorrow morning gave them a sliver more breathing room, but not much. Either way, the clock was ticking louder with every passing second. Glancing back at his friends, he could see the anxiety but grim determination on their faces. They knew what was required of them.

"Then let's get to work."

The valley buzzed with tense, frenetic energy as demigods and monsters worked side by side, an uneasy alliance forged in the crucible of necessity. The eastern forest stretched out before them, its dense canopy casting dappled shadows over the narrow path that would soon become a killing ground. Percy moved among his people, his voice cutting through the clamor as he directed their efforts with a precision honed by years of battle.

"I need two groups of ten to start laying traps along the path," he called out before pointing to the ridges overhead. "Clarisse, I need you to rig the rocks to fall directly on them when they walk under. Take ten with you and get it done."

Clarisse gave a sharp nod, her eyes glinting madly just like her father's before a battle. "You, you, you—yeah, all ten of you, with me! Move your asses, we've got rocks to drop!"

The group scrambled to follow her, hauling ropes and crude pulleys the monsters had made earlier. They ascended the ridge with practiced efficiency before disappearing over the crest. Percy turned his attention to the path below, where the forest narrowed into a natural bottleneck. The trees pressed close on either side, their gnarled branches forming a canopy that filtered the sunlight into thin, shifting beams. It was perfect—too perfect, almost, like the terrain itself was conspiring with them. He motioned to Nico and Reyna, who were already sorting through a pile of vines and sharpened stakes nearby.

"Nico, Reyna—each of you take ten others and start setting snares along here," he said, gesturing to the path a little further back from where the others had already starting setting up. "Tripwires, pits, anything that'll slow them down or take out a few before they even reach the choke point."

"On it." Both demigods nodded in unison before running off. Percy watched them for a moment, his chest tightening with a mix of pride and dread. These were his people—his family, in every way that mattered—and every step they took today brought them closer to a fight that could claim them all. But if they could just survive this. Survive one last battle. Then their destiny would finally be in their arms.

"Connor, I need you and some others to set up decoys. Make it look like we're scattered and sloppy. If they think we're disorganized, they might get cocky and rush in."

The son of Hermes flashed a grin, twirling a dagger between his fingers as he rallied his own handful of demigods. "Decoys, huh? My specialty." He too soon disappeared in the greenery.

Percy took a breath, his gaze sweeping across the bustling scene. The monsters were still hard at work—Cyclopes piling boulders along the ridges, Harpies weaving nets of thorny vines to drop from the canopy, Dracaena hissing as they tested the tension of tripwires with their clawed hands. It was chaotic, messy, and loud, but it was coming together. The eastern forest was transforming into a death trap, layer by layer.

Cupcake lumbered over again, his massive shadow falling across the grass as he approached. The Cyclops King carried a crude axe slung over one shoulder, its blade notched and stained with what looked like old blood. "Your people move slow, demigod," he growled, though there was less venom in his tone than before. "My scouts just got back—Orcs are closer than we thought. Nightfall's looking more likely."

His stomach sank, but he kept his expression neutral. "How close?"

"They'll get here around midnight, I reckon." the monster rumbled, scratching at a scar on his jaw. "They're pushing hard—no stopping, no camp. Hungry for blood, I'd wager."

"Great," the demigod muttered, running a hand through his hair. He glanced at the sky—the sun was still climbing, but that didn't ease the lump in his throat at all. Nightfall meant they'd be fighting in the dark, which could work in their favor with the traps but made coordination a nightmare. "All we can do is be ready. Keep your heavy hitters near the choke point—once the traps thin them out, they'll need to hold the line."

"You're betting a lot on these little tricks of yours. Hope they're worth it."

"They will be," Percy shot back. "Just make sure your people don't jump the gun. We need them to hit the traps first—let the chaos do the work before we close in."

The Cyclops smirked, a jagged twist of his lips. "Patience ain't our strong suit, but I'll keep 'em in line. You just worry about not dying, Jackson." He turned away, bellowing orders to a group of nearby monsters as he stomped back toward the ridges.

Percy exhaled sharply, his fingers instinctively brushing against Riptide in his pocket. Had a monster just told him not to die? He couldn't help but laugh at the irony of it all. A creature he'd spent years fighting and killing, was now wishing for his well-being. The world had truly turned upside down. He shook his head, trying to clear the surreal feeling, and refocused on the task at hand.

He moved through the chaos like a current cutting through choppy waters, his voice steady as he issued commands and checked progress. The sun crawled higher, but it did little to warm the chill settling into his bones. Midnight. The word echoed in his skull, a ticking clock that drowned out everything else. They had hours—barely enough—to turn this valley into a slaughterhouse.

He ascended a low rise to gain a clearer vantage, his boots crunching against loose rock as he scanned the forest below. The narrow trail coiled like a serpent, hemmed in by dense thickets and jagged cliffs that loomed on either side. The monsters had done their work well—boulders perched precariously along the ridges, tethered by frayed ropes and wooden stakes, while thorny nets hung from the trees, swaying faintly in the breeze. The demigods moved through the chaos with practiced precision, their weary bodies betraying the toll of their labor. Traps emerged under their skilled hands: pits lined with sharpened stakes, tripwires glinting faintly in the underbrush, and decoys of shattered armor and scattered supplies artfully arranged to draw the Orcs into the killing field.

It was nearly ready. Soon, all that would remain was the waiting.

Time seemed to dissolve as the sun began to dip low behind the horizon, a smoldering orange orb bleeding into the horizon. Long shadows stretched like grasping fingers across the valley, and the forest grew restless with the stirring of night birds. The traps were set, the ambushes prepared, the choke points fortified. Below, demigods and monsters moved in unison, their voices a low murmur beneath the rustling leaves and the distant calls of the awakening canopy. It wasn't perfect—nothing ever was—but it was as close as they could make it. Midnight approached like a blade suspended above them, and all they could do now was wait for it to fall.

"Everything's in place."

Percy turned, his sea-green eyes catching the fading light as he met Piper's. She stood a few paces back, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her expression a careful mask that didn't quite hide the tension simmering beneath it. The wind tugged at her choppy hair, scattering strands across her face.

"Good," he replied, not knowing what else to say. He could still feel the awkwardness that lingered from earlier this morning.

The daughter of Aphrodite nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line as she stepped closer, her boots crunching softly against the rocky ground. She stopped just short of him, close enough that he could feel the faint heat of her presence, but far enough to keep that invisible wall intact. Her eyes flicked down to the valley, where the shadows of monsters and demigods blurred into the growing dusk, then back to him.

"You've pulled off a miracle here," she muttered. "Monsters and demigods working together? I didn't think I'd ever see it."

"Neither did I," he admitted. "But miracles don't mean much if we don't make it through the night."

She let out a soft huff, almost a laugh, but it lacked any real warmth. "Always the optimist, huh?"

"Just practical," he echoed Reyna's words. Risking a glance, he didn't miss the way her jaw tightened at the phrase.

"Practical," she repeated, her voice low, edged with something he couldn't quite place—hurt, maybe, or frustration. "Was that you being practical this morning?"

He turned to face her fully, his sea-green eyes narrowing slightly as he searched her face. The mask she'd worn moments ago had slipped, revealing a flicker of raw emotion—anger, yes, but something softer too, something that made his chest tighten uncomfortably.

"Piper," he started, his words careful, like he was stepping around a trap he hadn't set himself. Or maybe he had and just wasn't aware. "What this morning was…it was a spur of the moment."

"Spur of the moment," she echoed, looking away before he could catch the angry tears threatening to swell in her eyes. "I suppose Katie was also spur of the moment."

Percy's eyes widened slightly in shock. How had she known about his night with Katie? Was she watching them? Was she that sound that they had heard in the woods? "Katie–she…how'd you know about that?"

"I'm a daughter of Aphrodite for Gods' sake, Percy." Piper waved her hands in the air in exasperation. "I can sense these things—love, desire, the messy tangle of it all. It's not like I wanted to know. I didn't ask for it." Her voice cracked slightly, betraying the calm she was trying to hold onto. She took a sharp breath, steadying herself, and when she looked back at him, her eyes were blazing with a mix of hurt and defiance. "But I felt it. Both times. With Katie, and then with Reyna. It's like… like an ache I can't shake."

Percy stood there, rooted to the spot, his mind scrambling for something to say. He hadn't meant to hurt her—hadn't even realized she'd been carrying this. "Where's this coming from?"

"I don't…I don't know and that's what pisses me off more," she replied with a sigh. "I'm a daughter of the love Goddess yet I can't even sort out my own emotions."

The man opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat, tangled up in the mess of guilt and confusion swirling through him. He could see the frustration etched into every line of her face—the way her brows furrowed, the tight set of her jaw, the shimmer of unshed tears she was fighting to keep at bay. He'd known her long enough to recognize when she was teetering on the edge, but this… this was uncharted territory.

"I didn't know. I didn't think—"

"You don't have to know," she cut in, her tone like glass about to shatter. I don't expect you to feel what I feel. I just—" She paused, her hands clenching into fists at her sides as she struggled to find the words. "I just hate that it's there, you know? This… pull. This stupid, irrational thing that I can't control. And then I see you with them and it's like I'm standing outside of it all, watching something I can't touch."

He took a step closer, instinct driving him to bridge the gap, but she held up a hand, stopping him cold. The gesture wasn't harsh, just firm, a boundary he hadn't realized he was crossing. He froze, his hands dropping uselessly to his sides, and the distance between them felt wider than the valley below.

"Don't," she said softly, though her trembling betrayed her. "Don't try to fix it. I'm not asking you to. I just needed to say it, okay? Before we go down there and maybe don't come back up."

Percy's chest tightened, a dull ache spreading beneath his ribs. He wanted to argue, to tell her she was wrong, that she wasn't outside anything—but the truth was, he didn't know what she was to him right now. He'd always seen Piper as a rock, someone who could charm her way through anything, who held him together when the cracks started to show. But now, standing here with her walls down, he realized how much he'd taken that strength for granted.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, the words feeling inadequate even as they left his mouth. "I didn't mean to… I don't know what I'm doing half the time, Piper. I'm just trying to keep us alive."

Her lips twitched, a ghost of a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I know. You already have so much on your plate and here I am bringing you this. I'm sorry. I just…just had to in case I don't make it."

Before either of them could say more, a low, mournful sound suddenly rolled across the valley—a deep, resonant blast that vibrated through the earth and rattled the leaves overhead. Percy's head snapped toward the eastern horizon, his hand instinctively dropping to Riptide in his pocket. The noise came again, louder this time, now a chorus of horns that seemed to claw at the sky itself. The distant clamor of the monsters and demigods below faltered, heads turning, bodies freezing mid-task as the sound washed over them.

Percy narrowed his eyes as he looked out past the distant hills, noticing a billow of dust rising miles away. It was so thick that it could almost blot out the sun. He could see the dark smear of Orcs marching through the fields, their chants heard even from miles away. Once again, the horns blared through the air, shaking the pebbles beneath his feet. The sound carried with it the weight of inevitability, like the tolling of a funeral bell. Each note was a promise—a promise of blood, of fire, of death.

Feeling a hand on his cheek, he turned his head slightly, caught off guard by the sudden touch. Piper's hand rested gently against his cheek, her fingers trembling. Her kaleidoscope eyes locked onto his, fierce and fragile all at once, and for a moment everything faded into the background. It was just her—her warmth, her breath, the weight of everything she'd laid bare.

Before he could react, her lips were on his—a fleeting, desperate press that stole the air from his lungs. It wasn't gentle or tentative; it was raw, urgent, a collision of everything she'd held back. Her hand tightened against his cheek, anchoring him as the world tilted beneath them. For a heartbeat, Percy was too stunned to move, his mind blanking under the sudden heat of her lips and the salt of her tears brushing against his skin.

As swiftly as it had begun, it was over. She stepped back, brushing the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry," she murmured, barely a whisper, drowned beneath the blaring trumpets of war. "I just—I had to."

He let out a sharp breath, struggling to steady the storm of emotions raging within him. Whatever this was, it would have to wait. Right now, his only task was to keep them all alive. Moving to the edge of the ridge, he glanced down and saw monsters and demigods alike all staring up at him, their fates hanging in the balance. The wind swept at his hair and clothes, carrying with it the distant rumble of the Orcs' march, a relentless drumbeat that pulsed through the valley. His sea-green eyes hardened as he took in the sight of his people–their hopes, dreams, and lives now resting solely on his shoulders. The thought should've scared him, should've made him want to dig a hole and hide. Any lesser man would've.

But he was no mere man.

Uncapping Riptide in his hand, he raised it high, the bronze glint catching the last of the fading sun's light. In that moment, amidst the threat of battle and death, Percy Jackson stood above it all. The wind whipped around him, tugging at his dark hair and clothes as if the very elements bowed to his presence. The fading sun cast a halo of molten gold on the ridge, igniting the edges of his silhouette with a divine fire. His sea-green eyes blazed with an intensity that seemed to pierce the twilight, like the depths of the ocean given form. Riptide gleamed in his upraised hand, its celestial bronze shimmering with an otherworldly light, a beacon of defiance against the encroaching darkness. The scars on his arms, the hard set of his jaw, the sheer weight of his resolve—all of it painted him as something more than a man, something carved from the myths of old.

He looked like a god.

"The tides of Hell are upon us!" His words carried the weight of a storm, each syllable crashing against the tension that gripped them all. The air itself seemed to still, holding its breath as he stood there high above the rest, his sword aloft, a figure forged in the crucible of war, sacrifice, and loss. "We fight together!"

Chapter Text

The valley lay cloaked in darkness, the moon a thin crescent barely piercing the heavy shroud of clouds that had rolled in with the night. Shadows danced across the eastern forest, cast by the swaying branches and the faint glow of torches flickering in the distance—the Orc legion's vanguard, their flames licking at the black sky like a promise of ruin. The air thrummed with the rhythm of their march, a low, relentless beat that pulsed through the earth and into Percy's bones. He crouched low behind the boulder, his breath shallow and controlled, Riptide's hilt cool and steady in his grip. The bronze blade rested against the rock, its faint shimmer hidden from prying eyes. Every muscle in his body was taut, coiled like a spring, ready to unleash the storm he'd been holding back.

The Orcs were close now—only a mile or two away—their wailing horns growing louder with every step they advanced. Each thunderous bellow echoed through the valley, sending fresh waves of dread through the bones of both demigods and monsters alike. Percy exhaled slowly, his breath curling into mist in the frigid night air. His gaze swept over his friends beside him and the monsters positioned at the chokepoints of the narrow path. He could practically see the tension roll off them in waves as they crouched in the shadows, waiting for the signal. The younger ones were especially on edge, their knuckles bone-white around their weapons, their bodies rigid as Medusa's statues.

A pang of guilt twisted in his chest. They shouldn't be here. In a better world, children wouldn't have to fight wars—wouldn't have to grow up the way he had, the way so many others had. But this wasn't that world. Right now, they needed every blade they could get if they wanted the chance to create such a place.

The wind shifted, carrying the acrid scent of sweat, leather, and something sharper—iron and bloodlust—from the approaching enemy. Percy tightened his grip on Riptide, his sea-green eyes narrowing as he peered over the rock. The distant torches bobbed like fireflies, growing larger and brighter with every passing second. The ground trembled faintly beneath his boots, a subtle vibration that spoke of hundreds of heavy armor trampling the earth. The Orcs weren't sneaking in; they were charging, confident in their numbers, oblivious to the trap waiting to swallow them whole.

A rustle behind him made him tense, but it was only Nico, slipping through the darkness like a wraith. The son of Hades crouched beside him, his Stygian iron blade glinting faintly in the dim light.

"They're close," he murmured, barely above a whisper. "Less than a mile out. There's a lot of them, Percy. At least three hundred."

Percy nodded, his jaw tightening as he processed the number. Three hundred. It was more than he'd hoped, but not more than they could handle—not if everything went according to plan. As the saying went however, plans always go to shit in the heat of battle.

"We've faced worse," he replied.

"Yeah," Nico said dryly, "but not with monsters as our backup." His dark eyes flicked toward the valley floor, where Cupcake and his kin loomed like jagged statues in the gloom, their hulking forms barely distinguishable from the rocks they hid among. "You sure they won't turn on us the second this starts?"

"They won't. Their King knows what's at stake. He's not stupid enough to throw away his only shot at survival."

His cousin didn't argue, but the skepticism lingered in the tight press of his lips. He shifted his grip on his blade, the Stygian iron absorbing the faint moonlight rather than reflecting it. "Let's hope you're right. Because if this goes south—"

"It won't," Percy cut in, sharper than he intended. "It can't. We've got one chance to pull this off. Everyone, not just us, but our descendants, our Gods, our entire future is counting on it."

Nico held his stare for a moment longer, then nodded, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth. "Then let's give 'em hell."

He returned the nod, a flicker of grim resolve settling over him as he turned back to the approaching enemy. The Orcs' horns blared again, closer now, a wail that clawed at the night. The torchlight was vivid enough to pick out details—the glint of crude armor, the jagged edges of swords, axes and spears, the hulking silhouettes of their front line. They moved with a brutal rhythm, their chants rising in a cadence that promised violence. The dust cloud behind them churned thicker, a roiling wall that swallowed the darkness around it.

He shifted his weight, peering up at the ridges overhead. Clarisse and her team were invisible against the night sky, their silhouettes swallowed by the jagged cliffs, but he knew they were there—poised, waiting, hands steady on the ropes that tethered the boulders. A soft click of rock tumbling down could be heard, signaling that some were still trying to find the perfect concealment. His heart jumped for a moment, willing them to stay still. One wrong move, one glint of armor catching the torchlight, and the entire ambush would be blown before it even began.

Turning back to the forest, he noticed Thalia hidden in the trees above with her two other hunters. Their bows were slack but arrows nocked and ready, the silver tips gleaming faintly whenever the moonlight managed to slip through the dense canopy. Her blue eyes met his for a moment, and she gave him a sharp nod—ready.

Their silent conversation ended when the horns blared again, so close now that the sound rattled Percy's teeth. The Orcs crested the final stretch of the hill that led down into the forest, their torches casting an eerie glow that spilled across the eyes hidden in the darkness. The front line came into sharper focus: towering figures clad in bone, leather and iron, their faces twisted into snarls beneath crude helmets. Some carried shields hammered from scavenged metal, others hefted clubs studded with spikes or blades that gleamed with a dull, menacing sheen.

They moved with purpose, their steps shaking the ground, their chants growing louder—a hymn to their Father and slaughter.

Percy's pulse thundered in his ears, syncing with the relentless march. He pressed himself lower against the boulder, his fingers tightening around Riptide's hilt until his knuckles ached. He watched as their lines began to narrow as they entered deeper into the forest, their broad shoulders brushing against the trees. It was exactly what he'd hoped for—exactly what he'd planned. All they needed now was the spark to light the battle.

He raised his free hand, fingers splayed, and held it there—five seconds, ten seconds—the longest moments of his life as the Orcs marched closer, oblivious to the jaws of death closing around them. The torchlight flickered in his sea-green eyes, casting an eerie glow in the darkness. To any of the monsters who might have glanced his way, he would have seemed less like a man and more like a wolf lurking in the shadows, poised to strike.

The air grew thick with tension, every quickening breath he took tasting of dirt and the metallic tang of impending violence. The Orcs were nearly upon them now, their vanguard spilling into the bottleneck of the forest path like a dark tide. The flickering glow painted grotesque shadows across their snarling faces, illuminating tusks and scarred flesh. Their chants rose to a fevered pitch, a guttural roar that drowned out the rustling leaves and the distant hoots of nocturnal creatures fleeing the chaos to come.

His fingers twitched, itching to drop—the signal to unleash everything they had. But he waited. They needed to be funneled in more. That way, there would be no escape. His chest tightened as he watched their numbers condense, their torches now so close he could see the sweat glistening on their brutish faces. The vanguard was fully committed now, their hulking forms packed shoulder-to-shoulder as they advanced into the choke-point.

The forest seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the chaos to erupt. Percy's eyes darted to the cliffs above, where Clarisse's team clung to their precarious perches, their shadows merging with the jagged stone. He could almost feel the strain in their arms as they gripped the ropes, the weight of the boulders pulling against their resolve. One slip, one premature release, and the trap would collapse into chaos. His gaze flicked back to Thalia in the trees, her hunters' arrows now drawn tight, the silver tips trembling ever so slightly with the tension of held breaths. The moonlight caught her face for a fleeting second—jaw set, eyes blazing with electric fury—and he knew she was as ready as he'd ever seen her.

The Orcs' vanguard pressed deeper into the bottleneck, their heavy boots churning the earth into a muddy slurry. The air grew rank with their stench—sweat-soaked hides, rusted metal, and the sour reek of unwashed flesh. They were just beginning to pass Cupcake's position, the monstrous bulk of the allied King blending seamlessly with the shadowed trees.

His heart hammered against his ribs as he tracked the Orcs' advance, their chants vibrating through his chest like a war drum. Just a little more. The moment was teetering on a knife's edge—too soon, and they'd lose the full weight of the ambush; too late, and the Orcs might spot one of them hiding in the darkness.

The lead soldier—a towering brute with a jagged scar splitting his face from brow to jaw—raised a meaty fist, barking something in their harsh tongue. The vanguard slowed, their ranks tightening as they funneled further into the narrow path. Percy's breath hitched. This was it. The bulk of their front line was packed in, hemmed by the dense trees on one side and the steep, rocky incline on the other.

The scarred leader's voice boomed through the night, a gravelly snarl that carried over the rustling leaves and the distant crackle of torches. His troops shifted, their crude weapons glinting as they adjusted their grips, their beady eyes scanning the shadows ahead—but not above, not behind. They were blind to the noose tightening around them.

His hand trembled faintly, the weight of the moment pressing down on him like the crushing depths of an ocean he'd once walked through. The eyes of his friends and allies burned into his back from their hidden posts—waiting, trusting. Holding their breath.

Riptide quivered in his grip, humming with adrenaline, his gaze locked onto the enemy leader still barking orders. This was it. The tipping point. The fragile second that would decide whether the Greco-Roman Pantheon—and the world itself—would endure… or shatter into ruin.

Three.

His fingers tensed.

Two.

A breath. A heartbeat.

One.

His hand dropped—and the forest erupted into chaos.

A bowstring twanged through the air. Before anyone could react, a silver arrow bloomed from the Orc leader's mouth, cutting his commands short forever. Black ichor gushed from his mouth, spattering the faces of the other monsters closest to him.

They didn't have time to react before the cliffs above roared to life. A deafening rumble tore through the night as Clarisse and her team released the ropes, sending an avalanche of boulders crashing down the incline. The massive stones tumbled with merciless speed, smashing into the Orc vanguard like the fist of an angry god. Screams—frightened and raw—erupted as the rocks crushed armor and bone alike, flattening dozens in an instant. Dust and debris exploded into the air, swallowing the torchlight and plunging the bottleneck into a choking haze.

Not a moment later came the arrows, descending down upon their enemies like an iron rain. The Orcs scrambled, their ranks dissolving into chaos as the projectiles found their marks—throats, eyes, exposed limbs—each shot precise and deadly.

Percy felt as if time itself slowed as he leapt over the boulder. "Now!" he screamed.

The valley shuddered with the cacophony of war unleashed, a symphony of destruction that reverberated through the earth and sky. He charged headfirst into the enemy lines, his sea-green eyes blazing with a fury that could rival the tempests of Poseidon himself. The first Orc he met barely had time to raise its axe before Riptide sliced through its rusted armor like a hot knife through butter, the bronze blade singing as it cleaved flesh and bone. Black ichor sprayed across Percy's face, warm and sticky, but he didn't flinch—his focus was absolute, a predator in his element. Around him, the forest exploded into motion as his allies surged forward, their war cries piercing the night like the howls of a pack closing in for the kill.

The monsters cried out frantically, trying to reign their terrified ranks back into order. But they didn't have time when Cupcake, a Cyclops bigger than the trees around them, appeared from the shadows. His roar split the air—a guttural, bone-rattling bellow that drowned out their panicked shrieks—as he crashed into their ranks with the force of a battering ram. His claws, each as long as a man's torso and sharp enough to rend steel, slashed through the nearest Orc's chest, ripping through leather and iron like wet parchment. The soldier's ribcage burst open in a spray of black ichor and splintered bone, his still-beating heart flung into the air before it was snatched mid-flight by one of Cupcake's smaller kin, who devoured it with a wet, crunching snarl.

Another Orc swung a spiked club at the monstrous King, desperation fueling its strike, but Cupcake caught the weapon in his gnarled fist, shattering it into splinters with a flex of his grip. The Orc's eyes widened in terror for a split second before Cupcake's other hand seized its head, crushing its skull like an overripe fruit. Brain matter and black ichor exploded outward, painting the King's matted hair in a glistening sheen as he hurled the headless corpse into the crowd, bowling over three more soldiers in a tangle of broken limbs.

Around him, his kin tore into the enemy with equal savagery. A Harpy swooped down from the canopy, her talons raking across an Orc's face, peeling flesh from bone in a single vicious swipe. The soldier howled, clutching at the ruin of its eyes, only for her razor-sharp beak to plunge into its throat, silencing the scream in a gurgle of blood. She tore free with a triumphant screech, black ichor dripping from her maw as she wheeled back into the sky, already hunting her next target. Below, a Dracaena slithered through the chaos, her serpentine tail coiling around an Orc's legs and yanking it off its feet. The soldier hit the ground hard, its spear clattering away, and before it could scramble up, her twin blades flashed—once, twice—severing its head in a clean, brutal stroke. The decapitated body twitched as she hissed in satisfaction, her forked tongue flicking out to taste the air thick with death.

Percy moved like a tidal wave through the fray, relentless and unstoppable. An Orc lunged at him, its jagged sword swinging for his chest, but he ducked under the blow, Riptide arcing upward to split the beast from groin to sternum. Guts spilled onto the forest floor in a steaming heap, the stench of ruptured intestines mingling with the coppery tang of blood. He didn't pause—another came at him, roaring, its tusked maw gaping wide. He sidestepped, grabbed its arm, and twisted, using its momentum to hurl it into a tree. The impact shattered its spine with a sickening crack, and he drove Riptide through its chest for good measure, pinning the corpse to the trunk as ichor oozed down the bark.

Too busy to see, he could however, hear the traps doing their work. One of the enemies stumbled into a tripwire, and a net of thorny vines snapped shut around it, the barbs sinking deep into its flesh. It thrashed, screaming as the vines tightened, tearing muscle from bone until its struggles ceased, leaving a shredded, bloody husk dangling like a grotesque ornament. Further down the path, a pit trap gave way beneath a cluster of Orcs—six of them plummeting into a pit lined with stakes. The wooden spikes punched through armor and flesh, impaling them in a chorus of wet, ripping sounds. One survived the fall, its legs skewered, and clawed at the dirt in a futile attempt to climb out, only for a Harpy to dive down and rip its throat out with a flick of her talons.

Above, Clarisse's voice cut through the din, sharp and commanding. "Again! Drop 'em now!" Another volley of boulders thundered down the ridge, smashing into the Orcs' rear lines. A massive stone crushed an entire squad, flattening them into a pulpy smear of crushed armor and shattered limbs. Skulls popped like overripe melons under the weight, brains and ichor splattering across the survivors who scrambled to escape the onslaught. The ground trembled with each impact, the air thick with dust and the coppery reek of slaughter.

Nico emerged from the shadows like a specter of death, his Stygian iron blade a blur as he carved through the ranks. He slashed low, hamstringing one soldier, then spun and drove his sword upward through its jaw, the blade erupting from the top of its skull in a fountain of black blood. Shadows writhed around him, summoned from the earth itself, and lashed out like living tendrils—wrapping around an Orc's neck and snapping it with a wet pop, or dragging another into the ground where skeletal hands erupted to claw it apart, rending flesh from bone in a frenzy of decay. Words couldn't describe the screams of that one as it was slowly peeled apart by the dead.

Reyna fought with the precision of a Roman war machine, her gladius flashing in the torchlight as she cut a bloody swath through the enemy. An Orc charged her, its axe raised high, but she parried the blow with her shield, driving her sword into its gut and twisting. The blade ripped free in a spray of entrails, and she kicked the corpse aside, already moving to the next. Her shield bashed another in the face, shattering its tusks and caving in its nose with a crunch of bone, before she finished it with a thrust through the heart. Blood coated her armor, streaking her face, but her eyes burned with unyielding focus—she was a storm of steel and fury, unbreakable.

The rest of the demigods and monsters barreled into the scene, hitting the flanks of the Father's army with brutal precision. Soon, the valley had become a slaughterhouse, a grotesque tableau of carnage where the air itself seemed to scream with the weight of death. The forest floor was slick with black ichor and crimson blood, churned into a mire of mud and gore by the relentless clash of bodies. Severed limbs twitched in the undergrowth, torsos lay split open like overripe fruit, and the roars of the Orcs mingled with the shrieks of the dying in a cacophony that clawed at the edges of sanity. Percy's boots sank into the muck as he pressed forward, his every step a declaration of war against the tide of monsters still pouring into the bottleneck.

An Orc loomed before him, its hulking frame towering nearly eight feet, its crude maul swinging in a vicious arc aimed to crush his skull. He dropped low, the wind of the blow ruffling his hair as he rolled beneath it. Riptide flashed upward, slicing through the beast's inner thigh—severing muscle and artery in a single, brutal stroke. Black ichor fountained from the wound, drenching him as the monster staggered, its roar of rage turning to a gurgling howl. He didn't hesitate—lunging forward, he drove Riptide into its chest, twisting the blade until he felt ribs crack and shatter. The beast's heart burst under the pressure, spraying him with a fresh wave of steaming gore as he yanked the sword free and let the corpse crumple into the filth.

Feeling the air on his neck prickle, he barely had time to react before a monster tried to hit him from behind. Thankfully, in the nick of time, an arrow suddenly found its way through its eye, killing the monster before it could touch the son of Poseidon. He looked up, nodding at Thalia, who continued to unleash hell from the treetops. Arrows rained down with surgical precision, each silver-tipped shaft finding a target in the chaos below. Once they were out, she leapt from the branch and crashed on top of an Orc, driving the electrified tip of her spear through its spine—electricity surged through its body, cooking flesh and boiling ichor until its eyes burst from their sockets in a spray of sizzling fluid. The stench of charred meat filled the air as she wrenched her weapon free, already moving to her next prey.

He looked back, hearing a roar from Clarisse as she descended the ridge with the demigods under her command in tow. She hurled a javelin down into the fray, the weapon streaking through the air like a comet, impaling an Orc through the chest and slamming it into the ground with such force that its ribcage caved inward, organs rupturing in a wet explosion. She didn't stop—grabbing a fallen Orc axe, she leapt from the shadows, landing amidst the enemy with a bone-jarring thud. The first swing cleaved a beast's head from its shoulders, the decapitated skull tumbling into the muck as its body staggered forward, spraying ichor from the stump. She spun, burying the axe in another's gut, then ripped it free in a shower of intestines that coiled around her boots like slick, writhing snakes. Her laughter rang out—wild, unhinged—as she waded deeper into the slaughter, a whirlwind of steel and savagery.

The battle raged on through the night, a relentless tempest of blood and steel that swallowed the valley whole. The enemy, caught in the jaws of the ambush, fought with the ferocity of cornered beasts, their guttural roars clashing with the demigods' war cries and the monsters' shrieks of triumph. The forest itself seemed to recoil from the violence, trees trembling as their roots drank deep of the ichor-soaked earth, leaves whispering in the wind like a chorus of ghosts bearing witness to the carnage below.

Percy stood amidst the chaos, his chest heaving, Riptide dripping with black ichor. He wanted to catch his breath but there was no second of reprieve given. An Orc barreled toward him, its warhammer raised—its roar cut short as he summoned a torrent of water from the nearby stream. The flood slammed into it, smashing it against a tree with enough force to splinter the trunk and crush its ribcage into a concave ruin. Water mixed with gore as he advanced, his eyes blazing with unyielding wrath. Another monster swung at him, but he parried with Riptide, then grabbed its tusked face and slammed it into the ground—once, twice, three times—until its skull caved in, brains splattering across the mud like spilled porridge.

Yet still, despite the death and carnage they had offered, the Orcs continued to pour in. Their numbers seemed endless, a dark tide surging from the shadowed depths of the valley, driven by a relentless fury that defied the slaughter they'd already endured. Percy's breath rasped in his throat, sharp and ragged, as he yanked Riptide from the pulped remains of his latest kill. His muscles burned, his arms heavy from the ceaseless dance of death. His gaze dared to look away from the battle to the crest of the hill, where the torchlight still bobbed in the distance—a seemingly endless stream of reinforcements spilling into the eastern forest. His stomach tightened. Three hundred, Nico had said. But this… this didn't feel like it.

"Watch out!" He heard a voice call out. Not a moment later, he felt his world tilt as he was tackled to the ground. The force of the impact felt like getting hit by a truck, disorienting him for a moment. Driven purely by instinct, he reacted just in time before the jaws of a Hellhound clamped around his throat. The jaws gnashed inches from his face, its rancid breath washing over him in a hot, sulfurous wave. Black saliva dripped from its fangs, sizzling where it splattered against Riptide's bronze blade, the metal trembling under the beast's crushing strength. Its eyes burned with an unnatural malice, the dark tendrils writhing behind them like living shadows, pulsing with the Father's corruption.

Percy's arms strained as he held the sword firm, the Hellhound's weight pinning him to the gore-slicked earth. Claws raked at his sides, tearing through his armor and scoring shallow gashes across his ribs—pain flared, sharp and bright, but he gritted his teeth and shoved back with all his might.

The beast snarled, a guttural sound that vibrated through his bones, and snapped its head forward, trying to wrench Riptide from his grip. He twisted the blade, forcing its jaws wider, but the Hellhound's sheer mass kept him trapped, its paws sinking into the mud as it pressed down harder. His vision blurred at the edges, adrenaline and exhaustion warring in his blood. He couldn't get leverage—not like this. The chaos of battle roared around him, a deafening storm of screams and clashing steel, but in that moment, it was just him and the monster, locked in a brutal stalemate.

A shadow loomed suddenly over them, massive and jagged against the flickering torchlight. Before Percy could register it, a thunderous roar split the air—deep, primal, and furious. Cupcake surged into view, his single eye blazing with wrathful fire. The hound barely had time to react before a gnarled fist seized its skull, yanking it off the demigod with a force that sent mud and ichor spraying in all directions.

The beast thrashed, its claws slashing wildly at the air, but Cupcake's grip was unrelenting. With a savage bellow, he slammed the beast into the ground, the impact shaking the earth and cracking the monster's ribs with a wet, splintering crunch. Black blood sprayed as the Cyclops tightened his hold, his claws digging into the beast's head, puncturing through fur and flesh. The Hellhound howled—a high, piercing sound of agony—its tendrils flailing like severed snakes, but Cupcake wasn't done.

With a guttural snarl, he sank his other hand into the monster's maw, gripping its lower jaw. Its eyes widened, a flicker of panic breaking through its malice, and then he pulled. Muscles bulged under the Cyclops's matted hair as he tore upward with monstrous strength. The beast's jaw stretched grotesquely, sinew and bone popping under the strain. A sickening rip echoed through the chaos as flesh gave way—Cupcake wrenched the Hellhound's lower jaw clean off, tearing it free in a shower of black ichor and shattered teeth. The jagged stump dangled by threads of muscle, flapping uselessly as the beast shrieked, its tongue lolling out in a spray of blood.

But the King wasn't satisfied. With a roar that drowned out the hound's dying wails, he gripped the upper jaw next, his claws sinking into its skull like hooks. He yanked downward, splitting the beast's head apart with a brutal, wet crack. The cranium shattered, bone fragments exploding outward as its brain was ripped in two, gray matter and dark tendrils splattering across the forest floor in a steaming heap. Black ichor fountained from the ruin of its neck, painting the Cyclops's chest and face in a glistening coat of black as the beast's body convulsed once, twice, then went still, its lifeless form crumpling into the mud.

He stood over the carnage, chest heaving, his single eye blazing with savage triumph. He tossed the mangled jaw aside—it landed with a squelch in the gore-soaked earth—and turned to Percy, extending a blood-drenched hand. The son of Poseidon grabbed it, letting the Cyclops haul him to his feet with a grunt. His sides burned where the claws had raked him, but he forced the pain down, nodding sharply at his ally.

"Thanks," he rasped, voice rough from the strain. "Owe you one."

The King's lips peeled back in a jagged grin, revealing fangs like broken tombstones. "Let's kill these bastards!" He bellowed before turning back into the fray.

Percy steadied himself, wiping a streak of black ichor from his cheek with the back of his hand. The metallic tang of blood and the acrid sting of sweat clung to the air, mixing with the damp earthiness of the forest floor. His chest heaved as he sucked in a ragged breath, the adrenaline still surging through his veins like a tidal wave refusing to crest. He tightened his grip on Riptide, the blade's bronze edge gleaming faintly through the gore caking its surface. The battle had become a living beast of its own—a writhing, snarling mass of iron, flesh, and ichor that swallowed the valley whole. The Orcs' numbers hadn't faltered; if anything, they seemed to multiply, their war cries growing louder as fresh waves crested the hill. Their torches painted the night in flickering hues of orange and red, a hellish glow that illuminated the twisted faces of the Father's army—scarred, tusked, and burning with a hunger for slaughter.

A sharp scream, similar to a death whistle, pierced the sounds of war. Percy felt his heart stop when he felt the ground tremble beneath his feet. The tremor rippled through the valley, a deep, ominous shudder that seemed to rise from the bones of the earth itself. His eyes snapped toward the crest of the hill, where the light flared brighter, the flames leaping as if stoked by some unseen wind. Dark shapes suddenly surged over the ridge, their silhouettes jagged and malformed against the flickering glow.

Trolls—massive, hulking brutes—crested the hill, their high-pitched screams shaking the trees as they barreled down into the forest.

Each stood nearly the same size as a Cyclops, their skin a mottled gray-green, pocked with scars and oozing sores. Crude armor forged from scavenged metal and bone clanked against their slab-like frames, and their fists clutched weapons that dwarfed even Cupcake's monstrous claws—clubs studded with iron spikes, axes with blades the size of shields, and chains that dragged across the ground, gouging furrows into the earth.

The lead troll, a behemoth with sickly yellow eyes and a jaw that jutted with broken tusks, swung its club in a wide arc as it descended. The weapon smashed into a cluster of trees, splintering trunks like dry twigs and sending shards of wood exploding into the air. The impact reverberated through the valley, a thunderclap of destruction that drowned out the screams of the Orcs caught in its path. Three of them were flattened instantly, their bodies pulped into the mud beneath gnarled feet, black ichor pooling around shattered limbs.

"Fuck!" Percy yelled, his eyes narrowing at the sight.

The other trolls followed, five at least, their combined weight shaking the ground with every step. They tore into the battlefield like a landslide, scattering enemies and allies alike. One grabbed an Orc by the legs, swinging it like a flail to smash another soldier into a bloody smear against a boulder. Another hefted a jagged boulder and hurled it into the fray, the missile crashing down where Clarisse's team had been moments before. The demigods scattered, diving for cover as the rock exploded into shrapnel, shredding the undergrowth and sending a spray of dirt and blood into the air.

The son of Poseidon's mind raced as the lumbering reinforcements stormed into the valley, their sheer size and brutality shifting the tide of the battle in an instant. The air thickened with the stench of their rancid breath and the sour reek of their festering hides, a nauseating wall that hit him almost as hard as the Hellhound had. The enemy, bolstered by their monstrous reinforcements, roared with renewed vigor, their chants rising into a frenzied crescendo that clawed at his ears.

He spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground, the bitter taste coating his tongue, and tightened his grip on his sword. The bronze blade hummed in his hand, as if eager to drink deeper of the chaos unfolding before them.

"Fall back!" he shouted over the screams. "Regroup at the edge of the forest—now!"

The demigods and monstrous allies scrambled to obey, retreating from the devastating advance. Cupcake either didn't hear him or didn't care. He roared a challenge, his massive form squaring off against the lead troll. The beast swung its spiked club, aiming to crush the Cyclops's skull, but he ducked, the weapon whistling over his head and splintering a tree into jagged shards. With a snarl, he lunged, slamming his shoulder into the troll's gut. The impact sent the brute staggering back, its rancid breath hissing out in a wheeze, but it recovered fast—too fast. Its gnarled hand shot out, seizing Cupcake's arm and twisting with bone-crunching force. The Cyclops bellowed in pain as the troll yanked him forward, driving a knee into his chest that cracked ribs like dry branches. Black blood sprayed from his maw, but he retaliated with a vicious swipe of his claws, raking deep gouges across the troll's face. Flesh peeled back in wet strips, exposing bone and oozing sores, yet the beast only roared louder, its yellow eyes blazing with fury.

The forest trembled under the clash of titans as Cyclops and troll tore into each other with unrelenting savagery. The enemy beast's massive fist slammed down, aiming to pulp Cupcake's skull, but he caught it mid-strike, his gnarled claws sinking into the beast's wrist. Muscle tore and bone splintered with a wet crunch as he twisted, wrenching the troll's arm at an unnatural angle. The brute howled, a bellow that shook the leaves from the trees, and retaliated with a headbutt that smashed into Cupcake's face. His single eye blinked rapidly as black ichor sprayed from his flattened nose, the impact staggering him back a step. Undeterred, he roared and lunged, sinking his jagged teeth into its shoulder. Flesh ripped free in a shower of gray-green gore, the sour taste flooding his maw as he spat the chunk aside and drove his claws into the troll's gut, tearing upward. Intestines spilled out in a steaming cascade, coiling around their legs like grotesque ropes.

Percy's voice cut through the chaos again, sharp and urgent. "Cupcake, fall back! We can't hold here!"

Finally, it seemed the King had heard him. His single eye flicked toward Percy, glinting with a feral mix of defiance and understanding. He roared one last time—a guttural, earth-shaking sound that sent spittle and ichor flying—before ripping his claws free from the ruined gut. The Cyclops spat a wad of black blood onto the ground, his chest heaving as he lumbered back toward Percy, his matted hair dripping with gore.

He waved him on, his sea-green eyes scanning the battlefield as the demigods and their monstrous allies pulled back toward the forest's edge. The trolls' arrival had shattered their momentum, turning the ambush into a desperate scramble for survival.

Nico materialized at his side, his Stygian iron blade dripping with dark fluid, his face streaked with sweat and grime. "There's too many," he panted, his voice hoarse from shouting. "We underestimated their numbers—those trolls weren't in the scout reports."

Percy's jaw tightened, his gaze flicking to the hill where the enemy reinforcements still poured in like a flood breaching a dam. "Yeah, well, plans always go to shit," he muttered, echoing his earlier thought. He wiped Riptide against his torn sleeve, the bronze gleaming faintly through the caked gore. "We need to pull them out into the meadow. Closer to the river."

"Are you about to do what I think?" The son of Hades asked with a mix of dread and anticipation.

The son of Poseidon didn't answer. A grim smirk tugged at his lips as he watched the retreating figures of his allies, their forms flickering in and out of the torchlight's reach. The water wasn't far. Only a couple hundred yards away. It called to him, a low, steady pulse that thrummed through his veins like a second heartbeat. It itched to obey his command, to drown anything that dared threaten its master.

"Keep moving!" he barked, gesturing to form a defensive line in the meadow. "Draw them out—make them chase us!"

Nico shot him a look, his dark eyes narrowing as if trying to peer into his mind. "You're insane," he said, but there was no real protest in his tone—just the weary acceptance of someone who'd seen Percy pull off the impossible too many times to doubt him now. He spun on his heel, shadows coiling around him like a cloak, and darted toward the others, shouting orders to regroup and fall back.

Soon, everyone had formed a defensive perimeter in the field, their shields and weapons raised as they awaited the onslaught. It stretched out before them, a wide, open expanse bordered by the dark trees of the eastern forest filled with their bloodthirsty enemy on one side and the glinting ribbon of the river on the other. The grass, damp with dew and streaked with the blood of those who'd stumbled in retreat, shimmered faintly under the thin crescent moon that had finally clawed its way through the clouds. Percy's boots sank into the soft earth as he took his position at the center of the line, Riptide steady in his hand, its bronze edge catching the faint light. His chest heaved, each breath a ragged pull of cold air that burned his lungs, but his eyes blazed with a fierce, unyielding resolve.

"There's so many!" Connor shouted, his twin daggers twirling nervously in his hands. His face was pale, streaked with dirt and ichor, his usual mischievous grin replaced by a tight-lipped grimace. "We can't hold this open ground long, Percy! We'll be overrun!"

"We hold this line, demigod!" The Cyclops King roared, issuing a challenge to the Orcs who were still regrouping in the woods. Their torches flickered through the darkness, illuminating silhouettes as they got back into their organized lines. "We will kill every last one of these bastards together!"

Both allied groups roared in unison, weapons hammering against armor and shields in a thunderous cacophony. Beyond the tree line, the Orcs and their hulking troll reinforcements rallied, answering with their own bellows and piercing screeches. The night itself seemed to tremble—alive with the clang of iron, the screams of the desperate, and the hungry anticipation of spilled blood.

From the cliff above the valley, the demigods who weren't in the fight would later say it was like watching two rival wolfpacks, their howls cutting through the dark as they tore at each other for dominion over the land.

The Orcs slowly seeped out of the forest like a tide of shadow and flame. The ground quaked beneath their boots as they marched, a relentless wall of muscle, iron, and fury, their torches casting jagged pools of light across the meadow. Behind them lumbered the trolls, their massive forms swaying with each thunderous step, their screeches piercing the night like the cries of vengeful spirits. The earth groaned under their weight, grass flattening into muddy smears as they advanced, clubs and axes raised high, their yellow eyes glinting with bloodlust.

Percy stood at the heart of the defensive line, his sea-green eyes locked on the approaching horde. The river's pulse thrummed in his chest, a steady rhythm that synced with his heartbeat, its power coiling beneath the surface like a beast straining at its leash. He could feel it—cold, vast, and eager—whispering to him through the damp earth under his boots. His fingers flexed around Riptide's hilt, the bronze blade humming faintly as if it, too, sensed the storm about to break.

"Let them come to us!" He ordered, lowering himself into a battle stance.

The demigods and monsters tightened their ranks, shields locking together, weapons gleaming in the flickering torchlight. Clarisse stood to his right, her axe dripping with ichor, her lips curled into a feral grin as she glared at the oncoming enemy. Nico flanked his left, shadows writhing around him like living serpents, his blade poised for the kill. Cupcake towered behind them, his single eye blazing, claws flexing as he roared.

The Orcs' war chants grew louder, their throats rumbling a terrifying hymn to their father. They were close now—close enough for Percy to see the sweat glistening on their scarred faces, the crude runes etched into their armor, the hunger in their beady eyes.

"Go on!" he roared, his voice rising defiantly above the chaos. "Sing to your God! I'll send you to meet him!"

The taunt struck like a spark on dry tinder. The Orcs surged forward, their march breaking into a frenzied charge, axes and spears raised as they barreled toward their line. The trolls lumbered behind, their massive strides eating up the distance, their weapons swinging in wide, devastating arcs. His allies braced themselves, their breaths shallow and ragged, weapons gleaming in the faint moonlight. The enemy was a tidal wave of fury and iron, mere yards away. Percy's pulse thundered as he waited for the enemy to get a little closer. The river's call surged within him, a cold, relentless force begging to be unleashed.

He didn't hesitate.

With a sharp intake of breath, he thrust his free hand toward the river, fingers splayed as if clawing at the air. The water responded instantly, a deep, resonant hum vibrating through the earth. The glinting ribbon of the river churned violently, its surface rippling and frothing as though alive with rage. His eyes blazed, glowing faintly in the dark as he poured his will into the current, bending it to his command.

"Freeze," he growled under his breath, low and powerful, laced with the authority of the sea.

The temperature plummeted, a biting chill sweeping across the field as the river obeyed. A crackling roar erupted from its banks as the water solidified in an instant, transforming into a jagged sheet of ice that gleamed like polished steel under the crescent moon. The sound was deafening—a sharp, splintering snap that drowned out the war cries, echoing through the valley like the breaking of a god's bones. Frost spiraled outward from the frozen surface, curling through the air in tendrils of white mist that stung the skin and clouded the breath of friend and foe alike.

The enemy faltered, their charge slowing as the sudden cold bit into their flesh, their boots slipping on the frost-kissed grass. Percy didn't give them a moment to recover. With a flick of his wrist, he wrenched his hand upward, and the ice obeyed. The frozen river shattered into a thousand jagged shards—spears, daggers, and razor-edged fragments—each glinting with lethal intent as they tore free from the surface and hung suspended in the air for a heartbeat.

Then he thrust his hand forward, and the storm of ice exploded toward the enemy ranks.

The shards streaked through the night like a blizzard of death, a howling tempest of frozen fury that tore into the Orcs with merciless precision. The front line didn't stand a chance. Ice spears punched through armor and flesh, impaling soldiers mid-stride—black ichor sprayed as a shard skewered an Orc through the chest, pinning it to the ground where it twitched and gurgled, its torch falling to hiss against the frost. Another fragment, sharp as a blade, sliced through a soldier's throat, severing its head in a clean arc; the decapitated skull tumbled into the grass, eyes wide with shock, as the body staggered forward before collapsing in a heap.

The trolls roared in defiance, their massive forms weathering the onslaught better than their smaller kin. A jagged shard slammed into one's shoulder, embedding deep into muscle and bone with a wet crunch, but the beast merely snarled, ripping it free in a spray of gray-green gore and hurling it back toward the defensive line. The projectile whistled past Percy's head, close enough to ruffle his hair, before embedding into the earth with a dull thud. Another troll swung its club, shattering a volley of smaller shards mid-air, the fragments exploding into a glittering cloud of ice dust that rained down around it.

But Percy wasn't done. He clenched his fist, and the remaining ice shards spiraled upward, coalescing into a swirling vortex above the battlefield. The air howled as the frozen maelstrom grew, its edges glinting with deadly promise. His allies ducked low, shields raised, as the wind whipped around them, tugging at their armor and hair. The enemy hesitated, their beady eyes darting to the sky, uncertainty flickering across their brutish faces.

"Down!" The son of Poseidon shouted, and his allies dropped to the ground as one.

He snapped his fingers, and the vortex erupted.

The ice shards rained down like the wrath of a vengeful god, a relentless barrage that turned the meadow into a killing field. The projectiles struck with devastating force—piercing skulls, shattering ribs, and tearing limbs from torsos in a symphony of destruction. An Orc caught a shard through the eye, the point bursting out the back of its skull in a spray of brain matter and ichor; it dropped without a sound, its torch guttering out in the mud. Another screamed as a jagged spear of ice drove through its gut, pinning it to the earth where it writhed, clawing at the frozen spike until its strength bled out. A troll roared as a dozen smaller shards peppered its chest, each one sinking deep into its festering flesh—black blood oozed from the wounds, steaming in the frigid air

The meadow became a chaos of screams and splintering ice, the ground slick with black ichor and frost. Percy's chest heaved, his breath fogging in the cold as he held his stance, the river's power still thrumming through him like a live current. His arms trembled faintly—not from exhaustion, but from the sheer intensity of channeling so much raw energy. Sweat beaded on his brow despite the chill, trickling down his face to mix with the blood and grime streaking his skin.

The battlefield fell into a momentary hush, the air thick with the crackling remnants of ice and the moans of the dying. The field stretched out before them like a frozen graveyard, littered with twisted corpses and jagged shards glinting in the faint moonlight. The surviving Orcs staggered, their ranks shredded, their brutish faces contorted with rage and confusion. The trolls that remained–three in total–bloodied and battered, still loomed like grotesque monoliths, their yellow eyes burning with unrelenting fury as they shook off the barrage and lumbered forward.

Now was the moment to strike. The enemy was dazed and confused, giving the demigods and their allies the perfect opportunity to seize the advantage and turn the tide back in their favor. Percy's voice cut through the brittle silence, a beacon in the frozen chaos.

"CHARGE!"

The demigods and monsters surged forward as one, their war cries shattering the stillness like a lightning strike. The line erupted into motion, a wave of steel and fury crashing into the reeling enemy. Percy led the charge, Riptide flashing in his hand as he closed the distance to the nearest Orc. The soldier, still dazed from the ice storm, barely raised its axe before he drove his blade through its chest, the bronze piercing armor and flesh with a wet crunch. Black ichor sprayed as he twisted the sword free, the corpse crumpling into the frost-slicked grass.

The demigods to his side didn't hesitate to do the same, crashing into the enemy line and killing anything that dared stand in their way. Clarisse barreled into the fray beside him, her axe swinging in a brutal arc that cleaved through an Orc's shoulder, shearing through bone and muscle in a spray of black ichor. The beast's arm dangled uselessly for a split second before she ripped the blade free and buried it in its chest, silencing its guttural scream with a wet gurgle. Her eyes blazed with feral delight, her war cry ringing out as she pivoted to face her next target, ichor dripping from her armor like dark rain.

Cupcake roared as he charged a troll head-on, his massive frame colliding with the beast in a thunderous clash of flesh and fury. The troll swung its spiked club, but the Cyclops caught it in mid-air, his claws sinking into the wood and splintering it with a savage twist. The troll snarled, its rancid breath washing over him, but he answered with a bellow of his own, driving his fist into its gut. The blow cracked ribs and sent gray-green gore oozing from the beast's sores, but it retaliated with a backhand that sent Cupcake staggering. Undeterred, he lunged again, sinking his claws into the troll's throat and tearing outward—flesh ripped free in a fountain of blood, and the beast's high-pitched scream cut off as it collapsed, its massive body shaking the earth.

The meadow erupted into a whirlwind of violence once more, the air thick with the clang of metal, the wet rip of torn flesh, and the mingled roars of triumph and agony. The frozen grass ran black with ichor, pooling around the fallen like a dark mirror reflecting the crescent moon above. The son of Poseidon pressed forward deeper, his movements fluid and unrelenting, Riptide a blur of bronze death in his hands. An Orc lunged at him, its sword swinging for his head, but he parried with a flick of his wrist, then drove the blade upward through its jaw—the tip burst from the top of its skull in a spray of gore, and he kicked the body aside, already scanning for his next target.

His gaze darted across the battlefield, his mind racing as he assessed the chaos. The enemies' numbers were thinning, their ranks broken by the ice storm and the relentless assault, but the trolls were a problem—too big, too strong, and still too many. His eyes flicked to the river, now a fractured sheet of ice glinting in the moonlight. The water beneath still whispered to him, its power a steady hum in his veins, waiting for his next command.

He ducked under a troll's swinging club, the wind of the blow ruffling his hair, and slashed Riptide across its knee. The blade bit deep, severing tendons in a spray of gore, and the beast stumbled to the ground. Before it could recover, he thrust his hand toward the river again, calling to the water trapped beneath the ice. The surface trembled, cracks spiderwebbing outward as the current surged to obey.

The ice shattered upward in a violent explosion, water erupting in geysers that twisted into spiraling tendrils under his will. The liquid lashed out like living whips, snapping around the trolls' limbs with crushing force. One tendril coiled around a troll's neck, yanking it off its feet and slamming it into the ground with a bone-jarring thud—mud and gore sprayed as its skull cracked against a rock. The other tendril wrapped around another troll's arm, twisting until the limb snapped with a wet pop, the beast howling as it flailed helplessly.

Percy clenched his fist, and the water tightened its grip, dragging the trolls toward the river. The beasts clawed at the earth, their massive hands gouging furrows in the dirt, but the current was relentless. With a final surge, the tendrils hurled them into the frozen depths—the ice parted just long enough to swallow them whole, then sealed shut with a deafening crack, trapping them beneath the surface. Their muffled roars faded into silence as the river claimed them, their silhouettes thrashing faintly beneath the ice before going still.

The remaining Orcs faltered, their war chants stuttering as they watched their monstrous allies vanish into the watery grave. The demigods and monsters seized the moment, pressing their advantage with renewed ferocity. They began to push their enemies back into the forest, eagerly killing anyone that dared to stand their ground.

"They're pulling back!" Thalia shouted at him over the chaos.

The son of Poseidon advanced, his breath fogging in the frigid air, his sword dripping with the blood of his enemies. The tide was turning—he could feel it in the shift of momentum, the way the Orcs' roars grew desperate rather than defiant. He looked up at the hill past the trees, noticing that the torches were now running in the opposite way. Thalia was right. They were beginning to flee!

"Kill them all!" He shouted, bloodlust and glee intermingling as he realized the battle was to be won. Primal instincts took over as he hacked and slashed his way through the woods, killing anything and everything that dared stand against the son of Poseidon. Laughter spilled out of his mouth as the emotions took over, soaking in the screams and pleas of mercy. But he would offer them none. There would be no forgiveness. No mercy. No escape–not tonight.

The enemy's retreat was chaotic, their once-unified march dissolving into a frantic scramble as they fled, their torches bobbing wildly like dying stars swallowed by the dark.

An Orc stumbled ahead of him, its crude armor clanking as it tried to flee, its torch dropped and guttering out in the mud. Percy closed the distance in three strides, leaping onto its back with the agility of a predator. The beast snarled, twisting to throw him off, but he drove Riptide down through its shoulder, the bronze blade slicing through muscle and bone until it erupted from the Orc's chest in a spray of black ichor. The soldier's legs buckled, and Percy rode it to the ground, wrenching the sword free as it collapsed face-first into the muck, its final breath a gurgling wheeze.

He looked up, his eyes locking onto the last cluster of enemies ahead—a dozen or so, their hulking forms crashing through the undergrowth, their torches casting frantic shadows against the trees. Among them towered a final Orc, larger than the rest, its armor adorned with jagged human bones. A flicker of recognition flashed through the demigod's eyes as he realized this was the Orc warlord he had seen two days ago. Their leader no longer held that same confidence in his posture nor barked orders with unshakeable authority. His shoulders were now hunched, his eyes filled with fear as he peeked out behind his soldiers who desperately tried to protect him.

Percy's lips curled into a feral grin, his blood-smeared face illuminated by the faint glow of the dying torches scattered across the ground as he backed his enemies into a corner. The thrill of overwhelming power surged through him, a primal fire that drowned out the ache in his muscles and the sting of his wounds. He wouldn't let this one slip away—not the brute who'd led this army, who'd dared to march on their world with promises of ruin. This ended now.

The forest closed in around them, the dense canopy swallowing the faint moonlight as Percy stalked forward, his boots crunching over frost and gore-soaked earth. The retreating Orcs stumbled over roots and fallen comrades, their breaths heaving in panicked bursts, their crude weapons trembling in their grips. The warlord loomed at the center of the cluster, his bone-adorned armor rattling with each step, his tusked face twisted into a snarl of desperation. His soldiers formed a ragged shield around him, their beady eyes darting between their faltering leader and the relentless demigod closing in.

Percy's sea-green eyes burned with a cold, unyielding fury, the river's pulse still thrumming in his veins, amplifying the raw power coiling within him. Riptide gleamed in his hand, its bronze edge slick with black ichor, but he didn't raise it—not yet. His gaze locked onto the warlord, and a dark realization settled over him: the blade alone wasn't enough. Not for this. Not for the monster who'd orchestrated this slaughter, who'd driven his army to carve a path of blood through the valley. He wanted it to be personal. Brutal. Final.

The air grew heavy, thick with the metallic tang of blood and the sour reek of fear. The soldiers tightened their ranks, hefting swords, axes and spears in a last, futile stand. The son of Poseidon stopped a dozen yards away, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths, his blood-streaked face a mask of predatory calm. The warlord barked something in their guttural tongue—a command, a plea—but it did nothing to steady the trembling hands of his guard.

"You," Percy said, cutting through the rustling leaves and distant cries of the battlefield. "You don't get to run."

The warlord's yellow eyes narrowed, a flicker of defiance flaring beneath the fear. He snarled, shoving one of his soldiers forward as if to prove his authority still held. The Orc stumbled, its spear raised, and charged with a roar that was more desperation than courage.

Percy didn't flinch. He reached out—not with his hand, but with his will—his mind sinking into the blood that soaked the ground, the ichor that pulsed through his enemies' veins. The power surged through him, a dark, visceral force he rarely tapped into, one that felt like a storm breaking loose inside his skull. His fingers curled into a fist, and the charging Orc froze mid-step, its roar choking into a strangled gasp.

The soldier's body jerked upright, limbs locking as if seized by invisible chains. Its spear clattered to the ground, useless, as its eyes bulged in terror. The demigod's gaze hardened, and with a sharp twist of his wrist, he yanked the blood within the Orc's body upward. The beast's chest caved inward with a sickening crunch, ribs snapping like dry twigs as its heart was wrenched against its own cage. Black ichor erupted from its mouth and nose, a geyser of dark fluid that sprayed across its comrades. Its tusked jaw hung slack, tongue lolling, as Percy clenched his fist tighter. The Orc's skull imploded under the pressure, collapsing inward with a wet, pulpy squelch—brain matter and bone fragments burst outward, splattering the warlord's armor in a grisly rain. The body crumpled, a boneless heap of shredded flesh and steaming gore, twitching faintly in the mud.

The remaining soldiers recoiled, their snarls faltering into whimpers, but Percy didn't pause. He swept his hand outward, seizing the blood of the entire guard in one brutal grasp. The air crackled with the force of his power, the forest itself seeming to shudder as he bent their lifeblood to his command. The Orcs froze, their bodies rigid, weapons slipping from nerveless fingers as their eyes widened in primal horror.

With a flick of his fingers, he tore into them. One soldier's arms twisted backward, joints popping and ligaments ripping free in a symphony of wet snaps—its screams cut off as he yanked the blood from its veins, bursting its skin apart in a shower of black ichor that painted the trees like a grotesque mural. Another's chest exploded outward, ribs splaying open like a blooming flower as its heart was ripped free, still beating for a fleeting second before it burst mid-air, drenching the ground in a steaming puddle. A third Orc clawed at its throat as its blood boiled within, veins rupturing beneath its skin—its flesh bubbled and split, ichor seeping from every pore until it collapsed into a quivering, liquefied ruin.

The warlord staggered back, his bravado shattered, his massive frame trembling as the last of his guards died in a cacophony of gore. One soldier tried to flee, its boots slipping in the muck, but Percy's hand snapped toward it. The Orc's legs buckled as its blood surged upward, bursting through its skull in a fountain of black and gray—its head erupted like a crushed melon, the body toppling forward to land face-down in the filth, its spine jutting grotesquely from the ruin of its neck.

The forest fell silent, save for the warlord's ragged breathing and the drip of ichor from the trees. The son of Poseidon stepped forward, his boots squelching in the carnage, his eyes locked on the lone survivor. The warlord raised his staff which had the purple crystal atop, pointing it at the demigod. But it would not save him from the impending death he was about to receive. His yellow eyes darted wildly, searching for an escape that didn't exist.

"You wanted war," Percy growled, reaching out and clutching the crystal in his hand before shattering it with all his strength. "And I delivered it."

"The dying light will prevail over this land!" The warlord madly shouted, his words cracking with a mix of fury and terror as he clutched the broken staff, its jagged end trembling in his grip. The purple shards of the crystal glittered faintly in the mud, their light extinguished, leaving only the approaching dawn to illuminate the slaughter around them. "The Father will win this war, and there will be nothing you can do about it! He will save us and envelope the world in his rot!"

The demigod's lips curled into a sneer, his eyes glinting with a cold, unyielding fury that seemed to swallow the warlord's words whole. The air around him crackled with the residual energy of the river and the blood he'd just torn from his enemies, a storm of power barely contained within his frame. He stepped closer, his boots crunching over the shattered remnants of the crystal, grinding them into the gore-soaked earth as if to erase even the memory of their light. The warlord flinched, his massive hands tightening around the broken staff, but there was nowhere left to run—no army, no magic, no Father to save him now.

"Keep praying to your rotting god," Percy growled, getting closer. "He's not here. I am."

The warlord snarled, a desperate sound that rattled his tusks, and lunged forward, swinging the jagged end of his staff toward Percy's chest. It was a clumsy, frantic strike, born of fear rather than skill, but he sidestepped it with ease. Riptide flashed in his hand, a blur of bronze that met the staff mid-arc—metal clashed against wood, and the blade sheared through it like paper, sending the splintered remains spinning into the mud. The warlord stumbled, off-balance, his yellow eyes widening as the demigod closed the distance in a single, predatory stride.

Before the Orc could recover, Percy seized him by the throat, his fingers digging into the scarred, leathery flesh. The warlord's bulk towered over him, nearly twice his size, but it didn't matter—his grip was iron, fueled by the raw, primal strength of the sea and the fury that burned in his veins. The warlord thrashed, clawing at his arm with gnarled hands, but Percy didn't budge. He could feel the pulse hammering beneath his fingers, the frantic thud of a heart that knew its end was near.

"You think your Father's rot can touch this world?" he hissed, his face inches from the warlord's, his breath fogging in the frigid air. "You think he can save you from me?"

The warlord choked out a garbled curse, black ichor bubbling at the corners of his mouth as he struggled for air. His tusked jaw snapped, trying to bite, but Percy tightened his grip, crushing the windpipe with a sickening crunch. Its eyes bulged, veins popping beneath his mottled skin, but the son of Poseidon wasn't done. He reached deeper—not with his hands, but with his will—sinking into the warlord's blood, seizing it like a weapon.

The Orc's body jerked violently, a marionette caught in invisible strings. Percy's eyes narrowed, glowing faintly with the power coursing through him, and with a sharp twist of his mind, he pulled. The warlord's chest heaved, then split open in a grotesque eruption—ribs cracked outward, flesh tore like wet cloth, and a torrent of black ichor exploded from the wound, drenching him in a steaming wave.

The warlord's massive frame went limp, his yellow eyes rolling back as the life drained from them. Percy released his grip, letting the corpse collapse into the mud with a heavy, wet thud. The bone-adorned armor clattered against the earth, the sound swallowed by the eerie silence that followed. He stood over the fallen leader, chest heaving, Riptide dripping at his side, his blood-streaked face illuminated by the first faint rays of dawn creeping over the horizon.

He turned, his boots crunching over frost and bodies, and made his way back toward the meadow. The trees parted before him, their branches swaying gently in the morning breeze as if bowing to the victor. As he emerged from the forest, the open expanse of the field stretched out, bathed in the soft glow of sunrise. The frozen grass shimmered faintly, streaked with blood and littered with the fallen—the occasional glint of a broken weapon catching the light.

The demigods and monsters awaited him, their figures silhouetted against the rising sun. A cheer erupted as he stepped into view, a ragged, triumphant roar that shook the valley. Clarisse raised her axe high, its blade still dripping with ichor, her wild grin splitting her blood-streaked face. Nico leaned on his sword, shadows curling lazily around his feet, a rare smirk tugging at his lips. Thalia stood atop a fallen Orc, her spear planted in its chest, her blue eyes gleaming with fierce pride. The surviving monsters—harpies, dracaenae, and others—joined in, their guttural cries and screeches blending with the demigods' shouts into a cacophony of victory.

He looked to the cliff where the demigods who hadn't fought were cheering and waving in the distance. He could faintly see Katie standing on the edge of the cliff, tears in her eyes as she waved at him. Even Travis, who had finally awakened to witness the battle, stood beside her, smiling down at his friends.

"Demigods!" Cupcake roared over the cheering crowd, his voice a gravelly thunder. "You fight like monsters! We crushed 'em—sent 'em running back to their Father with their tails between their legs!"

Another cheer rang out as the King continued.

"This was our win–demigods and monsters together!" The cheers swelled again, a wave of relief and pride washing over the battered group. Cupcake turned to the other monsters, raising a clawed fist. "To the demigods! Our brothers in blood!"

The monsters roared their approval, claws and talons slashing the air. The demigods answered with raised weapons, their voices hoarse but strong. For a moment, the meadow was alive with unity—a fragile, hard-won bond forged in the crucible of battle.

Percy stood amidst the cheering crowd, his sword still gripped in his hand. His eyes swept over the sight of his allies and friends, their faces alight with the raw thrill of survival and victory. For a fleeting moment, he pretended that this was how it could always be–monsters and demigods united.

Only for a fleeting moment though.

The cheers of the crowd still echoed through the meadow, a wild cacophony of triumph that rang hollow in his ears. The dawn painted the valley in shades of gold and crimson, the light glinting off the frost and blood that stained the ground—a stark contrast to the darkness brewing in his chest. He tightened his grip on Riptide, the bronze blade humming faintly in his hand, as if sensing the shift in his resolve.

He looked to Nico, who stood away from the crowd, his eyes holding his as a silent agreement passed between them. He then looked at Reyna who mirrored it, her jaw set with the same grim understanding. He finally turned his gaze to Cupcake who was still cheering with his kin and demigods alike. He held Kelli in his arms, dancing and laughing at the thought of no longer dealing with the Father's army.

The sight reminded him a lot of the times he would laugh and dance with Annabeth after the battles. Biting his tongue, he tried not to think about that. Not when he was about to do something he knew she wouldn't have approved of. His eyes darkened, the fleeting warmth of victory snuffed out by a cold, unyielding resolve. The cheers of the crowd faded into a distant hum, drowned by the steady thrum of his own heartbeat and the river's pulse still lingering in his veins. His gaze lingered on Cupcake, the monstrous King towering over the revelry, his single eye glinting with a savage joy as he swung Kelli in a clumsy, jubilant dance. The Cyclops's laughter boomed across the meadow, a sound that should have been a balm after the night's carnage—but to Percy, it was a spark igniting something darker.

Reyna's voice whispered in the back of his mind–"This world doesn't let us stay soft."

His jaw tightened, the taste of blood and ichor still coating his tongue as he made his decision. With a subtle clench of his fist, he took one last look at the sight of demigods and monsters cheering together. It would be the last time they would ever do so.

With no hesitation, he thrust his free hand toward Cupcake, his fingers curling as if grasping something invisible. The air thickened, a sudden chill sweeping through the meadow as the river's power surged through him, amplifying the bloodlust still simmering in his veins. His eyes glowed faintly, a predatory light cutting through the dawn's haze, as he seized the Cyclops's blood with a thought—brutal, unyielding, absolute.

The King froze mid-step, his laughter choking into a guttural gasp. Kelli slipped from his arms, tumbling to the ground with a startled cry as the massive Cyclops staggered, his single eye widening in shock. The meadow fell silent, the cheers dying in throats as all eyes turned to the unfolding horror. Percy's jaw tightened, his face a mask of cold resolve, and with a vicious twist of his wrist, he yanked the blood upward.

Cupcake's head exploded in a grotesque eruption of black ichor and gore. The force of it was deafening—a wet, concussive boom that shattered the morning stillness. His skull disintegrated, bone fragments and brain matter spraying outward in a grisly arc, splattering across the stunned demigods and monsters nearby. Black ichor fountained from the jagged stump of his neck, drenching Kelli as she screamed, her claws scrabbling at the ground in terror. The massive body swayed for a heartbeat, a towering ruin of flesh and muscle, before collapsing into the frost with a thunderous crash, the earth trembling beneath its weight.

The world went still for but a moment as everyone stared at Cupcake's body, which was quickly turning into golden dust that floated away in the wind. Then, all hell broke loose. The demigods, just cheering with their monster allies, brought out their weapons and turned on their former comrades with a ferocity that matched the night's earlier slaughter. The meadow, moments ago a scene of unity, erupted into chaos once more—a brutal betrayal that tore through the fragile alliance like a blade through flesh.

The skirmish erupted and subsided with startling speed. The monsters, their ranks brutally thinned, stood no chance against the onslaught. From the surrounding woods, a relentless hail of arrows rained down upon them. Will and his team, concealed among the trees, had orchestrated this decisive strike as the previous battle drew to a close.

When the chaos settled, only Kelli remained, paralyzed by shock and unable to resist. She knelt beside her fallen lover, her hands scrabbling at the dust that slipped relentlessly through her fingers. The sound of approaching footsteps broke her reverie, and she turned to glimpse the demigod she loathed with every fiber of her being standing behind her.

Percy stood over her, his silhouette stark against the rising sun. Riptide hung loosely at his side, its bronze blade still slick with the ichor and dust of those he'd just betrayed. His eyes were cold, unreadable, the glow of power fading but leaving behind a hardness that cut deeper than any weapon. The wind tugged at his blood-streaked hair, carrying the faint tang of salt and death across the meadow.

Kelli's claws dug into the earth, golden dust slipping through her trembling fingers as she stared up at the demigod. Her eyes, wide with grief and rage, burned with an amber fire that flickered like the last embers of a dying flame. "Why?" she hissed, her words dripping with venom and despair. "He fought for you! We all did! And you—you butcher him like he was nothing?"

He didn't respond, but he stepped closer, gripping his sword as he prepared to do what must be done. This land was for his people. Not these creatures who would offer nothing to it.

The Empousa eyed the sword dangling at his side, her lips peeled back in a snarl, revealing broken, useless fangs he had shattered two days earlier. "You're a monster!" she spat. "You're just like us—worse than us!"

"Like you said," Percy replied, raising his sword that glinted against the morning's light. "I'm just a heartless bastard."

With a swift, decisive motion, he brought Riptide down. The bronze blade sliced through the air, a gleaming arc that caught the first rays of dawn, and met Kelli's neck with unerring precision. Her snarl twisted into a choked gasp, her amber eyes flaring wide for a fleeting second before the light within them snuffed out. The sword cleaved through flesh and bone in a single, clean stroke, severing her head from her shoulders. Black ichor sprayed in a brief, violent burst, splattering across the frost-kissed grass and mingling with the golden dust of Cupcake's remains. Her body slumped forward, collapsing into the earth with a dull thud, her claws twitching once before going still. Within moments, her form shimmered and dissolved into a cloud of dust, carried away by the wind like ashes scattered over a grave.

The meadow was silent now, the chaos of the betrayal fading into an oppressive stillness broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of the river. His allies—demigods, not monsters—stood scattered across the field, their weapons lowered but still slick with the blood of their former comrades.

His gaze swept over them, lingering on each face—soldiers, survivors, family. This was inevitable. It had to be done. Monsters and demigods couldn't co-exist. Sooner or later, this would've happened anyway. He raised his sword high in the air, the sun's light illuminating his blood-streaked face.

"The valley is ours!" His voice tore through the wind, met by a thunderous roar as demigods thrust their weapons skyward. "We have our home!"

The valley trembled with the echoes of their victory cry, a raw, primal sound that echoed their hardship from the journey to get here. The sun climbed higher, its golden rays piercing the thinning shroud of clouds, casting long shadows from the demigods' raised weapons. Percy stood at the center of it all, Riptide still aloft, its bronze blade catching the light like a beacon of their hard-won triumph. His chest heaved, the adrenaline of battle and betrayal still coursing through him, but his sea-green eyes were steady—fixed on the horizon where the Orcs had fled, where the Father's rot had been driven back, at least for now.

Chapter Text

A week had passed since the battle. One long week of cleaning up the remnants of the battle. Burning Orc bodies, picking up discarded weapons and armor, and clearing the forest of felled trees. It had been a long, strenuous process, but everyone, especially Percy, was glad to have their mind preoccupied with tasks that didn’t include fighting monsters. Eventually, slowly but surely, the valley had begun to heal. The once-bloodied meadow now bloomed with wildflowers, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the black ichor that had soaked into the soil. The river, no longer choked by ice, sang as it carved its familiar path through the valley. Even the air had changed. No longer did it hold the stench of sulfur and sweat due to the monsters inhabiting the land. It was crisp and clean, the wind leaving behind the scent of pine and fresh earth.

The sun dipped low, setting the valley ablaze in amber and gold as Percy sat on the ridge, gazing down at their newfound home. After another day of relentless labor, he had sought refuge here—this quiet perch atop the cliffs, where they had first glimpsed the valley’s promise days ago. The wind whispered against his skin, carrying the scent of distant rain. Below, the land unfolded like a living tapestry: the emerald sweep of the valley, the jagged silhouettes of the mountains, and beyond them, the world stretching into infinity.

Not even Olympus, with its celestial grandeur, could rival such a sight.

The weight of the journey no longer pressed against his shoulders, much to his relief. But that didn’t mean he felt any sort of relaxation. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he wasn’t worried about the burden of finding a home. Now it was the quiet exhaustion of rebuilding, of laying the foundation of something new. He sighed as he fiddled with his pen, looking down at its bronze glint reflecting the evening light. There was still so much to be done. They had a long way to go until this land could truly be a safe haven for demigods.

But for now, the valley was theirs. That’s what truly mattered.

The crunch of gravel behind made him turn his gaze from the land. He found Katie climbing up the rock to him, carrying something in her hand. Leaning down, he gave her a hand and helped her up to the crest of the ridge. Katie offered a tired but genuine smile as she settled beside him, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.

“Thought you might want something to drink,” she said, holding out a small, dented canteen. The metal was cool to the touch as Percy took it, the faint slosh of water inside promising a brief respite from the day’s toil. He uncapped it and took a long, slow sip, the crisp liquid soothing his parched throat. For a moment, he closed his eyes, letting the simplicity of the act take him—the taste of clean water, the breeze against his skin, the quiet presence of a…well, he would say friend, but after that night, he knew Katie was more than just that.

“Thanks.”

She nodded, settling cross-legged on the rocky outcrop beside him. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers idly twisting a flower she’d plucked on her way up. Her hazel eyes, sharp and perceptive, followed his gaze out over the valley, taking in the same sprawling beauty he’d been lost in moments before. For a while, they sat in companionable silence, the only sounds the rustle of wind through the pines below and the distant murmur of the river carving its path.

“It’s starting to feel real, isn’t it?” She twirled the flower between her fingers—a small, stubborn thing with petals the color of sunrise—before tucking it behind her ear. “Like maybe we can actually make this work.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, though his tone confused the daughter of Demeter somewhat.

“I’m sensing a but,” Katie nudged him, shifting ever so slightly closer. Their arms brushed, legs touching, the shared warmth a welcome comfort against the evening wind. Neither made any move to pull away.

Percy exhaled slowly, his breath misting faintly in the cooling air as he stared out at the mountains. The canteen rested heavy in his hands, its dented surface catching the last glimmers of sunlight. He rolled it between his palms, the motion grounding him as he searched for the words that had been gnawing at the edges of his mind all week.

“But,” he began, his words rough from shouting orders and nights of restless sleep, “for how long? How long will we have this until we have to fight again? The Father is still out there. I’m sure he has more armies waiting for the chance to cut us down.”

Her eyes softened as she stared up at his own. She could see the worry and fear in them. Not of the Father, but fear that more friends will soon die in a war no one wanted. The flower behind her ear trembled slightly in the breeze, its delicate petals a fragile contrast to the inevitable future that awaited.

Finally, she tilted her head, resting her chin on her hand as she studied him. “You’re right,” she said. “The Father’s still out there. And yeah, he’ll probably send more—armies, monsters, whatever he’s got left in his arsenal. But Percy…” She paused, reaching out to rest a hand on his arm, her touch sending goosebumps across his skin. “We’ve faced worse. We’ve beaten worse. And we’re still here.”

He glanced at her, his sea-green eyes catching the last rays of sunlight, reflecting a storm of emotions—doubt, exhaustion, and something fiercer, anger. He let out a low, bitter chuckle. “Have we? I mean, sure, we’ve survived. But every time we win, it feels like we’re just buying time. The Father is not just going to sit back and let us live. He will do everything in his power to end us.”

Katie’s lips pressed into a thin line, not out of frustration but contemplation. She pulled her hand back, folding her arms across her knees as she gazed out at the stars rising above the snowy moutain peaks. “Maybe that’s true,” she admitted. “Maybe there’s always going to be another fight. But look at this place, Percy.” She gestured toward the sprawling land below. “We didn’t just buy time. We claimed something real. This isn’t just survival anymore. It’s a start. A home. And every day we hold it, every day we build it, we’re proving that we can overcome the greatest of odds. We’re proving that even without the Gods, we can still strive for peace.”

He glanced down at where his friends were below, their faint figures moving about as they lit multiple campfires for the night. They still had yet to build any structures so a maze of tents still littered the ground. Laughter drifted up faintly, carried on the wind, a sound so rare it almost felt foreign after the bloodshed.

“I want to believe that,” he said quietly, looking back at the girl next to him. “But after what happened… after what I did to those monsters that trusted me. I don’t know if I can trust peace. Not when I’m the one who keeps breaking it.”

Katie’s breath hitched slightly, and she turned to face him fully, her eyes peering deeply into his. The flower slipped from behind her ear, tumbling down the ridge to vanish among the rocks below, but she didn’t seem to notice. “You did what you thought you had to,” she said firmly but with compassion. “I won’t pretend it was pretty, but it was required of you. This world—it’s never been kind to us, Percy. It’s never let us choose between good and evil, just between bad and worse. You picked the option that kept us alive, that gave us this.” She waved a hand toward the valley again, her voice softening. “That’s not breaking peace. That’s fighting for it, even if it’s messy.”

He tore his gaze away from her, looking down at his clenched hands. He didn’t know why he was feeling this way. Why he was feeling this guilt. He’d justified it to himself a thousand times—monsters couldn’t be trusted, not forever; they’d turn eventually, just as they always had. But what about Mrs. O’leary? Tyson? Bob and Damasen? There had been so many monsters in his life that had good in them. Who had helped him. Could Cupcake have been the same if he had given him the chance?

“Maybe,” he finally murmured. “But it doesn’t feel like peace when I close my eyes and see their faces. When I know I’d do it again if I had to. I’d kill them a thousand times if it meant you were safe.”

Katie didn’t flinch at the admission. Instead, she lifted a hand to his chin, making him look up at her. Before he could react, her lips were on his. He couldn’t help the sigh that escaped when he felt her warmth, her strawberry scented hair as it tossed against the wind. Before he could reciprocate, it was over. She pulled away slightly, still close enough where he could feel her warm breath hit his skin. “Then let it haunt you,” she said slightly out of breath. “Let it remind you why we’re doing this. Not just to survive, but to build something better—something where we don’t have to make those choices anymore. You’re not a monster, even if you think you are. You’re just… human. A messy, stubborn, stupidly brave human.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips, the first crack in the wall he had been putting up. “You think I’m brave? Anything else you want to add? Like handsome? Dashing?”

Katie laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder as she softly slapped him on the chest. “I’m being generous. Don’t push it.”

A comfortable silence quickly enveloped them as they watched the stars brighten overhead. The wind still carried the faint laughter of their friends, their distant figures gathered around the fires telling stories, dancing, or cooking dinner. Percy rested his head against hers, the tension in his shoulders loosening as he relaxed against her warmth.

The night deepened around them, the land settling into a quiet rhythm as the campfires below flickered like stars mirrored on the earth. Katie felt Percy’s weight shift against her, his breathing slowing into the steady cadence of sleep. She didn’t move, didn’t dare disturb the rare peace that had finally claimed him. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her cheek brushing against his dark hair, and let her gaze drift upward to the constellations sprawling across the sky. They glittered with a clarity she hadn’t seen in years—not since the smog and chaos of the cities, not since the endless battles had driven them into hiding.

For a moment, she let herself imagine they were just two kids stargazing, free of the worry and fear of demigod lives, free of the Father’s shadow looming over them. But the thought was fleeting, chased away by the reality of the dented canteen still clutched in his lax hand, the faint scars crisscrossing his knuckles, the sword-calloused palms that told a story of survival. She sighed softly, her breath stirring the air between them, and adjusted her position to let him rest more comfortably against her.

Her fingers brushed absently against the spot where the flower had fallen from her hair, and she wondered briefly where it had landed—lost somewhere among the rocks, maybe, or carried off by the wind. It didn’t matter. There’d be more flowers tomorrow, more chances to weave beauty into this hard-won life. She glanced at Percy again, his face softened in sleep, the lines of worry smoothed away for now. He looked younger like this, less like the warrior who’d faced down armies and more like the boy she’d first met—reckless, loyal, and impossibly determined.

Katie rested her chin atop his head, her arms settling loosely around him as the night stretched on. She didn’t sleep, not yet. Someone had to keep watch, and tonight, it was her turn. The stars wheeled overhead, the river sang its endless song, and the valley held them close. For now, it was enough.

“You’re going to be okay,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “We all are.”

The valley woke slowly the next morning, stirred by the first rays of dawn spilling over the mountain peaks. Golden light filtered through the canopy of pines, painting the tents below in soft hues of amber and rose. The campfires had dwindled to smoldering embers, thin tendrils of smoke curling upward to greet the crisp air. Somewhere in the distance, a bird trilled—a tentative, hopeful sound that pierced the stillness.

Katie felt the shift before she saw it: Percy stirring against her, his breath hitching as he pulled himself from the depths of sleep. She loosened her hold as he blinked awake, sea-green eyes bleary and unfocused for a moment before sharpening on her face. A faint flush crept up his neck as he realized how close they were, how he’d slept slumped against her through the night.

“Morning,” she said lightly, a teasing lilt in her voice to ease the awkwardness she knew he’d feel. “You drool in your sleep, you know.”

The son of Poseidon tried to hide the flinch when she said those awfully familiar words. He really didn’t want to relive memories so early in the morning. So instead, he groaned, rubbing a hand over his face as he sat up straighter, disentangling himself from her warmth. “Liar,” he muttered. He stretched, wincing as his joints popped from a night spent on the unforgiving rock.

Katie smirked, brushing off her own stiffness as she rose to her feet. “Come on, hero. Let’s go get some breakfast before we have another long day of manual labor!”

“Can’t fucking wait,” he yawned in reply, stretching one last time before the both of them began to descend down the cliff.

The descent was steep but familiar now, their boots finding purchase on the worn stones and gravel with practiced ease. The air grew warmer as they dropped closer to the valley floor, carrying the faint scent of woodsmoke and something cooking—probably one of the others trying their hand at breakfast over the embers. As they neared the camp, the sounds of life grew louder: the clatter of pots, the low hum of conversation, and the occasional burst of laughter that still felt like a gift.

Katie glanced at Percy as they passed the edge of the tree line, the morning light dancing through the branches and catching in his hair. He looked better this morning—still tired, still worn—but there was a steadiness to his steps that hadn’t been there the day before. Maybe a night of dreamless sleep had helped. Or maybe, she hoped, it had been the company.

“You think the others’ll be mad we didn’t help with firewood this morning?” she asked, only half-joking.

Percy gave her a sideways glance. “Nah. They’ll assume I wandered off to sulk dramatically and you went after me to stop me from doing something reckless.”

“…That’s fair,” she admitted with a grin. “And accurate.”

As they reached the camp, they were greeted with a chorus of good mornings—some sarcastic, some genuine. Will was hunched over a pan, trying to convince something vaguely egg-like to cook without burning. Nico sat nearby, knees tucked up, sipping from a mug with a little too much intensity for this early in the day. Clarisse was sharpening her spear, and when she spotted the pair, she grunted, “About time!”

“Look who decided to join us!” Butch exclaimed, looking up from his food. “Where were you two last night?”

“Don’t let them answer that, man!” Connor interjected with a sly smirk. “There’s kids listening.”

Percy rolled his eyes, replying instead with a middle finger directed at the son of Hermes. “We were just talking.”

“Yeah…talking,” Will drawled out, not looking up from the pan. “On a cliff, under the stars.”

Katie didn’t dignify that with a response—just plucked a pinecone off the ground and lobbed it expertly at the son of Apollo. It hit him square on the back of the head.

“Ow!” He turned, scowling, though there was no real heat in it. “Rude.”

“Breakfast better be edible, or I’ll start throwing rocks,” she said sweetly, brushing past him with a wink.

Percy chuckled, but the sound quickly died in his throat when he felt the burning gazes from two girls off to the side. He dared to steal a glance, noticing Reyna and Piper sitting beside one another, both not bothering with their food as they watched him and Katie grab a plate. Their stares were intense, like two lionesses watching their prey. Percy swallowed hard, suddenly very interested in the questionable eggs Will had scraped onto his plate. How’d he even get eggs? There were no chickens out here.

Katie, blissfully unaware—or choosing to ignore the tension—plopped down beside Piper with a cheerful hum. “Morning, sunshine,” she teased, nudging the daughter of Aphrodite with her elbow.

Piper’s expression softened slightly, but her gaze remained sharp as she flicked it between the pair. “You two were out all night,” she said, her tone carefully neutral.

“Yep,” she said, popping the ‘p’ as she shoveled food into her mouth. “Someone had to make sure Mr. Broody over there didn’t throw himself off a cliff.”

Reyna’s fingers tightened around her mug. “And that required staying out all night?”

Katie smirked, realizing what game was being played. “Oh, relax. Nothing scandalous happened.” She paused, then added with a wicked grin, “He is very handsy in his sleep, though.”

“I know that all too well,” Thalia interjected with a mutter, not looking up from her own plate of food.

Percy nearly choked on his eggs, desperately trying to steer the conversation elsewhere as heat crept up his neck. “Can we not?” he grumbled, stabbing at his plate with more force than necessary. “We’re all eating here.”

Katie laughed, a bright, unrestrained sound that pricked at the girls’ nerves somewhat. “Fine, fine. I’ll spare you—for now.” She shot him a playful wink before turning her attention back to her food, unperturbed by the undercurrent of scrutiny from Reyna and Piper.

The camp settled into a rhythm of morning chatter, the clatter of utensils and the occasional groan about sore muscles filling the air. He kept his head down, focusing on the slightly charred eggs—definitely not from chickens, maybe some wild bird someone had managed to scavenge. He didn’t need to look up to know that the three girls were still stealing glances at him, all wanting to sit beside him or have a word. All that would have to wait for another day. There was much to be done before they could have the luxury to worry over such things.

“So,” Nico said, breaking the chatter with his usual bluntness as he set his mug down with a soft clink. “What’s the plan today? We’ve cleaned up most of the mess from the battle and cleared out the monster camp.”

Percy swallowed the last of his questionable eggs, grateful for the shift in focus. He set his plate aside and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he scanned the eager faces of one hundred demigods. “Today, we need to start gathering materials. Wood, stone, whatever is needed to build cabins. Winter is only a month or two away now. Our tents won’t keep us warm once the snow hits.

“We also need more food,” he continued, standing up from his seat as he looked to the forest. “We’re almost out of rations we stole from the city, so we need to start hunting. I’m sure there are plenty of game out there. If there isn’t, we can always fish, too.”

“You sure you can handle eating fish, Perce?” Butch asked, taking a glance at the glittering water a few yards away. “Isn’t that like cannibalism or something? You know, since you’re a son of Poseidon and all that jazz?”

“Do I look like a fucking fish to you?” the son of Poseidon gestured to himself.

The son of Iris opened his mouth, clearly ready with a smart reply, but Clarisse beat him to it with a bark of laughter. “Honestly? Depends on the light.”

The crowd erupted into chuckles and teasing remarks, causing Percy to shake his head, though there was a smirk plastered on his features. “Okay, okay—enough. Let’s just agree that I’ll fish, you’ll eat, and no one asks too many questions about the morality of it.”

“Deal,” Butch said, raising his mug in a toast-like gesture. “To morally questionable seafood.”

The group dispersed soon after, breaking into smaller teams to tackle the day’s tasks. He found himself paired with Thalia to hunt for animals. Who better to do that than a hunter of Artemis? Evelyn and Atalanta had paired off together as well, picking another part of the surrounding forest to the west.

Percy adjusted the rifle slung over his shoulder—a loan from Katie, who had a particular fondness for it after the skirmish with the Orcs back at Lewis and Clark Forest. Thalia and a few of the Apollo kids had uttered their grievances about using such a weapon, but they all knew that he was…less adept with a bow, to say the least. He took a glance at his cousin who was walking through the trees, the filtered sunlight painting her white skin with an ethereal glow. She moved with the easy grace of a hunter, her bow already in hand. Her black hair, which had grown longer he noticed, was pulled back, the silver circlet glinting faintly where it peeked through the strands.

“Try not to scare off all the animals with your stomping,” she said without looking at him, her voice dry but carrying that same familiar edge of camaraderie they’d built over years of fighting side by side.

“I don’t stomp,” he shot back, though he made a conscious effort to lighten his steps. “You’re just used to sneaking around with your immortal girl gang.”

She snorted, finally sparing him a glance. “Yeah, well, my ‘girl gang’ doesn’t trip over roots and curse loud enough to wake the dead. You’re lucky I’m here to babysit.”

“Lucky’s one word for it,” he muttered, but there was no real bite in his words. He was glad it was Thalia with him today. She didn’t pry, didn’t hover—just kept pace and let him breathe. Sure, she teased him to death, but he was used to that. Welcomed it, actually. It reminded him of the old days before everything went to shit.

They moved deeper into the woods, trudging out of the valley and out into open land that stretched endlessly. There were some patches of wood out here, but it was mostly just mountains and open land, filled with flowing streams and wildflowers. It was a beautiful sight but no animals, sadly. They would have to venture deeper into uncharted territory if they were to find any.

The sun climbed higher as Percy and Thalia pressed on, the valley shrinking behind them into a distant patchwork of green cradled by the mountains. The terrain grew rougher, the open land giving way to rocky outcrops and tangled underbrush that snagged at their boots. The air was still crisp, but the exertion of the hike warmed their skin, and a thin sheen of sweat glistened on his brow. Thalia moved ahead, her hunter’s instincts guiding her over the uneven ground with a fluidity he couldn’t quite match, rifle or not.

“No deer, no rabbits, not even a damn squirrel,” he grumbled, pausing to swipe a hand across his forehead. He squinted up at the sky, where a few lazy clouds drifted against the endless blue.

Thalia didn’t break stride, her eyes scanning the horizon. “Animals aren’t stupid, Percy. They felt the battle—probably smelled the blood and rot from miles away. We’re gonna have to go farther than this if we want anything worth shooting.” She adjusted the quiver slung across her back, the fletching of her arrows rustling faintly.

He sighed, shifting the rifle’s strap on his shoulder. “Great. More walking. Just what I needed after a week of hauling Orc corpses.” His tone was dry, but he fell into step behind her anyway, trusting her instincts. She had always had a knack for finding what others couldn’t—whether it was prey, a hidden path, or trouble waiting to pounce.

The landscape stretched on, wild and untamed. The mountains loomed closer now, their peaks cutting sharp silhouettes against the sky. Streams glittered like veins of blue threading through the earth, their soft burbling the only sound beyond the crunch of their boots and the occasional rustle of wind through the grass. Percy’s eyes flicked to the ground, catching faint traces of life—scuffed dirt, a snapped twig, the ghost of a hoofprint pressed into the mud near a creek. Signs, but nothing fresh.

The daughter of Zeus kneeled down, examining the tracks more closely. Her fingers brushed the edge of the impression, testing the soil’s dampness. “This is a day old, maybe two,” she said. “Deer, probably. It’s moving away from the valley—toward those ridges.” She nodded toward a line of rocky hills rising in the distance, their slopes dotted with scraggly pines and shadowed crevices.

Percy knelt beside her, resting the rifle’s stock against the ground as he peered at the print. “So, what, we’re chasing ghosts now? That thing’s long gone.”

“Maybe,” she conceded, standing and brushing the dirt from her hands. “But where there’s one, there’s usually more. Deer don’t travel solo unless they’ve got no choice. If we follow the trail, we might hit a herd—or at least something edible.” Her lips quirked into a half-smile. “Unless you’d rather go back and tell everyone we came back empty handed. I’m sure they’ll appreciate that.”

He groaned, picturing everyone pissed off at him and Clarisse inevitably lecturing him about ‘pulling his weight.’ “Yeah, hard pass. Lead the way, oh mighty hunter.”

Thalia rolled her eyes but took point again, her steps silent as she followed the faint signs left by their quarry. The terrain grew steeper as they approached the ridges, the ground shifting from soft earth to loose shale that slid underfoot. Percy adjusted his grip on the rifle, his calves burning from the climb. The air thinned slightly, carrying a sharper bite as they ascended, and the distant hum of the valley faded entirely, replaced by the whistle of wind threading through the rocks.

At the crest of the first ridge, Thalia paused, raising a hand to signal him to stop. He froze mid-step, his breath catching as he followed her gaze. Below, in a shallow basin cradled by the hills, a small herd of deer grazed on patchy grass. Their heads were down, ears flicking occasionally, oblivious to the two demigods perched above. The sunlight glinted off their tawny coats, and Percy counted six—no, seven—of them, including a stag with antlers that branched like a crown.

“Jackpot,” Thalia whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind. She unslung her bow, nocking an arrow with a fluid motion that spoke of years under Artemis’ tutelage. “I’ll take the one on the left. You handle the stag.”

He nodded, easing the rifle into position. He wasn’t as precise as her with her bow, but the weapon’s range gave him an edge.

“On three,” she murmured, drawing her bowstring taut. “One… two…”

“Three,” Percy finished, and the crack of the rifle split the air at the same moment her arrow flew. The deer on the left staggered, a clean arrow through its chest, while the stag jolted upright, a bullet buried deep in its lungs. The herd bolted, hooves thundering as they vanished into the trees. He could see that his deer had dropped dead where it stood moments ago, but Thalia’s had bolted off into the woods. It would take some time for the adrenaline to wear off before it died too.

The demigoddess lowered her bow, her blue eyes tracking the fleeing herd as they disappeared into the dense thicket. She let out a low whistle, impressed despite herself. “Nice shot, seaweed-brain. Didn’t think you would hit it.”

He smirked, slinging the rifle back over his shoulder as he stood. “Yeah, well, a gun is different from a bow. I can at least aim with the damn thing.”

Thalia snorted, sliding her bow back into place across her shoulders. “Don’t get cocky. You still owe me for not tripping over your own feet on the way up here.” She started down the slope toward the basin, her boots crunching against the shale with deliberate care. He followed, the rifle bumping lightly against his back as he navigated the uneven descent.

The air in the basin was still, the wind blocked by the surrounding ridges, and the faint metallic tang of blood hit them as they approached the fallen stag. It lay sprawled across the grass, its chest heaving once, twice, before going still. The bullet had done its job—clean through the lungs, just as he’d aimed. A few yards away, the trail of her deer stretched into the trees, marked by a scattering of crimson droplets glinting in the sunlight.

“Yours is down for good,” she said, nudging the stag with her boot. “Mine’s gonna take a minute to bleed out. I’ll track it—you start prepping this one. We’ll need to move fast if we want to get both back before dark.”

He nodded, pulling a hunting knife from his belt. “You sure you don’t need backup? That thing could still have some fight left in it.”

She shot him a look, one eyebrow arched. “I’ve been gutting monsters bigger than you since I was twelve. I think I can handle a deer with an arrow in its chest.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned and slipped into the woods, her form blending into the shadows of the pines with eerie precision.

He shook his head, a faint grin tugging at his lips as he knelt beside the stag. The animal was heavier than it looked, its muscles taut even in death. He set to work, the blade slicing through hide with practiced ease—years of survival and living at Camp Half-Blood had taught him how to field-dress a kill. Blood stained his fingers, warm and sticky, and the metallic scent mingled with the earthy dampness of the basin. He worked quickly, removing the innards that offered nothing of value.

By the time he had finished, the sun had reached its peak in the sky. He wiped the blade clean on a patch of grass, then sat back on his heels, catching his breath. The basin was quiet now, save for the rustle of leaves overhead and the faint gurgle of a nearby stream. Thalia should’ve been back by now, he realized, glancing toward the trees where she’d disappeared. It had been—what, ten minutes? Maybe more? A deer with an arrow in its chest shouldn’t have gotten far, not with her tracking skills.

He stood, brushing dirt from his knees, and slung the rifle over his shoulder again. “Thalia?” he called, his voice carrying through the still air. No response. Just the wind whispering through the pines, a sound that suddenly felt too empty. His gut twisted—a familiar, nagging instinct that had saved his life more times than he could count. Something wasn’t right.

“Thalia!” he tried again, louder this time, stepping toward the tree line. The blood trail she’d followed was still visible, a thin thread of red weaving between the trunks. He hesitated, glancing back at the stag’s remains. Leaving it unattended risked scavengers, but the unease gnawing at him outweighed practicality. He’d rather face a pissed-off bear than leave her out there alone if something had gone wrong.

He plunged into the woods, following the crimson droplets that marked her path. The forest thickened around him, branches clawing at his jacket as he pushed deeper. The trail twisted through gnarled roots and moss-slick stones, the light dimming as the canopy closed overhead. His boots crunched against dirt and twigs, the sound sharp in the oppressive quiet. No birdsong, no rustling of small creatures—just silence, heavy and unnatural.

The blood trail grew fainter, the drops spaced farther apart, until it vanished entirely near a cluster of jagged rocks jutting from the earth like broken teeth. Percy stopped, his breath catching when he caught a faint silver flashing in the sunlight. Walking closer, he noticed the remnants of a battle with broken arrows, a spear, a helmet, and her circlet on the ground.

His heart slammed against his ribs as he dropped to one knee, fingers brushing the cold metal of a silver circlet. The broken arrows—hers, unmistakably hers, with their silver fletching—lay scattered like fallen soldiers, snapped under some brutal force. The spear, its shaft splintered, bore the rough craftsmanship of Orcish hands, and the helmet, dented and smeared with black ichor, confirmed his worst fear. The air carried a faint, acrid stench—sulfur and rot, the unmistakable signature of Orcs.

“Thalia…” His voice was a hoarse whisper, barely audible over the pounding in his ears. He clutched the circlet tighter, its edges biting into his palm as he scanned the scene. The blood trail had stopped, but the ground told a story of its own: scuffed dirt, torn moss, and deep gouges where something or someone had been dragged. His eyes followed the marks, tracing them toward a shadowed crevice between two massive boulders—a narrow slit in the earth, barely wide enough for a person to squeeze through. The drag marks led straight into it.

He stood, shoving the circlet into his pocket as he uncapped Riptide. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from the fury boiling in his chest. Orcs. After everything—the battle, the cleanup, the fragile hope they’d started to build—they’d come back. And they’d taken her. The thought of Thalia dragged off by those filthy bastards ignited something primal in him, a rage he hadn’t felt since the war’s darkest days.

He approached the crevice, peering into its depths. Darkness swallowed the light beyond a few feet, but the faint blue delta symbol glowed softly in the shadows. His grip tightened on Riptide, the familiar weight of the sword reassuring him as the glowing delta symbol reflected in his eyes. The Labyrinth. Of all the cursed places in the world, it had to be here, reopening old wounds he’d buried beneath years of scars. His mind raced back to those endless tunnels—panic, betrayal, the stench of death lurking around every corner. He’d barely made it out alive then, and now Thalia was down there, dragged into that maze of nightmares by Orcs.

He took a steadying breath, the cold, muggy tunnel air already biting at his lungs. There was no time to hesitate, no time to fetch the others. Every second he wasted was a second she might not have. Time moved differently down there, after all. The drag marks were fresh, the dirt still crumbling where her heels—or her body—had scraped against the ground. He could almost hear her voice in his head, rageful and defiant, telling him to stop standing around like an idiot and move.

“Hold on, Thals,” he muttered, shoving Riptide’s point into the earth for a moment as he adjusted the rifle still slung across his back. It wasn’t ideal for close quarters, but he wasn’t about to leave it behind—not when he didn’t know what he’d be facing down there. With a final glance at the sunlit basin behind him, he squeezed into the crevice, the rough stone scraping against his shoulders as he descended into the dark.

“I’m coming.” 

Chapter Text

The crevice swallowed him whole, the jagged walls pressing tight against his chest as he forced his way deeper. The air grew thick and damp, heavy with the musty scent of ancient earth and the faint tang of monster filth. Riptide’s glow cast flickering shadows across the uneven stone, illuminating the path just enough to keep him from stumbling. The rifle clattered faintly against his back with each step, a reminder of the world above he was leaving behind. The drag marks stretched ahead, a grim breadcrumb trail leading him into the belly of the Labyrinth.

The passage widened after a few suffocating yards, opening into a tunnel carved by time. The walls were slick with moisture, etched with faint, spiraling runes that pulsed dimly in the sword’s light—remnants of the maze’s creator, Daedalus, or whatever twisted power still sustained it. Percy’s boots splashed through shallow puddles, the sound echoing unnaturally in the oppressive silence. His breath came in short, controlled bursts, every sense straining for a hint of Thalia—or her captors.

The trail veered sharply to the right, and he followed, ducking beneath a low-hanging slab of rock. The tunnel stretched on, its twists and turns disorienting even to someone who’d navigated its depths before. But just because he had been down here before didn’t mean squat. The only way to truly navigate the maze was using a clear-sighted mortal or Ariadne’s string, both of which he didn’t have. His jaw clenched as he forced down the panic and memories. Now was not the time to relive such things. Thalia was down here, and he was not about to let this place swallow her like it had so many others.

The air grew even colder as he pressed on into the claustrophobic darkness. Walking a few more feet with only his sword’s light to guide him, his eyes caught on to something ahead—a glint of silver among the stone. He knelt, heart lurching as he picked up a single arrowhead, its shaft snapped clean off. Thalia’s work, no doubt. She’d fought back, even as they dragged her deeper. The thought fueled him, stoking the fire in his chest as he pocketed the arrowhead next to her circlet and pressed on.

The tunnel split suddenly, forking into three paths. The drag marks faded here, smeared into chaos by multiple sets of heavy footprints—Orcs, at least a dozen by the look of it. Percy cursed under his breath, scanning each passage. The left was narrow, barely a crack, with a faint breeze carrying the stench of sulfur. The middle sloped downward, its walls slick with condensation and marked by deep gouges—claw marks, fresh and deliberate. The right curved out of sight, the ground littered with broken stone and a faint smear of blood that glistened wetly in the dim light.

He hesitated, gripping his weapon tighter. The blood could be hers—or an Orc’s she’d managed to wound. The claw marks suggested a struggle, but the blood looked somewhat fresh. His gut screamed at him to choose, to move, but the Labyrinth thrived on indecision. Pick wrong, and he’d lose her trail entirely—or worse, stumble into a trap.

A distant sound broke his paralysis—a low snarl, faint but unmistakable, echoing from the middle path. It was followed by a sharp clatter, like metal striking stone. Thalia. She was still fighting. Percy didn’t think twice, plunging down the sloping middle tunnel, his boots slipping slightly on the wet rock as he descended.

The passage twisted violently, narrowing until he had to turn sideways to squeeze through, Riptide’s light bouncing off the walls in frantic bursts. The snarls grew louder, joined by the harsh rasp of Orcish voices—grunts and guttural commands in a tongue he didn’t need to understand to know meant trouble. He slowed, crouching low as the tunnel opened into a wider chamber, its ceiling lost in shadow. As he scanned the darkness, hoping to find the origin of the sounds of battle, his heart sank once he realized what had happened. 

It was all a trick. The chamber was empty of any real fight—no Thalia, no clash of steel, no defiant shouts. Just darkness and stone.

“Damn it,” he muttered, the words echoing against the walls. The Labyrinth was playing him, weaving illusions from the threads of his desperation. He should’ve known better. He’d seen it before, how this place could twist your senses, make you chase ghosts until you were too lost to turn back. He took a slow step back, forcing his breathing to steady, but found his back pushing up against a wall that hadn’t been there moments before. Once again, he cursed his stupidity. The maze was ever-shifting, like a sentient being, laughing at him in its silent, suffocating way.

He gritted his teeth, fighting the surge of claustrophobia that clawed at his chest. Pushing himself off the wall and beginning to trek into the darkness that he didn’t know where it led, he tried not to think of himself as a rat locked in a cage. 

“Fine,” he growled, gripping Riptide until his knuckles bled white. “You want to play games? Let’s play.”

He moved forward, senses straining, refusing to let the Labyrinth’s tricks unravel him again. He traversed the uneven floor until the chamber spat him into another tunnel, its ceiling dipping low enough that he had to duck to avoid cracking his skull. There were no more drag marks for him to follow nor sounds of battle. Just the howling tunnel wind that softly caressed his hair. He felt Thalia’s circlet in his pocket, growing heavier by the second. He tried not to think what those monsters might be doing to her. Every second he spent walking in this darkness was a second that she could be getting hurt. She was here, somewhere. He’d find her, even if he had to tear this cursed place apart stone by stone.

The tunnel stretched on, a relentless labyrinthine sprawl that seemed to mock Percy’s every step. The air grew heavier, thick with the dampness of ancient stone and moss. His boots crunched over scattered bones—some human, some monstrous—remnants of those who’d wandered too far into the maze and never found their way out. Each sound reverberated, a hollow reminder of how alone he was down here. Or how alone he thought he was.

He pressed forward, his free hand brushing Thalia’s circlet in his pocket, keeping his emotions in check against the rising tide of frustration. The Labyrinth thrived on confusion, on doubt—it fed off the fear of the lost. He wouldn’t give it the satisfaction. His jaw tightened as he scanned the tunnel ahead, searching for any sign: a scuff in the dirt, a drop of blood, anything to prove he wasn’t chasing shadows.

The passage split again—two paths this time, both shrouded in gloom. The left slanted upward, its walls unmarred, as if rarely traveled. The right dipped downward, the floor slick with moisture and littered with faint scratches—claw marks, too deliberate to be natural. He ran his hands over the indents in the wall. Something had passed through here recently. His gut tugged him toward the right, a faint instinct he couldn’t explain but had learned to trust over years of dodging death. He supposed this time, he was walking toward it. 

He decided to go down it, descending deeper into the maze’s depths. The air grew even colder, the dampness seeping into his bones, but he pressed on, Riptide’s faint glow casting long shadows that danced across the walls. The scratches grew more frequent, etched into the rock like a frantic message he couldn’t decipher. His fingers brushed over them again, feeling the rough edges—too precise for an animal, too erratic for a tool. Whatever had made them was desperate, or angry, or both.

The tunnel narrowed, forcing him to hunch as he moved, the ceiling brushing against his hair. The rifle on his back clinked softly against the stone, a reminder of its uselessness in these tight quarters. He considered ditching it, but the weight was a strange comfort—a tether to the world above, where sunlight and fresh air still existed. His breath misted in the chill, and he fought the urge to call out for Thalia. If she was close, he didn’t want to alert whatever else might be lurking.

The path twisted sharply, and the scratches abruptly stopped, replaced by a faint smear of black ichor glistening on the wall. Percy froze, his heart thudding against his ribs. Orc blood. He crouched, examining the stain—still wet, streaked as if something had brushed against it in passing. The trail led around the bend, and he followed, moving slower now, every sense on edge.

The tunnel opened into a small, circular chamber, its walls rough and pocked with shallow alcoves. The air here was stagnant, heavy with the stench of sulfur and decay. In the center, he could faintly make out a figure hunched over something, wet gurgles and snarls seeping from its mouth. His grip on Riptide tightened as he crept closer, the glow illuminating the chamber just enough to reveal the hulking silhouette. The figure was massive, its broad shoulders hunched as it tore into something with wet, ripping sounds that echoed off the stone walls. Black ichor dripped from its hands, pooling on the ground in slick, glistening patches. The stench hit him harder now—sulfur, rot, and the coppery tang of fresh blood. His stomach churned, but he swallowed it down, edging along the wall to get a better view.

The creature straightened slightly, its head turning just enough to catch the son of Poseidon in the shadows. Percy’s breath caught in his throat as he watched whatever this thing was stand up to a towering height of ten feet, its head barely scraping the ceiling.

The figure loomed larger as it rose, its silhouette filling the chamber with an oppressive presence. The orange glow danced across its form, revealing a grotesque hybrid of muscle and menace. Its skin was a patchwork of greenish-gray and pallid flesh, stretched taut over a frame that blended the raw power of an Orc with the leaner lines of a human. Scars crisscrossed its body, some fresh and oozing black ichor, others old and puckered like battle trophies. One eye glinted a sickly yellow, the other clouded white, sunken into a face that bore jagged scars and a flattened nose. Tusks jutted from its lower jaw—shorter than a full Orc’s but sharp enough to rend flesh—and its hands ended in claws that glistened with the blood of its meal. The Orc corpse at its feet was a mangled ruin, its chest torn open and ribs splayed like broken fingers reaching for the ceiling.

Percy’s heart thudded as recognition slammed into him. It had been years since he’d last seen him but despite whatever had happened to him, he still could recognize that face. He remembered that blind eye and the nose that he had personally broken during the Titan War.

Ethan Nakamura.

But not the Ethan he’d known—the bitter, one-eyed demigod who’d died fighting for revenge on Olympus. This was something else, something that couldn’t be explained. Never, in all his years, had he seen such a thing. Why was Ethan here? Hadn’t he died? And why was he like this? Why did he look like an Orc? So many questions raked his brain to which he had the answers to none. The only thing he did know was that the Father must’ve played a part in this. There was no other explanation. 

Ethan’s head snapped fully toward him, the yellow eye narrowing as it caught the glimmer of the bronze sword. A low growl rumbled from his throat, guttural and wet, like something drowning in its own rage. The chamber seemed to shrink under his presence, the air thickening with the promise of violence. Percy tightened his grip on his sword, shifting his stance as he braced for what was coming. He didn’t know if Ethan still had a shred of humanity left—or if he even recognized him—but he wasn’t about to take chances.

“Ethan,” he said calmly, raising a hand in a calming gesture. “It’s me. Percy.”

The creature tilted its head, a flicker of something—confusion, recognition?—crossing its scarred face. For a heartbeat, he thought he saw the old Ethan in there, the sharp-witted demigod who’d helped Olympus in the end. But then the moment shattered. Ethan’s lips peeled back in a snarl, revealing jagged teeth stained with blood and flesh, and he lunged.

The son of Poseidon dove to the side, the claws missing him by inches as they gouged deep furrows into the stone wall. The impact sent a shudder through the chamber, dust and stone raining from the ceiling. He rolled to his feet, Riptide slashing upward in a tight arc. The blade caught Ethan’s arm, slicing through the tough hide and drawing a spray of black blood. The hybrid human roared, more in fury than pain, and swung a backhand that forced Percy to duck or lose his head.

“Damn it, Ethan, snap out of it! I know we weren’t the best of friends, but it doesn’t have to be like this! Let me help you!” He shouted, circling to keep the creature in front of him. The chamber was too small for a drawn-out fight—every move had to count. He feinted left, then drove his sword toward its chest, aiming for a quick end. But the former demigod was fast, faster than any Orc he’d faced, and twisted away, the blade grazing his ribs instead of piercing his heart.

The hybrid beast retaliated with a brutal kick, catching Percy in the stomach and sending him crashing into the wall. The air rushed out of him, pain exploding across his ribs as the rifle dug into his back. He gasped, barely raising his weapon in time to block a claw aimed at his throat. The force of the blow reverberated down his arm, and he gritted his teeth, shoving back with all his strength.

For a moment, they were locked there—sword against claw, sea-green eyes meeting that sickly yellow white glare. Up close, he could see the torment etched into his warped features, the humanity buried beneath layers of corruption. Whatever the Father had done, it hadn’t just twisted his body—it had broken something deeper.

“K… Ki—Kill… m-me.” The words rasped from Ethan’s throat, taking all his strength to even utter them. His yellow eye flickered, a storm of anguish and desperation swirling within. The claw pressing against Riptide trembled—not from weakness, but from sadness. The former demigod was doing all he could to hold back, to let Percy kill him before it was too late. 

The son of Poseidon seized the chance and, without hesitation, angled his sword upward, driving it with all his strength through Ethan’s skull. The blade punched through the underside of his jaw, the celestial bronze tearing through sinew and bone with a sickening crunch. His head snapped back as Riptide erupted from the top of his cranium, splitting his skull in a jagged, gory fissure. Black ichor sprayed in a violent arc, splattering across Percy’s face and chest, the stench of sulfur and decay choking his senses.

Ethan’s body convulsed, his claws twitching as if grasping for something he could no longer reach. The yellow eye rolled back, a horrific, wet gurgle escaping his ruined throat as the light in it guttered out. Percy yanked his weapon free with a savage twist, the blade scraping against shattered bone as it exited, dragging strings of dark, viscous matter with it. The hybrid’s head lolled forward, nearly cleaved in two, the split exposing a glistening mess of brain and ichor that oozed down his chest in thick, tar-like rivulets. His towering frame crumpled, hitting the ground with a heavy thud that shook the chamber, the mangled remains of his skull smearing a dark stain across the stone.

Percy slumped against the wall, chest heaving. His hands trembled as he wiped the ichor from his face, the sticky warmth of it clinging to his skin. He’d wanted to save Ethan, to pull him back from whatever abyss had claimed him, but that plea— “Kill me” —had been the last shred of the demigod he’d known, begging for release. The Father’s corruption had left nothing else behind to save.

The chamber fell silent, save for the drip of ichor falling off his skin. His gaze lingered on the broken body, the reality of the Labyrinth sinking in deeper. This place didn’t just kill—it twisted, it consumed, it turned friends into monsters. He clenched his jaw, forcing his focus back to Thalia. He wouldn’t let this hellhole claim her, too.

He straightened, shaking off the lingering shock as he wiped his sword clean on his sleeve. The black ichor smeared across the fabric, a grim reminder of what he’d just done—what he’d had to do. Ethan’s lifeless form sprawled at his feet, a grotesque monument to the Father’s cruelty, but there was no time to question. Thalia was still out there, and every second he lingered was a second she slipped further from his reach.

He scanned the chamber, finding that most of the alcoves along the walls were empty, save for dust and the occasional glint of bone, but the far end of the room revealed an archway—a continuation of the tunnel, its edges rough and uneven as if clawed out by desperate hands. Taking a breath, he stepped over the corpse and pressed foward into the darkness. The air grew colder still, biting at his skin, and the distant howl of the tunnel wind returned, a low moan that seemed to whisper his name.

He walked down the tunnel for what felt like hours, though time twisted in this place, stretching and folding in ways that defied reason. His legs ached, his boots scuffing against the uneven floor, but he refused to slow. The walls pressed closer with every step, the ceiling dipping low enough that he had to duck again, his shoulders brushing against the slick stone. He hated how narrow these tunnels were. It hadn’t been like this the last time he was down here. Perhaps the maze knew of his claustrophobia and was playing to it. Shaking his head and pushing down the panic rising in his throat, he pushed further. 

The tunnel suddenly curved sharply, opening wider and revealing a faint glow through the gloom ahead—not the shimmer of Riptide, but a warm, flickering orange. Torches. Percy’s eyes widened as he capped Riptide and pushed himself into an indention in the wall, letting the darkness envelope him. The air carried new sounds now: the shuffle of heavy feet and the clink of metal armor. The damp stone chilled his back as he held his breath, hearing whatever was at the end of the tunnel approaching closer. The flickering orange light grew brighter, casting shadows of burly figures that danced along the tunnel walls. 

His fingers hovered over his pen, itching to uncap it at the slightest provocation. The first Orc lumbered into view, its frame filling the tunnel. It was shorter than Ethan’s monstrous form, maybe seven feet, but no less menacing. Its skin was a gray, pocked with scars and patched with crude armor—plates of rusted metal strapped over its chest and shoulders. A jagged sword hung loosely in one hand, the blade chipped and stained with dried blood. Its piggish eyes glinted in the torchlight, scanning the tunnel ahead as it snorted, a plume of foul breath misting in the cold air.

Behind it came another, then a third, each one uglier than the last. The second carried a torch, its flame spitting and crackling as it illuminated the group. The third dragged a heavy chain, the links clanking against the stone floor. Percy’s gut twisted as he peered through the shadows—no sign of Thalia, sadly. These guys must be a scouting party or something. 

He counted five in total as they passed his hiding spot, their stench—a mix of sweat and rot—washing over him. The last one lagged slightly, looking slightly drunk as it lolled its head side to side. He pressed himself tighter into the crevice, the rough stone biting into his back as he held his breath, hoping that the monster wouldn’t hear it. The creature’s armor clinked faintly with each clumsy step, dented metal and leather that barely clung to its frame. Its head swayed, tusks gleaming wetly in the dim light, and a low grunt escaped its throat—a sound halfway between a belch and a snarl.

Then it stopped.

Right in front of him.

Percy internally cursed as he watched the monster approach, its piggish eyes squinting into the darkness where he hid. It snorted, a thick glob of spittle dripping from its maw to splatter on the stone floor. The creature fumbled with its free hand, tugging at the crude belt around its waist, and he realized with a mix of disgust and dread what it was about to do. A rasping chuckle gurgled from its throat as it angled itself toward the wall—toward him. He was not about to let that happen.

With a silent surge, he lunged from the shadows, one hand clamping over the Orc’s slobbering mouth while the other drove Riptide—uncapped in a flash—into its side. The blade sank deep, celestial bronze slicing through flesh and scraping against bone. The creatures muffled roar vibrated against his palm, its body jerking as he dragged it backward into the darkness of the crevice. The torch clattered to the ground, its flame guttering before dying off. 

He stabbed again, twisting the blade up under the ribcage, aiming for the heart. Black ichor sprayed, hot and sticky, coating his arm as the Orc thrashed, its claws scrabbling uselessly against the stone. A third thrust, then a fourth—each one faster, more desperate, until the creature’s struggles weakened, its massive frame sagging against him. The weight nearly pinned him to the wall, but he shoved it off with a grunt, letting it slump to the floor in a heap of twitching limbs and pooling blood. 

The tunnel plunged back into near-darkness, the only light now the faint glow of Riptide in Percy’s blood-slicked hand. His chest heaved as he stood over the Orc’s corpse, ears straining for any sign that the others had heard the scuffle. The distant clatter of armor and voices continued unchanged, fading as the scouting party moved further down the tunnel. He’d gotten lucky—this one had been too drunk or too stupid to call out before he silenced it. He wiped his blade on the Orc’s tattered leather, the ichor leaving a dark smear that glistened faintly. 

His stomach churned at the stench—rotting meat and stale sweat—but he forced it down, focusing on the task ahead. Thalia was still out there, and these bastards were his best lead. He dragged the body deeper into the crevice, wedging it behind a jutting rock where it wouldn’t be easily spotted before slipping back into the tunnel.

The air grew thicker as he followed the path the four monsters had taken, the walls widening slightly to reveal more signs of passage: scuffed dirt, a broken axe head discarded in a puddle, and faint smears of black blood on the stone. His boots moved silently now, each step deliberate as he tracked the flickering torchlight ahead. The tunnel sloped downward, the air growing colder and damper with every yard, until the distant growl of voices sharpened into something he could almost understand—harsh, barking commands in that guttural Orcish tongue.

He stopped just before the passage rounded a corner. Kneeling low, he craned his head outward slightly and noticed the four Orcs entering through what seemed to be an old, wooden door. The hinges groaned under their weight, a low creak that echoed faintly down the tunnel before the door thudded shut behind them. The flickering torchlight vanished with it, leaving him with the suffocating darkness once more. He waited, counting his breaths, letting the silence settle to ensure no stragglers lingered behind.

Satisfied he was alone, he crept forward, keeping low as he approached the door. It was ancient, the wood warped and splintered, its surface scarred with deep gouges and stained with dark smears. A rusted iron ring served as a handle, and faint runes—similar to those he’d seen earlier—were etched along the frame, their edges worn smooth by time. He brushed his fingers over them, feeling a faint hum of power, a whisper of magic that made his skin prickle. Whatever lay beyond this door, it wasn’t just another tunnel.

He gripped the iron ring, the metal cold and slick under his palm, and pulled. The door resisted at first, its swollen wood scraping against the stone floor, but it gave with a reluctant shudder, opening just wide enough for him to slip through. He stepped into the space beyond, his sword capped but ready.

The chamber was vast—far larger than anything he’d encountered so far in the maze. The ceiling arched high above, lost in shadow, supported by thick, white marble columns. Torches lined the walls, their flames spitting and dancing in an unseen draft, casting shadows that writhed across the floor. The marble floor was uneven, littered with broken weapons, shattered bones, and patches of dark, congealed ichor—a battlefield long abandoned, or perhaps a slaughterhouse.

Ahead, the four Orcs trudged across the chamber, their torchlight bobbing as they moved toward a massive archway on the far side. Beyond it, Percy glimpsed a faint reddish glow, pulsing like a heartbeat, and the distant rumble of something alive—growls, shouts, the clatter of metal. That had to be where they were keeping her. Thalia was close—he could feel it, a pull he couldn’t explain but refused to ignore. 

He pressed himself against one of the marble columns, watching the monsters disappear through the archway. Their heavy footsteps faded into the distant clamor, leaving the chamber eerily still. He scanned the space, taking in the details: the cracked columns, some toppled and strewn across the floor like fallen giants; the faint carvings of battles and monsters etched into the stone, worn by time but still legible; the air thick with the scent of mildew and blood. This wasn’t just a random cavern—it felt like a temple, or a tomb, repurposed by the filth that now infested it.

He slipped from the column’s shadow, moving low and fast toward the nearest wall. The marble was cool against his back as he edged along it, keeping the archway in his peripheral vision. The reddish glow pulsed stronger now, casting an unnatural hue across the chamber’s far end. 

As he neared the archway, the sounds sharpened—snarls, the clang of metal, and a low, rhythmic chanting that vibrated through the stone. He crouched behind a toppled column, peering around its edge. The archway opened into a cavernous hall, its walls rougher than the chamber behind him, carved from raw earth and streaked with veins of dark tendrils. Torches lined the space, but their light was dwarfed by a massive pit at the center, glowing with that same crimson radiance. Thick chains dangled over its edge, swaying slightly, as if something had just been lowered—or raised—from its depths.

Around the pit stood a dozen Orcs, their hulking forms clad in mismatched armor, wielding crude weapons that glinted dully in the firelight. But they weren’t alone. Among them moved a figure Percy hadn’t expected—a person that brought back memories he never wanted to relive.

Koios 

He stood tall and imposing, his Stygian iron armor gleaming with an otherworldly sheen in the crimson glow of the pit. The bear-shaped helmet rested under his arm, revealing a face etched with cold calculation—sharp features framed by blue-white hair, eyes glinting like shards of ice. The diamond on his breastplate pulsed faintly, a heartbeat of power that seemed to sync with the eerie light emanating from below. His presence dominated the chamber, the Orcs shifting uneasily under his gaze as he barked orders in a language that sounded like a twisted blend of ancient Greek and their native tongue.

Percy’s blood ran cold. Koios—the Titan of intellect and foresight, one of the old powers of the Golden Age. He’d faced him before, briefly, in that hellish pit where gods and monsters alike had nearly broken him. Back then, the Titan had been a shadow of his former self, weakened by eons of imprisonment. Now, though, he radiated strength, his every movement deliberate, purposeful. How was he here? Why? What was one of the great Titan brothers down in the labyrinth, ordering around Orcs no less?

He supposed the numerous cages dangling from the ceiling answered those questions. He looked up, noticing that each and every one of them was filled. Some humans, some Orcs, and some just mangled heaps of bones and flesh. He tightened his grip on the capped Riptide, his mind racing. Koios was experimenting. That was the only explanation. It made sense. He is the Titan of Intellect and Knowledge, after all. 

Percy’s eyes darted from the cages to the pit, the pieces clicking into place with a sickening clarity. The Father must have enlisted Koios for this twisted purpose. The Titan’s intellect wasn’t just a weapon; it was a tool, reshaping flesh and bone into abominations like Ethan. The cages weren’t just prisons, and the pit wasn’t just a dug-out glowing hole. They were test chambers, holding the raw material for whatever nightmare was being crafted down here.

The Orcs milled around the pit, some hauling chains, others dragging crude carts piled with weapons and what looked like chunks of meat—fresh, glistening, and disturbingly humanoid in shape. Koios stood at the edge of the pit, his icy eyes fixed on the crimson glow as if peering into its depths could unravel some cosmic secret.

“Bring her up!” He ordered, raising a hand. 

Percy’s heart raced when he mentioned a her. Did he mean Thalia? Was he too late and the Titan had already begun to experiment on her? The chains rattled, a harsh metallic clanging that reverberated through the cavernous hall. The crimson glow from the pit intensified, pulsing faster. His breath caught in in throat, his fingers tightening around Riptide as he leaned forward, every nerve alight with anticipation. If it was Thalia—if they’d hurt her—he’d tear this place apart, Titan or not.

The chains groaned, and a figure began to rise from the pit, suspended in a rusted iron cage that swayed precariously. The glow illuminated her form in flickers, and Percy’s stomach dropped. It wasn’t Thalia. The woman–what was left of her–was smaller, her skin melted to the bone and strips of blonde hair clinging to her oozing scalp. Her mouth was open in a silent scream, black tendrils seeping out of the corner of her lips like snakes. 

Koios stepped closer to the pit’s edge, his expression unreadable but his eyes glinting with a cold, analytical hunger. “Another failure,” he muttered. He waved a hand dismissively, and the Orcs halted, the cage dangling midair. “The essence isn’t binding. The vessel’s too frail—too human .” His lip curled in disdain as he turned away, pacing toward a slab of stone covered in tools and scrolls etched with spiraling runes.

“Dispose of it,” Koios said, not even glancing back at the swaying cage. “Bring me the next one. Something stronger. The hybrid stock this time—perhaps the half-blood will hold.”

The son of Poseidon felt his blood run cold. Half-Blood? Oh Gods, that could only mean Thalia.  If Koios was looking for something stronger to withstand whatever dark power that was in the pit, she’d be a prime candidate. He scanned the hall again, his eyes darting from the pit to the cages dangling above. Most were too shadowed to make out their occupants clearly, but the shapes inside varied—some slumped and motionless, others twitching faintly as if clinging to life. The Orcs moved with purpose now, two of them lumbering toward a row of levers along the far wall while another dragged a cart of lumped flesh toward Koios. The Titan barely acknowledged them, his attention fixed on a scroll he unfurled across the stone slab, muttering to himself. 

The monsters at the levers grunted as they worked, the chains above rattling as another cage began its descent toward the pit. Percy’s gaze flicked upward, tracking the movement. The cages were suspended by a network of thick ropes and pulleys, their paths crisscrossing the ceiling like a spider’s web. The cage creaked as it lowered, the chains grinding against the pulleys with a sound that set Percy’s nerves on edge. His eyes strained in the dim light, trying to make out the figure inside as it descended toward the pit’s crimson maw. The glow pulsed hungrily, tendrils of red light licking upward as if eager to claim its next victim. His heart hammered against his ribs—every instinct screamed that this could be her, that Thalia could be the “hybrid stock” the Titan demanded.

The cage came into view, swaying slightly as it hovered above the pit. The figure inside was slumped against the bars, head bowed, dark hair matted with grime and blood. His breath stopped—it was too familiar, too close to the shape of her, the way she carried herself even in defeat. He edged closer, risking exposure as he leaned out from behind the column, Riptide’s capped form trembling in his grip.

Then the figure shifted, and the torchlight caught her face. Thalia. She was beaten, bloody, and stripped bare, her skin marred with bruises and shallow cuts that glistened wetly in the flickering glow. Her hands gripped the bars, knuckles white despite the exhaustion that weighed her down. Her stormy blue eyes glared defiantly at the Titan below, even as her chest heaved with ragged breaths. She was alive—barely—but alive.

Koios turned from his scrolls, his icy gaze locking onto her as the cage settled just above the pit. A faint smirk curled his lips, a predator sizing up its prey. He stepped forward, his armored boots clanking against the floor, and reached out with a gauntleted hand. His fingers brushed against her neck before lowering to her breast. Thalia flinched but couldn’t move away due to how cramped the cage was.

“A pity I can’t keep you for myself. You’d make a fine prize.” The Titan murmured, his hand lingering on her skin as if testing its resilience, before he withdrew with a reluctant sigh. “But the Father’s will demands more than mere trophies. Your strength will serve a greater purpose.”

Percy’s vision tunneled, rage boiling up from his core like a tidal wave. His fingers fumbled with Riptide’s cap, nearly dropping it in his haste to uncap the blade. The soft shriek of celestial bronze extending was drowned out by the Orcs’ grunting and the pit’s ominous hum, but it steadied him, turning his fury into something sharp and lethal. He couldn’t wait any longer—not with Koios touching her, not with that pit ready to swallow her whole.

“Koios!” He shouted, appearing out from the shadows, sword in hand and eyes blazing with rage. 

The Titan’s head snapped toward the commotion, his eyes narrowing as recognition flickered across his sharp features. The Orcs froze, their chatter falling silent as they turned to face the intruder, weapons clattering into ready grips. Thalia’s gaze shot up from the cage, her bruised face lighting with a mix of shock and fierce hope. “Percy!” she weakly rasped.

Koios tilted his head, rage consuming his features as he stepped away from the pit, his armor glinting in the crimson glow. “The sea spawn!” he spat, his voice cutting through the chamber like a blade. 

Percy didn’t waste breath on a reply. His boots pounded against the marble as he charged, Riptide flashing in a deadly arc toward the nearest Orc. The beast roared, swinging its jagged sword to meet him, but he ducked under the blow, driving his blade up through its gut. Black ichor sprayed as he twisted and yanked Riptide free, the Orc collapsing with a wet gurgle. The others surged forward, a wall of muscle and steel, their snarls echoing off the cavern walls.

He didn’t hesitate. The air thickened with the scent of blood and sulfur as he moved, every strike fueled by the sight of Thalia caged and Koios’s smug face. One Orc lunged with a spiked club, but Percy sidestepped, slashing its throat in a spray of dark fluid. Another came from his left, axe raised—too slow. He spun, driving Riptide through its chest, the celestial bronze sizzling as it tore through armor and flesh.

The remaining Orcs—seven now—fanned out, their piggish eyes glinting with rage. Koios watched from the pit’s edge, his expression eager. “Leave him alive!” he ordered fiercely. “I want to repay him for causing me to remain stuck in Tartarus during Mother’s war!” 

The monsters charged as one, a thunderous stampede of claws and steel. Percy’s heart pounded, but his mind sharpened, the chaos narrowing to a single point of focus. He needed to end this fast before the Titan decided to just drop Thalia in the pit. He needed more. He needed her out of that cage. And he needed them dead.

His gaze flicked to her, hands still gripping the bars, her eyes locked on him with a fire that refused to die. Then to the Orcs, their blood-streaked forms closing in, ichor dripping from their wounds and weapons. Ichor. He could feel it—the pull of it, the dark current that hummed in his veins. He felt a detached, sinister smirk curl on his features. He let his thoughts, his emotions, take a back seat and let the monster inside him show itself. Outstretching a hand, he seized the ichor coursing through the Orcs’ bodies, his will latching onto it like a vice. The sensation was sickening—hot, thick, alive—but he didn’t flinch. He pulled.

The Orcs froze mid-charge, their roars choking off into strangled gasps. Their bodies jerked, heads snapping back as Percy twisted his fingers, bending their blood to his command. Veins and black tendrils bulged beneath their gray skin, black ichor seeping from their eyes and mouths as he tightened his grip. With a sharp, merciless yell, he clenched his fists—and their necks snapped in unison, a chorus of wet cracks that reverberated through the hall. Seven hulking forms crumpled to the ground, lifeless, their twisted limbs splayed across the marble like broken toys.

Silence fell, heavy and absolute, broken only by the faint drip of ichor pooling beneath the corpses. Percy’s chest heaved, his hands trembling as he unclenched them, the dark power receding like a tide. He hated it—hated how easy it had become, how it lingered in him like a stain. Every time he used it, Annabeth’s taunting words rang in his ears— “I’ll make you become that monster!”

Koios’s smirk faltered, his eyes narrowing as he reassessed the demigod before him. “Bloodbending,” he murmured, a note of fear in his tone. “A rare gift, one I thought only Oceanus possessed. The Father will be… intrigued.”

The son of Poseidon looked up, noticing that the Titan now held Thalia in his arms, his bulging hands gripping her in places that sent Percy’s rage flaring even brighter. 

“Let. Her. Go.” he growled, Riptide practically shaking against his grip. 

Koios’s icy eyes glinted with amusement, his hand running over her breast mockingly as she struggled weakly against him. Her bare skin pressed against the cold metal of his Stygian iron armor, her defiance flickering but unbroken despite the exhaustion etched into her features. The Titan tilted his head, his lips curling into a sneer as he regarded the demigod before him with the disdain of a god sizing up a pest.

“Let her go?” he echoed, his words dripping with mockery. “And spoil the experiment? This one’s spirit is… exquisite. A perfect vessel for the Father’s design. You, sea spawn, should be honored to witness her ascension.”

Percy’s vision blurred with red, his pulse pounding in his ears like a war drum. The sight of her—bruised, bloodied, and trapped in the Titan’s grasp—ignited something primal in him, a fury that drowned out reason. He took a step forward, his sword's celestial bronze edge humming with barely contained energy.

“I’ll fucking kill you.” He promised with no emotion. It was as if his consciousness had taken a back seat, replaced by a fury and rage not even Ares could replicate. 

Koios laughed, a cold, hollow sound that echoed through the cavernous hall. “Bold words from a boy who stinks of desperation. You think you can challenge me? I’ve foreseen a thousand paths, and none end with your victory.” He shifted the demigoddess in his arms, one gauntleted hand sliding to her throat, his fingers brushing her pulse as if savoring it.

Percy couldn’t help the growl that escaped from his throat. He knew that the Titan wasn’t just feeling her up. He was showing that he could snap her neck with a mere squeeze. That was all it would take if he took another step forward. He froze, every muscle in his body screaming to lunge, to tear Koios apart with his bare hands, but his mind—sharpened by years of battle—held him back. One wrong move, and her life would end in an instant. The Titan’s grip on her throat was a deliberate taunt, a calculated reminder of his control. Koios knew Percy’s rage, knew it would push him to the edge, and he was betting on that fury to cloud his judgment. 

The air in the hall thickened, the crimson glow from the pit pulsing faster, as if feeding off the tension from the standoff. Thalia’s eyes met his, fierce and unyielding despite death clawing at her. She didn’t speak—couldn’t, with Koios’s fingers pressing against her windpipe—but her gaze screamed at him: Don’t you dare back down! Her defiance fueled him, stoking the fire in his chest even as his hands shook with the effort of holding back.

Koios tilted his head, his stare boring into him. “You’re predictable, sea spawn. Rage blinds you, makes you sloppy. I’ve seen it in every thread of your fate—charging in, swinging that little sword, only to fall at my feet. You’re no match for intellect honed over millennia.”

“Then why are you still talking?” Percy shot back, his voice shaking from sheer rage. He shifted his weight, subtly angling himself closer. He would only get one chance at this. If it didn’t work, then both of them would die to this monster of a Titan. “If you’ve got me figured out, stop monologuing and do it.”

The Titan’s smirk tightened, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. He didn’t like being baited—good. He needed him off-balance, even if just for a second. 

Koios’s grip on Thalia tightened, eliciting a choked gasp from her as he lifted her slightly, her bare feet dangling above the ground. “Insolence,” he hissed. “I’ll enjoy breaking you—after I finish with her.” He turned his head toward the pit, raising his free hand as if to signal the Orcs that no longer stood. The realization hit him a beat too late—his minions were dead, sprawled across the floor in pools of their own ichor. For the first time, a shadow of uncertainty flickered in his eyes.

Percy seized the moment. With Koios momentarily distracted, the green-eyed demigod reached out, feeling for that same pull of ichor flowing within. The air crackled with tension as he stretched out his senses, searching for the dark thread of power that had felled the Orcs moments before. His mind brushed against it— immortal ichor, a deep, ancient current thrumming with the weight of a Titan’s essence. It was different from the Orcs’, heavier, wilder, like trying to grasp a storm in his hands. His fingers twitched, and he latched onto it, his will clashing with the Titan’s immense vitality.

For a fleeting second, he had it. The ichor surged under his command, a molten flood that burned through his senses. Koios’s body stiffened, his head jerking back as his essence rebelled against him. His grip on Thalia faltered, his gauntleted hand spasming open, and she dropped from his arms, tumbling to the cold marble floor with a pained grunt. Percy’s heart leapt—she was free, if only for a moment—but the victory was short-lived.

The power slipped. Koios’s ichor roared back, too vast, too primal for Percy to hold. It was like trying to dam a river with his bare hands—the sheer force of it buckled his control, sending a jolt of searing pain through his skull. He staggered, clutching his head as the Titan’s essence ripped free, leaving him gasping. Blood trickled from his nose, warm and coppery.

Koios recovered instantly, his blue eyes blazing with fury as he whirled to face the demigod. “You dare?!” he roared, though his voice was twinged with worry. For once, he could see fear etched on the Titan’s features, realizing that even though he was immortal, that wasn’t enough to escape a demigod’s rage. 

Percy didn’t hesitate to surge forward and attack. Despite the ache in his stomach and the pounding headache, he raised his sword and lunged with all the strength he could muster. Riptide slashed through the air, aimed for the chest. Koios reacted with inhuman speed, sidestepping the blow and swinging his armored fist in a brutal counterstrike. Percy ducked just in time, the gauntlet grazing his hair as he rolled to the side, coming up in a knee near Thalia’s crumpled form.

“Move!” he barked, his voice raw with urgency. She stirred, her hands scrabbling against the marble as she dragged herself toward the nearest column.

Koios’s eyes flicked toward her, a snarl twisting his lips, but Percy didn’t give him the chance to pursue. He sprang forward again, feinting high with Riptide before dropping low, aiming a vicious slash at the Titan’s legs.

The blade bit into Koios’s thigh, celestial bronze sizzling as it carved through the Stygian iron greaves. A spray of golden ichor erupted from the wound, splattering the floor in shimmering droplets. The Titan hissed, staggering back a step, but his retaliation was swift. He slammed his foot down, the impact cracking the marble and sending a shockwave that knocked Percy off balance. The demigod stumbled, catching himself on one knee as Koios advanced, his massive hand reaching for him.

“You’ll pay for that, sea spawn,” Koios growled, a low rumble of menace. His fingers closed around Percy’s arm, the grip like a vice, and he yanked him upward, dangling him off the ground. Pain lanced through his shoulder, but he twisted against the death grip, swinging Riptide with his free hand. The blade caught him across the forearm, drawing another spurt of ichor and forcing the Titan to release him with a roar.

The son of Poseidon hit the ground hard, rolling to absorb the impact, and scrambled back to his feet. His arm throbbed, but he ignored it. The Titan was wounded now—golden ichor oozed from his thigh and arm, pooling beneath him—but he was far from beaten. His eyes burned with a mix of rage and calculation, his mind already spinning new strategies.

“You’re slowing down, you old bastard,” Percy taunted, circling to keep the Titan’s attention on him. “Guess a few millennia in Tartarus didn’t do you any favors.”

"You know,” Koios sneered, cracking his neck as he whipped out a sword that seemingly appeared out of thin air. “I’ve changed my mind. You clearly care for that daughter of Zeus. I think I’ll keep her for myself. She’s a warm fuckable cut of meat.”

Percy’s vision went white-hot, the Titan’s words igniting a fury so raw it felt like his bones would crack under the strain. His grip on Riptide tightened until his knuckles ached, the celestial bronze humming as if it could feel the storm raging inside him. Koios’s sneer, the casual cruelty in his tone, the way he reduced her to nothing—it was a match tossed into the powder keg of his restraint. He didn’t care about the odds, the Titan’s overwhelming power, or the throbbing pain in his arm. All he saw was Thalia, battered and broken, and the monster who dared to touch her.

“You’re dead,” he spat, low and venomous, a promise carved from the depths of his soul. He didn’t wait for Koios to make the next move. He charged, Riptide slashing in a brutal arc aimed for the Titan’s chest.

Koios met the attack with his own blade—a wicked sword forged of Stygian iron that gleamed with a cold, unnatural sheen. The weapons clashed, bronze against iron, the impact sending a shower of sparks cascading to the cracked marble floor. The force reverberated up Percy’s arm, jarring his already bruised shoulder. Their weapons locked against each other, their face mere inches apart. 

“Temper, temper,” the Titan mocked with cruel amusement. “You’re so easy to break. Just like your Father. A few words, and you’re a rabid dog.”

He pushed back against the locked blades, muscles straining as he refused to let the Titan overpower him. The air crackled with tension, the crimson glow from the pit casting their shadows in jagged, monstrous shapes across the cavern walls.

“You talk too much,” Percy snarled, twisting Riptide downward with a sudden jerk. The blade scraped free of the Stygian iron sword, and he spun low, aiming a slash at the Titan’s wounded thigh to widen the gash. Koios anticipated the move, stepping back with a fluid grace that belied his size, but not fast enough—Riptide’s tip grazed the armor, slicing a thin line through the metal and drawing another trickle of golden ichor.

The Titan hissed, his smirk replaced by a scowl of irritation. He swung his sword in a wide, punishing arc, the blade whistling through the air with lethal intent. Percy ducked, feeling the rush of wind as it passed inches above his head, and lunged forward, driving his shoulder into the towering enemy’s midsection. The impact was like hitting a wall of steel—pain exploded across his bruised frame—but it forced the Titan back a step

Koios roared, planting his feet and seizing Percy by the neck with his free hand. His grip was crushing, fingers digging into muscle like iron claws, and he hoisted him upward again, slamming him down onto the marble floor. The air rushed out of the demigod’s lungs in a sharp wheeze, stars bursting behind his eyes as his skull cracked against the stone. Riptide clattered from his grasp, skidding across the floor just out of reach.

“Pathetic,” the Titan sneered, looming over him. His sword gleamed as he raised it high, the tip poised to plunge into Percy’s chest. “The Father will be happy to learn of one less thorne in his side.” 

Percy’s vision swam, but he caught a flicker of movement behind the Titan—Thalia, dragging herself up against the column. She’d found a jagged piece of broken marble, clutching it like a makeshift dagger despite the blood streaking her arms. Her lips moved silently, urging him to fight, to get up. That fire in her gaze ignited something in him, shoving the pain aside.

With a guttural yell, he outstretched his hand once more, reaching for the ichor pulsing through Koios’s veins. The Titan’s golden essence surged beneath his skin, a chaotic torrent of power that dwarfed anything he had ever controlled before. His mind clawed at it, his will straining against the overwhelming force of an immortal’s vitality. His fingers curled, trembling with effort, and for a fleeting moment, he seized control once more.

Koios froze, his sword halting mid-descent as his body locked in place. His eyes widened, a choke escaping his throat as Percy twisted the ichor within him. Golden tendrils bulged beneath the Titan’s pallid skin, straining against his armor as if trying to burst free. His hand spasmed, the Stygian iron blade clattering to the ground, giving the demigod a precious second to breathe.

“Thalia—now!” he roared, the words raw and ragged, every ounce of his focus poured into holding Koios in that agonizing stasis. Blood streamed heavily from his nose, his head pounding with the strain, but he didn’t let go—not yet.

She didn’t hesitate. With a feral snarl, she launched herself from the column, her battered body moving on pure adrenaline. The jagged marble shard gleamed in her hand as she closed the distance, her bare feet slapping against the cold floor. Koios’s head jerked toward her, his face contorting in fury and disbelief, but Percy tightened his grip on the ichor, forcing the Titan’s limbs to seize. Golden veins pulsed grotesquely along his neck and arms, his body trembling under the unnatural restraint.

She leapt onto his neck, driving the makeshift dagger downward with all the strength she had left. The shard plunged into the side of his neck, right where an artery should be for a human. The Titan’s roar shattered the air as Thalia twisted the marble deeper, tearing through muscle and flesh. Golden ichor erupted in a violent geyser, spraying across her face and chest, the molten liquid sizzling as it hit the marble floor. His armored frame buckled, but she wasn’t done.

With a scream, she yanked the shard free and stabbed again, this time lower, ramming it into the soft hollow at the base of his neck. The jagged edge ripped upward, shredding through flesh and cartilage, splitting his throat in a grotesque fountain of ichor. Koios’s head snapped back, his mouth gaping in a silent howl as the golden blood poured down his chest, pooling around his knees. His arms flailed, grabbing Thalia by the neck before ripping her off him, throwing her to the ground. 

The son of Poseidon’s grip on the ichor faltered as he watched her hit the marble with a sickening thud, her body skidding across the floor before coming to a stop near the pit’s edge. The Titan’s golden blood sprayed wildly, his massive frame staggering as he clutched at his ruined throat, ichor bubbling between his fingers. The sight of Thalia crumpled and motionless snapped something in Percy—his rage surged anew, drowning out the pain screaming through his skull and the exhaustion dragging at his limbs.

Reaching into his pocket, he was glad to feel Riptide had reappeared. The blade erupted from the pen with a sharp shink, driving straight into Koios’s chest as Percy surged upward from the ground. The sword plunged deep, piercing through the diamond-encrusted breastplate like it was parchment, the metal cracking and splintering under the force. Golden ichor exploded outward in a torrential spray, the molten lifeblood searing the air with a hiss as it splattered across his face and arms, burning his skin where it landed. The impact rocked Koios back, his towering form lurching as the blade sank to the hilt, grinding against bone and flesh with a wet, sickening crunch.

The Titan’s icy eyes widened in shock, his ruined throat gurgling as he tried to scream, but all that came was a choked, bubbling wheeze. His massive hands clawed at the sword embedded in his chest, fingers scrabbling uselessly against the bronze as ichor poured from the wound in thick, shimmering streams. Percy twisted Riptide savagely, feeling the blade tear through muscle and whatever passed for a Titan’s heart, the resistance giving way with a grotesque snap. The diamond on the armor shattered, fragments raining to the ground like broken teeth, each piece glinting in the crimson glow of the pit.

Koios staggered, his legs buckling as the strength bled out of him. Percy yanked his sword free with a brutal wrench, the blade exiting in a gush of golden gore that painted the marble floor in a radiant, steaming pool. The Titan’s knees hit the ground with a thunderous crack, the marble splitting beneath his weight. His head lolled forward, ichor streaming from his mouth and nose, dripping in thick ropes that sizzled against the stone. His once-imposing frame trembled, the Stygian iron armor clanking as he swayed, clinging to the last threads of his immortal life.

Percy didn’t stop. His rage was a living thing now, a beast unleashed, and he swung Riptide again, this time aiming for the neck. The blade sliced through the air, meeting flesh with a wet thwack as it cleaved into the already ravaged throat. The celestial bronze bit deep, severing muscle and tendon, and with a final, ferocious pull, he ripped the sword sideways. Koios’s head tore free in a violent spray of ichor, the jagged stump of his neck erupting like a geyser as the severed head spun through the air. It landed with a heavy thud near the pit, rolling until it stopped against a broken column, the icy eyes staring blankly, mouth frozen in a rictus of fury and disbelief.

The decapitated body slumped forward, collapsing into the pool of its own ichor with a resounding crash that echoed through the cavernous hall. The golden blood spread outward, seeping into the cracks of the marble, the crimson glow from the pit reflecting off its surface in a macabre dance of light. The air grew still, the only sound now the faint drip of ichor and Percy’s ragged, heaving breaths.

He stood there, chest rising and falling like a bellows, Riptide dripping with the Titan’s essence as it hung heavy in his grip. His face and arms were streaked with golden burns and black smears from the Orcs, his clothes torn and soaked in the carnage. The pain in his shoulder, his ribs, his head—it all roared back now, crashing over him like a tidal wave, but he shoved it aside. Thalia.

He stumbled toward her, dropping to his knees beside her crumpled form. She lay near the pit’s edge, her bare skin smeared with dirt, blood, and ichor—both golden and black. Her chest rose faintly, each breath a shallow rasp, but her eyes fluttered open as he reached her. Those blue irises met his, welling with tears.

“Percy…” Her voice was a cracked whisper, barely audible. Her hand twitched, reaching for him, and he caught it in his own, his fingers trembling as they closed around hers. She was cold—too cold—but alive, her pulse faint but stubborn beneath his touch. Relief crashed through him, cutting through the haze of adrenaline and rage.

“I’ve got you,” he said with emotion he couldn’t mask. He slid an arm beneath her shoulders, lifting her gently against his chest. Her head lolled against him, her hair brushing his skin, and he tightened his grip, as if he could shield her from everything they’d just endured. “I’ve got you.” 

Her breath hitched, a shuddering gasp that broke the fragile silence of the cavern. Percy felt the tremor ripple through her, her bare body shaking against his as the weight of everything—the pain, the fear, the fight—finally caught up to her. Her fingers curled weakly into his torn shirt, clutching at him like he was the only anchor in a storm she couldn’t weather alone. And then, soft at first, a sob escaped her lips, raw and pained, tearing free from somewhere deep inside.

He held her closer once he felt the warm tears wet his skin, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other wrapped around her trembling frame. Her tears came faster now, hot and silent, soaking into his neck as she pressed her face against him.

“I—I couldn’t…” she choked out, her words muffled against his skin, fractured by the sobs she couldn’t hold back. “I tried… I fought… but they—” She broke down again, dissolving into a whimper as her grip tightened, nails digging into him like she was afraid he’d vanish if she let go.

Percy tried not to think of the implications of what was left unsaid. He instead held her silently, his arms a fortress around her trembling form, his gaze drifting over her shoulder to the lifeless heap that was once Koios. The Titan’s severed head stared blankly into the void, its eyes dulled, and jaw slack in a grotesque parody of the arrogance it had wielded moments ago. Golden ichor pooled beneath the corpse, a shimmering stain that mocked the grandeur of the so-called immortals. The sight should’ve brought him satisfaction—victory, even—but all he felt was a molten, seething hatred that clawed at his chest, raw and unrelenting.

He hated them. The Titans, the monsters, the Father, even some of the gods. He hated them for what they’ve done not only to him but to his friends. He hated how they reduced mortals to mere pawns for their twisted ambitions. How they were nothing more then just fuckable cuts of meat. His fingers tightened against Thalia’s back, her sobs vibrating through him, each one a dagger that stoked the inferno in his gut. That bastard had touched her, taunted her, reduced her to meat in his filthy hands—and for what? Some grand experiment for the Father? His teeth ground together so hard his jaw ached, his vision blurring with the sheer force of his rage.

Most of all, he hated himself—for not getting here sooner, for not tearing through the Labyrinth fast enough to spare Thalia this hell. His rage was a living beast, clawing at his ribs, roaring to be let loose, to rip apart every last shred of this cursed maze and the filth that thrived within it. He could feel it simmering beneath his skin, the dark gift that had snapped necks, popped lungs, and defied a Titan’s might. It begged to be unleashed again, to drown this place in blood and ruin until nothing remained but ash and silence. Gods, how he wanted nothing more than to just listen to it and let go. 

“Percy…” Thalia cut through the storm in his head. She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her tear-streaked face illuminated by the flickering torchlight. Her eyes, though red-rimmed and shadowed with pain, burned with something fierce—something that refused to let him sink into the abyss he teetered. “Don’t. Not now.”

He froze, the words anchoring him. She knew—gods, she always knew—how close he was to losing it, to letting the monster inside him take over completely. Her hand slid from his shirt to his face, trembling fingers brushing against his jaw, smearing the mix of ichor and blood that stained his skin. The touch was soft, a lifeline pulling him back from the edge.

“They’re gone,” she whispered. “You got me out. That’s enough.”

But it wasn’t enough —not to him. The rage still churned, a volcano ready to erupt, fueled by the sight of her broken body, the memory of Koios’s hands on her, the taunts that still echoed in his skull. He wanted to scream, to shatter the marble columns with his bare fists, to drag that piece of shit’s corpse back from the void just to kill him again—slower, more brutally, until the Titan felt every ounce of the agony he’d inflicted. His chest heaved, each breath a ragged snarl, and he could feel the ichor-stained floor trembling around him, responding to the fury he barely held in check.

Thalia’s grip tightened on his jaw, her fingers pressing harder against his skin, forcing his eyes to lock with hers. “Percy, stop,” she said shakily, noticing that her words still hadn’t resonated. “You’re here. I’m here. That’s what matters. Don’t let them win by breaking you too.”

Her words hit him like a wave crashing against a crumbling cliff, eroding the edges of his rage. He stared into her stormy blue eyes, seeing the pain etched there, the exhaustion, but also the unyielding strength that had always defined her. She was right—they hadn’t broken her, not completely. And if she could hold on, so could he. The beast inside him snarled, clawing at its cage, but he forced it down, shoving it back into the dark recesses where it belonged. For now.

His shoulders slumped, the tension bleeding out of him as he exhaled a shaky breath. The trembling in the floor stilled. He shifted his grip on her, pulling her closer, careful not to aggravate the bruises and cuts that marred her skin. Her head rested against his chest again, her breaths uneven but steadying, and he felt the weight of her trust anchoring him to the moment.

“We need to get out of here,” he murmured roughly. There was no telling how much time had passed on the surface. He glanced around the cavern—the pit still pulsed with its sinister crimson glow, the cages swayed faintly overhead, and Koios’s headless corpse lay sprawled in a pool of shimmering ichor. The maze wouldn’t stay quiet for long; it never did. Something else would come—more Orcs, more monsters, or worse—and he wasn’t about to let Thalia face it in her state.

She nodded weakly against him, her fingers curling into his shirt again. “Yeah… I’m not dying in this shithole,” she rasped, a faint spark flickering through the exhaustion. A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips despite everything—she was still Thalia, even now.

Stripping off his shirt, he softly pulled it over her, allowing her to retain some dignity. He hoped she didn’t mind the blood and ichor soaked into it. He slid his arm under her knees, lifting her as gently as he could. She winced, a sharp hiss escaping her lips, but didn’t protest. Her weight was light—too light—and it twisted something in his gut to feel how fragile she seemed, stripped of the armor and bravado that usually cloaked her. He adjusted his hold, cradling her against his chest, and grabbed Riptide from where it lay nearby, slipping the capped pen into his pocket. The rifle still hung awkwardly across his back, its strap digging into his shoulder, but he ignored it.

The archway he’d come through loomed ahead, its edges framing the tunnel beyond. He stepped over the littered remains of Orcs and broken marble, his boots crunching against bone and iron as he carried her toward it. The air grew colder as they left the cavern, the oppressive heat of the pit fading behind them, replaced by the damp chill of the Labyrinth’s depths. The torchlight dwindled, and soon it was just the faint glow of the tunnel walls—those eerie, pulsing runes—lighting their way.

Thalia shifted slightly in his arms, her head tilting to look up at him. “How’d you even find me? You’re not exactly an expert navigator.” She slightly smirked at the weak attempt of humor. 

“I just followed the smell.” 

“Fuck you,” she retorted, burying her face deeper into his chest to hide her smile.

Percy’s lips twitched into a faint grin despite the ache in his arms and the throbbing in his skull.  He tightened his grip on her, careful not to jostle her bruised frame, and pressed forward into the tunnel. The air was thick and cold, the damp stone walls pressing in closer with every step, but her warmth against his chest kept him alert.

The maze stretched on, its twisting paths a relentless mockery of their escape. The faint glow of the runes pulsed erratically, casting shadows across their features. His boots splashed through shallow puddles, the sound echoing unnaturally in the oppressive silence. He didn’t have Ariadne’s string or a mortal’s clear sight to guide him—just instinct, pure determination, and the unyielding need to get Thalia out of this hellhole. Every turn looked the same, every tunnel a potential dead end, but he refused to let doubt creep in. Not now. Not when she was counting on him.

Her breathing steadied against his chest, her head resting heavier as exhaustion pulled at her. Her fingers, still curled against his chest, twitched faintly, a sign she was still with him even as her strength waned. He glanced down at her, catching the faint flutter of her eyelashes against her grime-streaked cheeks. She looked smaller like this, stripped of her usual fire, but he knew better than to think her broken. She’d fought a Titan with a shard of rock—she’d survive this too.

The tunnel forked ahead, splitting into two paths. The left sloped upward while the right dipped downward, littered with broken stone and a faint whiff of something bile. He paused, shifting Thalia’s weight to free one hand and brush it against the left wall. The stone felt warmer, less damp—a sign, maybe, of the surface drawing closer. His gut tugged him that way, and he trusted it, turning into the upward path without hesitation.

Minutes bled into what felt like hours, the incline growing steeper, his calves burning with each step. The air lightened subtly, the oppressive weight of the Labyrinth easing as a faint breeze brushed his face—clean, crisp, carrying the distant scent of clean air. Hope flickered in his chest, fragile but insistent. They were close. He could feel it.

The tunnel widened suddenly, opening into a small chamber with a crack in the ceiling. Sunlight streamed through, weak and golden, painting the stone in hues of amber. It wasn’t much—just a sliver of the world above—but it was enough. He sighed, relief surging through him as he adjusted Thalia in his arms and stepped toward the light.

“Almost there,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. She stirred faintly, her head lifting just enough to squint at the glow.

“About time,” she murmured. “You’re slower than a satyr with a hangover.”

He snorted, the sound echoing softly in the chamber. “Yeah, well, you’re heavier than you look. All that attitude’s gotta weigh something.”

She managed a weak huff, too tired to muster a real retort, and let her head drop back against his shoulder. He stepped closer to the crack, peering up. The opening was narrow, barely wide enough for him to squeeze through alone, let alone carrying her. The edges were rough and glinted in the fading light—afternoon, maybe evening. Time twisted down here, but the sun’s angle told him they’d been in the maze too long.

He set Thalia down gently, propping her against the wall. She winced, sucking in a sharp breath as her bare legs brushed the cold stone, but waved off his concern with a shaky hand. “I’m fine. Just… figure out how to get us out.”

Percy nodded, turning to the crack. He reached up, testing the edges with his fingers. The stone was solid but uneven, offering enough handholds to climb—if he could widen it. He uncapped Riptide, the blade’s glow flaring briefly before he drove it into the rock. Sparks flew as celestial bronze met stone, chipping away at the edges. But it wasn’t enough. A sharp blade wasn’t going to knock away this stone. It needed to be pure blunt force that would do the trick.

Gritting his teeth, he stepped back, eyeing the crack in the ceiling. The stone was stubborn, mocking him with its unyielding bulk. His fingers flexed, still slick with ichor and blood, and a reckless surge of frustration boiled up from his core. If the maze wanted to play hard, he’d play harder. Rearing back, he drove his fist into the stone.

His bare knuckles slammed against the rock, the impact jarring his arm up to his shoulder. Pain exploded—sharp, white-hot—but he didn’t care. Blood sprayed from his torn skin, splattering the stone in crimson streaks as his fist connected again and again. Each punch cracked the rock further, chips and dust raining down, the fissure widening under the relentless assault. His hand was a mess, skin shredded, bones screaming, blood dripping in thick rivulets to pool on the floor below. The coppery tang mixed with the musty air, but he kept going, his vision tunneling to nothing but the stone and the need to break it.

The crack groaned, a deep, tectonic rumble, and with one final, bone-shattering blow, the ceiling gave way. A chunk of rock tumbled free, crashing to the chamber floor with a thunderous boom. Sunlight poured through the widened gap, blinding and golden, washing over his bloodied fist and the raw, pulpy mess of his knuckles. He staggered back, pain pulsing through his hand like a second heartbeat. His fingers twitched, barely able to curl, but the way was open—wide enough for both of them now.

Thalia’s weak voice cut through the haze of pain. “You’re… insane,” she rasped, her head tilted against the wall, eyes half-open but glinting with something like awe. “Did you just… punch through solid rock?”

He managed a shaky grin, wiping his bloodied hand on his torn jeans, leaving a smear of red against the denim. “Yeah, well, this place just pisses me off.”

She snorted. “Understatement.”

Ignoring the throbbing agony in his hand, he knelt beside her, sliding his good arm under her knees and lifting her again. The pain flared as he adjusted his grip, but he bit it down, focusing on her weight against him, the faint warmth of her breath against his neck. The sunlight beckoned, a promise of freedom just beyond the opening. He stepped toward it, boots crunching over the shattered stone, and began to climb.

The ascent was brutal. His blood-slick hand slipped against the rough handholds, leaving smears of red on the rock. Each pull sent fresh waves of pain through his battered knuckles, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving, Thalia cradled close. She clung to him weakly, her fingers digging into his shoulder, a silent inspiration for him to keep pushing forward. The sunlight grew brighter, warmer, the air fresher with every inch he gained. His muscles burned, his vision swam, but he didn’t stop—not until his head breached the surface and the world opened up around them.

He hauled himself through the gap, rolling onto his back with Thalia still in his arms. The ground beneath him was hard, uneven—pavement, not stone. He blinked against the sunlight, his eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness after hours in the Labyrinth’s gloom. The air was crisp, tinged with the familiar bite of exhaust and concrete, and the distant hum of traffic filled his ears. He sat up slowly, cradling Thalia as he took in their surroundings.

They were in an alley, tucked between towering buildings that stretched into the sky. Graffiti-stained brick walls loomed on either side, littered with overflowing dumpsters and scattered trash. The faint pulse of neon signs glowed in the distance, their colors muted by the fading daylight. A streetlamp flickered weakly at the alley’s mouth, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement.

“You gotta be shitting me,” he muttered, looking around at the familiar buildings and streets.

Thalia stirred in his arms, her head lifting slightly as she squinted against the fading sunlight. “Where…?” 

He replied with a bitter sigh. The maze hadn’t spit them out in Montana like he had hoped. He supposed it was wishful thinking. It seemed that place, even after escaping it, still bit him in the ass in the end. 

“We’re back where it all started.” 

Chapter Text

Both demigods were surprised to see the streets of New York bustling again, even after it had been destroyed in the battle against Gaea. The city was still in ruins. Buildings stood as skeletal husks, their windows shattered. Cracked pavement was still littered with rubble and trash. Yet life, or rather New Yorkers, persisted—cars honked in the distance, people walked the streets, and food vendors shouted out, offering free food to anyone that needed a hot meal. 

Percy couldn’t help the soft smile that split across his face, happy to see that even after all the shit the city went through, it had come clawing back to life. He was afraid it wouldn’t the last time he was here. It was practically a ghost town. But he should’ve known better than to think that. These were the same people who overcame 9/11. With their grit and stubbornness, they could overcome this too. 

He shifted Thalia in his arms, his battered hand screaming in protest as he adjusted his grip. The adrenaline was fading now, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion that made his limbs feel like lead. Her head rested against his shoulder, her breaths shallow but steady, and he could feel the faint tremor still running through her.

“New York,” she murmured. “Of course it’d dump us here.”

“I’m kind of glad it did,” Percy replied, walking past a middle-aged man who didn’t spare a second glance at them. “It’s the only place where two people can walk in public half naked and covered in blood and no one cares.” 

Thalia let out a weak laugh, the sound brittle but genuine. “Yeah, just another Tuesday.” 

His grin widened slightly, though it faltered as he glanced down at her. The sunlight highlighted the bruises blooming across her skin, the cuts and scrapes stark against her pallor. His shirt draped over her like a makeshift shroud, too big and soaked with the evidence of their battle—golden ichor, black blood, and the red of his own. He forced his gaze away, focusing instead on the looming Empire State Building. He needed to get to Olympus fast before both their conditions worsened. 

“Hold on,” he said, pushing his way quickly through a growing crowd of mortals. She stirred, her fingers twitching against his chest, but didn’t respond. Her silence worried him more than her usual snark ever could. He wove through the crowd, keeping his head low to avoid drawing attention. A man in a tattered coat muttered curses as he brushed past, while a woman pushing a shopping cart full of salvaged electronics gave him a wary glance before hurrying on. 

The Empire State Building loomed closer, its art deco facade scarred but standing, a stubborn monument to the city’s resilience. Its upper floors vanished into a shimmer of mist— mortal eyes couldn’t see the divine glow of Olympus, but Percy felt it, a faint prickle of power that made his skin itch. He crossed a street littered with debris, dodging a cyclist who swore as he swerved around them. The lobby doors were ahead, their glass cracked but intact. There was no security guard which he was glad for. That meant no useless arguing about whether the 600th floor existed or not. 

He shoved through the revolving doors with his shoulder, the glass creaking under the strain as he stumbled into the lobby. The once-polished marble floor was scuffed and streaked with dirt, a faint echo of its pre-war grandeur. The air inside was stale, tinged with the musty scent of neglect, but the golden elevator still gleamed faintly at the far end. He adjusted the girl in his arms, grabbed the keycard on the desk, and made a beeline for the elevator.

The doors slid open with a groan, revealing a dimly lit interior that smelled faintly of ozone and old leather. Percy stepped inside, careful not to jostle Thalia too much, and swiped the keycard against the panel. A single button glowed to life—600—and he pressed it with a shaky finger. The doors rattled shut, and the elevator lurched upward, the sudden motion making his stomach twist. He leaned against the wall for support, his legs threatening to give out beneath him.

Thalia’s head lolled slightly, her dark hair spilling across his arm. “You’re a terrible chauffeur,” she mumbled. 

“Complain to management,” he shot back, though the words lacked any bite. He was just glad she was still conscious and talking. He tightened his grip on her, his battered hand throbbing with every heartbeat. The light filtering through the elevator’s ceiling flickered, casting shifting shadows across her face. She looked too pale, too fragile—nothing like the fierce daughter of Zeus he knew.

The ride seemed to stretch on forever, the song Raindrops keep falling on my head played through the speakers, a surreal contrast to the chaos they’d just escaped. He remembered that it was the same song the first time he got on this elevator. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He remembered the first time he’d stepped into this elevator, years ago, that same song playing like some twisted soundtrack to his life. Back then, he’d been a scrawny twelve-year-old with a weapon of Zeus stuffed in his backpack, clueless about the madness waiting for him.

Now here he was, all these years later, carrying a daughter of Zeus instead—and somehow, he still had no fucking idea what was coming.

The elevator jolted to a stop, and the doors slid open with a reluctant screech, revealing the sprawling grandeur of Olympus. The air hit Percy like a wave—crisp and electric, laced with the scent of ambrosia. The city of the gods stretched out before him, a dazzling expanse of marble and gold, though it was dulled due to the Gods' missing influence. They were all—save Athena—still down in Tartarus reforming. 

His boots echoed against the polished marble as he carried Thalia through the deserted streets. The towering palaces, once alive with divine energy, stood silent and dim, their golden facades dulled by the absence of the gods. Columns soared into the sky, their intricate carvings of victories and myths now shadowed and lifeless, like relics of a forgotten age. The air shimmered faintly with residual power, but it felt brittle, fragile—like a memory clinging to existence.

Walking quickly, he made his way to Athena’s temple. It was the only palace that looked to have any life to it, but even it had that dulled, muted look. Walking up the numerous steps, much to his body’s protest, he finally reached the double oak doors before swiftly knocking. The sound reverberated through the empty city. For a moment, nothing happened. Percy’s arms trembled under Thalia’s weight, his knees threatening to buckle as the last dregs of his strength ebbed away. He was about to knock again when the doors creaked open, revealing a sliver of the interior bathed in soft, orange light.

A figure stepped into view—small, pale, and looking practically mortal. But he knew it was her. Those sharp, piercing grey eyes were unmistakable. An owl was perched silently on her shoulder, greeting the demigods with a hoot. She wore a simple hoodie and shorts, her usual armor absent, which caused even greater worry and pain to shoot through the son of Poseidon. She looked identical to Annabeth, more so than ever now that her aura was nonexistent. 

Her gaze swept over them, taking in their battered forms with a clinical precision that made Percy feel like a specimen under a microscope. Her eyes lingered on Thalia, then flicked to him, narrowing slightly as if she could see every ache and wound he was trying to hide. The owl on her shoulder ruffled its feathers, its grey eyes glinting in the light.

“Get inside before you collapse and ruin my floors.”

Percy didn’t argue. He staggered through the doorway, the cool air of the temple washing over him like a balm. The interior was simpler than he’d expected—none of the ostentatious grandeur of the other palaces. Shelves lined the walls, packed with scrolls and books, their edges worn from centuries of use. A long table sat in the center, strewn with maps and blueprints, some half-finished, others crumpled as if abandoned mid-thought. A faint glow pulsed from a hearth in the corner, casting flickering shadows across the room.

He eased Thalia onto a cushioned bench near the table, wincing as his arms finally gave out. She slumped against the backrest, her head tipping to one side, but her eyes cracked open.

“Hello, sister,” she greeted the Goddess, who had picked up what looked to be a vial from a shelf before walking over to the demigoddess.

Athena didn’t respond, her focus fixed on the vial in her hand. She uncorked it with a deft twist, the faint scent of nectar wafting into the air—sweet and sharp, cutting through the lingering stench of ichor and blood that clung to them. She knelt beside Thalia, tilting the vial to her sister’s cracked lips.

“Drink,” she commanded, her voice clipped but not unkind. Thalia obeyed, too weak to protest, her throat working as the golden liquid trickled down. A faint flush crept into her cheeks, the nectar knitting some of the smaller cuts and bruises together, though the deeper wounds remained stubbornly raw. Athena pulled the vial back, recorking it with a frown. “It’s not enough. You’re a mess.”

“Nice to see you too,” she rasped, managing a faint smirk despite the pain etching lines into her face. She shifted slightly on the bench, wincing as the movement tugged at her injuries.

She ignored the quip, her grey eyes flicking back to Percy. He stood hunched, one hand braced against the table to keep himself upright, the other hanging uselessly at his side—swollen, bloodied, and mangled from punching through solid rock. 

“The Father’s monsters got her good. For some reason, when you’re hurt by them, the wounds are harder to heal.” He answered the unspoken question, knowing all too well what it was like to be wounded by such dark power. The scars on his chest from the Hellhound that almost killed him at that rest stop a testament to that. 

She studied him for a moment, her gaze piercing through the layers of grime and exhaustion, before turning to a nearby shelf. She retrieved a small clay jar and a strip of cloth, her owl hooting softly as if in approval.

“Sit,” she said, gesturing to a stool near the bench. It wasn’t a request. Percy hesitated, his legs trembling beneath him, but the weight of her stare—and the fact that he was about two seconds from collapsing—pushed him to comply. He sank onto the stool with a grunt, the impact jarring his bruised ribs.

Athena approached, setting the jar and cloth beside him. She dipped her fingers into the jar, scooping out a thick, amber paste that smelled faintly of honey and herbs—ambrosia, concentrated and potent. Without a word, she smeared it across his shredded knuckles. The paste stung at first, a sharp bite that made him hiss through clenched teeth, but then warmth spread, seeping into the torn flesh. He felt the bones shift slightly, knitting back together with a dull ache, the swelling receding as the ambrosia worked its magic.

“What happened to you?” The Goddess questioned, scooping another glob of ambrosia paste before running it over the wounds on his chest.

“Labyrinth,” he grunted, biting his cheek as he felt the wounds flare up. “Thalia got snatched by Orcs. I followed and found her with a Titan, Koios. He was experimenting down there. Using humans, demigods, and Orcs to create monsters for the Father.”

Athena’s hands paused mid-motion, her fingers hovering over Percy’s chest as the weight of his words settled into the quiet of the temple. Her grey eyes narrowed, sharp and unreadable, though a flicker of something—concern, calculation—passed through them before she masked it. The owl on her shoulder tilted its head, its gaze mirroring her intensity as it fixed on him.

“The Father,” she repeated in disdain, her fingers clenching against his chest. “What do you know about him? Tell me everything.” 

“Later,” Percy winced, feeling his wounds close slowly. He stood up, walking past the Goddess, and went back to his friend, who was beginning to look better but still needed more help. “Just fix up Thalia.” 

Athena’s gaze lingered on the empty space where Percy had stood, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. The mention of the Father had ignited something in her—a cold, simmering fury that pulsed beneath her composed exterior. Her owl ruffled its feathers, sensing the shift in her mood, but she forced herself to refocus. There would be time to unravel the Titan’s schemes and the Father’s role later. For now, the two demigods in her care demanded her attention.

She turned back to her sister, who had slumped further against the bench, her breathing shallow but steady. The nectar had stabilized her somewhat, but the bruises and cuts marring her skin told a story of brutality that even divine healing couldn’t erase quickly. Athena knelt beside her again, running the same ambrosia paste she had used on Percy over her wounds. 

“Stay still,” she instructed, noticing the demigoddess shifting against the pain of her wounds closing. 

“Not like I’m going anywhere,” she gasped.

Her hands moved with practiced efficiency, spreading the ambrosia paste across Thalia’s battered skin. The golden salve glistened briefly before sinking into her flesh, knitting together the cuts and easing the angry purple bruises that bloomed across her arms and torso. Thalia gritted her teeth, a faint hiss escaping as the healing stung, but she held still, her blue eyes tracking the Goddess’s every move. The owl perched on Athena’s shoulder watched too, its head cocked as if assessing the damage with the same clinical detachment.

Percy hovered nearby, leaning heavily against the table, on the verge of passing out. He kept his gaze fixed on Thalia, watching the slow return of color to her face, the way her breathing deepened as the nectar and ambrosia worked their magic. Relief warred with the lingering rage in his chest, a restless energy that made his fingers twitch involuntarily toward the pen in his pocket.

Athena finished applying the paste, wiping her hands on the cloth before stepping back to survey her work. The wounds were closing, the worst of the cuts and gashes slowly being reduced to faint red lines. “You’ll live,” she said at last. “But I’d like to study these wounds further. We need to understand the power of the Father.” 

Before the demigoddess could reply, the son of Poseidon stepped closer, his shadow falling across her as he loomed protectively. “She needs rest, not a science project,” he said, barely holding back the anger from seeping out. His eyes locked with Athena’s, challenging her to argue.

The Goddess met his stare without flinching, her gaze cold and unyielding. On the inside, however, told a different story. This wasn’t the same boy she’d once dismissed on a whim or even the boy two years ago who denied Godhood for her daughter. The person standing over her now was something else entirely. A man hardened by years of war, loss, and leadership, an unyielding storm barely contained within a strong, muscled, scarred frame. The air around him crackled faintly, a subtle hum of power that she couldn’t ignore, even in her diminished state. It wasn’t just the exhaustion or the blood streaking his skin; it was the raw, untamed energy in his eyes, a depth that spoke of battles fought and burdens carried far beyond his years.

Her pulse quickened, though she kept her face a mask of cool detachment. She’d always prided herself on being one of the strongest Gods in the room—to be looked upon with revere that rivaled even Zeus’s—but now, standing before this demigod who could rival Titans, she knew she wasn’t the strongest. Her powers were severely weakened, rendering her almost mortal. She couldn’t possibly stand up to this man who towered over her in this state, and truth be told, she didn’t know if she could even if she had her strength back.

For a moment, the temple was silent save for the faint crackle of the hearth and the soft rustle of the owl’s feathers. The tension between Percy and Athena hung heavy, a taut thread ready to snap. Thalia, sensing the brewing storm, shifted on the bench and forced herself to sit up straighter, wincing as the movement tugged at her still-healing wounds.

“Ease up, Seaweed Brain,” she rasped, her voice cutting through the standoff. “She’s just doing her job. And I’m not dying anytime soon, so quit acting like my babysitter.”

Percy’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t break eye contact with Athena. “Her job can wait until you’re not half-dead,” he shot back. “You’re not a lab rat.”

The Goddess's lips pressed into a thin line, secretly glad that her half sister was diffusing the situation. The power the son of Poseidon exuded was making even her nauseous, and she wanted nothing more than to escape to her study and ball up next to books. She exhaled sharply through her nose, forcing her hands to still. “Fine,” she conceded. “Rest first. But we will discuss this—Koios, the Father, all of it, later.” 

Her words hung in the air, a reluctant truce that did little to ease the tension coiling in Percy’s chest. He gave a curt nod, his gaze lingering a moment longer before he turned his attention fully to Thalia. She was upright now, her back pressed against the bench, her hands braced on either side as if to prove she could hold herself together. The ambrosia had worked its magic—her skin was less pallid, the cuts less raw—but the exhaustion in her eyes was a weight he couldn’t lift with divine salves or brute force.

“There’s a spare room down the hall on the right,” Athena pointed past his shoulder. “You two can have it. When you’re ready, I’ll prepare some dinner.” 

Percy glanced at her, surprised by the offer but too tired to question it. “Thanks,” he said simply before helping Thalia to her feet. She took hold of his shoulder, steady but weak, and leaned against him as they shuffled down the hall. The Goddesses watched them go, her eyes analyzing them, the owl hooting softly as if in farewell.

His bloody boots scuffed against the polished floor, the sound muted by the thick silence that clung to the temple. Thalia’s bare feet padded beside him, each step sending jolts of pain through her body, but at least she was standing again.

The spare room was simple. A single bed sat against one wall, its frame carved from dark wood and piled with plain, grey blankets. A small table stood in the corner, holding a pitcher of water and a clay cup, while a narrow window let in a sliver of the fading golden light. The air smelled faintly of parchment and cedar, bringing a calm that felt almost alien.

Percy guided her into the bathroom, his arm steady around her waist as she leaned into him. He wished for nothing more than to just lay down and fall asleep, but he was not about to ruin that bed with blood and muck. 

“You good?” he asked, turning on the water. 

“Peachy,” she muttered, though the faint tremor in her hands betrayed her. She glanced up at him, her eyes asking a silent question she couldn’t voice aloud. 

“You wash up,” he replied, stepping out of the bathroom so she could have some privacy. “I’ll wait outside.”

Closing the door behind him, he took a deep breath. He leaned against the door, listening to the soothing sound of running water. His arms hung limp at his sides, the weight of the day pulling at every muscle, every nerve. The adrenaline that had kept him going was long gone, replaced by a hollow exhaustion that gnawed at his bones. He tilted his head back, closing his eyes for a moment, letting the steady rhythm of the shower relax him.

Inside, Thalia stood under the stream of water, her head tilted back as it cascaded over her aching body. The heat stung at first, biting into the raw cuts and bruises the ambrosia hadn’t fully healed, but she welcomed it. It was a sharp, cleansing pain, washing away the grime and blood—hers, Percy’s, and the monsters’—that clung to her skin like a second layer. Golden ichor swirled with dark streaks down the drain, disappearing into the pipes of Olympus as steam clouded the small bathroom.

She braced one hand against the tiled wall, her fingers splaying against the smooth surface as her legs trembled beneath her. The water plastered her dark hair to her face, and she pushed it back with a shaky hand, wincing as the motion tugged at a gash on her shoulder. It was a weird sensation to have longer hair again.

The soap sat on a ledge within reach, a plain, lemon-scented block that felt almost luxurious after weeks of dirt and chaos. She grabbed it, lathering it between her palms until bubbles formed, and began scrubbing at her arms. The suds turned grey with filth, then pink as they mixed with the blood still seeping from her deeper wounds. She gritted her teeth, working methodically despite the sting, her movements slow but determined. She wasn’t about to let Percy see her fall apart—not after he’d dragged her out of that hellhole.

But the truth was, she was barely holding it together. Her knees buckled slightly, and she caught herself against the wall again, a sharp breath hissing through her teeth. The memory of Koios’s cold hands, the jagged teeth of the Orcs, the suffocating dark of the Labyrinth—it all came rushing back to her. She squeezed her eyes shut, letting the water intermingle with the tears.

Outside, Percy’s ears caught a faint thud , like something hitting the floor. His eyes snapped open, his body tensing as he straightened. “Thalia?” he called out worriedly.

No answer. 

“Thalia?” he said again, not liking the creeping dread festering within his chest. The silence stretched too long, as the sound of running water continued unbroken. His hand hovered over the doorknob, hesitation warring with instinct. 

He didn’t wait for a third call. Twisting the knob, he shoved the door open, steam billowing out to meet him in a warm, damp cloud. The bathroom was small, the air thick with moisture and the faint tang of lemon soap. Through the haze, he saw her—crumpled against the wall, one hand still pressed to the tiles, the other limp at her side. Her knees had given out, her body slouched awkwardly beneath the spray, water streaming over her pale skin and pooling around her in swirling eddies of dirt and faint gold.

“Shit,” Percy muttered, lunging forward. He dropped to his knees beside her, the wet floor soaking through his already ruined jeans. The shower’s heat beat down on his back as he reached for her, his hands careful as they slid under her arms. “Hey, come on, I’ve got you.”

Her head lolled slightly, eyes half-open and unfocused, but she stirred at his touch, a faint groan escaping her lips. Forgetting where she was or who was touching her, she screamed out in terror. Her arms flailed wildly, fists striking out blindly, one catching him square in the chest with a dull thud. Her legs kicked against the wet tiles, sending water splashing in chaotic arcs as she thrashed, caught in some unseen nightmare. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated, staring through him rather than at him—lost in the echo of whatever Koios had done to her.

“Thalia, it’s me!” he shouted. He grabbed her wrists firmly, pinning them against the wall to stop her from hurting herself—or him. “It’s Percy. You’re safe. You’re out.”

Her thrashing slowed, her breaths coming in short, panicked gasps as his words pierced the fog of fear. The water continued to pour over them, soaking his hair and running in rivulets down his face, mixing with the blood and grime still clinging to his skin. Her eyes flickered, refocusing as recognition seeped back in. The scream died in her throat, replaced by a shuddering whimper as her body went limp, collapsing against him.

“Percy…” She whispered brokenly, barely audible over the rush of the shower. Her fingers curled weakly into his shoulders, clutching at him as if to make sure he was real. “I—I thought…”

“I know,” he said softly, his grip loosening on her wrists as he pulled her closer, letting her lean into his chest. The water beat down on them both, hot and relentless, washing away the last traces of the Labyrinth’s filth. “I’ve got you.”

She trembled against him, her bare skin cold despite the heat of the shower, her breaths hitching as the adrenaline drained out of her. He shifted to sit fully on the wet floor, pulling her into his lap and wrapping his arms around her, shielding her from the world beyond the steam. Her head tucked under his chin, and he could feel the rapid thud of her heartbeat against his own, a frantic rhythm.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, hugging one another as if they were the last two people on the planet. His fingers brushed gently through her wet hair, untangling the knots as best he could with his hand, the motion repetitive and soothing.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled against his chest. “I didn’t mean to… lose it.”

“Don’t,” he said firmly, cutting her off. “You don’t apologize for that. Not after what you went through.”

She didn’t argue, which worried him more than any protest would have. She always had a comeback, always pushed back. Her silence now spoke louder than words ever could. He tightened his hold on her, his jaw clenching as the memory of Koios’s hands, the cages, the pit, flashed through his mind. The rage simmered again, a dark tide he barely kept at bay, but he swallowed it down. She didn’t need his anger now—she needed him steady.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, shifting to help her sit up. She nodded faintly, letting him guide her movements. He reached for the soap she’d dropped, lathering it between his hands despite the sting in his knuckles. The bubbles formed quickly, and he worked them gently over her arms, careful around the healing cuts and bruises. She watched him through half-lidded eyes, too tired to resist or help, her body slumping against the wall again as he worked.

The water turned murky as he rinsed the suds away, carrying off the last of the blood and ichor that streaked her skin. He moved to her back, his touch light but thorough, washing away the grime that clung to her spine and shoulders. She tensed briefly when his fingers brushed a particularly deep gash near her shoulder blade—one the ambrosia hadn’t fully closed—but relaxed as he murmured a quiet, “Sorry.”

When he was done, he shut off the water, the sudden silence jarring after the constant rush. Steam hung thick in the air, curling around them as he grabbed a towel from a rack nearby. It was soft, worn, and smelled faintly of cedar. He draped it over Thalia’s shoulders, noticing just how small she truly was, and wrapped it around her.

He wrapped an arm around her waist, keeping her upright. She leaned into him, the towel clutched tight around her bare frame, and they shuffled out of the bathroom together. The cooler air of the bedroom hit them like a slap, raising goosebumps on his damp skin, but he ignored it, guiding her toward the bed.

She sank onto the mattress with a groan, pulling the towel tighter as she settled against the pillows. Percy grabbed the blanket from the foot of the bed, shaking it out and draping it over her, tucking it around her shoulders. Her eyes followed him, a faint crease forming between her brows.

“You’re still a mess, you know,” she said. “You gonna clean up, or just stand there dripping all over the floor?”

He glanced down at himself—shirtless, jeans soaked through, blood and ichor still streaking down his arms and chest. His hand was a swollen, bruised mess, the knuckles raw even after Athena’s ambrosia. He looked like he’d crawled out of a war zone, which wasn’t far from the truth. “I’ll manage,” he said, brushing it off. “You rest.”

“Percy—”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, cutting her off with a look that dared her to argue. She didn’t, though her lips pressed into a thin line, a silent acknowledgment of his stubbornness. He turned away before she could push further, heading back to the bathroom to deal with himself.

The mirror above the sink reflected a stranger—wild-eyed, hollow-cheeked, streaked with grime and golden burns. He barely recognized the face staring back, hardened by too many fights, too many losses. Gone was the boy he once was. He turned on the water again, letting it run hot as he stripped off his ruined jeans and stepped under the spray. The heat stung his wounds, but he welcomed it, scrubbing at the blood and ichor with a ferocity that bordered on punishment. He didn’t stop until every trace of the Labyrinth was gone.

When he finished, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped back into the room. Thalia was still awake, her eyes tracking him as he crossed to the small table and poured a cup of water from the pitcher. He downed it in one go, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat, then refilled it and brought it to her.

“Drink,” he said, holding it out. She took it with a trembling hand, sipping slowly before handing it back. He set it aside and sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight.

“You didn’t have to come for me,” she admitted quietly, her gaze fixed on his broad, scarred back. “That was stupid. Reckless.”

“I wasn’t just going to leave you,” Percy said, not looking back at her. “I’ve—I’ve lost too many people throughout my life. People I loved with every beat of my heart. I couldn’t… can’t …lose you too.”

Thalia’s breath hitched at his admission. She stared at the back of his head, at the damp strands of dark hair clinging to his neck, the tension in his shoulders that he couldn’t quite hide. The weight of what he’d said settled over her like the blanket he’d tucked around her—heavy, warm, and impossible to ignore. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the towel, knuckles whitening as she fought the lump rising in her throat.

She didn’t know what to say—words felt too small, too fragile to carry the storm of emotions churning inside her. Gratitude, guilt, fear, and something deeper she couldn’t name tangled together, tightening her chest until it ached. Percy had risked everything—his sanity, his life—to pull her out of that abyss, and here he was, sitting on the edge of the bed like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just punched through rock and faced down a Titan to save her. She wanted to snap at him, to call him an idiot for throwing himself into the Labyrinth alone, but the raw honesty in his voice stopped her cold. He couldn’t lose her. The confession hung in the air, unguarded and real, stripping away any armor she might’ve tried to raise.

“Percy…” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper, and she hated how weak it sounded. She swallowed hard, forcing the tremor down. “You’re such a dumbass, you know that? Charging in there like some invincible hero. You could’ve died.”

He turned his head just enough to glance at her over his shoulder, sea-green eyes catching the faint glow from the window. A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips, but it didn’t reach his gaze—those eyes were too heavy, too shadowed. “Yeah, well, you’re welcome,” he said dryly, deflecting her worry with the ease of someone who’d heard it all before. “Besides, I’ve survived worse. You’re the one who got herself nabbed by Orcs.”

She huffed, a weak attempt at indignation that dissolved into a cough. “Not my fault those ugly bastards got the drop on me. I was—ugh—distracted.” The lie tasted bitter, and she knew he’d see through it. She’d been ambushed, plain and simple. The memory of cold claws and leering tusks flickered behind her eyes, and she shoved it down, focusing on Percy’s warmth even from where he was sitting. 

“Did they…” he tried to ask, his eyes subconsciously looking down as his words trailed. He didn’t know how to bring it up. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he even should. The memories were obviously too fresh. “Did they—”

“Rape me?” Thalia finished, looking out the window just as the sun disappeared behind the horizon. 

He hadn’t wanted to say it, hadn’t even wanted to think it, but the question had clawed at the edges of his mind since he’d found her—bruised, trembling, and half-broken in that Titan’s lair. His hands clenched into fists on his lap, the towel bunching under his grip, and he forced himself to meet her gaze. Her blue eyes were fixed on the window, distant and unreadable, the last traces of sunlight painting faint streaks across her face.

“No,” she said at last. “They wanted to. Said that it was once in a lifetime chance to have a Hunter of Artemis. But Koios wouldn’t let them. He wanted me intact—‘a perfect vessel,’ he called it. Whatever the Father’s planning, they needed me alive and… unspoiled .” 

“I got lucky,” she added, quieter now, almost like she was convincing herself. “If you hadn’t shown up when you did…”

She didn’t finish the thought, and she didn’t need to. Percy’s stomach twisted, a nauseating mix of relief and fury churning inside him. The idea of what could have happened—of Thalia reduced to some twisted experiment for Koios and the Father—made his blood boil. His fists tightened further, nails digging into his palms, but he forced himself to unclench them, to breathe.

“I’ll make sure none of those bastards ever touch you again,” he said, rougher than he intended. “I’ll kill every last one of them.”

Thalia’s lips twitched upward. “Big words, Seaweed Brain. You gonna storm Tartarus next just to prove a point?”

“I’ve done it once. I’ll do it again,” he shot back, the steel in his voice leaving no room for doubt. He’d meant it—every word. He’d tear through the underworld itself if it kept her out of harm’s way. The thought should’ve scared him, the recklessness of it, but it didn’t. Not anymore. He’d lost too much to hesitate now.

She studied him for a moment, her smirk fading as she took in the set of his jaw, the unyielding resolve in his eyes. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, shaking her head slightly. But there was a warmth in her tone, a quiet gratitude she hoped she conveyed properly. She shifted under the blanket, wincing as the movement tugged at her still-healing wounds, and settled deeper into the pillows.

Percy stood, the damp towel still clinging to his waist, and crossed to the small table again. He poured another cup of water, more for something to do with his hands than anything else, and set it within her reach on the bedside. “Get some sleep,” he said softly. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” she said, catching his wrist before he could step away. Her grip was weak, but insistent, her fingers warm against his skin. “There’s enough room. Don’t be a martyr about it.”

He hesitated, glancing at the bed. It wasn’t exactly spacious, but she was right—there was enough room for two if they didn’t mind being close. And truth be told, he didn’t want to be far from her either, not after nearly losing her. The idea of her waking up alone, trapped in some nightmare he couldn’t pull her out of, gnawed at him.

“Fine,” he relented, easing himself onto the mattress beside her. “But you’ll have to explain to Artemis why her Lieutenant is in bed almost naked with a guy.”

The daughter of Zeus hummed in acknowledgment, her eyes already beginning to lid. The bed creaked under his weight, and he adjusted the towel to keep it secure as he settled on his side, facing her. The space between them was narrow, their shoulders brushing, but it felt… right.

She pulled the blanket up higher, tucking it under her chin, and let out a slow breath. “You stink less now, at least,” she mumbled, leaning closer to draw in more of his warmth. 

“High praise,” Percy replied dryly, a faint grin tugging at his lips. He watched her for a moment, the way her features softened as exhaustion finally claimed her. Her breathing evened out, slow and steady, and the tension in her brow smoothed away. She looked so small, vulnerable in a way she’d never admit awake, and it hit him all over again how close he’d come to losing her.

He shifted slightly, resting his head on his arm, and closed his eyes. The ache in his body settled into a dull throb, the ambrosia still working its slow magic on his wounds. Sleep tugged at him, heavy and insistent, but he fought it just long enough to listen to her breathe, to reassure himself she was still there. The room was quiet save for the faint sounds of New York below. He let the familiar sounds lull him, the rhythm of Thalia’s breathing syncing with his own, until the edges of his consciousness blurred, and he slipped into a dreamless sleep.

Hours later, he awoke in the middle of the night. The moon was dipping lower but still shone brightly in the window, illuminating the green in his eyes like glowing orbs. Looking down at his chest, he noticed Thalia curled tightly against him, her head nestled into the crook of his shoulder, one arm draped across his chest, and legs wrapped around his. The blanket had slipped down to her waist, exposing her curves pressed against him. Her dark hair fanned out across his arm, damp strands sticking to his skin, and her breaths were soft and even against his collarbone. The faint scent of lemon soap lingered on her, mingling with the cedar of the room.

Percy froze, his breath catching as the moonlight cast a glow across her pale skin that made her look like a Goddess. His heart thudded hard, loud enough that he worried it might wake her, but she didn’t stir. She looked peaceful, the lines of pain and fear smoothed away by sleep, her face pressed into his shoulder like it was the safest place she could be. He exhaled slowly, willing his heartbeat to steady as he carefully shifted his arm beneath her weight and tugged the blanket back up over her shoulders. She murmured something incoherent, her breath warm against his neck, and burrowed closer, her legs tangling further with his. He swallowed hard, forcing his focus away from the heat of her pressed against him. 

Sleep wasn’t going to come back easily now. So, instead, he carefully got out of bed, untangling himself from Thalia’s grip with slow movements so as not to wake her. Her arm slid off his chest, falling limply to the mattress, and she shifted slightly, curling into the space he’d left behind. A faint frown creased her brow, but she remained undisturbed. Looking at a chair in the corner of the room, he noticed two neat piles of clothes laid out for the both of them. It must’ve been Athena who put them there when they were asleep. 

Putting on a new pair of jeans, black shirt, and boots, he silently slipped out the door, closing it softly behind him, and padded down the hall. The temple was silent, the faint glow of the hearth casting long shadows across the marble floors. Walking over to it, he noticed the same owl from earlier perched on the mantle above, its grey eyes glinting in the firelight as it tracked his movements with quiet curiosity. He paused, his gaze sweeping the room, half-expecting to see Athena emerge from the shadows, but the temple remained empty save for the owl’s watchful presence.

“Can you lead me to her?” He looked up to the bird.

The owl tilted its head, its gaze gleaming with an almost human-like intelligence as it regarded the demigod. For a moment, it remained still, as if weighing his request. Then, with a soft hoot, it spread its wings and glided down from the mantle, landing lightly on the floor a few feet ahead of him. Its talons clicked faintly against the marble as it turned, casting a glance back at him over its feathered shoulder—an unspoken invitation to follow.

Percy nodded in thanks and fell into step behind. It moved with purpose, its wings tucked neatly against its body as it led him through the shadowed corridors of Athena’s domain. The faint crackle of the hearth faded behind him, replaced by the echo of his boots against the polished stone. The halls were lined with shelves of scrolls and artifacts, their edges illuminated by the dim, flickering light of sconces that burned with an unnatural, steady flame.

The owl turned a corner, guiding him deeper into the temple, past rooms he hadn’t noticed earlier. One door stood ajar, revealing a glimpse of a cluttered workshop—tables strewn with mechanical contraptions, half-assembled gears glinting in the low light. Another passed by in a blur, its walls covered in maps pinned with threads and notes, a chaotic web of strategy that only Athena could unravel. Percy’s curiosity tugged at him, but he kept his focus on the owl, trusting it to lead him where he needed to go.

Finally, the bird stopped before a set of double doors, smaller than the grand entrance he’d stumbled through earlier but no less imposing. Carved into the wood were intricate patterns—owls in flight, olive branches, and geometric shapes that seemed to shift subtly as he looked at them. The owl hopped closer, tapping its beak against the door once, twice, before fluttering up to perch on a nearby sconce. Its job, apparently, was done.

Knocking once just to be safe, he slowly opened the doors, revealing a study room. Shelves lined every wall, groaning under the weight of leather-bound tomes and rolled parchments, some so ancient they looked ready to crumble at a touch. A wide desk dominated the center, its surface buried under maps, quills, and open books, their pages marked with hasty annotations in a sharp, precise script. A single lamp burned on the desk, its golden light casting a warm circle that barely reached the room’s edges. The air smelled of ink and wax, with a faint undercurrent of ambrosia.

Athena stood near the desk, her back to him, poring over an ancient book spread across its surface. She was still in the hoodie and shorts he’d seen earlier, her bare feet silent against the carpeted floor. Her blonde hair was pulled into a loose braid, strands escaping to frame her face. Percy’s heart leapt, couldn’t help but think that this was Annabeth right in front of him. The owl hooted softly from its perch, announcing his arrival, and she straightened her back. 

“You’re up late,” she said at last, not looking up from the desk. She gestured to a chair across from the desk, its cushion worn but inviting. “Sit, if you’re staying. You look like you’ll fall over otherwise.”

Percy crossed the room, his boots scuffing against the floor, and dropped into the chair with a grunt. The cushion sank under his weight, and he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped tightly together. “Thalia’s asleep,” he said, answering the question she hadn’t asked. “She’s… better. Not great, but better.”

She didn’t respond immediately, her silence stretching. The lamplight flickered across her features as she finally lifted her gaze, those piercing grey eyes locking onto Percy with an intensity that made his skin prickle. She studied him, her expression unreadable, though the faintest crease appeared between her brows—a telltale sign of the gears turning in her mind. He held her stare, refusing to flinch. 

“Good,” she said finally, her voice soft. “She’ll need time. The wounds from the Father’s creatures… they’re not like anything I’ve seen. Not even the oldest texts mention this kind of lingering corruption.” She tapped a finger against the book in front of her, its pages yellowed and curling at the edges, as if to emphasize her point.

“Is that what you’ve been doing? He asked, gesturing to the numerous books sprawled out. “Have you been searching for any mention of the Father?”

The Goddess’s jaw tightened at that question, her fingers curling around the pages almost as if she wanted to rip them out. “Yes,” she admitted through her teeth, her tone edged with a rare strain of frustration that Percy hadn’t heard from her before. “I’ve been tearing through every scrap of knowledge I can find—scrolls, tablets, even the half-burned ravings of oracles lost to time. Anything that might hint at who or what this Father is. And there’s nothing.” She slammed the book shut with a force that sent a puff of dust spiraling into the lamplight, her grey eyes blazing as they met his. “Nothing concrete. Nothing useful. Just whispers and riddles—fragments that don’t fit together. It’s infuriating.”

The son of Poseidon leaned back slightly, the chair creaking under him as he absorbed her words. He’d seen Athena unruffled by wars, unfazed by Titans, her mind a steel trap that could unravel any mystery. But now, her composure was cracking, the faintest tremor in her hands betraying the depth of her agitation. The owl on its perch shifted, ruffling its feathers as if sensing her unrest, its eyes darting between them.

“How’s that possible?” he pressed, his brow furrowing. 

“I dont…” she almost shouted, sitting down on a chair next to him as she threw up her arms. “I don’t know,” she sighed softly, reeling back her frustration. 

The Goddess of Wisdom, who always had an answer, a plan, a strategy—reduced to throwing up her hands in defeat. It was unnerving, seeing her like this, stripped of her divine aura and wrestling with something she couldn’t conquer with intellect alone. Her eyes, usually so calculating, flickered with a rare vulnerability as she slumped into the chair beside him, the fight draining out of her in a slow exhale.

“I don’t understand why there is nothing,” she continued with resignation. “The Father—he’s not in the myths, not in the prophecies, not even in the oldest records from before the Titans ruled. I’ve traced every thread back to the beginning—Chaos, Nyx, the primordials—and there’s no mention of him. Not a name, not a title. It’s as if he’s been erased from existence.” 

Percy watched her, noticing just how much exhaustion was etched into her features. For the first time, he saw her not as the untouchable Goddess of Wisdom, but as someone grappling with the same uncertainty he’d felt too many times—out of her depth, clawing for answers in a darkness that refused to yield. Perhaps they weren’t too different after all.

He shifted in his chair, the wood creaking faintly under him. “I…I know some stuff about him. Even met him in a dream,” he replied. “It’s not much, but maybe it can help.” 

Athena looked almost frantic as she leaned in closer to him, grabbing his hands with a strength that defied her weakened state. Her grip was firm, almost desperate, her fingers digging into his skin as if anchoring herself to the fragile thread of hope his words offered. The lamp’s golden light flickered across her face, sharpening the intensity in her grey eyes—eyes that now burned with a hunger for understanding, a need to piece together the puzzle that had eluded her.

“Tell me,” she urged, almost frantically, barely above a whisper. “Tell me everything.” 

Percy hesitated, the memory of that dream clawing its way to the surface. His hand lingered at his neck, fingers brushing the unmarred skin where phantom tendrils had sliced through him, spilling blood that wasn’t real—yet felt more vivid than any wound he’d ever taken. He exhaled slowly, steadying himself, and met her gaze.

He told her everything that had happened to him over the past weeks. The dream, the Orc legion, Annabeth, and Jason under his control. Travis and the black tendrils. Koios and his experimenting, trying to create the perfect vessel . The dying light. He explained all of it, watching her closely as he spoke. Her grip on his hands tightened with every word, her nails leaving faint crescents in his skin, though he didn’t pull away. He could see the storm brewing behind her eyes—each detail he gave her was another piece she tried to slot into the maddening puzzle she’d been wrestling with.

Once he was done, the two of them sat in silence for a long while. He watched her, the way her brow furrowed, the way her lips pressed into a thin line as she processed every fragment he’d given her. It was a lot, even for a goddess, and he could see the strain it put on her, the cracks in her composure widening with each passing second.

Finally, she released his hands, her fingers trembling slightly as she pulled them back to rest on her lap. She leaned back in her chair, exhaling a slow, shuddering breath that seemed to carry the weight of centuries.

“Some other force of power will take our place, and there will be nothing we can do about it,” she muttered, echoing the words she had first told him in the throne room after Gaea’s war. Gods, that felt like an eternity ago. He hadn’t believed her words then. Refused to, actually. But now, after all he’s been through, it felt like a noose tightening around them all.

He didn’t know what to say. Even after telling her all he knew, it seemed she still hadn’t the faintest clue who the Father could actually be. Watching her stand up, she walked out of the study toward the palace entrance, calling out for him to follow.

They reached the towering double oak doors of the temple’s entrance, the ones he’d stumbled through hours ago with Thalia in his arms. She pushed them open, the hinges groaning as they swung wide, revealing the sprawling expanse of Olympus beyond. The city of the gods stretched out before them, its golden streets and marble palaces bathed in the silvery glow of the moon. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of ambrosia and morning dew. But it all felt hollow—empty without the divine presence that once filled it. 

Walking past the Olympain temples and statues commemorating heroes of old, they descended a set of wide, shallow steps that led toward the heart of Olympus—the throne room. The massive structure loomed ahead, its golden pillars rising into the misty sky, dwarfing even the grandest temples they’d passed. Unlike the rest of the city, it retained a faint shimmer of power, as if the essence of the gods lingered stubbornly within its walls, refusing to fade entirely. 

Athena didn’t slow her pace, eyes narrowed in determination to reach the destination. Her owl had followed, gliding soundlessly above them, its wings cutting through the night air before it swooped down to perch on one of the towering statues flanking the entrance—a marble figure of Heracles, his club raised triumphantly. The bird’s grey eyes glinted in the moonlight, watching them with quiet vigilance.

The doors to the throne room stood ajar, colossal slabs of gold and bronze etched with scenes of divine conquest—Zeus hurling lightning, Poseidon commanding the seas, Athena herself spearing a giant with her lance. Percy’s gaze lingered on the carvings as they slipped through the gap, the familiar ache of memory stirring in his gut. He’d stood here before, a lifetime ago, facing down gods who’d judged him with cold indifference. Now, the silence was deafening.

Inside, the throne room stretched vast and cavernous, its domed ceiling lost in shadow. Thirteen thrones loomed in a semicircle, each a masterpiece of craftsmanship tailored to its owner—Zeus’s with storm clouds, Poseidon’s rippling like the ocean, Hades’s dark and skeletal with glinting obsidian. They towered over the polished floor, their seats empty and cold, the air around them stale without the gods’ presence. Dust motes danced in the slivers of moonlight streaming through high, arched windows, illuminating faint cracks in the marble.

Standing in front of each of the thrones, however, was something Percy hadn’t seen the last time he was here. Thirteen automatons, made of celestial bronze and carrying a sword and shield, guarded the seats of the Gods. The metallic figures stood rigid, their bronze surfaces gleaming faintly in the moonlight, each one an imposing sentinel carved with intricate runes that pulsed with a dim, golden light. Their faceless heads turned in unison toward Percy and Athena, the soft whir of gears and the clank of shifting plates breaking the oppressive silence of the throne room. Swords hung steady in their grips, shields raised just enough to signal readiness, but they didn’t advance—yet.

“Did you make these?” Percy asked, stepping closer to examine the silent guardians. 

“No,” she replied. “Admittedly, I can’t design these particular types of automatons. Hephaestus did, though it took him a millennium to perfect them.”

“What makes them different compared to your designs?” he questioned.

Athena’s gaze lingered on the automatons, her eyes tracing the lines of their celestial bronze forms with a mix of admiration and something akin to unease. She stepped forward, her feet silent against the cold marble, and stopped just short of the nearest one—Poseidon’s guardian, its shield etched with waves that seemed to ripple faintly in the moonlight.

“Hephaestus crafted these with a purpose beyond mere defense,” she began, her voice low but carrying the weight of revelation. “My designs—Daedalus’s legacy, really—are clever, adaptable, built for strategy and precision. They can think, in a limited way, and adjust to the battlefield. But these…” She gestured to the towering figures, their swords gleaming with an edge that looked sharp enough to cleave through divine ichor. “These are something else entirely. They’re forged with the combat prowess of gods like Ares, Artemis, and I combined —raw power and tactical brilliance fused into one. Hephaestus imbued them with a fragment of divine essence, a spark of the Olympians’ own strength, so they could stand against threats even we might falter against.”

Percy’s brows furrowed as he circled the automaton guarding his father’s throne, noting the intricate runes carved into its chest—symbols he didn’t recognize but felt thrumming with latent energy. The air around it buzzed faintly, a subtle vibration that prickled his skin. “So they’re, what, god-killers?”

“Not killers,” Athena corrected, shooting him a glance. “Protectors. They’re meant to guard the thrones—the very heart of Olympus—in case the gods fade. If we fall, or if our power wanes beyond recovery, these automatons are the last line of defense. Hephaestus designed them to endure, to fight with the ferocity of Ares and the cunning of… well, me. They don’t tire, they don’t hesitate, and they don’t question. They’re eternal sentinels.”

He stopped in front of Zeus’s automaton, its shield raised like a storm cloud about to unleash lightning. The faceless head tilted slightly, as if sizing him up, and he couldn’t shake the feeling it was alive in a way that went beyond gears and metal. “Why didn’t he tell anyone about them?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her fingers brushing the edge of her hoodie as she considered her answer. “Hephaestus isn’t one for grand announcements. He worked on them in secret, deep in his forges, over centuries. I only found out because I stumbled across his blueprints during the Titan War—buried under a pile of scrapped designs for self-cleaning chariots. He admitted their purpose then: a contingency for a day when Olympus might stand empty. He didn’t trust the other gods to take it seriously—or worse, to misuse them. Even I didn’t know they were finished until now.”

He glanced back at her, catching the faint flicker of frustration in her eyes. “You didn’t know they were here?”

She shook her head with a sigh. “No. I assumed they were still in his workshop, half-complete. He must’ve activated them after Gaea’s defeat, when the gods started fading into Tartarus. A precaution I wasn’t privy to.” Her tone tightened, betraying a rare sting of exclusion. “Hephaestus always did love his surprises.”

He stepped closer to Athena’s own throne, where her automaton stood with a spear in hand instead of a sword, its shield adorned with an owl in mid-flight. The craftsmanship was meticulous, every feather etched with precision, and the spear’s tip glinted with a cold, lethal promise. “They’re active now, though. What’s keeping them from attacking us?”

Athena moved to his side, her gaze fixed on her metallic double. “They’re bound to the thrones and programmed to recognize divine essence—or its absence. I still have enough of my power, diminished as it is, to register as an immortal. You…” She paused, her eyes flicking to him with a mix of curiosity and wariness. “You’re a demigod, but your presence carries that of an Olympian. They see you as the strongest in the room.” 

Percy’s brows shot up, a flicker of surprise cutting through the curiosity. “Me? Stronger than you?” He let out a dry huff, shaking his head slightly as if the idea was absurd. “That’s a first.”

Her lips twitched, not quite a smile but something close—a rare crack in her stoic facade. “Don’t let it go to your head, Perseus. It’s not a compliment—it’s a fact of circumstance. My power’s a shadow of what it was, and you…” She studied him again, her eyes narrowing as if trying to dissect the anomaly standing before her. “You’ve grown into something even I can’t fully quantify. The automatons sense it—the raw energy you carry. It’s not just Poseidon’s blood in you anymore. It’s you .”

He shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny, knowing exactly why the automatons would think he’s the strongest in the room. It was his new power. The power to control a person’s blood or ichor. He flexed his hand instinctively, the faint ache in his knuckles a reminder of the power he’d barely begun to understand. He hadn’t told Athena about it yet, hadn’t found the words to explain the dark, visceral rush that came with it, or the fear that it might consume him if he let it loose again. Truthfully, he didn’t know if he should even tell her. How would she react knowing that he could control her ichor with a mere thought? That she was powerless to stop him from doing whatever he wanted to her. No, he couldn’t tell her about it. Some things were left better unsaid. 

But standing here, with the automatons’ faceless gazes tracking his every move, he wondered if they could sense it too—the shift in him, the line he’d crossed from demigod to something more.

Her eyes lingered on him a moment longer. She didn’t press—whether out of respect or her own preoccupation, he couldn’t tell. Instead, she turned back to the thrones, her fingers brushing the edge of her own seat, the spear-wielding automaton shifting slightly as if acknowledging her presence.

“I want you to fight them,” she suddenly said, her words measured. 

Percy blinked, certain he’d misheard her. “You want me to what ?”

“Fight them,” Athena repeated. The moonlight caught the edge of her jaw, sharpening her resolve. “I need to see what they’re capable of—how they react, how they adapt. And more importantly, I need to see what you’re capable of against them.”

He stared at her, his mouth opening slightly before closing again as he processed her request. The automatons stood motionless, their bronze forms glinting ominously in the moonlight, each one a towering testament to Hephaestus’s genius—and apparently, his paranoia. His hand twitched toward the pen in his pocket, feeling for the familiar weight of Riptide. 

“You’re serious,” he said flatly, not a question but a statement, his gaze flicking between her and the silent sentinels. “You want me to take on thirteen god-powered robots, alone, in the middle of the night, after I just crawled out of the Labyrinth and nearly died dragging Thalia out of there?”

Athena’s eyes met his, unflinching. “Yes. You’re the strongest one here, Perseus. If anyone can test their limits, it’s you. I need data—something tangible to work with. We’re blind against the Father, and these automatons might be our only edge. I can’t fight them myself, not like this.” She gestured faintly to herself, her diminished form a stark contrast to the goddess she’d once been. “You can.”

He let out a short, incredulous laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You’re unbelievable. You know that, right? Most people would say ‘thanks for the intel’ and let me sleep, not throw me into a sparring match with Hephaestus’s murder machines.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but there was a flicker of something—amusement, maybe—in her gaze. “I’m not most people. And you’re not just anyone. You’ve faced worse odds and walked away. This isn’t about gratitude—it’s about survival. Ours, and everyone else’s.”

Percy’s eyes narrowed, his fingers curling around Riptide’s cap. She wasn’t wrong—he had faced worse. Titans, giants, gods, the literal depths of Tartarus. But the ache in his bones, the exhaustion dragging at his limbs, screamed for rest, not another fight. Still, the way she looked at him—like he was the key to unlocking something vital—stirred the restless part of him that never could back down from a challenge.

“Fine,” he said at last, uncapping Riptide with a flick of his wrist. The blade sprang to life, its celestial bronze glowing faintly in the dim throne room, casting sharp reflections across the marble. “But if I break your toys, don’t blame me.”

Athena stepped back, folding her arms as the owl fluttered down to perch on her shoulder, both their eyes gleaming with quiet anticipation. “They’re Hephaestus’s, not mine. Break them if you can—I’d like to see you try.”

The automatons reacted instantly to the unsheathing of his sword, their heads swiveling toward Percy with mechanical precision. A low hum filled the air, the runes on their chests flaring brighter as gears whirred to life within their bronze shells. The nearest one—Poseidon’s guardian—took a single, deliberate step forward, its shield raised and its sword angled in a defensive stance. The others followed suit, forming a loose semicircle around him, their movements eerily synchronized.

He shifted into a fighting stance, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet, Riptide held low and ready. His heart pounded, adrenaline surging through his veins and chasing away the fatigue—for now. He sized up the automatons, their faceless forms radiating a cold, unyielding menace. They weren’t alive, not in the way monsters or gods were, but they moved with purpose, their blades catching the moonlight in lethal glints.

“Alright,” he muttered under his breath. “Let’s dance.”

The throne room erupted into chaos as he lunged forward, Riptide slicing through the air toward Poseidon’s automaton. The bronze guardian reacted with uncanny speed, its shield snapping up to block the strike. The impact rang out like a thunderclap, reverberating off the marble walls, and Percy’s arms jolted from the force. Sparks flew where celestial bronze met celestial bronze, illuminating the dim space in brief, violent flashes. The automaton didn’t flinch—it countered instantly, its sword slashing down in a brutal arc aimed at his chest.

Percy twisted aside, the blade whistling past his ribs, close enough to nick the edge of his shirt. He gritted his teeth, pivoting on his heel to bring his sword around in a low sweep at the automaton’s legs. The strike hit true, metal screeching as it bit into its knee joint—but it didn’t buckle. The runes on its chest pulsed, and the dented bronze reshaped itself, gears grinding as the limb straightened with a sickening clank .

“Self-repairing. Great,” he growled, ducking under another swing that would’ve taken his head off. He rolled to his feet, narrowly avoiding Zeus’s automaton as it joined the fray, its sword crackling with faint arcs of electricity. The air hummed with power, raising the hairs on his arms as he dodged a thrust that scorched the marble where he’d stood a heartbeat before.

The Goddess watched from the sidelines, her arms still folded, eyes tracking every move with predatory focus. The owl on her shoulder shifted, its talons clicking against her hoodie, as if it too were analyzing the fight. She didn’t call out orders or interfere—this was Percy’s test, and she intended to let it play out, no matter how bloody it got.

The automatons pressed their advantage, moving as a unit with relentless precision. Hades’s guardian flanked him, its obsidian-edged sword slashing at his legs while Poseidon’s aimed high, forcing him to split his attention. Percy parried the upper strike, Riptide clanging against the bronze blade, then jumped back as the lower one grazed his shin, drawing a thin line of red. Pain flared, sharp and hot, but he shoved it down, channeling the adrenaline instead.

He darted between them, weaving through the semicircle as more joined the assault—Ares’s automaton roaring to life with a guttural whir, its sword swinging in wild, brutal arcs; Artemis’s moving with silent grace, its blade a blur of deadly precision. Each one fought with the essence of its god, a twisted mirror of the Olympians’ power turned against him. Percy’s breaths came fast and ragged, his muscles screaming as he blocked, dodged, and struck back with everything he had.

A glancing blow from Apollo’s automaton caught his shoulder, the flat of its blade slamming into him with enough force to send him stumbling into Athena’s guardian. The spear-wielding figure didn’t hesitate—it thrust forward, the tip slicing through the air toward his chest. Percy twisted at the last second, the spearhead grazing his side, tearing through fabric and skin. Blood welled up, hot and sticky, soaking into his shirt as he hissed through clenched teeth.

Unaware of Zeus’s automaton to his side, he was suddenly kicked into the air, the breath escaping his lungs in a harsh gasp as he was flung into a marble pillar with a bone-jarring thud, the impact reverberating through his skull as marble dust rained down around him. His vision blurred for a split second, the world tilting as pain exploded across his back and ribs. Riptide clattered from his grip, skidding across the polished floor with a metallic screech. He slid down the pillar, landing hard on one knee, his breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts. Blood trickled from the gash on his side, pooling beneath him in a dark smear against the white stone.

The automatons didn’t pause. Ares’s guardian loomed over him, its bronze foot raised to crush him into the floor. Percy rolled to the side just as it slammed down, the marble cracking under the force, jagged fissures spiderwebbing outward. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the scream of his battered body, and lunged for his sword. His fingers closed around the hilt as Poseidon’s automaton charged, its sword slashing downward in a vicious arc.

He parried at the last second, the clash of bronze ringing in his ears, but the momentum shoved him back, his boots sliding across the slick floor. The others closed in—prepared to finish him.  They moved like a pack, relentless and coordinated, each strike designed to overwhelm him. Percy’s heart pounded, his pulse a war drum in his ears as he danced between their attacks, every dodge and block pushing him closer to his breaking point.

He knew he needed to calm down. These things weren’t just attacking blindly. They were adapting to his movement, to his pattern. Taking a deep breath, he forced his mind to settle, the chaos of the fight sharpening into focus. His chest heaved, sweat and blood mingling as they dripped down his skin, but he tuned it out. The automatons weren’t random—they were a system, a machine with patterns he could read if he stopped reacting and started thinking. He’d fought smarter foes than this, survived worse odds. He just had to find the rhythm.

He ducked under a sweeping slash from Ares’s automaton, its wild aggression leaving a split-second opening as its blade embedded briefly in the marble floor. Percy didn’t strike back—instead, he watched. The runes on its chest flared as it wrenched its sword free, the bronze plates shifting to compensate for the overextension. A split-second delay. That was something.

Poseidon’s guardian lunged next, its shield leading, sword thrusting from behind it in a textbook defensive strike. He sidestepped, letting the blade graze past him, and noted how it pivoted—smooth, fluid, but predictable, favoring offense over recovery. Artemis’s automaton darted in silently from his left, its precision strike aimed at his exposed flank. He twisted, parrying with Riptide, and felt the lighter weight behind its blow—speed over power. They weren’t invincible; they were specialized, each one a fragment of its god’s strength, not the whole.

His mind raced as he cataloged their movements, the pieces clicking into place like a map unfurling in the heat of battle. They were a unit, yes, but not flawless—each automaton carried the strengths and flaws of its patron god, magnified in bronze and runes. Ares’s was reckless, Poseidon’s methodical but rigid, Artemis’s swift but fragile. He could use that. He would use that.

The air thrummed with tension as he shifted his stance, Riptide steady in his grip despite the blood slicking his palm. His side burned, his ribs ached, but the pain sharpened his focus, honed it into something lethal. He wasn’t just fighting to survive now—he was fighting to dismantle them, to prove to Athena, to himself, that he could break anything the gods threw at him.

Ares’s automaton charged again, its sword swinging in a brutal overhead arc, all fury and no finesse. Percy sidestepped, letting the blade crash into the marble with a deafening crack, and drove Riptide into the joint of its elbow as it struggled to pull free. The celestial bronze bit deep, severing gears with a grinding screech, and the arm went limp, sword clattering uselessly to the floor. The runes flared, trying to repair, but he didn’t give it time—spinning low, he slashed at its knee, toppling it with a thunderous crash that shook the room.

One down. Twelve to go.

Percy didn’t have a moment to catch his breath. The remaining automatons tightened their formation, their bronze bodies gleaming like a wall of death closing in. Artemis’s guardian darted forward next, its lithe frame a blur as it struck with surgical precision, aiming for his wounded side. He twisted, Riptide flashing up to deflect the blow, but the speed of it forced him back a step, the tip of its blade slicing a shallow gash across his forearm. Blood welled up, hot and fresh, but he gritted his teeth and pushed forward, refusing to let the pain slow him.

He countered with a thrust of his own, aiming for the automaton’s chest where the runes glowed brightest. The strike landed, celestial bronze scraping against celestial bronze with a shriek, but Artemis’s guardian danced back, its lighter build letting it evade the full force. It was fast—too fast—but he’d seen its weakness now: it lacked the brute strength to take a direct hit. He filed that away, his mind racing as he ducked under a spear thrust from Athena’s automaton, the owl-etched shield glinting as it followed with a bash meant to cave in his skull.

He rolled aside, the shield slamming into the marble where he’d been, sending chips of stone flying. The air buzzed with the hum of their runes, the room a cacophony of clashing metal and grinding gears. Apollo’s automaton joined the fray, its sword glowing with a faint golden light as it swung in a wide arc, forcing him to leap back. The heat from the blade singed the air, leaving a faint scorch mark on the floor. He landed awkwardly, his injured side screaming in protest, but he stayed on his feet, Riptide raised to meet the next attack.

Athena watched from the sidelines, her grey eyes unblinking, taking in every move with the cold detachment of a strategist. She didn’t flinch as the throne room trembled under the weight of the battle, didn’t call out as blood streaked the marble. Percy knew she’d let it play out until he either won or broke.

He couldn’t afford to break.

Artemis’s automaton lunged again, its speed a deadly whisper in the chaos. This time, Percy was ready. He feinted left, drawing its strike, then pivoted hard to the right, bringing Riptide down in a brutal slash across its back. The blade bit deep, tearing through the thinner plating between its shoulders. Gears screeched as they seized, sparks spitting from the wound, and the automaton stumbled, its legs buckling under its own momentum. He didn’t hesitate—driving his sword into the rune-covered chest, he twisted until the glow flickered out, and the guardian collapsed in a heap of lifeless bronze.

Two.

The others didn’t falter. Apollo’s automaton advanced, its golden blade singing as it slashed at his legs, forcing him to jump back. Athena’s guardian flanked him, its spear thrusting with relentless precision, each strike a calculated attempt to pin him down. He parried the spear with a grunt, the force jarring his arms, then ducked as Apollo’s sword swept over his head, close enough to ruffle his hair. His side throbbed, blood seeping through his shirt, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the rhythm he’d started to feel—their patterns, their flaws.

Apollo’s guardian relied too much on flair, its strikes powerful but wide, leaving openings after each swing. He waited for the next one, dodging the glowing blade as it carved a molten streak into the floor, then lunged forward, slamming Riptide into its wrist. The joint shattered, the sword spinning away with a clang, and Percy followed through with a thrust to its chest. The runes flared, trying to mend the damage, but he drove deeper, twisting until the golden light died, and the automaton crumpled.

Three.

Athena’s guardian didn’t give him a second to breathe. Its spear lanced toward his chest, forcing him to sidestep, but the shield came next, slamming into his shoulder with bone-crushing force. He staggered, pain exploding across his arm, and barely raised Riptide in time to block the follow-up thrust. The spear’s tip grazed his cheek, a thin line of blood trickling down as he stumbled back, his vision swimming. The automaton pressed forward, its movements sharp and deliberate, every strike a testament to the goddess’s own cunning.

He couldn’t match its precision—not like this, not bleeding and battered. But he didn’t need to. He ducked under the next thrust, letting the spear sail over him, and rammed his shoulder into its shield, throwing his full weight into the blow. The automaton rocked back, its balance disrupted, and he seized the moment—slashing Riptide across its spear arm, severing the limb at the elbow. Bronze clattered to the floor, and he finished it with a strike to the chest, the runes dimming as it fell.

Four.

Percy stood amidst the wreckage of the throne room, chest heaving as he gripped Riptide, its blade slick with the faint sheen of celestial bronze dust and oil. The four fallen automatons lay scattered around him—twisted heaps of metal, their runes dark and lifeless, gears silent. The air buzzed with the residual hum of their power, but the remaining nine guardians pressed forward, undeterred, their faceless heads locked on him with mechanical precision. Blood dripped from his side, his shoulder, his cheek, pooling beneath his boots in crimson streaks that marred the pristine marble. His body screamed for rest, every muscle trembling under the strain, but his eyes burned with a fierce, unyielding resolve.

The throne room trembled as the remaining automatons advanced, their bronze feet clanging against the cracked marble with a rhythm that echoed like war drums. He didn’t have time to strategize—not fully—but the patterns he’d glimpsed earlier burned in his mind, guiding his instincts as the next wave descended.

Hermes’s automaton struck first, its movements a blur of speed that rivaled the god’s own winged sandals. Its sword darted in low, aiming to hamstring him, while its shield swung up to block any counter. Percy leaped back, the blade slicing air where his legs had been, and brought his sword down in a brutal arc. The automaton’s shield caught the blow, sparks flying as metal screamed against metal, but its speed left it vulnerable—too light to absorb the full force. He pressed his advantage, shoving forward with his shoulder to unbalance it, then slashed at its exposed side. The celestial bronze bit into its hip, gears grinding as the leg seized, and it stumbled. One quick thrust to the chest, and the runes flickered out, the guardian collapsing in a tangle of twitching limbs.

Five.

Dionysus’s automaton lumbered forward next, slower but heavier, its sword swinging in wild, drunken arcs that carried deceptive power. He ducked under a blow that shattered a chunk of marble behind him, the impact sending shards skittering across the floor. He rolled to his feet, narrowly avoiding a follow-up strike that left a dent in the pillar beside him. The automaton’s movements were erratic, unpredictable—like the god himself—but its weight made it sluggish to recover. He darted in close, slashing at its knee joint, then spun behind it as it staggered, driving Riptide through its back. The bronze shell crumpled inward, oil and sparks spilling out as it fell face-first with a resounding crash.

Six.

The air grew thick with the stench of scorched metal and his own blood as Hephaestus’s automaton joined in. This one was a brute—taller, broader, its shield a slab of reinforced bronze and its sword glowing red-hot from some internal forge. It swung with methodical force, each strike designed to crush rather than cut. Percy parried the first blow, his arms shuddering from the impact, and dodged the second as it smashed into the floor, leaving a smoking crater. Heat radiated from the blade, singeing his skin as he circled, looking for an opening. The automaton’s runes pulsed brighter, its plates shifting to repair minor dents, but its bulk slowed it down. He feinted left, drawing a heavy swing, then lunged right, jamming his blade into the gap beneath its arm. The blade sank deep, severing critical gears, and the red glow died as it toppled, shaking the ground.

Seven.

Demeter’s automaton advanced with a quieter menace, its sword carved with twisting vines that seemed to writhe along the blade. It struck with steady, relentless precision, each thrust and slash flowing into the next like a harvest reaper cutting through wheat. Percy blocked a flurry of blows, his arms burning as Riptide clanged against the vine-etched bronze, but the automaton’s rhythm was too predictable—too rooted in routine. He waited for the pattern to loop, then sidestepped a thrust and hacked at its wrist, severing the sword hand. The vines writhed briefly before stilling, and he finished it with a strike to the chest, the bronze shell splitting open like overripe fruit.

Eight.

Only five remained now—Hera’s, Aphrodite’s, Zeus’s, Hades’s, and Poseidon’s—circling him like vultures over a dying beast. Percy’s vision blurred at the edges, exhaustion clawing at him as blood loss sapped his strength. His shirt hung in tatters, soaked red and black, clinging to his sweat-slicked skin. Every breath was a knife in his ribs, every movement a fresh agony, but he forced himself to stand tall, Riptide steady in his grip. He couldn’t falter—not with Athena’s piercing gaze boring into him, not with the Father’s shadow looming over them all.

Hera’s automaton moved first, regal and ruthless, its sword slashing in wide, commanding arcs while its shield bore the weight of divine authority. It aimed for his head, a blow meant to end him outright, and he ducked just in time, the blade shearing off a lock of his hair. The air crackled with its presence, a faint hum of power that pressed against his skull. He countered with a thrust to its midsection, but the shield snapped down, deflecting Riptide with a force that numbed his arm. Hera’s guardian didn’t relent, pressing him back with a barrage of strikes that drove him toward the thrones. He stumbled over Ares’s fallen form, nearly losing his footing, and the automaton seized the moment, slamming its shield into his chest.

The impact sent him sprawling, air exploding from his lungs as he hit the marble hard. Pain lanced through his torso—cracked ribs, maybe worse—and he coughed, tasting blood. Hera’s automaton loomed over him, sword raised for the killing blow, but he rolled aside, the blade burying itself in the floor with a screech. Scrambling to his feet, he gripped Riptide with both hands and swung with everything he had, cleaving through its neck. The head toppled, runes fading as the body crashed down, bronze plates scattering like broken crown jewels.

Nine.

Aphrodite’s automaton stepped forward next, its movements fluid and mesmerizing, a stark contrast to the brute force of its predecessors. Its celestial bronze form gleamed with an almost liquid sheen, sculpted into graceful curves that mirrored the goddess of love’s own allure. The sword it wielded was slender, elegant, its edge catching the moonlight in a way that dazzled the eye, while its shield bore a delicate pattern of doves and roses—deceptively fragile, yet deadly. He blinked sweat and blood from his eyes, forcing himself to focus as it glided toward him, every step a dance that begged to be watched, to be adored.

He couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not now.

The automaton struck with a speed that belied its grace, the slender blade slicing through the air in a series of rapid, arcing cuts aimed at his arms, his legs, his throat—each one designed to disarm rather than kill outright, to toy with him. Percy parried the first flurry, Riptide clanging against the lighter bronze, but the sheer agility of the thing kept him on the defensive. It flowed around his counters, its shield snapping up to deflect a desperate thrust from him, then twirled to slash at his flank with a precision that felt almost personal—like it knew exactly how to unravel him.

He gritted his teeth, ignoring the hypnotic pull of its movements, the way its form seemed to shimmer and shift like a mirage. It wasn’t just fast—it was clever, adapting to his blocks with an eerie intuition, feinting one way only to strike from another. A shallow cut opened on his thigh as he misjudged a dodge, the sting sharp and immediate, blood seeping into his already ruined jeans. He hissed, pivoting to face it fully, and caught the faint hum of its runes, glowing brighter with each near miss—like it was feeding off his struggle.

“Enough games,” he muttered, tightening his grip on his sword. He lunged, aiming for its chest, but the automaton spun aside with a dancer’s grace, its sword flicking out to nick his wrist. The blade didn’t bite deep, but the sting threw off his rhythm, and it pressed the advantage, driving him back with a relentless cascade of strikes. The shield came next, a sudden bash that caught him off-guard, slamming into his already bruised shoulder. He stumbled, pain flaring white-hot, and barely raised Riptide in time to block a follow-up slash that would’ve opened his throat.

It was toying with him—wearing him down, not with brute force but with finesse, exploiting every falter, every flicker of exhaustion. He could feel his strength waning, his movements growing sluggish as blood loss and fatigue clawed at him. But he’d fought smarter foes than this—gods who’d tried to break him with charm and guile—and he wasn’t about to let a glorified wind-up doll finish him off.

He took a ragged breath, steadying himself, and watched its next move. The automaton twirled its sword in a flourish, a distraction meant to dazzle, then thrust low at his knee. Percy didn’t bite this time—he stepped into the attack instead, letting the blade graze his leg as he closed the distance. Before it could retreat, he grabbed its shield arm with his free hand, wrenching it aside with a snarl. The runes flared in protest, but he was too close now—its elegance meant nothing in a grapple. He drove Riptide into its side, the blade sinking through the thinner plating between its ribs, and twisted hard. Gears shrieked, oil spurting like black blood, and the automaton’s graceful dance faltered as its legs buckled. One final thrust to the chest silenced the runes, and it collapsed in a heap of shimmering bronze, its beauty marred by the violence of its end.

Ten.

Now, only three remained—the three brothers—and these were no mere sentinels. They were the pinnacle of Hephaestus’s craft, forged with the raw, unbridled essence of the Big Three, and they moved with a power that dwarfed their fallen kin. He wiped the blood dripping down his eyes, sizing up the three. Zeus’s automaton stood tallest, its bronze frame crackling with arcs of electricity that danced along its sword and shield, a storm given form. Hades’s loomed like a shadow, its obsidian-edged blade absorbing the light, its armor etched with skulls that seemed to leer at him through hollow eyes. Poseidon’s was a juggernaut, its shield rippling like the sea itself, its sword gleaming with a cold, relentless menace. These weren’t just guardians—they were avatars of divine wrath, and they advanced as one, their steps shaking the floor beneath him.

Athena looked like she wanted to step in to stop the fight before the demigod died, but she held back. Her fists clenched at her sides, the owl on her shoulder ruffling its feathers in agitation. The air in the throne room thickened, heavy with the weight of divine energy radiating from the three brothers. Percy could feel it pressing against him, a tangible force that made his skin prickle and his wounds ache deeper.

Zeus’s automaton struck first, its sword slashing downward with a crackle of lightning that split the air. The strike was blinding, a bolt of raw power aimed to cleave him in two. Percy threw himself to the side, the blade slamming into the marble where he’d stood, sending a shockwave through the floor that rattled his teeth. Shards of stone exploded outward, one slicing across his thigh as he rolled to his feet. The pain was sharp, immediate, but he shoved it down.

Poseidon’s guardian moved in sync, its shield thrusting forward like a tidal wave while its sword swept low, aiming to cut his legs out from under him. Percy leaped over the blade, the edge grazing his boot, and landed hard, his injured side screaming as he twisted to avoid the shield’s crushing follow-up. The impact missed him by inches, smashing into Dionysus’s fallen form and crumpling it further into a heap of twisted bronze.

Hades’s automaton flanked him silently, its obsidian sword a dark blur as it stabbed toward his chest. He parried,  the clash ringing out like a death knell, and the force pushed him back, his boots sliding across the blood-slick marble. The blade’s edge pulsed with a cold, necrotic energy that made his arm go numb where it connected, a chill seeping into his bones. He gritted his teeth, wrenching his sword free, and ducked as Zeus’s automaton swung again, lightning arcing toward him in a deadly crescent.

He couldn’t keep this up—not against all three, not like this. His body was failing, blood loss and exhaustion dragging him toward collapse. Every dodge was slower, every block weaker, and the automatons showed no sign of relenting. They were relentless, tireless, a perfect storm of divine fury bearing down on him. But he wasn’t done—not yet.

He darted toward Zeus’s automaton, feinting a direct attack. The bronze giant reacted as he’d hoped, raising its sword high to unleash another lightning-charged strike. He dropped low at the last second, sliding beneath the swing as the blade crashed down, electricity scorching the air above him. The force of the miss left the automaton momentarily exposed, its runes flaring as it struggled to recalibrate. He sprang up behind it, driving Riptide into the joint where its arm met its shoulder. The blade sank deep, severing gears and sparking wires, and the arm fell limp, the sword clattering uselessly to the ground.

Before he could finish it, Poseidon’s guardian charged, its shield slamming toward him like a battering ram. He twisted aside, the edge catching his hip and sending him stumbling into Hades’s reach. The obsidian blade flashed, aiming for his throat, and he threw himself back, the tip slicing a thin line across his collarbone. Blood welled up, hot and fast, but he ignored it, rolling to his feet as Zeus’s automaton pivoted, its remaining arm swinging its shield in a wide arc.

Percy ducked under the blow, the air humming with residual electricity, and lunged for Poseidon’s guardian instead. He aimed for its legs, slashing Riptide across its knee joint with a two-handed strike. The bronze buckled, gears grinding as the limb locked up, and the automaton staggered, its shield dipping low. He seized the opening, driving his sword upward into its chest, piercing the rune-covered core. The sea-like shimmer faded from its shield as it collapsed, a wave of oil and sparks spilling across the floor.

Eleven.

Hades’s automaton didn’t hesitate, its sword thrusting with deadly intent as Zeus’s closed in from the other side. Percy parried Hades’s strike, the cold energy biting into his hands through Riptide’s hilt, and pivoted to dodge Zeus’s shield bash, the edge grazing his already-bruised ribs. Pain exploded through his torso, a white-hot flare that stole his breath, but he pushed through it, adrenaline and sheer will keeping him upright.

He couldn’t outlast them—not with two left, not bleeding like this. His vision swam, dark spots dancing at the edges, and his legs trembled beneath him. But he’d faced death before, stared it down in Tartarus, in the Labyrinth, in every battle that should’ve broken him. He wasn’t breaking now.

Hades’s automaton lunged again, its precision unrelenting, but he let it come. He sidestepped at the last moment, grabbing its extended arm with his free hand and using its momentum to hurl it toward Zeus’s guardian. The two collided with a deafening crash, bronze scraping against bronze as Hades’s sword tangled with Zeus’s shield. Sparks flew, runes flaring in protest, and Percy didn’t waste the chance—he drove his sword into Hades’s back, piercing through its core. The obsidian glow died, the automaton slumping forward as its runes flickered out.

Twelve.

Zeus’s automaton wrenched free of the tangle, its one-armed form still crackling with power as it turned on him. It hurled the shield at him with a flick of its arm, the bronze disc spinning through the air like a storm-forged boomerang, lightning trailing in its wake. Percy’s instincts screamed, and he dove to the side, the shield missing him by inches. It slammed into Poseidon’s throne with a thunderous crash, embedding itself deep into the rippling bronze, sending a shower of sparks and shattered stone cascading across the room. The impact reverberated through his bones, a reminder of the raw power he was up against.

He scrambled to his feet, his injured leg buckling briefly under him. Riptide trembled in his hand as he wiped blood from his eyes with his sleeve, smearing crimson across his face. The automaton didn’t give him a moment to recover—it charged, its massive frame moving with a speed that belied its size. Its fist reared back, lightning coiling around its knuckles like a living thing, and swung down toward his head in a blow meant to end him.

Percy reacted on instinct, dropping Riptide as he rolled out of the way. The fist smashed into the marble where he’d stood, the floor exploding in a web of cracks as electricity surged outward, singeing the hem of his tattered shirt. He hit the ground hard, his shoulder screaming, and skidded across the slick surface, his sword clattering out of reach. The automaton pivoted, its faceless head locking onto him as it advanced again, relentless and unstoppable.

He pushed himself up, his hands slipping in the blood pooling beneath him—his own, mixed with the oil of the fallen automatons. His weapon lay several feet away, glinting faintly in the moonlight, but there was no time to reach it. Zeus’s guardian closed the distance, its fist rearing back for one final, devastating punch. The air crackled, the scent of ozone sharp in his nose as lightning gathered around its bronze knuckles, a killing blow aimed straight for his skull.

His heart pounded, time slowing as the fist descended. He couldn’t dodge—not this time, not fast enough. His body was too broken, his reserves too drained. But he wasn’t defenseless. He threw up his hands, catching the massive fist mid-strike, his palms slamming into the cold, electrified bronze. The impact jolted through him, a shockwave of pain and power that made his teeth rattle. Lightning surged into his arms, burning through his nerves, but he held on, his fingers digging into the metal with a strength born of desperation.

The automaton pressed down, its weight crushing, its runes flaring as it tried to overpower him. His knees buckled, his boots sliding back across the marble, but he didn’t let go. His muscles screamed, tendons straining as he pushed back against the unyielding force. Blood dripped from his nose, his ears, the electric current searing his skin where it met the bronze, but something deeper stirred within him—something primal, like a cornered animal knowing it was about to die.

With a guttural yell, he twisted his grip, his fingers sinking into the automaton’s fist as if it were flesh instead of metal. The lightning coiling around the bronze crackled and spat, searing his palms with a pain that clawed deep into his bones, but he didn’t relent. His yell echoed off the marble walls, raw and defiant, as he channeled every ounce of strength left in his battered body. The runes on the automaton’s chest pulsed erratically, its gears grinding in protest as he forced its arm to bend

Athena’s eyes widened from the sidelines, her composure fracturing as she leaned forward, the owl on her shoulder hooting sharply as if sensing the shift. The impossible was unfolding before her—Percy wasn’t just resisting; he was overpowering a creation forged by Hephaestus, imbued with the divine essence of Zeus himself. Her breath hitched, her analytical mind racing to process what she was witnessing.

His fingers dug deeper into the bronze, the metal groaning as it warped beneath his grip. With a snarl, he wrenched the automaton’s arm downward, forcing it to its knees with a deafening screech of bending metal. The lightning fizzled out, sparks spitting wildly as the runes flickered in distress. His hands burned, skin blistering from the heat and current, but he didn’t care—rage and survival fueled him now, a tidal wave of power surging through his veins. He twisted the arm further, the bronze crumpling like foil, and then yanked hard, tearing it clean off at the shoulder.

The automaton staggered, its balance compromised, but it wasn’t done. Its chest runes flared brighter, a desperate attempt to compensate, and it lunged with its remaining strength, using its torso like a battering ram. The demigod sidestepped, grabbing hold of its body before pushing it to the ground. He straddled it, his knees pinning its bronze torso to the cracked marble floor. 

The Zeus guardian thrashed beneath him, its remaining gears whirring in a futile attempt to rise, its runes pulsing erratically as if clinging to the last vestiges of its divine spark. Oil and sparks sprayed from its torn shoulder, splattering his face and arms, mixing with the blood already streaking his skin. He barely felt the sting—his focus was singular, a raw, unyielding fury that drowned out the pain screaming through his body.

He raised his fists, knuckles already swollen and split from earlier blows, and brought them down hard on the automaton’s chest. The first strike landed with a resounding clang, the celestial bronze denting beneath his raw strength. The runes flared in protest, a golden light flickering like a dying flame, but he didn’t stop. His fists pounded again and again, each hit a thunderous echo in the vast throne room, the metal buckling under the relentless assault. His hands bled freely now, crimson mingling with the black oil, but he kept going, driven by something deeper than exhaustion or reason—a primal need to destroy, to prove he could break even this.

The automaton’s chest plate cracked under the barrage, fissures shooting outward as gears snapped and wires sparked. Its faceless head jerked, the whirring growing erratic, desperate, but Percy’s fists were an unstoppable storm. He roared with each strike, the sound tearing from his throat, raw and rageful, as if he could purge every ounce of rage, every memory of the Labyrinth, Koios, the Father, Annabeth, and Jason through the sheer force of his hands. The bronze crumpled inward, the once-imposing form of Zeus’s guardian reduced to a mangled wreck beneath him.

Athena stepped forward, calling out for him to stop, but he didn’t hear her. The outside world had been cut off from all his senses. The only thing he felt, the only thing he cared to listen to, was his rage. He wanted to spill it all out, to feel the satisfying crunch of metal giving way under his fists. Letting out one last deep bellow, he slammed both hands down together, a final, devastating blow that shattered the chest plate entirely. The runes winked out, the golden light extinguished, and the automaton went still, its gears silenced at last. Oil pooled beneath it, spreading across the marble like a dark tide, reflecting the sun just beginning to rise above the horizon. 

Thirteen.

Chapter Text

Percy sat there, straddling the lifeless husk of Zeus's automaton, his chest heaving as ragged breaths tore from his lungs. His fists rested on the crumpled bronze, blood and oil dripping from his shredded knuckles to mingle with the dark pool beneath him. The throne room was silent now, save for the faint crackle of dying sparks and the distant hoot of Athena's owl. The air hung heavy with the metallic tang of oil and the coppery scent of his own blood, the aftermath of his rampage settling like dust over a battlefield.

He didn't move at first, his head bowed, dark hair plastered to his sweat-soaked forehead. The rage that had fueled him—the blinding, all-consuming storm—ebbed away, leaving behind a hollow ache that pulsed through every battered inch of his body. His hands trembled slightly as he unclenched them, the pain in his knuckles flaring with a vengeance now that the adrenaline was fading.

"Perseus!" Athena called out. She was closer now, her feet padding across the marble as she approached him, the owl fluttering behind her to perch on the armrest of her throne. Her grey eyes were wide, a rare crack in her composure as she took in the scene—the thirteen automatons reduced to twisted wreckage, the throne room scarred and blood-streaked, and Percy himself, a battered titan looming over his final kill.

He didn't look up when she called him, electing to stare emptily at the shattered metal beneath him. His breaths slowed, each one a conscious effort to steady himself, to pull back from the edge he'd teetered on. He'd lost himself in that fight—lost the line between survival and something darker, something that scared him more than the automatons ever could.

"Perseus," she said again, softer this time, her words threaded with something he couldn't quite place—concern, maybe, or awe. She stopped a few inches away, her shadow falling across him, and he finally lifted his head to meet her gaze.

"I'm fine," he replied, though he knew she didn't believe him. A lie, and they both knew it. He shifted, pushing himself off the automaton with a grunt of pain, his legs trembling as he stood. Blood dripped from numerous gashes on his body, staining the marble anew, and his shoulder throbbed where Aphrodite's automation had struck. He swayed slightly, catching himself against the cracked pillar beside him, his bloody hand leaving a smeared print on the stone.

"You're not fine," Athena countered, putting her hands on his arms to steady him. Her touch was careful, her fingers cool against his skin. He wanted to pull away, to shrug off her concern and prove he could stand on his own, but his body betrayed him—his knees buckled slightly, and he leaned heavier into the pillar, his breath hitching as pain flared across his ribs. "Sit," she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

She knelt in front of him, her hoodie slipping slightly off one shoulder as she reached for a small pouch at her waist. She pulled out a strip of cloth and a vial of nectar, her movements quick and precise despite the tremor in her hands—a telltale sign of how rattled she truly was.

His head tipped back against the stone, eyes half-lidded as he watched the goddess through a haze of pain. The rising sun spilled faint golden light through the high windows, catching her blond hair in a glow. She looked like a princess. Like Annabeth.

She uncorked the vial of nectar with a deft twist, the sweet, sharp scent cutting through the metallic tang that clung to the air. "Hold still," she said. She tipped the vial, letting a few golden drops spill onto the cloth, then pressed it gently to the gash on his side—the deepest wound, still oozing blood despite his stubborn refusal to acknowledge it.

The nectar stung at first, a fiery bite that made him flinch, his muscles tensing under her touch. But then the warmth spread, seeping into his torn flesh, knitting the edges of the wound together with a faint golden shimmer. He exhaled slowly, the pain dulling to a manageable throb as the divine liquid worked its magic. She moved to his shoulder next, then his forearm, her hands methodical but not unkind, wiping away blood and grime as she went.

"Do you realize what you just did?" she asked, not looking up from her work.

He didn't reply immediately, his mind sluggish as the nectar calmed down his body. His chest rose and fell evenly, each breath a reminder of the punishment his body had endured. The throne room around them was a graveyard of shattered bronze—thirteen automatons, each a masterpiece of Hephaestus's craft, reduced to lifeless husks by his hands.

"I fought them," he rasped. "Like you asked."

Athena's hands paused, the cloth hovering over the cut on his forearm, as she lifted her gaze to meet his. There was something in her eyes—something searching, like she was peeling back layers he didn't even know he had. She set the cloth aside, bringing up her hands to grasp his jaw as she studied him, the faint glow of the rising sun burnishing her skin.

"You didn't just fight them, Perseus," she said with an intensity that made his skin prickle. "You destroyed them. Thirteen automatons—forged with the essence of the Olympians, designed to withstand threats that could topple gods—and you tore them apart with nothing but a sword and your bare hands. Do you understand what that means?"

He shifted uncomfortably, the pillar rough against his back as her words sank in. The memory of that final blow—the way the metal had crumpled under his fists, the way his rage had poured out unchecked—flashed through his mind, and he clenched his jaw, pushing it down. "It means I got lucky," he muttered, deflecting. "They're machines. I found their weaknesses."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, a flicker of frustration crossing her features before she masked it. "Luck doesn't bend celestial bronze like it's clay. Luck doesn't rip apart a guardian imbued with Zeus's power as if it were a mortal toy. That wasn't just skill or strategy—though you have both in spades. That was something else." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, as if the empty throne room might overhear. "That was power, Perseus. Raw, untamed power. Beyond what any demigod should possess."

Percy's stomach twisted, a cold unease coiling beneath the fading warmth of the nectar. He didn't want to hear this—not now, not after he'd felt that darkness surge through him, the same darkness that had whispered to him time and time again. His hand flexed instinctively, disgusted with himself when he slightly shivered in delight when he remembered what it was like to bend someone else's blood to his will. "I'm still just me," he said, his tone harder than he intended. "Same demigod I've always been."

Athena's eyes narrowed, unconvinced. She gripped his chin, making him look at her again. "No," she said simply. "You're not. You haven't been 'just' anything since you turned down immortality, and whatever's happened since—whatever you faced since you set out on this journey—it's changed you. I felt it when you showed up at my doorstep, and I saw it just now. Those automatons didn't just see you as a threat—they saw you as their equal. Maybe more."

He wanted to argue, to tell her she was wrong, that he was still the same Percy who'd stumbled into Camp Half-Blood with a Minotaur on his tail. But that was wrong. So very wrong. He hadn't been that boy for a long, long time.

The goddess seemed to sense his turmoil, though she didn't press. Instead, she reached for the vial of nectar again, pouring another few drops onto the cloth and dabbing it against the cut on his cheek. The sting was milder this time, the warmth soothing as it sealed the shallow wound. "You don't have to like it," she said quietly. "But you can't ignore it. Whatever power you're carrying now, it's part of you."

Percy pulled his face away from her grasp, the motion abrupt enough to make Athena pause, her hand hovering in the air where his jaw had been. His sea-green eyes darkened, a storm brewing behind them as he stared at the shattered remains of Zeus's automaton, its twisted bronze form glinting faintly in the dawn light creeping through the throne room's windows.

"I don't want it," he said at last, emotion seeping through his words. "This… power, whatever it is. I didn't ask for it. I didn't ask to be more than what I am." He flexed his hands again, wincing as the raw, blistered skin stretched over his knuckles. The memory of bending the automaton's arm, of feeling its divine essence buckle under his will, flickered unbidden in his mind—a thrill he hated himself for feeling, a shadow he couldn't outrun.

Athena lowered her hand slowly, resting it on her knee as she sat back on her heels. There was a softness to her gaze, a rare glimpse of something almost human beneath her divine facade. "None of us choose what we're given," she said. "Not gods, not demigods, not mortals. Power isn't a gift you accept or reject—it's a burden you learn to carry. Or it crushes you."

He let out a bitter huff. "Yeah, well, it's been crushing me for years. I'm tired of it." He pushed off the pillar, standing straighter despite the sharp protest of his ribs, and turned away from her, his gaze sweeping over the wreckage he'd wrought. The thirteen automatons lay strewn across the marble like fallen soldiers, their once-majestic forms reduced to scrap. It should've felt like a victory, but all he felt was hollow—a void where triumph should've been, filled instead with the gnawing fear that he was becoming something he didn't recognize.

Athena rose to her feet, brushing marble dust from her shorts as she stepped closer, though she kept a careful distance now. The owl on her throne ruffled its feathers, its grey eyes glinting as it watched them both. "You're afraid," she said, not as an accusation but as an observation. "Afraid of what you could become if you let this power loose."

He didn't turn to face her, but his shoulders tensed, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Wouldn't you be?" he shot back, his words clipped. "You saw what I did. I didn't just fight them—I tore them apart. I wanted to. And it felt…" He trailed off, his throat tightening as he swallowed the word he couldn't say aloud. Good. It had felt good, that rush of destruction, that moment when he'd stopped being Percy Jackson and become something else entirely—a force, a weapon, a monster.

Athena didn't flinch at his admission, didn't recoil from the raw edge in his voice. Instead, she stepped around him, positioning herself in his line of sight, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Power always feels good in the moment," she said, almost clinically. "It's why gods wage wars, why mortals build empires. The danger isn't in the feeling—it's in what you do with it after. You didn't lose control out there, Perseus. You could have, but you didn't. That's the difference between you and the monster you fear becoming."

He stared at her, his jaw tight, searching her face for a lie he wouldn't find. She was right—he'd pulled back, hadn't he? Even in the height of his rage, he'd stopped short of losing himself completely. But it didn't erase the taste of it, the dark pull that lingered in his veins, whispering for more. "And what if next time I don't stop?" he asked, quieter now, the question hanging between them like a blade poised to fall.

"Then you'll have to trust someone to pull you back," she replied simply. "You're not alone in this, no matter how much you think you are. Thalia's sleeping down the hall because you dragged her out of that hell. I'm standing here because you gave me something to work for. You've got people, Percy—people who'll fight for you, with you, even against you if it comes to that."

After some time of silent deliberation, he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair. "You're too good at this," he muttered, a faint, tired smirk tugging at his lips despite himself. "Turning my existential crisis into a pep talk."

Her lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile breaking through her stoic mask. "I'm the goddess of wisdom, not comfort. If you want coddling, ask Aphrodite—assuming her automaton didn't leave you with a permanent aversion." She nodded toward the crumpled bronze form of the love goddess's guardian, its once-graceful curves now a twisted ruin.

He snorted, the sound rough but genuine, and the tension in his chest eased just enough to let him breathe. "Yeah, I think I'll pass." He glanced around the throne room again, taking in the carnage with a clearer head. "So, did you get what you wanted? Your 'data'?"

She followed his gaze, her expression shifting back to that analytical calm he knew so well. "More than I expected," she admitted, stepping over a severed bronze arm as she moved toward Zeus's fallen automaton. She crouched beside it, her fingers tracing the edge where he'd torn its arm free, her brow furrowing in thought. "These weren't just machines—they were extensions of our power, our essence. You didn't just break them; you overwhelmed them. That tells me two things."

He raised an eyebrow, leaning against the pillar again. "Yeah? What's that?"

"First, Hephaestus outdid himself. These automatons were stronger than I realized. Secondly, we need a king."

Percy tilted his head, noting her wordplay. She had said a king, not the king.

"A king?" he echoed. "What's that supposed to mean? Zeus is still down in Tartarus, reforming with the rest of them. You're not suggesting…" He cut himself off, the absurdity of the thought hitting him mid-sentence.

Athena straightened, not flinching away from his incredulous stare. "What if I am suggesting what you are thinking?" she asked, walking over to him. "Zeus isn't here to lead. He'll return eventually, yes, reformed and as insufferable as ever. But that's not what Olympus needs—not now, not with the Father rising. We need someone. Someone who can command respect, wield power, and unite us against what's coming. Someone we can follow." She stood mere inches from him now, craning her head upward at his towering figure. "I'm suggesting you, Perseus."

He stared at her, his mouth parting slightly as the words sank in, then let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh that echoed off the shattered marble. "Me? King of Olympus? You've lost it, Athena. I'm not a god—I turned that down, remember? I'm a demigod who's barely keeping it together, not some divine ruler."

She didn't laugh, didn't even crack a smile. Instead, she stepped closer until she was close enough that he could feel her breath against his skin. "You turned down immortality for your own reasons," she whispered. "But what you just did—tearing through Hephaestus's guardians, overpowering the essence of the Olympians themselves—that wasn't the act of a mere demigod. You're something more now, whether you accept it or not. And Olympus is crumbling without leadership. The minor gods—the few that have returned from Tartarus or shown themselves after the war—don't listen to my orders. They don't…"

Her sentence trailed off, annoyance and even a little bit of sadness etched their way onto her features. "They don't respect me the way they once did," she finished, laced with a bitter edge she couldn't fully mask. "Not like this—not diminished, not mortal-like. I can strategize, I can plan, but I can't command them anymore. My authority's fractured, and without the others here to enforce it…" She gestured faintly to the empty thrones, the silent testament to the gods' absence. "Olympus is a ship without a captain, drifting toward a storm we can't even see yet."

He wanted to laugh again, to dismiss it as absurdity, but the intensity in her look—the same eyes that had dissected battlefields and unraveled prophecies—pinned him in place. She wasn't joking. She wasn't exaggerating. She meant every word.

"You're serious," he said, almost accusatory. "You actually think I could—what? Sit on Zeus's throne? Order gods around? That's insane, Athena. I'm not one of you. I don't belong up here."

"Oh, but you do," she replied. "You've walked among us, fought beside us, defied us, and now surpassed us in ways we didn't foresee. Perseus—you're a force the divine world can't ignore. The minor gods won't follow me, but you… they'd follow you. They'd have no choice."

Percy shook his head, stepping back from her, the cool marble of the pillar pressing against his spine again. His hands clenched into fists as her words spun in his mind. "No. I'm not a king. I'm not a god. I'm not here to play ruler over a bunch of immortals who'd rather stab me in the back than bow. I've spent my whole life fighting to stay out of your games, Athena—not to sit at the head of the table."

"This isn't a game!" The goddess suddenly shouted, glaring up at him. "It's survival. The Father—whatever he is—had Koios experimenting in the Labyrinth, twisting demigods and mortals into weapons, controlling people you love. You saw it with Jason and my daughter. You think we can face that scattered, leaderless, with Olympus on the brink of death and the gods still clawing their way out of Tartarus? We need someone to hold this together."

He glared at her, his chest tightening with a mix of frustration and something heavier—fear of what she was asking of him. "You're asking me to be something I'm not. I don't want a throne. I don't want power over anyone. I just want—" He stopped, his voice catching. He just wanted peace. A life without blood and war and loss. A life he'd never truly had. He wanted to build a home in that valley with his friends. For his friends. For the future generations of demigods. That's all he wanted. He didn't want to be king. He didn't want to be a God. He wanted to die at an old age and see his long-lost friends in Elysium.

Athena's expression softened as she lifted a hand to his face, running her fingers over a scar on his cheek. "I know what you want," she said quietly. "I've known since you turned down immortality for Annabeth, for your friends, for a chance at something normal. But the Fates don't care about what we want. They never have. And right now, they've woven you into this—whether you asked for it or not."

Percy's jaw tightened under her touch. "I don't care what the Fates want," he replied roughly. "I've spent my whole life fighting their threads—cutting them, burning them, anything to keep my people safe. I'm not about to let them tie me to a throne now."

"You've always been stubborn," she whispered, her gaze growing distant as if remembering his earlier days of backtalking the gods. "It's one of your strengths—and one of your greatest flaws. You think you can outrun destiny by sheer will, by throwing yourself into every fight and walking away bloodied but free. But this…" She gestured to the empty thrones, to the entirety of Olympus itself. "This isn't something you can walk away from. Not anymore."

"Maybe not," he admitted. "But I don't have to sit on a throne to face it. I've never needed a crown to fight. I don't need one now. Besides, they wouldn't respect me. They would laugh me off the mountain before I could even put it on my head."

"They wouldn't laugh," Athena replied, gripping his jaw a little bit more firmly. "They'd fear you. And fear is a currency more powerful than respect. You've proven you can break what they thought unbreakable. You've shown you're not just a pawn in their games—you're a player. A king in your own right."

"I'm not a king!" he finally snapped, grabbing her hand, but she refused to let go, tightening her grip. "And I don't want to be. I don't want fear or power, or any of it. I just want to live my life with my friends. To build a camp. That's all I want!"

"I could be your queen," she suddenly said, looking abashed.

Percy froze, his grip on her hand slackening as he tried to discern her words. His eyes widened, searching her face for some sign that he'd misheard—that this was a trick, a jest, anything but what it sounded like.

She didn't meet his gaze, her grey eyes fixed on their hands, her fingers still curled around his with a quiet determination. The faint flush creeping up her neck betrayed her, a rare crack in her armor, and when she finally lifted her head, there was a vulnerability there he'd never seen—not in all the years he'd known her.

"My… queen?" he echoed in a whisper, as if saying it louder might shatter whatever fragile moment this was. "Athena, what are you—what does that even mean?"

She exhaled slowly, her breath trembling just enough to betray the nerves she was fighting to suppress. "It means what I said," she replied, forcing herself to meet his eyes again. "Olympus needs a leader—a king. Someone who can command, who can stand against the Father and whatever he's planning. You're that person, Perseus, whether you see it or not. And I…" She hesitated, her fingers tightening briefly around his before loosening, as if testing the strength of her own resolve. "I could stand with you. Beside you. As your queen—not in the mortal sense of crowns and ceremonies, but as a partner. A strategist. Someone to balance your strength with wisdom, to hold this place together when it's on the verge of collapse.

"You're talking about… us? Ruling Olympus? Together?" The words felt foreign on his tongue, absurd even, and he pulled his hand free from hers, stepping back. This isn't—I'm not—this isn't some storybook. I'm not a king, and you're… you're a virgin goddess. Annabeth's mother, no less. It couldn't work."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn't flinch from his retreat. Instead, she straightened, her posture regaining some of its regal bearing despite her diminished state. "It would work because it has to," she said, her voice firm now. "This isn't about romance or mortal notions of love," though internally, she wouldn't pretend that there wasn't an inkling of something akin to that there. But she would never voice that aloud. "It's about necessity. Olympus is dying. The gods are scattered, and the Father is moving in shadows we can't pierce. You've proven you're more than capable of leading—you just destroyed the strongest guardians Hephaestus ever forged, for gods' sake. And I…" She paused, her gaze flickering with a rare self-awareness. "I can't do this alone. Not anymore."

Percy sighed, running both his hands through his hair. He hadn't expected this when he arrived here. He hadn't expected to be asked to rule Olympus. To reign over immortals thousands of years older than him. Any mortal man would've jumped at the prospect of obtaining that much power. To rule over lesser beings with no one to judge or stand in their way. But he knew better than most that power like that could corrupt even the greatest of men. Turn them into something they couldn't recognize when they looked in the mirror.

"Look," he said finally, dropping his hands to his sides. "I get it. Olympus is a mess. The Father's out there, and we're running out of time. I'll fight—I always have. I'll bleed for this place if I have to, same as I've done before. But I'm not a king, Athena. I'm not built for thrones or crowns or commanding gods who'd rather see me dead than follow me. And you…" He gestured vaguely at her, struggling to find the words. "You don't need me to prop you up. You're stronger than you think, even now."

The goddess's eyes flashed, a spark of her old fire cutting through the vulnerability she'd let slip. "This isn't about propping me up," she said sharply. "It's about what's coming. You think I'd suggest this—any of this—if I thought there was another way? I've run the calculations. I've weighed every option, every strategy. You're the variable that changes everything. You're not just a fighter anymore—you're a force of reckoning. And forces like that don't get to stay on the sidelines."

He shook his head again, more forcefully this time, as if he could shake off the inevitable truth of her claims. "I'm just a person. A tired, beat-up person who's been fighting since he was twelve. I don't want to be your king, or anyone's. I don't want to rule. I want to protect what's mine—my friends, my home, the people who matter. That's it."

Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, he thought she might argue further—push him harder, wield that razor-sharp intellect like a blade to cut through his resistance. But instead, she took a step back, her hands falling to her sides. The owl on her throne hooted softly, a mournful sound that seemed to echo the shift in her demeanor.

"You think you can protect them by staying small," she said quietly, almost to herself. "By keeping your hands clean of this. But you can't. Not this time. The Father won't care about your camp or your valley or your dreams of peace. He'll burn it all down to get to you—to get to us. And when that happens, you'll wish you'd taken the power when it was offered."

Percy's stomach twisted, the cold, hard truth sinking into his bones. He'd faced threats like that before—enemies who'd stop at nothing to destroy everything he loved. Kronos. Gaea. Each time, he'd fought with everything he had, and each time, he'd barely scraped by. The Father—whatever ancient, malevolent force he was—felt different. Bigger. Darker. And she was right: it wouldn't stop at him. It would come for everyone until every last remnant of Olympus was dead.

But still, he couldn't bring himself to say yes. Not to this. Not to a throne he didn't want, a title that felt like a noose around his neck. "Maybe," he conceded finally, with a sigh. "Maybe you're right. But if I take that power—if I sit on that throne—it's not just the Father I'd have to worry about. It's me. What I could turn into. I felt it today, Athena. That… power inside me. I don't trust it. And I don't trust myself with more."

She studied him for a long moment, then slowly she nodded—not in agreement, but in understanding. "You're afraid of your own shadow," she said, almost pitying. "I can't force you to see it differently. Not yet. But when the time comes—and it will—you'll have to choose. Not for me, not for Olympus, but for them." She tilted her head toward the horizon beyond the throne room, where the mortal world lay waiting, where his friends laughed and fought and lived.

Percy watched her for a moment longer, then pushed off the pillar with a grunt, ignoring the dull ache in his ribs. He limped toward the throne room's edge, where the marble gave way to an open balcony overlooking the sprawling expanse of Olympus. The city glittered faintly in the dawn light, its golden spires and white stone shining brightly against the sun's light. Beyond it, the mortal world stretched out, a patchwork of green and grey and blue that called to him more than any divine kingdom ever could.

"I can't be your king," he said after a few more minutes of deliberation. "I don't want to be an immortal. To me, that's a fate I just can't live with." He took a deep breath of the crisp morning air, the wind sweeping across his jet-black hair. "But I can be your friend. I can help you get Olympus back in shape. I can help get the minor gods in line, fight the Father, and protect what's left. That's what I'm good at—fighting for what matters. Not ruling over it."

Athena followed him to the balcony, her steps measured, the owl gliding silently to perch on the railing beside them. The rising sun painted her face in soft golds and pinks, softening the sharp edges of her exhaustion and frustration. She stood beside him, her hands resting lightly on the marble balustrade, and for a moment, they simply watched the world below in silence—the mortal skyline of New York peeking through the mist, alive with the stubborn resilience Percy had always admired.

"Friendship," she said at last, her words tinged with something that might've been resignation—or perhaps acceptance. "It's not the alliance I envisioned, but I'll take what I can get. Beggars can't be choosers, I suppose." She glanced at him sidelong, her eyes catching the light in a way that made them shimmer like polished steel. Percy tried not to look at them for too long. He would only see Annabeth. "You're still impossible, you know that?"

He smirked faintly. "Takes one to know one," he shot back, leaning his elbows on the railing. The breeze tugged at his tattered shirt, cooling the sweat and blood still clinging to his skin. "You're not exactly easy to deal with either, Your Wisdom-ness."

Her lips twitched again, that almost-smile he was starting to recognize as her version of a concession. "Fair," she admitted. She turned her gaze back to the horizon, her fingers tapping lightly against the marble as if mapping out her next move. "If you won't take the throne, then we'll do this your way—for now. It'll be harder to convince the minor gods without you being king, but you are still Percy Jackson. They owe you a lot for what you did for them after the Titan War."

Percy let out a low grunt, his smirk fading. "Yeah, well, half of them probably still think I'm a reckless punk who got lucky, and the other half would rather forget they ever needed saving." He glanced at her, catching the faint arch of her eyebrow. "What? I'm not wrong."

"You're not entirely right, either," Athena replied dryly. "They remember, Perseus. They just don't like admitting it. Gratitude's a bitter pill for immortals—especially the minor ones who've spent centuries clawing for scraps of recognition. But they'll listen to you, even if it's grudgingly. You've got a knack for making people follow you, whether you mean to or not."

"Let's just hope that holds true," he said, turning back around to the throne room. It was getting late in the morning now and he and Thalia needed to get back to Montana. There was no telling what had been happening since their 'disappearance'. "What the—" his words trailed as he looked back at the Olympian thrones, noticing that each and every automaton was back in their original positions, guarding the thrones as if they hadn't just been destroyed.

"They're self-repairing is remarkable," she noted, walking past him. "Hephaestus truly did outdo himself."

With an exasperated shake of his head, Percy fell into step behind the goddess as they strode from the throne room. His thoughts immediately turned to Thalia—she'd need to be ready for the journey back, though he doubted she was even awake yet.

As the heavy double doors began to swing shut behind them, Percy cast one last glance over his shoulder. There, standing in perfect formation, were the thirteen automatons—silent, gleaming sentinels bathed in the golden spill of morning light. No trace of his earlier rampage remained. Instead, they stood rigid, arms raised in salute, their faceless masks somehow radiating solemn reverence. As if they weren't just acknowledging him, but honoring something far greater.

He turned away quickly, catching up to Athena as they walked through the quiet streets. When they reached Athena's temple, Percy hesitated at the door to the spare room where Thalia still slept. He glanced at Athena, who gave him a small nod before turning toward her study, her owl fluttering off her shoulder to follow.

He slipped inside the room, closing the door softly behind him. Expecting to see Thalia still asleep, he was surprised to suddenly find a silver knife pressed against his throat, stopping him dead in his tracks.

"Good morning to you too," he smirked, glancing to his left to see the daughter of Zeus smirking up at him as well, wide awake and prepared for the day.

"The hell happen to you?" Thalia questioned, putting her weapon down as she took in the sight of his battered, blood and sweat-soaked body.

Percy let out a dry chuckle. "Oh, you know, the usual. It was Athena's idea of a fun wake-up call."

"One hell of a wake-up call," she replied, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. She looked a lot better. The ambrosia paste and sleep had clearly done wonders for her. The bruises that had marred her skin were now faint shadows, the cuts reduced to thin, pink lines that would fade with time. She was dressed in the fresh clothes Athena had left—a dark green tank top and black cargo pants that fit her lean frame perfectly, her boots laced up and ready for whatever came next. Her dark hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, strands still damp from the shower she'd taken before Percy had arrived.

"What'd she do, throw you in a blender?"

"Close enough," he replied, walking into the bathroom and turning on the shower. He desperately wanted to clean off the blood clinging to his skin. "She had me spar with some of Hephaestus's toys—thirteen automatons guarding the thrones. They're tougher than they look."

Thalia's eyebrows shot up, her smirk faltering. "Thirteen? And you're still standing? Gods, Seaweed Brain, you're lucky you're still alive."

"I know," he chuckled, beginning to strip off his shirt. "Let me get a quick shower then we'll go see Athena, get some food in us and we'll get her to teleport us back to the valley."

As he walked over to the door to shut it, he noticed she hadn't moved from her spot on the bed, her electric blue eyes fixed on him with an intensity that made his steps falter. She leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees, her gaze sweeping over his scarred, muscled body as he tugged the tattered remains of his shirt over his head. The fabric caught briefly on a jagged cut across his shoulder, and he winced, peeling it off with a grunt. Blood and sweat glistened against his skin, clinging to him like a second layer, but beneath it, the hard lines of his frame stood out—years of battle etched into every corded muscle, every faded scar a story of survival.

Thalia's breath hitched, almost imperceptibly, as her eyes traced the map of his torso—the broad expanse of his chest, the taut ridges of his abdomen, the way his arms flexed with even the smallest movement. A flush crept up her neck, and she quickly masked it by tilting her head, her smirk returning as a shield.

"Enjoying the view?" Percy teased, catching her stare just before he tossed the ruined shirt aside. His voice was light, but there was a flicker of challenge in his words. Perhaps he wanted payback for what she did to him when they were with Evelyn and Atalanta.

She snorted, rolling her eyes as she leaned back on her hands, forcing a casual air she didn't entirely feel. "Please, Jackson. I've seen better." Her tone was dry, but the slight hitch in her words betrayed her, and she cursed inwardly as his smirk widened. "Go shower already. You smell like a forge exploded on you."

He chuckled and gave her a mock salute before stepping back into the bathroom. "Yes, ma'am. Don't go anywhere—I'll be quick." The door clicked shut behind him, muffling the sound of running water.

Thalia let out a slow breath, her shoulders slumping as the tension drained out of her. She flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling as her mind replayed the events of last night. She couldn't help the blush that once again coated her cheeks as she remembered him holding her in the shower, his arms steady around her as she trembled. His warmth when they shared the bed, their legs intertangled and cuddle up against one another. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, willing the heat in her face to fade. "Get it together," she muttered to herself.

The bathroom door creaked open a few minutes later, steam spilling out as Percy emerged, towel wrapped around his lower frame. The cuts and bruises were slowly beginning to fade due to the water's influence, leaving him looking almost human again. Almost.

"Better?" he asked.

"Marginally," she shot back, standing up and stretching her arms over her head, testing the stiffness in her muscles. "Get your clothes on so we can go meet Athena and get out of here."

"Right…" Percy said, looking around the room before straightening his back, his lips pursed. "Fuck."

"What?" Thalia tilted her head, questioning.

"I kind of put on the clothes Athena gave me before fighting those automatons," he answered sheepishly.

She blinked at him, then burst out laughing, making her way toward the door. "Come on, let's go find her. I'm sure she'll have more clothes for you somewhere."

Percy followed Thalia out of the room, the towel still snug around his waist as he padded barefoot across the cool stone floor of Athena's temple. Thalia's laughter echoed ahead of him, occasionally looking back at him teasingly. The goddess was already there when they arrived, sitting at the head of the table with a scroll half-unrolled in front of her as if she'd been reading while waiting. The table, once cluttered with books and maps, now bore an assortment of breakfast items. The sight made both demigods' stomachs growl in hunger. They hadn't eaten for what felt like an eternity.

Athena glanced up as they entered, her gaze lingering on Percy's towel-clad form for a beat longer than necessary before arching an eyebrow. "I see you've made yourself… comfortable," she said dryly, setting the scroll aside.

Thalia snickered, sliding into a chair across from Athena and grabbing a piece of bread without hesitation. "Yeah, he's a real go-with-the-flow type of guy. Sometimes literally."

He shot her a mock glare, easing himself into a chair beside her. "Not my fault your sister's idea of a warm-up is a death match. Speaking of which—" He gestured vaguely at himself, the towel barely clinging to his hips. "You got anything else lying around?

Athena's lips twitched with amusement. "I'll manage something," she said, rising from her seat with a fluid motion. She disappeared into a side room, leaving Percy and Thalia alone with the food.

He reached for a cluster of grapes, popping one into his mouth as he leaned back in his chair. When was the last time he had eaten fruit? He couldn't remember. All he'd had since their journey to Montana began were protein bars, venison, and maybe the occasional candy if he were lucky enough to find any.

Thalia smirked at him over the rim of a clay cup she'd filled with water. "You look like you're about to cry," she stated, noticing his demeanor.

"I am, actually," he replied with a laugh, reaching for the bread next. "I was just thinking about how we haven't had this type of food in a long time."

"Well, when we get back, we need to tell Katie to get to planting. I'm sure the others won't mind having some bread."

Athena returned a moment later, carrying a neatly folded stack of clothes—another black shirt and a pair of jeans. "Try not to ruin these ones before breakfast is over," she said. "I don't exactly have a lot of men's clothing in my closet."

Percy grinned, grabbing the clothes and standing to slip into the side room for a quick change. "No promises," he called over his shoulder, disappearing behind the door.

The goddess turned her attention to her half-sister, her expression softening slightly as she took in her improved state. "You're looking better," she noted. "The nectar and ambrosia did their work."

Thalia nodded, tearing off another piece of bread. "Yeah, I feel almost human again. Or, well, as human as I get." She chewed thoughtfully, her gaze flicking toward the side room where Percy had vanished. "Thanks for patching us up. And for not letting him bleed out all over your floor."

Athena inclined her head, humor in her eyes. "It was a near thing. He's stubborn enough to argue with death itself." She settled back into her chair, picking up a small olive and rolling it between her fingers as she studied the demigoddess. "How much did he tell you about what happened this morning?"

"Not much," she replied, her brow creasing. "Just that you threw him into a fight with some of Hephaestus's automatons. "He came back looking like he'd been chewed up and spit out by a cyclops, so I figured he got his ass kicked and didn't want to talk about it."

"He did get his ass kicked," Athena retorted. "But he won the fight. "I've never seen anything like it—not from a demigod, at least. Whatever power he's carrying now, it's beyond what we've known him to be capable of."

The pair sat in silence for a moment, Thalia taking in her sister's words. She could see the intrigue and curiosity in Athena's face—a need to know what exactly caused Percy to gain such extraordinary power. The goddess turned to face her, fully this time, and leaned in across the table.

"What is this power he now possesses?" Her voice was low, deliberate, each word measured yet edged with something almost like urgency. "He is… different since I last saw him. What could have happened to forge such strength—such rage?"

The demigoddess sat her food down, her eyes flickering toward the side room where Percy had disappeared to change, then back to Athena, who was watching her with that piercing gaze that seemed to peel back layers of truth whether you wanted it to or not.

"It's not my place to tell," she said finally, laced with a protectiveness that surprised even her. "We've been through hell—Percy more so than the rest of us—and whatever's changed in him, it's his story to share. Not mine."

Athena's lips pressed into a thin line, her fingers stilling around the olive she'd been toying with. The owl perched on the back of her chair ruffled its feathers, mirroring its master's agitation. "You're loyal to him," she observed neutrally but probing, like a strategist noting a new variable on the board. "I respect that. But this isn't about gossip or prying into his personal trials. You didn't see him this morning. You didn't see the power he's truly capable of. He can shift the balance of everything. The Father is no ordinary threat, Thalia. If Percy's power is what I think it is, we need to understand it. For his sake as much as ours."

Thalia's jaw tightened, her fingers curling slightly against the edge of the table. She didn't like being cornered. "I've seen what he's capable of, sister. What he did to those Orcs when he took the valley…I've never seen him like that. Not even when he battled Kronos."

"Does it scare you? This power of his, I mean." Athena questioned, her head tilting slightly.

The demigoddess snorted, but the sound lacked conviction, and her fingers twitched toward the knife sheathed at her hip, an unconscious reflex. "Scare me? Nah, he's still Percy to me even when he gets like that." She paused, her eyes drifting to the food on the table as she relived memories. "But there's this edge to him now. Like he's one more bad day away from unleashing a storm on everything. Friend or foe."

"He's certainly changed in that regard," Athena noted. "Not even Poseidon held this much rage inside himself when he got in one of his moods."

"You would feel the same way if you had to deal with the shit he's been through. Losing Annabeth. Watching his friends and family die. Having to lead people across the country just to hope for a new home. I know I couldn't do it."

Before the conversation could continue, the side door swung open, and Percy stepped back into the room, now dressed in the fresh clothes provided.

"What'd I miss?" he asked, his sea-green irises flickering between the two women like he knew they'd been dissecting him in his absence.

"Just discussing when Athena will teleport us back home," Thaila replied, smiling away the tension. She leaned back in her chair, popping another piece of bread into her mouth as if the conversation had been nothing more than casual chatter.

Athena practically whiplashed her head toward her sister, eyes widening in confusion. "What do you mean me? I don't have enough power to do that."

Both demigods froze, their hands freezing on the food they had been reaching for. Percy sat back slowly, his brow furrowing in confusion. "But—but what about that night when you met me in the woods? You teleported?"

"I had drawn on the last of my reserves to do so," she replied with a sigh. "I felt Annabeth's presence near you, and I needed to see it for myself. Alas, I was too late."

The son of Poseidon rubbed his hand over his face in agitation, remembering that night in the woods. It was a memory he desperately wanted to forget. It was a horrific sight to see Annabeth like that, controlled by the Father. He could still see her eerily smile and hear her mocking laugh.

"So you're telling me," he said slowly, trying to measure his anger, "that you can't get us back to Montana? At all?"

The blonde-haired goddess didn't waver, though a flicker of regret could be seen. "Not directly, no," she admitted. "Teleportation—even for a goddess—isn't a trivial act. It requires power, focus, and reserves I no longer have in abundance. That night in the woods, I burned through what little I'd stored to reach you. I haven't recovered enough since to manage it again, especially not for two people across half a continent."

Percy's jaw tightened, his fingers curling into a fist on the table. It seemed his problems only kept stacking up, offering no reprieve. The frustration boiled in his chest, forcing him to take steady breaths. There were other ways to get back to the valley. There had to be.

"So what, then? We take a car and drive over two thousand miles again?" Thalia mirrored his annoyance, already dreading the journey back.

"I'm sorry, sister, but there is little I can do for you in this state." Athena apologized, hating how useless she felt.

Percy suddenly pushed back from the table, the chair scraping against the floor as he stood, his movements sharp with barely contained frustration. Two thousand miles. Days, maybe weeks, of travel through a world that was anything but safe, with monsters lurking in every shadow. The ambushes, the hunger, the endless nights of keeping watch. He couldn't go through that again. They had barely made it to Montana last time. There was no telling what could happen this go-around.

"Where are you going?" Thalia questioned, standing up to follow.

"I got an idea," he replied, not bothering to look back as he made his way outside.

Percy strode through the quiet streets of Olympus, his boot echoing across the marble with purpose as the morning sun climbed higher, igniting the golden spires and temples. The two women trailed behind him, exchanging confused glances but keeping pace. They eventually reached the edge of Olympus, where the marble platform dropped away into a sheer cliff, the mortal world sprawling far below, shrouded in mist. New York's skyline glimmered faintly through the haze, the towering skyscrapers a reminder of the life he'd left behind to carve out something new in the wilds of Montana.

He stopped at the balustrade, gripping the smooth stone with both hands, his knuckles whitening as he stared out over the clouds. The wind tugged at his hair as he closed his eyes, letting the breeze cool the lingering heat of his frustration.

"Percy," Thalia called, catching up to him. She stopped a few feet away, not daring to get any closer to the edge. "What's the plan? You didn't just storm out here to sulk, did you?"

He didn't answer right away, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "No, I'm not sulking," he said finally, turning his head and glancing at her with a faint smirk. "I'm calling in a favor."

Her eyes narrowed in confusion, but before she could press him, Percy cupped his hands around his mouth and let out a whistle that cut through the air. The sound echoed off the distant peaks of Olympus, rolling down into the mortal world below. For a moment, nothing happened. The wind had carried the whistle away, and the silence returned, heavy and expectant.

"You're summoning something," Athena tilted her head, looking to the sky. "Or rather someone."

The son of Poseidon nodded, his eyes scanning the horizon ahead. "Someone who owes me a ride."

Thalia's confusion deepened, but then her expression shifted, realization dawning as horror filled her eyes. "No way. You're calling him?"

Percy's smirk widened, a glint of mischief in his sea-green eyes as he caught her horrified expression. "Oh, yeah," he replied, leaning casually against the balustrade. "Who else is gonna get us across the country in a day?"

She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "Gods, Percy, you know I hate flying.

Before he could respond, a distant whinny cut through the air, followed by the rhythmic beat of powerful wings. The clouds parted slightly, and a sleek black shape burst into view, soaring over the edge of Olympus with a grace that belied his chaotic reputation. His ebony coat gleamed in the sunlight, his massive wings slicing through the air as he banked sharply toward them. His eyes, bright and intelligent, locked onto Percy immediately, and he let out a triumphant neigh that echoed across the city.

"Boss! You're alive!" Blackjack's voice rang in Percy's mind, brimming with joy and relief. "I can't believe it! You're actually alive!"

His grin widened as Blackjack swooped down, the pegasus's hooves skimming the marble before he landed with a flourish, wings folding against his sides. The gust from his descent sent Thalia's hair whipping across her face, and she swatted it away with a scowl, muttering something about "show-offs" under her breath.

"Alive and kicking," Percy replied aloud, stepping forward to clap a hand against the Pegasus's flank. "I'm sorry I haven't contacted you. There's been a lot of shit that's happened since Gaea's war."

"You're telling me!" Blackjack snorted with indignation. "After those monsters came bursting into our stables back at camp, me and some of the boys had to escape! We ended up all the way in Georgia! Georgia, can you believe it!"

"Oh, I can believe it," he replied with a chuckle. "We had to escape to Montana."

The pegasus's ears flicked, his head tilting as he neighed. "Montana? That's, like, a million miles from anywhere fun! What's a pegasus supposed to do out there—no beaches, no donut shops, just trees and mountains!"

Percy laughed, having forgotten what a character Blackjack was. "Yeah, well, it's home now. Got a whole valley full of demigods waiting for us to get back. Which is where you come in." He scratched his neck, earning a pleased huff from the pegasus. "I need a ride, buddy. Me and Thalia, all the way to Montana. Think you can handle it?"

"Handle it? You know who you're talking to, boss!" Blackjack tossed his mane, wings twitching with excitement. "Two passengers, cross-country, no prob. Just say the word, and we're outta here.

Thalia's face paled, her blue eyes darting between Percy and Blackjack like she was sizing up a death sentence. "No. Nope. Absolutely not," she said, taking a step back from the edge of the platform, her hands raised as if she could ward off the idea itself.

Percy turned to her, his grin softening into something more understanding, though the mischief in his eyes didn't fade entirely. "Come on, Thals," he said, stepping closer to her. "It's Blackjack. He's the best there is. You really think I'd let anything happen to you up there?"

"What happens if I fall?! What happens if there's a storm?!" She asked, the worst-case scenarios in her mind going rampant.

"A storm? Pfft, I'm faster than any storm, bitch! You think I can't dodge a fucking rain cloud?! Fuck you!"

The green-eyed demigod bit back a laugh, patting the pegasus to calm him down. "He says that your safety is top priority and will do everything in his power to arrive at Montana without a hitch."

Her scowl deepened, her arms crossing tightly over her chest as she shot the both of them a withering look. "I'd rather walk the two thousand miles."

"Thals, we don't have time," Percy stepped closer, trying his best to ease her anxiety. "Everyone is waiting for us. There's no telling how much time has passed since we escaped the Labyrinth," he paused, his eyes searching hers, unwaveringly. "I trust Blackjack with my life and I won't let anything happen to you. Promise."

She held his gaze for a long moment, eventually wavering under his sincerity. The wind tugged at her dark hair, and she shoved a stray lock behind her ear, huffing out a breath. "You're gonna owe me big for this."

"Deal," he grinned before helping her onto the pegasus.

Blackjack pranced in place, wings twitching with impatience as Percy steadied Thalia, his hands firm on her waist as she swung a leg over the pegasus's broad back. Her movements were stiff, her knuckles white as she gripped his mane, muttering curses under her breath that would've made a sailor blush.

Once she was settled, he turned to Athena, who watching the scene with impassive eyes, but he could tell that she was worried. Annabeth did the same thing, trying to hide her emotions behind a blank wall.

"Remember what we discussed," she stated, stepping forward to where only his ears could hear the conversation. "I can't do this alone with the minor gods. I want you to go see your brother first. He's busy with Atlantis, but maybe your word will sway him."

"I doubt that," Percy muttered, but he quickly shut up when the goddess put a hand on his chin, making him look her square in the eye.

"You have to do it," she whispered hauntedly, like the world would end if he didn't succeed in his promise to her. He supposed it would if he didn't. "You have to help rally the minor gods, or Olympus stands no chance. Please, Perseus, I'm counting on you."

He held Athena's gaze, the weight of her words pressing down on him like the ocean's depths. Her hand lingered on his chin, her eyes boring into his with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. He could feel the urgency in her touch, the silent plea beneath her composed exterior. She wasn't just asking for his help—she was entrusting him with the survival of everything they'd fought for. Olympus, the gods, the mortal world below—it all hung in the balance, and somehow, he was the linchpin.

"I'll talk to him," he said finally. "And I'll do what I can to get the others in line. But I'm not promising miracles, Athena. You know how stubborn they are—especially my brother."

"Well, we need one," she replied, stepping close enough that he could feel her breath on his skin. She smelt faintly of lemon and cedar, an intoxicating smell, he must admit. "Remember my offer. If you ever decide to change your mind, the throne will still be there for you." Then, in a gesture that caught him off guard, she leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, her lips cool against his sun-warmed skin. "And so will I."

Percy bit the inside of his cheek, wanting to tell her that he'd never sit on that throne. Instead, he simply nodded before hopping on Blackjack. Thalia shot him a glance, her brow furrowing as she caught their exchange, but she didn't say anything. She'd grill him later; he was sure of it.

"Alright, buddy," he said, patting the pegasus's flank as he swung himself up behind Thalia, settling into place with ease born of years riding pegasi. "Let's get moving. Montana's waiting."

"Hold on tight, boss!" Blackjack's voice boomed in his mind, brimming with enthusiasm. "And tell Lightning Girl to chill—she's squeezing the life outta me!"

The son of Poseidon chuckled despite himself, leaning forward to murmur in Thalia's ear. "Relax a bit, Thals. Blackjack's got this."

She twisted slightly to glare at him, her blue eyes narrowed. "If I die because of this overgrown pony, I'm haunting you forever!"

"Fair enough," he replied, his grin fleeting as he glanced back at Athena one last time. She stood at the edge of the platform, her silhouette framed against the rising sun, the owl perched on her shoulder waving goodbye with a wing. Her expression was unreadable, but her words still echoed in his head: The throne will still be there for you. And so will I.

Blackjack spread his massive wings, the muscles beneath his coat rippling as he took a few bounding steps toward the cliff's edge. Thalia tensed, her knuckles whitening again, and Percy placed a steadying hand around her waist. The drop was sudden, the wind roaring past them as Olympus fell away, its golden spires shrinking into the clouds. Thalia let out a string of curses that would've made Ares proud, but he just laughed, the rush of flight pulling him out of his own head for the first time in hours. They soared upward, banking smoothly through the mist, wings cutting through the air with precision.

"See?!" He yelled over the wind. "Told you he's the best!"

"I hate you!" She shouted back.

Below them, the mortal world came into view—New York's skyline soon giving way to rolling hills, then forests and rivers stretching out like veins across the earth. The sight stirred something within him, a reminder of why he kept fighting—not for thrones or power, but for the world he'd sworn to protect, the people he'd carved a home for

As they leveled out, settling into a steady glide, Thalia leaned back into his chest, making sure his arm was still on her waist. "So, what was that back there? With Athena?"

"She was just wishing me luck, is all." He tried to deflect, but the daughter of Zeus saw right through him.

"Wishing you luck, huh?" She replied with skepticism. The wind whipped her hair across her face, but she didn't bother tucking it away, her eyes fixed on him like a hawk. "Looked more than that to me."

Percy sighed, his grip on her waist tightening slightly as Blackjack banked gently to the left, the pegasus's wings slicing through a low cloud. The cool mist brushed against his skin, a fleeting distraction from the conversation he'd rather avoid. "It's complicated, Thals," he said. "She has some ideas…ideas that I'm not ready for."

"Like what?"

He didn't respond immediately. How could he possibly tell her that he was offered the throne of her father? That he was offered to become king of Olympus? It was unfathomable, and every time he replayed the conversation in his head, the more and more he didn't believe it. No, he couldn't tell her. He wasn't about to open a door he wasn't ready to step through. Not with her, not yet.

"It's… nothing you need to worry about," he finally replied, trying to give a reassuring smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just Athena being Athena. Overthinking everything, trying to plan ten moves ahead."

She scowled at that response, electing to pinch his forearm for his deflection. "Don't give me that. You're dodging, and you're not even good at it." Her eyes narrowed, sparking with the same intensity she'd had when she'd pressed a knife to his throat earlier. "What did she really say to you? And don't lie—I'll know."

He sighed, simultaneously loving and hating that she could see through him. The truth clawed at him, demanding release, but he couldn't just blurt out that she wanted him to be king—not when he barely believed it himself. Not when it meant admitting he'd even considered it, if only for a fleeting, reckless second. Instead, he settled for a half-truth, something close enough to satisfy her without spilling everything.

"She's worried about Olympus," he said, choosing his words carefully. "About the minor gods not listening, about the Father stirring up trouble. She thinks I can… I don't know, help pull things together. Rally people. You know how she gets—big plans, bigger expectations."

Thalia's scowl didn't soften, but her shoulders relaxed a fraction, enough for him to know she wasn't going to push harder—not yet, anyway. "Rally people?" she echoed, skeptical.

He nodded, the memory of Athena's words—they don't respect me the way they once did—flashing through his mind. "Most of the gods are still down in Tartarus, reforming. The ones left… they're not exactly falling in line behind her. She's doing what she can, but it's not enough."

"Sounds like a mess. But that's Olympus for you—always one crisis away from imploding. So what's her big idea? You gonna go knock some sense into the minor gods or something?"

"Something like that," he muttered, grateful for the out. He leaned forward, resting his chin lightly on the top of her head. "She wants me to talk to Triton first, see if he'll help. Then maybe deal with the others. It's a long shot, but it's better than sitting around waiting for the Father to make his move."

"Good luck with that," she snorted. "He isn't your biggest fan."

"Nor I him," Percy quipped, though his tone carried a bitter edge. Triton had never hidden his disdain for his mortal half-brother, the demigod who'd stolen their father's attention and racked up a reputation that echoed even in the depths of Atlantis. Convincing him to rally behind Athena's cause—or worse, behind Percy—was going to be like convincing a shark to go vegan. "I'll figure it out. Always do."

Thalia muttered something under her breath but settled back against him, her tension fading as the rhythm of Blackjack's wings lulled her. Percy's hand rested lightly on her waist, his thumb absently tracing the edge of her tank top. For a moment, he let himself imagine they were just two demigods on a joyride, free from gods and thrones and ancient threats. Hours passed, the sun arcing across the sky as they soared over the Midwest. Fields stretched out like a golden sea, dotted with towns that looked impossibly small from this height.

As the afternoon waned, Blackjack began to descend, his wings tilting to catch the currents. "Heads up, boss!" he called. "Gotta make a pit stop. My wings are cramping, and I'm starving for some oats—or, you know, a burger, if we're feeling fancy."

Percy scanned the landscape below—a small town nestled in a valley, its lights just starting to flicker on as dusk crept in. "Alright, buddy. Find us a spot to land, somewhere quiet."

Blackjack swooped low, circling a wooded area just outside the town. The trees parted to reveal a clearing near a stream, perfect for a quick rest. He landed with a gentle thud, folding his wings as Percy slid off first, then offered a hand to Thalia. She took it reluctantly, her legs wobbling slightly as she hit the ground.

"Never again," she muttered. "Next time, I'm walking."

"Sure you are," he teased, clapping Blackjack's flank. "Good job, buddy. Take a break, grab a drink from the stream. We'll move out soon."

The pegasus nickered happily, trotting toward the water. "You got it, boss. Don't let Lightning Girl zap anything while I'm gone!"

Percy stretched, his muscles protesting from the long ride. The clearing was peaceful, the air cool and scented with pine. He leaned against a tree, closing his eyes to rest for a moment. Thalia plopped down beside him, stretching her legs out with a groan. "So," she said after a moment. "What's the plan when we get back?"

He opened his eyes, staring up at the first hint of stars breaking through the evening sky. He didn't answer right away, his mind sifting through the chaos that had transpired over the weeks. The valley was supposed to be their sanctuary, a place to rebuild, but it felt like the world was conspiring to tear it apart before they could even lay the foundations. He wouldn't let that happen.

"First thing," he said finally, "we check on everyone. Make sure the valley's secure, that no one's been hit while we were gone. Reyna, Will, and Clarisse will have kept things locked down, but…" He trailed off, the unspoken worry clear in his tone. He knew they could take care of themselves, but there was always that lingering doubt in his mind. He supposed it was because he was always there to help. Now that he wasn't, gods know what has happened. "After that, we build the cabins and fortifications. I'm not letting another Orc legion just waltz into the valley again."

Thalia raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like you want to build a fort."

"Maybe," he admitted with a shrug. "We've been running too long, reacting to whatever the gods or monsters throw at us. I'm done with that. We build something that lasts—something that can stand up to whatever threat is thrown at us."

She shifted beside him, pulling her knees up to her chest as she plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between her fingers."You're starting to sound like Annabeth, planning walls and defenses. Next thing I know, you'll be sketching blueprints in the dirt."

He smiled softly, reminiscing the times back at camp with her. Gods, he'd give anything to go back to those days. "Yeah, well, she'd probably have the whole valley mapped out by now, with watchtowers and a moat." He replied, before shaking off those memories and emotions. There was no need to relive the past. It was long gone.

"Yo, boss! Ready when you are!" The pegasus trotted over, shaking water from his mane.

"Fuck," the daughter of Zeus said under her breath, hoping that they could've just camped here for the night. But without tents, food, or water, it would've been a miserable experience.

"Easy, Thals," Percy murmured, helping her back onto Blackjack. "We're almost home. Just another hour or two."

"Famous last words," she grumbled, but let him lift her onto the pegasus.

Swinging up behind her, he settled his hands back onto her waist, steadying her as Blackjack pranced in place, wings already half-unfurling. "Let's go, buddy," Percy called out, giving a light pat on the flank.

"Hold on tight, boss! Lightning Girl, don't scream too loud!"

With a powerful leap, the pegasus launched into the air, wings beating hard as they climbed above the treetops. Thalia tensed, her hands gripping his mane like a lifeline, muttering something that almost sounded like a prayer repeatedly. The world below quickly shrank away, the clearing swallowed by a sea of green and gold as the last rays of sunlight bled into the horizon.

The wind howled past them, a relentless cold that bit at their skin. Thalia burrowed further into his chest, forcing him to tighten his hold on her. The stars above glittered like scattered diamonds, their cold light casting faint shadows across the rolling landscape below—endless plains giving way to foothills, the first signs of Montana's rugged terrain.

"Almost there, boss!" Blackjack's voice cut through the rush of wind, brimming with his usual enthusiasm. "You owe me a couple boxes of donuts and sugarcubes for flying you all the way out here!"

Percy managed a grin, promising him that he'd get those treats in due time. Soon enough, just as the moon was reaching its peak in the night sky, the valley came into view below, cradled by trees and mountains that glowed faintly under the starlight. He leaned downward the faint outline of what seemed to be their first cabin. It was only halfway built, but he was surprised to see that they had the foundation down to begin with. He wondered who exactly helped get that started.

"Looks like they've been busy," Thalia noticed, following his gaze.

He nodded, pride swelling within his chest. They'd held it together, just as he'd trusted they would. Blackjack began his descent, wings slicing through the crisp night air as he aimed for a meadow near the eastern forest. The glow of campfires flickered below, casting long shadows across the half-built cabin and the scattered tents that dotted the camp. His eyes scanned the scene, picking out familiar shapes moving in the firelight—demigods working, patrolling, or getting ready to call it a night. The pegasus touched down with a gentle thud, his wings folding as he pranced in place, tossing his head with a proud snort.

"Boom! Nailed it!" He echoed in Percy's mind. "Told ya I'd get you here in one piece. Now, where's my donuts?"

Percy chuckled, sliding off and offering a hand to Thalia. She took it, her legs shaky as she dismounted, muttering something about never trusting "feathered taxis" again. Her boots hit the grass, and she swayed for a second before finding her balance, shooting him a glare that promised retribution later.

"Thanks, buddy," he replied, rubbing his head. "You're the best. Rest up, grab some grass or whatever's around. I'll figure out the donut situation soon."

"Better be quick, boss!" Blackjack nickered, trotting toward a patch of clover near the river. "I don't fly cross-country for free, ya know!"

The son of Poseidon watched his friend trot away before taking in the valley—his valley, their home. Now that they were on the ground, he could see the cabin more clearly. It stood in the center of the camp, its wooden frame rising like a skeleton against the night sky, logs neatly stacked and bound with rope. He could hear the pounding of a hammer around it, signaling someone working even this late in the night. Again, he wondered just who exactly designed that thing.

Thalia nudged his arm, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Come on, Seaweed Brain. Let's go say hi before everyone thinks we're Orcs trying to infiltrate the camp."

Percy nodded, his eyes still lingering on the half-built cabin for a moment before he started toward the heart of the camp. The familiar sounds of life—low voices, the crackle of fire, the smell of something cooking—washed over him, sending a feeling of relief over his shoulders. He was glad nothing crazy had happened in his absence. As they approached the central campfire, familiar figures began to take shape in the flickering light. A few demigods who were still awake looked up from their seats, recognition sparking in their eyes as they watched the two figures approach.

"Holy fucking shit!" Mac, the son of Mercury, was the first to react, his yell cutting through the quiet of the camp. He leapt from his seat by the fire, nearly knocking over a stack of tin plates as he rushed forward, his wiry frame practically vibrating with excitement. "You're alive! You're actually fucking alive!"

The camp quickly erupted into a chaotic blend of shouts, laughter, and disbelieving curses as more demigods spilled out of tents and shadows, drawn by Mac's outburst. The firelight danced across the familiar faces of his friends, their eyes wide with disbelief at the sight of Thalia and Percy.

Will reached them first, practically leaping over a fire to grab Percy's shoulders with a grin so wide it looked like it hurt. "We thought you were dead! Where the Hades have you two been?! It's been two fucking weeks!"

The son of Poseidon reeled back, his expression turning into one of shock. Two weeks? They'd been gone for two whole weeks? Gods, he hated that maze with every fiber of his being.

"It's a long story," he replied sheepishly, looking to Thalia, who was too busy being hugged by Atalanta and Evelyn. "But we found an entrance to the Labyrinth. Got into some shit down there and once we got out, we ended up back in New York."

"New York?" Clarisse's voice cut through the clamor, sharp and incredulous as she shoved her way through the crowd. Her eyes raked over the pair, taking in their appearances with a mix of relief and suspicion. "You're telling me you two idiots got spit out on the other side of the country and didn't think to send a damn Iris-message?"

"Yeah, well, it wasn't exactly a vacation. The Labyrinth wasn't playing nice, and by the time we got out, we were a little preoccupied with not dying." Thalia explained, slyly glancing at the son of Poseidon. It seemed she didn't want to explain in detail what exactly had happened down there, which he understood. Some things didn't need explaining. It hurt too much to relive.

Before any more words could be exchanged, a flash of movement caught Percy's eye—a blur of blonde hair and hazel eyes charging through the crowd like a force of nature. Her expression was one of fury and wrath, her eyes brimmed with hot, angry tears as she barreled toward him. The demigods parted instinctively, sensing the storm coming. Before he could brace himself, her fist connected with his jaw, a sharp, stinging punch that snapped his head to the side.

The camp went silent, save for a few gasps and a low whistle from Mac. The son of Poseidon staggered back a step, his hand flying to his face as he blinked at her, more surprised than hurt.

"Two weeks!" Katie shouted, her words cracking with emotion as she jabbed a finger into his chest. "You disappeared for two weeks, Percy! No word, no sign, nothing! I thought you were dead!" Her eyes blazed, tears threatening to spill over, but she held them back, her fists clenched at her sides like she was debating whether to hit him again.

He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could get a word out, she lunged forward again—this time wrapping her arms around him in a fierce, bone-crushing hug. Her face buried into his chest, and he felt her shudder, her breath hitching as she clung to him like he might vanish again if she let go. The sudden shift caught him off guard, and for a moment, he just stood there, stunned, before his arms slowly came up to return the embrace.

"That's twice now where you've disappeared on us," she mumbled into his chest. "Don't make it a third time."

"I'll try my best," he replied, looking down at her with a soft smile.

Releasing him of her death-grip, he would've thought that the punches and tears would've ceased by now, but turns out he was wrong. Before he could react, another fist was thrown at his jaw. The punch landed with a dull thwack, again surprising him more than hurting. The camp once again filled with collective gasps and stifled laughs. Rubbing his jaw, he turned to face his new assailant, only to find Piper standing there, her eyes blazing with a fury that rivaled Katie's.

"She already said everything I wanted to say," she jerked a thumb at the daughter of Demeter before launching herself into his chest as well. "Welcome back."

"Good to be home," he said in her ear, wrapping his arms around her small frame.

Rubbing his jaw with a mix of amusement and resignation, his sea-green eyes flickered between the two women. The camp buzzed with laughter and murmurs, the tension of their return melting into something warmer, more familiar. He opened his mouth to say something when a third shadow loomed from the crowd, moving with a predator's grace.

"Oh, no," he muttered under his breath, recognizing the glint of steel and the storm brewing in those dark irises. This next punch might actually hurt this time.

"You absolute idiot!" Reyna yelled, rearing back and delivering a solid hit to his jaw, the impact causing him to stumble backward. "Two weeks and you—"

"Alright, I get it!" Percy yelled back in exasperation, spitting out some blood. "I'm sorry for leaving! It won't happen again!" The camp erupted into laughter, a chaotic symphony of whoops and hollers that drowned out the crackle of the campfire. He rubbed his jaw, wincing as he shot Reyna a look. "Anyone else want to have a swing, huh?! Let's just make tonight whack-a-percy, why don't we?!"

"I wouldn't mind taking a swing myself!" A voice, coming from the back of the crowd, cut through the laughter.

The son of Poseidon felt his heart sink when he heard those words. It was a familiar voice, one he thought he'd never hear again. But it shouldn't be possible. He was dead. His hand dropped from his jaw, the ache forgotten as his eyes snapped toward the source. The crowd parted once more, demigods stepping aside to reveal a figure emerging from the shadows of the half-built cabin, his silhouette framed by the flickering firelight. A hammer was hanging from his belt loop, its leather grip worn from use, and his shoulders filled out a flannel shirt stained with sawdust and sweat. The orange light caught his features as he stepped closer—curly brown hair, a crooked grin, and eyes that glinted with mischief.

"Good to see you again, hombre."

Percy's breath caught, his knees buckling slightly as the world tilted beneath him. He'd seen him die—seen the explosion that had torn through the sky, the flames that had swallowed him whole when he'd faced Gaea's wrath. Yet, here he was, standing in the Montana valley, hammer swinging at his hip like he'd never left.

"Leo?" His voice cracked, barely above a whisper, as he took a hesitant step forward.

"In the flesh," Leo smiled, spreading out his arms with a laugh. "Miss me?"

The son of Poseidon didn't hesitate, crossing the distance in three long strides, his boots thudding against the packed earth. He grabbed Leo by the shoulders, half-expecting him to dissolve like a mirage, but the solid warmth under his hands was real. "H-How? I saw you die!"

"Takes more than an explosion to kill me," the son of Hephaestus flexed his arm jokingly. "Sorry it took me so long to get back. Had to make a pitstop along the way." He said, craning his head back, looking to a figure amidst the demigods behind.

Once again, Percy felt his heart stop when he peeled his gaze off his friend, looking over his head to a woman he also had expected never to see again. The woman whom he once loved. The woman he considered giving up on the world for. The woman who placed a curse on him and Annabeth when they were in Tartarus.

The firelight flickered across the trees, casting shadows that danced over her white skin. Her presence hit him like a wave, dragging him under with a rush of memories—love, betrayal, pain, and everything in between. Her caramel hair spilled over her shoulders, catching the glow of the flames, and her eyes—sharp, calculating, and hauntingly familiar—locked onto his with an intensity that made his breath hitch.

Calypso.

She stood there, clad in a simple jacket and jeans, her posture relaxed but her gaze anything but. She looked just as beautiful as the day he left her on that island.

"Hello, Percy."

Chapter Text

The morning sun crept over the valley, painting the meadows, trees, and mountains in shades of orange and gold. Percy, who had awoken before anyone else, sat on a log near the river’s edge, enjoying the sounds of nature as he ate a protein bar for breakfast. He hadn’t been able to get a wink of sleep last night due to Leo’s return. He, Piper, and Leo had stayed up well after the others went back to bed, discussing all that had happened since the battle against Gaea in New York.

It turns out that Leo had landed back on Ogygia after his supposed ‘death’ and rescued Calypso from her eternal prison. Together, they flew back on Festus to New York, only to find it in ruin, and didn’t know what to do or where to go from there. Apparently, they had stopped for food in a diner when they saw on a TV that there had been a whole bunch of teenagers who had robbed the city of Billings. Seeing through the mist, even through the television, they knew it could have only been the work of demigods and decided to fly all the way to Montana to look for them.

It must’ve been quite a shock when they landed in the valley, greeted by a hundred demigods who thought they were being attacked by a dragon. Percy silently laughed to himself, shaking his head as he finished the last of his breakfast. Staring out at the shimmering water, he shivered slightly when he felt a cool rush of wind bite at his skin. Winter was almost here, which meant they needed to get that cabin built fast. If they wanted to survive the cold, their shelter would have to be more than just flimsy tents.

Stuffing a hundred demigods into a cabin, however, was less than ideal, but Leo, who had immediately taken control over the construction, said that wouldn’t be a problem. He was trying to make it into something similar to the Big House back at Camp Half-Blood. How he could build something that big or acquire the necessary amount of material was beyond him, but he trusted the son of Hephaestus to get it done.

Deep in thought, he faintly heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was. He felt his mood darken when he smelled the faint scent of cinnamon fill his nose, the air shifting with her familiar presence that stirred both warmth and anger in his chest. He clenched his fists, resisting the urge to dig his nails into his palms as she sat beside him in silence. This was a conversation long overdue. One that he’d rather not have, but if she was going to live here, they needed to get everything off their chest.

“You’re up early,” Calypso greeted softly, her words carrying the same melodic tune he remembered so vividly. Her hands were folded in her lap, fingers twisting nervously as she side-glanced him, trying to gauge his emotions.

He didn’t respond, his gaze fixed outward toward the mountains looming over the valley. The silence stretched uncomfortably long, thick with unspoken words and old wounds. There was so much he wanted to say. He wanted to scream at her, spit at her, tell her what an awful person she was to place a curse on Annabeth. He still remembered her cries down there in Tartarus. Remembered how scared she was, thinking that he’d left her alone. The memory made his blood boil, causing him to bite the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t lash out at her. It wouldn’t do any good nor change anything.

“I…I didn’t think I’d see you again. Not like this.” She spoke again hesitantly, causing him to finally react.

“The Fates love their little surprises.” He jeered, turning his head to glance at her. He hated to admit it, but she was still just as beautiful as the day he left her. Her pale skin, almond-shaped eyes, and delicate curve of her jaw were some of the most beautiful features he’d ever seen on a woman. He hated that his heart still skipped a beat every time he looked upon her.

“That they do,” she replied softly with a nod, pursing her lips. It seemed she was trying to find the right words to say. To bring to light all that she’d wanted to tell him after he’d left her on that island. She scooted ever so closer to him, her sleeves slightly brushing against his skin. Again, he hated how his breath hitched slightly at the contact, at the way he was aware of every little surrounding detail. “I’m glad they decided to have us meet again, however. I loved our talks when we were together on the island.”

His fingers tightened around the edge of the log, the rough bark biting into his palms. Memories stirred within his mind—nights filled with laughter, quiet confessions, and a fleeting sense of peace he hadn’t known since. But those once-happy memories, the ones that always caused him to ask ‘what if?’ were tainted now. Tainted by the knowledge of what petty darkness boiled within her. Despite her ethereal appearance and soft-going attitude, she was still a Titaness. She still had the blood of Atlas running through her veins.

“Which is why I’m willing to put the past behind us,” she continued, turning to face him fully. “For the sake of peace, the valley, our friends, I’m willing to forgive you.”

Percy’s jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth might crack. Forgive him? The words echoed in his mind, each syllable stoking the fire that had been smoldering in his chest since Calypso sat down. He turned to face her fully, his sea-green eyes blazing with a fury he could no longer contain. The river beside them seemed to churn louder, mirroring the storm building inside him.

“Forgive me?” His voice was low, dangerous, each word dripping with barely restrained rage. “You’ve got some fucking nerve, Calypso.”

Her eyes widened, and she leaned back slightly, afraid of just how much anger and rage she saw in him. “Percy, I—”

“No.” He cut her off, standing abruptly and wiping off the wood splinters from the log he’d just cracked with his bare hands. “You don’t get to sit there and act like I’m the one who needs forgiving. Not after what you did.”

Her mouth opened, then closed, her delicate features tightening with a mix of confusion and defensiveness. “What I did? Percy, I was trapped on that island for centuries, alone, abandoned by everyone—by you. I had every right to be angry!”

“Angry?” Percy’s voice rose, and a flock of birds scattered from a nearby tree, startled by the sound. He clenched his fist, glancing back to the camp where the others continued to sleep. He tried his best to calm down, not wanting to awaken them with drama first thing in the morning. “You cursed Annabeth! You made her suffer in Tartarus, made her think I’d abandoned her! Do you have any idea what that did to her? To us?” He finished in a fiery whisper, venom seeping out his mouth.

The daughter of Atlas stood too, her own anger flaring as she stepped closer, now undeterred by the dangerous glint in his eyes. “I was hurt, Percy! You left me! You promised me freedom, and then you walked away without a second thought. Do you know what it’s like to be left behind, to watch everyone else get their happy ending while you’re stuck in a cage?”

“Don’t you dare turn this around on me,” he seethed, his tone shaking with the effort to keep from shouting. The river surged behind him, waves lapping violently against the bank as his emotions bled into the water. “I was a kid. A kid who was busy fighting a fucking war. Busy saving humanity. But even after I left, there wasn’t a day that went by where I didn’t think of you.”

His admission hung in the air, the river churning louder and louder with every heartbeat. For a moment, neither spoke, unsure of what to do or say. Calypso’s eyes glistened, her defiance faltering with every shaky breath she took.

“I tried to give you that happy ending too, you know,” Percy finally spoke, his gaze growing distant as he remembered that day in the throne room. “After the war, when the gods offered me anything I wanted—immortality, power, whatever—I didn’t ask for any of that. I asked for you. For all the peaceful Titans, the ones who didn’t fight, who didn’t hurt anyone. I made them swear on the Styx to set you free.”

Her breath caught, her eyes widening as she stared at him. “You… what?”

“I told them it wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve to be trapped on that island forever. Neither did any of the others who stayed out of the wars. I thought… I thought if I could get them to agree, you’d finally have a chance at freedom. A real life.”

He paused, the memory of that moment drawing even more anger out of him. He hated how petty the gods were. How even after he made them swear, they couldn’t live up to their word. He couldn’t imagine having such little honor. “They swore it,” he said softly. “And I thought I’d done right by you.”

Her hands trembled slightly, and she clasped them together to steady herself. Tears brimmed her eyes, threatening to fall down her flawless cheek. “I…I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t,” he replied bitterly. “Because it didn’t happen. The gods… they dragged their feet. Found loopholes. Then the war with Gaea happened, and they faded to Tartarus, leaving us to pick up the pieces.”

Calypso’s tears finally spilled over, tracing glistening paths down her face. She took a shaky step toward him, reaching out for his hand. But he didn’t take it. “Percy… I didn’t know you fought for me. All I knew was the loneliness, the endless waiting. When I heard you’d moved on, that you had Annabeth, I—” She stopped, choking on the words, her hands twisting together as if she could wring out the pain. “I lashed out. I was wrong, and I’m sorry. I never meant for Annabeth to suffer like that.”

Percy’s jaw tightened, his eyes searching hers for sincerity. The apology stretched between them, fragile and raw, but it didn’t erase the memories of Annabeth’s screams in Tartarus, the way she’d clung to him, terrified he’d vanish. He wanted to believe Calypso, wanted to let go of the anger that burned in his chest, but trust was a hard thing to rebuild, especially when one’s fatal flaw is loyalty.

“You caused her a lot of pain,” he said, looking out at the sun, which was just beginning to crest the mountaintops. “When she was at her lowest in that fucking pit, you pushed her down even further. I don't know if I can just…forget that.”

She nodded, swallowing hard as she wiped at her tears. “I know. I don’t expect you to. I just…let me make it right, please. Let me apologize to Annabeth. I want to make this work. For you, for the others. For this valley.”

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, reliving that day on the battlefield, her blood on his hands, her lifeless eyes, all over again. Taking a steady breath, he shook his head with a sad smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“She’s dead,” he replied into the wind, opening his eyes to look at her. He didn’t have the heart to explain fully what had happened to her or what she’d become. How could he even explain that she was under the Father’s will? Calypso, practically new to his unknown world, wouldn’t understand. So it was better to just say she was dead and leave it at that.

The daughter of Atlas was still, her gaze landing on the shimmering river that was now calmer, solemnly lapping gently at the bank. She hadn’t meant to cause this. Any of this. She’d just been jealous, wishing that she could’ve been Percy’s, that’s all.

“How?” She hesitantly questioned, but it seemed the son of Poseidon wasn’t going to answer that. He couldn’t bring himself to think of it any longer.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said finally, looking back at camp and noticing the first signs of life stirring. “She’s gone. That’s all you need to know.”

Calypso’s lips parted, as if she wanted to press further, but knew that wasn’t the best of ideas, judging by the hard glint of warning in his eyes. “I… I’m so sorry, Percy. If I’d known—”

“You didn’t,” he cut in, not harshly, but with a finality that closed the door on her words. “And it wouldn’t change anything now.”

She nodded, understanding to drop it. The air between them felt fragile, like a thread stretched too thin, ready to snap. Percy’s hands twitched at his sides, the urge to walk away and hit something warring with the part of him that knew this conversation wasn’t over—not really. Not when they were stuck here together, building a life in this valley with a hundred other demigods who needed them to hold it together.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” she said after a long pause, looking back up at him. “I know I’ve made mistakes—terrible ones. But I’m here now, and I want to help. I want to be part of this… whatever this is you’re building.”

The son of Poseidon exhaled through his nose, his breath visible in the cool air. He wanted to tell her to leave, to take her apologies and her regrets and go somewhere far away where he wouldn’t have to see her face and feel that ache in his chest. But he couldn’t. Not when Leo was here, not when the others were counting on every pair of hands to survive the coming winter. And not when he knew, deep down, that Calypso wasn’t the only one who’d made mistakes.

“This place,” he said, gesturing vaguely around, “it’s not about me. Or you. It’s about them. My friends. They’ve been through hell—same as us. If you’re serious about helping, then prove it. Work hard and help this camp. I can’t pretend to forgive and forget, but I…I can come to terms with you.”

Her eyes held his, searching for a crack in the wall he’d built between them. She nodded slowly, her shoulders sagging at the distance she could already feel growing between the two of them. She hadn’t wanted that, despite all that had happened. “I will,” she said quietly, clenching her hands to stop the tremor.

Percy didn’t respond, his gaze drifting back to the river. The water had calmed, reflecting the golden light of the rising sun like a mirror. It was beautiful, serene, but he felt none of its peace. He had the nagging sense that he was being unfair—yet he couldn’t help it. Her presence was a reminder of too much: of promises he couldn’t keep, of a war that had cost him everything. He’d never voice it aloud, but he honestly wished she had still been stuck on that island.

The faint sound of laughter carried from the camp, pulling him out of his thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder to see a few demigods stirring—Piper’s silhouette recognizable as she stretched near a tent, catching his lingering gaze and arching an eyebrow once she noticed who he was standing next to. The valley was waking up, and with it, the demands of the day. There was no time to dwell, not when winter was coming.

“Go get some breakfast,” he turned back to Calypso. “We’ve got a long day ahead, and Leo’s probably about to start asking for help about that cabin.”

She hesitated, wanting to say more, but the hard set of his jaw told her the conversation was over—for now. She gave a small nod, her eyes lingering on him for a moment longer before she turned and walked back toward the camp, her footsteps soft against the dew-damp grass. The scent of cinnamon faded with her, leaving him alone with the river and the anger and guilt festering within.

He stayed there a while longer, staring at the water as it shimmered in the morning light. His fingers flexed, itching to reach for Riptide, to channel the restless energy coursing through him into something tangible. Gods, he hated to admit it, but he wished another orc or two would show themselves. He’d love nothing more at the moment than to snap their necks.

“Percy!” Reyna called out to him. “Come get breakfast!”

He sighed once more, shaking those disturbing thoughts from his head. With a final glance at the mountains, he turned and trudged toward the camp. The valley was alive now—tents flapping softly in the breeze, demigods stumbling out with sleepy eyes, and the clatter of cookware as breakfast came together. He caught Piper’s eyes again as he ventured deeper into camp, her head tilting slightly, a silent question about Calypso. Choosing to ignore it, he made his way over to the daughter of Bellona, who was already dishing out portions of oatmeal and dried fruit from a makeshift kitchen setup.

“Thanks,” Percy muttered, taking the bowl she handed him. He didn’t meet her gaze, focusing instead on the steam rising from the food. It smelled faintly of honey, a small comfort.

Reyna didn’t move, her arms crossing as she leaned against a crate of supplies. “What was that about?” she asked, low enough that it wouldn’t carry to the others milling around.

He shrugged, poking at the oatmeal with his spoon. “Nothing important. Everything’s fine.”

“Liar,” she replied, but there was no bite in it. She glanced over his shoulder to where Calypso was sitting with Leo, also eating his meal before getting the day started. “Want to talk about it?”

“Nope.” He took a bite, chewing slowly to avoid saying more. Reyna always had a way of cutting through his defenses, and he wasn’t in the mood to be dissected.

She studied him for a moment longer, trying to figure out just what exactly had happened. She—hell, everyone—knew his story with the daughter of Atlas. What she didn’t know was what had happened on that island to gauge such a reaction from him. But she knew better than to push when Percy got like this—closed off, like a clamshell snapped shut. With a slight nod, she let it drop, turning to hand out another bowl to a younger demigod who shuffled up, rubbing sleep from their eyes.

“Eat fast,” she said over her shoulder. “Leo needs more wood for that cabin, and you’re gonna be our mule for today.”

“Is that payback for leaving you for two weeks?” He forced a half-smile, grateful for the shift in focus.

“No,” Reyna replied, her lips twitching into a smirk as she leaned upward into his ear. “The payback will be no sex for two weeks.” She whispered before darting off gods know where.

Percy nearly choked on his oatmeal, his spoon freezing halfway to his mouth. He coughed, glancing around to make sure no one else had overheard. A few demigods nearby shot him curious looks, but the clatter of camp life drowned out any chance they might’ve heard. He shook his head, laughing at her retreating figure before finishing the rest of his meal and heading out to the half-finished cabin.

The valley buzzed with activity as he approached the construction site, the skeleton of the cabin rising against the backdrop of towering pines and rugged mountains. Even in its unfinished state, it was impressive—a sprawling framework of thick logs and sturdy beams that promised something far grander than he’d imagined. Leo had outdone himself with the design, sketching out a structure that could rival the Big House at Camp Half-Blood. The foundation stretched wide, easily a hundred feet across, with space for multiple rooms, a massive common area, and even a small training hall for when the snows trapped them inside. Leo had rambled on the night prior about reinforced walls to withstand blizzards, a hearth big enough to warm the whole place, and windows—gods, so many windows—to let in the valley’s light.

They still had a long way to go for all that to come to fruition. It was ambitious, maybe even a little crazy, but if anyone could pull it off, it was Leo. He stepped closer, running a hand along a smoothed log, its surface warm from the morning sun. The wood smelled of pine and fresh sap, relaxing him in a similar way to how the river did. He smiled softly, already thinking about what the future might hold for them and the memories they would make in this new home. He honestly couldn’t wait.

“She’s going to be a beauty, ain’t she?” Leo walked up behind, clasping a hand on his shoulder.

He turned to his friend, smirking at the excitement written across his face. “Yeah, man. You’re outdoing yourself with this one. It’s… big.”

The son of Hephaestus grinned, his eyes glinting with that familiar spark of mischief and genius. “Big? Nah, this is epic. We’re talking fortress-level awesome. A demigod paradise! Picture it: cozy fires, bunk rooms that don’t smell like wet socks, and maybe—just maybe—a bar. I’m still working on that part.”

Percy snorted, rolling his eyes. “A bar? You planning to conjure Modelos out of thin air?”

"Hey, where there's a will, there's a way. But first, we gotta finish the walls before winter decides to drop by uninvited." He gestured to the stacks of logs nearby. "Which is where you come in, mi amigo. Time to put those muscles to work."

“Yes, boss,” Percy chuckled, heading toward the logs, the chatter of the camp fading into a pleasant hum as he focused on the task.

The morning passed in a blur of sweat and splinters. He hauled logs alongside a handful of other demigods—but it was mostly just Butch who was the second biggest guy in the camp after Percy. They worked in a rhythm, passing timber hand-to-hand, the pile on the east side growing steadily. Leo darted around like a caffeinated squirrel, barking orders one minute and cracking jokes the next, his tool belt jingling with every step.

By noon, the son of Poseidon’s shirt was soaked, and his arms ached in that satisfying way that meant he’d done something real. He paused to wipe his brow, glancing at the cabin’s framework. Some of the walls were starting to take shape, and he could almost see Leo’s vision coming to life. He spotted Calypso across the site, her hair tied back as she knelt beside a pile of planks, sorting them with a quiet focus. She’d thrown herself into the work, just as she’d promised, her hands steady despite the occasional sly glance she cast his way. Despite knowing better, he nodded at her, glad to see she was contributing before turning back to his work.

“Perce,” Butch heaved, his hands on his knees. “I need a break, man. I’m trying to keep up with you but these logs weigh so fucking much.”

Percy clapped him on the shoulder, offering a grin. “Alright, big guy, take five. Don’t want you passing out on me.”

The son of Iris muttered something about “freakish strength” before stumbling toward the shade of a nearby tree, collapsing with a dramatic groan. The son of Poseidon chuckled, shaking his head before being interrupted by a water bottle in his face.

“You look like you’re about to melt.” Piper appeared out of nowhere.

“You try to lift these logs all day, then you can comment on my appearance,” he replied, smirking as he took the bottle and downed the contents in one go.

She laughed, nudging him playfully with her elbow. “I have my own duties. Plus, a beautiful girl like me shouldn’t be picking up logs. Leave that to the big, burly men.” She finished, poking his bicep with every word.

Percy rolled his eyes, noticing that she was getting closer to him. “I thought you were a feminist? If that’s the case why don’t you help me pick these damn things up?”

“Only when it matters,” she smirked, tilting her head as she stepped even closer, her fingers trailing lightly along his arm. “Besides, I’ve got other ways to contribute.” Her voice dropped to a playful murmur, and she leaned in just enough for him to catch the faint scent of lavender and sage clinging to her. It was subtle, warm, and unmistakably Piper, stirring a different kind of heat in his chest that had nothing to do with the morning’s labor.

He raised an eyebrow, trying to keep his grin in check. “Oh, yeah? Like distracting me when I’m supposed to be working?”

Her lips curved into a mischievous smile, her kaleidoscope eyes glinting in the sunlight. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to check in on my favorite sea prince after that little riverside chat.” Her tone was light, but there was a knowing edge to it, like she’d already pieced together more than he’d said.

Percy’s grin faded slightly, and he glanced away, tossing the empty water bottle between his hands. “It was nothing,” he muttered, echoing his earlier dodge with Reyna. “Just clearing the air.”

“Uh-huh.” Piper didn’t sound convinced.

“Pipes,” he sighed in exasperation, looking down at her. “You’re a daughter of Aphrodite who knows my story with her. You can figure the rest out in that pretty head of yours.”

Her smile softened, but her eyes held that sharp, perceptive glint that always made Percy feel like she could see right through him. She stepped even closer, close enough she could feel the heat radiating from his skin, catching the faint scent of salt and pine that clung to him after hours of hauling logs. She inhaled subtly, her lips curving as she registered the familiar smell that was so distinctly Percy—like the ocean mixed with the forest. She liked it, more than she’d ever admit out loud, and for a moment, she let herself linger in it, the warmth of his presence easing the jealousy she’d felt watching him with Calypso earlier.

“Figured it out already,” she replied, swiping a finger across his sweaty arm before licking it, all the while keeping her eyes locked on his. “But you know me—I like hearing it from the source.”

“You’re a pervert,” he laughed, looking back at Butch who was just getting up from his break, ready to start their task again. “Get going before I call the cops on you for sexually harassing me.”

Piper’s laugh rang out, bright and teasing, as she stepped back with a mock salute. “You know you like it.” She winked, her hair fluttering against the wind as she turned and sauntered off toward the cluster of demigods organizing supplies, her hips swaying just enough to make Percy shake his head.

The son of Iris was trudging back over, still grumbling under his breath about the weight of the timber. Percy clapped his hands together, brushing off whatever that encounter had been. “Alright, man, let’s get back to it. Sooner we finish, sooner we can eat something better than oatmeal.”

Butch groaned but nodded, hefting a log with him as they fell back into their rhythm. The afternoon wore on, the sun climbing high before dipping toward the western peaks, casting long shadows across the valley. They kept at it, their pile of logs shrinking as the cabin’s walls grew taller. The air buzzed with the sounds of construction—hammers pounding, saws rasping, and Leo’s voice cutting through it all with a mix of commands and bad puns that drew groans or laughter, depending on the person. Percy found a strange comfort in the work, the strain in his muscles keeping his mind from wandering.

Before he knew it, the sky had deepened to a dusky purple, the first stars winking into view above the mountains. The construction site was quieter now, most of the demigods having trickled back to camp for dinner. Percy wiped the sweat from his brow, his hands rough with calluses and streaked with dirt. The cabin’s framework stood prouder than it had that morning, still a skeleton but brimming with potential.

“Yo, Percy!” Leo’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. The son of Hephaestus jogged over, his tool belt clanking and a smudge of dirt on his cheek. “Not bad for day one, huh? We’re ahead of schedule—mostly thanks to you and Butch turning into human forklifts.”

Percy smirked, flexing his sore arms. “It was a good workout,” he replied. “Gonna need a warm shower, though, before I get as stiff as a board.”

“A good workout?” Butch interjected from a few yards away, practially collapsed against a tree as beads of sweat poured down his face. “That was a good workout to you? That was fucking torture, man!”

“You’ll live, big guy. Get some food in you, and you’ll be ready to go again tomorrow.”

Butch muttered something unintelligible but managed a tired grin before stumbling off toward the camp, where the smell of roasting meat and fresh bread was starting to drift through the air. His stomach growled at the scent, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since that bowl of oatmeal hours ago.

Leo slung an arm around Percy’s shoulders, steering him toward the glow of the campfire at the heart of the camp. “Come on, hermano. You’ve earned a break.”

As they reached the campfire, the camp was alive with chatter and laughter. Demigods sprawled on logs and blankets, plates piled high with food—grilled venison, flatbreads, and roasted apples, courtesy of the hunters who’d been out scouting earlier. The fire crackled, sending sparks dancing into the starry sky, and the warmth of it chased away the evening chill.

Percy plopped down on a log, his body grateful for the rest as he grabbed a plate from a nearby stack. He loaded it with a generous helping of venison and a couple of flatbreads, the smoky aroma making his mouth water. He watched Leo settle beside Calypso, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh quietly. Across the fire, Nico and Will were silently eating together, the Stolls entertaining some of the younger demigods by juggling apples and nearly setting their own hair on fire when one slipped into the flames. Piper was perched on a blanket with a few of the younger girls, braiding their hair while telling a story that had them giggling uncontrollably. The camp was a mess of noise and life, and for a moment, he let himself sink into it, remembering that this was worth it. The pain, the hardship, the loss, all of it was worth it for moments like these.

A nudge against his shoulder pulled him back. Katie slid onto the log beside him, her own plate balanced on her knee. Her blonde hair bounced slightly as she settled in, her hazel eyes catching the firelight as she shot him a sidelong glance. She didn’t say anything at first, just took a bite of her flatbread, chewing thoughtfully while the crackle of the fire filled the space between them.

“Long day,” she finally said, carrying that warmth that eased his shoulders. She leaned a little closer, her head slightly leaning on his shoulder. “You look like you’ve been wrestling Titans instead of logs.”

Percy snorted at the irony. Just a day ago, he was doing exactly that. But he couldn’t tell her that. Thalia had wanted what happened down there in the maze to stay between them, and he would oblige her request. It probably wasn’t the best of ideas considering what exactly Koios was doing, but since he was gone now, he hoped that stuff was put to an end and wouldn’t bite them in the ass later.

“Feels like it,” he replied. “Leo’s got us working like we’re building the Parthenon.”

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, leaning in a fraction more, her knee nudging his.

He took another bite of venison, savoring the smoky flavor as he let her and the fire’s warmth ease him. He was glad she wasn’t pushing him to talk. She didn’t try to pry like Piper or Reyna. She just let him enjoy the company in silence, and that was more than he could ever ask for. They stayed that way for a while, finishing their meal and watching the chaos dwindle down as everyone began to prepare for bed, their energy spent from the day’s work and evening’s revelry.

When the fire began to crackle lower and the wood began to cool, Katie pressed herself deeper into his side, trying to stave off the cold air mingling in. “You’re quiet tonight,” she murmured, keeping her voice low to not disturb the others nodding off in their tents. She tilted her head to look up at him, her eyes searching his face with a gentle curiosity that didn’t demand answers but invited them. “More than usual, I mean.”

Percy’s lips twitched into a half-smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just tired,” he said, his gaze drifting to the embers. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth, either. That conversation with Calypso really did a number on him, more than he cared to admit. He supposed it was because she was a girl he had once loved. A girl he thought he’d never see again. Feelings he once thought were buried were surging through him once more, and he hated it.

She hummed softly, unconvinced but not pushing. Instead, she shifted, her knee brushing his again, deliberate this time. “Come with me,” she said suddenly, standing and setting her plate aside. She held out her hand, her expression a mix of mischief and something softer, something that made his heart stutter.

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at her outstretched hand. “Where to? It’s freezing, and I’m not in the mood to chase monsters tonight.”

“No monsters,” she promised, her smile teasing but warm. “Just… trust me. You need a break from all this.” She gestured vaguely at the camp.

He sighed but knew he wasn’t getting out of this. Katie was as stubborn as he was. He took her hand, her fingers warm and calloused, and let her pull him to his feet. Quickly, she led him from the fading campfire, as they slipped past the cluster of tents. The valley was hushed now, the only sounds the distant hoot of an owl, the snores of demigods, and the rustle of leaves in the chilly breeze. The air bit at his skin, sharp with the promise of frost, and he tucked his free hand into his pocket, trying to ward off the cold.

She didn’t speak as they moved further away from camp and downstream from the river. Wondering where exactly she was taking him, he stole a glance at her, the moonlight catching her blonde hair, turning it to spun silver. Her lips curved in a secretive smile. She led him along a narrow path, barely visible in the dim light, where the trees parted to reveal a faint trail worn into the earth. The air grew fresher, tinged with the scent of moss and something sweeter, like wildflowers blooming out of season. Percy’s curiosity piqued, but he didn’t ask where they were going—part of him didn’t want to break the spell of this moment, the quiet intimacy of her leading him somewhere unknown.

After a few minutes, the path opened into a small clearing, and his eyes widened. Before them lay a spring, its surface smooth as glass, fed by a gentle cascade trickling down a rocky outcrop. The water shimmered under the moonlight, reflecting the stars above in a way that made it look like the sky had spilled onto the earth. Ferns and soft moss hugged the spring’s edges, and tiny white flowers—impossibly vibrant for the encroaching winter—dotted the greenery, their petals glowing faintly as if kissed by some divine light.

Katie stopped at the water’s edge, releasing his hand to turn and face him. Her eyes, bright with the reflected starlight, held a mix of playfulness and something deeper, something that made Percy’s pulse quicken. “Found this place a few days ago,” she said softly. “It reminded me of that night we were at that similar spring, and I thought you might like it. You know, for when you need to…breathe.”

He knew the hidden meaning behind those words. Walking closer, he put a hand gently into the water. It was cold, but that quickly changed when he used his power, warming the spring until it felt like a gentle embrace, the kind that could melt away any stress. Steam began to rise in delicate curls, mingling with the crisp air, and the water glowed faintly under his touch, as if answering to the pulse of his power.

“Thank you, Mr. Jackson.” She said playfully, dipping her fingers in the water to test its warmth.

“Certainly, my Lady.” He replied equally, beginning to strip off his shirt.

“Jeez, right from the get-go, huh?” Katie laughed, watching him take off his clothes with an eagerness she couldn’t hide.

“I know you didn’t lead me all the way out here just to not get in the water.”

The daughter of Demeter huffed, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. “You just want to see me naked again.” She replied, already raising the hem of her shirt.

Percy grinned, his eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and challenge as he kicked off his pants and tossed his shirt onto a nearby rock. “Guilty as charged,” he teased, stepping closer to the spring’s edge, the warm water lapping at his toes.

Katie rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her amusement as she peeled off her own clothing. She caught him looking and crossed her arms, mock-shy, but the glint in her gaze told him she was anything but hesitant. “You’re staring,” she teased.

“Can’t help it,” he shot back, his grin widening as he stepped into the spring, the warm water enveloping him. He turned to face her, leaning back slightly, his arms spread along the rocky edge. The steam curled around him, softening the hard lines of his shoulders, making him look almost like a God of the sea in the starlight.

She didn’t hesitate to follow him in the water, the warmth rippling around her as she sank in. The steam curled upward, wrapping them in a cocoon of warmth that felt like a shield against the biting chill of the night. She waded closer, her movements slow and deliberate, the water glistening on her skin.

“You’re trouble, Jackson,” she murmured. She stopped just shy of him, close enough that he could feel the faint heat of her body through the water, but not so close that they touched. The space between them crackled, heavy with unspoken tension from when they had been interrupted last time.

“Me?” Percy tilted his head, his sea-green eyes glinting with mock innocence. “You’re the one dragging me out to secret springs in the middle of the night. Sounds like you’re the troublemaker here.”

She laughed softly, the sound warm and unguarded. She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against his arm, trailing through the water to leave a tingling path in their wake.

“Maybe I am,” she admitted, her lips curving into a sly smile. “But you’re here, aren’t you? So what does that say about you?”

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze dropping to where her fingers lingered on his arm, the touch light but electric. His heart thudded, and he was hyper-aware of every detail—the soft ripple of the water, the faint scent of wildflowers mingling with her intoxicating scent, the way her hair clung to her shoulders, damp from the steam. He wanted to close the distance, to pull her closer and let the warmth of the spring and her presence drown out everything else, but something held him back. A flicker of hesitation, a shadow of the morning’s confrontation with Calypso, Annabeth’s memory—they all lingered, tugging at the edges of his mind.

Katie seemed to sense it, her smile softening as she tilted her head, studying him with that quiet perception that always caught him off guard. “You’re thinking too much,” she said gently. “I can see it. Whatever happened with her this morning, it’s not here right now. It’s just us.”

He swallowed, his throat tight. “It’s not that simple.”

“Maybe not,” she conceded, her fingers sliding up to his shoulder, resting there with a steady warmth. “But it doesn’t have to be complicated either.”

He wanted to argue, to tell her that some things couldn’t be set down, that the scars ran too deep. But looking into her eyes, he felt the fight drain out of him. She wasn’t asking him to forget or to fix anything. She was just asking him to be here, with her, in this moment.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his shoulders easing as he reached out, his hand finding hers beneath the water. Her fingers intertwined with his, and the simple act of holding her hand grounded him, tethering him to the present. “You’re too good at this,” he muttered, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“At what?” Katie asked, her tone teasing again as she leaned closer, her knee brushing his under the water.

“At making me forget how messed up everything is,” he replied, almost a confession.

Her smile widened, but there was a tenderness in it that made his chest ache. “Good,” she whispered, and then she closed the distance, her lips brushing his in a kiss that was soft but deliberate, like she was staking a claim on this moment, on him.

The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, the warmth of the spring amplifying every sensation—the press of her lips, the slide of her hands up his chest, the way her body fit against his as she shifted closer. His hands found her waist, pulling her gently against him, and for the first time all day, his mind went quiet. No Calypso, no Annabeth, no looming winter or cabin deadlines—just Katie, the water, and the steady rhythm of their heartbeat.

She pulled back slightly, her forehead resting against his, her breath warm against his skin. “See?” she murmured, her tone husky. “Not so complicated.”

He chuckled and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

“Only if you’re lucky,” she shot back, her eyes sparkling as she splashed him lightly, the water catching the moonlight in a spray of droplets.

He laughed, the sound freer than it had been in days, and splashed her back, the playful skirmish breaking the tension that had lingered between them. They traded splashes and taunts, their laughter echoing softly in the clearing, until Katie lunged forward, tackling him with a grin and sending them both slipping deeper into the spring. He caught her, his arms wrapping around her as they steadied themselves, the water swirling around them.

For a moment, they just stayed there, her arms looped around his neck, his hands resting on her hips, the steam curling around them like a veil. The world felt smaller, simpler, just the two of them in this hidden pocket of the valley. Her eyes searched his, and he saw the question there, the unspoken invitation to let go, to let her in. But he didn’t know if he could do that quite just yet. Not with everything going on. Not with all his responsibilities. Not when she wasn’t the only girl on his mind.

“Katie,” he started, but she shook her head, pressing a finger to his lips.

“Don’t,” she said softly. “Just be with me right now. Right here.”

He nodded, grateful that things didn’t need to go that far right now, and pulled her closer, kissing her again. This time, it was slower, deeper, a promise of sorts—not to fix everything, not to erase the past, but to be here, in this moment, with her. The spring’s warmth seeped further into his bones, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt like he could breathe.

That all changed, however, when the surface of the spring erupted in a burst of shimmering droplets, the water parting as if sliced by an invisible blade. Percy and Katie broke apart, startled, as a figure rose from the depths, her form half-liquid, half-solid, gleaming under the moonlight. The naiad’s hair flowed like a cascade of silver rivers, her eyes glowing an ethereal blue that pierced the steam.

She looked upon Percy, bowing her head slightly in apologies for the interruption.

“Prince Perseus,” she greeted. “King Triton, Lord of the Seas, has summoned you to his court. You are to come at once.”

He blinked, his heart still racing from the interrupted moment. He instinctively tightened his grip on Katie’s waist, pulling her slightly behind him as he faced the naiad. Her fingers dug into his arm, her breath hitching as she stared at the ethereal figure.

“King Triton?” Percy repeated, almost as if testing the word. “What do you mean king?”

“Exactly that, m’lord,” she replied, almost anxiously, as if every moment they wasted not getting to Atlantis would end in punishment for her. “Since Lord Poseidon is reforming in Tartarus, King Triton has taken his place.”

The demigod’s mind reeled as he tried to come to terms with that. King Triton? The title felt wrong just by saying it. The idea of his brother sitting on their father’s throne sent a shiver down his spine. He looked at Katie, silently wondering if it was okay to just leave again. Judging by the look in her eye, she was less than pleased to be interrupted a second time.

“Prince Perseus, please, we must make haste,” the naiad urged, her words tinged with a quiet desperation.

Katie’s grip on his arm tightened, her nails digging into his skin as she leaned closer. “Go, I’ll let everyone know.” She whispered, not able to hide the frustration.

His jaw tightened, hating to leave her like this, especially after the moment they’d just shared, but the urgency in the naiad’s voice left no room for debate. With a reluctant nod, he squeezed her hand, a silent promise to make this quick. But he knew it probably wouldn’t be. He had a feeling he knew what this was about. Athena had messaged Triton, asking for help with Olympus. But of course, he’d probably hadn’t listened to her, and now he was being sent to do the dirty work.

“Lead the way,” he sighed.

Chapter Text

The naiad guided Percy through the shimmering depths, her form gliding effortlessly through the water while he followed, his own movements fluid and instinctive, a gift of his father’s blood. The ocean’s pressure didn’t touch him, the cold a mere whisper against his skin as he swam deeper, the glow of Atlantis growing brighter ahead. The city sprawled across the seafloor, its spires of coral and pearl twisting upward, illuminated by orbs of light that pulsed like captured stars. Domes of translucent crystal housed bustling markets and grand halls, while merfolk and sea spirits wove through the currents, their voices a melodic hum that vibrated through the water.

The city was just as beautiful as the last time he was here.

For some reason, however, he could feel anxiety tighten within his chest as the city grew closer. There was something off about it that he couldn’t quite place. Perhaps it was because Poseidon wasn’t there and the city’s vibe reflected that. He tried to ignore the feeling as they approached the palace, its massive gates carved with scenes of Triton’s victories—tridents piercing krakens, waves swallowing armies. He eyed it warily, noting that it hadn’t been there the last time he was here.

The gates swung open with a low, resonant groan, the water rippling around them as Percy followed the naiad into the grand courtyard. Schools of luminescent fish darted through the coral arches, their scales catching the light in flashes of blue and gold. The palace loomed above, its walls encrusted with pearl and sea glass that shimmered like a living mosaic. Yet, despite the splendor, that nagging unease in his chest grew sharper, like a hook tugging at his ribs. The city’s pulse felt… muted, as if Atlantis itself was holding its breath.

He was led through a series of winding corridors, their walls lined with glowing anemones that pulsed in rhythm with the current. Merfolk guards, their tridents gleaming, stood at attention, their eyes tracking him with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. He kept his expression neutral, but his hand twitched toward his pocket. Something was definitely off. The last time he’d been here, the palace had been alive with laughter, music, and the boisterous energy of his father’s court. Now, it felt like a tomb. No, it felt more like the last time he was here during the Titan War.

He was eventually led into the throne room, a vast chamber where the ceiling arched like the belly of a great whale, its surface inlaid with shifting hues of blue and green. Columns of polished coral flanked the room, their surfaces etched with ancient runes that glowed faintly, casting an ethereal light. He looked to the far end of the room and saw a throne of blackened obsidian wreathed in currents that swirled like living serpents. Upon it, sat the new God of the Seas. His presence was different now—colder, his eyes lacking devoid of any warmth or emotion. His aura brimmed with newly found power, so much so that it made Percy’s skin prickle.

He held a trident, the same one as their fathers’, which gleamed with a dark, almost malevolent light, its prongs pulsing with restrained power. Around him, the court was sparse—only a handful of merfolk nobles and advisors lingered near the edges, their faces unreadable, their whispers silenced as the demigod entered. The naiad behind bowed deeply and quickly retreated, leaving Percy alone before the throne. He squared his shoulders, meeting Triton’s gaze without flinching. Now was not the time to show any sign of weakness. Not when the new King had the power to do whatever he wanted to him now.

“Perseus,” Triton’s voice rumbled, a barely hidden sneer. It wasn’t a greeting; it was a summons, a declaration that demanded attention. “You’ve kept me waiting.”

Percy’s jaw tightened, but he kept his emotions in check, refusing to let the authority rattle him. “Apologies, Lord Triton. Your summons was…short notice.”

The throne room seemed to contract at his words, the currents swirling tighter around Triton’s throne, the dark trident humming with a low, ominous vibration. The King of the Seas leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, their deep green glinting like the heart of a storm. His armor, forged from scales that shimmered like blackened oil, caught the faint glow of the runes. The weight of his gaze was suffocating, a reminder that this was no longer the Triton he had known—the brash, prideful brother who’d scoffed at him. This Triton was a god ascendant, wielding their father’s power with an edge that felt too eager, too hungry.

“King,” Triton said through clenched teeth, his gaze boring holes through his brother. “Not Lord…King.”

The demigod held the stare, his own sea-green eyes unyielding despite the oppressive power displayed. He didn’t bow, didn’t avert his gaze. He wasn’t about to give Triton the satisfaction, not when the title felt like a wound rubbed raw. He was no king. Seeing him perched on their father’s throne, gripping that trident like he’d been born to it, twisted something deep inside him.

“King Triton,” Percy said finally, dangerously close to snapping back. “Why have you summoned me?”

He already knew the reason, yet he wanted to hear the god say it—to watch his reaction, to measure the first flicker of emotion at Athena’s request. After all, she was as good as a daughter to him. Why wouldn’t he help? But the gleam in Triton’s eyes told a different story. His fingers twitched toward his pen. That look—hungry, calculating—was one he knew too well. It was the same look Kronos had worn.

Triton’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. He leaned back in the obsidian throne, the serpentine currents coiling tighter around its base, as if mirroring his mood. “Bold as ever. No pleasantries, no deference. You’d think a demigod would learn some respect for the divine after all these years.”

“You should know better than to expect that from me,” he replied evenly, biting the inside of his cheek. “Respect is earned, not demanded. You’ve got Dad’s throne, but that doesn’t make you him. So let’s skip the games. Why am I here?”

A nervous murmur rippled through the court, the merfolk nobles exchanging glances, their tails flicking nervously in the water. The king’s smile vanished, his grip tightening on the trident. The water around seemed to thicken, the pressure coiling like a predator ready to strike. For a moment, he thought Triton might lash out, but the god-king leaned back, his expression shifting back to one of cold calculation.

“You speak of our father as if his shadow still lingers,” he replied. “But Poseidon is gone, reforming in the depths of Tartarus. His throne is mine now, by right and by power. And you, Perseus, are no longer the favored son. You are a mortal, standing before a king. Remember that.”

Ah, so that’s what this is. The demigod could barely prevent rolling his eyes. Even as King of Atlantis, Triton hadn’t squashed his petty quarrels. He was still mad about not being the favored son, and now that he sat on the throne, he could unleash the blind jealousy that had been festering for years.

“I’m here because you summoned me,” Percy said flatly. “Not to play court politics. Athena sent word, didn’t she? About Olympus?”

Triton’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something—anger, suspicion—crossing his face before he masked it with a dismissive wave of his hand. The trident’s glow dimmed slightly, the currents easing their chokehold on the room. “Athena,” he said, the name dripping with disdain. “Always scheming, always meddling. She thinks to command the seas now, does she? To drag Atlantis into the surface’s problems?”

Percy’s fists clenched at his sides, the water around him rippling faintly in response to his rising irritation. His brother’s tone, laced with arrogance and contempt, grated against him like sand in a wound. The throne room’s atmosphere didn’t help; the weight of the ocean itself seeming to press down on him as Triton lounged on their father’s throne, twirling the trident like it was a toy he’d won rather than a symbol of divine responsibility. The nobles shifted uneasily, their whispers barely audible over the low hum of the currents, but Percy ignored them, his focus locked solely on the king.

“She’s not commanding anything,” he said, his words edged with steel. “She’s asking for help. Olympus is practically dead. There are no gods there to protect it. If the city were to fall into the wrong hands, it’s not just the surface’s problems—it’s everyone’s. You think the seas will stay untouched if the divine order fully collapses?”

Triton’s sneer deepened, barely being able to hold back and not kill the mortal before him. “You speak of divine order as if it’s my burden to uphold,” he hissed. “Olympus has never cared for the seas. The gods of the surface—Zeus, Athena, all of them—have treated Atlantis as an afterthought, a resource to plunder when it suits them. Why should I lift a finger to save their crumbling city?”

“You think you can just sit here and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist? That’s not how it works, Triton. Not when you’re holding Dad’s trident.”

The mention of Poseidon again sparked a flash of rage in the god’s eyes, the trident flaring with a burst of dark light that made the room quake. The currents surged, slamming against the walls with a force that rattled the coral columns. “Do not speak of our father again!” Triton roared, rising from the throne, his armor glinting like a predator’s scales. “You, a half-blood, dare lecture me? I am the rightful king of the seas! You are nothing—a fleeting spark, a mortal blemish on our lineage.”

Percy stood his ground, the water around him trembling with his own barely restrained power. The throne room shook violently in reflection of the clash between god and demigod, neither side willing to relent. But beneath the rage in his eyes and the venom in his voice, he saw something else—ambition. A hunger that burned brighter than mere resentment. This wasn’t just about pride or their father’s absence; the person sitting on that throne was a god-king with plans, and he had a sinking feeling he was about to learn what they were.

“You speak of divine order as if it’s my duty to preserve it,” he continued. “Olympus is a rotting corpse. The Olympians and their hubris caused that. Why should I prop up their failure…when I could turn that corpse into something else. Something that Atlantis has needed since its very conception.”

Percy’s blood ran cold, quickly realizing where Triton was going with this. He’d suspected his brother’s pride ran deep, but this—this was borderline unfathomable. Treason on a cosmic scale. His hand reached into his pocket, gripping the pen in case things went south, which he had an inkling would happen soon. “You’re talking about taking Olympus,” he replied with disbelief. “You’d start a war just to sit on a bigger throne?”

Triton’s smile widened, sharp and predatory. “Not a war,” he said, rising from the throne, his armor glinting against the light. “A reclamation. Like you said, Olympus is almost dead. The Olympians are gone. But Atlantis is strong, its armies unmatched.” He finished, walking over to a window. “Come here and take a look at what I’ve created.”

His heart pounded against his chest as he followed his brother to the massive window, each step heavy with the startling realization of what was unfolding. As they reached the window, his breath caught. Beyond the palace, the seafloor stretched out in a vast, glittering expanse, illuminated by the eerie glow of bioluminescent coral and orbs of divine light. But it wasn’t the beauty of Atlantis that stole his focus—it was the army amassed below. Rows upon rows of mermen warriors stood in disciplined formation, their tridents gleaming like a forest of deadly spines. Massive sea creatures loomed among them: krakens with tentacles coiling like living siege towers, Leviathans with jaws wide enough to swallow ships whole, and schools of armored cyclops. Chariots pulled by monstrous seahorses patrolled the flanks, their drivers clad in armor that shimmered like liquid obsidian. Above, squadrons of hippocampi glided through the currents, their riders armed to the teeth.

The sheer scale of it was staggering. This wasn’t just an army; it was a force built for conquest, a tidal wave ready to crash over anything in its path. His stomach churned as he realized the truth: Triton hadn’t been idle while Poseidon reformed in Tartarus. He’d been preparing, building a war machine under the guise of protecting Atlantis. And now, with Olympus weakened and the gods gone, he saw his chance.

“Do you see it, Perseus?” Triton’s voice was low, almost reverent, as he gestured to the army below. “This is the might of Atlantis. Not a mere kingdom, but an empire waiting to rise. For too long, we’ve bowed to the whims of Olympus, scraping for their approval while they hoard power on their mountain. That was what was wrong with my Father’s reign. He was too weak, too merciful, toward the city. No more. With the Olympians gone, I will claim what is rightfully mine.”

“You’re delusional!” Percy replied, tearing his gaze away from the army. “You think you can just march on Olympus, take it, and what? Rule the world? The Olympians will come back, and when they do, they’ll tear Atlantis apart for this.”

The God’s eyes gleamed dangerously, his lips curling into a smile that was all teeth. “Will they?” he asked, stepping closer. “The Olympians are scattered, broken, reforming in Tartarus’s depths. By the time they crawl back, Olympus will be mine. The minor gods will fall in line—or they’ll be crushed. And you, dear brother, will either stand with me… or against me.”

He slyly pulled out Riptide, his fingers ready to uncap it at a moment’s notice as he glared at his brother. The merfolk nobles lingered at the edges, their eyes darting between the god-king and the demigod, sensing the precipice they all teetered on. The currents churned restlessly, mirroring the storm brewing in both their chest.

“Stand with you?” He seethed. “Betray everything that I fought for over the years? Betray my friends who died for Olympus? Betray my father!”

“Our father,” Triton spat, “was a fool. Clinging to a broken system, bowing to Zeus’s whims while Atlantis languished in the shadows. He could have made the seas the heart of the world, but he chose servitude. I will not make his mistakes.”

Percy’s grip on Riptide tightened as he tried to comprehend the declaration. He could feel the eyes of the nobles boring into his back, waiting for a response or a fight. He glanced at the army outside the window—a force that could drown the world in its ambition. Triton wasn’t just posturing; he meant every word. And that smile, that glint in his eyes—it was just like Kronos’s.

“You think you’re different from him,” he said, looking back at his brother with narrowed eyes. “From Kronos. You’re not. You’re just swapping one throne for another, one tyrant for the next. You talk about Atlantis like it’s yours to wield, like the seas are just a weapon for your ego. Dad never ruled like that. He didn’t need to prove he was king by crushing everyone else.”

The king gave a deranged laugh, one that made the nobles flinch backward. It wasn’t mirthful—it was unhinged, laced with a bitterness that had festered for centuries. He raised a hand and placed it on the demigod’s shoulder. Not in a reassuring way, but one of arrogance, like a teacher scolding an oblivious student. “You haven’t the faintest clue of who our father was. You think you understand him? The god who sired you in a fleeting whim, who left you to scrape by in the dirt of the surface world while I—his true heir—served him for millennia? You know nothing.”

Triton’s voice dropped to a venomous whisper as he leaned closer to Percy’s ear. His grip tightened on his shoulder, the weight of his divine power pressing down like the crushing depths of the abyss. “Let me enlighten you, then, about the Poseidon you so blindly revere. The god you think was so noble, restrained, benevolent. That was a mask, a shadow of what he truly was in the ancient days—before Zeus’s laws and Olympus’s chains tamed him.”

The throne room seemed to dim, the glowing runes on the coral columns flickering as if the ocean itself recoiled from the words about to spill. The merfolk nobles shrank back further, their whispers silenced, their tails twitching nervously in the churning currents. Riptide burned in his hand, still capped but ready, as the god’s voice took on a reverent, almost manic edge.

“In the early days of the Olympian reign, our father was no mere king of the seas,” he began, his irises gleaming with a feverish light. “He was a force of annihilation. The earth trembled at his wrath, and the heavens wept. Continents drowned at his command—entire lands swallowed by waves that rose like mountains, their cities erased, their people lost to the abyss. Atlantis was not just a kingdom then; it was a crucible of his fury, a testament to his dominion over all that moved beneath the waves.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Percy said firmly, though a flicker of doubt crept in. “Dad’s not like that. He’s not some mindless destroyer who kills innocents.”

“Not now, perhaps. Not the weakened god you knew, bound by Zeus’s decrees and the council’s petty politics. But in the beginning, he was wrath incarnate. The seas boiled at his command. He shattered mountains with a single strike of that trident.” Triton’s gaze flicked to the weapon in his hand, its prongs giving a greenish glow. “He drowned empires for defying him. Entire civilizations lost to the deep because they dared to challenge the Lord of the Seas. Their bones still litter the trenches, their ruins choked with coral. That was Poseidon. That was our father.”

Percy’s mind raced with doubt, not wanting to really listen to his brother’s words. Of course, he’d heard the stories and seen glimpses of his father’s power—the earthquakes, the storms, the way the ocean bent to his will. But drowning continents? Wiping out entire peoples? That wasn’t the Poseidon he knew…or was it? The doubt gnawed at him, and Triton saw it, his smile curling wider eagerly.

“And that wrath,” he continued, leaning closer, “that fire—it lives in us. In me. In you.” He jabbed a finger at his chest, the gesture sharp enough to finally make him flinch. “You think you’re different, don’t you? The hero, the savior, always holding back, playing by the rules of mortals and gods alike. But I’ve seen it in you. That rage, that hunger for power. When you fought Ares, when you faced Kronos, when you stood against Gaea—didn’t you feel it? The call of the deep, urging you to unleash the full might of the seas? To drown your enemies, to break the world and remake it in your image?”

Percy’s jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening around Riptide. Those statements had hit too close to home, stirring up memories he wanted buried. All the times he’d lost control, when he broke promises, when he controlled things that weren’t meant to be controlled, it all came flooding back to him. That raw, primal urge to let his wrath consume everything in his path. Was that Poseidon’s legacy? Was that what Triton saw in him?

“I’m not like you,” he replied, though the statement felt hollow. “And I’m not like him. I don’t destroy for the sake of proving I can.”

“You deny it, but it’s in your blood,” Triton hissed. “The same wrath that drowned continents, that carved the trenches of the deep. You can’t escape it, Perseus. You’re a son of Poseidon, just as I am. And I—” He raised the trident, its glow casting stark shadows across his face, “—I embrace it. I will wield it to make Atlantis not just a kingdom, but the heart of a new world. Olympus will kneel, or it will burn.”

“I can’t let you do that,” Percy whispered with resolution, knowing what must be done. His grip on Riptide was iron-tight, but its familiar weight did little to ease the storm of emotions swirling in his chest—anger, betrayal, and that nagging seed of doubt Triton had planted. The god-king’s eyes gleamed with a mix of triumph and menace, as if he’d been waiting for this moment, this defiance, to justify what came next.

“Let me?” He growled mockingly, the water churning with barely restrained power. The merfolk nobles pressed themselves back against the wall, their eyes wide with fear as they witnessed two incarnations of wrath about to face off. “You think you can challenge me, half-blood?

Percy’s heart pounded, his wolf-like gaze locked onto his brother. “I’m not here to challenge you for a crown. I’m here to stop you from tearing everything apart. You think you’re building an empire? You’re just starting a war that doesn’t need to be fought. Not when the Father is about to wage one of his own.”

Triton sneered dismissively. “A war? No, this is destiny. And you—” He pointed the trident at Percy, its prongs crackling with energy that made the water sizzle. “You will either kneel or die.”

The demigod’s patience snapped. He couldn’t let this go any further. Triton’s army, his ambition, his betrayal of everything Poseidon stood for—it was too much. His fingers moved with practiced speed, discreetly uncapping Riptide as he shifted his stance, angling his body to hide the motion. The pen transformed into a gleaming celestial bronze sword, its blade humming faintly in the water. He kept it low, out of direct line of sight, and stabbed upward, hoping to end the fight before it even began.

But he should’ve known better.

Triton’s reflexes were instantaneous, his divine senses honed by millennia of combat. The trident snapped up in a blur, its prongs intercepting Riptide’s blade with a deafening clang that sent a shockwave rippling through the throne room. The water surged violently, knocking back the nobles and cracking a coral column. Sparks of celestial bronze and divine energy flared where the weapons clashed, illuminating the king’s face—his sneer now a mask of blazing fury.

“You dare?!” he roared, his voice a tempest that shook the chamber. The currents coiled around Percy like chains, squeezing with crushing force, but he gritted his teeth, his father’s blood granting him just enough resistance to keep moving. He twisted Riptide free, dodging a thrust from the trident that sliced through the water, leaving a trail of boiling bubbles in its wake.

“I’m not letting you destroy everything Dad built!” Percy shouted, lunging forward. His sword arced toward Triton’s side, but the god-king was too fast, spinning the trident to deflect the blow with ease. The impact sent him skidding back through the water, his feet sliding across the polished seafloor.

Triton advanced, his armor glinting and aura pulsing with dark power. “You cling to a ghost. Our father’s time is done. This is my era!” He thrust the trident forward, and a blast of raw energy erupted from its prongs—a torrent of water and lightning that tore through the throne room like a tidal wave.

The blast hit the demigod square in the chest, hurling him backward with bone-rattling force. The throne room blurred as he tumbled through the water, his body spinning uncontrollably until he slammed into a coral column. The impact cracked the pillar, sending shards of glowing coral drifting like embers in the current. Pain flared through his ribs, but his father’s blood kept him conscious, the ocean’s embrace cushioning just enough to prevent his bones from shattering. Riptide remained clutched in his hand, its celestial bronze glowing defiantly despite the overwhelming power of Triton’s trident.

He tried to struggle to his feet, but a pair of large, impossibly strong hands prevented him from doing so. He twisted, trying to break free, but the hold only tightened, forcing his arms behind his back. Riptide slipped from his grasp, the sword sinking slowly toward the seafloor, its glow dimming as it drifted out of reach. His heart sank with it, but he refused to show the panic clawing at his chest. He craned his neck to see his captor, and his stomach twisted as he recognized the towering figure

“Tyson?” Percy’s voice cracked, disbelief warring with the pain radiating from his ribs.

Tyson didn’t answer. His massive hands, calloused from years of forging and fighting, held Percy like iron manacles. The Cyclops’s expression didn’t waver, but a faint tremor in his grip betrayed a flicker of conflict. Behind him, Triton descended from the throne platform, his trident still crackling with residual energy. The god-king’s lips curled into a triumphant smirk as he approached, the water parting around him like a royal cloak.

“General Tyson,” Triton said, smooth and commanding, “take our guest to the cells. Ensure he’s… comfortable.”

Tyson’s eye flickered between his two brothers, a shadow of doubt crossing his face, but he quickly masked it and did as he was told. He dragged the demigod toward a side passage out of the throne room, the nobles watching in stunned silence, their whispers resuming only once he was pulled out of sight.

“Such loyalty in your brother,” the king’s laughter echoed behind them. “A pity you couldn’t inspire the same, Perseus. Perhaps some time in the depths will teach you humility.”

The passage he was dragged down was narrow and dimly lit, its walls encrusted with barnacles and faintly glowing algae that cast eerie shadows. The water grew colder, heavier, as they descended deeper into the palace’s underbelly. “Tyson,” Percy tried again, softer this time, forcing his voice to stay steady despite the pain and desperation. “You’re my brother. You know me. You know I’d never lie to you. Triton’s wrong—his plan will ruin Atlantis, not save it. You don’t have to do this.”

Tyson’s steps faltered for a fraction of a second, his massive shoulders tensing. When he spoke, his words were laced with a pain that mirrored his own. Triton is king. He… he gave me purpose after father died. A place. Said I could protect Atlantis. Protect you.”

“Protect me?” he replied incredulously. “By locking me up? By helping him start a war? That’s not protection, Tyson—that’s blind loyalty! You’re stronger than this. You’re not his puppet! You know Dad wouldn’t want this.”

He stopped abruptly, his grip tightening until Percy winced. For a moment, the Cyclops’s single eye locked onto his, and he saw the storm raging within—loyalty to Triton clashing with the bond they’d shared through years of battles and brotherhood. But before Tyson could respond, a sharp clang echoed through the passage. A squad of mermen guards appeared at the far end, their tridents lowered and eyes gleaming with cold efficiency.

“General,” one of them barked. “We’ve prepared a cell.”

Tyson’s jaw tightened, and Percy felt the faintest loosening of his grip, as if his brother were wrestling with a decision. But then, with a heavy exhale, he pushed the demigod into the empty cell, closing it with a resounding clang! “I’m sorry, brother,” he muttered, so quietly Percy almost missed it. “I have to obey.”

Percy spun around to face the door, but his brother was already retreating, his massive silhouette filling the narrow passageway with the mermen guards flanking him.

“Tyson!” he shouted, lunging toward the bars. His hands gripped the coral lattice, its edges sharp enough to bite into his palms. “You know this isn’t right! You don’t want blood on your hands!”

But it seemed his yells fell on deaf ears as he watched the cyclops and his soldiers disappear around the passage bend, leaving him alone in the suffocating darkness. His hands tightened on the coral bars, the sharp edges drawing thin lines of blood that clouded the water in faint red wisps. His chest heaved, his breaths ragged, not from exertion but from the pain of betrayal, something his fatal flaw did not take kindly to. He slammed a fist against the bars, but it did nothing to ease the anger bubbling within.

He paced the small space, his mind racing. Everything was spiraling out of control so quickly. Triton didn’t understand. If he sent the Atlantean army to the surface and took control of Olympus, the gods would be the least of his concerns. The Father would send whatever he had to the city and try to wrangle it from him. And if he did that, the carnage, the destruction, the death, it would be unfathomable. And Percy had a feeling he’d be right in the middle of it all. He had to prevent such a thing from happening before it was too late. Before more of his friends and kin died.

In his thoughts, his eyes caught water rippling across from him in another cell as if disturbed by an unseen current. A figure materialized behind the bars, a person Percy had never expected to see down here. Walking closer to the bars, he could see his fins marred and bruised. His normally bright eyes were clouded with exhaustion and pain. Chains of enchanted kelp bound his tail and dorsal fin, glowing faintly with runes that pulsed.

The son of Poseidon froze, his anger momentarily eclipsed by shock. “Delphin?” he whispered, gripping the bars of his own cell tighter.

The God of Dolphins slowly lifted his head, his eyes widening when he realized who was opposite of him. A faint, humorless smile curved his snout. “Perseus,” he rasped. “Seems we’re both out of favor with the new king.”

Percy couldn’t believe that a God of such high stature was down here with him. Delphin was no minor spirit—he was Poseidon’s right hand, entrusted with the safety of Atlantis’s waters. If Triton had imprisoned him, it wasn’t just a power grab; it was a purge. “What happened?” He asked, keeping his voice low, aware of the mermen guards patrolling the passage beyond. “Why’s Triton got you locked up?”

Delphin shifted, wincing as the enchanted chains tightened around his fins. “I spoke against him,” he said simply. “When he began amassing his army, I warned him it would bring ruin. Atlantis thrives in balance, not conquest. He didn’t take kindly to the counsel.”

The demigod felt that blinding rage bubble within his chest again. His brother wasn’t just consolidating power—he was silencing anyone who dared question his vision. One of Poseidon’s most loyal lieutenants, reduced to a bruised prisoner in the depths of the palace. If Triton was willing to go this far, who else had he locked away? Who else had he crushed to pave his path to eternal power?

“We have to get out of here,” Percy said urgently. His eyes scanned the passage for any sign of the mermen guards as he gripped the coral bars harder. “Triton’s army is ready to march on Olympus. If he takes it, the Father will retaliate, and Atlantis will be caught in the crossfire. We can’t let that happen.”

The god’s bruised fins twitched, and he let out a weak, rattling chuckle that sounded more like a cough. “Ever the hero, Perseus. But these chains—” He tugged faintly at the glowing kelp, wincing as the runes flared brighter, “—are forged with old magic. Your brother is no fool. He’s ensured I can’t break free, and your cell’s likely warded just as tightly.”

His eyes narrowed as he studied the enchanted kelp binding Delphin, the runes pulsing with a sickly green light that seemed to sap the dolphin god’s strength. His own cell’s coral bars felt unnaturally solid under his grip, their surface humming faintly with the same ancient magic. Triton had planned this meticulously—locking away threats like Delphin and ensuring even a son of Poseidon couldn’t brute-force his way out.

“There’s gotta be some way out of here,” Percy said, analyzing the cell up and down. “There’s always a chink in the armor. We just have to find it.”

“Not with these cells, lad,” Delphin replied. “Not even Zeus could escape such a place.”

“Well, good thing I’m not Zeus.” He replied much to the god’s annoyance.

“Stubborn just like your father, but stubbornness won’t get you out of here. The only thing that can is a power only Poseidon has ever wielded.”

The son of Poseidon narrowed his eyes, frustration rising as he processed the god’s words. “What are you talking about? A power only Poseidon has ever wielded?” Don’t tell me it’s just brute strength, because I’m not buying that these cells are completely unbreakable.”

Delphin’s bruised fins twitched faintly, and despite the pain etched across his face, a spark of intrigue flickered in his clouded eyes. He shifted, the enchanted kelp chains clinking softly as their runes pulsed in warning. “Not strength, Perseus,” he said mystically. “Control. Precision. The sea is more than waves and storms—it’s every drop, every molecule, every current that binds the world. Poseidon could command the water in ways no other god could, not even Triton with his stolen trident.”

Percy leaned closer to the bars, his grip tightening as he caught the hint of something deeper in his tone. “Is this a power I can control? If I can learn it, I can get us out of here.”

The dolphin’s smile returned, tinged with both admiration and glumness. “Bold as ever, lad. But this isn’t something simple like bending waves or summoning hurricanes. It’s about the unseen—the water that isn’t just in the sea but in the air, in the breath, in the very fabric of existence. Poseidon could feel it, move through it, become it. He didn’t just rule the seas; he was the seas. And that power… it let him slip through the cracks of reality itself.”

The demigod’s brow furrowed, his mind grappling with the concept. “You’re talking about… teleporting?”

“Precisely,” the god replied with a nod. “Through water molecules. Dissolving into the air and reappearing somewhere else. It’s the same concept as Hades’s shadow travel or Zeus’s lightning flash, only infinitely more difficult.”

“It can't be that hard,” Percy said. “Their kids learned their father’s respective power of teleportation. Why should it be so hard for me to learn Poseidon’s as well?”

Delphin’s eyes darkened with a mix of frustration and urgency. “It’s not the same. Shadow travel, lightning flash—those are paths through elements that are already fluid, already unbound. Shadows shift, lightning strikes in an instant. But water? Water is everywhere, in everything, but it’s dense, complex. To break your body down into its molecules, to scatter yourself across the currents of the world and reform elsewhere—that’s a feat no son of Poseidon has ever learned. It’s not just a power; it’s understanding. You’d need to feel the sea in your bones, in your soul, and control it with a precision no mortal has ever achieved.”

Percy’s jaw tightened. The idea of teleporting through water molecules—dissolving and reforming like some kind of liquid ghost—sounded impossible, even for him. He’d bent rivers, summoned storms, and survived the depths of the ocean, but this? This was a whole new level, a power that felt more like a myth than something he could actually wield. Yet, as he glanced at the enchanted kelp binding Delphin and felt the unyielding hum of magic in his own cell’s coral bars, he knew he had no other options. Triton’s army was ready to march, and time was slipping away like sand through his fingers.

“Okay,” he said, his words resolute despite the doubt within. “If this is the only way out, then I’m doing it. Tell me how.”

“You don’t just do it, lad,” Delphin gave an exasperated huff. “This isn’t swinging a sword or calling a wave. It’s… surrender. You have to let go of yourself, let the sea take you apart and put you back together. And if you get it wrong—” He paused, his gaze growing distant. “You might not come back together at all. Your essence could scatter across the ocean, lost forever.”

The demigod sighed, leaning his head against the cool cell’s bars. The risk was unimaginable—dissolving into nothingness, his consciousness scattered across the endless currents. But the alternative—letting Triton unleash war, letting Atlantis burn—was unthinkable. He had to do this, fuck the risks. He’d walked through Tartarus, defied gods, and survived the wrath of Titans. If anyone could pull this off, it was him. He was a son of Poseidon. The sea and its power were his birthright.

“Alright,” Percy said finally, looking up to meet the god’s gaze. “Walk me through it. What do I need to do?”

“Did-did you not hear me, Perseus?” No son of Poseidon, mortal or immortal, has ever had this power before, let alone master it.”

“I heard you,” he said, masking the agitation. “But if we don’t do this. If you refuse to teach me this power, then you, me, Atlantis, the entire fucking world, we’re dead. If this power is in my blood, I’ll find a way. So please, Delphin, how do I start?”

“Stubborn as a barnacle,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “If I teach you this power and you fail, you’ll be killed. I can’t have that on my conscience, nor do I have the strength to explain to your father that I killed his favored son.”

“I’m not asking you to carry that burden. If I fail, it’s on me. But if I don’t try, we’re all dead anyway. You know what’s at stake. Teach me, and let me take the risk.”

Delphin studied him for a long moment, the faint glow of the enchanted kelp casting shadows across his battered form. Finally, he sighed, a sound heavy with resignation and a flicker of hope. “Very well, Perseus. If you’re set on this, I’ll guide you. But listen carefully—every word, every detail matters. This isn’t a power you can brute-force. It’s finesse, control, and above all, trust in the sea.”

Percy nodded, leaning closer to the bars, his focus razor-sharp. The cold of the cell, the distant clank of mermen guards, the oppressive hum of the magical wards—all faded as he honed in on the god’s words.

“It starts with feeling the water—not just around you, but in you.”

“In me? Like… my blood?” He tilted his head.

“Exactly,” Delphin said with an eager edge to his tone. “Your blood is the sea’s echo. It’s why you can breathe down here, why the ocean bends to your will. But this power goes deeper. Every drop of water in your body, in the air, in the stone of this cell—it’s all connected. You need to sense those connections, like threads woven through the world. Close your eyes and feel them.”

Percy didn’t hesitate, trusting the god’s wisdom. He pressed his back against the coral bars, the faint hum of their magic tingling against his skin, and shut his eyes. The sounds of the cell—the distant drip of water, the low hum of the enchanted kelp—faded as he focused inward. He’d always felt the sea as an extension of himself, a force he could pull or push like a tide. But this was different. He tried to sense the water not as a wave, but as countless tiny pieces, each one alive, vibrating with potential.

At first, there was nothing but the rhythm of his own heartbeat, the pulse of blood in his veins. Then, slowly, he became aware of something else—a subtle hum, like a current brushing against his skin, but not just on the surface. It was inside him, around him, everywhere. The water in his lungs, his cells, the damp air he breathed—it all sang with the same quiet energy. His senses stretched further, catching the faint moisture in the coral bars, the droplets clinging to Delphin’s battered fins, the invisible mist suspended in the passage beyond.

“There,” Delphin’s voice cut through softly. “You’re touching it. The sea’s web. Every molecule is a door, Perseus. To move through it, you have to step through those doors—let your body dissolve into the web and reform where you will it.”

Percy’s eyes snapped open, his breath hitching at the odd sensation. It felt so similar to when he controlled blood or ichor, but somehow even more intimate. There were no secrets between the sea’s power and his will. They were intertwined. “Dissolve? You mean… turn into water or a mist?”

The dolphin nodded gravely. “In a way. Your essence—your soul, your will—rides the currents of the web. You let the sea unmake you, carry you, and then you pull yourself back together. But you have to know where you’re going, and you have to trust the sea completely. Doubt, fear, hesitation—any of it, and you’ll scatter like foam on a wave.”

The demigod swallowed hard, the weight of the task settling like a stone in his gut. Trust the sea? That part he could do; it had always been his ally, his home. But unmaking himself? Letting go of his physical form, his identity, and hoping he could piece it back together? That was terrifying, even for someone who’d faced down Tartarus. Still, he had no choice. This had to be done. He had to learn this power or all was lost.

“Alright,” he replied firmly. “Let’s try this. What’s the next step?”

“You’ve felt the web—the water’s connections. Now you need to move through it. Start small. Focus on a spot next to you. Maybe only a few steps away. Then picture it in your mind, every detail, until it’s as real as this cell.”

Percy nodded, closing his eyes once more. The cell’s cold, oppressive air pressed against his skin, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the web of water he’d sensed moments before. The hum of interconnected droplets vibrated in his awareness—his blood, the damp coral, the faint mist in the passage. It was overwhelming, like trying to hear a single whisper in a roaring storm, but he zeroed in on a spot next to him in the corner of the cell.

He pictured it vividly: the rough texture of the stone, the soft sway of the algae, the way the water shimmered with tiny currents. He held the image in his mind, making it as real as the bars under his hands. His heartbeat slowed, his breathing steadied, and he tried to feel the water in his body as part of that web, not separate from it. The sea was in him, and he was in the sea.

“Now,” Delphin’s voice was a low murmur, “let go. Let the sea take you. Don’t fight it. Become the current.”

The son of Poseidon exhaled, trying to release the instinctive grip he had on his own form. It was like loosening his hold on Riptide mid-fight—unnatural, terrifying, but necessary. He imagined his body dissolving, his essence flowing into the water’s web, carried by those invisible threads to the spot he’d chosen. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a strange tingling spread through him, starting in his fingertips and racing through his limbs. It wasn’t painful, but it was disorienting, like his body was unraveling into a million tiny pieces.

The tingling became a pull, a current tugging at his core. He leaned into it, trusting the sea as Delphin had urged. The world shifted—or maybe he did. His senses blurred, the cell’s walls and the hum of magic fading into a rush of liquid motion. It felt like diving into a wave, but instead of swimming, he was the wave, scattering and flowing through the water’s embrace.

Then, just as quickly, the sensation reversed. The pull became a gathering, a knitting-together of his essence. His vision snapped back into focus, and he stumbled, his knees hitting the seafloor. He gasped, his hands instinctively patting his chest, his arms, confirming he was whole. He was in the corner of the cell now, the coral bars he had been leaning on just moments prior, a few feet away now.

“By the tides,” the god whispered breathlessly, not believing what he’d just seen. “It…it shouldn’t be possible for a demigod.”

Percy’s head spun, his body trembling from the effort just like it had the first time he had controlled blood. “I… I did it,” he said, half-disbelieving. “But it felt like I was falling apart.”

“You were,” Delphin said grimly. “And putting yourself back together is the hard part. You managed it this time, but that was a short jump. To escape through the cell and the palace, you’ll need to push yourself even further.”

He steadied himself against the cell’s stone wall, his legs still shaky from the surreal sensation of dissolving and reforming. His pulse raced, not just from the effort but from the realization that he’d tapped into a power similar to bloodbending, both of which no son of Poseidon had ever done. The tingling in his limbs lingered, like the sea was still humming through his veins, whispering its secrets. He glanced at the god, whose wide eyes betrayed a mix of awe and unease.

“Further?” Percy asked, wiping sweat—or was it seawater?—from his brow. “How much further are we talking?” He didn’t know if his body could push itself anymore after that.

Delphin’s fins twitched, the enchanted kelp chains clinking as he shifted. “The cell’s wards are the first hurdle,” he said. To slip through, you’ll need to move through the water’s web with precision, not just brute intent. One wrong move, and the wards could trap your essence mid-jump, scattering you across the currents.”

“Okay,” he said, straightening. “So I focus on a spot outside the cell, somewhere right in front of yours. What’s the trick to getting past the bars?”

The god’s gaze sharpened, his exhaustion giving way to the clarity of a teacher guiding a student. “The wards are like a net, woven into the water itself. They sense divine power, mortal will, anything that disrupts their pattern. To bypass them, you can’t just dissolve—you have to blend. Become indistinguishable from the sea’s natural flow. It’s not enough to feel the web; you have to be the web, moving as if you were never separate from it.”

Be the web. It sounded abstract, almost mystical, but he knew better than to dismiss it as poetic nonsense. The sea had always spoken to him in ways others couldn’t understand—through currents, tides, even the pulse of his own blood. If he was going to escape this cell and stop Triton’s madness, he had to trust that connection now more than ever.

“Alright,” he replied. “Blend with the sea. Move like I’m part of it. I can do that.” He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. The memory of that brief jump across the cell—his body unraveling, his essence scattering—still sent a shiver down his spine. But there was no time for hesitation.

“It’s not just confidence, lad. It’s surrender. You’re not forcing the sea to obey you this time—you’re letting it guide option. Picture the water’s flow, not as something you control, but as something you belong to. The wards won’t notice you if you’re no different from the current passing through.”

Percy nodded, closing his eyes again to center himself. The cell’s oppressive hum faded as he tuned into the web of water once more. The sensation was stronger now, more familiar after his first jump. He could feel the interconnected droplets—his blood, the damp air, the moisture seeping through the coral bars—like a vast, living network pulsing with quiet energy. It was overwhelming, but he focused on a spot just outside his cell, directly in front of Delphin’s. He pictured it vividly: the smooth stone floor, the faint glow of algae, the subtle eddies in the water where the passage’s currents swirled.

His heartbeat slowed, syncing with the rhythm of the sea. He reached for that tingling sensation again, the one that had unraveled him before, but this time he tried to let go of his instinct to control it. Instead, he imagined himself as part of the flow, a single thread in the water’s endless weave. The sea wasn’t his tool—it was his essence, his home. He let that truth sink into his bones, willing his body to dissolve into the current, to become indistinguishable from the water itself.

The tingling returned, sharper this time, spreading through his limbs like a tide rising within. His senses blurred, the cell’s walls and bars fading into a liquid rush. He felt himself fragmenting, his consciousness scattering into countless droplets, but he clung to the image of the spot outside the cell, trusting the sea to carry him. The wards hummed faintly in his awareness, their magic like a net brushing against his essence, but he didn’t fight it. He flowed with the water, seamless, invisible, just another ripple in the ocean’s endless dance.

Then, the pull reversed. His essence snapped back together, knitting itself into form with a jolt that made his knees buckle. He stumbled forward, catching himself on the stone floor outside his cell. His chest heaved, his body trembling from the effort, but he was free. The coral bars of his cell stood behind him, their magical hum unchanged, as if they hadn’t noticed his escape.

“Holy fuck!” Percy gasped, glancing back at the cell, then at Delphin. “I did it. I’m out.”

The god’s mouth was agape, and eyes wide with disbelief. “H-How?”

The son of Poseidon caught his breath, his heart still hammering from the surreal rush of teleporting through the water’s web. Delphin’s stunned expression mirrored the disbelief swirling in his own mind, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. The cold, dimly lit passage stretched beyond their cells, and the distant clank of mermen guards reminded him that every second counted. Triton’s army was poised to march, and the fate of Atlantis—maybe the world—hung in the balance.

“How?” He repeated, his voice a mix of awe and suspicion. “By the Gods, I thought you would’ve died from overextertion. It’s… unnatural to learn a power so quickly, even for a demigod like yourself.”

Percy hesitated to answer that question. Truth be told, he had a feeling that he had learnt this new power so quickly because it was similar to bloodbending. Both required precision, a deep connection to the liquid essence of the world, and a willingness to surrender to it. But he couldn’t tell Delphin that. Too many people that he cared for knew of his power of blood. Too many people held the same unease as the god before him in their eyes when they saw him use it. So instead, he forced a grin, leaning against the cell’s bars to steady his trembling legs. “Guess I’m just a quick learner,” he replied, keeping his tone light. “Son of Poseidon, right? Sea’s in my blood.”

Delphin’s eyes narrowed, searching the demigod’s face for something unspoken, but didn’t press any further. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, his words heavy with unspoken questions. “But be warned, lad—this power is no toy. The more you use it, the more it demands of you. It’s not just your body you’re unraveling; it’s your will, your soul. Push too far, and you might lose your humanity in ways you might’ve already begun to experience.”

The son of Poseidon hid the flinch that threatened to spill out. Did he already know, or was he just saying that? One thing that was clear, however, was that what he said was true. He could still feel the sea humming in his veins, a restless energy that both thrilled and unnerved him. It was just like bloodbending—intoxicating, dangerous, and far too easy to lean into.

“I understand,” he replied. “Let’s focus on getting you out.”

But Poseidon’s lieutenant shook his head. “There’s no time. You have to stop Triton before he moves on Olympus. Freeing me would take too long, and you’d risk capture. Go, Perseus. Atlantis’s fate depends entirely on you now.”

“But how?” Percy questioned, feeling weak despite the new power he’d just obtained. Fighting Triton, who was now a major god of the seas, wielded their father’s trident and commanded an army of unparalleled might, seemed too much for one lone demigod.

“There is only one way,” Delphin whispered ominously, his eyes peering right through the son of Poseidon’s soul. “A path very few have ever dared to tread. It’s your birthright, as a son of Poseidon—one Triton cannot take away, no matter how tightly he grips your father’s trident or who he puts in these cells.”

“My birthright?”

“The Royal Bloodright,” the god answered. “A sacred challenge reserved only for Atlantean royalty. As a true son of Poseidon, you can invoke it to challenge the King of Atlantis for the throne.”

Percy felt his blood still. A power grab for the throne was the last thing he’d wanted. Just like the offer Athena presented, he wanted nothing more than to deny it. But he knew he couldn’t look the other way this time. This was the only way to prevent a war. A duel for the kingdom. For power and glory. For the fate of the world.

“It’s a divine contest, judged by the sea itself. If you invoke it, Triton cannot refuse—not without forfeiting his claim to the throne and shaming himself before all of Atlantis. The sea’s ancient laws bind him, god or not.”

Fighting a god was nothing new to him, but despite his experience, the thought still sent a shiver down his spine. This was personal, a clash of blood and legacy. “And if I win?” he asked, trying his best to keep his words steady.

Delphin’s faint smile returned, tinged with both pride and sorrow. “If you win, the sea acknowledges you as its true king. Triton’s claim is nullified, his power stripped by the very laws he seeks to wield. The trident, the throne, the loyalty of Atlantis—they’d be yours, Perseus. You’d rule the seas.”

The demigod couldn’t help the groan that escaped his lips. Him, a demigod, ruling Atlantis? The thought was absurd, overwhelming, just like it had been with Athena on Olympus. He didn’t want a throne or power. All he’d ever wanted was to protect his friends, his family, the world he loved. But if this was the only way to stop his brother’s madness, to save Atlantis from war and the Father’s wrath, he had no choice.

“And if I lose?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Then Triton’s claim is cemented. The sea will reject you, and he’ll have the right to do with you as he pleases. Banishment, imprisonment… or death. The Bloodright is absolute—there’s no appealing its judgment.”

Percy was silent for a moment, but to him, it felt like an eternity. He was scared, truth be told. It felt as if the weight of the sky was on his shoulders again. Yet, as he glanced at Delphin—bruised, chained, but still radiating quiet defiance—he knew he couldn’t turn away from this. He couldn’t turn away from the thousands of innocent lives counting on him. He couldn’t turn away from the legacy his father had built.

He straightened, his sea-green eyes alight with a resolve that burned brighter than his fear. “Then I’ll do it,” he said gravely.

A spark of pride gleamed in the god’s eyes as he beheld the demigod. In that instant, Percy was the splitting image of Poseidon—divine, unbowed. “Go, son of the sea. Go and claim what is yours. Claim your birthright. Become more than a hero. Become a king.”

The son of Poseidon nodded, promising that he would get him out of the cell once this was all over. He closed his eyes, reaching for the web of water he’d tapped into before. The sensation was still raw, like a muscle he’d never used, but it came faster this time—the hum of interconnected droplets, the pulse of the sea’s endless network. He pictured the seafloor outside the limits of Atlantis, a desolate stretch of sand and shadow where nothing should be.

But he could feel it.

He could feel the thousands of Atlantean soldiers marching toward the surface. Toward Olympus. He couldn’t let them reach the city. He couldn’t let Triton’s ambition destroy it. Steadying his breathing, he focused on the seafloor, taking in not just its appearance but its essence: the gritty texture of the sand, the cold currents weaving through the rocks, the distant tremor of thousands of soldiers marching in lockstep. He held the image with iron focus, willing his body to dissolve into the water’s network, to become one with the current.

The tingling surged, his limbs unraveling into a cascade of droplets. His consciousness stretched, scattering across the web, but he clung to his destination, trusting the sea to guide him. The wards of the cell brushed against his essence, their magic probing for resistance, but he flowed past them, seamless as a ripple. The world blurred into liquid motion, a rush of freedom and terror, until the pull reversed, knitting him back together with a jolt.

He stumbled onto the seafloor, his boots sinking into the soft sand. The water was colder here, heavier, the pressure of the deep pressing against his skin despite his divine heritage. He quickly gathered himself, noting that he had reappeared about a mile ahead of Triton’s army. He couldn’t see them just yet, but he could feel them. Their numbers vibrated not just the water but his very bones as they approached.

Taking a deep breath, he reached into his pocket, glad to feel Riptide was back. He uncapped the weapon, letting the bronze blade sit tip-first into the sand, and waited for the approaching tide of war. With every minute that passed, the trembling of the sand beneath him grew. He tightened his grip on his weapon, its celestial bronze blade gleaming faintly in the dim glow of bioluminescent coral scattered across the desolate stretch of sand.

He stood alone, a solitary figure against the vast, shadowed expanse of the ocean floor, with an army that could rival Olympus’s in front of him. He could make out the army clearly now, the distant glow of their armor and weapons pierced the murky depths, a constellation of malevolent light advancing like a thunderstorm. Thousands of mermen warriors marched in disciplined ranks, their tridents gleaming like a forest of deadly spines. Krakens loomed behind, their tentacles coiling and snapping, while leviathans churned the water with jaws wide enough to swallow warships. Cyclopes lumbered among them, their single eyes glinting with brute focus, and chariots pulled by monstrous seahorses flanked the formation, their drivers’ obsidian armor reflecting the eerie bioluminescence. Above, squadrons of hippocampi glided through the currents, their riders’ spears poised for slaughter.

Despite the innumerable number of soldiers, the son of Poseidon stood his ground, his blade planted in the sand, its faint glow a defiant beacon against the oncoming tide. His eyes burned with fire, but his heart quaked with the thought of what he was about to do. He wasn’t just facing an army—he was challenging a god-king, his own brother, for the fate of Atlantis and the world. If he lost… he pushed the thought aside. Failure wasn’t an option.

In the distance, at the heart of the army, he saw him—Triton, astride a chariot pulled by twin leviathans, their massive forms cutting through the water with terrifying grace. The god-king’s obsidian armor gleamed, and the trident in his grip pulsed with a dark, malicious light, its prongs crackling with restrained power. His presence was a storm unto itself, warping the currents around him, bending the sea to his will. The sight of him, so assured, so commanding, twisted something deep in Percy’s chest—anger, betrayal, and a flicker of doubt. Could he really do this? Could he challenge a god-king, wield a power no son of Poseidon had ever mastered, and claim a throne he didn’t even want?

The army halted a hundred yards away once they saw who stood before them, the ranks parting as Triton’s chariot glided forward. The leviathans snorted, sending plumes of bubbles spiraling upward, and the god-king stepped down, his trident striking the seafloor with a resonant boom that echoed through the water. The currents stilled, the sea itself seeming to hold its breath as Triton’s gaze locked onto his mortal brother. His lips curled into a sneer, but there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, quickly masked by cold disdain.

“Perseus,” he rumbled, his words carrying divine authority. “You escaped my cells. Impressive, for a mortal. Since you’ve done something once thought impossible, I’ll let you flee to the surface with your life. Call it a mercy.”

“I don’t want your fucking mercy,” the demigod spat. “You think I’d run from you? From this?” He gestured to the army, the krakens, the leviathans, the sheer might of Atlantis arrayed before him. “I’m not here for your mercy, Triton. I’m here for something else.”

A ripple of murmurs passed through the ranks of mermen warriors, their tridents shifting slightly as they exchanged uneasy glances. Triton’s sneer deepened, but his eyes narrowed, a flicker of unease betraying his godly composure. He stepped forward, the trident in his hand pulsing with dark energy, its prongs casting shadows across his features. “And what would that be exactly?”

Percy squared his shoulders, lifting his sword and pointing it directly at the king in challenge. “I invoke the Royal Bloodright!” He declared, his words resonating with an otherworldly force, vibrating through the water, shaking the coral, and stirring the sand beneath their feet. The sea itself seemed to recoil, then still, as if holding its breath.

A stunned silence fell over the army. Mermen lowered their tridents, their eyes wide with disbelief. Even the krakens and leviathans stilled, their massive forms frozen mid-motion. Triton’s face twisted—first in shock, then in fury, his knuckles whitening around the trident.

“You have no right!” Triton sneered, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “A mortal has no right to challenge me for the throne.”

“By the ancient Atlantean laws, I do,” the demigod shot back, his own scowl plastered against his features. “As a true son of Poseidon, I claim my birthright. One that you cannot deny.”

For the first time since Percy had known him, Triton hesitated. The bloodright was sacred—a covenant between the sea and its rulers. To refuse was to admit weakness, to forfeit his claim before his entire army and bring shame to not just himself but the sea itself. And the god-king, prideful to his core, would never allow that.

Feeling all eyes on him, the king allowed a slow, venomous smile to spread across his face. “You wish to dance with destiny?” He replied, his tone dripping with menace. “Very well then, brother. I accept your challenge for the throne!”

Thousands of soldiers erupted into a cacophony of roars and clashing weapons, their yells reverberating through the water like a war drum. Percy stood unshaken despite the display, his sword still raised, though his heart thundered against his chest at the weight of what he’d just invoked. This was no mere duel. This was a divine contest that would echo not just through the sea but to the surface and the heavens.

The sea churned violently around them, the currents twisting into a maelstrom as if the ocean itself sensed the cataclysm to come. Triton leapt from his chariot and approached, raising his trident as he prepared for the fight. The army parted further, forming a vast circle around the two brothers, their roars fading into an eerie hush as the ancient laws of the Bloodright took hold.

There will be no running away from this. Only one shall walk away.

Triton’s eyes gleamed with a predator’s certainty, knowing that his teeth would soon find flesh. “You’ve made a grave mistake, Perseus. The sea will judge us, and it will soon turn red with your blood.”

Percy’s jaw clenched as he lowered himself into a defensive stance, his sword poised. “We’ll see about that. Let’s find out whose blood the sea chooses.”

The sand trembled beneath their feet, and the water pulsed with a primal rhythm, as if the heart of the ocean had begun to beat. The Bloodright had begun—a duel not just of strength, but of will, of legacy, of the very essence of the sea. As the currents coiled tighter, ready to erupt into chaos, one truth hung heavy in the air: by the end, either blood or ichor would be spilt on the sands.

Chapter Text

The ocean floor quaked as the Royal Bloodright took hold. The water thickened, charged with divine energy and bloodlust, as thousands of onlookers cheered them on. The sea itself was the judge now, its currents swirling with a sentience that weighed the worth of both sons of Poseidon.

Percy’s grip on Riptide was iron-tight, his knuckles white against the celestial bronze. Triton stood across from him, the trident humming with power, its prongs crackling with energy that made the water sizzle. The god-king’s armor gleamed like oil-slicked scales, his presence radiating a suffocating aura of divine might. “You should have fled when you had the chance,” he exclaimed, beginning to circle the demigod like a shark out for blood. “You could’ve just gone back to your little group of friends and lived your life.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Percy replied, matching his brother’s movements and circling in the other direction. “Olympus is already at war, but you’re too blinded by your ambition to see that.”

“Ah, yes, the Father you’ve mentioned,” Triton jeered. “Just another one of Athena’s tricks to make Atlantis come to Olympus’s aid once again. I will not be so naive as to believe there is any enemy lurking in the shadows.”

He didn’t respond to that. Words were useless against arrogance this thick. Only the sword could carve through it. He planted his feet, the seafloor cracking under the pressure of the power seeping out of his muscles, and raised Riptide. Triton struck first, a blur of divine speed. His trident thrust forward, the prongs screaming with energy that warped the water into a scalding vortex. Percy dove aside, the blast grazing his shoulder and charring his skin. Pain lanced through him, but he rolled, springing up with Riptide slashing upward. The blade met the trident in a clash that sent shockwaves rippling through the water, sending the spectators flying backward from the sheer force.

The two brothers were locked in a stalemate for but a moment, their faces mere inches apart. The water around them boiled as their weapons strained against each other, trying to gain the upper hand. The seafloor trembled beneath them, fissures spiderwebbing outward as the sea itself groaned under their power. Percy’s muscles burned, his demigod strength pushed to its limits. He could feel the divine might of Triton pressing down on him, an unyielding force that threatened to crush him into the seabed. His brother’s eyes, cold and merciless, bore into him, radiating centuries of godly arrogance. “You’re nothing,” he hissed. “A mortal stain on our bloodline. I will not allow you to yield, even after you beg and plead. No, there will be no mercy for you. You will receive only death!”

Percy grunted underneath the strain, his face going red. Thinking fast, he twisted his sword to break the lock. The sudden shift caught the god off guard, and the demigod surged forward, driving his fist directly into Triton’s nose with a resounding crack! The impact sent him staggering backward, his hand instinctively reaching to his face. The army roared, their yells a deafening pulse through the water.

“First blood, brother,” Percy snarled, satisfied to see shimmering golden ichor floating in the water.

The god-king’s face twisted in fury, ichor trailing from his crushed nose. His composure shattered, divine arrogance replaced by raw, primal rage. He roared and lunged across the sand, his trident a blazing comet of divine wrath. The prongs split the water, each thrust a death sentence aimed at Percy’s heart. The demigod danced through the attacks, his instincts honed by years of battling monsters, but the person before him was no mere beast. He was a god, and his speed was a blur that defied mortal limits. A prong grazed his ribs, slicing through his skin like it was parchment. Blood clouded the water, red mingling with gold. The crowd’s cheers turned feral, their bloodlust a palpable force that fueled the sea’s churning violence.

Percy gritted his teeth against the searing pain, his vision blurring as he ducked another strike that would’ve speared his skull. He countered, Riptide a streak of bronze fury, but Triton parried with the trident’s shaft, the clash sparking lightning that illuminated the water in stark, brutal flashes. The god’s strength was overwhelming, each blow like a tsunami crashing against his defenses. His arms screamed in protest, muscles tearing under the strain, but surrender wasn’t in his blood. Not today. Not ever.

“You’re pathetic,” the god-king taunted, pressing his advantage. He spun the trident, the prongs slicing a crescent arc that caught Percy’s thigh, carving a deep gash. The demigod stumbled, his leg buckling as blood poured into the water, drawing another yell from the crowd. “You thought you could defeat me? You really thought you could take my throne?”

Percy groaned, the pain in his thigh a white-hot spike that threatened to drag him under. Blood swirled around him, a crimson cloud that mingled with the golden ichor still drifting from Triton’s nose. The seafloor trembled beneath his feet, the sea pulsing as if eager to swallow the loser whole. The army’s roars were a relentless drumbeat, their tridents clashing against shields, urging their king to end it. The god loomed over him, his weapon raised and glowing with a malevolent light that promised annihilation.

“You’re no king,” Triton sneered, looking down at his brother like he was some disgusting bug he had just stepped on. “Just a boy playing at hero.”

The demigod’s breath hitched, his grip on Riptide faltering as he stared up at his impending doom. His body screamed for rest, for surrender, but his heart—his stubborn, defiant heart—refused. He wasn’t fighting for a throne or glory. He was fighting for Atlantis, for his father’s legacy, for the world above that Triton’s ambition would drown in chaos. He was fighting for Tyson, for Delphin, for every soul caught in this god’s madness. And he’d be damned if he let this arrogant bastard win.

Seeing Percy’s defiance even in the face of death caused Triton’s sneer to twist into a snarl as he thrusted his trident downward. Percy dove to the side, the prongs missing his chest by inches, their energy scorching his skin. He rolled across the seafloor, sand and blood clouding the water, and sprang up, Riptide slashing in a desperate arc. The blade caught the god’s arm, slicing through the obsidian scales of his armor. More ichor spilled, glittering like liquid gold, and the god-king roared, his fury shaking the ocean.

The crowd’s cheers faltered, a ripple of unease passing through the ranks. Percy seized the moment, his pain drowned by adrenaline and raw will. He charged, his sword a bronze blur as he aimed for Triton’s chest. But the god was faster, his weapon spinning to deflect the blow with a force that numbed Percy’s arms. The prongs lashed out, catching his shoulder and tearing through muscle. Blood sprayed, and he staggered, his vision darkening as the sea seemed to tilt beneath him.

The demigod’s knees buckled, his wounds and Triton’s overwhelming power pressing him down like the sky. The army’s roars surged, a tidal wave of sound that drowned out everything else, even his own heartbeat. He could feel the sea judging him, its sentience in every molecule of water, waiting for the verdict of the Bloodright. His blood mixed with the sand, his strength ebbing with every breath. For a fleeting moment, doubt clawed at him—maybe Triton was right. Maybe he was just a mortal, out of his depth, doomed to fail.

But then he saw it—a flicker in his mind, a memory of his father. Poseidon, standing tall on the shores of Montauk, his eyes like the heart of a storm, his voice warm as he told Percy he was proud. Not for power or victories, but for his heart, his loyalty, his refusal to break. And he remembered Delphin’s words: You have to be the web. The sea wasn’t just Triton’s—it was his, too. His birthright, his blood, his soul.

Watching his brother prepare to kill him, Percy reached deep, past the pain, past the fear and doubt, into the very core of his being where the sea’s power thrummed. He felt the web of water again—not just around him, but in him, through him, connecting every drop of blood, every molecule of his existence. The tingling surged, sharper and more violent than before, like a storm breaking loose inside his veins. He didn’t fight it. He surrendered to it, letting the sea unmake him.

The world blurred as his body dissolved, his essence scattering into the water’s network. Triton’s trident plunged through empty space, the prongs striking the seafloor with a blast that sent shockwaves rippling outward. The army gasped, their roars silenced as he vanished seemingly out of thin air. The god spun, his eyes wild, searching the churning water for his prey and wondering what had just happened.

Percy reformed behind him, his body snapping back together with a jolt that nearly shattered his focus. Wasting no time, he delivered a kick aimed at Triton’s ribs, the sheer strength of it sending him flying through the crowd at incomprehensible speeds. He crashed through the ranks of his army, his divine form a comet of shattered scales and golden ichor, obliterating soldiers in his path. Their bodies burst apart in clouds of blood and bone, the water turning murky with the carnage. The ocean floor split wider, jagged fissures swallowing the dead as the sea roared its approval of the escalating brutality. The crowd’s shock twisted into a frenzied howl, their loyalty wavering as they witnessed their god-king humbled.

The demigod stood panting, his body screaming from the effort of reforming. Every muscle felt like it had been shredded and stitched back together with barbed wire. The blood streaming from his wounds was beginning to close now due to the water’s power, his sapped energy slowly but surely returning. He wasn’t out of the fight just yet, it seemed. The sea pulsed through him, its power like electricity in his veins. He knew he shouldn’t cave into it. He shouldn’t let the pure feeling of ecstasy and power overtake him. But standing amidst the chaos and the crowd’s roars and shocked faces fueled his resolve. In that moment, he felt something click within him. The power within his veins wasn’t just a tool anymore—it was a crown, heavy and intoxicating, whispering promises of dominion. He could feel the sea bending to his will, not just as a son of Poseidon but as its master. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, both thrilling and terrifying. He could end this.

He could rule this.

Triton clawed his way out of the wreckage, his armor cracked, ichor streaming from gashes across his chest. His eyes burned with divine fury, but there was something new in them—uncertainty. For the first time, the god-king looked at Percy not as a pest to be crushed, but as a rival. A threat. The crowd sensed it too, their cheers splitting between bloodthirsty fervor and awestruck murmurs. The sea itself held its breath, waiting for the next move in this divine reckoning.

“What was that?!” He seethed, shakily getting to his feet. Mermen tried to help, but the god slammed them out of the way, wafting through the crowd like a bloodthirsty shark in a school of fish. “What power did father teach you?!”

Percy didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The sea spoke for him, its currents surging around him, wrapping him in a mantle of churning water that glowed with an otherworldly light. His wounds were nearly healed now, the sea knitting his flesh together with a speed that felt almost divine. Riptide hummed in his hand, its blade reflecting the stormy glow of his eyes. He felt the power swelling, not just in his body but in his mind—a clarity, a certainty. He could tear Triton apart. He could shatter his army, claim the throne, and bend Atlantis to his will. The sea would obey. The world would kneel.

The thought stopped him cold. Kneel? That wasn’t him. That was Triton’s arrogance, Olympus’s games, the very thing he’d fought against his whole life. But the power was seductive, a siren’s song that promised control, vengeance, victory. He could feel it tugging at his soul, urging him to embrace it, to become the king his brother mocked him for not being. He bit the inside of his cheek, wrestling against the temptation. He wasn’t here to rule. He was here to save. But the line between the two was blurring, and the power flowing in his veins wasn’t helping.

The god-king sensed the hesitation, mistaking it for weakness. “Pathetic,” he spat, charging forward with a speed that split the water in half. His trident thrust like a meteor, aimed to impale Percy’s heart. The crowd roared, their bloodlust peaking as they watched their ruler reclaim his dominance.

But Percy was done dodging. He planted his feet, the seafloor cracking beneath him, and raised his free hand. The sea answered instantly, a wall of water surging up like a shield. Triton’s trident slammed into it, the impact sending a shockwave that flattened half the army. The water held, shimmering with his will, and for a moment, the god’s eyes widened in disbelief.

The demigod didn’t stop there. He pushed, and the wall of water exploded outward, a tidal wave that hurled Triton back, tumbling through the water like a broken doll. The god-king crashed into the ocean floor, the impact splitting the ground into a chasm that glowed with molten light. The army scattered, their formation shattered.

Percy advanced, each step a pulse of power that made the water tremble. The crowd’s roars faded into a stunned silence, their eyes locked on the demigod who now moved like a god. His wounds were gone, his body radiating a strength that felt limitless. Riptide gleamed, but it was his presence that struck fear into the onlookers—a mortal, yet more, his essence woven into the sea’s fabric. The sea was no longer just in him; he was the sea.

Triton staggered to his feet, his trident still tightly clutched in one hand. He let out a primal roar that shook the very tectonic plates beneath the Earth. The water vibrated with his rage, the currents twisting into a maelstrom that threatened to swallow everything. His trident glowed hotter, its prongs spitting arcs of divine energy that scorched the water into steam. The army rallied behind him, their weapons raised, their shouts a desperate attempt to drown out the growing dread in their hearts. But Percy stood unmoved, the sea’s power coiling around him like a living thing, his eyes glowing with a storm’s ferocity.

“The sea only listens to me! It’s rightful lord!” He bellowed.

Percy’s eyes narrowed, the power within him pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He could feel the sea’s sentience, its judgment, weighing him against his brother. The temptation to seize control, to claim it as his own, still gnawed at him, but he forced it down. He wasn’t Triton. He wasn’t here to rule, to dominate. He was here to protect, to preserve. The sea wasn’t a throne to be claimed—it was a responsibility. And he’d carry it, even if it crushed him.

“Keep talking, brother,” he replied. “The sea’s listening. And it’s not impressed.”

The god-king’s face was pure rage, his eyes gleaming with madness as he thrust his free hand outward, sending a blast of water directly at him at speeds that could tear flesh from bone. The demigod quickly responded, sending his own torrent of water to meet the incoming onslaught. The collision of their powers sent the ocean into chaos, a cataclysm of water and force that tore through the battlefield like a divine tantrum. The seafloor buckled, molten fissures glowing red beneath the churning waves, casting an eerie light on the carnage. Triton’s blast was a juggernaut, a wall of divine wrath that screamed with centuries of godly dominion. Percy’s counter was raw, untamed—a tidal surge born not of entitlement but of desperation and will. The two forces locked in a brutal stalemate, the water between them boiling into a frothing maelstrom that shredded anything caught in its grasp. Soldiers were obliterated, their bodies reduced to mist and bone fragments, their screams swallowed by the roar of power.

Percy’s muscles screamed as he poured everything into the torrent, his blood singing with the sea’s power. His vision narrowed, the world reduced to the clash of wills, the searing pain in his body, and the unyielding fury in Triton’s eyes. The god-king’s face was a mask of rage and disbelief, his divine composure completely shattered by the mortal who dared match him. Ichor streamed from his wounds, mingling with the blood-soaked water, a shimmering testament to his faltering invincibility.

“You dare defy me?” Triton roared—not at the demigod, but at the sea itself, as if the ocean had betrayed him by yielding to a lesser power.

The crowd’s roars surged, a bloodthirsty chant that fueled the god-king’s assault. The army rallied, their tridents raised, their loyalty to Triton rekindled by the sight of Percy faltering. His divine fury burned hotter than the depths, and with a snarl, he thrust his trident forward. The weapon blazed with raw energy, its prongs crackling as arcs of power ripped through the storm, each one seeking to reduce Percy to ashes.

The demigod gritted his teeth, the force of godly wrath pressing down like the weight of the abyss. His torrent of water shuddered, fissures spiderwebbing as the god’s power bore down, relentless. The sea seemed to be tilting in Triton’s favor, its currents tightening around the demigod like a noose, squeezing the air from his lungs. His knees buckled, the seafloor splintering beneath him as he fought to hold his ground. Blood trickled from his nose, the strain of unchecked power threatening to tear him apart from the inside.

But he wouldn’t give up. Not even if the sea decided he wasn’t worthy anymore. He reached even deeper into the heart of the ocean’s essence. He could feel it—the web of water, the pulse of every current, the lifeblood of the water itself. It wasn’t just power; it was connection, a bond forged by his father’s blood and his own heart. He wasn’t fighting for himself. He was fighting for Atlantis, for the mortals above, for the balance Triton’s arrogance would destroy. And the sea knew it.

With a guttural scream, Percy shoved back. The torrent exploded outward, a tidal wave that shattered both blasts of water, sending both sons of Poseidon flying backward from sheer force of the explosion. The sea screamed, its currents writhing in agony as the battlefield became a graveyard of molten rock and swirling ichor. The demigod slammed into the sand a mile away, the impact driving the breath from his lungs. His body was a map of pain—ribs cracked, skin scorched, muscles torn from the strain of wielding the sea’s might. Riptide lay a few feet away, its bronze glinting faintly in the hellish glow of the fissures below. He clawed at the sand, blood streaming from his mouth, his vision swimming as the sea pulsed around him, both ally and executioner. The crowd’s roars were distant now, a muffled cacophony drowned by the ringing in his ears.

Across the shattered battlefield, Triton rose, his form a twisted silhouette against the molten glow. His armor hung in tatters, scales peeled back to reveal gashes oozing golden ichor. His weapon was cracked, its prongs flickering with unstable energy, but his eyes burned with a madness that eclipsed pain. The god-king’s chest heaved, his breath ragged, yet his presence was no less suffocating. He staggered forward, dragging his weapon through the sand, each step a promise of annihilation. The sea trembled at his approach, currents bending to his will, but there was a fracture in his dominance—a flicker of doubt that Percy’s defiance had carved into his soul.

With speeds that defied Hermes, he raced across the mile that separated them, the sand beneath exploding in his wake. His trident blazed, a dying star of divine wrath, its cracked prongs screaming with unstable power that warped the water into a scalding vortex. Percy barely had time to react, his instincts screaming as he rolled to his feet, snatching Riptide from the sand. The god-king appeared in an instant, his weapon thrusting down with the force of a collapsing ocean where the demigod had once been.

He raised his celestial bronze blade just in time to parry another strike. The seafloor split wider, molten fissures vomiting red light as the ocean howled its fury. The demigod’s arms buckled under the blow, his cracked ribs grinding against each other, pain a white-hot spike that threatened to black him out. Triton’s face was inches from his, twisted into a snarl of primal rage, ichor dripping from his shattered nose and gashed chest. “You will break!” he roared, slamming his trident against Percy’s sword. “You will beg!” He struck once more. “And you will die!”

The final blow sent Percy skidding across the sand, his body carving a trench through the seafloor as blood and sand sprayed in his wake. The impact rattled his bones, his vision fracturing into shards of pain and light. The crowd’s roars surged into a deafening crescendo, their tridents clashing against shields, their voices a feral hymn to the carnage unfolding before them.

His chest heaved, each breath a knife twisting in his chest. Blood streamed from his nose, his mouth, his countless wounds, mingling with the water in crimson clouds. His body screamed for surrender, every muscle shredded, every bone bruised to the marrow. The sea’s power still thrummed in his veins, but it was a double-edged blade now—sustaining him, yet threatening to burn him from the inside out. He clawed at the sand, fingers digging into the shattered seafloor, his will the only thing keeping him from collapsing.

Triton advanced from behind like a wolf in the darkness. His face was a mask of madness, his eyes glowing with a fury that dwarfed the molten fissures below. The sea bent to his wrath, currents coiling around him like serpents, amplifying his presence into something apocalyptic. He was no longer just a god—he was vengeance incarnate, a force of nature determined to erase the mortal stain that dared challenge him.

“You thought you could steal my birthright?!” He raised his weapon. “You are nothing, Perseus Jackson! A fleeting spark in my eternity! The ocean shall soon forget your name!”

Percy’s eyes flicked to Riptide, lying just out of reach. His body screamed in protest, but he forced himself to move, rolling to his side as the trident slammed into the seafloor where he’d been. He scrambled forward desperately, his fingers closing around the hilt just as the god lunged again, his weapon crackling and aimed at his heart. The prongs grazed his back, slicing through skin and muscle like a butcher’s knife. Blood sprayed, clouding the water, and the demigod bit down on a scream, staggering to his feet. The god-king’s strikes came faster, each thrust a death sentence, each swing a promise of obliteration. Percy parried desperately, but every clash sent jolts of agony through his battered frame. His strength was fading, his movements slowing, and Triton knew it.

“You’re finished,” he hissed, his weapon spinning in an arc that caught the demigod’s arm, carving a deep gash from elbow to shoulder. Percy stumbled, blood pouring from the wound. The god-king pressed the attack, a relentless storm of divine wrath. A prong speared his side, punching through muscle and glancing off bone. The pain was blinding, a hot explosion that dropped him to one knee. The sea roared, its water tightening around him, as if eager to claim the loser’s soul.

The army’s chants reached a fever pitch, their voices a hymn to Triton’s inevitable victory. “King Triton! King Triton!” they screamed, their weapons pounding the ocean floor, the rhythm a death knell.

Percy gasped for air, blood spilling out of his mouth in rivulets. His body was a broken vessel barely held together by sheer will and the sea’s fading grace.

“This is your legacy, brother,” the king sneered, dripping with contempt. “A corpse at the bottom of the sea, forgotten by all who ever knew you.”

The demigod’s fully collapsed now, the weight of his injuries and the water’s crushing pressure dragging him down. His free hand clawed at the sand, fingers digging into the shattered seafloor as if he could anchor himself to life itself. The army’s roars surged at the sight of his bowed head, a wave of sound that drowned out every one of his senses. He could feel the sea’s eyes watching him, its sentience a cold, impartial judge, waiting for the Bloodright to claim its victor.

He should’ve been broken. He should’ve given up. Every rational part of his mind screamed for surrender, for the pain to end, for the sea to swallow him whole. There was no more fight left in him. It was over. Who was he to think he could defeat a king in his element? Despite this, however, he knew that it wasn’t over. It was never over.

The sea wasn’t done with Percy Jackson. Not yet.

Triton’s voice, the army’s chants, the pain ripping through his body—they all faded into a distant hum as something primal stirred within him. It wasn’t just the sea’s power or his father’s blood. It was the fire that had always defined him: defiance, raw and unyielding, forged in every battle, every betrayal, every moment he’d stared death in the face and refused to blink. He remembered his brother’s earlier words, the ones that had cut deeper than any blade: “That wrath, that fire—it lives in us. In me. In you.” He had meant it as a taunt, a way to drag him down to his level, to make him see himself as nothing more than a vessel for destruction. But in that moment, slumped against the shattered seafloor, blood clouding the water around him, Percy understood.

He was done holding back. Done playing the hero who restrained himself for the sake of protecting his friends, for the sake of rules imposed by gods who’d never understood him. Triton wanted a king? He’d get a monster instead.

The seafloor shuddered as Percy’s resolve hardened, his blood-soaked fingers tightening around Riptide’s hilt. Triton loomed above, his trident poised to deliver the killing blow, its prongs crackling with divine energy that warped the water into a scalding haze. The god-king’s eyes gleamed with triumph, his lips curling into a sneer as he prepared to end the mortal who dared challenge his birthright. The army’s chants swelled, a thunderous hymn to their king’s inevitable victory, the sea itself seeming to bow to his wrath.

But Percy was no longer listening, paying attention only to the fire igniting in his core. The sea wasn’t Triton’s domain. It was his. And it answered not to arrogance, but to will. To blood. His eyes snapped open, glowing with pure rage and wrath, just in time to watch the trident aimed to pierce his heart and end the Bloodright once and for all.

He didn’t dodge. Didn’t need to. His free hand shot up, fingers splayed, and the sea obeyed. But this was no mere wall of water, no tidal surge born of desperation. This was something darker, a power he’d buried deep within himself out of fear of what it could make him become. The tingling in his veins turned to a roar, a violent surge that connected him not just to the water, but to the lifeblood within it—to Triton’s ichor, shimmering gold in his body, pulsing with divine essence.

The god froze mid-strike, his trident halting inches from Percy’s chest. His eyes widened, a gasp escaping his lips as his body seized, muscles locking against his will. The prongs trembled, their energy flickering as his arm refused to obey. The army’s chants choked into silence, a wave of dread sweeping through them once they realized something was wrong.

Percy rose, his movements slow, deliberate, every motion radiating a predator’s grace. Blood streamed from his wounds, but the sea knitted his flesh together, his body fueled by a power that felt both foreign and intimately his own. He stepped forward, his sword hanging loosely at his side, his eyes locked on his brother’s. The god-king’s face twisted in fury, then fear, as he realized what was happening.

He could feel it—every drop, every pulse, a web of divine essence that thrummed in sync with his own heartbeat. With a flick of his wrist, he tightened his grip on that essence, and Triton’s body jerked like a marionette, his trident clattering to the seafloor. The god’s roar of defiance dissolved into a strangled gasp as Percy forced his arms to his sides, his divine strength rendered useless against the demigod’s command.

“You…” he choked, “What are you?”

The demigod didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Everything he wanted to say would be explained by what he would do next. With a twist of his hand, he tightened his hold on Triton’s ichor, forcing the god to his knees. The seafloor cracked beneath the impact, molten fissures spitting fire as the ocean groaned in protest. Triton’s face contorted in agony, his divine arrogance shattered, replaced by raw, animal panic. His mouth opened to scream, to curse, but Percy clenched his fist, and the god’s words choked off, his throat constricting as if crushed by an invisible vice.

The crowd’s silence broke into murmurs of terror, their loyalty to Triton fracturing as they watched their invincible king reduced to a puppet. Some dropped their weapons, backing away, while others stood rooted, their eyes wide with awe and dread. Percy stepped closer, Riptide dragging through the sand, its blade scraping a discordant hymn. Blood and ichor swirled around him, a crimson-gold halo that marked him as something more than mortal, more than demigod—something the sea itself couldn’t define. Triton’s eyes darted wildly, searching for escape, for salvation, but there was none. His brother’s power was absolute, a force that didn’t just command, but rewrote its rules.

“You wanted a king,” he leaned in, his face mere inches from Triton’s, his eyes hot with rage. “Well, here I am.”

The god-king’s body convulsed, his ichor boiling under Percy’s control. Golden streams seeped from his eyes, his nose, his mouth, as the demigod twisted the divine essence within him, tearing it apart molecule by molecule. The god’s armor cracked further, scales peeling away like dead skin, revealing flesh that pulsed unnaturally, as if trying to reject the mortal will that bound it. A low, guttural moan escaped Triton’s lips, the sound of a god facing mortality for the first time.

The true son of Poseidon raised his blade, the bronze gleaming with a cold, merciless light. It seemed as if time stood still, awaiting the verdict of the duel. He could end it now—drive the sword through Triton’s heart, claim the Bloodright, and seize Atlantis as its undisputed ruler. The power in his veins sang with the possibility, a siren’s call that promised dominion. He could be the king Triton mocked, the god he’d never dared to become. It’s what the world needed.

But the thought twisted in his gut, a poison he couldn’t swallow. That wasn’t him. It never had been. He wasn’t here to rule, to conquer, to lose himself to the same arrogance that had corrupted Triton. He was here to protect, to save, to hold the line against the chaos his brother would unleash. The sea wasn’t his to claim—it was his to guard. And he’d do it, even if it meant tearing himself apart.

With a snarl, Percy released his grip on Triton’s ichor, shoving the god backward with a surge of water that sent him crashing into the ocean floor. The impact shattered the ground, a crater forming as molten rock sprayed upward, hissing in the water. Triton gasped, his body free but broken, his divine strength drained to a flicker. His trident lay useless, its prongs dark, its power extinguished. The god-king clawed at the sand, his movements feeble, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stared up at the demigod who’d humbled him.

He stood over the terrified god, his sword hovering above his chest. He could end it all with one push. The army watched, breathless, their allegiance teetering on the edge of collapse. The sea pulsed, its judgment clear in the currents that swirled around Percy, not Triton. The Bloodright was his, if he chose to take it.

“Yield,” Percy said, his tone shaking with the fire in his veins, the pain in his body, the temptation clawing at his soul. “Yield, and live. Atlantis doesn’t need a tyrant. It needs a protector.”

Triton’s face twisted, a mix of rage, shame, and something deeper—fear of the mortal who’d become more than a god. He spat ichor, his voice a ragged hiss. “You’ll never be one of us. You’ll always be… nothing!”

The demigod bit the inside of his cheek, but he didn’t strike. He could feel the sea urging him to end it, to claim the victory in blood, but he resisted. Despite everything that had happened, he didn’t want to kill his own brother.

“Then be nothing with me,” he replied, extending a hand.

The god-king’s eyes narrowed, gleaming with desperation and cunning as he slowly clasped his brother’s hand. For a heartbeat, it seemed he might yield—might seize the chance to live, to retreat from the abyss of his own ruin. Around them, molten fissures pulsed, their hellish glow carving shadows across the faces of Poseidon’s sons, laying bare the truth in their eyes. One burned with mercy. The other, with hate.

Triton’s grip tightened, not in surrender, but in defiance. His lips curled into a snarl, and with a surge of divine strength, he yanked Percy forward, his free hand darting for the cracked trident lying in the sand. He wasn’t yielding—he was seizing one last chance to crush the mortal who’d humiliated him.

But the demigod knew this would happen. Despite his wish for peace with his brother, he knew that it couldn’t be obtained. He’d offered peace. He’d offered brotherhood. And Triton had spat on it. Percy’s heart hardened, knowing he would have to make the hard choice. The sea only wanted one son of Poseidon left standing.

Before Triton could grasp the trident, Percy moved—faster than thought, faster than the god could comprehend. He drove his sword through his heart. The blade sank deep into flesh, cutting through muscle and bone. A soundless shockwave erupted, the water rippling outward in a perfect circle as the god’s body arched, his eyes wide with disbelief. Golden ichor erupted from the wound, spiraling into the water like a dying star’s light. His mouth opened in a silent scream, his divine essence unraveling, molecule by molecule, as the sea reclaimed what it had given.

“You made me do this!” Percy spat, his words laced with a sorrow that cut deeper than his rage. “You could’ve chosen Atlantis over your pride!”

Triton’s body convulsed, his hands clawing at Riptide’s hilt, but the strength bled from him like the ichor pooling around the blade. His eyes, once blazing with arrogance, dimmed, flickering with a mix of fury and something softer—regret, perhaps, or the dawning realization of his own mortality. The sea trembled, its currents slowing to a mournful pulse, as if grieving the fall of one of its own. The army’s murmurs dissolved into a stunned hush, their weapons lowering, their faces etched with disbelief. The Bloodright was over. The sea had chosen.

The son of Poseidon yanked his weapon free, staggering back from his brother’s body. His chest heaved, each breath offering a fresh bout of pain. His sword felt heavy in his hand, its bronze stained with the essence of a god. He stared down at Triton’s lifeless form. He hadn’t wanted this. Not the throne, not the blood, not the death of a brother he’d hoped—against all reason—to save.

The army’s eyes bored into him, a sea of faces caught between terror and reverence. Their tridents lay scattered, their chants silenced, their god-king reduced to a memory. Some knelt, heads bowed as if before a new sovereign, while others stood rigid, their loyalty unmoored, their world upended. The sea was still, its sentience retreating, leaving Percy alone with the consequences of the Bloodright.

His gaze drifted to the spot where Triton had fallen, now just a swirl of sand and fading gold. He’d offered mercy. He’d offered a way out. But Triton’s pride had been a wall too thick for reason, and Percy had been forced to become the monster he’d always feared. The sea had demanded a victor, and it had chosen him—not for his strength, but for his heart, his refusal to let Atlantis fall to madness. Yet the victory tasted like ash, bitter with the blood of a brother he’d never truly known.

A rumble of footsteps approaching broke him free of his thoughts, causing him to look up. It was Tyson slowly walking forward, the soldiers around him parting like stage curtains. His armor, dented and scratched from past battles, clinked softly with each heavy step. The cyclops’s gaze flickered between Percy, standing bloodied but unbowed, and the golden dust of the past king floating away.

He stopped a few paces away, his massive hands flexing as if unsure what to do with them. His voice, when it came, was soft but resonant, carrying through the water with a clarity that stilled the murmurs of the army.

“Brother,” Tyson said, his voice trembling with a mix of awe, grief, and something deeper—relief, perhaps. “Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Percy replied with a sigh, looking up at his brother with a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

His massive shoulders slumped, his eye dropping to the sand where ichor had dissolved into fading golden motes. “I… I followed him because he was king. Because he said it was for Atlantis. For you. But I saw it. The corruption and greed. The way he locked up Delphin and his own mother…it wasn’t right. I should’ve listened to you.”

The demigod stepped forward, ignoring the scream of his wounds, and placed a hand on Tyson’s arm. The Cyclops flinched at the touch, as if expecting judgment, but Percy’s grip was relaxed. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

“I’m with you,” Tyson gave a bright smile, clasping his brother’s hand before doing something the demigod hadn’t expected. He kneeled, his head bowed low. The army sat in a stunned silence as they watched their general kneel to the demigod who had felled their king.

Before Percy could argue for him to get up, his brother announced to the thousands of spectators, his voice booming across the sea. “Hear me, warriors of Atlantis! The Bloodright is done! The sea has spoken, and its champion stands before you! Perseus Jackson, son of Poseidon, has defeated Triton in trial by combat! All hail King Perseus, Lord of the Seas!”

The army erupted, their voices a deafening roar that shook the seafloor, tridents raised high, their loyalty no longer fractured but united. “King Perseus! King Perseus!” they chanted, the sound rolling through the water like thunder, reverberating their bones. Creatures of the deep—sharks, leviathans, krakens, every subject of Atlantis—joined the call, their voices weaving into a hymn that carried across the oceans.

The son of Poseidon stood frozen, Riptide still in his hand, its blade dripping with the last traces of the previous king’s ichor. He looked out at the kneeling army and at the sea that had chosen him. He didn’t want this. He’d never wanted this. But the sea didn’t care about what he wanted—it cared about what it needed. And right now, it needed him.

He raised his blade, not in triumph, but in acceptance, the bronze gleaming in the molten light of the fissures below. The crowd’s roar swelled, a tidal wave of sound that sealed his fate. He wasn’t just Percy anymore. He was something more, something the sea had forged in blood, fire, and sacrifice.

And as the army’s chants reached their peak, the water surged around him, a mantle of power and responsibility, crowning him not with gold, but with Atlantis’s trust. King Perseus, Lord of the Seas, stood tall, ready to face whatever came next—brother, protector, and now, whether he liked it or not, king.

Chapter Text

Despite having just fought a god and sustaining life-threatening injuries, there was no time to process, no time to heal. Triton's reign had left a fractured kingdom, and Percy, whether he wanted it or not, was now its cornerstone. His body ached, every muscle screaming from the Bloodright's toll. Blood still seeped from his wounds, though the ocean's power knitted his flesh together with agonizing slowness. He wanted nothing more than to collapse, to let the water cradle him into oblivion, but the faces of the army—mermen, cyclopes, sea spirits, and so many more—watched him with a mix of awe and desperation. They needed a king, not a broken demigod. And Delphin, still chained in the palace's depths, needed him most of all.

"Tyson," he spoke up over the chants of his name, "we need to get back to the palace. Delphin's still locked up, and who knows how many others are imprisoned. We can't leave them there."

His brother nodded, his eyes hardening with resolve and regret. "I know who's all down there. I... I helped guard them." Shame flickered across his face, but he pushed it aside, standing taller. "I'll take you there, my king."

"Don't call me that," he replied quickly, wincing as he sheathed Riptide. "Just lead the way."

The army parted as the two of them moved through their ranks. The warriors' chants of "King Perseus!" echoed around them, a relentless torrent of sound that followed Percy like a shadow. Their adoration pressed against him, heavier than the ocean's depths. Mermen bowed low, their tridents crossed in salute, while cyclopes dropped to one knee, their singular eyes gleaming with reverence. Some reached out, their hands brushing against his arms or the hem of his tattered shirt, as if touching him could anoint them with his power. Their murmurs carried a fervent edge, whispers of "King" and "Chosen one" weaving through the crowd like a prayer. To them, he wasn't just a demigod anymore—he was a living myth, a god in mortal flesh.

Percy kept his gaze forward, fighting the urge to shrink from their worship. He couldn't show weakness, not now, not when thousands of eyes saw him as their salvation. The krakens and leviathans trailed at a distance, their massive forms bowing in submission, their roars softened to reverent rumbles. Even the hippocampi, gliding above, dipped their heads, their riders' spears lowered in homage. The sea itself seemed to kneel, as its waters caressed his skin, a silent acknowledgment of the Bloodright's verdict.

Yet, beneath the awe, he felt the undercurrent of fear. Some soldiers hesitated before kneeling, their eyes flickering with uncertainty, as if questioning whether this mortal could truly bear the mantle of a king. Others whispered of Triton's fall, their voices tinged with dread at the power that had felled a god. Percy caught fragments of their words—"he controlled ichor," "he broke the trident's might," "he made Triton kneel"—and each phrase tightened the knot in his chest. They saw him as a conqueror, a force of wrath unlike anything they'd ever seen before.

The son of Poseidon bit back his curses. He wanted to scream at the Fates, at destiny, for what it made him do. He didn't want any of this. He didn't want to be looked upon with fear. But it seemed the world never cared for what he wanted. The Fates had spun their threads, and he was tangled in them, a pawn in a game far bigger than himself. The Atlantean army followed him at a respectful distance, their ranks stretching across the seafloor like a million ants.

The city loomed ahead, its spires of coral and pearl piercing the murky depths, its orbs of light pulsing like captured stars. The gates, carved with scenes of Triton's victories, now stood as a bitter irony, their grandeur marred by the reality of his defeat. As Percy approached, the mermen guards at the entrance dropped to their knees, their tridents clattering against the seafloor. Their eyes were wide, their faces pale, as they watched the new king approach with thousands of their kin behind. They knew what had happened; the ocean was already whispering to its inhabitants of a new ruler, but what they didn't know was what the new king would do next. Approaching the city with an army unlike anything ever assembled before, they honestly thought he'd have the mind to raze it to the ground.

One guard, bolder than the rest, reached out, his fingers trembling as they grazed Percy's wrist. "Lord of the Seas," he whispered shakily with awe. "The ocean sings your name."

Percy pulled his hand back, his expression unreadable. "Get up," he said, his tone firm. "I'm not here to be worshipped. Lead us to the cells where Delphin and the others are."

The guard hesitated, then obeyed, scrambling to his feet with a mix of relief and confusion. The others followed suit, their movements jerky, as if unsure how to act in the presence of a king who rejected reverence. The gates swung open with a low groan, the water rippling around them as they stepped into the grand courtyard. The courtyard was a sea of motion, merfolk, sea spirits, and Atlantean nobles gathering in droves, their whispers a melodic hum that carried both hope and fear. They parted as the new king walked through, their eyes tracking his every move. Some knelt, their heads bowing in submission, while others pressed forward, their hands outstretched, desperate to touch the one who'd claimed the Bloodright.

Walking inside the palace was no different. Countless subjects of Atlantis lined the halls, their expressions a mix of awe, fear, and calculation—some already scheming, others too stunned to do anything but stare as they watched the new king walk down the corridors with the strongest soldiers flanking him. The guard leading them—a wiry merman with scales that shimmered like polished obsidian—kept his head low, his trident clutched tightly. "This way, my lord," he said, barely above a whisper. He glanced back at Percy, then quickly averted his eyes, as if meeting the gaze of the Bloodright's chosen was too much to bear. "The cells are deep below, in the Abyssal Vaults. Triton... he kept his prisoners there to break them."

Percy's stomach churned at the thought. "How many?" he asked. He hadn't seen anyone but Delphin down there during his tenure. Perhaps the others were in different parts, deeper below.

The guard hesitated, his tail fin twitching nervously. "Dozens, my lord. Maybe more. Delphin, the sea nymphs, some of the old council... the Queen. Anyone who spoke against him."

The son of Poseidon felt his blood still at the mention of Amphitrite. The mother of the god he'd dethroned, the queen of a kingdom that had just crowned her husband's bastard son as its ruler. He almost laughed aloud at the absurdity. She had never liked him throughout the years. Now, she'll loathe him for becoming king of her city. His steps faltered, just for a moment, but he forced himself to keep moving. He'll deal with that soon, but for now, he just needed to free everyone Triton had imprisoned. That was the first step in a long list of things that needed to be fixed.

The descent into the Abyssal Vaults was like plunging into the heart of a nightmare. The palace's grandeur faded as Percy, Tyson, and the guards navigated twisting corridors that grew narrower and colder, the walls slick with algae that seemed to pulse with a faint glow. Tyson's massive frame filled the passage, his single eye scanning the shadows, guilt etched into every line of his face as they passed empty cells. He hadn't spoken since his declaration on the seafloor, but his presence was a quiet comfort, a reminder that Percy wasn't entirely alone in this fractured kingdom. The guard led them deeper, his movements hurried, as if eager to escape the vaults' oppressive aura. "The cells are just ahead," he murmured. "The wards... they're strong. Bound to the king's will."

"Then it's a good thing I'm king now," the demigod replied, flexing his fingers, feeling the wards around him starting to give way. He reached out, his fingers brushing the nearest rune on the wall. The green light flickered, then dimmed, as if bowing to his touch. A faint tremor ran through the corridor, and the guard flinched.

"They're yours to command now, my lord," the guard whispered, his voice trembling. "The Bloodright... it overrides all. Even Triton's enchantments."

Percy wasted no time and moved to the nearest cell, his heart pounding as he peered inside. Delphin was there, still bound by the enchanted chains, his bruised fins trembling with exhaustion. The dolphin god's eyes lifted, meeting Percy's, and a spark of relief and shock flickered in their depths. "By the gods," he rasped with disbelief. "Perseus...y-you..."

The son of Poseidon didn't let him finish that sentence, kneeling next to him, his fingers brushing the glowing chains. The runes pulsed angrily at his touch, but he focused, letting his authority take over. Not a moment later, they answered his call, falling away like dead leaves. Delphin exhaled sharply, his fins flexing as the runes' weight lifted.

"Thank you...King Perseus," Delphin exclaimed gratefully, bowing his head in submission to the new ruler of Atlantis.

"You of all people shouldn't bow to me," Percy sighed, but didn't voice any more reluctance toward the reverence. It seemed no matter what he did, no matter how many times he told people not to bow, they would still do so. He was the king of Atlantis now; it was ingrained in the Atlanteans' blood to respect royalty. He helped Delphin to his feet, the god leaning against him as they stood. "Can you swim?" He asked.

He nodded, though his movements were sluggish. "I'll manage, my lord." His gaze lingered on Percy, a mix of gratitude and something deeper—perhaps recognition that this demigod had ascended to something more, something far greater than anything he had seen in all his millennia of living.

"Good, because I need you with me when we free the others," the demigod replied, stepping back into the corridor.

The water grew even darker as they descended deeper into the labyrinth of cells. The walls seemed to pulse with a dark energy, the remnants of Triton's enchantments lingering like a bitter aftertaste. The mermen guards led the way, flanking Percy and Delphin at the sides with Tyson towering over in the rear. The corridor soon opened into a vast chamber, its ceiling lost in the murky gloom. Rows of cells lined the walls, their doors sealed with runes that shimmered like liquid fire. The faint hum of magic filled the space, punctuated by the occasional groan or whisper from within the cells. Percy's heart clenched at the sound—how many had suffered here, forgotten in Triton's purge of dissenters? His jaw tightened as he scanned the chamber, his eyes catching on a larger cell at the far end, its door inscribed with runes more intricate and foreboding than the rest.

"That one," the guard said, gesturing toward the heavily warded cell. "The Queen... she's there. Triton kept her separate, under the strongest bindings."

The king eyed it warily. He could still picture her disdainful gaze, the way her lips curled when she spoke of him as Poseidon's mortal son. Now, he was her king, the one who'd toppled her son and claimed the throne she'd helped rule for millennia. The irony was a bitter pill, and he wasn't sure what he'd find when he faced her—hatred, resignation, or something else entirely.

"Open the others first," Percy ordered, tearing his gaze from the queen's cell. "Tyson, help the guards. Delphin, stay with me." He didn't want to face Amphitrite yet, not until the others were free. He needed to see the scope of Triton's cruelty, to understand the kingdom he'd inherited.

The guards moved swiftly at his command, their tridents raised as they approached the rows of cells. The runes on each door pulsed with a sickly green light, but as the king extended his will, the ocean's power surged through him, unraveling the enchantments like threads in a fraying tapestry. One by one, the runes dimmed, and the cell doors groaned open, releasing faint currents of stale water and the soft moans of the prisoners within.

Sea nymphs, their once-vibrant skin dulled by starvation, drifted forward, their movements sluggish but their gazes bright with disbelief. Mermen, some with broken arms or scarred torsos, leaned against the walls, their tridents long confiscated, their pride battered. A few members of the old council—elders with flowing beards and eyes that held centuries of wisdom—stumbled out, their robes tattered, their faces etched with exhaustion and gratitude as they beheld the demigod who'd freed them.

Tyson worked tirelessly, his massive hands gentle as he helped the weaker prisoners to their feet. His single eye glistened with unshed tears as he recognized faces from his time as Triton's unwilling enforcer. "I'm sorry," he murmured to a nymph who flinched at his approach, her eyes wide with fear. "I didn't want to... I didn't know how to stop him." The nymph hesitated, then placed a trembling hand on his arm, her expression softening. It wasn't forgiveness, not yet, but it was a start.

Delphin hovered close, his fins steadier now as he identified the freed prisoners.

"That's Nereus," he murmured, gesturing to a merman with a long silver beard, who managed a deep bow despite his exhaustion. "One of the old councilors."

Percy's eyes widened in recognition. Nereus. The same immortal he'd once fought to uncover the location of Artemis's prey—back when he'd been forced to bear Atlas's curse. Time had not been kind. The once-formidable sea god now looked gaunt, his strength eroded by the depths. He supposed even the mightiest beings could wither in the vaults.

"And there," Delphin continued, "Thetis—mother of Achilles, leader of the Nereids."

His gaze lingered on the goddess, her once-radiant presence dimmed but unbroken. Her black hair floated like a halo, and her eyes, sharp despite the toll of captivity, locked onto him with an intensity that made his skin prickle. She inclined her head, a gesture of respect and thankfulness for freeing her. He gave her a small smile, but his attention was quickly replaced elsewhere when he noticed a commotion going on within another cell.

"Where is he?!" A familiar voice of a woman screamed, her tone filled with anger and spite.

Percy knew who it was instantly, causing a small scowl to etch across his features as he made his way over. "Stay here and try to help some of the others," he ordered Delphin, not waiting for a response. The commotion grew louder, the clash of chains and the crackle of failing runes echoing from the heavily warded cell at the chamber's far end. The guards froze, their tridents trembling as they glanced nervously at their king. They all knew who was behind that door—a goddess whose temper could churn the seas into chaos, a sibling Percy had crossed paths with before, her loyalty as unpredictable as the storms she commanded.

The cell door loomed before him, its runes pulsing with a defiant, stormy glow, as if channeling Kymopoleia's own ferocity. Her voice roared again, raw with fury. "I swear to the gods if that is you, Triton, I will rip off your balls and stuff them down your throat as I gouge out your eyes!"

The son of Poseidon raised his hand, feeling the sea's power surge through him, stronger now than ever. The Bloodright had reshaped him, forging a connection to the ocean that went beyond his demigod roots. The runes flickered under his touch, their stormy light dimming as the enchantments bowed to his will. With a low groan, the door slid open, revealing his sister in all her wild, untamed glory.

She sat at the center of the cell, her wrists and ankles bound by chains that sparked with electric runes, their glow fading under the king's command. Her dark hair whipped around her like a tempest, and her eyes blazed with a rage similar to her brother's. Her gaze locked onto his as he entered the cell, and for a moment, the fury in her expression wavered.

"You," she growled. "What are you doing here, dearest brother?"

"Hello, Kymopoleia," Percy greeted, looking down at her with no emotion in his eyes. "Long time no see."

The goddess's eyes narrowed as she shifted against the ground, the runes on the chains flickering one last time before dissolving entirely. But despite being freed, she stayed rooted, her gaze boring into him, assessing, calculating. The silence stretched, heavy with the unspoken history between them—siblings by blood, strangers by choice, their paths crossing only in moments of chaos.

"You look like Tartarus spat you out," she said at last, laced with grudging curiosity. "What happened to you, little hero? I smell Triton's ichor on you."

He stepped closer, the sea responding to his presence, its currents smoothing out the turbulent swirls around her. "Triton's gone," he replied flatly. "I killed him for the throne, and the sea chose me."

Her eyes widened, just for a fraction of a second, before narrowing again into slits of disbelief. A harsh laugh escaped her, similar to that of a dolphin's, echoing off the cell's walls. "You?! You killed Triton?!" She leaned forward, a mocking smile adorning her pale face. "The god-king of Atlantis, the sea's golden son, brought down by a mortal bastard? Oh, that's a rich story. Tell me another one, brother."

He didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he held her gaze, letting the sea speak for him. The water around them pulsed, a subtle flex of power that made the walls tremble and the fading runes flicker in submission. Kymopoleia's laugh died in her throat, her expression shifting from mockery to something harder—recognition, maybe, or wariness. She studied him, her eyes flicking to the faint glow in his own, the way the ocean seemed to bend to his will without effort.

"You're not lying," she murmured, almost to herself. Her fingers flexed, as if testing the absence of her chains. "You really did it. You took his throne." Her lips curled into a smirk, but there was no warmth in it, only a predator's curiosity. "So, what now, King Perseus? Come to gloat? To lock me back up for old times' sake?"

"I'm here to free you, Kym," he said with a sigh. "You and everyone else Triton chained down here. Atlantis is a mess, and I need every ally I can get to fix it."

Kymopoleia's smirk faltered, searching his face for deception. "Allies?" she repeated, the word dripping with skepticism. "You think I'd bow to you, little brother? You, who's barely a footnote in the sea's history? I'm a goddess. I don't kneel to mortals, even ones who've pulled off a miracle."

"I'm not asking you to kneel," Percy shot back, trying to keep his tone even. "I'm asking you to help. Triton's gone, but his mess isn't. The kingdom's fractured, Olympus is at war, and there's a bigger threat out there—one even you can't ignore. You're either with me, or you're against me. Choose."

The goddess rose then, her movements fluid and deliberate, like a storm gathering strength. She stood just a little bit below his eye level, her presence filling the cell with a crackling energy that made the water hum. "Bold words for a little boy," she said, stepping closer to him, her voice a low purr against his ear. "You've got power, I'll give you that. More than I expected. But you're still mortal. Still soft."

She was testing him, as she always had—pushing, prodding, waiting for him to break under the weight of her divine disdain. But he wasn't the same person she'd met mere months ago. He was something else now, forged in blood and sacrifice, and the sea knew it even if she didn't.

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them until they were mere inches away, his irises burning with that same wrath he'd unleashed on Triton. The water around them shivered, currents coiling tighter, responding to the shift in his mood. "I just killed our brother, Kym. I tore his ichor apart and made him kneel. If that's soft, then what are you?"

Her smirk faltered, just for a heartbeat, as she registered the raw power radiating from him. The sea pulsed in sync with his words, its currents weaving around him like a crown, amplifying his presence until it quickly surpassed her own. She didn't step back, but her posture stiffened, her fingers twitching as if itching to summon a storm. The cell felt smaller now, the walls pressing in as their divine essences clashed—her tempest against his ocean, a collision of wills that made the runes on the walls flicker erratically.

"Killing Triton doesn't make you invincible," she whispered mockingly. "He was arrogant, sloppy. You caught him off guard. Me?" She leaned in, her breath a cold gust against his cheek, her words dripping with menace. "I'm a storm, little brother. You don't catch me. You survive me."

With a snarl, he suddenly lunged, faster than a mortal should be, his body a blur. Kymopoleia reacted on instinct, summoning a blast of electric current to hurl him back, but Percy raised his free hand, and the sea answered. The current fizzled, absorbed into a wall of water that shimmered with his will. Before she could summon another, he was on her, slamming her against the cell wall with a force that cracked the stone. The impact sent a shockwave through the chamber, the water trembling as the runes on the walls flickered and died.

The goddess gasped, her head snapping back against the wall, her dark hair splaying outward. Percy's hand pinned her throat, Riptide pressed against her side, its blade grazing her skin just enough to draw a thin line of golden ichor. The sight of it—her divine essence leaking into the water—sent a shiver down his spine, a mix of power and dread. He could feel her straining against him, her divine strength pushing back, but it wasn't enough. Not against him.

His face was inches from hers, his eyes blazing with a fury that made the ocean itself recoil. "You feel that?" he growled, his voice a low, guttural rasp that echoed with the ocean's wrath. "That's the sea choosing me over you. Over Triton. Over every god who thinks they can stand in my way."

For the first time, a flicker of fear crossed her face—not the cautious wariness of a goddess sizing up an opponent, but the raw, primal fear of facing something beyond her comprehension. Her aura flickered, struggling to hold its ground against the overwhelming tide of his will. His unrelenting grip tightened, holding her in place. She gasped for air, her features terrified as she stared into the abyss of his gaze. She'd seen power before—Poseidon's wrath, Triton's arrogance, even Zeus's thunder—but this was different. This was a mortal, a half-blood, wielding the sea's power with a precision and hunger that rivaled the gods themselves. The ichor trickling from her side mingled with the water, a golden shimmer that seemed to pulse in time with Percy's heartbeat. Her lips parted, but no words came, only a faint gasp as she realized the truth: he was no longer just a demigod. He was something more. He was a force, a terror cloaked in mortal flesh, and the sea had chosen him over her.

"You think you're a storm?" He hissed with a tilt of his head. "You're nothing but a breeze compared to what I can do now." He leaned closer, his breath cold against her skin, his eyes glowing with an unnatural light. "I could do whatever I want with you. I could make you drown in your own ichor, and the sea would sing my name for it. Do you really want to test me?"

Her fingers twitched, a faint spark of electricity flickering at her fingertips, but it died before it could form. The sea smothered it, its currents coiling around her like chains, tightening with every beat of Percy's heart. She tried to summon her storm, to push back with the divine fury that had leveled fleets and shattered coasts, but it was like screaming into a void. His will was absolute, a tidal wave that crushed her resistance before it could even rise. For the first time in her immortal life, Kymopoleia felt small, pinned beneath the weight of a power she couldn't comprehend.

"Percy..." she whispered, her voice cracking, not with defiance but with something closer to awe—or fear. Her eyes searched his, looking for the boy she'd mocked, the hero she'd dismissed. But that boy was gone, replaced by something else, something that made her ichor run cold. The demigod she'd known had been reckless, stubborn, human. This... this was a predator, a king who wore his mortality like a blade, sharpened by death, blood, and sacrifice.

He didn't blink. The bronze blade pressed harder against her side, its edge biting deeper, drawing another bead of ichor that swirled into the water like a warning. "Choose," he said again, a growl that echoed through the chamber, reverberating in the bones of every prisoner, guard, and god present. "With me, or against me. I won't ask again."

The chamber was deathly silent, the only sound the faint hum of the sea and the ragged breaths of the freed prisoners watching from the shadows. Tyson stood frozen, his single eye wide with a mix of pride and unease. Delphin hovered nearby, his gaze darting between Percy and Kymopoleia as if he couldn't believe what he was witnessing. The guards had backed away, their tridents lowered, their faces pale with terror. Even the sea nymphs and councilors, hardened by centuries of divine rule, seemed to shrink in his presence, their whispers silenced by the power radiating from their new king.

She swallowed, her throat bobbing against his hand, and for a moment, her eyes flicked to the ichor staining the water—her ichor, a reminder of her vulnerability. Then, slowly, deliberately, she raised her hands, palms open, a gesture of surrender that felt alien on a goddess who'd never bowed to anyone.

"Alright," she whispered, her words stripped of their mockery. "I'm with you, brother." She stated louder, laced with a grudging respect that bordered on fear.

Percy held her gaze for a moment longer, searching for any hint of deception. The sea pulsed around him, its currents probing her essence, tasting her intent. Satisfied, he eased his hand from her throat, stepping back. He didn't sheathe the sword nor lower his guard. He couldn't afford to, not with a goddess like her, whose loyalty was as fickle as the storms she commanded.

"Don't make me regret this," he said with a dangerous edge, a promise of what would happen if she betrayed him. "Help me fix this kingdom, and you'll find a place in it. Cross me, and I'll bury you deeper than these vaults."

She rubbed her throat, her fingers lingering where his hand had pinned her, her eyes never leaving his. A faint smile curled her lips—not mocking, but wary, like a wolf acknowledging a stronger predator. "You've changed, Perseus," she murmured, almost to herself. She tilted her head, studying him as if seeing him for the first time. "I wonder if you even know what you are now."

He didn't answer because truthfully, he didn't. He turned away from her, his gaze sweeping over the chamber, taking in the freed prisoners, the trembling guards, the awestruck faces of the nymphs and councilors. They all watched him, their expressions a mix of reverence and dread, as if they'd just glimpsed a god in the making—or a monster.

"Tyson," Percy called out. "Get everyone out of here. Delphin, help him. I want every prisoner accounted for, every injury treated. We're not leaving anyone behind. Then I want everyone to meet me in the throne room."

Tyson snapped to attention, his massive frame moving with purpose as he began ushering the freed prisoners toward the exit. Delphin followed, his fins steadier now, his gaze flickering between Percy and the others as he murmured reassurances to the weakened nymphs and councilors. The guards hesitated, their tridents still lowered, but a sharp glance from their new king sent them scrambling to assist, their movements jerky with fear and awe. Only one remained to assist Percy, the same one that had led him to the vaults.

Kym lingered, her gaze locked on Percy's back as he stood at the chamber's center, the sea swirling around him in subtle currents that seemed to pulse with his heartbeat. She didn't move to help, her posture tense, as if weighing whether to test him again or accept the fragile alliance he'd offered. Her fingers twitched, a faint spark of electricity dancing at her fingertips, but she quenched it, not wanting to be pinned to the wall like a fly again.

The son of Poseidon's attention shifted to the heavily warded cell at the chamber's far end—the one that held Amphitrite. His stomach twisted, a mix of dread and resolve pooling within as he approached. The runes on the door glowed with a fierce, defiant light, their intricate patterns pulsing like a heartbeat, stronger than any of Triton's other enchantments. These weren't just wards; they were a testament to the queen's power, a cage built to contain a goddess who'd ruled the seas long before he was born. He could feel her presence even through the door, a regal aura that made the water hum with quiet authority.

He raised a hand, his fingers brushing the runes. They responded instantly, unraveling the enchantments with a precision that still felt alien. The runes flickered, their glow dimming as his power overrode them, but they resisted longer than the others, as if Amphitrite's will bolstered their strength. A low groan echoed through the chamber as the door slid open, revealing the queen of Atlantis.

She sat at the cell's center, her posture unbroken despite the chains that bound her wrists and ankles. Her crown gleamed faintly, its pearls catching the dim light, and her sea-green eyes locked onto Percy with an intensity that made his breath catch. Her gown, though tattered, still shimmered like woven moonlight, and her presence filled the cell with a quiet majesty that dwarfed even Kymopoleia's tempestuous energy. She was a queen, even in captivity, and her gaze held no trace of fear—only a cold, calculating scrutiny that seemed to strip him bare.

"Perseus Jackson," she said, her voice smooth and resonant, like the calm before a storm. "The sea's new king." Her lips curled into a faint, bitter smile. "I felt the Bloodright's verdict. I felt my son's fall."

"Then you know I had no choice," he replied, stepping closer to her chains, lifting his hand to release their bindings. "I didn't want any of this, but Triton left me no choice."

Her smile didn't waver, but her eyes darkened, a flicker of grief passing through them before it was buried beneath her regal composure. "No choice," she repeated, her tone laced with irony. "The Fates are rarely so kind as to offer choices, demigod. They spin, and we are caught in their threads." She rose, the chains clinking softly as they fell away. "And now you stand here, crowned by blood, with my husband's throne and my kingdom in your hands."

Percy didn't know what to say. What could he say to this goddess who helped rule the sea for millennia, only for it to be stripped from her by her one true son and now taken by her husband's bastard? "He was tearing Atlantis apart, Amphitrite. He wanted to take Olympus for himself. I had to stop him. But I'm not here to steal your throne. I'm here to fix what he broke."

Amphitrite's expression remained unreadable. The water around her shimmered, responding to her subtle shifts in mood, though it yielded to Percy's will with a reluctant quiver. "Fix it," she echoed with skepticism. "A mortal boy, barely past his eighteenth year, thinks he can mend a kingdom older than the mountains? You've slain a god, Perseus, but that does not make you one. Not yet."

The "not yet" lingered, a challenge and a warning wrapped in one. The son of Poseidon wondered to himself if she knew something that he didn't. But he didn't ask what she meant. He'd learned long ago that questions were as dangerous as swords. "I don't need to be a god to see what's wrong here," he said. "Triton ruled through fear, not loyalty. He locked you away, his own mother, because he was afraid of your power. I won't make the same mistake."

"Mistakes," she said softly, carrying a weight of sorrow. "Triton was my son. Flawed, yes, but mine. His ambition blinded him, but he was born of this sea, as I am. You..." She paused, her gaze tracing the faint glow in his eyes, the way the water seemed to breathe in sync with him. "You are an anomaly. I wonder if even Poseidon foresaw this."

"If he did, he didn't bother telling me," he replied sarcastically. "But that's not new. I'm used to figuring things out on my own."

Amphitrite's expression softened, just for a moment, and Percy caught a glimpse of something human in her—worry. "You are more like him than you know," she said, almost to herself. "But even my husband could not hold Atlantis alone. No one can."

"Which is why I need your help."

Her brow arched, surprise flickering across her face before she masked it. "You would ask for my aid? After dethroning my son? After claiming the throne I helped build?"

"I'm not asking you to bow," he replied, echoing his earlier words to Kymopoleia. "I'm asking you to help me save this place. You know Atlantis better than anyone. You've ruled it, loved it, even when Triton tried to tear it down. I don't want to erase you from it. I want you to help me make it whole again."

For a long moment, Amphitrite said nothing, her gaze searching his face as if weighing his soul against the sea's depths. The water around them stilled, the currents holding their breath, waiting for her verdict. Then, slowly, she inclined her head, a gesture so subtle it might have been missed if Percy hadn't been watching her so closely.

"You are either a fool or a visionary, Perseus Jackson," she said. "Perhaps both. I will not kneel to you, but I will stand with you...for now. Atlantis is my home, and I will not see it crumble, even under a mortal's crown."

Relief flooded Percy, though he kept his expression neutral. "That's enough for me," he said. "Let's head to the throne room. There's a lot we have to discuss."

The two goddesses, the mermen guard, and the new king all made their way through the twisting corridors of the Abyssal Vaults, each one lost in their own thoughts as they approached the throne room. The palace's grandeur returned as they ascended, the narrow passages giving way to wide halls lined with coral mosaics and pearl-encrusted columns. Merfolk and sea spirits lined the corridors, their whispers a melodic hum that grew louder as the group approached. Faces pressed forward, eyes wide with awe and fear, as they caught sight of their new king flanked by two goddesses—one a queen, the other an outcast. The crowd parted quickly, their murmurs swelling into a chant of "King Perseus!" that echoed off the walls, a relentless tide of sound that made Percy's skin crawl.

He kept his gaze forward, refusing to let their reverence or their fear sink into him. He wasn't their god, no matter what the Bloodright had declared. The throne room loomed ahead, its massive doors carved with scenes of Poseidon's and Triton's triumphs—krakens tamed, leviathans subdued, oceans bent to their will. The irony wasn't lost on Percy as the doors swung open, revealing a chamber vast enough to hold a small army. The throne itself sat at the far end, a towering structure of obsidian, its surface shimmering with the captured light of bioluminescent orbs. It was Triton's seat, once Poseidon's, and now... his.

The room was already filling with many notable figures. Freed prisoners, the Nereids, the old council, soldiers, and many regular citizens of Atlantis. Walking inside, he even spotted some more of his immortal siblings. He presumed they had fled the city when Triton had assumed power, but now that he was gone, they had returned, looking for an opportunity to seize power or get in favor with the new king. Benthesikyme and Rhode, his immortal sisters, watched him with a mix of curiosity and caution, their green eyes glinting with unspoken questions.

Amphitrite moved from his left, bringing Kym with her to greet her other daughters and explain what had happened in her absence. Kym was surprised to be included in the family affairs, considering she had been ostracized from Atlantis for quite some time, but seemed to enjoy being with them once again, secretly.

"Everyone's here, brother," Tyson said, walking up to his side and looking out at the growing crowd. "What now?"

Percy's jaw tightened. He didn't have an answer. Not a complete one, anyway. The throne room, with its towering pillars and shimmering walls, felt like a cage, its grandeur a mockery of the chaos he'd inherited. Atlantis was fractured, its people divided, its alliances uncertain. Triton's ambition had left scars deeper than the ocean's trenches, and Percy, a demigod barely out of his teens, was expected to mend them. The faces around him—hopeful, fearful, scheming—waited for him to speak, to prove he was more than a conqueror, more than a killer of gods.

Sensing his hesitation, Amphitrite was the first to make a move, ascending to her throne with a grace that silenced the murmurs in the throne room. Her gown shimmered like liquid moonlight, and her crown of pearls gleamed with an otherworldly radiance, a stark contrast to the tattered remnants of her captivity. She took her seat—not the obsidian throne, but a smaller, intricately carved chair of coral and mother-of-pearl at its side, reserved for the queen of Atlantis. Her aura commanded the room, a reminder of her millennia as Atlantis's heart.

"People of Atlantis," she began, her sea-green eyes sweeping the room, "the Royal Bloodright has spoken. Triton, my son, has fallen. Perseus Jackson, son of Poseidon, stands as your king, chosen by the sea itself." Her words were measured, neither warm nor cold, but they carried a finality that quelled the whispers. "The kingdom is wounded, its heart divided. Today, we begin the work of healing it. Speak, King Perseus, and let your will be known."

The room turned to the son of Poseidon once she was done speaking. Percy took a deep breath, feeling all eyes on him as he approached the throne. He couldn't bring himself to sit upon it. He couldn't take what he knew wasn't truly his. So instead, he stood on the marble steps before it, turning around and looking outward to the people of Atlantis. "I didn't come here to be a king," he began honestly. "I came to stop Triton from tearing this place apart. He ruled through fear, locking away anyone who dared speak against him—his own mother, his allies, his people. I fought him because someone had to. The sea chose me, but that doesn't mean I'm here to sit on a throne and demand worship."

His words echoed through the throne room, raw and unpolished, carrying his exhaustion and resolve. The crowd leaned in, their murmurs fading into a tense silence. "I'm not Triton," he continued. "I'm not here to rule through fear or chain anyone who disagrees with me. Atlantis is yours—your home, your legacy. I'm not taking that from you. But if we're going to survive what's coming, we need to stand together. Olympus is at war, and there are threats out there bigger than any one of us. I've seen them. I've fought them."

He paused, letting his words settle. The crowd stirred, glances exchanged among the councilors and nobles. Some nodded, their faces softening with cautious trust, while others remained stone-faced, their eyes calculating. Benthesikyme and Rhode, standing in the corner of the room, whispered to each other, their gazes flickering between Percy and the throne. Kym, leaning against a coral pillar, smirked faintly, but her eyes held a grudging respect, tempered by her earlier defeat. Amphitrite's expression remained unreadable, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She didn't interrupt, didn't challenge him, but her silence was a test, a measure of whether this mortal boy could truly lead her kingdom.

Percy took a step forward, his boots scuffing against the marble. "Which is why I cannot lead Atlantis."

The faces that had watched the son of Poseidon with awe, fear, and cautious hope now twisted in confusion. Murmurs erupted, a low hum at first, soon swelling into a cacophony of disbelief. Councilors exchanged frantic glances, mermen guards shifted uneasily, even his sisters looked astonished, their green eyes wide with surprise.

Amphitrite leaned forward ever so slightly. Her regal composure held, but a flicker of surprise crossed her face, gone as quickly as it appeared. "Perseus?" She asked, looking up at him. "What are you doing?"

He didn't look back at her. His heart pounded, each beat echoing the sea's pulse, but he kept his stance firm, his gaze sweeping over the people before him. He could tell they were all confused and even scared, but he'd made his choice, and he wouldn't falter now.

"I'm not abandoning you," he clarified, raising a hand to quiet the rising murmurs. "But I cannot lead Atlantis. I'm not the one who can sit on that throne and guide this kingdom through what's coming. I'm a fighter, not a king. My place is out there—" he gestured toward the unseen horizon, beyond the palace's shimmering walls, "—facing the threat that Triton ignored, the one that could destroy everything we've fought for."

The queen narrowed her eyes, her fingers tightening on the arms of her throne. "You won the Bloodright, Perseus," she stated, loud enough for everyone to hear. "The sea chose you. You can't just... walk away from this."

"I'm not walking away," Percy said, finally turning to meet her watchful gaze. "I'm doing what's right for Atlantis. The Bloodright gave me the throne, yes, but it doesn't mean that I have to rule solely by myself. This kingdom needs something more than just a king. It needs people who know its heart, its history, and its citizens."

"People..." Delphin swam forward, his features etched with confusion as he tried to discern what Percy could possibly be suggesting. "What do you mean people, my king?"

"I mean that instead of one king, one person to hold all the power over Atlantis, I want a council to govern instead." He declared, finally drawing a gasp from the crowd. "A group to govern Atlantis—not one king, not one god, but a collective of voices who understand this kingdom and its people. I'll choose those who've proven their loyalty, their wisdom, and their strength, not just to me, but to Atlantis itself."

The room erupted into a cacophony of voices. Some cheered, their fists raised in support of a demigod who'd rejected absolute power. Others whispered furiously, their eyes darting to the throne as if expecting Percy to change his mind. The old councilors, their beards flowing like silver currents, exchanged wary glances, while the Nereids—led by Thetis—watched with guarded approval. Benthesikyme and Rhode, still lingering near the back, shared a look of guarded curiosity, their whispers inaudible but their interest clear. Kymopoleia, leaning against her pillar, let out a low chuckle, amused at the chaos her brother had wrought.

The queen rose from her seat, her movement silencing the room like a wave crashing over a reef. "A council," she repeated, her tone neither approving nor dismissive. "You would relinquish the throne's power to others, Perseus? The Bloodright's mandate is absolute. The sea does not make mistakes in choosing its master."

"The sea chose me," he acknowledged. "And I won the Bloodright. Now, I can do whatever I wish as your king, and this is what I desire. I desire a council united by the people and for the people. And those people deserve more than one person's will, no matter how powerful. Triton ruled alone, and look where it got us—fractured, fearful, and on the brink of collapse. I won't repeat his mistakes."

The crowd stirred once more, a ripple of agreement mingling with skepticism. Amphitrite's lips pressed into a thin line, most skeptical of them all. "You risk chaos with a democracy. Just look at the mortal's government. Now imagine that chaos tenfold with an immortal council. Who would you even trust to put on it? Who would you trust to help Atlantis without them falling to ambition?"

The son of Poseidon didn't waver despite seeing the doubt in everyone's eyes. He knew what he was trying to do was something crazy. Something that Atlantis had never seen before. But if the city were to thrive once again, it needed this. It needed a strong foundation.

"Delphin," he announced, gesturing to the dolphin god, who hovered nearby. "You stood against Triton, even when it meant chains. You know the sea's heart, and you've served it longer than most. Atlantis needs your wisdom."

Delphin's eyes widened, a flicker of shock crossing his weathered face, but he bowed his head in resolution. "If you believe I can serve, my lord, I will."

Percy nodded, then turned to the Nereids, his gaze settling on Thetis. "Thetis, mother of Achilles, leader of the Nereids. You've seen empires rise and fall, and you've never bowed to tyranny. Your strength and your perspective belong on this council."

The goddess's features softened, a rare glimmer of approval in their depths. She inclined her head, her dark hair floating like a halo. "I accept, King Perseus. For Atlantis."

The demigod pressed on, growing more confident as he witnessed the crowd begin to grow hopeful. "Nereus," he called, spotting the silver-bearded sea god among the freed prisoners. "You've counseled kings and gods for centuries. You've seen Atlantis at its peak and in its ruin. Your knowledge is irreplaceable."

Nereus, still gaunt from his imprisonment, straightened, his irises gleaming with a spark of renewed purpose. "I will serve, young king," he stated loudly, his words carrying the weight of ages. "As I always have."

The throne room buzzed with energy now. His choices were unconventional—a dolphin god, a Nereid leader, and an ancient counselor, but they resonated with the people, each name tied to sacrifice and loyalty. They all could feel the kingdom's fractured pieces starting to align. The prospect of what could be growing clearer with every name announced.

Finally, Percy turned to Amphitrite, who still stood by her throne, looking at him with an indiscernible look. He knew this was the moment that could make or break his plan. Without her, the council would lack legitimacy in the eyes of many, but forcing her to join could backfire spectacularly. He took a step toward her.

"Amphitrite," he said earnestly. "You're the soul of Atlantis. No one knows this kingdom like you do. I'm not asking you to serve me. I'm asking you to lead with me, to guide this council and keep us from falling apart. Will you do it?"

Amphitrite's gaze held Percy's, her sea-green eyes a whirlwind of emotions now on full display. The throne room hung in a fragile silence, every merfolk, nymph, and god waiting for her response. "You ask much," she said. "To share power, to stand beside a mortal who has taken my son's throne... it is no small thing." Her lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze flicking to the crowd, then back to him. "But Atlantis is my heart, my duty. I have seen it rise and fall to ambition. I will not let it crumble again, not even under your unorthodox vision."

She stepped forward, her gown trailing like liquid starlight, and stopped just before him. Her presence was overwhelming, a reminder of her divine stature, yet she did not tower over him as she once might have. Instead, she met his eyes as an equal. "I will join your council," she declared, her words echoing through the chamber. "Not for you, but for Atlantis. For its people, its legacy, and the sea that binds us all."

A ripple of relief and awe passed through the crowd. Murmurs of approval rose, some hesitant, others fervent. Her acceptance lent Percy's radical proposal a legitimacy that no other could provide. The son of Poseidon exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. "Thank you," he said quietly, the words meant for Amphitrite alone. She inclined her head, a subtle acknowledgment, before returning to her seat.

He turned back to the crowd, his confidence growing stronger now that his idea had been accepted. "This council will govern Atlantis together. They'll make decisions for the kingdom, not for themselves. But I'm not stepping away completely. I'll fight for Atlantis, for all of you, against the threat that's coming our way. I'll be your sword, your shield...your warrior-king.

The throne room fully erupted into shouts of glee and applause after hearing that statement, glad that their king wasn't going to shy away from his, even as he relinquished the throne's absolute power. The chants of "King Perseus!" swelled again, but this time they carried a different tone—not just of awe or fear, but a burgeoning trust, a belief that this demigod might truly forge a new path for Atlantis. The sound washed over Percy, both uplifting and heavy, a reminder of the responsibility he'd shouldered.

Chapter Text

“You can come with me, you know?” 

Tyson looked down at his brother with a resigned smile. “My place is here, brother,” he replied, glancing back at the city in the distance. 

Percy sighed softly, his heart heavy with leaving behind Tyson once again. But he was more than capable of dealing with these problems on his own now. And as much as he hated to admit it, he needed a true ally in the city, keeping tabs on the council. It wasn’t like he didn’t trust them, but he’d seen it time and time again: power corrupts the best of people. If Amphirite or Nereus decided to betray him and take the throne for themselves, Tyson would be there to make sure his influence held strong in the Atlantean citizens’ hearts. 

“Let me know if things start going bad, okay?” 

“Understood, King Perseus,” the cyclops gave a mock salute and a grin. “Now get going and say hi to Annabeth for me!” 

The demigod felt a sharp pang shoot through his heart at the mention of her, but he did his best to hide his pain. There was no need to cause more anguish today, especially to Tyson. Nodding with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, he watched his brother walk away, heading back toward the palace gates. 

“Quite intriguing that you consider a cyclops your brother,” Kymopoleia’s voice cut through his thoughts, drifting closer to Percy. “Most would see a cyclops as a beast, not kin. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, warrior-king?”

“Tyson’s family,” he replied, watching the general of Atlantis be saluted by the mermen guards before disappearing inside the palace. “Doesn’t matter what he is. He’s got more heart than most gods I’ve met.”

Kym’s lips curled into a wry smile, but there was no malice in it this time—just a flicker of intrigue. “Heart,” she mused. “A mortal’s weakness, or so I’ve been told. Yet here you are, turning a kingdom upside down with it.” She tilted her head, studying him like a puzzle she hadn’t quite solved. “You really think this council of yours will hold?” 

Percy turned to meet her gaze. “It’ll hold if they care about Atlantis more than their own egos. That’s why I chose them. They’ve all got reasons to fight for this place, not just rule it.”

“And you?” she pressed, drifting closer, her words dropping to a near whisper as she caressed his cheek. “What’s your reason, little brother? You could’ve had absolute power. No one to challenge you. No one to question your will. Yet you divided that power with others. Why?”

The son of Poseidon's eyes drifted to the horizon, where the ocean stretched endlessly, its depths hiding secrets he could barely fathom. His fingers flinched as the memories of controlling Triton’s ichor—the raw, intoxicating rush of bending a god’s essence to his will—flickered through his mind. It was a dark current that promised dominion over life itself. It was so easy to fall into the lust, to wield a power not even Atlantean royalty knew existed. With it, he could’ve taken the throne, the city, and all its glory for himself. Become the king he had been mocked for not being. But that power came with a cost, one he’d seen in Triton as the light faded in his eyes, in the fear of the army as they knelt, in the tremor of Kymopoleia’s voice when she’d been pinned against the wall. It was a path to something he didn’t want to become, yet found himself drifting closer to with every passing day. 

“I don’t want to be a god,” Percy said finally, looking back at her. “Power like that turns you into something that makes you forget why you fight in the first place. I’m here for Atlantis, for the people I care about, for the world above that’s counting on us to hold the line. If I took that throne alone, I’d lose sight of that. I’d become something I wouldn’t recognize.” 

Kym’s hand lingered on his cheek for a moment longer, her touch cool and electric, before she pulled back. “You’re a fool, Perseus,” she said, but there was no venom in her tone, only a strange mix of amusement and respect. “A noble fool, perhaps. But you’ll realize that one day, the power of divinity will come to you, whether you want it to or not. And it’ll be up to you to decide how to wield it.” 

He didn’t respond. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he knew the answer to her statement. It was why he turned down the throne of Olympus and Atlantis. He knew what he’d turn into with the power of a god. He’d become something he’d spent his life fighting against—a tyrant, cloaked in the guise of a savior. Sure, he could deny it all he wanted. Tell himself that he was different. That he’d do the world right. But those would just be lies wrapped in a bow. Every time he used his powers, every time he controlled the very essence of a living being, he felt the seductive pull of that power, a whisper in his veins that promised he could reshape the world in his image. It was the same whisper that had fueled every god’s arrogance since the dawn of time. He wasn’t arrogant enough to believe that he’d be any different. He was human, flawed, and the more he lived up to the meaning of his name— destroyer —the closer he came to crossing a line he could never uncross.

“Goodbye, Kym,” he said, promptly ending the conversation. “Don’t let this opportunity of redemption go to waste.” 

“Yes, my king .” The Goddess replied with a mocking smile. It was the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes and focused all his attention on the valley. He tapped into the water’s intricate network, feeling the interconnected droplets of water floating through the air, his blood, the oceans, and rivers. The sensation was still raw, but more familiar now—a vibration that linked every molecule of water in existence. He pictured the valley, its lush greenery, the familiar scent of pine and earth, and the roar of the river weaving through the meadow. His heartbeat slowed, syncing with the rhythm of the sea, before letting go and surrendering his body, will, and mind to the current.

Then, in the next second, as if he’d merely blinked into another plane of existence, he materialized back on the surface. With wobbly knees, he caught himself before he could fall down the rocky cliff that overlooked the valley. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, catching his breath as the world spun slightly around him. The dizziness subsided slowly as he took deep breaths, the crisp air stinging his lungs. But there was a new element added to the Montana air, something that hadn’t been there a mere day ago. Snow. Straightening his back, Percy looked out at the valley now blanketed in a sheen of white. The trees, once a vibrant green, now stood cloaked in white, their branches bowing slightly from the weight. The once rushing river that flowed through the land was quieter now, its edges fringed with ice that glittered in the pale morning light. Snowflakes drifted lazily through the air, catching the faint rays of a sun struggling to break through the heavy, silver-gray clouds above.

His breath puffed out in small clouds as he took it all in, the cold biting at his exposed skin. It seemed winter was finally here. Looking down, he muttered a curse under his breath at the scene laid before him. The cabin still wasn’t finished. Matter of fact, it looked as if no progress had been made since he’d been gone. He clenched his fist, the chill seeping into his bones, knowing that the tents lining the camp below wouldn’t hold up against the frigid weather. He scanned the land, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the faint glow of the campfire at the heart of the camp, now reduced to embers under the snow’s gentle assault. Surrounding the cabin, however, he could see figures moving in agitated clusters, their voices carrying faintly up the cliff. It sounded like there was an argument. 

Fearing the worst, the son of Poseidon didn’t hesitate to scale down the cliff, his movements swift and sure despite the slick snow coating the rocks. As he descended, the voices grew clearer, a mix of frustration and defiance that set his nerves on edge. The demigods were gathered near the half-finished cabin, their breath visible in the frosty air, and bundled in whatever layers of clothing they could scavenge. Leading the commotion were Leo, Reyna, and Clarisse, facing off against a group of figures Percy didn’t immediately recognize. Their forms shimmered with an ethereal quality, their bodies woven from vines, moss, and bark—nature spirits, dryads by the look of them, their eyes glinting with a mix of anger and protectiveness.

He weaved through the woods, his footsteps crunching against the weight of the snow as he approached the camp. The arguing grew louder, more distinct, and he caught snippets of the argument as he neared the cluster of demigods and nature spirits. 

“—tearing up our home!” one of the dryads snapped, her tone sharp like the crack of a breaking branch. Her form was woven from pine needles and frost-kissed vines, her eyes glowing a faint emerald. “You think you can just carve out this valley without consequence? This is our land!”

Leo, hands raised in a placating gesture, was trying to keep things civil, though his usual grin was strained. “We’re not trying to destroy your home!” he countered, his breath puffing out in the cold. “We need the wood to survive! You want a hundred demigods freezing to death in your valley? Because that’s what’s gonna happen if we don’t get this cabin built!”

“Home?” another dryad, this one with bark-like skin and hair of tangled moss, spat. “You burn our trees for your fires, trample our roots, and call it home? You mortals have no respect!”

“We’ve offered to work with you,” Reyna stepped up, though her frustration was more evident. “We’ve replanted trees, diverted streams to protect your groves, and limited our expansion. What more do you want from us?”

The pine-needle dryad’s eyes narrowed. “We want you gone. This valley is sacred. It’s been ours since the gods were young. You don’t belong here.”

Clarisse, never one for diplomacy, snorted and crossed her arms, her spear leaning against her shoulder. “Yeah? If it wasn’t for us, your valley would’ve been destroyed by those monsters. They would’ve ransacked this place and made you all slaves if we hadn’t killed them.” 

“Yet your battle stained our land!” A nymph yelled back. “There is blood soaked into our roots, poisoning our essence! Especially in the eastern forest, which is all but uninhabitable at this point!” 

The arguing grew louder, both sides growing louder like the wind that whipped through the snow-laden trees. Deciding it was time to step in before things took a turn for the worse, he walked into the camp, his presence drawing eyes like a magnet. The dryads stiffened, their glowing gazes locking onto him, while the demigods visibly relaxed, though their expressions were tight with worry and anger. Piper, standing at the edge of the crowd, caught his eye and gave a subtle nod, her lips pressed into a thin line. Katie was beside her, arms crossed, her face a mix of frustration and relief at his return.

“What’s going on?” He asked, his question carrying authority. The river nearby, half-frozen and sluggish, seemed to stir at his words, its faint ripples echoing his mood.

Reyna turned at the sound of his voice, her expression turning into one of joy at the sight of him, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Percy,” she greeted. “We’ve got a problem. The nature spirits are stopping us from gathering any more wood from the forest. We can't get the cabin built.”

The pine-needle dryad stepped forward, her vines rustling with barely contained fury. “You are the one they follow,” she said, her emerald eyes boring into Percy. “The sea-spawn, the destroyer. Your presence taints this place. Your people carve wounds into our home, and you expect us to stand by while you claim what is ours?”

Percy’s eyes widened at the sight of the dryad’s anger. Nature spirits were usually calm and didn’t like confrontation. So to see one get this riled up and threaten demigods, no less, was certainly a spectacle to witness. “We’re just trying to survive,” he finally replied with an easy tone. “This valley is our last shot at a safe haven. I don’t know if you know this or not, but our world has changed. The Gods are no longer here, and we are the last demigods standing. We don’t want to fight you. We want to protect this place, same as you.”

The bark-skinned dryad scoffed, her mossy hair swaying as she gestured to the half-built cabin. “Protect? You burn our kin for warmth, uproot our brothers for your shelters. Your protection is our destruction.”

Leo muttered under his breath, “Here we go again,” but a sharp look from Percy silenced him. 

The son of Poseidon took a deep breath, the cold air stinging his lungs as he stepped closer to the dryads, his boots crunching in the snow. He raised his hands, palms open, a gesture of peace, though his sea-green eyes held a glint of warning. “Look, I get it. This valley is your home. It’s been yours for longer than any of us have been alive. And I know we’ve caused damage—more than we meant to. But we’re not your enemies.” 

The dryad clenched her hands, her vines twitching as if ready to lash out. “You speak of peace while your axes bite into our kin.” She seethed. 

Percy bit the inside of his cheek, keeping his frustration in check. Instead, he glanced at the half-finished cabin, its skeletal frame dusted with snow, then back at the nature spirits. “We need that cabin to survive the winter. Without it, my people—some of them children—will freeze. You want us gone, I hear you. But if we leave, where do we go? The world out there is falling apart. Monsters are crawling out of every shadow, and there’s no Olympus to keep them in check anymore. This valley is our last stand, just like it’s yours.”

The pine-needle dryad’s eyes flickered, her fury wavering as she glanced at the children peaking out between the legs of some of the older demigods. The valley was silent now save for the soft whisper of falling snow and the faint crackle of the dying campfire. “Your kind have always taken without giving,” she said at last. “Why should we believe you’ll be different?”

“Because we’re not just taking,” he said earnestly. “I’m offering something in return. A partnership. You protect this valley, we protect it too. We fight the monsters that threaten your groves, and you let us build a home here. We’ll replant every tree we cut, tend to your streams, and keep the balance. I swear it on the River Styx.”

A ripple of surprise passed through everyone present, taken aback by such a declaration. The nature spirits murmured to one another, debating whether or not to take the offer. The lead dryad stepped forward, searching Percy’s features for any hint of deceit. “You swear on the River Styx?” she repeated, her voice softer now but still edged with caution.

He nodded. “I swear. We’ll respect this land. We’ll take only what we need, and we’ll give back in return.”

A tense silence stretched between them, the snowfall muffling the world around them. Then, slowly, the dryad inclined her head. “Very well, son of Poseidon. We will hold you to your oath. But know this—if you break your word, the valley itself will rise against you and Lord Grover will send every available nature spirit to hunt you down.” 

Percy’s blood ran colder than the snow dusting his shoulders at the mention of Grover’s name. His heart stuttered, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt sideways. Grover…alive? The words clawed at him, disbelief warring with a flicker of hope he didn’t dare trust.

“Grover?” he said, barely above a whisper. “He’s alive?” 

“He is,” she answered, looking to the forest around them. “He walks the earth, rallying what remains of our kind to protect the sacred places. Did you not know?”

“N-No…I-I didn’t…” Percy tried to reply, but the words caught in his throat. He hadn’t had time really to think about his best friend. He presumed that he’d died during Gaea’s war just like so many others had. But to hear that he was alive—that he was out there, fighting for the wild places just as he always had—sent a surge of emotion through him that he couldn’t quite name. Relief, guilt, longing—it all tangled together in his chest. 

“If you can,” he said, keeping his tone measured. “Can you try to send Grover a message? Tell him that Percy Jackson is here in this valley?”

The pine-needle dryad studied him for a long moment. Finally, she nodded, her vines rustling softly as if stirred by an unseen breeze. “I will pass your message to the Lord of the Wild,” she promised. “But do not expect him to come running. He has his own battles, and the world is vast and wounded. If he seeks you, it will be on his terms.” 

Percy swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. “Just… let him know,” he managed, his voice quieter now, almost lost in the falling snow. The dryad inclined her head once more before stepping back, her form blending seamlessly with the frost-kissed trees. The other nature spirits followed, their shimmering bodies fading into the forest like whispers of mist, leaving only the faint scent of pine and earth behind.

The demigods remained silent for a moment, the tension in the air dissolving into the cold. Leo let out a low whistle, rubbing his hands together to ward off the chill. “Well, that was intense. You sure know how to make an entrance, Perce!”

The son of Poseidon didn’t respond immediately. His gaze lingered on the spot where the dryads had vanished, his mind racing at the revelation that one of his best friends was actually alive. Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he turned to find Thalia looking up at him with a reassuring smile.

“He’ll come,” she said. “Don’t worry.” 

Percy managed a nod before turning to the crowd of demigods looking at him expectantly. “Sorry, I’ve been gone for a bit. Had some…family matters to attend to.” He said, hoping he sounded nonchalant. “But it's taken care of. For now, we have to get to work before the snow worsens.” 

The demigods exchanged glances, but no one pressed him for details. They knew better than to question Percy’s disappearances by now.

“You heard him!” Clarisse stepped forward, already grabbing an axe embedded in a tree stump. “Let’s move. We’ve got the dryads’ permission now, but we’re on borrowed time. The cabin needs to be finished before the next storm hits.”

The demigods sprang into action, their movements fueled by urgency. The snow continued to fall, blanketing the valley in a soft hush, but the camp buzzed with renewed purpose. Axes bit into wood, hammers pounded nails, and the cabin began to take shape under the demigods’ determined hands. Percy watched for a moment, his breath visible in the frosty air, before rolling up his sleeves and joining them. The cold stung his skin, but the work warmed his blood. As he hauled a freshly cut log toward the construction site, Reyna fell into step beside him, her dark eyes scanning the camp with her usual vigilance.

“How was Atlantis? She asked casually. 

Percy’s grip on the log tightened, the rough bark biting into his palms as he tried to think how to answer that question. He knew that whatever he said, she would analyze every word and subtle gesture in his features. She was so much like Annabeth in that regard. 

“It was… complicated,” he answered, memories flooding back. The Bloodright. Triton’s lifeless body crumpling into the sand, golden ichor fading into the sea. The throne room, the council, the chants of “King Perseus” echoing in his ears. It all felt like a fever dream, too vast and raw to compress into a casual answer. Not like he was going to give her the truth anyway. He didn’t want to burden her—or anyone—with what he’d done, what he’d become. Not yet. Maybe not ever. He didn’t want his friends to look at him differently. He didn’t want them to think he was a king or a god in mortal flesh. 

They already side-eyed him enough when he displayed his powers against Kelli, practically torturing her for information. He didn’t want them to fear him, to see him as something other than the man they’d fought beside, laughed with, and trusted.

“When is it ever not complicated?” Reyna snorted, but didn’t push any farther. She could tell this was a conversation that would not be happening judging by the distant look in Percy’s eyes as he hauled the lumber to the cabin.  

The two of them worked in silence for a while, the only sounds between them the crunch of snow underfoot, the chatter of other demigods, and the sounds of tools being put to use. The day wore on, the snow falling heavier now, cloaking the valley in a thick white veil. The cabin was taking shape faster now, its walls rising under the demigods’ relentless pace. Leo darted between groups, his hands sparking with small flames to keep the workers warm, while Clarisse barked orders, her spear now traded for a hammer.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the valley in a pale twilight glow, the cabin’s frame stood nearly complete. The demigods worked by the light of hastily lit torches and Leo’s conjured flames, their breath steaming in the frigid air. Percy stepped back to survey the progress, wiping sweat from his brow. The structure was sturdy, its log walls now forming a solid barrier against the creeping cold. There was still work to be done with the interior and the roof, but it was better than what they had earlier today. The windows, still empty of glass, gaped like dark eyes, but Leo had promised to figure out something for those, muttering about possibly going to a town to get the materials. 

He almost laughed at the thought of Leo trekking through the Montana wilderness for miles upon miles just to get glass of all things. But this project was his baby, and he’d do anything to make sure it was completed to the last minute detail. 

“We need to call it there for tonight!” The son of Hephaestus shouted against the wind, which was beginning to pick up. “The snow is coming down harder and I can’t see shit even with the torches!”

The demigods who had been working for hours on end gladly listened to the order, packing up their tools, burrowing themselves deeper in their cloaks and scarves before heading into their tents for the night, desperate to escape the cold. The wind howled through the valley, carrying with it a bitter chill that cut through Percy’s own jacket. He stood outside a moment longer, his gaze sweeping over the camp. The tents, patched and weathered from months of use, sagged under the accumulating snow. The faint glow of the campfire, now barely embers, flickered in the distance, offering little comfort against the encroaching cold. His breath clouded in the air as he clenched his fists, frustration simmering beneath his skin. They couldn’t keep living like this—huddled in flimsy shelters, at the mercy of the elements and whatever threats lurked beyond the valley’s borders. The cabin had to be finished, and soon.

He turned to the dark forest to the west, where the Dryads and other nature spirits were no doubt watching from the shadows. Their warnings echoed in his mind, their anger justified but maddeningly inconvenient. He understood their protectiveness—this valley was their sanctuary, their lifeblood—but their defiance was the reason why children would be sleeping in below-freezing temperatures tonight. The demigods weren’t invaders. They were refugees, fighting for survival in a world that had turned against them. The gods were gone, the camps were ashes, and this frozen valley was their last refuge. If the nature spirits couldn’t see that, couldn’t bend just enough to let them build a home, then they were as much a threat as the monsters lurking beyond the horizon. And if they decided to break the truce…there was no telling what he’d do to them. 

He exhaled sharply, his breath a white plume in the frigid air, and forced himself to unclench his fists. He shouldn’t think like that. Getting angry and killing them all wouldn’t solve anything. The dryads had agreed to his oath, however reluctantly, and he’d sworn on the Styx to respect their land. Breaking that promise wasn’t an option—not just because of the cosmic consequences, but because he meant it. He wanted this partnership to work. He wanted the valley to be a place where demigods and nature spirits could coexist, not just another battlefield.

“Percy!” A voice called out to him through the howling wind, pulling him out of his thoughts. He turned his gaze back to the camp where he found Piper trudging through the snow toward him, her hair dusted with white. “Get your ass inside! It’s freezing out here! Plus, the war council is waiting for you!”

He blinked, the term catching him off guard. “War council?!”

“That’s what Clarisse is calling it!” She replied with a smirk. “Leo’s already complaining that it sounds too dramatic, but you know how she is. We’re meeting in Reyna’s tent to figure out our next move—cabin, supplies, defenses, all of it. Now come on!”

The camp was quiet now, the demigods huddled in their tents, their silhouettes faintly visible through the canvas by the flickering light of lanterns and small fires. The snow fell heavier, blanketing the ground in a thick layer that muffled their footsteps. Percy’s boots sank with each step, the cold seeping through the worn leather. He made a mental note to check their supplies—boots, blankets, food. They’d been scraping by for too long, and winter wasn’t going to give them a break.

Reyna’s tent was one of the larger ones, patched but sturdy, set near the center of the camp. As Percy and Piper ducked inside, the warmth hit him like a wave, though it was barely enough to chase away the chill in his bones. A small brazier glowed in the center, casting dancing shadows across the canvas walls. Reyna sat cross-legged on a blanket, idly fiddling with one of her hoodie strings. Walking deeper, he noticed the usual gang was present as well, along with the new addition of Leo and Calypso, who stood to the side, softly talking to one another. 

“Nice of you to join us, prissy,” Clarisse said without looking up. “Thought you might’ve gone back to Atlantis and left us here to freeze to death.” 

Percy snorted, dropping onto a blanket near the brazier as he took off his snow-covered jacket. “I didn’t mean to leave you guys behind again, but the summons to Atlantis was urgent. I couldn’t ignore it.” 

“What even happened down there?” Katie asked, peaking out from a bundle of blankets, who she was sharing with Thalia. “You look exhausted. Like you fought a god or something.” 

The son of Poseidon’s eye twitched. If only she knew how close her guess hit. “It’s complicated,” he replied, rolling his neck, which he hoped hid his anxiety. “We had a…family dispute, I guess you could say.” 

Clarisse raised an eyebrow. “A family dispute, huh? You disappear for a day, come back looking like you wrestled a kraken, and that’s all you’re giving us? Spill, Jackson. What kind of ‘family dispute’ leaves you looking like you’re about to drop dead from exhaustion?” 

He met her gaze, his sea-green eyes gleaming in the soft orange light in warning. “The kind that’s done and doesn’t need to be dragged up here,” he replied, a faint edge to his voice that silenced further prodding. The daughter of Ares huffed but didn’t push, sensing the wall he’d put up.

“He’s back,” Piper said, her words softening the tension before it could thicken. She settled beside him, her hand brushing lightly over his forearm. “And that’s what matters. Right now, let’s just deal with our problems.”

Reyna nodded, leaning forward with her hands clasped. “She’s right. We’ve got enough on our plate as it is. The cabin’s our priority. We need to get it done as quickly as we can. There’s no telling when our tents will just break down and leave us out in the cold to freeze to death.” 

Leo, leaning against Calypso’s shoulder, raised a hand. “Yo, I’m all for not freezing, but we’re low on supplies. Nails, tools, insulation— we’re scraping by with what we’ve got. And don’t get me started on the windows. I wasn’t kidding about hiking to a town.”

“That’s a long hike,” Connor quipped from across the tent, his eyes darting to his brother, who stood motionless, a distant look in his gaze. “A dangerous one at that. I mean no disrespect, Valdez, but you don’t know what we had to deal with to even get here in the first place. Saying you’ll hike to a town is one thing. Doing it is another.” 

Percy softly sighed, slyly glancing at Travis who hadn’t spoken a word. He hadn’t been the same since that night. He didn’t really joke anymore, and his usual mischievous spark was nowhere to be found. Instead, it was replaced by a hollow stare that seemed to see past the tent’s walls. No one could fault him for being like that though. The Father’s power was something none of them could fully comprehend, and Travis had borne its brunt in a way that left scars deeper than any sword could carve. 

“A supply run is risky,” Katie interjected, sensing that Travis was starting to notice the cautious looks directed at him. He didn’t deserve to be looked upon like a fragile piece of glass. “But we don’t have a choice. The cabin won’t hold without proper materials, and we can’t rely on scavenging forever. We need to plan a route, figure out the closest town, and send a team.” 

“I’ll go,” Leo volunteered immediately, straightening up. “I don’t mean to demean you all, but it seems I’m the only one who knows what we need for the cabin.”

“The girls and I will tag along as well,” Thalia spoke up, casually tracing the fletching of an arrow. “Your little fire tricks won't do much against monsters.” 

“Me too,” Will joined in. “We need more medical supplies, and the towns will surely have some.”

Percy shifted, ready to speak, but both Reyna and Piper stopped him before he could join in.

“No,” they said in unison, their eyes narrowing at him.

He blinked, caught off guard, his mouth half-open. “What?! I can help. You know I’m good in a fight, and if there are monsters—”

“Stop, Percy,” Reyna interjected, her tone leaving no room for argument. She leaned forward, her hands still clasped tightly, but her gaze softened just enough to show she wasn’t angry—just resolute. “You’ve been doing so much these past couple of weeks. Helping with the cabin, rescuing Thalia in the Labyrinth, and dealing with whatever happened in Atlantis, you need to stop. You’re one step away from collapsing.”

The son of Poseidon scoffed, frustration passing through his features. “I’m fine,” he said, though he knew no one believed him. 

Piper tilted her head, studying the lines of his face. “Fine, huh? When’s the last time you slept? Like, really slept, not just passed out for an hour because you couldn’t stand anymore?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but the words caught in his throat. His mind raced, trying to pinpoint a moment in the last few days when he’d actually closed his eyes for more than a fleeting nap. The truth hit him like a cold wave: he couldn’t remember. Sleep had been a luxury he hadn’t afforded himself, not when there was so much to be done. He’d been running on adrenaline and sheer stubbornness, his body protesting with every step, but his mind refusing to let him stop.

“I…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck, the exhaustion creeping into his voice despite his best efforts to hide it. “I’ve been busy.”

Piper’s expression softened, but there was a glint of exasperation in her eyes. She tightened her hold on his arm, making him look at her. “You’re not going. End of discussion.” 

Clarisse snorted, leaning back on her hands, the brazier’s glow casting shadows across her face. “Listen to them, Jackson. You’re no good to us dead. Or worse, if you go all godly rage mode and level a town. We’ve got enough problems without you turning into a one-man apocalypse.”

“I’m not gonna level anything,” he muttered, but the words lacked conviction, and he knew it. 

“Alright, that settles it,” Reyna said firmly before Percy could protest further. “Leo, Will, and the hunters will handle the supply run. I suggest you guys head out first thing in the morning before the snow worsens.” 

Leo flashed a grin, though it was tinged with his usual nervous energy. “You got it. We’ll bring back enough materials to build a palace.” 

Thalia smirked, twirling her arrow between her fingers. “And I’ll make sure he doesn’t burn down the town while he’s at it.”

Will gave a small, reassuring nod. “We’ll be quick. In and out, no heroics.” 

Percy sat back, his shoulders slumping slightly as the exhaustion settled deeper into his bones. The decision was made, and though a part of him still bristled at being sidelined, he knew Reyna and Piper were right. He was running on fumes, and pushing himself further would only endanger the others. Still, the thought of sitting idle while his friends ventured into the unknown irked him.

As the night deepened and snow fell in heavy drifts, the meeting in Reyna’s tent gradually wound down. The demigods filed out, their silhouettes fading into the storm as the wind wailed, shaking the canvas and slipping icy tendrils through the gaps. Percy lingered, his eyes tracing the fading glow of the brazier’s embers, lost in thought. He didn’t notice Reyna swiftly glide past him to secure the tent’s entrance, effectively sealing them inside. Snapping out of his reverie, Percy started to rise, but she pressed him back into the pile of blankets, her movements deliberate as she straddled his waist.

The sudden move caught him off guard, his breath hitching as her weight settled over him, pinning him gently but firmly to the blankets. The dim glow of the brazier cast flickering shadows across her face, highlighting the sharp lines of her jaw and the intensity in her eyes. Her hands rested lightly on his chest, her touch warm through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“And where do you think you’re going?” She murmured, her tone low and teasing, laced with a warmth that sent a shiver down Percy’s spine unrelated to the cold outside.

“Apparently, I need sleep,” he replied, shifting his weight upward. “So I’m heading back to my tent.” 

“You do need sleep,” Reyna mused, caressing a scar on his cheek. “But you can do that here.” 

“Reyna,” he started, trying to sit up, but she wouldn’t let him, pinning him deeper against the blankets before lying fully on top of him, resting her head in the crook of his neck. 

“Nope,” she interjected, her warm breath tickling his neck. “You’re staying here with me so I can make sure you don’t run off in the morning and do something stupid,” she said, laced with an undercurrent of sincerity. “You’re terrible at taking care of yourself, Percy. Someone has to do it.”

The son of Poseidon let out a soft huff, the tension in his body easing despite himself as Reyna’s warmth seeped into him. For a moment, he let himself sink into the sensation—her steady heartbeat against his chest, the faint scent of lavender and pine clinging to her, the quiet intimacy of the moment. It was a rare pause, a sliver of peace in a life that seemed to lurch him from one crisis to the next.

“Someone’s gotta keep you in line too, you know,” he murmured, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he tilted his head to meet her gaze.

Reyna lifted her head slightly, her eyes glinting with amusement as she propped herself up on one elbow. “Oh, please,” she said, her lips curving into a wry smile. “I’m the one keeping this camp from falling apart while you’re off doing gods know what.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and genuine, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Fair point,” he conceded, his hands settling lightly on her hips. For a moment, they stayed like that, the world outside the tent reduced to the muffled howl of the wind and the soft crackle of the dying brazier. “You don’t have to babysit me, you know?” He broke the silence between them. “I’m fine.” 

She arched an eyebrow, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on his chest. “I’m not babysitting. I’m… strategizing.”

“Strategizing?” He tilted his head with amusement. “Is that what we’re calling this now?”

“Absolutely,” she replied, her tone mock-serious as she leaned closer, her face inches from his. “Keeping the camp’s strongest asset from burning out is a critical tactical move. You’re welcome.”

Percy snorted. “Strongest asset, huh? You sure you’re not just trying to keep me from stealing Leo’s thunder on the supply run?”

Reyna’s lips twitched, a rare, genuine smile breaking through her usual stoic demeanor. “Leo can have his thunder. I’m more concerned with you not drowning yourself in whatever’s going on up here.” She tapped his temple gently, her gaze softening as she searched his face. “You’ve been doing too much. Always helping. Always taking the hardest burden for yourself.”

The words hit harder than he expected, stirring something raw and unguarded in him. He wanted to argue, to insist he could handle it, but the sincerity in her eyes stopped him. Reyna wasn’t like the others. She didn’t push or prod for answers he wasn’t ready to give. She saw through his deflections, his half-truths, and instead of demanding more, she offered this: a moment to breathe, to be human, to be Percy instead of the destroyer, the king, or the savior.

He exhaled slowly, his hands tightening slightly on her hips as he let himself relax into the blankets. “You’re too good at this,” he murmured. “I’m sure I’ve told you that so many times already.” 

“Just a few times.” She whispered, her lips brushing against his, the barest touch that sent a jolt through him. The kiss lingered, soft and deliberate, warming their bodies better than any blanket could provide. Her fingers slid from his chest to cradle his jaw, her touch gentle but firm. He responded in kind, one hand slipping up to tangle in her hair, the other resting at the small of her back, pulling her closer.

When they finally parted, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the dim light of the brazier. Her thumb traced the line of his jaw, her eyes searching his. “You know I’m always here for you, right?” She whispered. “No matter what.” 

“I know,” he whispered, his words almost lost in the soft crackle of the brazier’s embers. “And… I’m here for you, too. Always.”

The daughter of Bellona smiled before pressing her lips against his once again, slow and sensual, hoping that the kiss would convey just how much she truly cared for him. For a moment, the world outside the tent didn’t exist. No snow, no monsters, no looming threats of divine power or broken oaths. Just the two of them, tangled in blankets, their breaths syncing in the quiet warmth of the tent. She shifted slightly, settling more comfortably against him, her head resting once more in the crook of his neck.

“Get some sleep,” she said, beginning to close her eyes. “You can save the world tomorrow.”

He let out a quiet huff. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. His arms tightened around her, and he let his eyes drift closed, the exhaustion he’d been fighting finally winning. The rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing, the warmth of her body against his, lulled him into a stillness he hadn’t felt in weeks. For the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself rest.

He should’ve known better, however, than to think that he would have a peaceful, dreamless night. Opening his eyes, he found himself once again in a seemingly endless void. The air—or whatever passed for air here—was heavy, pressing against his skin like a heavy layer of clothing. His boots made no sound as he took a tentative step forward, the ground beneath him an unseen surface that felt neither solid nor soft. His heart thudded rapidly in his chest, realizing that he was once again trapped in whatever domain this was. 

His hands subconsciously went to his throat, rubbing against the exact spot the Father had slit open. The whispers once again began to curl through the inky expanse, faint at first, like the rustle of leaves carried on a distant wind. Then they grew sharper, more distinct, overlapping in a cacophony of voices that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Some were soft, pleading, others harsh and commanding, but all carried an undercurrent of urgency that set his nerves on edge. He couldn’t make out the words, but they tugged at him, pulling at the edges of his consciousness like a tide drawing him toward deeper waters.

He reached instinctively for Riptide, but his pocket was empty. No weapon, no water to manipulate, no tangible connection to his powers. Just him, alone in the dark, with nothing but his thoughts. The whispers grew louder, a chaotic chorus that clawed at his mind, each voice vying for dominance. He gritted his teeth, trying to block them out, but he soon realized the sound wasn’t external—it was inside him, burrowing into his thoughts like roots sinking into soil. His eyes darted wildly, searching for a way out, but the darkness offered nothing but its endless, suffocating expanse.

“Show yourself!” he shouted, his voice swallowed by the void, barely a ripple in the oppressive silence. The whispers paused for a heartbeat, as if startled, before resuming with renewed intensity, their tone shifting to something mocking, taunting. He took another step, then another, moving blindly through the formless expanse, his instincts screaming that standing still was surrender. The air grew colder, the pressure tightening around his chest, and he could feel the Father’s presence again—not as a figure this time, but as a force, an omnipresent will that pulsed through the void like a heartbeat.

Suddenly, a lash of light cut through the void, brief and blinding, like lightning splitting a storm cloud. Percy flinched, raising a hand to shield his eyes, but the light was gone as quickly as it came. In its place, faint images flickered at the edges of his vision—scenes that vanished when he tried to focus on them. He had to get closer if he wanted a clearer picture. 

The whispers grew even louder as he approached the flashes of light, their chaotic chorus coalescing into fragments of words and phrases that sent chills down his spine. “Destroyer… GodKiller… King…” His steps faltered, the invisible ground beneath him rippling like water, threatening to pull him under. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to focus on the faint scenes dancing just out of reach.

The images grew clearer as he approached, resolving into fleeting glimpses of places and faces both familiar and alien. He saw the valley, its snow-covered expanse now scorched and blackened, the half-built cabin reduced to smoldering ruins. Demigods—his friends—lay scattered across the ground, their faces frozen in expressions of agony. Reyna sprawled motionless in the snow, her armor rent open, crimson pooling beneath her, staining the white ground a grotesque red. Clarisse lay a few feet away, her spear snapped in two, her chest caved in as if crushed by an immense force. Blood bubbled from her lips, frozen mid-gasp.

Piper was slumped against a shattered tree, her dagger buried in the earth beside her, useless. Her throat was torn open, jagged wounds exposing muscle and bone, as if some beast had ripped into her with savage precision. Thalia was pinned nearby, impaled through the chest by a jagged branch, her bow broken at her side. Her silver circlet hung askew, matted with blood, her face contorted in a snarl of defiance even in death. Will lay in a crumpled heap, his hands clutching at a gash across his abdomen, entrails spilling into the snow, his golden hair stained red. The children—the youngest demigods, who’d clung to hope in this frozen sanctuary—were scattered like broken dolls.

Percy staggered, his knees buckling as the vision burned through him. His breath came in ragged gasps, the whispers now a deafening roar in his skull, chanting his titles— Destroyer, Godkiller, King —with a venomous glee. The ground beneath him pulsed, no longer snow but something harder, like marble. He blinked and looked up, finding himself in the heart of a familiar, now ruined city. Towering structures, once grand and gleaming, lay in shattered heaps, their marble and gold facades cracked and stained with soot. 

His heart pounded as he recognized the city, though it was a shadow of what it had been. New Rome, the proud stronghold of Camp Jupiter, reduced to a graveyard. The Senate House was a crumbled husk, its dome collapsed inward, and the aqueducts that once carried life-giving water were dry, their channels clogged with rubble. The Temple of Jupiter, where he’d once stood as praetor, was defiled, its altar smeared with dark ichor, the statue of the king of gods toppled and decapitated. 

Banners bearing the Father’s sigil—a single, glaring yellow eye slitted like a serpent—fluttered in the fetid wind atop the temples of the gods. Standing up, he felt the ground beneath him pulse, its rhythm seemingly stronger in a certain direction. Looking around at the ruined streets stretched before him, his instincts pulled him toward a familiar direction. Stumbling forward, driven by a desperate need to understand why he was presented with this nightmare, he followed the pulse. 

The streets, once vibrant with the clamor of Roman life, were now choked with debris—crumbled columns, shattered mosaics, and the skeletal remains of market stalls. The air carried the acrid tang of smoke and something darker, like the metallic scent of blood long dried. Percy’s boots crunched against the rubble as he moved toward the heart of the city, the pulse growing stronger, more insistent, as if summoning him to a truth he wasn’t ready to face. The Father’s banners fluttered above, their yellow eyes glaring down, mocking his every step.

As he approached the Senate House, the pulse intensified, resonating deep within his chest, syncing with his own heartbeat. The structure loomed ahead, its collapsed dome exposing a jagged maw of broken marble and twisted gold. The whispers sharpened, coalescing into a single, resonant command: “ Find it… ”

He stepped over the threshold, the air growing colder, as if the Senate itself resisted his presence. The interior was a ruin, the once-grand chamber reduced to a cavern of shadows. Shattered benches lined the walls, and the central dais, where senators had once debated the fate of New Rome, was cracked in two. Above, the remnants of a mural depicting Jupiter’s triumph lay defaced, the god’s face obliterated by claw-like gouges. The pulse thrummed louder now, vibrating through the stone, drawing Percy’s gaze to the floor beneath the dais.

A faint seam in the marble caught his eye, nearly invisible amidst the rubble. Kneeling, he brushed away dust and debris, revealing a circular trapdoor. The pulse emanated from below, a siren’s call that stirred something within him. His fingers traced the marble, and a jolt of energy surged through him, sharp and electric, like touching the heart of the sea. The whispers roared in approval, urging him to open it, to find what waited within.

Percy hesitated, his hand hovering over the trapdoor. Every instinct screamed caution, but the pulse was intoxicating, a current pulling him toward a destiny he couldn’t escape. He thought of the vision—his friends broken and bleeding, the valley burned. If whatever was underneath here could give him a chance to help prevent that, he had to take it. Steeling himself, he pressed his palm against the trapdoor. The marble groaned, sliding open to reveal a spiraling staircase descending into darkness. A wave of cold air rushed up, carrying the scent of stagnant dew. The whispers surged, a triumphant chorus that drowned out his doubts. “ Claim it… Become it… ”

The son of Poseidon stood, his heart pounding as he peered into the abyss. No weapon, no powers, just him and the unknown. Taking a deep breath, he descended, the trapdoor sealing shut behind him with a final, ominous thud. The staircase spiraled downward, each step plunging Percy deeper into a darkness that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. The air grew thicker, clinging to his skin like damp cloth. The whispers followed, their voices weaving through his mind, no longer chaotic but unified in a singular, hypnotic refrain: “ Claim it… Become it …” The words burrowed into his thoughts, each syllable a hook that tugged at the edges of his resolve. His boots echoed faintly on the stone steps, the only sound besides the relentless murmur that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves.

As he descended, the pulsing rhythm intensified, vibrating in his chest like a second heartbeat—alien yet strangely familiar, akin to the sea’s untamed power. His hand brushed the wall for balance, and the stone hummed beneath his touch, warm and alive. In the dim light, he glimpsed black tendrils snaking across the walls and floor. He yanked his hand away quickly, knowing exactly what those things could do to a human body. Whatever lay below was undeniably bound to the Father.

The staircase ended abruptly, opening into a vast, cavernous chamber. The darkness here was absolute, swallowing any light that might have followed him. Yet Percy’s senses, honed by years of battle and instinct, detected a presence—a gaze that bore into him from the shadows. He took a cautious step forward, his breath shallow, every nerve taut. The whispers crescendoed, their urgency spiking as the pulse quickened, guiding him toward the center of the chamber.

A faint glow flickered to life, dim at first, like the embers of a dying fire. It grew brighter, revealing a circular platform of polished obsidian, its surface etched with intricate runes that pulsed with a sickly yellow light—the same hue as the Father’s sigil. At the platform’s center stood a pedestal, and atop it rested a small sickly purple crystal no larger than a hand. The pulse emanated from the shard, each throb syncing with his heartbeat, calling to him with a promise of power beyond comprehension.

The whispers coalesced into a single voice, deep and resonant, vibrating through the chamber like a god’s decree. “The Father’s essence… a fragment of his will… Take it, Godkiller. Wield it, and no force in this world or beyond will stand against you.”

Percy froze, his breath catching as the voice reverberated through the chamber, each word sinking into his bones like a lead weight. The crystal pulsed brighter, its sickly purple glow casting shadows across the obsidian platform, the runes flaring in sync with its rhythm. His eyes locked onto the shard, unable to look away, as if it were a predator staring him down, daring him to move closer. The whispers—no, the voice—coiled tighter around his mind, seductive and commanding.

“Take it… Become it…”

The words weren’t just a suggestion; they were a current, pulling him toward the pedestal with a force he could barely resist. His feet shuffled forward, almost against his will, each step echoing in the vast emptiness of the chamber. The crystal’s light bathed him in its eerie glow, and for a fleeting moment, he saw himself reflected in its facets—not as he was, but as something else. His eyes glowed with an unnatural light, his features sharper, colder, a crown of gold and red atop his head. A king. A god.

He stopped short, his heart hammering as he forced himself to look away, clenching his fists until his nails bit into his palms. The pain grounded him, a tether to reality amidst the void’s disorienting pull. “No,” he muttered, trying to pull away. 

The voice laughed—a low, guttural sound that seemed to rise from the walls themselves, mocking his resistance. “You cannot deny what you are, Perseus. The blood of the gods runs through you. You have slain immortals, bent their essence to your command. This—” The crystal flared, its light searing his vision. “is merely the next step. Claim it, and you will protect all you hold dear. Refuse, and watch them fall.”

The crystal pulsed faster now, its light casting grotesque shadows that danced across the chamber’s walls, twisting into shapes that mimicked the horrors of his earlier vision—his friends’ lifeless bodies and the valley reduced to ash. The images flickered at the edge of his consciousness, taunting him with the cost of refusal. His breath came in shallow gasps, the air thick with the scent of stagnant water and something darker, like the decay and rot of forgotten gods. 

“No!” Percy said again, louder this time. He forced himself to meet the crystal’s glow, staring into its depths as if he could will it to back down. “I’m not your pawn! I won’t become what you want!”

The voice surged, its tone no longer seductive but commanding, a storm breaking over a fragile shore. “You are no pawn, Godkiller. You are the vessel. My ichor flows through you, whether you accept it or not. Deny this power, and you condemn those you love to oblivion. Their blood will stain your hands, their screams will haunt your dreams. Take it, and you shall be their salvation.”

Percy’s knees buckled, but he caught himself, one hand braced against the cold obsidian, the other clenched into a fist so tight his knuckles whitened. The whispers returned, softer now, weaving through the voice’s command like a chorus of mourners. “Save them… Protect them… Become what they need…”

He thought of the thrones he’d refused, of the intoxicating rush of controlling ichor, of bending someone else’s will to his own. That power had been a dark current, a whisper of what he could become, and he’d walked away because he knew where it led. But this crystal, this fragment of the Father’s essence, was something else entirely. It wasn’t just power; it was dominion, a force that could reshape the world or break it entirely. And the voice was right about one thing: he could feel it, a resonance in his blood, a connection to the Father’s will that terrified him because it felt like a part of him.

He looked up to the crystal, its light pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He could see it now, not just as an object but as a key—a key to a door he wasn’t sure he could close once opened. If he took it, he could protect the valley, his friends, and the demigods who looked to him for hope. He could stop the monsters and rebuild all that was lost. But at what cost? The reflection in the crystal’s facets lingered in his mind—the crowned figure, cold and untouchable, a god in all but name. Would he still be Percy Jackson if he claimed it? Or would he become something else, something that could look upon his friends’ deaths with indifference, as gods so often did?

The chamber seemed to tighten around him, the walls closing in as the pulse grew louder, more insistent. The runes on the platform flared, their yellow light searing his vision, and the whispers became a chant, a relentless drumbeat: “Claim it… Become it…” His hand hovered over the crystal, inches from its surface, the heat of its power prickling his skin. He could feel it calling to him, not just with promises but with a certainty that chilled him to his core: this was his fate, whether he chose it or not.

“No!” he roared, wrenching his hand back and stumbling away from the pedestal. The chamber shook, the obsidian floor cracking beneath his feet as if his refusal had wounded it. The voice snarled, a sound like thunder rolling through the void, and the crystal’s light flared blindingly, forcing Percy to shield his eyes. The whispers fractured, their unity dissolving into a chaotic wail that clawed at his mind, threatening to drag him under.

“You cannot escape what you are!” the voice bellowed, its fury shaking the walls, sending shards of stone raining down. “My will is eternal. You will claim it, or it will claim you!”

Percy staggered back, his chest heaving as he fought to keep himself upright against the onslaught. The chamber trembled, the cracks in the obsidian floor spiderwebbing outward, mirroring the fractures in his resolve. The purple glow pulsed faster, mocking his defiance. The whispers surged again, a discordant cacophony, each voice vying to drown out the others—pleading, threatening, promising, accusing. “Destroyer… Savior… King… Traitor…” The words burrowed into his skull, each one a blade twisting deeper.

He pressed his hands to his ears, though he knew it was futile—the voices weren’t external. They were inside him, woven into the fabric of his being, as if the Father’s essence had already taken root. His knees buckled, and he dropped to one knee, the cold obsidian biting into his skin. The runes flared brighter, their yellow light searing his vision, and for a moment, he saw it again—the reflection in the crystal’s facets. Himself, but not himself. A figure cloaked in power, eyes glowing with an unnatural fire, a crown of red and gold glinting atop his head. The image was sharper now, more vivid, and it didn’t fade when he blinked. It lingered, staring back at him with a cold certainty that made his blood run cold.

“Get out of my head!” he shouted, his voice raw, echoing faintly before being swallowed by the void. The chamber shook again, harder this time, and the crystal’s glow intensified, bathing the platform in a light so bright it burned. The voice laughed—a deep, guttural sound that seemed to rise from the earth itself, shaking the walls and sending more shards of stone cascading down.

“You think you can defy me, Godkiller?” the voice boomed, its tone laced with both amusement and menace. “You cannot outrun your fate.”

Percy’s fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms until he felt the warm trickle of blood. The pain was a lifeline, a reminder that he was still here, still human, still himself. He forced himself to stand, his legs trembling, but his resolve hardening. “I’m not your goddamn puppet,” he growled, glaring at the crystal. “You want me to take that thing? Fine. But it’s not gonna be on your terms. I’ll break it first.”

The voice’s laughter ceased abruptly, replaced by a silence so heavy it pressed against his chest. The whispers stilled, and for a moment, the chamber was utterly quiet, the only sound the ragged cadence of his own breathing. Then the voice spoke again, softer now, almost intimate, its tone slithering through his thoughts like a serpent. “Break it? Oh, Perseus, you misunderstand. This shard is not a trinket to be shattered. It is I. A fragment of my essence. It is eternal. Destroy it, and you destroy nothing—except, perhaps, your own chance to save those you love.”

The crystal pulsed, and the visions returned, unbidden, flashing across his mind with brutal clarity. The valley, scorched and lifeless, its rivers dried to cracked beds of clay. Every city in America burnt and ruined. Orcs marching through the streets of Olympus, planting the banners of the Father on shattered temples. The images seared into him, each one a wound that tore at his heart.

“Stop it!” Percy roared, lunging toward the pedestal, his hands outstretched as if he could physically tear the visions away. But the moment his fingers brushed the crystal’s surface, a jolt of energy surged through him, white-hot and electric, throwing him back. He hit the obsidian floor hard, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. The crystal’s glow dimmed slightly, as if savoring his pain, and the voice chuckled, low and mocking.

“You feel it, don’t you?” The Father said, his words dripping with satisfaction. “The resonance. My power calls to you because it is already yours. You have tasted dominion—when you bent Triton’s ichor, when you forced Kymopoleia to kneel, when you slayed Koios. This is no different. Take the shard, and you will wield power no mortal or god has ever known. Refuse, and the world you fight for will crumble.”

The son of Poseidon pushed himself up, his arms shaking, vision swimming. The statement echoed in his mind, twisting around his thoughts like barbed wire, but he clung to the pain in his palms, the blood dripping from where his nails had bitten into his skin. It was real, a reminder that he was still Percy Jackson, not the crowned figure in the crystal’s reflection, not the Godkiller or the vessel the Father wanted him to become.

“I don’t care what you say!” He spat, staggering to his feet. “I’ve seen what your kind of power does. It twists everything—turns people into monsters, gods into tyrants. I won’t let you make me one!”

“Foolish boy. You think you can reject what is inevitable? My essence is not a choice—it is your destiny. You are no mere mortal, Perseus. Deny me, and you deny your own nature.”

Percy tried to step toward the crystal again, hoping he could have another chance to break it, but his legs felt leaden, each movement a struggle. There was no moving forward, only backward. He could feel the Father’s presence closing in on him, an invisible force that threatened to crush his will. His chest heaved, each breath a struggle. He felt trapped. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t let the power down here burrow deeper, couldn’t let the crystal’s pull erode what little control he still had. His eyes darted around the chamber, searching for an escape, but the darkness offered no answers, only the endless expanse of obsidian and the glint of yellow runes. The staircase he’d descended was gone, the trapdoor sealed, leaving him trapped in this nightmare with no way out.

“Run then,” the Father hissed right next to his ear, causing the demigod to bolt upwards. “Flee from your fate, little king. But you cannot outrun what lies within you. Every step you take, every breath you draw, brings you closer to me.”

Percy’s heart pounded, his blood roaring in his ears. He didn’t trust himself to respond, didn’t trust that his voice wouldn’t betray the fear gnawing at him. Instead, he turned and bolted, his boots slamming against the obsidian floor as he ran blindly into the darkness. The chamber seemed to stretch endlessly, the walls shifting and warping as if the void itself were mocking his attempt to escape. The whispers followed, a cacophony of voices that surged and ebbed like a tide, chanting his titles.

The visions came again, flashing across the darkness like lightning in a black cloud. The world burned, flames licking at the sky as cities crumbled into ash. Legions of orcs, their eyes glowing with the same sickly yellow as the Father’s sigil, marched across a scorched landscape, their war cries shaking the earth. Demigods clashed against them, their weapons flashing in the firelight, but they were overwhelmed, cut down one by one.

He stumbled, his knees buckling, but he forced himself to keep moving, his hands scraping against the cold obsidian as he caught himself. The visions intensified, flashing at speeds his mind could barely comprehend. He could only make out pieces of the chaos: an ocean wave the size of skyscrapers crashing into New York, Olympus on fire with bodies strewn across the streets; and above it all, a single yellow eye blazing like a malevolent star in the sky, watching the world burn.

Percy’s chest burned, his lungs screaming for air as he ran, the darkness pressing closer, suffocating. “You cannot escape,” the Father said, his voice coming from every direction. “Your defiance only delays the inevitable. Every choice you make, every life you save or end, carves my name deeper into your soul.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block him out, but it was useless. This was a domain he couldn’t escape from. He couldn’t outrun it, couldn’t outrun him. But then, through the oppressive dark, a faint glimmer caught his eye—a pinprick of light, golden and warm, piercing the void like a star in a moonless sky. The whispers faltered, their cacophony dimming as if the light repelled them. Percy’s heart lurched, a flicker of hope sparking within. He didn’t know what it was, but it felt different—not a promise of power, but a call to something deeper, something he could trust.

“Run to it,” a new voice whispered, soft and familiar, cutting through the Father’s taunts. It was faint, almost lost in the void’s chaos, but it carried a warmth that wasn’t found in the darkness. “Don’t look back, Percy. Keep going.”

His heart surged, a mix of hope and desperation propelling him forward. The golden light beamed ahead, a beacon in the suffocating darkness. He ran toward the light, his boots pounding against the obsidian floor, each step heavier as the darkness seemed to thicken, resisting his escape. Black tendrils erupted from the shadows, writhing like living serpents, lashing out to ensnare him. They grazed his arms, their touch icy and searing, burning his skin where they made contact. He ducked and weaved, desperately gliding through the onslaught that tried to keep him from escaping.

The golden light grew brighter, its warmth brushing against his face like a summer breeze, pushing back the cold that clung to his bones. The tendrils lunged again, faster this time, curling toward his legs. He leaped, barely clearing them, and stumbled as the ground beneath him buckled, the obsidian fracturing like glass. He gritted his teeth, refusing to falter, and pushed harder toward the light. 

“You cannot flee your destiny!” The Father roared behind him, his breath pricking the back of Percy’s neck. The light will not save you! It only delays the inevitable!”

The whispers returned, a frenzied chorus clawing at his mind, but the familiar voice spoke to him again, blocking them out. “Keep going, Percy. You’re almost there.” It was her voice, unmistakable now, though he didn’t dare let himself name her, not here, not when the Father’s presence loomed so close. The hope it sparked was a double-edged sword, fueling his resolve but threatening to crack the fragile control he clung to.

The golden light resolved into a shape as he drew closer. It was a golden tree, emitting a power unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It was warm and inviting, caressing his skin to come closer. The sight stole his breath, almost making him come to a stop, but the tendrils lashed out again, faster and more desperate, their icy tips grazing his back, leaving trails of burning pain.

Percy gritted his teeth, ducking beneath a writhing mass of shadows that aimed to ensnare his legs. The tree was close now, its golden glow promising him a way out of the void. 

“The tree is a lie!” The god raged, doing everything in his power to stop the demigod from reaching it. “Take the shard, or I will bury you and all you love in oblivion!”

Percy ignored him, his eyes fixed on the tree. He was close, so close he could see the branches that slightly sagged with the weight of what looked to be golden apples hanging off them. They seemed to hum, their light flaring brighter as he approached, as if welcoming him. “Reach for it, Percy! Don’t let him win!” Her voice pleaded desperately. 

He stumbled forward, the ground buckling beneath him, the tendrils coiling tighter, their touch like knives against his skin. The tree was only steps away, its branches swaying gently, one golden apple hanging low, within reach. His hand stretched out, fingers trembling, the warmth of the apple’s glow brushing against his skin. Everything around him was suddenly drowned out by the tree’s hum, a melody that felt ancient and pure, like the song of the sea before gods or monsters claimed it.

His fingertips grazed the apple, its surface warm and smooth, pulsing with a life that felt both foreign and familiar. For a moment, everything stilled—the tendrils froze, the Father’s voice fell silent, and the void seemed to collapse in on itself. The golden light enveloped him, flooding his senses with clarity and power he’d never felt before. His vision shifted once more, showing him the valley, not scorched but thriving, its rivers flowing freely, the cabin complete, his friends laughing around a roaring campfire. He saw Atlantis, its spires gleaming under the sea, Tyson and Poseidon grinning at his side. He saw Olympus restored to its former glory as a beacon of hope, where demigods and gods alike stood together against the darkness. 

And then, he saw himself in the throne room of Olympus, sitting on a throne that was once occupied by Zeus. His breath caught as he saw himself seated upon it—not the mortal Percy Jackson, but the figure from the crystal’s reflection. But instead of the cold, merciless features he had seen prior, there was now a warmth in his eyes. They glowed with an unearthly light, sea-green but flecked with gold, like sunlight piercing the ocean’s depths. The crown atop his head was no longer a symbol of tyranny but one of unity, forged not from conquest but from sacrifice and trust. Beside him stood his friends, and all the gods, both minor and Olympian, their faces etched with pride and respect, not for power, but for the mortal heart that had forged this alliance.

The vision held Percy in its grasp, a radiant tableau of hope and unity that felt so real he could almost taste the salt of the sea, feel the warmth of the campfire, hear the laughter of his friends. The throne room shimmered with a light that wasn’t blinding but comforting, like the glow of a lighthouse guiding a ship through a storm.

Yet, even as the vision filled him with a longing so fierce it ached, a shadow lingered at its edges. The void’s cold still faintly clung to his skin, a reminder that the Father was still out there. The whispers, though faint now, hadn’t vanished entirely. They slithered at the fringes of his mind, soft and insidious, murmuring promises of power, of inevitability. “This is but a dream,” they hissed, barely audible beneath the tree’s hum. “Take the shard… make it real…”

His grip on the apple tightened, its light flaring in response, drowning out the whispers. The vision of Olympus wavered, but it didn’t fade. He saw himself on the throne again, not as a tyrant but as a leader, his crown a symbol of burdens carried, not glory seized. His duties pressed hard on his shoulders even in the vision—responsibility, sacrifice, the constant battle to remain himself against the tide of power that threatened to sweep him away. He could feel the pull of the shard, even here, its sickly purple glow a distant echo in the void, calling him back to the pedestal, to the Father’s will.

“No,” he whispered. “This is what I choose.” He held the apple closer, its golden light spilling over him, warming the scars on his skin, soothing the burns left by the tendrils. The tree’s hum grew louder, a song that resonated deep within him, not with the seductive promise of dominion but with the quiet strength of hope, of connection, of everything he’d fought for since he was a kid facing monsters he barely understood.

The void shuddered, the Father’s whispers becoming a scream of rage that tore at the fabric of the darkness. “You will fall! You will break! The shard will claim you, whether you will it or not!” But the words were hollow now, drowned by the tree’s song. The golden tree blazed, its light consuming the darkness, and the void shattered like glass. The Father’s scream was the last thing Percy heard, a fading wail of fury and frustration, before the world dissolved into a blinding cascade of gold.

Chapter Text

Percy awoke with a gasp, his body jolting upright, heart pounding, and covered with a fine sheen of sweat. His eyes darted wildly, expecting to see the void’s oppressive darkness or the glint of the golden tree. Instead, he was met with the dim, flickering glow of the brazier, its embers casting soft shadows across the tent. The air was cold, the wind outside still howling, rattling the tent’s flaps. Reyna stirred beside him, her warmth a stark contrast to the icy dread that clung to his bones. She mumbled something incoherent, her arm tightening around his waist as she nestled closer, oblivious to his internal panic. 

His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps as he tried to calm down. The golden tree, the crystal, the Father, New Rome, and Olympus…it felt too real, too vivid to be just a nightmare. His hand trembled as he reached up to touch his forehead, half-expecting to feel the weight of a crown or the burn of the shard’s power. Nothing. Just sweat and the faint sting of his own pulse hammering in his temples.

He glanced down at the woman next to him once more, her peaceful features a stark contrast from what he’d seen in the dream. An image of her lifeless eyes and her blood staining the snow red flashed in his head. Rubbing his eyes, he knew he would not be getting any more sleep tonight and decided to ease himself from her embrace, careful not to wake her, and slipped on his jacket. The cold bit at his skin as he stepped outside, the snow crunching under his boots. The camp was deadly silent, buried under a fresh layer of white, the tents sagging under the weight. He needed air, needed to clear his head, to shake off the dream. The river near camp called to him, its faint rush the only sound in the night. Maybe there, by the water, he could find some clarity.

He trudged through the snow, his boots sinking with each step, the cold seeping through his clothes. The river wasn’t far, only a few yards away. It quickly came into view, its surface partially frozen, the ice glinting like shattered glass under the moon’s glow. The current beneath moved sluggishly, a faint murmur that spoke to him in a language older than words. He knelt at the bank, the snow soaking through his jeans, and reached out, letting his fingers brush the icy edge. The water responded instantly, a subtle ripple spreading from his touch, as if the river recognized its kin. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation—the cool, steady pulse of the current, the way it flowed despite the ice, unyielding in its quiet strength. It was familiar, real, a reminder of who he was: Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon, not a Godkiller, not a king. 

Sitting there for gods know how long, he heard a rustle in the snow behind him, making him tense and his hand instinctively reaching for Riptide in his pocket. He relaxed slightly when he saw a familiar figure slumped against a tree by the riverbank, his knees drawn up, staring out at the water.

“Couldn’t sleep either, huh?” Travis asked softly. 

Percy exhaled, his breath a white plume in the still air, and settled back onto the snow-dusted ground, his hand easing away from the pen. “Yeah,” he replied. “Something like that.” He glanced at the son of Hermes, taking in the way he sat, hunched and still, his spark dimmed to a faint ember. The moonlight caught the sharp angles of his face, highlighting the hollows under his eyes, the tenseness in his jaw. He looked like he was carrying a burden too heavy for words, and Percy knew that look too well—had seen it in the mirror more times than he cared to count.

Travis didn’t look at him, his gaze fixed on the river, where shards of ice drifted lazily in the current. “Nightmares?” he asked. 

Percy hesitated, looking back out at the water. He could lie, brush it off with a quip like he usually did, but something told him that Travis knew exactly what he’d just experienced. After all, they’d both seen the Father. “Yeah,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. “It…it was a bad one.”

Travis nodded, a small, almost imperceptible motion, like he’d expected the answer. “He doesn’t let up,” he murmured, his fingers picking at a loose thread on his jacket. “He comes to me every night, makes me relive it over and over. The moment he…you know.” His voice cracked, and he stopped, swallowing hard as if the words were jagged glass in his throat. “It’s like he’s still here, whispering in my head, telling me I’m his. That I’ll never be free.”

The son of Poseidon bit the inside of his cheek, remembering that fateful night. He could still feel the black tendrils through Travis’s skin and feel his beatless heart. He remembered just how scared he was, how he said that the rot was everywhere, not just in the world but inside him. It was something Percy wished he could forever forget, but you don’t just stop remembering things like that. You don’t stop remembering the guilt and fear of losing a friend to something like that. 

“I get it,” Percy finally said, his words distant. “He’s in my head, too. Showing me things—visions, promises. Trying to make me take something I don’t want.” He didn’t elaborate. Some things were better left unsaid, especially when he himself didn’t know what they truly meant. 

Travis finally turned to look at him, his gaze searching for any hint of understanding. “You ever think maybe… maybe he’s right? That we can’t fight him? That we’re just… delaying the inevitable?”

The question hit too close to the doubts within. He wanted to snap back with something confident, something to rally their spirits, but the words felt hollow even before they formed. Instead, he leaned back, letting the cold of the snow seep into his palms as he braced himself against the ground. “I think he wants us to believe that,” he replied. “He’s powerful, yeah, but he’s not unbeatable. If he were, he wouldn’t need to mess with our heads like this. He’s scared. Scared we’ll figure out how to stop him.”

The son of Hermes let out a bitter laugh. “Scared? That thing? He’s a god, Percy. Worse than a god. And we’re just…” He gestured vaguely at himself, then at Percy, his hand falling limp. “We’re just us.”

Just us?” Percy raised an eyebrow. “Travis, we’ve killed countless monsters in our lifetime. Hell, we’ve fought in two wars against Kronos and Gaea for fuck’s sake. We’re not exactly nobodies.” 

“Yeah, but that was before,” he replied, running a hand through his hair in agitation. “Before the gods faded to Tartarus. Before our camps were destroyed. Before everyone we knew died!”

Percy sighed softly, looking up at the stars that were just beginning to retreat. The river’s faint murmur seemed to falter, as if it too felt the sting of those truths. He wanted to argue, to insist they were still the same demigods who’d faced Titans and giants, but the desperation and fear in Travis’s features mirrored a doubt he had been shoving down. The world had changed. The gods were gone, the camps were ash, and most of the people they’d fought for were dead. The few one-hundred in the valley were all that was left of the world that had once been.

“You’re right,” the green-eyed demigod said. “It’s different now. Harder. But that doesn’t mean-”

“Don’t, Percy,” Travis interrupted, running a hand down his face. “I don’t…I can’t hear another speech about how we’ll be okay or that we have each other. None of you understand what I’ve seen in my dreams. I’ve seen the entire continent on fire, cities turned to ash, mortals enslaved or slaughtered. I’ve seen Olympus razed, the gods chained, you—” he stopped abruptly, his voice catching as his eyes flickered with something like fear, or maybe guilt. He looked away, his gaze held downward, and the silence between them grew heavy, the river’s murmur the only sound cutting through the cold.

Percy felt his heart skip a beat. Him? What did he mean by him? What had the Father shown? “Me? What did you see, Travis?” He prompted, though he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer. 

The son of Hermes shook his head, his fingers digging into the snow as if reliving his dreams all over again. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, but the tremor in his throat betrayed him. “It’s just… dreams. He’s fucking with me, that’s all.”

Percy wasn’t so sure about that. The visions he’d seen personally—the valley burned, his friends dead, himself on a throne as something he didn’t recognize—felt too vivid, too purposeful to be mere tricks. And now Travis, haunted by the same presence, was seeing something that scared him enough to clam up. If the Father was showing him visions of Percy, it wasn’t random. It was a calculated move to sow doubt, to fracture trust.

“Travis,” he said, leaning forward, his tone firm but not unkind. “If he’s showing you something about me, I need to know.” 

The brown-haired demigod’s eyes flicked to him, then away, his breath puffing out in a shaky cloud. For a moment, it seemed like he might shut down completely, but then he exhaled, his shoulders slumping as if the fight had drained out of him. “It’s you,” he said quietly, almost too soft to hear over the river. “But it’s not you. You’re… different. Standing over everything—us, the valley, Olympus, the world. There’s this… power around you, I-I can’t explain it. And your eyes…” He swallowed the lump stuck in his throat. “They’re not yours anymore. They’re his.”

Percy’s blood ran cold, the image of the crowned figure in the crystal flashing through his mind—those glowing eyes, sea-green but flecked with something unnatural, not gold, but something that wasn’t him. He forced himself to breathe, to keep his expression neutral, but his hands clenched in the snow, the cold barely registering. “What am I doing in these dreams?” he asked, each word laced with a quiet dread he couldn’t fully mask. 

Travis didn’t answer immediately. His gaze stayed fixed on the river, the moonlight reflecting off the ice in fractured glints, as if he could avoid the truth by losing himself in the water’s sluggish flow. The silence stretched, broken only by the faint rush of the current and the occasional creak of snow-laden branches in the distance. Percy waited, his heart pounding, the cold seeping deeper into his bones as the words echoed in his mind: They’re his.

Finally, the son of Hermes exhaled, rubbing his hands together, as if trying to warm them, but the motion was more about stalling than comfort. “I see you in New Rome, walking through the streets and destroyed temples. You find this purple crystal underground. It’s glowing, pulsing like it’s alive, and when you touch it, it’s like… you change. You’re still you, but there’s this darkness around you.” 

Percy bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood, the thing he dreaded most coming to fruition. He forced himself to meet Travis’s gaze, searching for any hint of doubt, any sign that this was just the Father’s manipulation twisting his dreams. But the raw fear in his expression, the way his hands trembled despite the cold, told Percy this wasn’t just a nightmare. It was a warning, a glimpse of a future that felt all too possible.

“Then I see you standing on a mountain, looking out at legions of Orcs kneeling before you. The world’s burning, and there’s this yellow eye in the sky. And despite all that, you’re just… watching it. Like it doesn’t matter. Like it’s what you wanted.” He swallowed hard, his gaze finally meeting Percy’s, raw and haunted.

The river’s sluggish murmur filled the silence between them, its faint ripples catching the moonlight. Percy’s mind raced, trying to come up with excuses that what they saw in their dreams wasn’t real. But demigod dreams…they were more than just dreams. They were glimpses into the future, and one would be a fool to ignore them. 

“I had the same dream, too,” he admitted, hating how Travis practically flinched after hearing that. “He showed me what would happen if I took the crystal. If I gave in to the power.”

“You…saw it too?”

The son of Poseidon nodded, his features tense. “Yeah. It’s like he’s trying to sell me on it. Showing me what I could be, what I could do with that power. But it’s not just power. It’s him. It’s his will, his essence. If I take that crystal, I’m not just picking up a weapon. I’m letting him in.”

“And what happens if you don’t take it?” Travis leaned away a fraction, almost afraid of the answer. “What did he show you?” 

Percy looked down, grimacing as flashes of his dead friends popped up once more. “He showed me what would happen if I said no.” He replied, not elaborating further. He didn’t have the strength to talk about what he saw, afraid that even saying it could make it come true. 

Travis didn’t press for details, knowing that look in his friend’s eyes. The two sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, both bonded by shared nightmares, grappling with a future that felt like a noose tightening around their necks. Percy’s fingers twitched, itching to reach for Riptide again, to grasp something solid, something he could fight. But this wasn’t a monster he could slay with a blade or drown. The Father was a poison that seeped in his mind deeper with every vision, every whisper.

“What do we do now?”The son of Hermes sighed, leaning back against the tree. 

“We can’t let him win,” Percy replied, running a hand through his hair. “Whatever he’s showing us, whatever he wants us to believe, it’s not set in stone. We’ve changed fate before. We can do it again.”

Travis let out a hollow laugh, the sound brittle in the cold air. “Changed fate? Percy, we barely survived Kronos. Gaea practically wiped us out. And now this… this thing? It’s not just a Titan or a giant. It’s…” He trailed off, shaking his head, his eyes distant. “It’s like he’s part of the world itself. Like he’s in the air, the ground, the water. How do you fight something like that?”

Percy didn’t have an answer, not a real one. He wanted to say something inspiring, to rally his friend the way he’d rallied armies before, but the words felt empty, like promises made on a sinking ship. Instead, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and stared at the river. The water moved beneath its icy crust, sluggish but unyielding, a reminder that he had to keep moving forward. He hated to admit it, but he had no clue how to defeat such a being as the Father. How does he, a mere demigod, defeat a god like that? He clenched his jaw, forcing the thoughts down. Sitting here, frozen in doubt, wouldn’t help anyone.

“I don’t know,” he finally answered, looking up at the sun just beginning to crest over the horizon. “All I know is we can’t wait for him to accumulate more power. We made that mistake with Kronos. I won’t let it happen again.” 

The brown-haired demigod gave an apprehensive look, not liking the sound of Percy’s tone. It reminded him of times just before he went off into battle. “Percy?” He drawled out, giving his friend a warning. “What are you thinking of doing?” 

Percy’s gaze lingered on the horizon, where the first rays of dawn bled through the heavy clouds, casting a pale, golden glow over the snow-dusted valley. His mind churned, piecing together fragments of the vision—the ruined streets of New Rome, the trapdoor beneath the Senate House, the shard of the Father’s essence waiting. He could still feel its pull, that seductive whisper promising dominion, and the golden tree’s warmth urging him to resist. The two forces warred within him, but one thing was clear: the Father wasn’t just a threat looming in the distance. He was here, now, burrowing into their minds, their dreams, their futures. Waiting would only mean defeat.

“I’m going to New Rome,” he said finally. He turned to face Travis, his sea-green eyes glinting with a determination that bordered on reckless. “I’m going to find that crystal. And I’m going to destroy it.”

Travis’s expression shifted from apprehension to outright alarm, his posture stiffening against the tree. “Whoa, hold up. You’re serious? You just said touching that thing could turn you into… whatever the hell he wants you to be. And now you want to go looking for it? You saw what it is. It’s not just some magic rock—it’s him! A piece of his essence. You really think we can just waltz into New Rome, smash it, and call it a day?

“I know it’s not that simple,” Percy said, standing up and beginning to pace back and forth on the river’s edge. “But we can’t just sit here, waiting for him to make the next move. That crystal is a piece of him, yeah, but it’s also a target. If we destroy it, we hit him where it hurts. Delay his progress to take over the world.” 

The son of Hermes gave a deranged, disbelieving laugh. “You know this is a trap! You saw the visions. He wants you to go after it. He’s practically rolling out the red carpet! You touch that thing, and it’s game over. You become his… his vessel, or whatever he called it. You really wanna risk that?”

“I’m not saying it’s not going to be easy,” he admitted. “But doing nothing is worse. If we sit here, he’ll keep coming and gaining power until eventually, it’s too late. That crystal’s a piece of him, Travis. If I can destroy it, maybe we can weaken him, buy us time to figure out how to stop him for good.”

“And what if you can’t destroy it? What if you touch it and…” He trailed off, his voice cracking, the fear in his eyes palpable. “I saw you…in the dreams. You weren’t you anymore. You were… something else. Something that scared the shit out of me. I can’t—” He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the river, its icy surface reflecting the faint gold of the rising sun. “I can’t allow you to risk…us.” 

Percy stopped pacing, his boots crunching in the snow. He knew the fear wasn’t just for himself—it was for all of them, for the fragile hope they’d clung to in this valley. He understood the risk, felt it in his bones, but the alternative…he just couldn’t accept it. “I know it’s a trap,” he said softly. “I know he’s playing me, trying to pull me in. But I have to destroy it. I can’t let him gain more power.” 

Travis shook his head, his hands clenching into fists in the snow. “Listen to yourself! You’re talking like you’ve already made up your mind. Like you’re gonna march off to New Rome alone and—what? Fight legions of Orcs?! Kill part of a god’s essence?! You’re not fucking invincible, no matter how much Katie or the rest of them think you are! You’re not a god! You’re just one man!” 

“Then come with me,” he turned to face him fully, his eyes swirling with an intensity that silenced the son of Hermes’s protests. “You’re the only other person who truly knows what we’re up against. You’ve seen the Father. You know what he can do.” 

Travis blinked, caught off guard. His mouth opened, then closed, his hands unclenching slightly as he processed what had just been asked of him. “You’re serious,” he said, almost to himself. “You really think we can take on… that thing? Together?”

“We have to try,” Percy replied, hating how the words tasted like ash. Like he knew what he was asking could very well be a death sentence. “If we let him keep that crystal, keep that piece of his essence, he’ll only get stronger. We hit him now, while we still have a chance.”

“N-No!” The son of Hermes stammered, his voice rising as he scrambled to his feet. “This is insane! You’re asking me to walk into a trap with you, knowing it could end with us dead—or worse, you turned into whatever he wants you to be!” His hands shook, and he took a step back, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and frustration. “I barely survived him once. His rot, his voice—it’s still there, clawing at me every night. You’re asking me to face that again?”

“That’s exactly why I need you,” Percy snapped. “You can stop me from falling under his influence. You can help make sure I don’t fall for the crystal’s power.” 

The statement hung heavy in the frigid air, the silence stretching between the two demigods. Travis stared at him, his breath puffing out in rapid clouds. The faint dawn light cast long shadows across the snow, stretching their silhouettes into distorted shapes that seemed to loom over the valley. 

“Stop you?” He stated, almost a growl, but it trembled at the edges, betraying the fear he was trying to mask. “You think I can stop you? The guy who took down Titans, who made gods kneel. If you go dark, if that crystal gets its hooks in you, what the hell am I supposed to do? Stab you with a dagger and hope for the best?” He laughed, a brittle, humorless sound that echoed faintly off the trees. “You’re out of your goddamn mind.”

Percy didn’t flinch, though Travis’s words cut deeper than he’d expected. The cold bit at his skin, but it was the fear in his friend’s voice that chilled him more. “I’m not asking you to fight me,” he said, taking a step closer. “I’m asking you to keep me…well, me. You’ve seen the Father’s tricks. You know how he twists things. If anyone can pull me back, it’s you.”

Travis shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets as his shoulders hunched against the cold. “Pull you back?” He repeated bitterly. “I’m not… I’m not some hero who can just snap you out of it if you go all god-mode. I’m barely holding it together myself.” He kicked at the snow, sending a small flurry scattering into the river, where it melted into the current. “Every night, I see him. That yellow eye, those tendrils… I feel them, like they’re still inside me, waiting to take over. And now you want me to go with you to New Rome, to face that thing again? To face you if it goes wrong?” He looked up, his blue eyes filled with fear and something else—doubt, not just in Percy, but in himself.

“You’re stronger than you think, man,

“Strong?” He snorted. “You call waking up screaming every night, jumping at shadows, feeling like I’m one bad dream away from killing myself, strong?”

“You don’t think I do the same?!” Percy said, his frustration finally boiling over. “You wanna know the reason why I don’t sleep?! Why I constantly occupy myself with something to do?! It’s because every time I close my eyes, I see them! Every single person who died during the wars. Every person who counted on me to protect them! I see them in the corner of my eyes, I see their faces and hear their whispers!”

Travis tried to interrupt, but Percy continued, his voice raw, each word tearing free like it had been trapped too long. “I see Annabeth’s face every night. Her blood on my hands, her eyes pleading for me to save her…and there’s nothing I can do for her except hold her in my arms. I see Bianca, Beckendorf, Silena, Hazel, Frank—all of them whispering to me why I couldn’t save them. Why I wasn’t enough. And now the Father’s in my head, showing me a world where I could’ve saved them, where I could’ve stopped it all, if I just take that fucking crystal. You think you’re the only one falling apart? I’m barely holding it together, man. But I can’t stop. I won’t. Not when there’s still a chance to keep what’s left of us alive.”

By the time he was done, his chest was heaving, his eyes rimmed with unshed tears. The river’s murmur seemed louder now, filling the silence as the dawn light crept higher, painting the snow in soft golds and pinks. For a moment, neither of them moved, trying to understand the burdens they both shared. 

“I… I didn’t know,” Travis spoke hesitantly. He looked down, his hands unclenching, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out but didn’t know how. “I thought… I don’t know, man. You’re always so… you. The guy who doesn’t break, who always has a plan. I didn’t think you were…” He trailed off, unable to find the words.

“Scared?” Percy finished, the fire in his chest simmering down to a dull ache. “I’m terrified, Travis. Every second of the day, wondering if I’m going to see a legion of Orcs descending down the mountains. But I can’t let that stop me. If I do, he wins. And I’m not giving him that.”

The son of Hermes rubbed the back of his neck, his shoulders still hunched, but there was a subtle shift in his expression—less defiance, more resignation, like he was wrestling with a decision he didn’t want to make. “Fuck you, man…fuck you for being a hero.”

“I’ll take that as you’re tagging along?” His lips twitched into a tired smile. He extended a hand to Travis, the gesture both an offer and a challenge.

Travis stared at the offer presented, his jaw tight, blue eyes flickering with a storm of doubt and resolve. The dawn light caught the faint scars on his knuckles, reminders of battles fought and barely survived. “Gods damn it, Percy,” he muttered, grabbing his hand. “If I die because of your hero complex, I’m haunting you forever.”

“Deal,” Percy clapped him on the shoulder. “But let’s try not to die, yeah? I’ve got enough ghosts in my head already.”

The two stood there for a moment, the tension between them easing slightly, replaced by a fragile camaraderie born of shared fear and defiance. The river flowed on, its icy surface glinting in the growing light, a quiet witness to what they’d just committed to.

“So, what’s the plan? We just… hike to New Rome, dodge Orcs, find this crystal, and hope we don’t turn into the Father’s puppets? Sounds like a shitty vacation.”

“Pretty much,” the son of Poseidon shrugged his shoulders. “Besides the hiking part. I have a better way when we decide to leave. Other than that, I’m going to ask one more person to tag along, but it’ll just be us three. The fewer people, the better odds of not getting spotted.”

“Okay…” Travis drawled out, slightly confused about what he meant by a better way to get to New Rome, but figured he’d find out what that meant eventually. 

Deciding that they’d depart for California in two days, which would give them time to prepare, gather supplies, and convince one more person to join their reckless mission, the two of them elected to trudge their way back to camp. A few of the early risers were already up for the day, tending to fires or checking the perimeter. The faint clatter of cookware and the low murmur of voices broke the stillness, a few good mornings echoing through the air. 

“Who’s the third?” Travis asked, keeping his voice low in case anyone was listening in. 

Percy’s gaze swept over camp, looking for the answer himself. It wasn’t until he looked at one lone tree a few yards away overlooking camp did he find it. Even from a distance, he could tell that the silhouette was looking straight at them. 

“Morning, Nico,” he greeted, walking over to the tree and looking up at the son of Hades who was perched lazily on a branch. It seemed he had pulled another night shift, keeping watch over camp. 

Nico’s lips twitched, not quite a smile, more like a grimace. “I already know what you’re going to ask me,” he replied, looking down at the pair. “I knew you were stupid, Percy, but not this much.” 

The son of Poseidon rolled his eyes. He should’ve figured that Nico would’ve been listening in on their conversation, a habit that seemed to have only grown throughout their journey together. “You in?” He asked. “We’re going to need your expertise.” 

Nico’s gaze flicked to Travis, then back to him, his expression unreadable. He swung his legs over the branch and dropped to the snow with a soft crunch. He dusted off his hands, the Stygian iron sword at his hip glinting faintly in the morning light. “You’re really going after that crystal,” he said in exasperation. “You know it’s a trap. You both do.”

“Trap or not, we can’t just sit here. The Father’s not gonna wait for us to get our act together. That crystal’s a piece of him. If we can take it out, we might slow him down.”

“Might,” the son of Hades echoed, his tone dry as bone. He tilted his head, studying Percy with those unsettling eyes that seemed to see straight through flesh to the soul beneath. “And if you touch it? If it gets inside you? What then? You think Travis and I can just… what, knock you out and drag you back? You’re not exactly easy to take down when you’re pissed.”

Travis shifted uncomfortably. “Told you,” he muttered under his breath, shooting his friend a look that said, See? Even he thinks it’s insane.

Percy ignored him, keeping his focus on Nico. “That’s why I want you there,” he replied. “You’ve dealt with worse than me. If anyone can keep me from going off the deep end, it’s you.”

Nico’s lips twitched again, this time closer to a smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Flattery won't get you anywhere.” He crossed his arms, the shadows around him seeming to ripple slightly, as if responding to his mood. “You’re not wrong, though. We’ve all seen what power like that does. It doesn’t just corrupt—it consumes . Just like what Kronos did to Luke. You touch that crystal, and it’s not just you we’re fighting. It’s the Father. And I’m not sure even I can pull you back from that.”

“Then don’t let me touch it,” he said, a quiet plea burning in the words. “Help me destroy it. Keep me in check. I trust you. Both of you.” 

His dark eyes held Percy’s for a long moment, unblinking, as if judging the sincerity of his words against the madness of the plan. His expression remained guarded, but there was a flicker of something in it. The grim acceptance of a fight he couldn’t walk away from. He exhaled sharply, his breath a fleeting cloud in the cold air, and uncrossed his arms.

“Fine,” he accepted curtly, like he was already regretting the decision. “I’m in. But this is a suicide mission, and you know it.” He jabbed a finger into the taller man’s chest. “And if you get possessed or even lay a fingertip on a crystal, I’ll kill you without a second thought. Understood?” 

The son of Poseidon gave a grim nod, understanding what was at stake. He trusted Nico to keep his word, maybe more than he trusted himself not to fall to the crystal’s pull.

Travis let out a low whistle, rubbing his hands together. “Great. So, we’ve got a plan: sneak into New Rome, find a god’s evil crystal, smash it without touching it, and don’t die. Or get possessed. Or kill each other.” He paused, glancing between Percy and Nico. “We’re so fucked.”

“You’re just now figuring that out,” Nico snorted. “So we leave in two days. That’s not a lot of time to prep for a suicide run. What about the others? Your girls are gonna notice you’re gone in about five seconds flat. And don’t get me started on Reyna. She’ll probably chain you to the cabin if she catches wind of this.”

Percy’s lips pressed into a thin line, knowing his cousin was right. They’d see through any half-baked excuse he could muster. Especially Reyna and Piper. They already cornered him once, refusing to let him slip away into another mission. If they got even a whiff of this plan, there was no telling what they’d do to him for leaving camp once again. 

“I’ll figure something out,” he finally answered, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to lie to them, but telling them the full truth was out of the question. They’d either try to stop him or insist on coming along, and he couldn’t risk dragging them into this. The Father’s visions were too vivid, too real. He could still see their lifeless bodies in the snow, knowing that what he was shown wasn’t just a warning; it was a promise of what could happen. No, he had to keep them safe, even if it meant keeping them in the dark.

“Good luck with that.” Travis huffed, beginning to walk away now that the plan was finally set in motion. You’re gonna need more than your usual ‘I’m Percy Jackson, trust me’ charm to pull this off.”

“He’s right,” Nico clapped him on the shoulder before making his way to his tent, eager to get some sleep. “Better come up with a good excuse, or you can forget about going to New Rome.” 

And with that, the son of Poseidon was left alone, his thoughts a tangled mess. He stood there for a moment, watching as the camp fully came to life. He knew what he was walking into—a trap, a gamble, a potential end. But as he watched the demigods, his friends, greet each other, begin to cook breakfast, bundle up against one another to stave off the cold, he knew he’d do anything to protect them. If that meant going to New Rome and facing legions of Orcs, a god, and potentially dying, then so be it. 

He caught Reyna’s eye as she appeared out of her tent, her mood soured slightly, having expected to wake at his side. She gave him a perplexed look, wondering why he was up so early, standing alone by a tree. He forced a smile, raising a hand in a casual wave, hoping it masked the storm brewing inside him. Her gaze lingered, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she could sense something was up, but she didn’t approach. Instead, she turned to help one of the younger girls put on her jacket. 

Percy let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His heart clenched as he watched not only her but Piper and Katie. He wanted to tell them, to spill everything about his dream, about New Rome and the visions that haunted him, but the words stuck in his throat. They would see through him in an instant, and then what? They’d demand to come along, to face the danger with him. He couldn’t let those visions come true. He had to do this alone, or as close to alone as he could manage with Travis and Nico.

He just hoped that everything would work out. 

Chapter Text

Two days passed in a blur of preparation and deception. Percy moved through the camp with a forced calm, his every action calculated to avoid suspicion. He helped with chores, sparred with the younger demigods, and sat through meals laughing at jokes while his mind churned with plans and contingencies. The lie he’d crafted was simple: a routine scouting mission to check the northern passes for Orc activity. Travis and Nico backed his story, their own preparations hidden under the guise of assisting him and just wanting to map out the surrounding area. But every glance from Reyna, every knowing look from Piper or Katie, made his stomach twist. They weren’t fools, and he knew they were watching him closer than ever. And when Thalia returned from the supply run, she’d definitely know what was up with one look at him. 

The night of their departure arrived, cloaked in a heavy stillness that settled across the entirety of the valley. The sky was a tapestry of stars, their cold light illuminating the frozen snow like a million jewels. The camp was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of a dying fire and the soft snores drifting from tents. Percy stood at the edge of the encampment, his breath forming faint clouds in the air, his pack slung over one shoulder. The cold bit at his exposed skin, but he barely noticed, his focus directed entirely on what they were about to do. He still had doubts about whether what they were doing was smart. Well, he knew for a fact it wasn’t smart, but he caught himself asking if it would make a difference. 

He adjusted the straps of his pack, forcing himself to stop thinking that way. If there was even a chance to stop the Father, then he had to take it. No matter the consequences. Hearing footsteps to his left, he watched Travis emerge from the shadows, his own pack slung carelessly over one shoulder, his lips pressed into a grim line. “Ready to do something spectacularly stupid?” He whispered over the crunch of snow under his boots.

Percy managed a half-smile. “Always.” He glanced past his friend’s shoulder, searching the shadows. “Where’s Nico?”

“Here,” came a soft voice, and Nico materialized from the shadows near a cluster of pines, his black jacket blending seamlessly with the night. His Stygian iron sword hung at his hip, and his eyes glinted with a wary intensity, like he was already bracing for the worst. “Let’s make this quick. The longer we stand here, the more likely someone notices we’re gone.” 

He offered a hand to both of them. The son of Hermes hesitantly took it, realizing that he’d be shadow-traveling to New Rome, something he’d never done before. Percy, however, shook his head, secretly pleased that he didn’t have to rely on such a method of transportation any longer. “I’ll meet you there.” He said cryptically, enjoying the confused looks on both boys’ faces. 

“Huh?” Nico muttered, his brow furrowed. His eyes quickly widened, though, when he saw his cousin begin to dissipate seemingly in thin air, his body drifting off into the wind. 

The air shimmered faintly where Percy had stood, a fleeting ripple like heat rising off pavement, then nothing. Travis blinked, his mouth half-open, the words he’d meant to yell swallowed by the sudden void of shadows. The world lurched, a nauseating twist of darkness and cold that felt like being dragged through freezing tar. His stomach churned, his senses scrambled, and then—solid ground. His boots hit packed earth, the impact jarring his knees. He stumbled, catching himself against a rock, his breath coming in sharp gasps.”

“Oh, I’m gonna throw up,” he said, his hand darting to his mouth. 

Nico pushed himself off before he got puke on his clothes, scanning their surroundings. It seemed they had reappeared on a mountain overlooking the city. Looking down below, he could see the once proud city now scarred and crumbling, half-swallowed by black tendrils and ash. The Tiber River snaked through the city, its waters glinting faintly, a silver thread in the moonlight. Orange dots pulsed like malevolent stars fallen to earth, scattered across the land. Bonfires, he realized, their flickering light casting eerie shadows over the shattered columns and ruined streets. The air carried the faint tang of smoke and something fouler—decay, rot, the Father’s unmistakable signature.

Travis retched quietly behind a boulder, his face pale as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Gods, warn me next time,” he muttered, shooting the paler boy a glare.

Nico, however, wasn’t listening. Instead, his attention was drawn to his cousin, who was already a few feet ahead of them, kneeling next to the edge of the cliff and scouting out the land. His eyes narrowed, confused, amazed, and slightly nervous as to how Percy even got here before them. Walking quietly to his side, he glanced at the green-eyed demigod who was oblivious to the stares, continuing to look for potential points of entry.

“What the fuck was that, Percy?” Travis staggered over. “Since when can you just poof out of existence? And how were you so fast? You’re faster than shadow-travel for gods sake.”

“Yeah,” Nico drawled out, slightly irked at that last comment. 

The son of Poseidon didn’t answer immediately, his gaze still locked on the ruined city below. The moonlight caught the sharp planes of his face, accentuating the tension in his jaw, the faint flicker of something unreadable in his sea-green eyes. He stood slowly, brushing the dirt from his knees, and turned to face his companions. The air around him seemed to hum faintly, a subtle vibration that hadn’t been there before, like the pulse of an ocean current trapped beneath his skin.

“Was taught a thing or two while down in Atlantis,” he shrugged, not elaborating any further. “Anyway, we can talk about that later. Look at the city perimeter. See the walls?” He pointed toward the outlines of New Rome’s perimeter, where crude barricades of stone and twisted metal rose from the ash-strewn ground. The walls were incomplete, patchwork defenses thrown together by the Orcs, their forms hulking and hunched as they patrolled in loose, disorganized packs.

“They’re fortifying,” Nico answered, biting the inside of his cheek. “But why?” 

“To protect the crystal,” Percy replied, narrowing his eyes. “That and to create a stronghold before they expand across the country.” 

“Fuck,” Travis gritted his teeth nervously. “How are we even going to get in there?” 

“There’s a building on the perimeter that isn’t heavily guarded,” he replied, pointing to a low, crumbling structure on the western edge of New Rome’s perimeter, partially obscured by a tangle of black tendrils and collapsed marble. It looked like it had once been a guard post or storage shed, now abandoned, its walls sagging under the weight of ash and neglect. “The Orcs aren’t patrolling that sector as heavily. Probably think it’s not worth guarding. We can slip through there, get into the city, and make our way to the Senate House.”

“Senate House?” Is that where it’s at?” Nico questioned, looking up at Percy and noticing he had a strange look in his eye. 

“Can you feel it from here?” Travis pitched in, not liking the way his look was drawn.

The son of Poseidon seemed to be entranced for a moment, his gaze locked on the destroyed building. He could feel it—a faint, insidious pulse thrumming through the air, like a heartbeat buried deep beneath the earth. It was the same rhythm he’d felt in the void, the same pull that had drawn him to the crystal in his dream. It was here, somewhere below the Senate House, waiting. His fingers twitched, the memory of the shard’s purple glow flashing in his mind, promising power and dominion. 

“Yeah,” Percy finally replied, shaking out of his reverie. “It’s down there. I can…sense it.” He didn’t elaborate, didn’t want to admit how its pull was tugged at his blood like a tide he couldn’t resist. 

Travis exchanged a wary glance with Nico, but left it at that. Percy turned his attention back to the city, mapping out the path they would take. The Senate House loomed in the distance, its collapsed dome reflecting the fires and moonlit sky. They needed to move fast, stay unseen, and reach the trapdoor, all before the Orcs could spot them. It was a tall order, but that was the reason why he chose Nico and Travis for this mission. 

“Alright,” he said, reaching for the pen in his pocket. “Let’s get the show started. Nico, take point. We’ll follow.” 

Nico drew his sword with a fluid motion, descending the jagged slope with a dancer’s grace, his steps sure despite the treacherous terrain. Travis moved to follow, but a firm hand on his chest stopped him. He looked up to meet Percy’s gaze, the starlight mirrored in his eyes, his face etched with a somber resolve.

“Before we go in. Before we risk it all, there’s something I need to give you.” Percy whispered as he reached behind his jacket, producing an unexpected object: a celestial bronze pistol, its surface shimmering with intricate carvings. He pressed it into Travis’s hand, his grip steady, his eyes burning with an intensity that sent a shiver through the son of Hermes.

“What the hell, Percy?” Travis faltered, turning the weapon over. The word Theoteta was etched into the handle, gleaming faintly.

“You said a dagger wouldn’t cut it,” he replied with a shrug. “So take this. If I touch the crystal—if I even look like I’m about to give in—put a bullet in the back of my head.”

Travis stared at the celestial bronze pistol in his hand, its surface cold against his palm. His fingers curled around the grip, but his eyes snapped up to his friend, wide with hesitation. “I-I don’t know if I can do…”

“You have to,” Percy interrupted, his expression unwavering. “You saw the visions. You know what happens if I touch that crystal. If the Father gets his hooks in me, I’m not just a threat to you and Nico. I’m a threat to everyone. This isn’t about trust. It’s about making sure I don’t become something we can’t stop.”

Travis’s grip on the pistol tightened, his knuckles whitening. He shook his head, a sharp, jerky motion, as if he could physically reject the idea. “No. No way. I’m not doing this. You don’t get to put that on me, man. You don’t get to make me your executioner. Besides, Nico said he would do it if it came down to that.” 

“He’ll hesitate,” he stated, looking to where the son of Hades disappeared down the slope. “He’s strong, but he’s not strong enough to pull the trigger. You won’t. You can’t .”

Travis’s jaw clenched, looking down at the gun once more, noticing the carvings pulsing under the starlight, as if the weapon itself were alive, waiting for a purpose it was forged to fulfill. He wanted to shove it back into Percy’s chest, to tell him to take his hero complex and his death wish somewhere else, but the look in his eyes stopped him cold. Those green depths held no room for doubt, no space for negotiation. This wasn’t a request. It was a command, born of necessity, and he hated how much sense it made.

“You’re a bastard, you know that?” he muttered, tucking the pistol into his jacket, the cold metal pressing against his ribs, a constant reminder of the line he might have to cross. “Don’t make me use it, Percy. Don’t you fucking dare.”

Percy’s lips twitched into a grim smile. “I’ll do my best.” He clapped Travis on the shoulder, the gesture heavy with unspoken trust, then turned toward the slope where Nico had vanished. “Let’s move.” 

Travis swallowed hard, forcing his legs to move and following down the jagged slope toward New Rome’s ruins. The air grew heavier as they descended, thick with the stench of ash and rot, the Father’s presence seeping into every crack and crevice of the once beautiful city. Nico waited at the base of the slope, crouched behind a toppled marble column. The crumbling guard post Percy had pointed out loomed ahead, its sagging walls half-swallowed by black tendrils that pulsed faintly, like veins of some monstrous organism.

“Three guards,” Nico whispered, hearing the pair sneak behind him. He nodded toward the guard post, where three hulking figures patrolled in a loose triangle, their crude armor glinting dully in the firelight. 

Percy peered over the column, assessing the enemy. They were massive, easily eight feet tall, their muscles bulging beneath patchy, scarred skin. Their weapons weren’t just crude; they were brutal, double-headed axes with blades that looked forged from blackened iron, streaked with dried blood. It seemed the best of the Father’s army was stationed here, guarding the crystal’s resting place.

“Take them out quietly,” he murmured. “Nico, you got the left one. Travis, the right. I’ll take the middle one.”

Nico nodded, his form already beginning to blur as he melted into the shadows, his Stygian iron sword a faint glimmer in the moonlight. Travis slipped to the right, moving with the practiced stealth of a son of Hermes, his dagger drawn. Percy crouched low, his fingers twitching against Riptide’s cap as he moved forward slowly. His boots sank into the ashen soil, each step deliberate, his senses razor-sharp as he eyed the Orcs. They patrolled with sluggish arrogance, unaware of the wolves waiting for them in the dark. 

Nico moved first, a wraith in the dark, his form dissolving into shadow as he slipped toward the leftmost Orc. The creature never saw him coming. One moment, it was lumbering along, its axe resting on its shoulder; the next, its throat was sliced open by a black flash. Black ichor sprayed, sizzling as it hit the ground, and the beast collapsed with a choked gurgle, its massive body crumpling like a felled tree. The son of Hades was already gone, blending back into the shadows before the body hit the earth.

Travis was next up, darting toward his target at the same time as Nico went for his. He quietly ran up to the towering beast, severing its hamstrings with one quick motion before driving his dagger into the base of its skull. The Orc let out a low wheeze before its eyes rolled upward. The son of Hermes yanked his blade free, wiping the black ichor on his sleeve, his breath quick but controlled as he melted back into the shadows, his eyes scanning for any sign of alarm.

Percy moved in sync, his approach a silent predator’s stalk. The middle Orc was the largest, its scarred hide crisscrossed with old wounds, a testament to battles survived. Its yellow eyes glinted in the firelight, oblivious to the danger closing in. He crept closer, timing his steps with the Orc’s heavy breaths, until he was within striking distance. With a single, fluid motion, he jumped atop the creature, sending it crashing face-first into the dirt. Pressing the cap of his pen directly on the back of its skull, he uncapped Riptide with a flick of his wrist. The blade sprang to life, sinking into bone and brain matter, instantly killing the monster before it could even blink. 

Black ichor oozed from the wound, pooling in the dirt as he yanked the weapon free. The blade gleamed faintly in the moonlight, unmarred by the foul substance, and he capped it with a practiced flick, returning it to his pocket. He scanned the shadows, ensuring no other guards had been alerted, before signaling to his companions. 

“Clear,” Nico whispered, emerging from the darkness. He used his powers to enshroud the corpses, ensuring they wouldn’t be seen by any other guards. “But we’re on borrowed time. Those patrols will notice their buddies are missing soon.”

Percy nodded, his gaze sweeping the ruined city. They would have to traverse the buildings and streets carefully, but if they played it smart and stuck to the shadows, they had a chance to make it to the Senate House undetected. The trio moved swiftly, sticking to alleys and side streets, avoiding the main thoroughfares where Orcs patrolled. The guard post had been a small victory, but the deeper they ventured into New Rome, the more perilous their path became.

“Hold up,” Nico hissed, raising a hand as they crouched behind a toppled statue of Jupiter, its stone face shattered beyond recognition. He pointed toward a narrow plaza ahead, where a dozen Orcs gathered around a roaring bonfire. Their grotesque forms cast shadows across the buildings, their armor and weapons glinting in the firelight. Two of them were arguing, their unknown language carrying faintly in the air, while the rest tore into what looked like a charred human torso. The sight sent a shiver of disgust through Percy, his grip on his pen tightening in anger. He wondered if that was once a person he knew.

“We can’t take them head-on,” Travis whispered, glancing around for other options. “Too many, and they’re not as sloppy as the guards. We need to go around.”

Percy’s gaze flicked to the plaza’s edges, scanning for a detour. To the left, a collapsed temple offered some cover, its broken columns and rubble-strewn steps leading to a shadowed alley. To the right, a narrow street wound past what had once been a market. Both paths were risky, but the temple’s ruins seemed less exposed, its darkness a natural ally for Nico’s shadow-tricks.

“Left,” he murmured, nodding toward the temple. “Nico, can you cloak us?”

The son of Hades gave a curt nod, his hand already moving in a subtle gesture. Shadows thickened around them, curling like smoke, dulling their outlines. It wasn’t invisibility—more like a cold cloak of camouflage, blending them into the night’s embrace. “Stay close,” he warned, beginning to walk forward quickly. “If you stray too far, the shadows won’t hold.”

They moved as one, silent and swift, slipping from the statue’s cover toward the temple’s ruins. Their steps were eerily soundless, the shadows bending around them like a second skin. Broken columns loomed like skeletal fingers, their marble surfaces scarred by claw marks and smeared with dried blood. Percy looked up at one particular column, noticing chains dangling from it. His eyes widened when he saw a body hanging from above. It was a man, or what used to be of one. His body hung limp, wrists bound by rusted iron manacles that bit into his flesh. His stomach was a gaping ruin, torn open with savage precision, the edges of the wound jagged and blackened as if burned. Intestines spilled out, dangling like grotesque ropes, frozen in place by the cold, their surface glistening with a sickly sheen under the moonlight. His toga, once a proud symbol of Roman citizenship, was wrapped over his face mockingly.

The son of Poseidon gritted his teeth in anger. He wondered just how many other citizens suffered the same fate when the city was taken over. He hoped most of them had fled to the woods when they saw the enemy approaching, but he knew that probably wasn’t the case. Romans were prideful and would fight to their last breath to defend their home.

“Keep moving,” Nico whispered, his eyes flickering briefly to the chained corpse, a grim acknowledgment in his expression, but he didn’t linger. They couldn’t afford to. The shadows cloaking them shimmered faintly as they slipped past the temple’s ruins, the air growing colder, heavier with the stench of decay

Travis brought up the rear, his dagger still in hand, his gaze darting nervously to the plaza where the Orcs’ bonfire roared. The arguing voices of the creatures grew louder for a moment, one of them slamming a fist into the other. Percy’s hand hovered over Riptide, ready to uncap it, but the Orcs didn’t turn their way. The argument subsided into guttural laughter, and the creatures returned to their gruesome meal, oblivious to the demigods creeping through the shadows mere feet away. 

They reached the alley beyond the temple, the shadows thinning as Nico released the cloak with a subtle gesture. The narrow street was choked with debris—shattered pottery, splintered marble, and the occasional skeletal bone peaking out of the ash. The Senate House loomed closer now, its collapsed dome still rising above any other building in the city. The pulse of the crystal thrummed stronger in Percy’s chest, a siren’s call that set his nerves on edge. He could feel it pulling at him, the faint whispers already promising him power and salvation, just as it had in the dream. His fingers twitched, and he clenched his fist, forcing the sensation down.

“Almost there,” he murmured, more to himself than the others. “Stay sharp.”

Just as he said that, it seemed the Fates wanted to test if he would abide by his own words. An Orc suddenly stepped into view from a passageway connecting the alley, walking right into Percy. Its yellow eyes widened, a snarl forming as it raised its blackened axe. Instinct took over. The son of Poseidon sidestepped, grabbing the creature’s wrist with one hand, twisting it until the axe clattered to the ground. The creature lunged, but he was faster. He drove his shoulder into its chest, slamming it against the crumbling wall with a force that cracked the stone. Dust rained down, and before the beast could roar, Percy uncapped Riptide. The blade flashed, pinning the Orc’s throat to the wall in one brutal thrust. Black ichor sprayed, and the creature’s body went limp, its eyes rolling back. He twisted the blade free, the corpse slumping into the ash, silenced before it could alert the others.

This all happened in less than a second. The two companions barely had time to raise their own weapons, their features etched with surprise as they witnessed the lightning-quick reflexes of their friend. 

“Nice save,” Nico sighed in relief, cloaking the now dead monster with shadows. 

“Gods, Percy,” Travis hissed, his voice barely above a breath as he lowered his dagger, eyes wide. “Remind me to never duke it out with you.” 

The demigod didn’t respond, his chest heaving slightly as he capped his weapon. His gaze flicked to the shadows beyond the alley, ensuring no other monsters had been alerted. “Move,” he said curtly, stepping over the corpse. “We’re too close to stop now.”

Nico exchanged a quick glance with Travis, his dark eyes narrowing with concern, but he said nothing. He melted into the shadows ahead, scouting the path ahead. The alley twisted deeper into New Rome’s heart, the walls of the alley subtly getting wider as they neared their destination. The terrain grew more treacherous as they approached, the ground littered with black tendrils, pulsing faintly, their surfaces slick and unnatural, as if the Father’s essence had seeped into the very earth.

Percy’s skin prickled, the crystal’s call growing stronger the closer he got. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to focus on the mission: get to the trapdoor, find the crystal, destroy it. No hesitation, no mistakes.

Nico paused at the edge of a shattered plaza, crouching behind a toppled statue of Minerva, its stone arm outstretched as if pleading for salvation. He raised a hand, signaling for them to stop. Ahead, the Senate House’s entrance loomed, its massive bronze doors hanging off their hinges, scorched and dented. Two Orcs stood guard, their axes propped against the steps, their yellow eyes glinting as they muttered to each other in their guttural tongue. Beyond them, the interior of the Senate House was a cavern of shadows, lit only by the faint flicker of a fire somewhere deep within.

“Two at the door,” he whispered, pointing them out. “More inside, probably. We can’t sneak past them without a distraction.”

The son of Poseidon, however, seemed not to be listening. Walking past his cousin out into the open in a trance-like state, he ignored their fiery whispers as he approached the building. 

“Godsdamnit, Percy!” Nico tried to snatch him, but he was just out of reach. “What’s he doing?!” 

“I-I don’t know,” Travis replied warily, his hand gripping the pistol in his jacket. He didn’t like where this was going. Percy’s movements were too deliberate, too drawn, as if something was pulling him forward against his will. The crystal’s pulse thrummed in the air, a low hum that seemed to resonate in their bones, and his gut twisted with the realization that it was affecting Percy now more than he’d let on.

“Percy, stop!” The son of Hermes hissed, darting after him with Nico in tow. 

The son of Poseidon didn’t answer. His sea-green eyes were distant, glazed with an unnatural focus, fixed on the Senate House’s gaping entrance. The two guards snapped to attention, their gazes locking onto the three approaching figures in the darkness. Their muttering ceased, replaced by low growls that rumbled like distant thunder. They too stepped forward, hefting their weapons in preparation for a fight. There wasn’t going to be much of one though as Percy flexed his fingers slightly, power thrumming in his veins.  

The Orcs’ growls faltered, their bodies freezing mid-step as their axes slipped from their grasps, clattering against the marble steps. Their pupils dilated with a primal terror as an invisible force seized them. Black ichor began to seep from their pores, thin rivulets twisting upward like smoke, drawn toward Percy’s outstretched hand. His face was a mask of cold focus, his irises glowing faintly as he approached. Their limbs contorted, jerking unnaturally as their ichor was ripped from their veins. Their snarls turned to choked gurgles, their massive frames collapsing to their knees. 

Percy paid them no heed as he walked past and up the steps to the building, his hand clenching into a fist, snapping the monster’s necks simultaneously, the sound echoing into the night. His boots crunched on shattered marble and glass as he crossed the threshold, his movements mechanical. The air inside was stagnant with the stench of decay, the walls scarred with claw marks. The once-grand chamber was now a desecrated ruin, its benches splintered, its central dais cracked like a broken spine. Above, the remnants of the mural depicting Jupiter’s triumph loomed, the god’s face obliterated, leaving only a void where his eyes should have been.

It was just like his dream. 

“Percy, snap out of it!” Travis hissed, grabbing his arm as they approached where the trapdoor should be hidden underneath. The contact jolted Percy, his head snapping toward his friend, eyes glowing faintly in the dim light—a sea-green storm flecked with something unnatural, something that made Travis’s breath catch. For a heartbeat, he looked like the figure from their dreams, the crowned king with the Father’s gaze. 

“I’m fine,” he growled, shaking off the hand. “I’m…fine,” he repeated, more to himself. 

“We need to move fast,” Nico approached, his features strained with worry. “If it’s affecting you this much already, we don’t have time to mess around. We find it, we destroy it, we get out. No detours, no heroics.” He shot his cousin a pointed look, his dark eyes glinting with warning.

Percy nodded, but it was curt, distracted, his gaze drifting seemingly nowhere. Moving on autopilot, he walked forward to the dias, kicking away marble and dust in search of the trapdoor. Sure enough, it was there, just as he’d seen in the dream. A circular seam in the cracked marble, barely visible beneath the layer of ash and debris. He placed a hand on the marble, feeling it hum with an energy that synced with his breathing. He took a shaky breath, knowing what awaited him down there. He could hear the faint whispers, beckoning him forward. 

Travis knelt beside him, finger brushing the seam. He glanced up at Percy, his expression grim. “This is it, huh? The point of no return.” He tried for a grin, but it came out more like a grimace. “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

“I’m sure,” he replied, his hand tightening on the hilt of Riptide so harshly, the metal threatened to crack. “We end this now. No turning back.”

“Gods help us,” the son of Hermes muttered. “Alright, lead the way.” 

Percy pressed his palm harder against the trapdoor, the marble groaning under his touch. A faint click echoed in the ruined chamber, and the circular slab shifted, sliding open with a low rumble. A wave of cold air rushed up, carrying the stench of stagnant water and decay. The whispers surged at his arrival, a chorus of voices that seemed to claw at his mind, urging him downward. The staircase spiraled into darkness, just as it had in his dream, each step a descent into the unknown.

He raised his blade, the celestial bronze glowing faintly, casting long shadows across the walls. He took the first step, the stone slick beneath his boots. Nico followed close behind, his presence a shadow that seemed to blend with the walls, watching Percy’s every move. Travis brought up the rear, his breathing quick as the darkness swallowed them whole, his gaze darting nervously to the walls where black tendrils pulsed faintly, their surfaces glistening like oil.

The air grew colder with each step, the darkness pressing in like a living thing, heavy and suffocating. Their footsteps echoed faintly on the slick stone stairs, the only sound besides the whispers that curled through the chamber, growing sharper, more insistent. “Claim it… Become it…” The words wove into his thoughts alone, a seductive rhythm that threatened his sanity. He gripped Riptide even tighter, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood.

“Don’t listen to them. Don’t listen to them.” He told himself, repeating the words over and over again like a mantra, a lifeline to keep him tethered to reality.

The staircase seemed to stretch endlessly, each step pulling Percy deeper and deeper into the maddening darkness. He knew Nico and Travis were behind, but in that moment, walking to what possibly could be his death, he’d never felt more alone. He wanted to look back at them, a nagging feeling—perhaps the whispers playing tricks on him—telling him they no longer had his back. That they abandoned him. He was alone, and the only one who truly cared, who wouldn’t abandon him, was the crystal waiting below. Its pull was stronger than ever, even more so than in his dream. 

“You can come with me, you know?” It seemed to say, its voice a blend of all the people he’d ever loved, curling around his heart like a barbed vine. “I’m here for you. All you have to do is let me in.”

His steps faltered down the staircase, his grip on Riptide slacking. The whispers grew louder, more intimate, as if the crystal itself were speaking directly to his soul. “No one else understands you. Not your friends, not your lovers, not even your brother. They fear you, Perseus. They see the power in you and tremble. But I… I see you for what you are. I will never abandon you.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, shaking his head to dislodge the voice. His mind flickered to the visions—the valley burned, his friends dead, the world in chains—and then to the golden tree, its warmth a fleeting memory that felt so distant now.

“Percy?” Nico called out with worry, hesitantly placing a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. 

The son of Poseidon almost jumped out of his skin at the sudden feeling of contact, raising his sword as he spun toward Nico. His eyes were wild, chest heaving for air, looking for the threat. 

“It’s me! It’s me, Percy!” The son of Hades hastily yelled, scrambling to raise his own blade in case he was skewered. 

Percy’s breaths were ragged as he forced himself to lower his weapon, realizing what had just happened. He wasn’t alone or abandoned. His friends were right behind him. The whispers still clawed at the edges of his mind, promising power, promising everything he’d ever wanted if he’d just give in. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the cold stone beneath his boots, the faint drip of water somewhere in the darkness, anything to anchor himself to reality. “I’m good,” he lied. “We've got to keep moving. We’re close.” 

Travis, standing a step behind, didn’t look convinced. His hand rested on the celestial bronze pistol tucked inside his jacket. “You sure, man? You’re looking a little… unhinged.”

“I said I’m fine!” Percy spat, beginning to walk down the spiral staircase faster now. He needed to end this now before his resolve, his will, his sanity, eroded completely. Each step downward felt like wading deeper into mud, every drop flashing visions of dead loved ones in his eyes. They all smiled at him, urging him to embrace the shard. To become what he was always destined to be. He gritted his teeth, telling himself it wasn’t real as he pushed forward. 

The staircase eventually leveled out, opening into the same vast, cavernous chamber from his dream. The darkness was absolute, swallowing the faint glow of Riptide’s blade, but Percy’s senses sharpened, attuned to the power that shook the walls. It was here…no, he was here, waiting for his arrival. True to his dream, a faint glow flickered to life at the chamber’s center. The sickly purple light pulsed from the obsidian platform, its yellow runes flaring with a malevolent energy that seemed to draw the very air into its orbit. The crystal sat atop the pedestal, no larger than a fist, its facets gleaming with an unnatural sheen, as if it contained a storm of captured stars.

Percy tilted his head at the sight, the purple glow reflecting in his eyes. It called to him, not with words now, but with a visceral pull, like the sirens of the ocean. His fingers twitched, itching to reach out, to claim what the whispers promised. Nico and Travis fanned out behind him, their weapons drawn, their breaths quick and shallow in the limited oxygen available. Their eyes darted between Percy and the crystal, their postures tense with worry. The son of Poseidon’s boots scuffed the obsidian floor as he took a step toward the pedestal, the glow bathing his face in an eerie light.

“Don’t,” Nico warned sharply. “You’re too close. Step back. Let us destroy it.” 

Percy didn’t respond, his gaze locked on the shard. Its facets shimmered, reflecting fragments of his own face—distorted, crowned, eyes glowing with a power that wasn’t his. Once again, visions of the valley burnt, his dead friends collapsed in the snow, flashed in his mind. If he wanted to prevent that from happening, he needed to take the crystal. Take the power that was offered to him.

Travis edged closer, his hand hovering over the celestial bronze pistol. His voice trembled, but he forced the words out. “Percy, man, listen to Nico. You’re scaring the shit out of us. Back off, now.”

“See?” The crystal whispered to him. “They fear you. They will betray you. Only I see your true potential. Take the shard, and you will never be alone again.”

His breath hitched, taking another step forward, his mind seemingly unaware of anything else around him. The purple glow pulsed in sync with his heartbeat, its light casting long shadows that danced across the obsidian chamber, twisting into shapes that mocked his resolve—faces of his friends, their eyes hollow, their mouths echoing accusations. “You failed us. You’ll fail them, too. Take it. Be what they need.” His hand twitched, fingers inching toward the pedestal, the air around the shard humming with a power that felt both foreign and achingly familiar, like the sea’s depths calling him home.

“Don’t you dare get any closer!” Nico yelled. You hear me?! Step back!” He lunged toward Percy to prevent him from getting any closer, but froze as a cold, familiar bronze dagger pressed against his throat, emerging from the shadows behind him.

“No, no,” A voice he hadn’t heard in a long time whispered softly in his ear. “No need to play hero, Nico. Let destiny play its role.”  

The son of Hades felt his blood run cold, his eyes flickering to the figure behind holding the blade against his throat. The shadows seemed to writhe, coalescing into a form that looked upon him with a smile that wasn’t human. Her skin was deathly white, black tendrils writhing beneath its surface like living veins of corruption. Her once-bright grey eyes were now clouded, flecked with the same sickly yellow as the Father’s. 

“Annabeth…”

Travis spun around, his heart lurching as he registered the voice and the figure holding Nico hostage. His hand instinctively yanked the celestial bronze pistol from his jacket, leveling it at the corrupted form of Annabeth. Her blonde hair hung down her face in matted strands, her lips curled into a cruel mockery of the smile he’d known so well. His mind reeled at the fact that she was in front of him, alive. Something that shouldn’t have been possible. But looking at those black tendrils swirling beneath her skin, he knew the answer as to how. 

“Let him go. Now.” He said, his hand deathly tight around the grip of the pistol. 

Annabeth’s head tilted, her smile widening, revealing teeth that glinted too sharply. “Or what? You’ll shoot me?” She mocked, before her eyes locked in on something behind the son of Hermes' shoulder. 

Travis didn’t realize it until it was too late. He tried to turn around but found an imperial gold sword resting across his neck, drawing a faint trickle of blood across the blade. He gasped for air, careful not to make any sudden movements. He craned his head slowly, looking behind him, only to see another set of familiar sky blue eyes. 

“Jason…”

Chapter Text

“Jason…” Travis’s voice cracked, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stared into the cold, electric blue gaze of the son of Jupiter. The imperial gold sword at his throat gleamed faintly, its edge biting into his skin with surgical precision, drawing a trickle of blood. His face was a mask of calm, but his eyes flickered with the same sickly yellow as Annabeth’s, devoid of any human warmth. 

“Put the gun down,” Jason said, his words unnervingly flat. “Or I’ll slit your throat.” 

Travis’s grip on the pistol trembled, his knuckles white. He glanced at Nico, who stood rigid, Annabeth’s dagger still pressed against his throat. Her smile was a grotesque parody of the one he remembered, her irises glinting with malice. The black tendrils beneath her skin writhed, as if eager to break free, and the air around her seemed to hum with a faint, unnatural energy. Whatever the Father had done to her changed her in ways that couldn’t be understood. 

“It’s okay, Travis,” Nico grimaced as he felt the dagger press harder against his skin. “Just do as they say.” 

The son of Hermes hesitated, torn between defiance and the grim reality of their situation. Nico’s gaze met his, steady despite the dagger held against his skin, urging him to comply. Percy remained oblivious, slowly but surely making his way to the crystal, its purple light bathing his face in an eerie sheen. The whispers in the air grew sharper, more insistent, curling around his mind like a predator circling its prey.

“Drop it,” Jason repeated, pressing the sword deeper, now a mere push away from opening Travis’s throat. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Travis bit the inside of his cheek, his mind reeling. He could feel the weight of the pistol in his hand, Theoteta’s carvings pulsing faintly under his palm, as if urging him to act. But the odds were stacked against them. Jason and Annabeth, their movements were too precise, too coordinated, as if guided by a singular, malevolent will. And Percy… Percy was slipping, his steps inching closer to the pedestal, mere feet away now.

“Alright,” he finally relented, slowly lowering the gun. He let it hang loosely at his side, but didn’t drop it. “Let’s talk this out. You don’t want to do this, guys. This isn’t you.”

Annabeth’s laugh was a sharp, grating sound, like glass shards scraping together. “Oh, Travis. You’re still clinging to who we were? That’s cute.” She pressed the dagger tighter against Nico’s throat, drawing a thin line of blood. He hissed but didn’t flinch, his eyes burning with defiance. “We’re something better now. Stronger. Free. The Father showed us the truth.”

“The truth?” Nico spat. “You’re puppets. You’re not free! You’re enslaved to that thing.” He jerked his head toward the crystal, its glow flaring as if responding to his words. “You’re just shells, with only a speck of your souls left tied to your lifeless bodies.”

“You don’t get it. None of you do,” The daughter of Athena whispered, running a finger across his jaw. “We are so much more than just shells. We are the Father’s children, the very embodiment of his will. We are his power, his clarity, his wrath, and his vengeance. We are everything we were too weak to embrace before.”

“We’re the evolution of what we were.” Jason pitched in, his lips curling into something sinister. “The Father showed us everything we could do with his power. What we could become. What we could make of his world. Now, he’ll show Percy the same. What he was always meant to be.” His gaze flicked toward the son of Poseidon, who was now only a step away from the pedestal. His movements were sluggish, his sea-green eyes glazed over as the whispers seemed to pull him closer, drowning out the world around him.

No!” Travis shouted desperately, looking at his friend step up onto the pedestal, his hand raised and mere inches away from touching the shard. “Fight it, Percy! You don’t want this!” 

He didn’t respond, his fingers trembling as they brushed the air just above the shard. The purple glow intensified, casting jagged shadows across the obsidian walls, and the whispers surged into a cacophony, no longer just in Percy’s mind but echoing through the chamber. “Claim it… Rule… Become…” The voices wove together, a seductive chorus that promised dominion, power, and an end to all his pain.

Nico struggled against Annabeth’s grip, finding that whatever new power the Father had given her, it overcame that of his own. “Percy, listen to me!” He yelled out. “You have to listen to me! You’re not alone! We’re here! Don’t give in to that thing!” His features flickered with fear, not for himself but for his cousin, who was teetering on the edge of a precipice none of them could fully comprehend.

“He’s already chosen,” Annabeth leaned down and whispered in his ear. “Can’t you see it? The Father’s will is in him. It’s always been in him.”

The son of Hades gritted his teeth, adrenaline and desperation surging through him. He couldn’t let this happen. His mind raced for a way to break through, to stop Percy before he crossed the line there’d be no coming back from. “Percy!” He shouted again, his voice cracking with urgency. “Look! It’s Annabeth! She’s here right behind you!” 

Nico knew it was a desperate, despicable thing to do. To prey on his love for the girl he so desperately wished was alive and whole again. But this was the last straw he could grasp, a final attempt to shatter the Father’s hold over Percy’s mind. For a fleeting moment, it seemed to work. His hand froze, inches from the shard, his head twitching slightly as if Nico’s words had pierced the fog enveloping him. He turned his head, slowly, toward Annabeth’s corrupted form, her dagger still pressed against Nico’s throat, her smile a twisted mockery of the girl he’d once loved.

“Annabeth?” Percy’s voice was raw, barely above a whisper, laced with a mix of hope and horror. His gaze locked onto her, taking in the black tendrils writhing beneath her skin, the sickly yellow flecks in her eyes. That’s when he fully snapped out of it, remembering where he was, who he was. His gaze flicked to Jason, then back to her, his eyes narrowing in pure, unbridled anger at the sight of his friends held captive. 

“ Annabeth…” He repeated with a growl. His fingers, still hovering inches from the shard, curled into a fist, the knuckles whitening as he fought the seductive pull of the whispers. The sight of them—corrupted, twisted into something unrecognizable—lit a fire in his chest, a fury that drowned out the crystal’s siren song.

Annabeth’s smile widened at the sight of his fury, relishing the monster slowly coming out. “Oh, Percy,” she purred, her voice dripping with venom and something eerily familiar, like a distorted echo of the girl he’d known. “You’re so close to understanding. Join us. Take the shard. We can be together again—stronger, unstoppable. The Father will make us whole again.”

Percy’s hand trembled, still hovering over the crystal, but his eyes stayed fixed on Annabeth. The chamber seemed to hold its breath, the purple glow pulsing erratically, as if sensing his hesitation. Nico saw the flicker of doubt in his expression and seized the moment. “She’s gone!” he shouted, his words thick with desperation. “You know this isn’t Annabeth! This is the father’s trick, playing to your weaknesses! 

His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with a storm of emotions—grief, rage, and a desperate need to hold onto the truth. The whispers surged again, louder, more insistent, weaving images of Annabeth whole and alive, standing beside him, ruling a world reshaped by their will.

“Shut up!” The son of Poseidon roared, clutching his head in agony as he took a step back from the pedestal. 

Annabeth’s smile faded, replaced by a snarl that bared her too-sharp teeth. “You’re making a mistake, Percy,” she hissed. “You can’t fight fate. The Father chose you to be the destined one. The one that will reshape the world. ”

Percy’s chest heaved, his breath ragged as he stumbled back from the pedestal, Riptide’s glow flickering in his trembling hand. The crystal’s purple light pulsed violently, its whispers now a deafening cacophony in his skull, clawing at his resolve. “You can’t fight fate,” Annabeth’s voice echoed in his mind, but it wasn’t her, it was the Father, twisting her image, her voice, into a weapon. His eyes darted between the corrupted forms of Annabeth and Jason, their yellow-flecked gazes boring into him, and the crystal, its glow promising everything he’d ever wanted—power, salvation, her.

“No,” he growled, forcing himself to take another step away from the pedestal, feeling as if he was playing a game of tug-of-war with a semi-truck. His eyes burned with a fierce determination, a storm within them raging at the thought of the Father taking control of him, of his friends. “You’re not her,” he said, his gaze locked on her corrupted form. “You’re not Annabeth. And you…” He turned to Jason, shaking with barely contained fury, “You’re not Jason. You’re just shadows of them, twisted by him !”

Annabeth’s snarl deepened, the black tendrils beneath her skin writhing faster, as if the Father’s essence was recoiling from Percy’s defiance. “You’re weak,” she spat. “You always were. Too sentimental, too human. The Father offers you godhood, and you’d throw it away for what? These pathetic mortals?” She pressed the dagger harder against Nico’s throat, her eyes glinting with cruel amusement as he tensed, a bead of blood trickling down his neck.

“Don’t listen to her,” Nico grunted, gritting his teeth as he felt his warm blood stain the blade. “She’s trying to get in your head. Destroy it. Now.”

Jason’s sword remained steady at Travis’s throat, his expression unyielding. “You can’t stop what’s coming,” he said, his voice cold and mechanical, like a recording of the boy he’d once been. “The Father’s will is inevitable. Take the shard, Percy, or we’ll cut them down right here.”

Travis’s breath hitched, his eyes darting between Percy and the crystal. His fingers twitched toward the pistol he still held, but Jason’s blade pressed harder, forcing him to stay still. “Percy, man,” he said, his words strained. “You’ve got this. Don’t let them win. Don’t let that thing turn you into something you’re not.”

Percy’s gaze snapped back to the crystal, its glow pulsing in time with his heartbeat, its whispers clawing at the edges of his mind. The visions surged again—Annabeth smiling at him, whole and alive, Jason clapping him on the shoulder, the world remade under their rule. But beneath those images, he saw the truth: the valley burning, his friends’ lifeless bodies in the snow, the Father’s laughter echoing through a world in chains. He gritted his teeth, the taste of blood sharp in his mouth. “I’m not your goddamn puppet!” he snarled. 

With a sudden, fluid motion, he raised Riptide, the blade gleaming with a fierce light. Annabeth’s eyes widened, and she moved to slit Nico’s throat, but Percy was faster. Using his new power, he dissipated into thin air, a faint mist rising from his body as he faded, faster than humanly possible, a blur of danger and wrath. In an instant, he was at Annabeth’s side, delivering a brutal kick to her side and sending her flying into a wall at speeds that would kill a regular mortal. 

Nico stumbled forward, clutching his throat where a thin line of blood glistened, his eyes wide with shock. Jason reacted instantly, his imperial gold sword already beginning to cut Travis’s throat, but Percy had already dissipated into the air once again, reappearing behind in the blink of an eye. The air shimmered with his sudden presence, a ripple of power that sent a chill through the chamber. Before Jason could complete the motion, the son of Poseidon seized his wrist, twisting it with a force that snapped bone. The imperial gold sword clattered to the obsidian floor, and Jason let out a guttural snarl. He drove Riptide through his chest, the celestial bronze piercing clean through, black ichor spraying as the blade found its mark. 

The son of Jupiter staggered, his imperial gold sword forgotten, and collapsed to his knees, clutching his open wound. The yellow in his eyes dimmed as he looked up at Percy, who stood over him like an angel of destruction. “Percy…” He whispered. For a fleeting moment, a trace of the old Jason flickered through, his blue eyes wide with pain and confusion. 

“Jason,” Percy said breathlessly, realizing that it was truly him now, not just a corrupted image of the person he once knew, poking through the veil that was the Father’s will. 

“Please… end it. I can’t—I can’t keep fighting him.” His head tilted back, his gaze pleading, a broken shadow of the hero he’d once been. “Don’t let me be his any longer.”

Percy’s grip on Riptide tightened, his knuckles white. His chest ached, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he stared down at Jason, his friend, his brother in arms, now broken and begging for release. The ichor oozing from the wound was thick and black, unnatural, a physical manifestation of the Father’s corruption.

For a millisecond, the son of Poseidon hesitated, unsure why. Perhaps it was the flicker of the real Jason, the one who’d fought beside him, laughed with him, and stood as a pillar of strength through countless battles. That fleeting glimpse of his friend’s humanity made his heart ache, reminding him of everything they’d lost. But the moment passed, and he realized that if he wanted to prevent losing even more, he’d have to kill his friend. 

But in that moment of hesitation, Jason’s blue eyes flickered with a spark of defiance, a remnant of his indomitable will. His hand shot up, grabbing Percy’s wrist with surprising strength, the black ichor staining his fingers as he tried to wrench Riptide free. “You… can’t… stop him,” he rasped, his voice a twisted mix of his own and the Father’s, the yellow flecks in his eyes flaring brighter. The air crackled with static, a faint rumble of thunder echoing in the chamber as Jason’s powers surged, fueled by the Father’s corruption.

Percy grunted in strain before he eventually was able to yank his wrist free from the death-grip. He spun, his blade arcing in a deadly crescent, aiming for Jason’s head, but the son of Jupiter was faster, rolling to the side despite the gaping wound in his chest, his movements unnaturally fluid, as if the Father’s will was puppeteering his body. He rose, snatching his imperial gold sword from the floor, the blade glinting with a sickly golden hue under the crystal’s glow. “You wasted your chance!” He exclaimed with a savage grin, the last trace of his hold self fading as the Father’s influence tightened its hold over him. Lightning crackled along his blade, sparks dancing in the air. “And now you will be his!” 

Across the chamber, Annabeth staggered to her feet, her body bent at an unnatural angle from Percy’s kick, yet she moved with a predator’s grace. The black tendrils beneath her skin pulsed violently, her gaze locking onto Nico, who stood in her way. “You can’t save him,” she hissed, her dagger twirling in her hand as she advanced. “The Father needs him, and there will be nothing, not you, not Travis, not even Chaos himself, that shall stand in his way!” 

“I don’t remember you talking this much when you were alive.” The son of Hades replied, summoning shadows to coil around his sword, the blade humming with dark energy. He planted his feet and prepared to fight his longtime friend to the death. 

The daughter of Athena lunged, her dagger a blur, but he was ready. He sidestepped, the shadows around him twisting to deflect her strike, the air hissing as their blades clashed. The impact sent a shockwave through the chamber, the crystal’s purple glow flaring in response, as if feeding off the chaos. Nico’s movements were fluid, his training with the dead giving him an edge in the dark, but whatever strength the Father had given her surpassed that of even a child of the Big Three, pushing him back step by step.

Meanwhile, Percy and Jason circled each other, their blades flashing in the dim light. Each strike was a brutal symphony, celestial bronze against imperial gold, sparks illuminating the obsidian walls in fleeting bursts. Percy moved like a tidal wave, relentless and fluid, his eyes blazing with a fury that drowned out the crystal’s whispers. The son of Jupiter matched his intensity, his movements unnaturally sharp, driven by the Father’s will. Lightning crackled along his sword, arcing toward Percy with every swing

The son of Poseidon ducked under a vicious slash, the imperial gold blade grazing his shoulder, singeing his jacket. He retaliated with a low thrust, nicking Jason’s leg just as he sidestepped. The two cousins separated for a moment, circling each other once more as they looked for an opening. 

“You can’t win,” Jason breathlessly stated, twirling his blade free of Percy’s blood. “You’re fighting a god.” He suddenly lunged again, his sword aimed for the heart, but Percy rolled to the side, the blade grazing his ribs, drawing a thin line of blood. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain, and countered with a vicious upward slash. Riptide carved a shallow gash across Jason’s arm, black ichor oozing from the wound, sizzling as it hit the floor.

“I’ve fought countless gods in my lifetime,” he replied, hitting the open wound on his ribs a couple of times to keep the pain-fueled adrenaline up. “And you’re not one of them.”

Jason’s lips curled into a sneer, the yellow flecks in his eyes flaring brighter. Lightning surged along his sword, the air humming with static as he raised it, sparks dancing across the blade. “Then allow me to show you the power of one!”

A few yards away, Nico fought a losing battle against Annabeth’s relentless assault. Her dagger moved like a serpent, striking with precision that no mortal could match. The black tendrils beneath her skin writhed faster, as if feeding on her fury, her strength far beyond what she’d possessed in life. Nico’s shadows coiled around his sword, deflecting her blows, but each clash pushed him further back, his boots scraping against the obsidian floor. Blood trickled from a shallow cut on his cheek, mingling with the sweat and grime caking his face.

She feinted left, then struck right, her dagger slicing a gash across Nico’s thigh. He grunted, stumbling, but summoned a skeletal hand from the ground, its bony fingers clawing at her ankle. She leaped back, shattering the bones with a single stomp, her eyes glinting with cruel amusement. “Pathetic.”

Nico’s chest heaved, his breath ragged, but knew he had to hold on long enough for Percy to defeat Jason. He lunged, shadows erupting around him, and slammed into Annabeth with enough force to send her skidding back. She caught herself, her dagger flashing as she countered, their blades locking in a shower of sparks. The crystal pulsed brighter, its whispers a deafening chorus now, urging her to kill, to destroy.

Travis, frozen for a moment by the chaos unfolding, snapped into action. His grip tightened on the pistol, Theoteta’s carvings pulsing hotter under his palm, as if the weapon itself sensed the escalating danger. He darted toward the pedestal, where the crystal flashed erratically. He didn’t know if destroying it would stop the Father or his hold over Jason and Annabeth, but it was the only play left. He raised the pistol, aiming at the crystal, but before he could fire, a bolt of lightning from Jason’s sword arced through the air, striking the ground inches from his feet. The blast sent him sprawling, the pistol skidding across the obsidian floor.

“Stay back!” he bellowed, his voice intermingling with the Father’s as he charged at Travis before he could snatch the gun again. Behind him, Percy seized the moment, lunging at Jason like a wolf. Jason, unnaturally swift, parried, their blades clashing in a burst of sparks. The impact shook the chamber, dust and debris cascading from the ceiling, threatening to bury them all if the fight raged on.

Percy broke the lock with a snarl, slamming his elbow into Jason’s jaw. The son of Jupiter staggered, black ichor oozing from his split lip. He spat a dark glob onto the obsidian floor, his yellow-flecked eyes blazing with feral rage. The gash in his chest pulsed, the Father’s corruption weaving his flesh together mid-battle. Percy didn’t relent. He thrust Riptide at Jason’s throat, the bronze blade grazing within inches. Jason barely deflected, but Percy twisted his wrist, forcing the sword down, and drove his knee into his ribs with a sickening crunch. Jason stumbled, grunting, yet his free hand shot out, clamping Percy’s throat like iron.

Lightning surged from his palm, searing Percy’s flesh. The son of Poseidon choked, muscles seizing as agony whited out his vision, the stench of charred skin choking his senses. Refusing to yield, the son of Poseidon roared, smashing his forehead into Jason’s nose. Cartilage snapped, blood and ichor spraying as Jason reeled, his grip faltering.

Seizing the opening, he plunged Riptide through Jason’s gut. The blade erupted from his back in a spray of tainted blood. Jason convulsed, ichor pooling, yet his lips twisted into a grotesque, defiant grin.

“You still don’t get it.” 

His free hand clamped onto Percy’s wrist, fingers digging in like steel talons. Lightning surged again, this time directly into the wound, the electricity arcing through Riptide and into Percy’s own body. The pain was beyond anything he’d ever felt—his nerves lit on fire, his muscles seizing, his bones vibrating with the sheer force of the voltage. His scream tore through the chamber, raw and unhinged. His vision blurred, the world fracturing into jagged shards of purple light and shadow as the lightning coursed through him. His knees buckled, but he clung to Riptide, the blade still buried in Jason’s gut,

“You’re nothing,” Jason rasped, his grip tightening as if to crush the bones to dust. “You’ll break, just like we did.” The lightning surged again, a white-hot pulse that made Percy’s teeth vibrate and his muscles scream. Black spots danced in his vision, but he refused to let go, refused to give in. With a primal roar, he twisted Riptide, wrenching the blade upward through the abdomen. The celestial bronze tore through muscle and sinew, splitting the corrupted flesh in a spray of black ichor that splattered across Percy’s face, burning like acid. Jason’s grin faltered, his body shuddering as the Father’s essence writhed within him, struggling to hold its vessel together. The lightning fizzled, his grip loosening just enough for Percy to rip his wrist free.

He stumbled back, gasping, his chest heaving as he fought to stay upright. His blade dripped with ichor, spilling across the floor. The son of Jupiter collapsed to one knee, clutching the gaping wound that now stretched from his gut to his sternum. Black tendrils lashed out from the injury, as if trying to stitch him back together, but the damage was too severe. His breath came in wet, ragged gasps, each one laced with a low, animalistic growl.

Across the chamber, Nico was barely holding his own. Annabeth’s dagger flashed with unnatural speed, each strike a blur that forced him to weave and parry with desperate precision. Blood streamed from the gash on his thigh, soaking his jeans, and another cut had opened across his forearm, his shadows flickering weakly as his strength waned. Her movements were relentless, her body twisting in ways that defied human anatomy—joints bending too far, limbs snapping into place with sickening pops. The black tendrils beneath her skin pulsed, driving her forward with a ferocity that was both mechanical and feral.

“You’re slowing down, Nico,” she taunted. She feinted, then drove her dagger toward his chest. Nico barely deflected, the blade grazing his ribs, tearing through fabric and skin. He hissed, shadows surging around him in a desperate burst, but Annabeth was already on him again, her free hand clawing at his face. Her nails raked across his brow, leaving deep, bloody furrows that burned with an unnatural heat.

The son of Hades staggered, his weapon trembling in his grip. He spat out the blood dripping down his lips, his eyes gaunt and narrowed like one of his dead minions. Her dagger slashed again, aimed for his throat. He ducked, shadows coiling around his arm like a shield, but the effort drained him further. His leg buckled under the weight of his wounds, the gash in his thigh oozing dark blood that pooled beneath him, slicking the obsidian floor.

She lunged, annoyed that her strikes wouldn’t strike true, but Nico rolled to the side, the blade sparking against the floor where his head had been. He summoned another skeletal hand from the ground, its bony claws grasping at her legs. She snarled, shattering it with a brutal kick, the crunch of bone echoing in the air.

“You can’t stop this,” she hissed, advancing again. The black tendrils beneath her skin writhed faster, as if the Father’s essence was growing impatient. “Percy will take the shard, and you’ll all kneel or die.”

Nico barely had enough time to react before she reappeared on top of him, throwing him to the ground with her blade directed at his throat. He grunted in strain as he used all his strength to hold her wrist, the dagger’s tip hovering a hair’s breadth from his jugular. His muscles screamed, his wounds trembling as he pushed back.

“Give in,” she purred, baring her teeth as she watched the blade inch ever so closer. “Give in and it’ll all be over.” 

The dagger's edge kissed his skin, a chilling vow of death, as her yellow eyes glinted with sadistic glee. But in an instant, that cruel delight shattered into shock. Her gaze widened, dropping to the bronze sword piercing her abdomen. Beyond her shoulder, Nico glimpsed Percy, his form solidifying from the shadows, his blade slick with the black ichor spilling, staining his hands, and dripping onto the son of Hades. 

Annabeth’s body convulsed, her grip on the dagger faltering as the celestial bronze of Riptide burned through her corrupted flesh. The black tendrils beneath her skin recoiled violently, writhing as if in agony, their inky darkness retreating from the wound. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, her eyes flickering between Percy and Nico, a brief, haunting glimpse of the girl she’d once been flashing through the Father’s control.

“P-Percy…?” The name slipped from her lips, her voice trembling, almost human again.

Percy’s grip on his sword faltered, his breath catching as he saw that fleeting spark of Annabeth—the real Annabeth—trapped behind the Father’s corruption. Her grey eyes, the familiar ones he’d grown up with, flickered with fear and recognition, a silent plea that tore at his soul. But the moment was gone as quickly as it came. The yellow flecks in her irises flared, the black tendrils surging back with a vengeance, and her face twisted into a snarl of rage.

“You can’t save her!” The Father screamed through her, a malicious distortion that drowned out any trace of Annabeth’s humanity. Her body jerked unnaturally, as if the entity within was forcing her to move despite the mortal wound. She lashed out, pushing Percy with all her strength out toward the crystal. The son of Poseidon soared through the air, his body hurtling toward the pedestal. Time seemed to slow, the purple glow of the crystal intensifying, its whispers calling him forth, beckoning him home. 

His shoulder slammed into the pedestal, the impact jarring his bones. His fingers brushed the shard’s surface, cold and slick, like touching the scales of a fish. The contact sent a jolt through him, electric and invasive, and his world dissolved into a blinding yellow haze. 

A/N- Sorry this chapter took so long to come out. I had some writer’s block, then took a break, and then had an idea for another story, which I’ve been writing for the past two days. It’s a RomanPercy story about him becoming Imperator of New Rome. I’ve had fun writing it, and I'm already 20,000 words in. But I won't release it for now as I really want to focus on TPOD and complete the story before releasing anything else. But who knows, if y'all would like to read something like that, I can release some chapters here and there.

Chapter Text

The yellow haze swallowed Percy whole, a tide of molten light that burned away the cavern, the pedestal, the crystal—everything. His body felt weightless, untethered as if he’d been flung into the vast emptiness of space. He opened his eyes, noticing the air shimmering before parting like a curtain, revealing a world that was not of his own. 

He stood in a vast, golden plain, the grass swaying under a sky of violet. Mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks crowned with snow. The air was fresh and clear, untainted by the hands of man. Feeling the wind rustle his hair, he turned and noticed a towering figure standing before him. His skin gleamed like polished bronze, his eyes twin orbs of molten gold, burning with a fury that could sunder worlds. A crown of black stone rested on his brow, its edges sharp enough to cut the sky. His robes flowed like liquid night, embroidered with constellations that shifted and flickered. Percy felt his breath catch, realizing who it was. 

“Kronos…” He whispered the name. 

It was the Titan King in all his glory, unmarred by the scars wrought by Zeus and his brothers. He was in his prime, unbroken, unchained, the firstborn of Gaia and Ouranos, the Father of the Gods. The son of Poseidon took a step back unconsciously, feeling the unfathomable power of his grandfather even here in this…dream? Vision? In doing so, however, he felt his shoulders bump into something, or rather someone walking past him. Taking a quick glance, he felt his eyes widen even further. It was as if time had slowed as he watched this new figure, a man no older than he, walk past him toward Kronos. His features were chiseled and defiant, his sea-green eyes mirroring Percy’s own. His hair was dark, tousled by an unseen wind, and his body was lean, clad in a simple chiton of deep blue, edged with silver.

He stood with quiet confidence next to Kronos, his gaze looking out at the golden plains with a mix of confidence and awe.

“This is where the palace will be, Father?” The younger man questioned. 

The Titan King turned his head slowly, his golden irises fixing on the man beside him. A faint smile curved his lips, not warm but calculating as if measuring the potential of his son. “Yes, son,” he rumbled, his deep voice resonating like the grinding of tectonic plates. “Here, we shall raise a citadel to rival the heavens. A throne from which I’ll remake the cosmos in our image.” 

Percy’s mind reeled, the vision holding him captive in its golden haze. The man standing beside Kronos—his sea-green eyes, his dark hair, the way he carried himself with a quiet strength—felt achingly familiar, yet impossibly distant. He felt as if he knew this person somehow, yet he knew he’d never seen him before. Kronos had said “son” but the man wasn’t Poseidon nor his uncles. So who exactly was he?

Kronos’s gaze lingered before settling back on the setting sun, his features glinting with ambition. “You will stand with me, my son,” he continued. “Together, we will cast down the last remnants of Ouranos’s reign and build an order that will endure for eternity. My brothers and sisters, they lack your vision, your strength. But you…you are my heir. The only person I can trust fully.” 

Percy’s heart pounded, the whispers of the crystal still echoing in his skull, now intertwined with the Titan’s voice, promising power, legacy, eternity. The golden plain shimmered, the violet sky rippling like water disturbed by a stone. The Titan raised a hand, and the air pulsed with unbridled energy, the ground trembling as if responding to his will. The young man beside him watched, his expression unreadable, but his sea-green eyes flickered with something—pride? Doubt? Percy couldn’t tell. The vision felt alive, pulling him deeper as if the crystal were weaving this moment to show him something critical, something that would tip the scales of his choice.

The man’s jaw clenched, his gaze dropping to the swaying grass. For a moment, Percy thought he saw a flicker of hesitation, a crack in the man’s loyalty. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a nod, firm and resolute. “As you will, Father.”

The vision wavered, the golden plain beginning to dissolve, colors bleeding into one another like ink in water. Percy’s chest tightened, a surge of panic rising as he realized the scene was slipping away, leaving him with more questions than answers. Who was this man? Why did he feel so familiar? And why was the crystal showing him this moment, this ancient pact between Kronos and his mysterious heir?

Before the vision could fade entirely, Kronos’s head turned sharply, his golden eyes locking onto Percy’s. The Titan’s gaze pierced through the veil of time, seeing him, knowing him. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face, and his voice rumbled through time and space. “You cannot escape your blood, Perseus. You are mine, as he was.”

Percy gasped, the vision shattering like glass. Instead of finding himself back in the chamber with Nico and Travis, he was inside a familiar palace, standing in a vast cavernous hall, its walls carved from obsidian and veined with molten gold. Torches burned with an unnatural blue flame, casting flickering shadows that danced like specters across the polished floor. At the far end of the hall, a colossal throne loomed, wrought from black stone and adorned with jagged spikes that gleamed like the teeth of some primordial beast. Upon it sat Kronos, his form even more imposing than in the vision of the golden plain. His bronze skin shimmered, his golden eyes burned with a malevolent intensity, and his black stone crown seemed to pulse with a life of its own.

Before him were all the other Titans, kneeling at the steps of his throne with their heads bowed. At the forefront was the man Percy had seen standing next to Kronos in the golden plains. It seemed some time had passed as the man now looked somewhat older, his skin scarred from countless battles carried out in his father’s name. His sea-green eyes, so like Percy’s own, held a storm of emotions—loyalty, resolve, but also a flicker of something darker, something that mirrored the doubt he had glimpsed before. 

“We have reigned for a millennium now,” Kronos declared, his words echoing through the hall like thunder. “Our dominion is unchallenged, Mount Othrys unassailable. I have never been more proud of my family.” His gaze swept over his subjects, eyeing each and every one with a certain look. He let the moment settle before continuing, his fist slowly beginning to clench. “Yet…yet it has come to my attention that there has been a new prophecy foretold. A prophecy that threatens our eternal rule.” His golden eyes narrowed, sweeping over until settling on the man at the forefront. “A son of mine shall rise to cast me down, to shatter the throne I have built and end the Golden Age.”

A murmur rippled through the Titans, their heads still bowed, but their unease palpable. Percy felt his mouth dry up, knowing this prophecy. It was perhaps the most famous one ever foretold, even greater than that of Percy’s own. The son of Kronos remained still, his scarred face unreadable. Yet Percy noticed the subtle tightening of his fists, the way his shoulders tensed as Kronos’s gaze bore into him. The Titan King rose from his throne, his robes of liquid night trailing behind him like a shadow. He descended the steps with deliberate slowness, each footstep resonating with his authority. The air grew heavy, charged with the power of the Titan who will one day in the future descend into a madness that will have him devour his own children to defy fate.

“You, my heir,” Kronos said, stopping before the man. His words were low, almost intimate, but laced with a chilling menace. “You, who have fought in my name, who have spilled blood to forge our empire. The prophecy names you as the one who will betray me.”

The man’s head lifted, his sea-green eyes meeting Kronos’s molten gold. For a moment, silence gripped the hall, the tension so thick it seemed to choke the very air out of Percy’s lungs. “Father,” the man replied with a quiet intensity. “I have never wavered in my loyalty. I have built your palace, led your armies, and crushed your enemies. The prophecy’s words are but whispers meant to sow discord. I am no traitor.”

“Words are wind, my son,” the Titan King answered, his fingers caressing his son’s cheek before harshly grabbing his chin. “But prophecy is fate. It runs deeper than loyalty, deeper than blood.” He raised a hand, and chains of black iron materialized from the shadows, their links glowing with an eerie crimson light. They slithered across the floor like serpents, coiling around the man’s wrists and ankles before he could react. The Titans gasped, some rising to their feet, but a single glance from Kronos silenced them.

The man struggled, his muscles straining against the chains, but they held fast, forged by some ancient magic beyond even his strength. His sea-green eyes blazed with betrayal, welling with tears as he watched his Father sneer down at him.

“You would chain me?!” He yelled out. “After all I have done for you?!”

Kronos leaned closer, his features unyielding even at the sight of his beloved son. “I chain you not for what you have done, but for what you might do. You are my blood, my heir, and that makes you dangerous. The prophecy will not come to pass. You will remain here, bound for eternity, where your strength cannot be turned against me.”

The chains tightened, dragging the man to his knees. Percy’s chest burned with rage, his hands clenching into fists as he watched, helpless, trapped in this vision. He wanted to scream, to charge forward and break those chains, but his body was a ghost, a spectator in this ancient tragedy. He didn’t know why he felt his way for a person he’d never met before. Perhaps it was just his nature. Perhaps it was because this story could’ve been so similar to his own if fate had played out differently. 

The man’s head bowed, his dark hair falling over his face. For a moment, Percy thought he saw a tear glisten on his scarred cheek, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a rage that burned hotter than the sun. “You fear me, Father,” he whispered, so softly only Percy and Kronos could hear. “And you should. For I will one day return and reap all that you’ve sown. ”

Kronos’s expression flickered, a shadow of doubt crossing his divine features. But it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by the cold certainty of a king. He turned away, ascending the steps to his throne once more. “Take him to the depths of Othrys,” he commanded, his voice devoid of emotion. “Bind him in the heart of the mountain, where no light shall touch him, and no hope shall find him.”

The Titans hesitated, their eyes darting between their king and the chained heir. But at a gesture from Kronos, three of them—Atlas, Hyperion, and Lapetus—stepped forward. They seized the man, dragging him toward a yawning chasm that opened in the floor, its edges glowing with molten rock. The man did not resist, his sea-green eyes fixed on his father until the darkness swallowed him whole.

Percy’s vision blurred, the hall dissolving into a swirl as he felt himself fall into the chasm with the man. The descent was endless, so similar to his fall into Tartarus that it threatened to bring back memories he’d pushed down into the depths of his soul for the sake of his sanity. Eventually, however, the fall slowed to a stop, the darkness parting like a curtain of ink. His boots touched solid ground, though it felt wrong—soft, almost alive, pulsing faintly beneath him. The air was thick, stagnant, carrying the same stench of decay that had haunted New Rome’s ruins, but amplified, as if the rot had festered for millennia. A faint glow flickered ahead, not the crystal’s purple but a sickly yellow, like the eyes of the Father and his corrupted puppets. He instinctively reached for Riptide, but his fingers closed on empty air. He glanced down, his breath catching. His body was gone—no hands, no arms, no form. He was a wisp, a consciousness adrift in this forsaken place, tethered only by his will.

The glow pulsed, drawing him forward. He moved toward it, the ground shifting beneath his nonexistent feet, slick and writhing like the black tendrils. The light grew brighter, revealing a small room barely big enough for one person. At its center, suspended in a web of those same tendrils, was the man from the vision. But time had ravaged him beyond recognition.

His body was no longer flesh. His chiseled features, his lean frame clad in blue chiton, were gone. What remained was a grotesque lattice of black tendrils, woven into a humanoid shape. They writhed and twisted, forming limbs, a torso, a head, but it was a mockery of life, a vessel held together by sheer hate, rage, and the need for revenge. The sea-green eyes once so similar to Percy’s were gone, now replaced by a yellow that was embedded in the dark tendrils, burning with a fury that hadn’t dimmed in millennia. They fixed on Percy, seeing him despite his formless state. 

“We meet again, Perseus” the thing rasped, its familiar voice deep and resonant. “A true face-to-face with our minds and souls laid bare to one another.” 

The son of Poseidon felt his blood run cold. He recognized that voice, recognized those yellow eyes that bore into him with a hate that only Kronos could rival. How could he not have come to the conclusion sooner? The black tendrils, the yellow eyes, what Kronos said about not being able to escape your own blood. It all made sense now. 

This was the Father.

This was the entity that had haunted his dreams and twisted the people he loved into monstrosities. He wasn’t just some external force. He was once a Titan, a son of Kronos, warped by millennia of betrayal, imprisonment, and seething hatred. The chosen heir to the throne, who had been chained for daring to be a threat, now reduced to a being of pure malice, born from fear and prophecy. 

“Y-You…” Percy’s voice was but a whisper, the word echoing through the void. “I understand it now. I understand who you are now.” 

The tendrils writhed, forming a grotesque approximation of a smile on the Father’s ‘face’. “I am what my Father made me,” he replied. “His heir, his betrayer, his prisoner. I was his pride, his strength, his weapon, until he was told the prophecy and feared my power. The same power that helped him become king. He chained me, buried me in the heart of Othrys, but he could not destroy me. My will endured. My hate endured. And now, I am more than he ever was.”

“All I see is someone trapped and blinded by hate.” The demigod replied, stepping closer. 

The Father’s tendrils pulsed, his eyes flaring as if stoked by Percy’s words. The lattice of his form shifted, the semblance of a head tilting as if studying him. “Perspective, Perseus,” he rasped mockingly. “Hate does not destroy—it refines. It burns away weakness, leaving only truth. I am that truth. I am the Father, born of betrayal, forged in hate, and now… I am inevitable.”

“No, you’re not,” Percy said, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Once I’m out of this vision, I’ll destroy that crystal. I’ll prevent you from ever truly rising. You’ll remain here, stuck for eternity. You’ll forever be a ghost whose name will continue to be lost to time.” 

“A ghost?” he hissed, his yellow eyes narrowing. “I am the root of all you are, Perseus. The blood in your veins is also my blood. Can’t you see that? My name may be lost, the countless years making even me forget, but you are part of my legacy, nephew. You stand here, defiant, but you cannot escape what you are. Kronos feared me, as he fears you. Your family trembles at your power, as my family trembled at mine. And like me, you will be betrayed, cast down, unless you embrace what I offer.”

Percy’s consciousness flared with anger, a spark of defiance that burned brighter than the Father’s rage. “You’re wrong,” he said. “I’m not you. I don’t need to rule or destroy to prove my strength. I fight for my friends, for the people I love, not for some twisted throne built on revenge.”

“Love?” The Father sneered. “Love is a chain. It binds you, blinds you, and when it breaks—as it always does—it leaves you hollow. Look at your Annabeth, your Jason. They loved you, and yet they kneel to me now, their hearts remade in my image. Love did not save them. Only power can.”

The mention of Annabeth and Jason sent a surge of pain through his core. He saw Annabeth’s dagger at Nico’s throat, Jason’s sword at Travis’s, their humanity stripped away, puppets of the creature before him. The crystal’s whispers swelled, showing him Annabeth whole again, her grey eyes bright, her smile warm, standing beside him in a world where no one could hurt them. Take me, it urged. Save her. Save them all.

“No,” Percy growled, clenching his nonexistent fists, grounding himself in the pain, the truth. “You took everything they were and twisted it into something you could control. That’s not power. That’s cowardice.”

The Father’s laughter boomed, a sound like cracking stone, reverberating through the void. The tendrils lashed out, coiling around the air where Percy’s consciousness hovered, not touching but pressing close, their slick surfaces pulsing with malice. “Cowardice?!” he roared. “I survived Othrys’s depths, where no light reaches, where time itself is nonexistent! I clawed my way from oblivion, forged my will into a force that bends gods and mortals alike. And you, a child of a lesser age, dare call me a coward? You, who trembles at the thought of losing those you love?”

“I’d rather be like that than whatever you’ve become,” the son of Poseidon sneered. “I’m fighting for them. For everyone you’ve hurt. You think you’re inevitable? You’re just a shadow of what you used to be, lashing out because you couldn’t let go of your pain. But I’m not you. I won’t let my suffering define me.”

The Father’s laughter cut off abruptly, his yellow eyes narrowing to slits. The tendrils tightened, the air growing heavier, as if the void itself were collapsing under his rage. “Bold words, Perseus,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “But words are wind, as my father said. You stand at the precipice, your hand on my shard, my power within your grasp. You feel it, don’t you? The power in your vein, the storm in your soul. It calls to you, as it called to me. Take it, and you will become more than a demigod, more than a hero. You can save all those whom you love.” 

Percy’s consciousness wavered, the crystal’s pull surging through him, its purple glow bleeding through reality and into this vision. He could feel the shard’s cold surface under his fingers, its power humming like the heart of the sea, promising everything—Annabeth restored, Jason freed, a world where no one could hurt him again. The Father’s voice wove into the whispers once more, seamless, seductive. Take it, Perseus. Be what I could not.

For a heartbeat, his resolve faltered. The vision of Annabeth’s grey eyes, warm and alive, flashed before him, her hand in his, their future unmarred by loss. But he knew, deep down, that could never be the case again. No matter how much power he obtained, no matter how many thrones he sat upon or crowns graced his head, he would never be able to hold Annabeth’s hands again. The Father’s power couldn’t make it a reality. It was a trap, a chain forged from his own desires, just as Kronos had chained his son.

“No,” the demigod exclaimed, breaking through the chorus of whispers. “I don’t need your power. I don’t need to be a god. I’m enough as I am.”

The Father’s tendrils froze, the yellow glow flickering as if struck. His grotesque form leaned closer, the lattice of black writhing faster as if his rage were barely contained. “You reject me?” he hissed. “You reject your blood, your destiny? You are my heir, Perseus, whether you will it or not. The prophecy runs through you, as it ran through me. You cannot escape it. You cannot escape me!”

The darkness surrounding Percy closed in around him, a suffocating weight against his consciousness. The son of Poseidon felt his body seize up, every muscle feeling as if it were being constricted. The tendrils pressed closer, their slick, writhing forms pulsing against his skin with a rhythm that matched the crystal’s seductive hum. The air grew denser, the stench of decay overwhelming his senses as if the very essence of Othrys’s depths sought to crush him.

“You think your defiance will win you this war?!” The Titan seethed, his voice coming out like a demonic growl, growing more powerful with each syllable. “You will fall, as I fell, betrayed by those you love, cast into the dark. And when you do, you will beg for my power.”

“I’m not so weak as to beg!” Percy spat through clenched teeth, his eyes narrowed dangerously toward his enemy. 

The Father’s laughter twisted into a snarl, a sound that made the very walls of the void tremble. More tendrils shot forward, wrapping around Percy’s incorporeal form—not to restrain him, but to invade him. Percy screamed or tried to, as agony unlike anything he’d known lanced through the core of his being. The pain wasn’t physical. It was worse. The Father was unraveling him—his memories, his pain, his victories. He was tearing them free like pages from a book, reading each with venomous delight.

“You will beg,” the Titan whispered, pressing deeper into Percy’s mind, his voice wrapping around the memory of Annabeth’s laughter, his mother’s love, Grover’s singing, his friends sitting around a campfire telling stories. “Because I will take what makes you you, strip it bare, and leave only the nerves, the fear. You think you’re a hero? A savior of demigods? You can’t even save yourself.”

Percy’s mind buckled under the strain. Images of the past continued to flash behind his eyes. Annabeth’s smile dissolved into screams. Grover’s songs faded into weeping. His mom’s embrace, replaced by cold, unfeeling darkness. Every memory the Father touched twisted, reshaped into something ugly, distorted.  He tried to hold on, to shield even the smallest piece of himself, but it was like trying to hold back the tide with his bare hands.

“You see?” the Father hissed, his voice inescapable, everywhere. “This is the truth beneath your skin. Strip away the love, the hope, and there’s only fear. There’s only pain. That’s what I became. That’s what you will become.”

The tendrils burrowed deeper into Percy’s soul, each one a barbed hook tearing at the threads of his identity. The pain was relentless, a fire that burned without consuming. His consciousness flickered, threatening to recede into nothingness, but the Titan wouldn’t allow that. He wanted the demigod to feel every single ounce of pain, of fear, of hate, just as he had all those years ago.

The Father’s form loomed closer, the black lattice of his body moving with a sickening vitality. “Look at you,” he rasped, his voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. “A minute ago, you were so proud, so defiant.”  He extended a tendril, its tip sharpening into a needle-like point, and drove it into the center of Percy’s consciousness. The pain was blinding, a white-hot lance that burned through every layer of his being. 

“You will be no mere puppet like the others,” The Titan murmured, caressing the son of Poseidon’s will. “No…you will be so much more. You will be my vessel. The perfect body for me to cultivate who I once was. After all, you are my blood. My heir.” 

Percy screamed out as he felt his mind practically split in two. Blood began to seep out of every pore of his body, streaming out of his eyes and ears in rivulets. It was the worst pain he’d ever felt. Worse than bathing in the Styx or Phlegethon rivers. He couldn’t breathe or even move a finger. He was stuck, subject to the worst horrors no man should ever experience. 

The Father’s yellow eyes gleamed, sensing the fracture widening. His power was slowly seeping into Percy, driving out the love, the hope, the humanity in his heart. It was a tangible force now, curling around his soul like a lover’s embrace. “You feel it, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice almost gentle, a mockery of kindness. “The power to rewrite fate. To remake the world in our image. It’s all there for you, ripe for the taking. All you have to do is…give in. Become who you were always meant to be.” 

The demigod let out a bloodcurdling scream once more, feeling the tendrils invade further into his mind. Now they didn’t just tear at his memories but rewrote them. He saw himself standing over his friends, Riptide dripping with their blood, his own hands stained with their lives. He saw himself sitting on the throne of Olympus, his eyes glowing yellow, his heart cold as the obsidian walls, as he stared out at the burning skyline of New York City. The vision was so vivid, so real, that for a moment, he believed it. This was who he was always meant to be. This was all he could be. He always had a darkness inside of him. A fiery rage that could never quite be extinguished. Perhaps it was best to finally let it free. To stop holding back. To embrace who he truly was.

But in that moment, however, just as he was about to give in, to succumb to the fear and hate, he heard a voice. A voice he hadn’t heard in a long, long time. 

“You have to fight it.” 

At first, he thought it was the Father playing tricks or his sanity threatening to break, but he knew that couldn’t have been the case. Her voice was different from the whispers. Clear, warm, peaceful. It was the complete opposite of the powers of the Titan torturing him.

“Z-Zoe…?” Percy said in a ragged whisper, blood leaking out the corner of his mouth.

“You are not his,” she continued, her words stronger now, as if she were standing beside him in the void. “You are not defined by war or blood or hate. You are Perseus Jackson, son of Poseidon, hero of Olympus. You’ve faced gods and monsters and walked through Tartarus itself. You do not break.”

The demigod wanted to believe in those words. To believe that he wouldn’t succumb to the dark powers seeping into him. But the pain, the hate, the power, was a living thing now. A beast gnawing at the core of his being, threatening to swallow him whole. The black tendrils tightened their grip, each pulse of their dark energy sinking deeper, rewriting more of Percy’s essence. The vision of himself on Olympus, a tyrant cloaked in yellow-eyed malice, grew more potent as if it were no longer a possibility but a certainty. 

“This is your truth, Godkiller,” The Titan smiled, pressing a hand against his temple. “Embrace it. Become it.”

“You are not his,” Zoe repeated, her voice a beacon of light in the darkness, just like the stars in the sky she embodied. “You’ve carried the weight of the world and never faltered. You are not his to claim.”

Percy clung to her words, though the act in itself caused the pain to flare even further. The tendrils must’ve sensed his growing resistance. He saw flashes of her now, standing tall with her bow, her features fierce and unbowed, even in death. She had faced her own father, Atlas, and chosen her own path, defying the Titan who sought to control her. If she could do that, so could he.

Through the blinding pain and blood pouring down his face, he stared down the Father with blazing defiance. The Titan’s grotesque form shifted uneasily, sensing the shift. He tried to push his powers further in a desperate attempt to crush the spark of rebellion before it could ignite. But as more and more images of the people Percy loved flashed through his head, the more his will held firm. 

“I…am…not…yours!” Percy spat through a mouthful of blood, each word a battle. 

The Father recoiled slightly, not truly fathoming what he was seeing. A demigod resisting him? His power? The tendrils, which had burrowed so deeply into Percy’s consciousness, hesitated, their rhythm faltering as if stunned by his defiance. The void itself seemed to shudder, the oppressive weight of the Titan’s presence momentarily disrupted.

“Y-You cannot defy me!” The malicious deity tried to force his will upon Percy once more, his voice rising to a thunderous roar that shook the very fabric of reality. “This is my domain!” 

The black tendrils surged forward with renewed ferocity, their needle-like tips piercing deeper into his essence, each one a burning brand seeking to rewrite his soul. The pain was unimaginable, a white-hot inferno that consumed every thought, every memory, leaving only the venomous promises of power and dominion. The vision of him as a tyrant, yellow-eyed and merciless, loomed larger, its edges sharpening into a reality that felt inevitable.

But through the horror of darkness, standing behind the tyrant version of himself, he saw her, not just in memory but as a shimmering, ethereal presence in the void. She was clad in the same silver clothes, her bow slung over her shoulder, and her eyes like twin stars, cutting through the blackness and staring directly at him. Behind her was a faint golden glow. Not the sickly yellow of the Father but warm, vibrant, alive. Percy could feel its familiar power calling to him, causing him to try to walk forward. But the tendrils prevented him, rooting him to the spot and delivering unimaginable pain through his body. 

He cried out, his yells ragged and desperate as he fought to stay conscious, to keep at least a shred of his sanity. The Father’s laughter boomed through the evil version of Percy, looking down at him from atop the throne with malicious glee etched in his features. 

“You cling to ghosts, Perseus!” He sneered. “She cannot save you. The tree cannot save you. Only I can.” 

The son of Poseidon looked up at the Father, his vision swimming with pain and blood. Just looking into those eyes threatened the last inkling of his sanity to break. He couldn’t fight this any longer. It was too much. He was too powerful. The tyrant version of himself, perched on the obsidian throne, gave a wolf-like smirk, knowing that the demigod would break at any second.

“Zoe…” Percy rasped, the word barely audible, blood dripping from his lips. He looked over the shoulder of the throne, noticing that her starry eyes could still be seen even through the darkness. “Give me…the strength…to…overcome him.” 

The lieutenant of Artemis said nothing at first, continuing to stare down at him, watching, waiting for him to figure it out on his own. But seeing that he was still rooted in the darkness and his consciousness was on the brink of collapse, she finally spoke. 

“Get up, Perseus,” she said, her words soft, yet powerful. “The strength to overcome him is not in me. It’s behind me, but you must take the steps toward it. Just as you did last time.” 

Percy groaned as a new wave of agony writhed through him, causing him to lower his head once more. He didn’t know if he had the strength to walk, let alone get up. The evil version of himself leaned forward from the throne, his yellow eyes gleaming with cruel anticipation as if savoring the moment of his breaking. The Titan’s words slithered through the pain, mocking, seductive. “You cannot reach it. You are too weak, too human. Submit, and I will make you whole.”

Percy’s breath hitched, blood and sweat mingling as they dripped from his face. He forced his eyes upward, past the sneering tyrant, past the Father’s lattice of tendrils, to the glow behind Zoe. Its golden glow felt like the warmth of home, like the sea at dawn, like his mother’s embrace, like Annabeth’s laughter before the Father had broken her. He knew what this was. Despite all the hardship and loss he’d been dealt over the years, he still knew this feeling. It was a feeling he desperately wanted to have again. 

Hope.

With a guttural cry, he forced himself to his feet. His consciousness, formless but fueled by sheer will, took a trembling step forward. The tyrant Percy on the throne leaned forward, his smirk faltering, his features flickering with something like fear. He tried to tighten his hold over the demigod even further, burrowing the tendrils as deep as they could go, but it was no use. The son of Poseidon’s will burned brighter, a spark igniting into a flame that pushed back against the darkness. 

“S-Stop this!” The Father bellowed, leaning back in his throne as Percy approached ever so slowly. “You cannot defy my power!” 

The void trembled as his rage surged. The black tendrils writhed violently, lashing out in a desperate frenzy to drag Percy back into the abyss of his control. Each step the demigod took toward the golden glow felt like wading through a storm of knives, the pain searing through his essence, threatening to overtake him. But Zoe’s presence, the feeling of hope, kept him awake, a silent lifeline telling him to keep pushing forward no matter what it took. 

“You are not his,” she repeated. “You carry the sea in your blood, the strength of heroes in your heart. Take the steps toward greatness. Toward hope. Toward eternal glory.”

Percy’s vision swam with every step, but he could see the Father on the throne writhe as he tried to take back control, to choke the spark of hope flaring within. With a roar that shook the void, the son of Poseidon forced another step forward. The Titan screamed out in agony, his malevolent power flickering as Percy’s will burned brighter and brighter. He leapt from the throne, his form merging with the Father’s, monstrous amalgamation of black tendrils, skin, and sickly, yellow eyes. 

“You are mine!” He roared, trying to take hold of Percy. “Your blood, your fate, your power—all mine!”

The demigod staggered, the malicious power of the Titan pressing against his soul, threatening to snuff out whatever willpower he had left. The golden glow behind Zoe flickered, its warmth tantalizingly close yet impossibly far, like a star just beyond reach. The pain was relentless, a storm of agony whispering lies of surrender, of inevitability. The Father’s disgusting form loomed larger, his tendrils weaving a cage around Percy’s mind, their slick surfaces moving with the rhythm of his hate.

But Percy’s sea-green eyes, staring through the Father, burned with a fire that refused to be extinguished. He peered through the enveloping darkness, catching glimpses of the faces of those he loved. They were not just memories; they were his strength, his reason to fight. The son of Kronos could twist his memories, could flood him with pain, but he could not take away that.

Percy roared, taking another step toward the light, his will a blazing beacon. The glow grew brighter, its warmth seeping into his core, pushing back the tendrils that sought to bind him. The Father’s black form shuddered, flickering as if caught between realities. His power began to fray the closer the demigod got, unraveling like smoke in the wind. 

“You think you’ve won?!” the Father hissed, retreating as the golden light began to burn the entirety of the void away. “This is not the end, Perseus! You carry my blood! You carry my curse! You will fall, as I fell, and I will be there, waiting in the dark!”

The son of Poseidon couldn’t answer in time before the glow blinded him, washing away the pain, the fear, the hate. The darkness shattered like glass, and he felt himself pulled upward, out of the darkness, out of the Father’s grasp. The tendrils dissolved, the screams fading into a distant echo as the golden light consumed everything.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself in a familiar garden. It looked exactly the same as the last time he was here. The grass beneath his feet swayed gently, each blade catching the light like tiny prisms, casting rainbows across the ground. The flowers, vibrant and impossibly vivid, seemed to hum with quiet energy, their petals unfurling as if welcoming him. The air was warm, sweet, and filled with the scent of blooming jasmine and sea salt, a strange yet comforting blend that reminded him of home.

He looked down, realizing he was no longer a formless consciousness. His body was whole again, his hands solid, his heartbeat steady in his chest. Riptide was back in his pocket, its familiar weight a comfort. He clenched his fists, forcing the echoes of his screams and the Father’s laughter away, and instead focused on the beauty around him. This place… he knew it. Not only from his memories but from his dreams. 

“The Garden of the Hesperides,” Percy whispered, looking up at the golden tree that towered above, its branches laden with golden apples that glowed with an inner light, their radiance casting a soft halo across the garden. The tree stood at the heart of the serene oasis, its roots sinking deep into the earth, pulsing with a life that felt ancient, eternal. The Hesperides, the nymphs who guarded this sacred place, were nowhere to be seen, but their presence lingered in the air, a quiet watchfulness as if the garden itself were alive, observing him.

His gaze drifted upward, following the tree’s branches as they stretched toward a sky that shimmered with hues of gold and violet, a mirror of the plain he’d seen in the vision with Kronos and his heir. The connection wasn’t lost on him. This garden, this tree, was tied to the Titans, to the Golden Age, to the Father. But here, now, it felt different, cleansed, untouched by the malice that had twisted the son of Kronos into the monster he’d become.

He took a step forward, the grass soft under his boots, and felt a gentle tug in his chest. The golden apples seemed to hum, their light glowing in time with his breathing. He reached out instinctively, his fingers brushing the air near one of the fruits, but he stopped short. These apples were not for him. Not yet. Maybe not ever. They were a symbol of immortality, of power, but also of choice, and he’d already made his.

“Perseus,” a voice called out from behind, pulling him from his thoughts. He turned, his heart skipping a beat as he saw her standing there, under the shade of the tree. Zoe Nightshade, no longer a faint shimmer but solid, real, her silver hunter’s garb gleaming faintly in the golden light. Her dark hair was braided over one shoulder, just as he remembered, and her starry eyes held the same fierce intensity that had always defined her. Yet there was a softness to her now, a serenity that hadn’t been there in life, as if death had stripped away her burdens and left only her essence. 

“Zoe,” Percy breathed, stepping away from the tree. The sight of her, whole and unbroken, stirred a tangle of emotions, grief, guilt, and gratitude. He’d carried the memory of her death for years, her sacrifice on that mountain, facing her father, to save him and the others. “You’re… you’re really here.”

Her lips curved into a faint, gentle smile as if she understood the storm raging inside him. “Not really. The only reason you can see me is because the Fates want you to. This place… it exists between. Sort of like my sister’s island. It’s a place where truths can be seen, where choices can be made.”

Percy’s gaze flickered back to the golden tree. “The Father,” he said in a whisper, the memory of the torture still lingering like a bruise on his soul. “He tried to break me. He showed me… everything. His past, his betrayal. He said I’m his heir, that I can’t escape him. If it hadn’t been for you…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, not wanting to say the hard part aloud. If she hadn’t been there, he would’ve fallen to the Titan’s power.

Zoe’s eyes darkened, her expression tightening as she stepped closer. The grass seemed to bend toward her as if drawn to her presence. “Though I did not know him in life, the Father is a shadow of what he once was,” she replied. “A son of Kronos, yes, but twisted by his own choices, by the hate he let consume him. He sees in you what he could have been: a hero, a leader, someone who could wield unfathomable amounts of power. That’s why he fears you, Perseus. That’s why he wants to claim you.”

Percy clenched his fists, feeling as if there was a weight on his chest. “He said I carry his blood. His curse. That I’ll fall like he did.” 

“Blood does not dictate fate.” Zoe softly shook her head, walking to his side. “You have already walked a path he could never understand, one of sacrifice, of love, of loyalty. That is your strength, not your weakness.” 

The wind rustled through the garden, carrying the scent of blossoms. He exhaled, trying to calm his thoughts. "But he's not wrong about one thing," he admitted. "I do have darkness in me. I've felt it. The rage, the power. Sometimes, it scares me. It scares me of what I can become."

Her starry eyes held his, unwavering as if she could see straight through to the core of his fear. The golden light of the tree bathed her in a soft glow, making her seem like an ethereal goddess. “Darkness lives in all of us. Yes, it can be scary, but sometimes it’s not about denying or running away from it but choosing what to do with it. You’ve faced that darkness, and every single time, you’ve chosen to protect, to fight for others, not to destroy. That’s what makes you different from him. That’s why the Fates have brought you to this garden. That’s why they’ve allowed you this choice.” 

The demigod tilted his head slightly, confused by her words. “A choice?” He questioned. 

She gestured toward the golden tree in front of them. Its branches swayed gently in the wind, the golden apples shimmering through the air. “The garden has presented itself to you in your dreams before, Percy. It has saved you from the Father’s darkness and kept you in the light. It sees the strength in you, the potential to shift the tides of destiny, to bring about a new age. It offers you a gift, a chance to defy the Father, to end his shadow once and for all.” 

The son of Poseidon practically scoffed, tearing his gaze from the apples. “I remember that dream,” he replied more to himself than to Zoe. “I remember touching one of the apples. I remember seeing myself on Olympus. A God sitting on a throne, revered by everyone around me.” 

He sighed deeply, looking up at the sky, which was just beginning to show the slightest hint of stars. “Zoe, I’ve…I’ve made my choice. I don’t want to become a god. I don’t want to sit on a throne. I don’t want demigods and gods to look at me like I’m their king.” 

“Yet you took the apple in your last dream when the Father was chasing you,” Zoe replied, bending down to pluck a beautiful, red rose from the grass. She studied it in her hands while continuing to speak. “You remember how it felt to sit on the throne of Olympus. The hope that flowed through you as you held that power, that certainty that you could protect everyone you loved, reshape the world into something better. Don’t you want that?" 

“I did that out of desperation and fear,” Percy replied firmly. “I grabbed the apple because I thought it was my only way out, but I didn’t understand what it meant. Now I do.” He turned to face Zoe fully, his sea-green eyes reflecting the golden glow of the tree. “I won’t let the Fates force me into becoming something I don’t want to. They’ve tried again and again to make me become a king. Whether it be Athena asking me to rule Olympus or making me fight Triton for the throne of Atlantis, I won’t let them take away my choice.”

The former Hesperide’s eyes softened, a flicker of pity crossing her features as she twirled the red rose between her fingers. “I know this is something you’ve never wanted, but sometimes, we have to make choices in life that we know might hurt us. But even if it hurts us, it’ll be worth it to protect those that we love.” She paused, her gaze searching for his resolve. “The Fates have shown you this path, not to force you, but to show you this is the only way to truly defeat the Father. You are powerful, more powerful than any mortal that came before you, but even you understand that it’ll take even more to defeat him.” 

“More power…” He whispered bitterly. “That’s what everyone always says. More power to win, to save, to fix everything. But every time I’ve reached for it, it’s cost me something, whether it be my sanity, my humanity, or someone I love.”

Zoe stepped closer to him, placing a hand softly on his jaw, making him look into her eyes. “That is the price of divinity.” She whispered back. “But it's a price you must be willing to pay, for if not, our world might truly be undone.” 

He pulled away from her hand, stepping back, his boots sinking slightly into the soft grass. The memories of the Father’s torture still burned in his mind, those tendrils tearing at his soul, the visions of himself as a tyrant, the seductive pull of the crystal’s power. And now, here was Zoe, standing in this sacred place, telling him that the only way to defeat him was to embrace the very thing he’d spent his life rejecting: divinity. The irony wasn’t lost on him. The Fates, as always, seemed to delight in twisting his path into knots.

Percy’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles whitening. “I’ve fought gods before. Titans, too. I’ve walked through Tartarus and come out the other side. I don’t need to be a god to fight him. I’ve got Riptide, my friends, my will. That’s enough.”

“Is it? The Father is not like Kronos or Gaia. He’s not a Titan bound by flesh or a primordial tied to the earth. He’s fueled by the very power you’re rejecting. You felt it, didn’t you? In the void, when he tore into your soul. You barely held on. And he wasn’t even at his full strength.”

“I held on,” he said roughly, almost a growl. “I fought him off. I’m still here.” 

Zoe tilted her head, looking at him with an intensity that made him feel exposed. “You did. But at what cost? You’re strong, Perseus, but you’re not unbreakable. The Father will come for you again. He’ll come for your friends, for everyone you love, and he’ll succeed because you were stubborn enough to cling to your mortality. The golden apples…” She gestured to the tree, its branches swaying as if beckoning him. “They’re not just power. They’re a shield, a sword, a chance to end this before he can destroy everything you’ve fought for.”

His gaze flicked to the tree, the golden apples shimmering with a promise that felt both alluring and dangerous. He could feel their pull, a whisper in his blood, not unlike the crystal’s but warmer, purer. But he still had doubts. What if taking the apple twisted him, turned him into a god that cared for nothing but himself? He just couldn’t take that chance. 

He turned back to Zoe, his jaw set. “You said the garden is about choice. If that’s true, then I choose to stay who I am. I don’t need to be a god to win this fight. I’ve never needed that. I’ve always found a way, no matter the odds.”

Zoe’s lips pressed into a thin line, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she sighed, a sound like the rustle of leaves in the wind. “Your heart is your greatest strength, but it’s also your greatest weakness. You cling to your mortality because it ties you to those you love, but mortality is fragile. It breaks. It bleeds. And the Father knows that. He’ll use it against you—your love, your loyalty. He’ll turn your friends into weapons, just as he did with Annabeth and Jason.”

“But the thing is, I’ve seen what power does. I’ve seen how it twists people, how it turns them into something they’re not. Kronos, Luke, even the gods, they all chased power, thinking it would save them, make them whole. But it didn’t. It just broke them in different ways. I won’t let that happen to me. I won’t let the Father, or the Fates, or anyone else take away who I am. And sure, that might be the wrong choice, but it’ll be my choice.”

“You think refusing the apple means you’re staying true to yourself,” she said quietly. “But what if it’s the opposite? What if your refusal is fear, not of power, but of responsibility? The responsibility to protect not just your friends, but the world itself. The Father is not a foe you can face with a sword and a stubborn heart alone. He is a force of will, of hate, of endless time. You’ve seen what he can do.”

Percy’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not afraid of responsibility,” he replied gruffly. “I’ve carried the weight of prophecies, wars, and the lives of everyone I care about. I’ve faced monsters that would make most gods run. I don’t need divinity to do it again.”

“And yet, you hesitate,” she tilted her head, her braid swaying slightly. “You stand in this garden, at the crossroads of fate, and you waver. Why? Because you know, deep down, that this fight is different.”

He took a deep breath, relishing in the jasmine and sea salt, though it did nothing to calm his nerves. “I’ve been here before,” he said finally. “Not just in dreams, but in moments like this. Standing at a crossroads, with everyone telling me I need to be more. More powerful, more divine, more than human. But every time I’ve chosen to stay me, it’s worked out. Not perfectly, but enough.”

He let his declaration hang in the air, making it clear to Zoe what his answer was. The golden apples gleamed, urging him to reconsider, but he turned away. “I’ve made my choice,” he repeated, firmer now. “I won’t take the apples. I don’t want divinity. I’ll face the battles to come as I am, with what I have. If that’s not enough, then I’ll find a way. I always do.”

Zoe’s gaze softened, but there was a mixture of worry and resignation in her features. She stepped closer, the red rose still twirling between her fingers, its petals catching the golden light. “You are stubborn, Perseus Jackson. Stubborn as the sea. But the sea can erode even the strongest cliffs, given time. And the Father has nothing but time.”

The son of Poseidon met her eyes, unflinching. “I’ve fought Father Time in case you’ve forgotten.” 

She let out a soft laugh, a sound so rare that it caught him off guard. It was fleeting, like a breeze, but it relaxed him somewhat, reminding him of the humanity he was fighting for. “You have indeed.” She studied him for a moment longer, trying to find traces of the young boy she used to know. Instead, all she found was a man. A man who had grown into something more than a hero, more than a demigod, yet still clung fiercely to his mortal heart.

“You’ve made your decision,” she said at last. “And the Fates will honor it, for now. Go Perseus. Return to your world. Face the Father with your mortal heart. But remember this place, this garden. Remember the choice you made here. It may yet call you back.”

Before he could respond, the garden began to shimmer, the golden light of the tree intensifying until it swallowed the world. The scent of jasmine and sea salt faded, the vibrant flowers blurring into a kaleidoscope of color. Zoe’s form wavered, her starry eyes the last thing he saw before the light consumed him entirely.

He gasped, his eyes snapping open to find himself back in the cavern, the cold, damp air a stark contrast to the warmth of the garden. His hand was still wrapped around the crystal, its purple glow pulsing faintly under his fingers, but it felt different now, less seductive, less alive as if his rejection of the Father’s power had diminished its hold. He looked around the cavern, finding Nico on the ground, wounded, exhausted, but alive. It seemed Annabeth and Jason had retreated, finding their wounds too severe to continue the fight, leaving them to do as they pleased with their master’s crystal. He looked for Travis but couldn’t find him in the darkness. That was until he felt the sensation of cold celestial bronze pressed against his temple.

“Travis…”

“Don’t move!” the son of Hermes snapped, the pistol trembling slightly against Percy’s skin. 

“Travis, it’s me,” he tried to reason, but it was no use. 

Travis’s grip on Theoteta tightened, his knuckles white, his breathing uneven. His eyes, wide with fear and mistrust, darted between Percy’s face and the crystal still clutched in his hand. The purple glow cast eerie shadows across the cavern, making his face look gaunt, almost skeletal in the dim light. “You were gone, man,” he said, his voice cracking. “You were standing there, staring at that thing, and then you just… weren’t you. You started speaking in a different language and your eyes man, your fucking eyes! They were just like his! Like theirs!” He jerked his head toward the shadows where Annabeth and Jason had fled, their retreat leaving a hollow silence in the chamber.

“I know,” Percy replied, licking his teeth, finding the taste of blood staining them. “It got in my head. He got in my head. He showed me things, terrible things, but I fought back. I’m here. I’m me. I promise.”

Nico slumped against the obsidian wall, clutched his bleeding thigh, his face pale but alert. His dark eyes flicked between Percy and Travis, his Stygian iron sword still gripped loosely in his hand. “Travis, listen to him,” he rasped, wincing as he shifted. “He’s not gone. Not yet. Lower the gun.”

Travis’s jaw clenched, the pistol unwavering. “Not yet?” he said, his tone rising. “You saw what happened, Nico! He was gone! He screamed, bled from his eyes, and spoke in that weird language! And now you’re telling me to trust him? After everything we just saw?” His hand shook, but the barrel stayed pressed against Percy’s temple, the carvings on Theoteta glinting faintly in the crystal’s light.

Percy didn’t flinch. He knew just how scared his friend must be feeling, the betrayal that had been carved into him by seeing Annabeth and Jason—friends, family—twisted into monsters. “I get it,” he said quietly. “You saw what the Father did to them, and you think it’s happening to me. But I swear, Travis, I’m not his. I saw him, what he really is. I saw his past, his pain, and I chose to walk away. I chose us.”

Travis’s eyes flickered with doubt, his breath hitching. “You chose us?” he repeated, thick with skepticism. “Then why are you still holding that fucking crystal?”

Percy’s gaze dropped to his hand, still wrapped around the shard. Its surface was cold and slick, the purple glow pulsing faintly, like a dying heartbeat. He hadn’t even realized he was still holding it, the connection so instinctive, so insidious, that it felt like an extension of himself. The whispers were faint now, but they were still there, murmuring promises of power, of Annabeth restored, of a world where no one could hurt him again. His fingers twitched, and for a fleeting moment, he felt the urge to tighten his grip, to let the crystal’s power flood through him.

“Percy,” Nico said sharply, cutting through the haze. “Let it go. Now.”

The son of Poseidon’s jaw tightened. He forced his fingers to uncurl, one by one, each movement a battle against the promise of power. It was like peeling his own skin away, the shard’s whispers flaring in protest, clawing at his mind. With a final effort, he yanked his hand free, stumbling back from the pedestal. The crystal pulsed once, brightly, then dimmed, its glow fading to a dull flicker as if sulking at his rejection.

Travis and Nico both exhaled, their weapons lowering. “Okay,” the son of Hermes exclaimed, clasping Percy on the shoulder. “Okay, good to have you back, brother.” 

“Good to be back,” he replied, patting the hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for not putting a bullet in me.” He wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand before standing up.

“We’re not done yet,” Nico said, slowly pushing himself up, leaning heavily against the wall, his Stygian iron sword clutched tightly. “That thing needs to be destroyed.” 

Before another word could be said, Percy uncapped Riptide and brought it down with all his strength in a mere blink of an eye. The blade struck the crystal dead center, and a deafening crack echoed through the chamber, the sound sharp enough to make their ears ring. The crystal didn’t shatter; it screamed. A high-pitched wail, like a thousand voices crying out in agony, erupted from the shard before shattering into a million pieces. The ground trembled, dust raining from the cavern ceiling, and the black tendrils embedded in the walls writhed violently, lashing out like wounded snakes.

Eventually, however, it all faded, leaving the trio in complete silence. Percy staggered back, his sword still clutched tightly. He turned to his companions, finding their features etched with shock and surprise at the sudden display.

“Fuck 'em,” Percy spat a glob of blood onto the pedestal, glad to enact some vengeance on the Titan that had caused him so much pain and trouble. 

“Fuck 'em,” Travis and Nico replied in unison, happy to see this quest over. 

The air in the cavern seemed to lighten, the Father’s presence dissipating like smoke in the wind. The black tendrils embedded in the walls stilled, their energy fading, crumbling to ash that drifted to the obsidian floor. The chamber was silent now, save for the faint drip of water somewhere in the darkness and the ragged breathing of the three demigods.

Percy warily scanned his surroundings as he capped his sword, slipping it back into his pocket, half expecting the Father to rise from the shadows. But thankfully, nothing stirred. Blood still trickled from the corner of his mouth, and his skin burned where the lightning had seared him, but he was alive. They all were.

Nico limped forward, the gash on his thigh still oozing blood, but he waved off Travis’s attempt to help, his dark eyes scanning the chamber. “It’s over,” he stated with relief. “The crystal’s gone. He’s gone.”

“For now,” Percy added, his tone heavy with caution. He couldn’t shake the Father’s final words, the promise that he’d be waiting in the dark. The Titan’s presence might have faded, but he knew better than to believe he was truly defeated. Not yet. He glanced at the shattered remnants of the crystal, now scattered across the pedestal like broken glass, their purple glow extinguished.

Travis exhaled shakily, holstering Theoteta. “You sure about that?” he asked tightly. “Because after all that, I’m not exactly feeling like we just won the war.”

“We didn’t win the war,” he admitted lowly, almost a growl. “We just bought ourselves some time.” He wiped more blood from his face, the taste of iron sharp on his tongue, and forced himself to stand straighter despite the ache in his bones. The Father’s words echoed in his mind— You carry my blood. You carry my curse. He pushed them down, locking them away with the other ghosts that haunted him.

Nico nodded. “Agreed, but we can talk about this later. We need to leave. This place is falling apart.” As if to punctuate his words, a low rumble echoed through the chamber, more dust sifting from the ceiling, the walls trembling faintly as if the Father’s absence had destabilized the very structure of the building.

Percy took one last look at the pedestal before stepping away, his boots crunching on the glass-strewn floor, and gestured toward the spiral staircase. “Let’s go. Nico, can you shadow-travel us out?”

The son of Hades grimaced, his face pale from blood loss. “Not sure I’ve got enough juice for all three of us. That fight took a lot out of me.” He glanced at Percy, a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite the pain. “You got another fancy trick up your sleeve to teleport us out of here?”

Percy managed a weak grin, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Wish I did. But I’m running on fumes too.” He glanced at Travis, who was still eyeing the shadows warily. “You good to walk?”

“Good enough,” Travis replied. He adjusted his pack, wincing as the movement tugged at a bruise forming on his ribs. “Let’s just get the hell out of this creepy-ass crypt before something else decides to jump us.”

The trio moved swiftly, their footsteps echoing up the spiral staircase as they ascended from the cavern’s suffocating darkness. The air grew lighter with each step, easing some of the tension in their bones. Percy led the way, his senses still sharp for any sign of trouble. The staircase seemed shorter on the way up, or maybe their urgency made it feel that way. The faint drip of water and the distant rumble of the collapsing cavern urged them forward, each tremor a warning that the Senate House might not hold much longer.

As they reached the top, the trapdoor’s circular seam came into view, still ajar from their descent. Percy pushed it open with a grunt, the heavy marble slab grinding against the floor. The Senate House’s ruined chamber greeted them, its splintered benches and cracked dais bathed in the faint moonlight filtering through the collapsed dome. The air was thick with ash and decay, but it felt like freedom compared to what they had just experienced below.

Helping the two behind him up, he led the way to the doors, making sure to be deathly silent. Holding up a hand to signal for them to stop moving, he peered through the gap in the doors, scanning the plaza outside. What he saw made his blood run cold.

“Shit…” He whispered.

“What?” Nico asked, leaning against the wall as he tightened his makeshift bandage. 

The plaza, once sparsely patrolled, was now teeming with Orcs, dozens upon dozens of them, their forms silhouetted against the flickering bonfires. Their crude armor clinked as they moved, axes and clubs gripped tightly, their yellow eyes glinting with predatory alertness. They weren’t scattered or disorganized anymore; they moved with purpose, converging on the Senate House as if drawn by some silent command. The air buzzed with a low, guttural chant, their language rising through the air, vibrating through the ground.

Percy’s heart sank. The destruction of the crystal must have triggered something, alerted the Father’s forces, or perhaps the Titan’s lingering will had summoned them. Either way, the trio was surrounded, trapped in the heart of New Rome with no clear path out. He glanced back at Nico and Travis, their features resolute. Nico’s thigh was still bleeding, his movements sluggish, and Travis’s bruised ribs made every breath a wince, but their eyes burned with the same defiance Percy felt.

They drew their weapons and prepared for a fight. 

Chapter Text

Percy gripped Riptide tightly as he peered through the gap in the Senate House doors. The Orcs’ chants grew louder, a sound that seemed to shake the very stones of New Rome. Their yellow eyes gleamed in the firelight, scanning the ruins with predatory intent, and he knew they weren’t just patrolling, they were hunting. The crystal’s destruction had sent a signal, a ripple through whatever dark network the Father commanded, and now his minions were closing in.

“Looks like we woke the whole damn hive,” Travis muttered, peering out behind Percy’s shoulder. “Any ideas to get us out of this mess?” 

Percy’s mind raced, calculating their odds. Nico was barely standing, his powers depleted, and Travis was moving slower than usual, his ribs clearly limiting him. He himself felt like he’d been dragged through Tartarus twice over. His body ached from the Father’s psychic assault, and his brain felt like it had been split in two before being put back together. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and running on fumes. But giving up wasn’t an option. Not now, not ever. 

“We can’t fight them all,” he whispered, his eyes scanning the plaza for any gap in the Orcs’ formation. “We need to slip through, find cover, and get to the Tiber. If we can reach the river, I can use the water to get us out.”

Nico leaned heavily against the wall, his Stygian iron sword trembling slightly in his grip. “The Tiber’s on the other side of the city,” he said, his words tight with pain. “That’s a lot of ground to cover with these ugly bastards swarming.”

“It’s the only way. We move fast and quiet,” Percy replied, not seeing any other options. “Stay low, stick to the shadows. You think you can manage a short shadow-jump? Just enough to get us past the main group?”

The son of Hades grimaced, wiping sweat from his brow. “Maybe a hundred feet. Any more, and I’m passing out. And I’m not sure I can take all three of us.”

“Take Travis,” Percy said without hesitation. “Get him to that cluster of ruins by the forum.” He pointed through the gap to a crumbled section of columns and walls about a hundred feet away, partially shrouded in shadow. “I’ll draw their attention and meet you at the river.”

Travis’s eyes widened. “Whoa, hold up. You’re not pulling a solo stunt on this one. We’re not leaving you to play bait.”

“You’re not,” Percy shot back, his sea-green eyes fierce. “I’m faster alone, and I’ve got the river’s power if I need it. You two just get to the water and wait. Trust me.”

Travis hesitated, his features tight, but Nico nodded grimly. “He’s right. We’re liabilities right now. Let him do what he does best.” He clapped a hand on Travis’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s move.”

The son of Hermes cursed under his breath but nodded, holstering Theoteta for the moment. “You better not die,” he jabbed a finger into Percy’s chest. “I’m not explaining that to the girls, especially Reyna and Thalia.” 

Percy managed a faint smirk. “Deal. Now go.”

Nico closed his eyes, his brow furrowing as he summoned what little strength he had left. Shadows coiled around him and Travis, dark tendrils that seemed to drink in the moonlight. With a faint whoosh, they vanished, leaving Percy alone in the Senate House.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and pressed his back against the cool marble wall. The Orcs were closing in; he could feel it. Their chants were a low, menacing drone that vibrated his very bones. He peered out once more, making out their forms more clearly. They were huge, some nearly eight feet tall, their crude armor patched together from scavenged metal and bone. Their yellow eyes, so like the Father’s, sent a chill down his spine, but he pushed the memory of the Titan’s void away. No time for fear. No time for doubt.

He tore his eyes away and prepared his blade. Looking up at the mural of Jupiter, whose eyes had been crossed out, he muttered a quiet prayer, asking the Gods to give him the strength to do what needed to be done. Jupiter’s defaced features seemed to stare back at him, offering no comfort, only a silent challenge. A challenge that he would meet head-on. 

The Orcs’ heavy footsteps crunched closer, their putrid smells filling Percy’s nostrils. They were just beyond the Senate House doors, their clawed hands scraping against the ancient wood as they tested the barrier. The doors rattled violently, hinges groaning under the assault. They’d be through in seconds.

The son of Poseidon prepared for a fight, adrenaline racing through his veins as he bit back a growl. Not yet, he told himself. The air grew heavy, moisture condensing around him as he drew on the latent water in the atmosphere. He couldn’t summon a tidal wave in the middle of New Rome, but he didn’t need one. Precision, not power, was the play here.

The doors shuddered again, splinters flying as an Orc’s massive fist punched through the wood. He tore the door off its hinges, its eyes locking onto Percy, who was a mere few feet away. “Found you, half-blood,” it growled, its voice like gravel dragged over iron.

“Yeah, well, you’re about to regret it,” he shot back, stepping into the light. He raised his free hand, feeling the water molecules in the air respond to his will. With a sharp flick of his wrist, the moisture coalesced into dozens of razor-thin ice shards, glinting like daggers in the moonlight. The Orcs roared, charging into the building, but Percy was already moving.

He thrust his hand forward, and the ice shards shot out like bullets, each one propelled with an unreal amount of force. The ice shards sliced through the air, a glittering storm of death that tore into the first ten Orcs with merciless precision. Their roars turned to gurgled screams as the razor-sharp projectiles pierced armor, flesh, and bone. Black ichor sprayed across the Senate House floor, pooling in the cracks of the ancient marble. The lead Orc, its chest riddled with shards, staggered forward, only to collapse with a wet thud, its eyes dimming as it choked on its own blood.

Percy didn’t wait to admire his handiwork. He dove to the side as another Orc, larger than the rest, barreled through the shattered doorway, swinging a crude axe that cleaved through a stone pillar like it was kindling. The impact sent debris flying, and he rolled to avoid a chunk of marble that would’ve crushed his skull. Riptide sang in his hand, its celestial bronze blade glowing faintly as he slashed upward, catching the Orc’s wrist. The axe clattered to the ground, along with the creature’s severed hand, which twitched as it hit the floor.

The monster bellowed, clutching its stump as black ichor poured out. It lunged, jaws snapping, but Percy was faster. He drove Riptide into its gut, twisting the blade with a sickening crunch before yanking it free. The Orc crumpled, but more were already pouring in, their numbers swelling like a tide of malice. Their stench, rotting flesh, and sulfur choked the air, and their chants rose into a frenzied war cry that echoed through New Rome’s ruins.

Percy’s muscles burned, his body screaming for rest, but he pushed forward, his sea-green eyes blazing with the promise of death. He could feel the Tiber calling to him, its distant current a faint pulse in his veins, but it was too far. The Orcs were everywhere, their numbers blocking the only exit. He needed to buy Nico and Travis time, and that meant turning this Senate House into a slaughterhouse.

He sprinted toward the center of the chamber, leaping onto the raised dais where the senators’ chairs once stood. The Orcs surged after him, their weapons aimed at him with cruel intent. He reached out with his powers, pulling moisture from the air, the ground, even the ichor-soaked marble. The water coalesced around him, forming a swirling vortex that shimmered with deadly potential. He didn’t have the strength for a full hurricane, but he didn’t need one. 

“Come on, you ugly bastards!” he shouted over their roars. “I’m sending you all straight to hell!” 

The Father’s minions charged, their footsteps shaking the ground. Percy unleashed the vortex, sending a wave of pressurized water crashing into the front line. It hit like a battering ram, smashing three Orcs against the wall with bone-crushing force. Their skulls cracked against the stone, and they slumped, lifeless. But the others kept coming, clambering over their fallen kin with rabid hunger in their eyes.

One Orc, faster than the rest, leapt onto the dais, its claws raking toward Percy’s chest. He parried with Riptide, the blade sparking as it met the creature’s iron gauntlet. The force of the blow sent a jolt through his arm, but he countered with a vicious elbow to the Orc’s jaw, shattering teeth. As it staggered, he drove Riptide through its eye, twisting until the beast went limp. Ichor sprayed across his face, hot and foul, but he didn’t flinch. He kicked the corpse off the dais, using its bulk to trip the next one charging up.

The fight became a blur of blood and death. Percy moved like a tempest, every swing of his blade precise and lethal. He hacked through an Orc’s neck, ducked under a swinging club, and impaled another through the chest. Ichor coated his hands, making his grip slick, but he held tight, his knuckles white around Riptide’s hilt. The Senate House was a chaos of screams, clanging metal, and the wet squelch of flesh giving way to celestial bronze.

But there were too many. For every Orc he felled, two more took their place. A spear grazed his shoulder, drawing blood. Pain flared, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving. Another Orc landed a glancing blow with a club, catching his thigh. He stumbled, his leg screaming, but he turned the fall into a roll, slicing through the Orc’s knee as he went. It howled, collapsing, and Percy finished it with a thrust to the throat.

He was tiring, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He couldn’t keep this up forever. This had to end and fast before his body gave out. “Screw it,” he muttered, wiping blood from his brow. He reached deep, tapping into the last reserves of his power. The air grew heavy, the temperature dropping as he pulled every drop of moisture he could muster. The ground trembled faintly, and then, with a roar of his own, Percy unleashed his final gambit.

He thrust his free hand forward, fingers splayed, and reached out with his power, not just to the water, but to the ichor itself. It was a part of him, just like the sea, a distant echo of his own divine blood. He seized it with a will forged in Tartarus, tempered by loss, and sharpened by rage.

The Orcs suddenly froze, their movements stuttering as their bodies betrayed them. Their yellow eyes widened in panic, claws twitching as they tried to resist. Percy’s jaw clenched, sweat and blood mixing on his face as he pushed deeper, his mind latching onto the ichor coursing through their veins. He could feel it, their corrupted essence of the Father’s influence, a twisted mockery of divine blood. It was a mistake to think he couldn’t touch it, control it. The Father had underestimated him, and these monsters—his children —would pay the price. 

It was like grasping a live wire, a burning, corrosive energy that fought back, but he held firm. He could feel their hearts pumping, their bones creaking, their minds clouded with the Father’s malice. But none of that mattered. He would break every single last one of them. 

With a primal scream, Percy clenched his fingers shut into a fist. The effect was immediate and catastrophic. The nearest Orc’s chest caved inward, its ribcage collapsing with a sickening crunch as its heart was crushed by an invisible force. Black ichor sprayed from its mouth, its body crumpling like a puppet with cut strings. Another Orc’s skull shattered, bone fragments exploding outward as its brain was pulped within, its yellow eyes bursting like overripe fruit. The air filled with the stench of ichor and death, a chorus of agonized howls rising from the horde as the son of Poseidon’s power tore through them.

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t. The rage, the pain, the memory of Annabeth’s hollowed eyes, and the Father’s laughter fueled him. He swept his hand in a wide arc, and a dozen Orcs staggered, their spines snapping like dry twigs, their bodies folding at unnatural angles. Ichor poured from their ears, noses, and eyes, pooling on the marble floor in viscous, steaming puddles. One tried to charge, its axe raised, but Percy’s gaze locked onto it, and with a flick of his wrist, its eyes imploded, leaving empty sockets as it screamed and collapsed, clawing at its ruined face.

He delivered on his promise to turn this place into a slaughterhouse. The air became thick with the coppery tang of ichor and the screams of the dying. He moved through the chaos, Riptide a blur in his hand, cutting down any Orc that got too close. He was a force of nature, a storm of vengeance that left nothing but broken bodies in his wake. An Orc lunged, its claws grazing his arm, but he spun, driving Riptide through its chest and twisting until its heart burst. Another swung a club, but he ducked, grabbing its arm and willing the ichor in its veins to boil. The creature shrieked, its arm exploding in a shower of black gore as it fell, writhing in agony.

The remaining Orcs faltered, their chants breaking into panicked cries. They tried to flee, stumbling over their fallen kin, but Percy wasn’t done. He reached out, his power surging, and seized the ichor in every last Orc remaining within the building. Their bodies seized, limbs locking as he crushed their hearts one by one, each beat silenced with a wet, final thud. Skulls caved in, eyes ruptured, and spines shattered in a symphony of destruction that echoed through New Rome’s ruins. The ground trembled, the Senate House groaning as if the earth itself recoiled from the carnage.

Percy stood amidst the carnage, chest heaving, Riptide dripping with ichor that hissed as it hit the marble floor. His body screamed with exhaustion, every muscle burning, his wounds throbbing with each heartbeat. The Senate House was a graveyard, littered with the twisted, broken bodies of Orcs, their black blood pooling in the cracks of the ancient stone.

He staggered, catching himself on a shattered column, his vision swimming. The power he’d unleashed had drained him to the edge of collapse. His sea-green eyes, glowing faintly in the moonlight streaming through the ruined roof, flickered with a feral intensity that hadn’t yet faded. Blood and ichor coated his clothes, his face, his hands, painting him as something more than human, something terrifying. 

He forced himself to move, stepping over the corpses, his boots squelching in the gore. The Senate House doors were gone, reduced to splinters, and beyond them, the plaza of New Rome lay under a shroud of bonfires and moonlight. The remaining Orcs, those who hadn’t dared enter the slaughterhouse, were out there, their eyes glinting in the shadows. He could hear their whispers, their chants faltering, replaced by something new: fear.

Percy stepped through the doorway, Riptide still gripped tightly in his hand, its blade catching the moonlight. The monsters froze, their forms silhouetted against the flickering fires scattered across the plaza. Their eyes locked onto him, and for the first time, they didn’t charge. They didn’t roar. They stood, rigid, their weapons trembling in their hands.

He took another step, his boots squelching on the marble steps. The moonlight bathed him, illuminating the blood and ichor that clung to him. His eyes, those wolf-like, glowing green orbs, burned through the darkness, pinning the Orcs in place. He didn’t speak, didn’t need to. The carnage behind him spoke louder than words ever could. Percy tilted his head, a predatory smile curling his lips at the sight of their hesitance. 

The Orcs flinched, stumbling back. Their gazes darted between the demigod and the Senate House, where the bodies of their kin lay in heaps. One of them, smaller, its armor patched and dented, dropped its club and turned, shoving past its companions in a desperate scramble to flee. But a voice, a voice that Percy seemed to recognize, spoke up, preventing anyone from retreating. 

“Do not betray the Father and flee, or I will break your skulls and fuck your rotting corpse!”

The voice cut through the night like a blade, powerful and commanding, laced with a chilling authority that froze the Orcs in their tracks. It was a voice Percy knew too well, one that had haunted his dreams. His heart sank as he watched the monsters part, their ranks shuffling aside to reveal a figure striding forward from the shadows. 

“Frank…” Percy whispered, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach. 

The son of Mars emerged into the flickering firelight, his silhouette unmistakable despite the changes. His once-broad shoulders were hunched slightly, as if bearing an invisible weight. His eyes, those warm brown eyes that had always held a quiet strength, now burned with the same sickly yellow glow as the Father’s. His Roman armor, once a symbol of honor, was scarred and tarnished, etched with jagged runes that pulsed with dark energy. A bow was slung across his back, and a spatha hung at his side, its blade gleaming with an unnatural sheen.

His friend's presence sent a ripple of dread through Percy, his grip on Riptide tightening until his knuckles ached. He stood taller than Percy remembered, his frame radiating a menacing aura that seemed to warp the air around him. The Orcs rallied at his arrival, their fear replaced by a renewed fervor, their chants resuming with a guttural intensity. Frank’s yellow eyes locked onto Percy’s, and for a moment, the demigod searched for any trace of the friend he’d known, but all he saw was the Father’s malice, a hollow mockery of the man Frank had been.

“Hello, Percy,” he greeted in an unnatural cadence that made Percy’s skin crawl. “You’ve been busy, it seems.” He gestured toward the Senate House behind, where the stench of death still lingered. “Impressive, for a mortal.”

Percy’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he held Riptide at the ready. “Frank, this isn’t you. You’re stronger than this. Fight him. Fight back.” He knew it was no use spouting that nonsense. Once the Father got control of you, it was too late. But he’d curse himself till the day he died for not at least trying. 

Frank’s lips curled into a sneer, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. “Fight him? You still don’t understand, do you? The Father doesn’t control me. He freed me. He showed me the truth, power, purpose, a world without the chains of mortal weakness. You could’ve had that, too. He offered it to you, didn’t he? But you’ve always been the selfless hero clinging to his weakness of mortality.”

“He offered me lies,” he spat. “And he’s lying to you, too. You’re not free. You’re his puppet, just like Annabeth and Jason.”

Frank’s sneer faltered for a fraction of a second, a flicker of pain and doubt crossing his scarred face. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a cold, predatory smirk. “You’re wrong. Annabeth and Jason were weak, too human to embrace the Father’s gift fully. But me?” He spread his arms, the runes on his armor pulsing brighter. “I’m his champion. His true heir. His vessel that will bring him back into this world. And you, Percy, are just a relic of a dying age.”

The Orcs roared in approval, their weapons clanging against their armor, the sound a deafening cacophony that echoed through the air. Percy’s heart pounded, not from fear, but from sheer rage at having to face another friend twisted by the Father. First Annabeth, his one true love, then Jason, and now Frank. Each loss carved deeper into his soul, a wound that refused to heal. But he couldn’t falter now. Not with Nico and Travis counting on him.

“Frank,” Percy said, slowly walking down the Senate’s steps, blood and ichor dripping down on the white marble with every step. “I don’t want to kill you. But I will if I have to. Let me go. You know me. You know I’ll find a way to stop him, with or without you.”

Frank tilted his head, studying the son of Poseidon like a predator sizing up prey. “You still think you can save everyone, don’t you? That’s your weakness. Always has been. He drew his spatha, the blade humming with dark energy, its edge glinting as if eager for blood. “The Father wants you alive, but he didn’t say anything about unbroken.”

The Orcs surged forward at Frank’s signal, their roars shaking the ground. Percy’s instincts kicked in, his body moving before his mind could catch up. He dove to the side as a massive club smashed into the marble steps where he’d stood, sending shards flying. Riptide flashed, slicing through the nearest Orc’s thigh, black ichor spraying as it collapsed with a howl. He spun, parrying a spear thrust from another, and drove his blade into its chest, twisting until it fell silent.

But Frank was already moving, faster than Percy remembered, his spatha a blur of imperial gold. He barely raised Riptide in time to block the strike, the impact jarring his arms, sending a shockwave of pain through his already battered body. Frank’s strength was unnatural, amplified by the Father’s power, and his features burned with a relentless fury.

“You can’t win this,” Frank hissed, pressing his blade against Percy’s, their faces inches apart. “You’re fighting a god, Percy. A god older than the Olympians, stronger than Kronos. Give up, and maybe he’ll let you keep what’s left of your soul.”

Percy gritted his teeth, shoving back with all his strength, forcing Frank to stumble. He ducked under the next attack, rolling to the side and springing to his feet. The Orcs were closing in, their numbers overwhelming, but his focus was on Frank. If he could take him down, maybe the others would falter.

He reached out with his powers, feeling for any water nearby. The Tiber was still too far, but there was moisture in the air, in the ground, in the blood and ichor pooling around them. He pulled on it, his will straining as he formed a barrage of ice shards, sending them flying in Frank’s direction. They screamed through the air, a deadly hail intent to kill anything in its path. But the son of Mars was prepared. He raised his free hand, and with a flick of his wrist, the shards halted mid-air, quivering as if caught in an invisible net, then shattered into harmless mist, dissolving into the night. 

Percy’s stomach twisted at the sight, realizing that his friend’s power had grown far beyond anything he’d seen before.

“You’re not the only one with tricks,” Frank laughed in glee, his spatha flashing as he lunged. Percy parried, celestial bronze sparking against imperial gold, but the force drove him back, his boots sliding on the ichor-slick marble. The Orcs roared, emboldened by their leader, and charged, their weapons a chaotic blur of rusted iron and bone.

Percy’s world narrowed to survival. He spun, slashing through an Orc’s chest, its black blood spraying across his face. Another swung a spiked mace, grazing his ribs, and he grunted, pain flaring as he countered with a thrust that pierced its throat. But Frank was relentless, his spatha a golden streak that forced Percy to weave and dodge, each block sending jolts through his battered arms. The son of Mars fought with a precision that was both familiar and alien, every move laced with the Father’s aid.

“You’re slowing down,” Frank taunted with a low growl as he pressed his attack, driving Percy toward the plaza’s center. “How long can you keep this up, huh? You’re bleeding out. Nowhere to go. All alone.” 

Percy ignored the jabs, ducking under a swipe and slamming his shoulder into Frank’s chest. The impact staggered the larger demigod, but Frank recovered with terrifying speed, grabbing Percy’s arm and twisting. Pain exploded in his shoulder, nearly wrenching Riptide from his grip, but he hooked his leg behind Frank’s knee, yanking him off balance. They hit the ground hard, rolling across the marble in a tangle of limbs, blades, and blood.

The son of Poseidon broke free first, scrambling to his feet, but an Orc’s club caught him in the back, sending him sprawling. The air rushed from his lungs, and he tasted blood as he hit the stone. The Orc raised its weapon for a killing blow, but Percy rolled, slashing upward with Riptide. The blade carved through the creature’s gut, spilling ichor and entrails across the plaza. He staggered upright, gasping, only to see Frank already on his feet, his spatha gleaming with malicious intent.

“Gods, you’re still the demon I remember,” Frank smiled with ichor-stained teeth, circling Percy like a wolf. “But it’s not enough. Not this time. The Father sees all. He knows your every move, your every weakness.” His eyes flickered to Percy’s bloodied shoulder, the gash on his thigh. “You’re defeated already. You’re just too stubborn to see it.”

Percy’s vision swam, but he forced himself to focus, wiping the sweat and blood from his eyes. The Tiber’s water still called to him, a lifeline just out of reach. He needed to get there, needed its power to escape this hell. But Frank and the Orcs were a wall of death between him and the river. He glanced at the ruins where Nico and Travis should be, praying they’d made it. He couldn’t sense them, but he had to trust they were safe.

“Then why’s he so scared of me?” he shot back, forcing a laugh despite the pain. “If the Father is so powerful, why’s he hiding behind you and these ugly bastards? Oh wait, let me answer that for you! He’s just a black mesh of goo stuck in the dark!”

Frank’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of rage breaking through his cold amusement. The Orcs growled, their weapons clanking as they tightened their circle around Percy, but Frank raised a hand, silencing them. His spatha gleamed in the firelight, its edge humming with dark energy, and for a moment, the plaza seemed to hold its breath. 

“Scared?” His voice was low, venomous, each syllable dripping with disdain. “The Father fears nothing. Not you, not your pathetic defiance. You’re a flea, Percy, biting at a god who could crush you with a thought. He’s not hiding. He’s waiting. Waiting for you to break, to see the truth you’re too weak to face.”

Percy bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. Blood dripped from the gash on his shoulder, mingling with the ichor staining the marble beneath his feet. His legs trembled, threatening to give out, but he locked his knees, refusing to show weakness. He had to keep Frank talking, buy time for Nico and Travis to reach the river, and find a way to break through this trap.

“Truth?” he spat mockingly. “The only truth I see is a guy who used to be my friend, twisted into a monster. You’re not his champion. You’re his slave. You think those eyes, that power, makes you strong? They just show how much of you he’s already eaten.”

Frank’s sneer faltered, a shadow of doubt flickering across his scarred features. His hand twitched on his spatha’s hilt, and for a heartbeat, Percy thought he saw the old Frank, the one who’d fought beside him, who’d carried the burden of his curse with quiet courage. But the moment passed, and the glow in his eyes flared brighter, drowning out any trace of the demigod he’d been.

“Enough!” The son of Mars snarled, his voice resonating with the Father’s malice. “You talk of slavery, but you’re the one chained to your mortal heart, to your useless loyalty. The Father offers freedom, power, eternity. I accepted it. Hazel accepted it. Jason and Annabeth accepted it. Soon, you’ll have no choice but to do the same.”

Percy’s heart lurched at the mention of Hazel, a fresh wave of grief crashing over him. Gods, not her too. The thought of her corrupted sent a surge of rage through him, hotter than the pain in his battered body. He gripped Riptide so tight the hilt bit into his palm. He tried to steady his breathing but found that he could barely draw air, his chest tight with fury and despair. 

Frank laughed, knowing that comment hurt Percy more than any blade could. Seizing the moment, he raised his spatha, the runes on his armor pulsing with a sickly light. “Take him,” he commanded his subjects. “Alive, but I want him crawling.”

The Orcs roared, their hesitation shattered by the command. They surged forward, a tide of muscle and metal, their weapons glinting in the firelight. Percy’s instincts kicked into overdrive, his body moving on pure adrenaline and rage. He dove to the left, narrowly avoiding a massive axe that smashed into the marble. Riptide flashed, slicing through an Orc’s arm, ichor spraying as it howled and staggered back.

He fought like a cornered animal, every move fueled by desperation. An Orc lunged with a spear, and he sidestepped, grabbing the shaft and yanking the creature off balance before driving his blade into its chest. Another swung a club, catching his already wounded thigh, and pain exploded through his leg, nearly buckling it. He gritted his teeth, slashing upward, cleaving the monster’s face in two.

Desperate for an escape, he reached out with his powers, feeling for any water he could use. The air was dry, the ground soaked with ichor, but there was a faint trickle nearby—a broken fountain at the plaza’s edge, its basin cracked but still holding stagnant water. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

He thrust his hand toward the fountain, willing the water to rise. It responded sluggishly, tainted by ash and decay, but it surged upward, a muddy torrent that crashed into Frank and the nearest Orcs. The son of Mars staggered, his armor sizzling as the water hissed against the dark runes. The Orcs weren’t so lucky; the wave knocked several off their feet, their screams cut short as Percy followed up with a barrage of ice shards, each one punching through armor and flesh.

Frank recovered quickly, shaking off the water like a dog. His eyes burned with fury, and he raised his free hand, the air around him crackling with energy. The ground trembled, and Percy’s stomach dropped as he felt a shift in the earth. The marble beneath his feet split, jagged cracks racing toward him like lightning. He leapt aside as the ground erupted, stone shards flying as a massive fissure opened where he’d stood. The monsters cheered, their chants rising as the son of Mars advanced, his spatha raised for another attack.

Percy’s mind raced. He couldn’t keep this up. His body was failing, his wounds bleeding too freely, his strength ebbing with every move. The Tiber was still his best shot, but Frank wasn’t letting him get anywhere near it. He needed a distraction, something to break the stalemate. His eyes flicked to the bonfires scattered across the plaza. The flames roared high, fed by whatever fuel the Orcs had scavenged. Fire wasn’t his domain, but water could smother it or make it worse. He reached out with his powers, feeling for the moisture in the air, the ichor on the ground, anything he could use. An idea formed, risky but maybe just crazy enough to work.

He dodged another of Frank’s strikes, the spatha whistling past his ear, and sprinted toward the nearest bonfire. The Orcs moved to intercept, but Percy was faster, his legs pumping despite the pain. He reached the fire, its heat searing his skin, and thrust both hands forward, pulling every drop of moisture he could muster. The air shimmered as water condensed, not to douse the flames but to soak the surrounding debris, broken wood, tattered cloth, anything that could burn.

Frank hesitated to go after him, sensing a trap, but his pride or the Father’s influence drove him forward. He charged, spatha raised, the Orcs following like a pack of wolves. Percy waited until they were almost on him, then slammed his hand down, willing the water-soaked debris to ignite. The moisture flashed to steam, the sudden pressure amplifying the fire’s heat. The bonfire exploded outward, a roaring blast of flame and smoke that engulfed Frank and the front line of Orcs.

Screams filled the air as the monsters were consumed, their armor melting, their flesh charring. Frank staggered through the inferno, his runes flaring to shield him, but even he couldn’t escape unscathed. His armor smoked, his face blistered, and his yellow eyes burned with rage as he locked onto Percy through the flames.

The demigod didn’t wait. He turned and ran, weaving through the plaza, using the chaos to his advantage. The Orcs were disoriented, some still burning, others blinded by smoke. He pushed his battered body to its limits, ignoring the pain screaming through his leg, his shoulder, his ribs. The Tiber’s call grew stronger, its current a lifeline pulling him forward.

His boots pounded against the cracked cobblestones of New Rome, each step a jolt of pain that threatened to bring him to his knees. The plaza behind him roared with chaos—Orcs screaming, flames crackling, and Frank’s enraged bellows cutting through the night. The explosion had bought him a sliver of time, but it wouldn’t last. The son of Mars was already recovering, his enhanced strength shrugging off the burns, and the surviving Orcs were regrouping, their yellow eyes piercing the smoke as they hunted him.

The Tiber’s pull was a beacon in his chest, its current singing to his blood. He could feel it now, closer, its power humming just beyond the city’s edge. If he could reach it, he could heal, recharge, and get Nico and Travis out of this nightmare. But the streets of New Rome were a maze of ruins, collapsed temples, and shattered forums, and every shadow seemed to hide another threat. His vision blurred, blood loss and exhaustion gnawing at his edges, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving, Riptide still clutched in his hand, its blade slick with ichor.

He darted through a narrow alley, the walls of a half-collapsed insula looming over him. He pressed himself against a crumbling wall, catching his breath, and scanned the path ahead. The alley opened into a small courtyard, its center dominated by a dried-up fountain, its marble nymphs cracked and defaced. Beyond it, he could see the faint glimmer of the Tiber, its waters reflecting the moonlight like a promise of salvation.

“Come on, Jackson,” he muttered to himself, wiping blood and sweat from his face. “Almost there.”

He pushed off the wall, ignoring the scream of his wounded thigh, and sprinted toward the courtyard. The ground was uneven, littered with debris, but he vaulted over a fallen column, his movements fueled by sheer will. The Tiber was so close now, calling him like a mother’s voice. He could almost taste the cool water, feel its strength washing away the pain, the fatigue, the despair.

But as he cleared the courtyard, a shadow loomed ahead, massive and menacing. An Orc, larger than the others, stepped into his path, its spiked mace raised, its features gleaming with malice. Its armor was heavier, adorned with bones and jagged metal, and it moved with a deliberate grace that set it apart from the rabble. Percy skidded to a stop, Riptide snapping up instinctively.

“Going somewhere, half-blood?” It growled, its voice a low rumble that vibrated the air. It swung its mace in a lazy arc, the spikes whistling as they cut through the night.

The son of Poseidon didn’t bother with a reply. He lunged, his weapon flashing toward the Orc’s chest, but the creature was faster than it looked. It sidestepped, the mace swinging down with bone-crushing force. He dove to the side, the weapon smashing into the cobblestones, sending shards flying. He rolled to his feet, slashing at the Orc’s leg, but the blade sparked off its armored greaves, barely leaving a dent.

The Orc laughed. “The Father’s champion warned us about you,” it said, circling him. “Said you’d fight to the end. Said to break you slow.”

Percy’s heart sank, but he kept his face a mask of defiance. “Yeah? Tell Frank he’s next on my list.”

He reached out with his powers, searching for water, anything to give him an edge. The fountain was dry, but there was moisture in the air, in the ground, in the Orc’s own blood. He seized it, his will clamping down on the ichor in the creature’s veins. The Orc staggered, its eyes widening as it clutched its chest, but before Percy could crush its heart, a wave of dark energy slammed into him, breaking his focus.

He stumbled back, gasping, as Frank’s voice cut through the courtyard. “Enough games, Percy.”

The son of Mars stepped into the moonlight, his armor still smoking from the bonfire explosion. His eyes burned, and the runes on his armor pulsed, casting a sickly glow across the cracked stones. The Orc straightened, emboldened by its master’s presence, and raised its mace again. Percy cursed. He was cornered and running on fumes. The Tiber was so close, but Frank and the Orc blocked his path, and more monsters were closing in. He could hear their chants growing louder, their footsteps shaking the ground. He needed to get past them, needed to reach Nico and Travis.

“Frank,” he said in warning. “Last chance. Step aside, or I end this.”

His lips curled into a cruel smile, his spatha twirling in his hand. “End it? You can barely stand. Look at you, bleeding out, clinging to that sword like it’s your lifeline. You’re done, Percy. The Father’s will is inevitable.”

Percy’s eyes flicked to the Tiber, its glimmer just visible beyond the courtyard. He could feel its power, a tidal wave waiting to be unleashed. If he could just get there, he could turn this fight around. But Frank wasn’t going to let him walk away, and the Orc was already moving, its mace raised for another strike.

He made his choice. With a roar, Percy charged, not at the Orc, but at Frank. The son of Mars was ready, his spatha flashing up to meet Riptide. The blades clashed, celestial bronze against imperial gold, sparks flying as they locked together. He poured every ounce of strength into the push, his muscles screaming, but Frank’s power held firm, his eyes gleaming with triumph.

The Orc swung its mace, aiming for Percy’s back, but he anticipated it. He dropped low, letting Frank’s blade slide over his head, and kicked out, catching the Orc’s knee. The creature stumbled, its mace slamming into the ground, and Percy spun behind, grabbing its neck and snapping it with one clean break. With strength he didn’t know he had left, the son of Poseidon lifted the creature’s body with all his might and threw it at Frank, hoping to buy some time. 

Frank raised his sword, slicing through the Orc’s corpse with a single, effortless stroke, the body splitting in two and collapsing in a spray of ichor. But the action had bought enough time for Percy to run, heading directly for the river. Frank’s enraged shout echoed behind him, followed by the thunder of Orcs giving chase, their heavy footsteps shaking the ground. But Percy was close, so close. The glimmer of the Tiber was just beyond a final stretch of ruined street, its waters sparkling under the moonlight like a beacon.

His lungs burned, each breath a knife in his chest. Blood dripped from his wounds, leaving a trail of crimson in his wake. His thigh screamed with every step, the gash in his shoulder pulsing with pain, but he pushed through, driven by sheer will and the desperate need to reach Nico and Travis. The river was his lifeline, his one shot to turn this nightmare around. He burst out of the alley into an open stretch of ground, the Tiber’s banks just fifty yards away. The water’s surface rippled, calling to him, its currents alive with power. He could feel it already, the strength it would lend him, the healing it would provide. But as he sprinted forward, a shadow loomed to his left. Another Orc, this one wielding a massive warhammer, stepped from the ruins, blocking his path. 

Percy dove, the hammer whistling over his head, smashing into the ground and sending a shockwave of debris. He rolled to his feet, Riptide flashing as he slashed at the Orc’s legs. The blade bit into its thigh, ichor spraying, but the creature barely flinched, swinging again. He ducked, feeling the air displace as the hammer missed him by inches. He couldn’t afford to get bogged down, not now, not this close.

He reached out with his powers, seizing the moisture in the air and the faint traces of water in the nearby soil. The ground beneath the Orc softened, turning to mud, and its massive bulk sank slightly, throwing it off balance. Percy didn’t hesitate. He thrust Riptide upward, driving the blade through the Orc’s chest, twisting until he felt the heart give way. The creature roared, collapsing into the mud with a wet thud, its hammer slipping from its grasp.

But there was no time to celebrate. Frank’s voice rang out again, closer now, laced with the Father’s venom. “You can’t run forever, Percy!”

He risked a glance back. Frank was charging through the ruins, his spatha glowing with dark energy, the surviving Orcs fanning out behind him like a pack of wolves. Their numbers were fewer now, the explosion and the slaughter in the Senate House having thinned their ranks, but they were still a threat. And Frank…he was the real danger. His speed, his strength, the Father’s power coursing through him, it was like fighting a god.

Percy turned and continued to run, his vision tunneling on the Tiber. Thirty yards. Twenty. The river’s power surged in his blood, urging him forward. He could hear the Orcs’ roars, feel the ground tremble as Frank closed the distance. A spear sailed past his head, embedding itself in a crumbling wall, and he zigzagged to avoid another. His body was screaming, his wounds bleeding freely, but the river was so close now he could smell its clean, earthy scent cutting through the stench of ichor and smoke.

Ten yards.

He vaulted over a pile of rubble, his boots skidding on the loose stones. The Tiber’s banks were right there, the water lapping gently against the shore, its surface a mirror of moonlight. He reached out with his powers, feeling the river respond, its currents eager to answer his call. Just a few more steps—

A force slammed into him from behind, tackling him to the ground. Pain exploded through his body as he hit the dirt, Riptide flying from his hand and skidding across the stones. Frank’s weight pinned him, the son of Mars’ knee digging into his spine, his spatha pressed against the back of Percy’s neck. The cold edge of the blade bit into his skin, drawing a thin line of blood.

“Got you,” the son of Mars growled. “You really thought you could outrun me?”

Percy struggled, but it was no use. His arms were pinned, his face pressed into the dirt, the taste of blood and earth filling his mouth. The Tiber was so close, its power thrumming just out of reach. He could hear the Orcs approaching, their chants rising in a victorious crescendo.

“You don’t have to do this,” the son of Poseidon gasped, his voice hoarse. “You’re still in there. I know you are.”

Frank’s grip tightened, the blade pressing harder against Percy’s neck. “You’re wrong,” he hissed. “The old Frank is gone. There’s only the Father’s will now. And you, Percy, are going to kneel before him.”

Percy tried to think, searching for any way out. His powers were drained, his body battered, but he wasn’t done yet. He could feel the Tiber, its currents whispering to him, begging to be unleashed. He just needed a moment, a distraction. His eyes flicked to Riptide, lying just a few feet away, its blade glinting in the moonlight. If he could get to it, if he could reach the river—

A faint shadow moved in the ruins to his right, a flicker of darkness that didn’t belong. Nico. It had to be Nico. Percy’s heart surged with hope, but he kept his face neutral, not daring to give anything away. He needed to keep Frank’s attention, buy time for Nico and Travis to make their move.

“You’re wrong about one thing,” he said, forcing a smirk despite the blade at his neck. “I don’t kneel. Not to you, not to your Father, not to anyone.”

Frank’s eyes narrowed, flaring with anger. He opened his mouth to retort, but a shadow erupted from the ruins, dark tendrils lashing out like whips. Nico’s voice cut through the night, sharp and strained. “Get off him!”

The shadows struck Frank, wrapping around his arms and yanking him back. The spatha fell from his grip, clattering against the stones, and Percy seized the moment. He rolled free, scrambling toward Riptide as Frank roared, fighting against Nico’s shadows. The son of Hades stood in the ruins, his face pale and drawn, his Stygian iron sword trembling in his hand. Travis was beside him, Theoteta drawn. 

“Percy, move!” Travis shouted, shooting the gun at an approaching Orc. The bullet struck true, embedding in the creature’s eye, and it collapsed with a howl.

Percy grabbed Riptide, quickly staggering to his feet, his body screaming in protest, and sprinted the final few yards to the Tiber. The Orcs roared, charging after him, but he didn’t look back. He dove into the river, the cool water enveloping him like a mother’s embrace. The moment he hit the water, power surged through him. The Tiber’s currents flowed into his veins, healing his wounds, washing away the blood and ichor. His vision cleared, his strength returned, and he felt the river’s might amplifying his own. He surfaced, gasping, Riptide glowing in his hand as the water swirled around him, responding to his will.

Nico and Travis dove in after him, the river’s currents pulling them under as Percy extended his power to shield them. The Tiber responded like an old friend, its waters wrapping around the trio, forming a protective cocoon that moved with divine energy. Without hesitation, he grabbed both his friends before focusing on the sea’s web. He reached out with his mind, feeling the Tiber’s connection to the broader network, its threads stretching beyond New Rome, toward the coast, toward safety. He didn’t care where they ended up. Just as long as it was safe and far from the Father’s reach.

Arrows and spears sliced through the water, but the Tiber’s currents deflected them, swirling protectively around the trio. Percy caught a glimpse of Frank standing at the water’s edge, his yellow eyes blazing through the mist, his spatha raised as if he could will the river itself to part. The runes on his armor pulsed, and for a moment, Percy felt a tug, an alien force trying to disrupt his control over the water.

“Not today!” the son of Poseidon growled, closing his eyes before forcing not only himself but Travis and Nico to dissipate in thin air. 

He let the sea’s web guide him to whatever destination it deemed fit. The world dissolved into a whirl of water and darkness, the Tiber’s currents merging with the sea’s vast network, pulling the trio through a timeless void. Percy clung to his friends, scared that if he let go, they might never reform. But as quickly as it began, it ended. The sea spat them out with a jolt, the world snapping back into focus as they crashed onto solid ground. Percy hit the surface hard, his knees buckling, and he sprawled forward, his hands catching onto something…soft? And warm? 

He lifted his head, blinking through the haze. They were in a familiar palace, lined with bookshelves and maps. The familiar scent of leather and ambrosia filled his nostrils. He almost screamed out in joy as he realized they were on Olympus, specifically Athena’s palace. That made things so much easier. Sadly, however, that joy was quickly snuffed out of him when he heard a feminine gasp beneath him. He blinked again, trying to clear the fog from his mind, and realized with a jolt that his face was buried against a chest, specifically, a chest clad in a silver tunic, the fabric taut over curves that definitely weren’t part of the floor. His hands, gripping for balance, were unmistakably resting on… oh, gods.

He lifted his head slowly, finding himself staring into not a pair of grey eyes but of silver which burned with a mix of shock and embarrassment. When he realized who it was, his body practically gave out, exhaustion and fear giving way and making him fall into a much-needed slumber. 

Chapter Text

He didn’t know how long he was out, but when consciousness stirred, it came with a dull ache in every fiber of his being. His eyes fluttered open, the world slowly swimming into focus. He could see the soft glow of torchlight casting flickering shadows across a vaulted ceiling adorned with intricate carvings of owls and olive branches. The air carried the familiar scent of leather and ambrosia, calming his nerves as he realized where he was. He was still in Athena’s palace on Olympus, sprawled on a cushioned bench, his wounds bandaged, though the ache in his muscles and the sting of his cuts told him he wasn’t fully healed even after jumping into the Tiber. 

A gentle hand ran soothingly over his hair, pulling him further from the haze of unconsciousness. He tilted his head, wincing as his neck protested, and found himself staring into a pair of grey eyes staring back at him, calculating and slightly unnerving, yet softened by concern. Percy’s breath caught in his throat, thinking it was Annabeth for just a fleeting moment. But he knew that was just his groggy mind playing tricks. 

“You’re awake,” Athena greeted, continuing to run a hand through his hair. “Good. I was beginning to think you’d sleep all day.” 

Percy blinked, his mind struggling to catch up with the surreal shift from the blood-soaked chaos of New Rome to the serene opulence of the palace. The goddess’s touch was unexpectedly gentle, her fingers threading through his tangled hair with a care that felt almost loving. But her gaze held a glint of curiosity as if she were dissecting his very soul. He supposed it was only natural for her to do that, considering he teleported here unannounced with two other badly wounded demigods, covered in water and blood. 

“Athena?” His voice came out rough, like gravel scraped raw. He tried to sit up, but she prevented him, much to his displeasure. “Where’s… Nico and Travis?”

“They’re safe,” she replied, her tone calm but edged with authority. She pressed a hand lightly against his chest, urging him to stay down. “Rest. You’ve pushed yourself far beyond mortal limits. They’re recovering in the next chamber.” 

Percy exhaled, relief washing over him despite the throbbing pain in his body. He let his head sink back onto the cushioned bench, his eyes flicking to the goddess beside him. Her hand continued to linger on his bare chest, tracing his muscles and scars that crisscrossed his skin. The gesture was oddly intimate, and he felt a flush creep up his neck, unsure if it was from embarrassment or the lingering adrenaline.

“You took quite a risk, going to New Rome with only those two,” she said with admonishment. “What were you thinking, facing the Father’s forces with so little backup? Even for you, Percy Jackson, that was reckless.”

“How much has Nico or Travis told you?” He asked.

“Only that you had to go there to destroy some crystal,” she replied, but when she saw the look in his eye, her hand on his abs quickly tensed, coming to the conclusion before he could voice it aloud. “You found something out about the Father!” She practically yelled, the fire in her gaze igniting with a fierce intensity that made Percy’s skin prickle.

“Yeah,” Percy replied, pushing himself up despite her earlier protest. Pain lanced through his shoulder and thigh, but he gritted his teeth and swung his legs over the edge of the bench, sitting upright. “It’s bad, Athena. Worse than we thought. Let’s get Nico and Travis; they need to hear this, too.”

The goddess of wisdom fiercely nodded, standing up as she eagerly made her way to the chamber where the two other demigods were. “I can’t believe a demigod, a son of Poseidon, no less, figured something out before me, but at this point, I don’t care. I have searched and searched for an inkling of information on the Father, but I haven’t found anything. Oh gods, this is great, Perseus! I’m sure Artemis will be curious about what you’ve discovered as well!” 

Percy felt his blood run cold at the mention of Artemis, images of those silver eyes and her curves when he fell on top of her flashing through his mind. Oh gods…he’s dead. 

“Wait,” he nervously chuckled, throwing up his hand for Athena to wait. “Wait, wait, wait. What do you mean Artemis will be curious? Are-are you telling me she’s reformed from Tartarus?” 

Athena paused mid-stride, her grey eyes narrowing as she caught the edge of panic in Percy’s voice. Her lips twitched, a faint smirk betraying her amusement at his sudden nervousness. She turned back to face him, folding her arms with a regal air.

“Artemis, reformed from Tartarus?” she echoed, her tone laced with a teasing curiosity. “She arrived on Olympus just before you and your friends crashed into my palace, dripping wet and half-dead. Specifically, with you falling on top of her, grabbing some assets of hers that no man has ever had the pleasure of touching.”

Percy’s face flushed a deep crimson, the heat rising from his neck to his ears as the revelation sank in. The memory of crashing into Artemis, his hands inadvertently gripping her, sent a fresh wave of mortification through him. He groaned, dropping his face into his hands, the ache in his wounds momentarily forgotten. “Oh, gods, I’m so dead. She’s going to hunt me down and turn me into a jackalope or something.”

Athena’s smirk widened, looking like a strategist savoring a checkmate. “You’re lucky she didn’t smite you on the spot. Artemis is not known for her patience with… let’s call it ‘unintended familiarity.’ But she’s been preoccupied with her return from Tartarus. You might have a few hours before she decides to address your little… indiscretion. If you’re lucky, that is.”

Percy groaned again into his hands, ignoring the goddess's melodic laugh as she dragged him out of the room and out into the hallway. “Come, come. I’ll make sure she doesn’t hurt you too badly. Head to my study room. I’ll gather the boys and meet you there.” 

Percy stumbled through the polished marble corridors of Athena’s palace, his steps echoing against the intricate mosaics that depicted scenes of wisdom and war. His body ached with every step, the Tiber’s healing waters and Athena’s ministrations having stitched his wounds but not erased the bone-deep exhaustion. The memory of Artemis’s silver eyes, wide with shock and embarrassment, burned in his mind, making his stomach churn. He’d faced Titans, giants, and the Father’s Orcs, but the thought of facing the Huntress’s wrath made his knees weak in a way no monster ever could.

He reached the study room, its heavy oak doors carved with owls and olive branches, and pushed them open. It looked exactly the same since the last time he’d been here, with bookshelves lining the walls, and maps and other parchments littering the wide desk dominating the middle of the room. His eyes darted to the far corner, where a familiar figure stood, her back to him, her silver tunic glinting like moonlight.

Artemis.

Oh gods. Athena sent him here alone, knowing she was here. It was a trap. 

The goddess was studying a map, her auburn hair cascading down her back in a braid, her posture rigid with the grace of a predator at rest. Percy froze in the doorway, his heart thudding against his ribs. The memory of their collision—his hands on her, the warmth of her body beneath him—flashed through his mind, and he felt his face heat again. He considered bolting, but the creak of the door betrayed him. Artemis’s head snapped up like a deer, her silver eyes locking onto his with an intensity that pinned him in place.

The two stared at one another in silence, the only thing they could hear being the war drum that was Percy’s heart. Her gaze bore into him like twin moons cutting through the night. He braced himself, half-expecting her to draw her bow and turn him into a pincushion for his accidental transgression. His mind raced for an apology, something to defuse the situation, but his throat felt dry, and the words stuck like sand.

He took a cautious step forward, raising his free hand in a placating gesture. She stepped away from the map, her movements fluid and deliberate, like a panther stalking prey. The silver tunic hugged her form, the faint shimmer of its fabric catching the light, and Percy couldn’t help but notice the graceful strength in her frame, a reminder that she was a goddess, a hunter, and not someone to cross lightly. He swallowed hard, his pulse hammering as she swiftly closed the distance between them.

He expected a slap, a shout, or worse, the cold bite of an arrow. His muscles tensed, ready to dodge, but instead, Artemis stopped inches from him, her gaze softening in a way that caught him off guard. Before he could process it, she moved faster than he could track, and suddenly her arms were around him, pulling him into a tight, unexpected hug.

Percy froze, his mind short-circuiting. The warmth of her embrace was startling. Her scent, wildflowers and pine, filled his senses, causing his mind to go into a haze. His arms hovered awkwardly, unsure whether to return the embrace or stay still to avoid further offending her.

“Uh… good to see you too?” he mumbled awkwardly.

She pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes, her hands still resting on his shoulders. “Athena has told me all that has happened since Gaea,” she stated, gratitude in her tone. “Thank you for looking after my hunters, especially Thalia.” 

Percy blinked, his brain struggling to catch up with the sudden shift from expecting divine wrath to receiving a goddess’s gratitude. Her hands lingered on his shoulders, and he became acutely aware of the heat radiating from her touch into his bare chest. He swallowed hard, his throat still dry, and managed a lopsided grin. 

“They didn’t need much looking after,” he replied. “If anything, they’ve been looking after us. They’re tough girls.” 

“You’re too modest, Perseus,” Artemis said. “Athena told me how you moved all the demigods to Montana to keep them safe, how you’ve been fighting the Father’s forces while trying to build a home. Few could endure what you have, especially without the help of the Gods.”

Her voice was soft, almost reverent, but it carried the exhaustion of an Olympian who’d just been in Tartarus, who no longer held the power that they’d had for millennia. Percy shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. He wasn’t used to this. Praise from Artemis, of deities, felt like stepping into a trap he couldn’t quite see. 

“Thanks,” he said gruffly, scratching the back of his neck, careful not to meet her eyes for too long. “It’s been tough, but now that you’re here, things might get a little easier for us.” 

Artemis nodded, a flicker of amusement dancing in her features as she stepped back, releasing his shoulders. Her arms crossed over her chest, and Percy couldn’t help but notice the way the movement accentuated her form beneath the shimmering silver tunic. He quickly averted his gaze, his face heating again as the memory of their earlier collision surged back unbidden.

“I’m grateful for what you’ve done, Perseus, not only for my hunters but for Olympus as a whole,” she said, her voice carrying a teasing edge that was both playful and dangerous. “But don’t think it excuses your… clumsiness earlier.” Her lips twitched as if she were suppressing a smile, but her tone held a warning that made his stomach twist.

He opened his mouth to stammer out an apology, but before he could, Artemis closed the distance again, her movements swift. In a flash, her hand darted downward, and Percy yelped as she grabbed him firmly—very firmly—below the belt. His knees buckled, and he gripped the edge of the nearby desk to steady himself, his eyes wide with shock and a touch of pain.

“Artemis!” he choked out, his voice an octave higher than usual.

Her grip tightened just enough to make him wince, her silver eyes locking onto his with an intensity that could’ve frozen a hellhound in its tracks. “If you ever grab my breast again,” she whispered, her face mere inches from his. “I won’t hesitate to take these as trophies for my hunt. Understood?”

Percy nodded frantically, his face a mix of mortification and terror. “Y-yeah, understood! Never again!”

Artemis held his gaze for a moment longer, her expression unreadable, hand still on his most precious parts. Her lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “Good. I’d hate to ruin such a promising hero.” She whispered. 

In that intimate moment, however, the heavy oak doors of the study room swung open with a creak, shattering the tension. Athena strode in, followed closely by Nico and Travis, both looking exhausted but upright. The goddess’s gaze swept over the scene, Percy frozen, Artemis’s hand still gripping him. Her lips twitched, barely suppressing a smirk, but she said nothing about the awkward tableau, her focus already shifting to the matter at hand.

Nico, leaning slightly on his Stygian iron sword for support, raised an eyebrow at the sight. “Uh, did we interrupt something?”

Travis, his arm bandaged and Theoteta holstered at his hip, snorted, wincing as the movement tugged at his injured ribs. “Looks like Percy’s about to lose more than his pride.”

Artemis released him with deliberate slowness, her hand lingering just long enough to make him squirm before stepping back, her expression cool and composed as if nothing had happened. Percy exhaled shakily, his face still burning, and he quickly adjusted his stance. He shot Travis a glare that promised retribution, but the son of Hermes just grinned, unrepentant.

“Enough,” Athena said in warning. She moved to the wide desk in the center, its surface cluttered with maps, scrolls, and glowing orbs that shone with divine energy. “We have more pressing matters than your… entanglements.” Her eyes flicked to her sister, a silent reprimand for the goddess’s theatrics, before settling on Percy. “You said you learned something about the Father. Speak.”

“He’s not just some ancient evil or a random monster,” he began, taking a deep breath. All eyes bore into him as he relived the memories of the torture, the pain. “He’s… he was a Titan. A son of Kronos, his heir, back when the Titans ruled during the Golden Age. The crystal that we went after showed me his past.” 

“A son of Kronos?” Artemis repeated. “T-That’s impossible. He only had my uncles and father.”

Percy shook his head, leaning against the desk as he continued. “This was before he had the first six gods. Before Mount Othrys was even built. He was Kronos’s firstborn. His chosen heir. He stood by Kronos, helped him build the Titans’ empire, and fought his battles. He was loyal, strong, stronger than the others. But then the prophecy came.”

“A son to overthrow the king,” Athena answered, resting her hands on her head as the revelation came. “The same as Kronos did to his own father.” 

“Exactly,” Percy confirmed. “Kronos thought it was him, the heir to his throne. So he turned on him. Chained him in the depths of Mount Othrys, locked him away where no light could reach for millennia. That’s what broke him, turned him into… whatever he is now. A being of pure hate and vengeance, forged from betrayal and time.”

“And you’re certain of this? He couldn’t be another Titan or even a primordial?”

“I know what I saw,” the son of Poseidon replied firmly, trying to hold back the grimace when the Father’s smile flashed through his mind. “When I saw his past, who he was before, it was like looking in a mirror.”

“But why would he show you that?” Athena pondered, electing to take a seat. “What does he gain by showing you his past? He’s been so elusive, so recluse, that not even I could find anything out about him. Why did he only show you?” 

Percy sighed, running a hand through his hair, unsure if he should tell them the next part. He didn’t want anyone to look at him differently, but now was not the time to hold secrets. If they were to defeat the Father, no stone could be left unturned.

“He called me his heir, said I carried his blood, his curse.”

The room fell silent at that comment, everyone's hair standing on end nervously. Travis seemed affected the most, shifting uncomfortably, his gaze growing distant as he remembered his dreams of Percy controlled by the Father’s power.

“His heir?” Artemis asked, crossing her arms as she leaned against the desk, her brow furrowed in thought. “Why would he say that?”

“Because Percy is like him,” Athena answered, her godly mind beginning to connect the dots. “His strength, his rage, his potential. If what you say about the Father is true, that he was perhaps the strongest among Kronos’s children, how he looked just like you before he was imprisoned, perhaps he believes that you’ll end up just like him. Consumed by power, betrayed by those you trust, and driven to destroy everything in your path. He sees himself in you. Wants to claim you, to mold you into what he became, to prove that no one can escape the curse of their blood.”

“I’m nothing like him,” the son of Poseidon growled.

“He showed you his past for a reason,” she replied, laying a hand over his. “He wants you to see the parallels, to doubt yourself, to wonder if you’re fated to follow his path. That is why he wants you as his heir.”

Percy was silent for a moment, his green irises deep in contemplation. “But it doesn’t make sense,” he muttered to himself, taking his hand off Athena’s before beginning to pace the room. “When I fought Frank, he said that he was the heir. That he was the Father’s champion.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Nico interrupted, straightening his posture. “That was Frank by the river?! Frank Zhang?!” His voice cracked with disbelief, his dark eyes wide with shock. He hadn’t realized it was the son of Mars whom they’d fought since it was so dark outside. “You’re telling me Frank, our Frank, is out there too?! Leading those Orcs just like Annabeth and Jason?!”

Percy nodded grimly, his jaw tight as he stopped pacing and faced the group. “Yeah. It was him. Same face, same voice, but… not him. Not anymore.”

Travis let out a low whistle, slumping against the wall, his bandaged arm cradled against his chest. “Gods, man. First Annabeth, then Jason, now Frank? Who’s next, Hazel? This guy’s collecting our friends like Pokémon cards.”

“Don’t,” the son of Poseidon snapped, throwing up a hand, clenching it with all his might. The mention of Hazel hit like a punch to the gut, Frank’s taunt about her echoing in his mind. He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to calm down. “He mentioned Hazel, too. Said she’d ‘accepted’ the Father’s gift. I don’t know if it’s true, but…”

Nico’s face darkened even further, his grip on his desk tightening until his knuckles were white. “If he’s got Hazel…” His voice trailed off, but the fury in his eyes spoke volumes. Percy knew that look. After all, it was a look he’d seen in the mirror countless times. His eyes burned with a mix of rage and fear, his fingers twitching as if itching to summon shadows to drag the Father from whatever hole he was hiding in. He’d lost two sisters now. To summon one from the dead and make her into a puppet lit a fire in his chest that only revenge could extinguish. 

“If the Father is indeed Kronos’s firstborn, betrayed and imprisoned, then his motivations are clearer. He’s not just seeking power or destruction; he’s seeking vengeance,” Athena broke through the tension, tapping a finger on the desk. “Against the Titans, against the gods, against the very order of the cosmos. And if he’s targeting demigods like Frank, my daughter, and Jason, turning them into his champions…” She paused, her grey eyes narrowing.

“He wants them as a vessel,” Percy finished, running a hand tiredly through his hair. “That’s what he said he wanted me to be. A vessel. Just like Luke was to Kronos.” 

His words hung heavy in the air, the implication settling over the room like a dark cloud. Everyone remembered what it was like to deal with Luke Castellan when he was under the Titan King’s control. To now have most of the seven of prophecy under the same fate of a Titan who is perhaps stronger is a nightmare none of them wanted to relive. 

“Fuck me,” Travis whispered, pacing in the corner of the room. “Fuck, this is bad, Percy, like really bad. He has the strongest demigods of our generation under his control, along with an army of Orcs. How the fuck do we fight something like that?!” 

“If it’s anything like what Kronos did to Luke, then there’s got to be a way to break it,” the son of Hades pitched in, his features filled with hope born of desperation. “Luke fought back in the end. He found a way to take control. Maybe we can do the same for Hazel and the others.” 

“Easier said than done,” Percy muttered, remembering just how much effort it took to bring Luke back to his senses. To do the same for Annabeth and the others, he personally didn’t have a clue what it would take. He’d seen flashes of their real selves when he encountered them, but it was like trying to catch smoke, fleeting, elusive, and gone before he could grasp it. The Father’s hold on them was stronger than Kronos’s ever was, laced with a malice that seemed to twist their very souls. Percy’s fists clenched at his sides, an anger festering within growing stronger. Annabeth, Jason, Frank, and Hazel, his friends, his family, were being used as pawns in a game that made the Titan War look like a skirmish.

“His reliance on vessels suggests a limitation, though, right?” Artemis interjected, looking to her sister for confirmation. “Perhaps he cannot fully manifest in this world without a host. That’s a weakness we can exploit.”

“Maybe,” the son of Poseidon replied, remembering the Father’s malformed body in the vision, a lattice of black tendrils barely holding together, fueled by hate and vengeance rather than a true physical presence. “It’s like he’s stuck between existing and not existing. That’s why he needs vessels, why he’s turning our friends into his puppets. He’s trying to anchor himself to this world while imprisoned down there.

“Down where?” Athena questioned, leaning forward with the eagerness of a strategist piecing together a puzzle.

Percy hesitated, the memory of that lightless void flashing through his mind. The tendrils, the sickly yellow eyes, the stench of decay, it was all too vivid, as if he’d been there moments ago. He rubbed his temple, where a dull ache lingered from the Father’s invasion of his mind. “Othrys,” he admitted, hating the chill that went down his spine. “He’s in the depths of Othrys. His essence is tied to that place, but it’s leaking out, seeping into the world through things like that crystal we destroyed.”

The wisdom goddess’s eyes gleamed with a mix of fascination and urgency, her mind already racing through possibilities. “Mount Othrys,” she murmured, her fingers drumming on the desk as she processed the information. “If he’s still bound there, that explains why his influence is so fragmented, why he relies on proxies like the Orcs and our corrupted demigods. But it also means he’s vulnerable. If we can reach him, strike at the source…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Travis interrupted, waving his hands frantically. “Strike at the source?! What do you mean strike at the source?! Lady Athena, with all due respect, we barely got out of New Rome alive. Storming Othrys? That’s suicide, even if we brought all the demigods with us.” 

“He’s right,” Nico added with a sigh. “We’re barely holding it together as it is. Hell, we still are living in tents and scavenging for whatever food is left out there in the winter. Montana is a whole other beast we’re worrying about. Now, you expect us, a hundred-something demigods who barely have enough armor or weapons to storm the Titans’ kingdom, somehow find the Father who is perhaps more powerful than Kronos, and kill him? That’s absolutely insane.” 

“But—” Athena tried to say, but Percy stopped her before she could continue. 

“No, Athena,” he said, shaking his head. “They’re right. We’re not ready for something like that.” He leaned forward, hands braced on the desk, his gaze flicking between them all. “We’re stretched thin, low on resources, and most of our best fighters are dead from Gaea’s war or…” He trailed off, the names hanging unspoken in the air. “We can’t just charge into Othrys. It’ll be even more defended than New Rome, which means it’ll be a slaughter.” 

Athena’s lips pressed into a thin line, her strategist’s mind clearly bristling at the resistance, but she didn’t interrupt. Artemis, standing silently to the side, tilted her head, her silver eyes studying him with an intensity that made him shift uncomfortably. Nico and Travis exchanged a glance, relief flickering across their faces at his words

“Look,” he continued, straightening up despite the ache in his ribs. “We destroyed his crystal, which means we bought ourselves some time. We can use that opportunity to get things settled in Montana, gather more supplies, and figure out what’s next. That’s the only thing we can do.” 

“Even still, with every moment we delay, the more his influence spreads like a plague,” the goddess replied, shaking her head as she stood up from her seat. “And if he finds a way to fully manifest…” She trailed off, her grey eyes scanning New York’s skyline, already envisioning the destruction and chaos.

The room fell silent. Everyone knew she was right. She was always right. But what she was suggesting was something that just couldn’t be done in their current predicament. Percy walked behind her, looking out at the city he used to call home. It was still destroyed from the war, but it was slowly being rebuilt, building by building.

“We can’t just sit here and wait for him to make the next move. I agree with you.” He conceded. “But we also can’t go charging into Othrys half-cocked. We need a strategy, Athena. You’re the goddess of wisdom, so help us figure this out.

He could see Athena’s calculating eyes in the window’s reflection, the city’s skyline reflected in their depths. She crossed her arms, her mind already spinning through possibilities, weighing every option with the precision of a chess master. “You said you were low on man-power,” she finally spoke, turning around and looking up at the demigod with a knowing look in her gaze. 

Percy was confused for but a moment, but then his confusion quickly turned into exasperation. “You’re kidding me, right? There’s no way that’ll work. They wouldn’t listen to me, especially the council.”

“And why not,” the goddess questioned, her tone soft, almost mocking. “You’re their king, are you not?” 

Travis and Nico raised an eyebrow, confused. They exchanged an odd look with one another, seeing if the other knew what Athena was referring to. Percy’s jaw tightened, his green eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and unease. The title was an ill-fitting crown, one he’d never asked for. He could still feel the echo of Triton’s ichor on his hands, the sea’s power thrumming in his veins, and the army’s chants ringing in his ears. But the idea of leveraging that authority, of marching into Atlantis and demanding they go to war for him, felt hypocritical, especially after Triton tried to do the very same. 

“You’ve unified Atlantis under a new vision, Perseus. You’ve proven your strength, your legitimacy. The sea answers to you, and its people will follow. An army of merfolk, cyclopes, and sea spirits could turn the tide against the Father’s forces.” She said with urgency, seeing the chessboard beginning to shift in her favor.

“What?!” Nico and Travis practically yelled at the same time, looking at Percy with wide-eyed disbelief. 

“You’re the king of Atlantis?” Travis sputtered, taking a step forward. “Since—since when?! And why the Hades didn’t you tell us?!”

Percy rubbed the back of his neck, his face a mix of guilt and discomfort as he avoided his friends' incredulous stares. Artemis, still leaning against the desk, watched the exchange with a raised eyebrow, her silver eyes glinting with curiosity but offering no comment.

“Okay, look,” he started, holding up his hands as if to ward off their questions. “The title of king doesn’t mean I’m running around with a trident and a crown, okay? It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated?!” Nico snapped, waving his hands in anger. He stepped closer, his dark eyes boring into his cousins’. “You’re the king of Atlantis, and you didn’t think to mention it?! We’ve been fighting side by side, bleeding together, surviving together, and you’re holding out on something like this?”

The son of Poseidon straightened his back at the confrontation, irked by Nico’s comment. He stepped up to Nico, standing a head over him, and met his gaze unflinching. “If I remember correctly, you withheld some very important information, too,” he growled. “So get off your fucking high horse.” 

The son of Hades flinched, remembering the incident between him and Percy in that parking lot. He didn’t mean to hurt his cousin. The opposite, in fact. He wanted to protect him from knowing that Annabeth chose rebirth. It was what she wanted, and he’d promise her right as she crossed over. But he should’ve known better than to think he could hide that from Percy forever. Gods, that fight felt like a lifetime ago. 

“Fine,” he eventually muttered, backing down. “We both kept secrets. Let’s call it even. But this Atlantis thing? That’s not just some minor detail, Percy. That’s a game-changer.”

Percy exhaled through his nose, his shoulders sagging as the anger ebbed. “I didn’t ask for it, but I was left with no choice. Triton was trying to take Olympus for himself, now that the Olympians were gone, and I knew we couldn’t deal with that, along with the Father. So…I challenged him not for the kingdom or a throne but to protect Olympus, to protect us.”

The room was silent for a moment, the gravity of his words sinking in. Nico’s expression softened, the fire in his dark eyes dimming as he processed what Percy had done. Travis, still leaning against the wall, let out a low whistle, his usual smirk replaced by a look of grudging respect. “Damn, man. You took down Triton? That’s… just how powerful are you? I mean, you’re starting to look more like an Olympian than a demigod.”

Athena quipped in before Percy could rebuke that comment. “You did what was necessary,” she said softly, laying a hand on his shoulder. “And now, you have the authority to call upon Atlantis’s forces. An army of merfolk, cyclopes, sea spirits, and resources we desperately need. The Father’s influence is growing, and we cannot afford to ignore any advantage.”

Percy’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “You’re asking me to drag them into this mess, Athena. They’ve already lost so much. Triton’s rebellion fractured Atlantis; half the kingdom wanted to follow him, the other half just wanted peace. If I call them to war now, it could tear them apart again.”

“And if you don’t,” she countered, stepping closer, her tone sharp, “the Father will tear everything apart. Not just Atlantis, but Olympus, the mortal world, everything you’ve fought for. Would you rather that happen or have a few sea deities upset at their king?”

His fists unclenched, but his expression remained taut, a storm brewing in his sea-green eyes. He knew she was right, but her suggestion felt like a rock in his gut. Leading Atlantis into war wasn’t just a tactical move; it was a gamble with lives, loyalties, and a kingdom he barely understood. He’d claimed the throne to stop Triton’s madness, not to play king. Yet here he was, being asked to once again wield a crown he didn’t want.

“Fine,” he said at last. “But I’ll only go to Atlantis after the people back at camp agree to do what you’re asking.” 

“Perseus…” the wisdom goddess tried to warn, but the son of Poseidon fervently shook his head.

“I won't budge on that, Athena,” Percy stated, narrowing his eyes. “The demigods have been through so much. Traveling across the country, surviving on scraps while constantly being chased by monsters, fighting an entire legion of Orcs for the valley. I won’t push them. They deserve a say in this. I’m not going to force them to march into Othrys and potentially their deaths.”

“Very well,” Athena sighed, knowing that he wouldn’t have it any other way. She loved and simultaneously hated how loyal he was to his friends. That loyalty could very well save or destroy their world, however. “But know that time is not on our side. Hesitation could cost us everything.”

Percy nodded, his mind already racing with what he’d say to his friends. Frankly, he was scared shitless. He wasn’t just a demigod anymore, not just a hero trying to save his friends; he was a king, a leader, whether he liked it or not. And now, he had to convince a battered, war-weary group of demigods to follow him into what could be their final stand. Gods help them all.

Chapter Text

“I’m coming with you.” 

Percy glanced up at Artemis, arching an eyebrow as he stole a piece of chicken before Travis could reach for it across the table. Her silver eyes gleamed with determination, her regal posture unwavering as she leaned against her seat, plucking a single grape from the vine. Nico and Travis exchanged a glance, their forks pausing over the spread of food Athena had personally made for them. Gone were the days when goddesses could simply summon food, so they made sure to eat their fill and thank her for it. 

“You’re… what?” he asked, lowering his fork. He wasn’t sure if it was the lingering ache in his body or the sheer audacity of Artemis’s statement that made his head spin. “Coming with me? To Montana?”

The moon goddess nodded, her braid swaying slightly as she straightened. “Yes. To Montana, and wherever this war takes us. My hunters are out there, fighting alongside your demigods. Thalia is leading them, but they need me. And if the Father is as dangerous as you say, you’ll need every ally you can get.”

Percy blinked, his mind racing to process the idea of the goddess of the hunt, the eternal maiden, marching into a barely functional demigod camp in the dead of winter. He could already imagine the chaos with her hunters bowing, the demigods gawking, and Thalia smirking at his discomfort. But there was something else in her tone, a fierce resolve that reminded him of the way she’d looked at him earlier, when her hand had been… well, somewhere he’d rather not think about in front of everyone

“Uh, no offense, Lady Artemis,” Travis piped up, leaning back in his chair with a cautious grin, “but you just got back from Tartarus. You sure you’re up for living with a bunch of demigods in the middle of the wilderness? I mean, we’re not exactly running a five-star resort out there.”

Artemis’s gaze snapped to Travis, and he visibly shrank under her stare, his grin faltering. “I’m the goddess of wilderness, son of Hermes,” she said coldly. “I will be right at home. A camp of demigods, even one as disorganized as yours, will hardly be a challenge. Besides, my hunters are there. I belong with them.”

“Plus, it might help her regain some power,” Athena interjected, briskly rolling up a letter she had been writing silently before handing it to one of her owls, who quickly took flight. Percy wondered what the contents of the letter might’ve been. Perhaps it was addressed to a minor god, being asked to help Olympus with the impending war. “Right now, my sister and I are as powerful as a simple demigod. We’ll need to regain as much as we can if we’re to help in any capacity.”

Percy chewed slowly, the piece of chicken suddenly tasting like ash as he processed the declaration. The idea of an Olympian goddess, diminished to demigod-level power, joining their ragtag camp in Montana was both a blessing and a complication. He glanced around the table, noting Nico’s furrowed brow and Travis’s uneasy eyes.

“Okay,” he said finally with a sigh. “Artemis, if you’re sure about this, we could use you. Thalia’s been holding things together, but having you there will mean a lot to them. And, yeah, maybe it’ll help you… recharge or whatever gods do to get their mojo back.” He hesitated, then turned to Athena. “But you’re staying here, right? Someone’s gotta keep Olympus from falling apart while we’re out there.”

“I’ll remain on Olympus, yes,” Athena replied with a mix of amusement and exasperation. Someone must coordinate with the other gods, or what’s left of them, and maintain our defenses here. But I expect regular reports, Perseus. And don’t think for a moment that I won’t be watching your strategy closely. You’re leading this fight, but I’m still the goddess of warfare.”

Percy snorted, a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite the tension. Like mother, like daughter. 

Nico cleared his throat, pushing his plate aside as he leaned forward. “So, what’s the plan, Percy? We head back to Montana, convince the camp to gear up for a war we’re not ready for, and then… what? Hope Atlantis listens to you? And what about Hazel, Annabeth, Jason, and Frank?”

Percy leaned back in his chair, asking himself the same questions. He raked a hand through his messy black hair, eyes flicking toward the window where storm clouds churned in the distance. The crystal was destroyed, which meant the Father had to have been weakened somewhat. And if their guess was true about him needing a vessel, then it could only mean one thing. 

“Annabeth and the others will be in Orthys,” he answered with certainty. “Now that the crystal is gone, they’re his strongest assets right now. He won’t let them go easily.”

“Along with his entire fucking army,” Travis muttered, setting down his food, no longer having an appetite.

“Yes, Travis,” Percy sighed. “Along with the entire fucking army. But if Atlantis comes to our aid, and maybe Athena and I call in some favors with some minor gods, we just might have a chance.” 

The room grew silent for a moment, save for the scrape of Percy’s chair as he stood up. All eyes drew to him at his suddenness, but he paid no heed, electing to walk towards the exit of Athena’s palace. 

“Where you—” Nico tried to ask.

“I need some air,” he said abruptly without turning back. “We’ll pick this up after I… process all this.”

Without another word, Percy left the room, the heavy oak doors creaking shut behind him. The evening air hit him like a wave as he stepped out onto the empty streets of Olympus, the cool bite of the wind slicing through his clothes. He walked in silence, boots echoing across the polished marble. The grandeur of Olympus stretched before him, a place both divine and hollow, eerily quiet since the fall of the gods. Statues of former glory lined the path, each face a reminder of the world they’d lost. The marble eyes of heroes and gods alike seemed to follow him as he took the steps up to the throne room.

Its massive doors were slightly ajar, revealing the circle of twelve thrones that stood in the dimly lit chamber. Each throne, a masterpiece of divine craftsmanship, was empty, their once-vibrant aura dulled by the absence of their owners. The automatons of Hephaestus stood in front of each one, their featureless faces staring at the son of Poseidon as he walked forward. Percy’s steps slowed as he entered, his gaze drawn to his father’s seat. He stopped in front of it, feeling as if there was a lump in his throat. He didn’t sit on it. The thought felt wrong, like stepping into shoes too big to fill. Instead, his fingers traced the smooth, cool surface of a seashell embedded in the throne. The lump in his throat tightened as memories, not just of his father but of times before, flooded back to him. 

His days at Camp Half-Blood, campfires, fireworks, quests, and Annabeth, he wanted it all back. He’d do anything just to relive those fleeting moments of peace, when the world wasn’t collapsing under divine wars. He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. Those days had long since passed. 

“What would you do, Dad?” he whispered, his hand biting deeper into the edge of the seashell. “How can I win this war?” 

The throne didn’t answer. It loomed silently, a monument to a god who was no longer there to guide him. The silence was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of Hephaestus’s automatons, their metallic gazes tracking his every move. He wanted a sign, a whisper of guidance, anything to help him in the turmoil of his new reality. But the throne remained silent, a cold reminder that the gods were gone, and he was left to carry their burdens.

One lone tear fell down his cheek, feeling utterly helpless. He didn’t want to send his friends, his family, off to another war. He couldn’t lose the remaining people he loved to a battle that he didn’t know if they could win. He swallowed hard, forcing the tear away with the back of his hand as if the act alone could keep the rest from falling. But the ache didn’t fade. It only sank deeper, pooling in his chest. 

Percy stood there a moment longer, his hand still gripping the seashell on Poseidon’s throne. The air in the throne room felt heavy, thick with the ghosts of decisions made and battles fought. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to let go, his fingers uncurling from the throne as he turned away. The automatons’ gazes followed him, their mechanical hum a faint echo in the vast chamber, but he ignored them. He needed to move, to think, to do something other than drown in the memories and the fear of what lay ahead.

The marble streets of Olympus gleamed under the faint starlight as he stepped back outside, the storm clouds from earlier now a distant smudge on the horizon. Percy’s boots scuffed against the stone as he wandered, his mind churning through endless questions. How could he convince the demigods to march into a war they might not survive? How could he face Annabeth, Jason, Frank, and Hazel, knowing they were no longer themselves but puppets of the Father? How could he end their suffering and give their souls, whatever was left of them, peace? And Atlantis, could he really rally a kingdom he barely understood, one that some still whispered Triton’s name in its halls?

He found himself at the edge of Olympus, where the marble gave way to a sheer drop, the mortal world sprawling far below. New York’s skyline flickered, half-rebuilt, a patchwork of resilience and ruin. Percy leaned against a low balustrade, the cool stone chilling his skin as he stared out. He closed his eyes, letting the breeze tug at his hair, and for a moment, he could almost envision himself back in the past, staring out the window of his mother’s apartment as she made blue cookies for him. Gods, he missed her. 

But the moment passed, and the silence, along with the uncertainty of the future, returned. His hands gripped the balustrade, knuckles whitening as he fought the urge to let the weight of everything pull him under. He couldn’t help but remember the Father’s words, a venomous whisper: his heir, his curse. The idea that he could be like that monster, that his blood carried the same potential for destruction, gnawed at him. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the thought, but it clung like damp seaweed.

Footsteps, light but deliberate, broke his reverie. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was; the faint rustle of a silver tunic and the subtle scent of wildflowers gave her away. Artemis stopped beside him, staring out at the skyline. She stood too close for his liking, but he didn’t dare comment. She didn’t speak at first, just leaned against the balustrade, her silver eyes scanning the horizon with the same intensity she’d turned on him earlier. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but truthfully, he’d much rather be alone at the moment. 

“Nico and Travis shadow-traveled back to Montana already,” she finally stated, tugging at a stray lock of hair. “They wanted to get back before your friends started to think you all were dead. And Athena’s preparing a few things for us before we leave. She’s… meticulous, as always.”

He nodded, glad that those two were thinking ahead. He just hoped he wouldn’t receive too much of a beating for breaking his promise to the girls. “Thanks for letting me know,” he replied, his words rough from the emotions still churning inside him. “I just… needed a minute.”

Artemis tilted her head, studying him the way a hunter might study a track in the wild. “I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to be in your position right now. Couldn’t even imagine it frankly.” 

“Of course you wouldn’t. None of you gods would. But you and Athena are mortal enough now to feel it.” He sighed, edged with a bitterness he didn’t bother to hide. “You’re not sitting on a throne anymore, Artemis. You’re in the dirt with us, and it’s not exactly a divine picnic.”

Artemis didn’t flinch at his tone, though her fingers tightened slightly around the balustrade. “Careful, Perseus,” she said, her voice calm but carrying the faintest undercurrent of warning. “I may be diminished, but I’m still the goddess of the hunt. I’ve faced worse than a demigod’s sharp tongue.”

He snorted, finally turning to meet her gaze. “And I’ve faced worse than a goddess who barely can pass for a demigod, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Artemis looked slightly hurt at that, turning away slightly as she bit her bottom lip. The son of Poseidon sighed once more, running a hand through his hair in agitation. He didn’t mean to be rude or condescending, but it seemed stress was finally catching up to him. 

“Forgive me,” he said softly. “I’m just trying to figure out how to keep everyone alive when we’re up against a Titan who’s got the love of my life and my friends as his personal puppets and an army that makes the Titan War look like a skirmish.”

Her features softened, the faint hurt fading as she regarded him with a mix of empathy and understanding. She stepped closer, the distance between them shrinking until the warmth of her presence was almost tangible. “You don’t need to apologize, Perseus,” she said quietly, her tone carrying centuries spent watching mortals and demigods alike wrestle with their fates. “I can at least understand the pressure you’re under. More than you might think.”

Percy raised an eyebrow, skeptical but too tired to argue. “You? Understand pressure? You’re a goddess, Artemis. Even diminished, you’ve got eternity to figure things out. We’ve got… what, weeks? Months, if we’re lucky?”

Her lips quirked into a faint, bittersweet smile. “Eternity doesn’t make loss easier. Nor does it make the fear of failing those you care about any less real.” She paused, her gaze drifting to the horizon, where the last remnants of sunlight bled into the bruised purple of dusk. “I’ve led my hunters for millennia, watched them fight, bleed, and die for causes not unlike yours. Each loss cuts deeper than the last. And now, with my powers weakened, I feel their fragility, my fragility, in a way I never have before.”

Percy studied her, the vulnerability in her words catching him off guard. Artemis, the eternal maiden, the untouchable goddess of the hunt, was admitting to fear. It was unsettling, like seeing a star flicker in the night sky. He shifted, his hands loosening their grip on the balustrade. “So, what do you do with it? The fear, I mean. How do you keep going when you know you might lose everything?”

“You focus on what you can control.” She turned to face him fully, her gaze locking onto his. “You hunt the threat, step by step, track by track. You don’t let the size of the beast overwhelm you; you find its weaknesses, its tracks, its habits. And you strike when the moment is right. The Father is a beast, Perseus. A cunning, ancient one, but a beast nonetheless. And beasts can be hunted.”

He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “You make it sound so simple. Track, hunt, kill. But this isn’t just some monster in the woods. This is a Titan. A Titan who has people under his control whom I would’ve died for when they were alive.”

“Simple? No. Necessary? Yes.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper. “You’ve faced impossible odds before, Perseus. Titans, giants, primordials. You didn’t win by doubting yourself or mourning what was lost. You won by acting, by finding the chinks in their armor. The Father has your friends, yes, but that’s his mistake. You know them better than anyone. Use that. Find the cracks in his control.”

He wanted to argue, to say that knowing Annabeth, Jason, Frank, and Hazel only made it harder, that every glimpse of their twisted selves was a knife in his gut. But Artemis’s gaze didn’t waver, and he knew she wasn’t wrong. The Father’s hold on them was a weapon, but it could also be a weakness. If he could reach them, truly reach out to their real selves like he had with Luke…

“Okay, I got everything you need,” Athena’s voice interrupted the conversation

Percy turned sharply, his thoughts snapping back to the present as the goddess of wisdom strode toward them, her arms laden with a bundle of scrolls and a small, intricately carved wooden box that had a faint golden glow. She set the items down on the balustrade as if she were laying out pieces on a chessboard.

“Everything I need?” he echoed, his brow furrowing as he eyed the items. “What’s all this?”

“Resources,” she said crisply, her tone all business. “Maps of Othrys’s outer defenses, compiled from before the Second Titan War. Schematics of its terrain, possible entry points, and weak spots in its natural fortifications.” She tapped the scrolls, her fingers lingering on the parchment as if reluctant to let go of her carefully curated knowledge. “These are incomplete, mind you, but they’re the best we have. Othrys is a labyrinth of ruins and dark magic, even more so now with the Father’s influence. You’ll need to study these before you even think of setting foot there.”

Percy picked up one of the scrolls, unrolling it to reveal a detailed map of Mount Othrys, its peaks and sprawling fortifications drawn with meticulous precision. Annotations in Athena’s elegant script marked potential choke points, collapsed tunnels, and areas where the Father’s Orcs might be stationed. His eyes scanned the map, but his mind was still half-caught in Artemis’s words, the idea of hunting the Father like a beast. It was a daunting prospect, but her resolve had sparked something in him, a flicker of determination to match the dread coiling in his gut. He needed all he could get if he were to defeat a Titan stronger than Kronos.

“And this?” he asked, nodding toward the wooden box, its surface etched with owl motifs and glowing faintly with divine energy.

“A gift. Or rather, a tool. Open it.”

He hesitated, then lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in a bed of velvet, was a small, palm-sized disc of polished obsidian, its surface swirling with faint, silvery runes that seemed to shift under his gaze. It hummed softly, like the distant crash of waves, and he felt a pull in his chest, a faint echo of power resonating within him.

“It’s a wayfinder,” she explained. “Forged by Hephaestus long ago, imbued with a fragment of the eternal flame. It is the very flame that Prometheus stole to gift humanity, a spark of divine guidance. It can guide you through places where mortal senses fail, places like Othrys, where the Father’s influence warps reality itself. It’s not a weapon, but it will help you find your way when the path and perhaps your destiny are unclear.”

Percy lifted the wayfinder, its weight surprisingly light for something pulsing with such potent energy. The runes danced under his touch, and for a moment, he swore he felt a faint tremor, like a heartbeat echoing from a distant abyss. He closed his fingers around it before finally putting it back in the box.

“Thanks, Athena,” he said. “This… this could make a difference.” He turned back to the skyline, the distant lights of New York flickering like stars against the encroaching dark. He wondered if this would be the last time he’d ever get to see the city.

“Ready to head out?” Artemis asked expectantly, but he could hear the eagerness in her words. Her posture was casual, but there was an undercurrent of readiness, like a bowstring being taut. It seemed she was ready to get back to her hunters and the wilderness itself. She’d never been someone to stay on Olympus for long.

Percy exhaled, his breath misting in the cool evening air. “Not really,” he admitted, grabbing the scrolls and box off the balustrade before walking over to her. “But since when has that stopped me?”

Athena’s lips quirked, a rare flicker of amusement softening her stern features. “You’ve never let fear dictate your actions, Perseus. That’s why you’re still standing.” She stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Go to Montana. Rally your demigods. Convince them, not as a king, but as their friend. They’ll follow you, not because of a crown, but because they trust you.”

He nodded, the weight of her words settling into his chest. Trust. It was a fragile thing, hard-won and easily broken, especially after everything they had endured. He could already picture the faces at camp. He’d have to find the right words, the right balance of honesty and hope, to convince them that this was a fight they needed to take. 

“And Atlantis?” he asked, hopeful that she could just give him all the answers he needed, but alas, the wisdom goddess shook her head. 

“You’re their king,” she stated, beginning to turn and walk away. “You can figure that out yourself.” 

Percy watched as she disappeared back into the shadows of Olympus, her footsteps echoing faintly before fading entirely. He exhaled, tightening his grip on the scrolls and the wayfinder. “Let’s go,” he said finally, grabbing Artemis’s hand before she could even utter a word of protest. 

Focusing on the cliff overlooking the valley, he held the image in his mind, every detail as vivid as if he stood there now: the crunch of frost underfoot, the distant howl of wind through the trees, the river weaving through the meadows. The sea’s web moved around him, the water in the air, in his blood, in the faint mist rising from Olympus’s marble streets, all connecting him to that distant place. He reached for the tingling sensation of the sea’s web, the now-familiar hum of interconnected droplets that bound the world. It came easier this time, like a muscle growing accustomed to strain. He let his body dissolve, his essence scattering into the water’s network, pulling Artemis along with him. Her divine ichor resisted for a fraction of a second, but it was far too weak to overpower him. 

The world blurred into a rush of liquid motion, a disorienting cascade of light and sound as their bodies unraveled and surged across the continent. Percy clung to the image of the cliff, his will anchoring them through the chaotic pull of the web. The air grew colder, sharper, and then the pull reversed, knitting their forms back together with a jolt that sent them stumbling onto a snow-dusted outcrop, all within a second. 

Percy’s boots crunched into the frost, his knees buckling slightly as he steadied himself. Artemis landed less gracefully face-first into the snow. She immediately scuttled to the edge of the cliff, where she began to throw up whatever contents she had eaten earlier. He winced, half-expecting her to turn and smite him for the unceremonious transport, powerless or not. He knelt beside her, awkwardly patting her back as she retched over the side, her auburn braid swinging with each heave. 

“Sorry about that,” Percy said sheepishly once she was done, offering her a hand. “Mist-travel is pretty disorienting.” 

Artemis glared up at him, her eyes dancing with nausea. She swatted his hand away, pushing herself to her feet and brushing snow from her tunic with as much dignity as she could muster. “You forget that I am practically mortal now!” she snapped, glaring up at him. “My body cannot handle such modes of transportation.” 

He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips despite her glare. In all honesty, without her powers to back her up, she looked just like a regular girl his age. He was glad that she couldn’t read minds still. If she’d heard that, he’d definitely have an arrow up the ass right about now. “Yeah, my bad. I didn’t think it’d hit you that hard.

He glanced at the valley below, the demigod camp sprawled across the snowy meadows, its flickering campfire like a star against the dusk. What surprised him the most, however, was the cabin that now stood proudly at the heart of the camp, a massive structure that hadn’t been completed when he’d left a mere three days ago. It was a marvel, even from this distance, its silhouette rising against the twilight like a fortress carved from the wilderness itself. It was massive, easily three times the size of any cabin at Camp Half-Blood, built to house every demigod who’d fled to Montana. Its sturdy timbers gleamed under the starlight, its steep roof dusted with fresh snow. Smoke curled from a stone chimney, and Percy could just make out faint figures moving around within, illuminated by the orange light of a fire within. 

The sight almost brought a tear to his eye. This…this is what he envisioned when they first set out on this journey. This is what they’d fought for, bled for, died for. The cabin was more than just wood or stone; it was a symbol of their resilience, a testament to the demigods who’d refused to break despite everything they’d lost. He could almost hear the echoes of laughter and arguments drifting up from the valley, the clatter of tools, and the crackle of the fire. It was home, or as close to it as they could get in this fractured world. But the sight also brought down a responsibility on his shoulders. 

These were his people, his responsibility. He couldn’t fail them.

“Impressive,” Artemis murmured beside him. “Your friends have been busy.”

“Yeah,” Percy replied with a mix of pride and disbelief. “Yeah, they’ve got a knack for pulling through when things get rough.” He started down the slope toward the camp, his boots crunching through the thin layer of snow, Artemis falling into step beside him. The nausea seemed to have passed, and she moved with her usual grace, as if she trekked this rock a thousand times over. 

As they approached the camp, the sounds of life grew louder from inside the cabin: muffled voices, the clatter of cookware, even the familiar sound of reedpipes playing. His steps slowed as he neared the cabin, his gaze sweeping over the sturdy walls and the glow spilling from its windows. Windows of which now contained glass! He supposed Leo must have pulled through on his promise to find materials, even in the middle of a Montana winter. The thought brought a small, proud smile to his lips. Leo always had a way of making the impossible happen, even if it came with a side of hell.

The cabin’s entrance loomed ahead, its heavy wooden door worn smooth but still proud in its craftsmanship. Simple, sturdy carvings adorned its surface, symbols of their godly patron etched alongside the story of their journey west. Percy stepped closer, drawn to the depictions, and his smile grew as familiar scenes came into focus beneath the grain of the timber.

There they were, crammed into old vans, laughter barely masking their tension as they barreled across the country. Another panel showed a clash at a rest stop, monsters mid-roar, swords mid-swing, frozen in wood like a battlefield caught in time. He chuckled at the next carving: himself, walking out of a gas station, arms full of stolen snacks and crumpled lottery tickets, the door swinging wildly behind him. Further along, the crew was immortalized raiding the city of Billings, their faces set in grim determination as they dismantled what was left of civilization to build something new. The last of those scenes showed the raising of the first beams of their cabin with the sun shining down on the mountains around them. 

But at the heart of it all, right at the center of the door, was a single carving that pulled him to a halt. It depicted him alone, standing on the cliff’s edge just before the Battle for the Valley. His silhouette was stark, sword lifted high to the sky, a lone figure wreathed in the flame of the sun. The grain of the wood seemed to ripple like wind around him, and though the scene was carved in silence, Percy could almost hear the Orc legion marching in the distance. He looked like a warning. Or a promise. A beacon of defiance standing tall against the dark.

Percy reached out and traced the edges of the carving, his fingers brushing over the grooves where the sword’s blade met the sky. That battle had felt like a lifetime ago already. 

“They see you as a savior,” Artemis murmured softly, taking in the depictions as well. “A hero among heroes.” 

“It’s not a role I asked for,” he replied, his words almost lost in the wind that swept through the valley. “I’m no savior. I’m just… trying to keep everyone alive.”

“Titles are rarely chosen, Perseus. They’re thrust upon you by those who believe in you. Your friends carved this door not because you demanded it, but because they needed it. A symbol to rally behind.”

He dropped his hand from the carving, turning to face her, his expression turning into one of exhaustion. “Symbols don’t win wars, Artemis. People do. And I’m not sure I can lead them into this one without losing more than we already have.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but before she could respond, the son of Poseidon pushed open the wooden door, pouring warm light and the scent of smoke into the frigid air and along their chilled skin. The entirety of camp was sprawled across mismatched tables, some laughing raucously, others belting out a slurred rendition of an old camp song, their voices clashing with the music. Bottles clinked, plates scraped, and a group near the fire was engaged in an arm-wrestling match that looked more like a brawl.

Percy stood frozen in the doorway, the wayfinder and scrolls still tucked under his arm, Artemis behind him. He smiled at the sight of a drunk Leo dancing with Calypso, Will trying to keep Nico from shadow-traveling out of the gathering, and Clarisse barking orders at a group of younger demigods who were clearly not listening. He scanned the room, searching for more familiar faces, half-expecting a warm welcome, or at least a sarcastic jab.

Instead, the room fell silent.

It started with a single head turning, then another, until every eye in the cabin locked onto him. The music faded into silence, the arm-wrestling match froze mid-grunt, and even the fire seemed to dim, its crackle swallowed by the sudden hush. Percy tried to swallow the lump in his throat as all the attention turned to him.

“H-Hey, gu—” he tried to greet everyone, but was cut off by a lightning bolt flying directly into his chest. Percy felt his body turn into a ragdoll as he flew backward out of the cabin and back into the snow, landing on his back with a thud that knocked the breath from his lungs. The scrolls and wayfinder box skidded across the snow, tumbling out of his grasp as he gasped, the cold biting into his skin. Pain radiated from his chest, a sharp, electric burn that made his vision blur for a moment. He blinked up at the starry sky, trying to piece together what had just happened.

Gasping for air, he propped himself up on his elbows, wincing as he looked toward the cabin’s entrance. Thalia stood above him, her silver circlet glinting in the firelight, her hand still crackling with residual electricity. The crowd of demigods parted around her, trying to look over her shoulder at their downed leader.

“Thalia, what the—” Percy started, coughing as he pushed himself to his feet, brushing snow from his jacket. His chest ached, but he’d taken worse hits. “Nice to see you too.”

“You promised!” Thalia snapped, taking a step forward and punching him square in the jaw. Percy felt his head whiplash to the side, but he kept on his feet. “You promised that you’d stay here and stay out of trouble!” 

“I know, I—” he tried to reason, but the daughter of Zeus would not hear any more of his excuses. 

“No, you don’t know!” she continued, jabbing a finger into his chest. “No matter how many times we tell you, you just don’t get it!” Her finger jabbed into his chest again, hard enough to make him wince, though he stood his ground. He could see her eyes crackling with fury, though they were brimming red as if she’d been holding off tears. 

“Thalia, I’m sorry,” Percy said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “I didn’t mean to break my promise, but things…escalated. I couldn’t just sit back.” 

“Escalated?! You say that things just fucking escalated ?!” she roared once more, the air around her crackling with static. “Percy, you went to New Rome with just Nico and Travis and took on an army of Orcs! All without telling anyone else! Without even giving a fucking clue as to where you might be!”

“I didn’t have a choice,” he tried to reason, taking a cautious step forward. “We had to destroy that crystal. It was a piece of the Father’s power. I couldn’t wait for a council meeting or—”

“You always say you don’t have a choice!” she cut him off, stepping closer, her boots crunching in the snow. “You always throw yourself into the fire, and expect us to just be okay with it! Do you have any idea what it’s like for us, waking up only to find that you once again disappeared to gods know where, wondering if you’ll come back?” Her voice cracked, the edge of fear slipping through her anger.

“You could’ve died,” Thalia said quieter now, but no less fierce. “And then where would we be, Percy? You’re not just some demigod anymore. You’re…” She gestured vaguely at the door behind her, at the carving of him standing defiant on the cliff. “You’re this. Our leader. The king of fucking Atlantis, apparently! You don’t get to throw yourself into suicide missions without telling us!”

Percy looked over her shoulder toward Travis, giving him a glare that could’ve melted steel. “You told her about Atlantis?” he asked, edged with frustration.

Travis, lingering in the doorway with the crowd, threw up his hands defensively. “Hey, don’t look at me like that! She was gonna find out eventually, and I figured it was better coming from us than, y’know, some random sea nymph gossiping about their new king.” He flashed a nervous grin, clearly trying to diffuse the tension, but it faltered under Percy’s stare.

“No, you don’t get to be mad at him for telling us that,” Thalia brought his attention back to her. “You’ve been keeping secrets for a long time now, ever since I found you at that river.” 

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat, weighed down by the truth in her accusations. “Thalia, I—” he started again, but she cut him off with a sharp gesture, her hand slicing through the air like a blade.

“No, you don’t get to brush this off with an apology or some half-baked excuse about saving the world.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper that somehow carried more weight than her shouts. “You think you’re protecting us by running off alone, by keeping secrets, but you’re not. You’re scaring us. You’re making us think we’re gonna lose you, too.”

Her words hit harder than her punch, each one landing like a blow to his already aching chest. He glanced past her, catching glimpses of the demigods clustered in the doorway. Piper, Reyna, and Katie held the same anger in their eyes, but they stayed silent, content for the moment to let Thalia dish out the anger they all were experiencing toward him.

“I didn’t mean to scare anyone,” he muttered softly. “I thought… I thought I was doing what was best. The crystal had to be destroyed. If I’d waited, if I’d called a meeting, we might’ve lost our chance. The Father’s power was growing, and…”

“And you didn’t trust us to handle it with you,” she finished sharply. “You didn’t think we could keep up, or that we’d vote against you, or… I don’t know, Percy. What were you thinking?”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling up alongside the guilt. “I was thinking that if more came along, more of you could’ve died!” His voice cracked, his emotions finally spilling out as he met her expectant gaze. “I didn’t want to risk anyone else. Not after everything I’ve…we’ve already lost. Nico and Travis were already there, already in it with me. I couldn’t drag the whole camp into that mess, not when I wasn’t sure we’d all make it back.”

Thalia’s eyes narrowed, but the crackle of electricity around her hands faded, her shoulders slumping slightly as the fight in her seemed to waver. “That’s not your call to make alone. We’re not just your followers. We’re your friends. Your family. You don’t get to decide who risks their life for this fight. We’re all in it, whether you like it or not.”

He wanted to argue, to say that as their leader, he had to make the hard choices, but the truth stung. He hadn’t trusted them to handle it, not because he doubted their strength, but because he couldn’t bear the thought of losing anyone else. Not after Annabeth, Jason, Frank, and Hazel. Not after his mother, his father, and so many others. The fear of more graves, more names carved into the deepest parts of his mind, his dreams, had driven him to act alone.

He looked away, his gaze falling to the scrolls and the wayfinder box half-buried in the snow where they’d fallen. He bent down, brushing snow from the box and tucking it under his arm, then gathered the scrolls with a care that belied the turmoil in his chest. “I get it,” he said finally. “I messed up. I should’ve told you. I should’ve told all of you,” he looked to everyone standing behind Thalia. “I’m sorry. There won’t be any more secrets or me running away and almost getting killed. I promise.” 

He stood there, clutching the scrolls and wayfinder box, his breath fogging in the chilly Montana air, waiting for an apology accepted, a nod, anything. The silence stretched uncomfortably until Clarisse’s voice cut through it.

“Alright, enough with the soap opera,” she stated, shoving through the crowd to the doorway. “Jackson, you’re an idiot. Get inside before you freeze your royal ass off, and tell us what the hell’s going on.”

A ripple of tentative laughter broke the tension, like the first crack in a frozen lake. Percy managed a small, grateful smile. He glanced at Thalia, expecting another spark of anger, but she just crossed her arms, her expression softening into something closer to exasperation than rage.

“It’s good to be back,” he replied. “Let’s talk. All of us.” He gestured toward the cabin, then paused, looking at Artemis. “You too, Artemis. You’re part of this now.”

Thalia’s eyes widened, her head snapping to the side as she finally noticed the goddess standing just behind Percy. Her jaw dropped, the lingering sparks of electricity around her hands fizzling out entirely. “Lady Artemis?!” she gasped. She took a step forward, then froze, as if unsure whether to bow or tackle the goddess in a hug. The other demigods in the doorway craned their necks, murmurs rippling through the crowd as they caught sight of the silver-clad figure standing off to the side, somewhat awkwardly.

“It’s good to see you, sister.” Artemis greeted with a smile, but was immediately tackled into a bear hug by Atalanta and Evelyn, who came barreling through the crowd. 

“Oh my gods!” Atalanta practically screeched. “You’re here! You’re actually here!” 

“How is this possible?!” Evelyn questioned, her voice muffled as she buried her face in Artemis’s shoulder, her arms wrapped tightly around the goddess. Thalia hesitated for a moment, her usual tough exterior cracking as she watched her sisters swarm their patron goddess, then joined them, her movements less frantic but no less heartfelt.

Percy stepped back, giving the hunters space as they crowded around Artemis, their voices overlapping in a chaotic blend of laughter, questions, and exclamations. The goddess stood at the center of it all, her expression a mix of warmth and restraint, as if she were both overwhelmed by their affection and determined to maintain her divine composure. Her silver eyes flicked briefly to Percy, a silent acknowledgment of thankfulness, before returning to her hunters.

While that little reunion was going on, he felt a soft hand on his shoulder. Looking to his left, he found Piper staring up at him with a smile. “Welcome back,” she whispered in his ear, giving him a warm hug that staved off the chill of the wind.

“Thanks,” he returned the gesture. Her grip was tight, almost too tight, a silent promise that she wasn’t done chewing him out for his disappearing act. He pulled back, catching the glint in her kaleidoscope eyes, half-relief, half-warning. He gave her a sheepish nod, knowing he’d have to face her and the others later for a proper reckoning.

Walking toward the entrance, he was greeted by the others, each demigod offering their own mix of relief, frustration, and camaraderie. Leo, still swaying slightly, clapped Percy on the shoulder with a grin that was equal parts mischief and gratitude. “Dude, you gotta stop pulling these solo stunts. You’re giving me grey hairs, and I’m way too young for that.” His tone was light, but the tightness in his eyes betrayed the worry he’d carried.

Calypso, standing just behind him, gave him a gentle smile, her hands clasped in front of her. “We’re glad you’re safe, Percy. But Leo and Thalia are right. You can’t keep doing this alone.” 

Will, still hovering near Nico, shot Percy a look that was relieved. “You’re lucky Thalia didn’t fry you into next week,” he said, folding his arms. “Next time, at least leave a note or something. I’m a doctor, not a mind-reader.”

Percy managed a weak chuckle. “Yeah, noted. No more vanishing acts.”

Weaving through the crowd that was clasping him on the back or smacking him upside the head, he trekked his way forward, greeting everyone with a sheepish smile or an apology. As he stepped into the cabin, the warmth enveloped him like a blanket, chasing away the chill of the winter night. But the goosebumps would return soon enough when he saw someone standing in the middle of the room, holding his familiar reedpipes with a huge, nervous smile on his face. 

“Seems like there’s one more reunion that needs to be settled!” Butch gave a boastful laugh, slapping the son of Poseidon across the shoulder. 

Percy barely felt it, his mind too much in shock to comprehend the son of Iris’s brute strength. 

His curly hair was a bit longer, his horns more pronounced, and his usual nervous energy seemed somewhat tempered by a quiet confidence that hadn’t been there the last time they’d seen each other. The room seemed to blur around them, the chatter of the demigods fading into a distant hum as Percy took a tentative step forward, his throat tight with emotion.

“Grover?” he croaked, barely believing it.

The satyr’s smile widened, though it trembled at the edges, his dark eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Hey, Perce,” he said, his voice thick. “Took you long enough to get back.”

Percy crossed the room in three strides, dropping the scrolls and wayfinder box onto a nearby table without a second thought. He pulled Grover into a fierce hug, the satyr’s wiry frame surprisingly solid against him. Grover hugged back just as tightly, his reed pipes clattering to the floor as he gripped his friend’s shoulders.

“Gods, man, where have you been?” Percy started, pulling back to look at Grover, his hands still on the satyr’s shoulders.

Grover let out a shaky laugh, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Oh, you know, just walking through monster-infested forests, rallying dryads, dodging Orcs, the usual. I heard you were looking for me, so I figured I’d stop on by and say hello.” 

Percy’s grin felt like it might split his face, a rare moment of pure joy coming to the forefront. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” he said, giving him another quick, fierce hug before stepping back. “I thought… we thought you were gone, man. After the war, when we couldn’t find you…”

Grover’s expression softened, his eyes flickering with the same haunted look Percy had seen in so many others who’d survived Gaea’s war. “Yeah, it was… rough out there. After the camps and Olympus fell, all communication basically failed. I had to protect those who managed to flee, mostly from New Rome. Nature spirits, demigods, even some legacies. Hope you don’t mind me bringing in a few extra mouths to feed.”

The son of Poseidon glanced around the cabin, just beginning to realize that there were indeed some new faces among the crowd. "He didn’t recognize any of them, as they were mostly citizens of New Rome, but nevertheless, he felt a surge of gratitude toward Grover."

“Mind? Grover, you’re a lifesaver. We need every hand we can get.” He clapped his friend on the shoulder again, his grin softening into something more serious. “You did good, man. Really good.”

The cabin buzzed with renewed energy as demigods began to settle back into their partying. A reward for completing the cabin and no longer having to spend cold, sleepless nights out in a tent. Percy stood near the center of the room, the scrolls and wayfinder box now resting on a rough-hewn table beside him, eyeing them out of the corner of his eye, wondering to himself if he should tell everyone now. He mentally shook his head. He couldn’t do that to them, not tonight.

The laughter, the music, the feasting, it was a rare moment of joy in a world that had offered them so little of it lately. He just couldn’t bring himself to shatter that. He’d let them have this night, let them celebrate their resilience, for tomorrow they’d face reality.

-A/N- Thank you all for over 500 kudos on AO3. It really means a lot to me! Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I’ll see you in the next one!

Chapter Text

Percy woke to a pounding headache, feeling as if a hammer had struck against his skull with every heartbeat. The room spun slightly as he cracked his eyes open, the dim morning light filtering through the cabin’s new glass windows slicing into his vision. He groaned, pressing a hand to his temple, the taste of alcohol still sour on his tongue. He blamed Leo and the others for that. From their little excursion into town for materials and supplies, they had gotten a little too carried away and brought back stuff that perhaps would’ve been best to leave behind. 

He wasn’t much for drinking, but last night’s reunion and the fleeting sense of normalcy had pulled him into the revelry. Now, he was paying for it. He shifted, ready to get the day started, but quickly realized that his bed was far too crowded, feeling the suffocating warmth of two bodies pressed against him. He froze for a moment, his groggy mind struggling to piece together the situation. He blinked through the haze, trying to focus through the pounding in his skull, and carefully turned his head.

To his left was Reyna, who was curled into his side, her dark hair fanned across the pillow, one arm draped loosely over his chest. On his right, Katie was nestled just as close, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, her curls tickling his neck. All three of them were in the nude, their clothes scattered across the floor like remnants of a storm. He rubbed his face with the palm of his hand, the vivid recollection of last night flashing through his mind. 

“Oh, gods,” he muttered under his breath, careful not to wake them. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the memories to go away, but some part of his mind didn’t want to let them go. Last night had been a rare moment where fate, destiny, the fear of tomorrow, had been lifted off his shoulders, if only for a few hours. The cabin had been alive with laughter, music, and experiences that every eighteen-year-old man should get to enjoy and never forget. And by the gods, did he enjoy it and will never forget it. 

Carefully, he extracted himself from the tangle of limbs, wincing as the movement sent a fresh spike of pain through his skull. He slid out of the bed, grabbing his clothes from the floor and pulling them on as quietly as possible. Slipping out of the room, closing the door with a soft click, he walked out into the main hall. The cabin was still, the revelry of the previous night replaced by the soft snores and murmurs of sleeping demigods sprawled across makeshift beds and furs. The fire in the hearth had burned low, its light replaced by the morning sun that filtered through the windows overhead. 

Percy stepped over his passed-out friends who littered the floor, careful not to disturb the balance of bottles and plates scattered around them. His boots scuffed softly against the wooden floor as he made his way to the exit, wanting some fresh air and a moment to clear his head. The cold Montana air hit him like a slap as he pushed open the wooden door, the crispness of the morning cutting through the fog of his hangover. He stepped outside, his breath visible in the dawn light, and closed the door behind him with a quiet thud. The valley stretched out before him, blanketed in a layer of snow that sparkled under the rising sun.

He wandered a short distance from the cabin, his boots crunching through the frost, and found his familiar spot next to the river. He knelt next to the frozen water, thankful that at least some parts of it had thawed out enough for him to dip his hands into. The shock of it jolted his senses, dulling the ache in his skull and giving him some much-needed energy for the day. He splashed his face, letting the chill wash away the remnants of his haze.

He sat back on his heels, staring at his reflection in the rippling current. His face looked older than it should, the lines around his eyes etched deeper by responsibility. He had a five o’clock shadow that hadn’t been there a mere year ago, making him look every bit of Poseidon. For a moment, he thought he was staring at his father. He sighed to himself, running his hand over his stubble, feeling as if he were fifty rather than eighteen.

“Rough night?” a voice called out, breaking his thoughts.

Percy turned slightly, finding Artemis standing behind him like a wolf watching from the edge of a clearing. Running water over his face one last time, he stood up, stretching his back with a quiet groan. “Yeah, you could say that,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder. Her braid was slightly mussed, and there was a faint flush to her cheeks from the cold, details that made her seem almost human, stripped of the divine aura she once carried so effortlessly.

“Mortals and their indulgences,” she smirked, watching a flock of birds fly off into the wind. “I’ll never understand why you choose to dull your senses with that poison.”

“Oh please, like you gods are any better with Dionysus’s wine,” he muttered sarcastically, his boots crunching against the snow as he trekked towards her. “Besides, not all of us have eternity to stay sharp. Sometimes you just need a night to… forget.”

Artemis tilted her head, not believing a word he uttered. “Forgetting doesn’t solve anything, Perseus. It only delays the inevitable.”

He sighed, his breath fogging in the air as he looked back to the cabin, beginning to hear the groans and rumblings of waking, hungover demigods. “Yeah, I know. Doesn’t mean it’s not tempting.”

Percy shoved his hands into his pockets, the chill of the morning seeping through his jacket as he stood beside the goddess. The howling wind was the only sound for a moment as they both took in the mountains around them. 

“Your camp is strong,” she broke the silence, her gaze turning back to the cabin. “Disorganized, yes, but strong. They’ve built something here, something worth fighting for. You should take pride in that.”

“Pride’s not gonna help when we come knocking on the Father’s door,” he kicked a loose rock in the snow. “We’ve got a cabin, sure, but we’re still a mess. We barely have over a hundred and fifty people now, including those that Grover rescued in the hills that outskirts New Rome. Thirty of that number are children who can’t fight, leaving us with a hundred and twenty. A mere hundred-twenty against an army of thousands.” 

“And Atlantis…” she pitched in, but her words trailed when Percy gave her a skeptical look. 

“And Atlantis,” he relented, not wanting to argue this early in the morning. Truthfully, he didn’t believe the kingdom would come to his aid if he called on them, king or not. Despite winning the bloodright and creating the council, he was still an outsider. He knew that, they all did. “Let’s not talk about Atlantis right now. I need to focus on what’s in front of me, getting this camp ready, figuring out Othrys along with Annabeth and the others. Atlantis… that’s a problem for another day.”

Artemis studied him for a moment, her silver eyes narrowing slightly, but she didn’t press the issue. Instead, she nodded, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned against a nearby tree, its bark rough and dusted with frost. “Fair enough,” she replied. “But you can’t avoid it forever. A king doesn’t get to pick and choose when his crown matters.”

“Yeah, well, this king’s more worried about keeping his people alive than wearing a crown that doesn’t fit.”

Ending the conversation, the cabin door creaked open behind them, and they both turned to see Grover stepping out, his hooves crunching softly in the snow. The satyr rubbed his eyes, still bleary from the night’s festivities. “Morning, Perce,” he greeted with a yawn. “You look like you got hit by a cyclops and then some.”

Percy managed a weak grin, brushing snow from his jacket. “Feel like it too. You holding up okay after last night?”

Grover shrugged, rolling his neck as he looked out at the beautiful landscape. “Better than most. Satyrs don’t get hangovers as bad as you humans. Perk of the hooves, I guess.” He glanced at Artemis, his expression shifting to one of giddiness. “Oh-um, good morning, Lady Artemis, you’re looking radiant as always.”

Artemis inclined her head, barely suppressing the thought of rolling her eyes. “I’m going to explore the mountains around the valley. Get a lay of the land.” She turned to Percy before making her way towards the woods. 

Both he and Grover watched her leave, her lithe form blending seamlessly into the wilderness. Percy shook his head at his friend’s reddening cheeks, clasping him on the shoulder before walking back.

“You think I might’ve come off too strong?” Grover asked, his voice tinged with self-consciousness as he scratched the back of his neck, his hooves shifting in the snow.

“Nah, man,” he chuckled, without turning back. “Okay, maybe just a little bit.” 

“Fuck.” 

Walking inside, the cabin was beginning to stir with life. Demigods were either just beginning to wake up or starting to prepare breakfast, the clatter of pots and the scent of sizzling bacon filling the air. He made his way through the bustle to the table where he’d left the scrolls and wayfinder box, checking to ensure they were still there. The obsidian disc inside the box still hummed faintly, its runes catching the morning light filtering through the windows. He closed the box quickly, not wanting to draw attention to it just yet. The camp wasn’t ready for the revelation of what lay ahead, not after last night’s reprieve. He’d give them a day or two of normalcy before calling a meeting to lay out the plan.

“Percy!” a little voice called out to him. He looked up to see Gabriela making a beeline for him across the room, stepping on demigods, without a care, who were still sprawled across the floor in various states of groggy recovery. Her eyes, wide and bright with innocence, locked onto him like he was the only person in the room.

“Gabriela,” Percy said, a grin breaking through as he knelt to her level. “What’s with the bow? Planning to take on a monster before breakfast?”

She puffed out her chest, lifting the bow higher for him to see. Her small hands gripped the polished wood of the bow, its curve gleaming faintly in the morning light. It was clearly a huntress’s weapon, crafted with care. Her face beamed with pride, her dark curls bouncing as she shifted from foot to foot, barely containing her excitement. “Thalia gave it to me!” she declared loudly, startling some of the groggy demigods while others groaned, putting their hands to their ears to block out the noise. “She said that the new lady Ar-Art…

“Artemis,” he pronounced the name for her.

“Yeah, her!” She smiled up at him. “She said Artemis wanted to help train me! Isn’t that cool!”

Percy’s grin faltered for a split second, his mind flashing back to what being a hunter meant: eternal youth, a life of battles, and a vow that severed ties to so much of the mortal world. Gabriela was barely six, her eyes still full of wonder despite the horrors she’d seen. The idea of her becoming a huntress scared him, truth be told. Thankfully, Artemis didn’t have the power or the authority, frankly, to make her into one just yet. That meant he could protect her a little while longer, that’s all he wanted. He made the mistake of letting Bianca go off into that world, ignorant of the consequences of joining the hunt. He wouldn’t make the same mistake with Gabriela.

“That’s really cool, Gabi,” he said, forcing his grin back into place as he ruffled her hair. “Artemis and Thalia are the best teachers you could ask for. But you gotta promise me you’ll still make time for fun stuff, like drawing or playing tag, okay? No turning into a full-time monster-slaying machine just yet.”

She giggled, clutching her bow tighter. “Okay, but I’m gonna be the best hunter ever. Thalia says I’ve got good aim already!” She mimed pulling back an invisible arrow, her tongue poking out in concentration as she aimed at an imaginary target across the room.

Percy chuckled, standing up and giving her a playful nudge. “I believe it. Just don’t shoot me by accident, alright? I’ve had enough lightning bolts and punches for one week.”

She laughed, darting off toward a group of younger demigods who were starting to gather around a table laden with breakfast. He watched her go, his smile fading slightly as his thoughts drifted to the coming war. What would happen if he or any one of the veteran demigods died? Who would take care of not only her but the rest of the children? The prospect scared him beyond belief, but thankfully, he was distracted for the time being by Leo, who literally tumbled down the stairs in a drunken stupor, yelling slurs that even a sailor would blush at. The cabin erupted into laughter, especially the children at the table, who pointed at the son of Hephaestus like he was some sort of amusing zoo animal. 

Percy walked over to him, looking down at him with an arched eyebrow. “You still drunk?” 

“Fuck, Perce,” Leo muttered, clenching his eyes shut. “Quit yelling at me.” 

“I’m not yelling at you, you fuckin’ idiot,” he stifled a laugh, offering a hand. 

Leo groaned, accepting Percy’s hand and pulling himself up with all the grace of a newborn foal. His hair was a wild mess, sticking up in every direction like he’d been struck by one of Thalia’s lightning bolts. “I swear, Perce, last night was a conspiracy. Somebody, probably Connor, spiked my drink. I’m a victim here.” 

“Uh-huh,” Percy said, rolling his eyes as he steadied the stumbling boy. “Are you sure? From what I remember, you were chugging that shit like it was nectar and dancing on a table with your nipples on fire.” 

Leo’s eyes widened, a mix of horror and sick pride flashing across his face. “I did what now? Oh, gods, tell me Calypso didn’t see that.”

“She saw it,” Calypso’s flat voice chimed in from behind. She leaned against a nearby table, arms crossed, her caramel hair catching the morning light like a halo. “And she’s never letting you live it down. Fire nipples, Leo? Really?” 

His elvish features flushed a deep crimson, his hands flailing as he tried to wave off the accusation. “Lies! Slander! My nipples were not on fire. They were… artistically smoldering. Big difference.” He wobbled slightly, clutching Percy’s arm for balance. “Okay, maybe I got a little carried away. But can you blame me? We finally got a roof over our heads, and I’m not sleeping in a tent on the hard, cold ass ground. That’s worth celebrating.”

Some of the demigods, mostly the ones who were awake enough to care to listen to the conversation, gave an unenthusiastic cheer at that. Percy shook his head with a smile across his face, happy to be distracted by his friend’s ridiculousness. He clapped Leo on the back, a bit harder than necessary, making the son of Hephaestus wince. “Yeah, well, celebrate a little less next time, or we’ll be scraping you off the floor for days. Come on, let’s get you some water before you set something else on fire.”

As Percy steered Leo toward a table where a pitcher of water sat, he caught sight of both Reyna and Katie out of the corner of his eye, emerging from the room he’d left them in, both looking slightly disheveled but composed enough. Reyna’s dark braid was loose, strands framing her face, while Katie’s curls were tangled, a faint flush on her cheeks as she adjusted her shirt. They exchanged a quick glance, then looked at Percy, who quickly looked away awkwardly. He didn’t want to deal with that right now. Didn’t even want to think about it. He focused his attention back on Leo, who was now slumped over the table, groaning dramatically.

“Water, Valdez,” he ordered, pouring a glass and sliding it toward him. “Drink. Now.”

Leo muttered something incoherent but complied, gulping down the water with a grimace, as if his body thought it was more alcohol. Calypso hovered nearby, her arms still crossed, though a faint smile tugged at her lips as she watched the theatrics. Percy stepped back, giving them space, and turned to find Reyna and Katie approaching. Feeling the air practically escape his lungs, he quickly looked for an escape. 

“Anyone hungry?! I’ll start cooking!” He said, almost frantically, dodging past them with his eyes glued to the floor as he made his way toward the makeshift kitchen area. He grabbed a skillet and started rummaging through the supplies for eggs, bread, anything to keep his hands busy and the girls away.

The two women exchanged another glance, their expressions unreadable, but they didn’t follow him immediately. Instead, they joined the growing bustle of demigods waking up, helping to clear away empty bottles and plates from the previous night. Percy felt a pang of gratitude for the reprieve, though he knew the conversation was only delayed, not avoided. He cracked a few eggs into the skillet, putting them over the hearth as he stirred its flames back to life.

As the eggs sizzled, the scent pulled more demigods from their stupors. The cabin’s main hall was fully alive now with groggy chatter, the clink of dishes, and the occasional groan from those nursing hangovers. Percy kept his focus on the skillet, flipping the eggs with a practiced hand, trying to distract himself with the mundane task.

“Smells good, Jackson,” Clarisse lumbered over, still bleary-eyed from the night before. She leaned against the counter, her muscular arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Didn’t know you could cook without burning the place down.”

Percy rolled his eyes, sliding the eggs onto a plate before making his way to the table where others were already eating. “Yeah, well, I’ve had practice. Someone’s gotta keep you lot fed without poisoning us all.” He handed her a fork, which she took with a mock salute.

“Don’t get cocky,” she warned, pointing the fork at him like it was a weapon before taking a seat across from him. “You’re still on thin ice after that stunt in New Rome. Thalia’s not the only one pissed, you know.”

He winced, grabbing a couple of items off the table onto his plate. “Yeah, I got the memo. Lightning bolt to the chest was a pretty clear hint.” He shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth, hoping to avoid any more talk of New Rome or Thalia’s electrifying temper. The table was filling up now, demigods dragging themselves from their makeshift beds to join the breakfast. Much to his horror, Katie and Reyna managed to take two open seats on either side of him, practically preventing him from escaping. Their movements were casual as they filled their plates, but their eyes glinted with something that made his stomach twist tighter than the Gordian knot. He focused on his plate, pretending the eggs and bacon required his undivided attention.

The table quickly filled with conversation, the clatter of forks, and the occasional groan from a demigod still wrestling with last night’s excesses. Percy kept his eyes glued to his plate, methodically cutting his bacon into smaller and smaller pieces, as if that could shield him from the two women flanking him. Reyna sat to his left, her posture as composed as ever, though her fingers lingered a little too long on her fork, twirling it with a deliberate slowness. Katie, to his right, was spreading jam on a piece of toast with an almost theatrical care, her lips twitching with a barely suppressed smile.

Butch, oblivious to the tension, shoveled food in his mouth as he leaned forward, eager to recount last night’s events. “And after all that happened, I was drenched in beer! I mean, I was absolutely soaked in it!” The table had a good laugh at his story, except for Percy, who knew what was coming next after that last sentence. He did his best not to groan and put his head under the table.

Katie let out a dramatic sigh, her eyes flicking toward the man next to her with a mischievous glint. “Well, Butch, if it makes you feel any better, I was soaked last night too,” she said, her voice dripping with exaggerated innocence. She paused, taking a slow bite of her jam-covered toast, her lips curling into a smirk. 

“You got caught in the crossfire as well?!” Butch questioned with a hearty laugh.

Reyna’s fork froze halfway to her mouth, her eyes narrowing as she shot Katie a look that could’ve curdled ambrosia. Percy nearly choked on his eggs, his face turning a shade redder than Leo’s “artistically smoldering” nipples. He coughed, reaching for his water glass, desperate to drown out the heat creeping up his neck. The rest of the table, blissfully unaware, roared with laughter at Butch’s tale, oblivious to the undercurrent of Katie’s jab.

“Oh, Katie, you poor thing,” Reyna said smoothly, but laced with a razor-sharp edge only Percy and Katie could catch. She leaned forward slightly, her dark braid slipping over her shoulder as she fixed Katie with a stare. “Must’ve been quite the flood of beer to leave you so… drenched .” She popped a piece of bacon into her mouth, chewing with a deliberate slowness that screamed danger.

Katie didn’t miss a beat, her hazel eyes sparkling with mischief as she leaned back in her chair, twirling a curl around her finger. “Oh, it was a flood, Reyna. Biblical proportions, really. But you know me, I’m a daughter of Demeter, I thrive in a good downpour.” She winked at Percy, who was now contemplating diving under the table to join the crumbs and spilled coffee.

Percy’s fork clattered against his plate, drawing a few curious glances from the other demigods, who were too busy scarfing down breakfast to notice the silent war unfolding. He cleared his throat, forcing a laugh that sounded more like a strangled dolphin. “Yeah, uh, last night was… wet. For a lot of us. Beer, rain, snow, whatever.” He waved a hand vaguely, hoping to redirect the conversation to safer waters

Butch, still chuckling, slapped the table, sending a fork skittering. “Man, you should’ve seen Clarisse! She was tossing mugs like they were javelins. One hit me square in the chest!” He gestured to his shirt, which still smelled faintly of ale, and the table erupted again, drowning out Percy’s weak attempt at deflection.

Reyna, however, wasn’t letting it go. She leaned closer to him, her words low enough that only he and Katie could hear. “Funny how some storms catch you off guard, isn’t it, Percy? One minute you’re dry, and the next…” She trailed off, her lips twitching into a smirk that was equal parts regal and ruthless. “You’re wondering how you got so swept away.”

Percy’s grip on his water glass tightened, his knuckles whitening. He could feel Katie’s gaze burning into his other side, and he risked a glance at her. Big mistake. Her lips were pursed in a mock pout, but her eyes danced with amusement. “Oh, Percy,” she said, loud enough for the table to hear but with a tone that carried a private joke. “Some storms are just too tempting to stay out of, aren’t they?”

He wanted to sink into the floorboards, feeling both women’s gazes bore into him like two predators circling the same prey, and he was painfully aware that he was the prey in question. The rest of the table, mercifully distracted by Butch’s loud retelling, didn’t notice the undercurrent of tension that was practically crackling in the air between the three of them. 

He forced another bite down, chewing mechanically as he tried to think of a way to excuse himself from this conversational minefield. He needed an out, and he needed it now. “Uh, speaking of storms,” he said, a little too loudly, pushing his chair back and standing up abruptly. The scrape of the chair legs against the wooden floor drew a few glances, but he pressed on, desperate to shift the focus. “I should probably check on the weatherproofing for the cabin. You know, make sure we’re ready for any… unexpected downpours.” He shot a pointed look at Katie, who raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening.

Reyna’s lips twitched, but she didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, folding her arms with a composure that made Percy’s clumsy exit strategy feel even more pathetic. “Good idea,” she said evenly, her dark eyes glinting with something that told him she wasn’t done with this conversation. “We wouldn’t want anything… leaking through the cracks.”

Katie snorted softly, covering it with a sip of water, but her eyes never left Percy. He grabbed his plate, muttering something about cleaning up, and bolted toward the kitchen area, nearly tripping over a stray bottle in his haste. Dropping his plates in the sink, he quickly bolted off outside, careful to avoid any watchful eyes. Deciding he wanted to occupy himself for however long it took, he took an axe lodged in a stump nearby and headed toward the edge of the camp where the woodpile was kept. He needed to hit something, something to distract him.

The woodpile was a short trek from the cabin, tucked near the back of the cabin. The snow crunched under his boots as he approached, his breath puffing out in rhythmic clouds. He scanned the pile, noting it was lower than he’d like. Last night’s party had burned through more logs than he’d realized, the hearth devouring them to keep the cabin warm. With winter only growing stronger, they couldn’t afford to run short. He set a log upright on the chopping block, a thick piece of pine that smelled faintly of sap, and hefted the axe.

The first swing was clumsy, the blade biting into the wood at an angle, sending a splinter flying. Percy cursed under his breath, adjusting his grip. This time, the axe cleaved clean through, splitting the log with a satisfying crack that echoed through the quiet valley. He fell into a rhythm, the steady thwack of the axe against wood filling the air. Sweat beaded on his brow despite the cold, his muscles warming with the effort. The pile of split logs grew beside him, each piece a small victory over the mess of his thoughts. He didn’t want to think about Reyna or Katie, or the war and Atlantis. For now, it was just him, the axe, and the wood.

“Trying to take down the whole forest?” 

Percy paused mid-swing, the axe hovering above a fresh log. He turned to see Piper standing a few yards away, her arms crossed and a wry smile on her lips. Her kaleidoscope eyes glinted with amusement, catching the morning light as she leaned against a nearby tree, her breath visible in the chilled air. Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid, strands escaping to frame her face, and she wore a thick jacket that made her look more like a hiker than a demigod. 

He gave a soft chuckle in reply, turning back to his work, already knowing where this was going. Piper sensed his demeanor but elected to ignore it, walking up closer to his side. “Surprised you didn’t run away last night to go fight some big, bad monsters. Any particular reason you stuck around?” She questioned with a subtle, teasing tone.

Percy drove the axe into the log, splitting it cleanly in two, the halves tumbling into the snow. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, avoiding Piper’s gaze as he set another log on the block. He knew she was fishing, and he was definitely sure he didn’t want to bite.

“Perhaps, maybe two reasons?

“C’mon, Pipes, really?” He sighed in exasperation, finally looking up from his task. The daughter of Aphrodite laughed at his look, kicking off the pieces of wood from the stump before sitting on it, preventing him from doing anything else besides talking to her. Realizing he couldn’t escape, he tried to think of an out. “We just… went to bed early.” He winced internally at how unconvincing that sounded. Piper’s smirk and raised eyebrow told him she wasn’t buying it either.

“Early, huh?” She tapped her hand against the wood. “Funny, because I heard some pretty late-night… discussions coming from your room. Sounded like you were all getting along really well.” Her tone was teasing, but there was a subtle bite to it, a trace of envy woven into her words that he couldn’t ignore.

He paused, the axe resting on his shoulder as he finally met her gaze. Her kaleidoscope eyes were unreadable, shifting colors in the morning light, but the way her lips pressed together told him she wasn’t just joking around. “Piper,” he started, then stopped, unsure how to navigate this without stepping on a landmine. “Look, last night was… a mess. Too much drinking, too much everything. I didn’t plan for… whatever happened.”

Her smile softened, but only slightly. “Oh, I’m sure you didn’t plan it, Seaweed Brain. You never do. Things just… escalated, to put it in your own words.” She tilted her head, her braid slipping over her shoulder as she studied him. The teasing edge in her tone didn’t fully mask the feeling of something deeper, hurt, and frustration. She had always been good at reading people, and Percy knew she could see right through his flimsy excuses.

He sighed, setting the axe down and leaning it against the chopping block. His hands found his pockets, and he kicked at a clump of snow, avoiding her gaze again. “Yeah, okay, things escalated. Again. But it’s not like I’m out here trying to make things complicated, Pipes. I’m just… trying to keep my head above water, you know? Between the war, the Father, Atlantis, and now Artemis showing up, I’m drowning here.”

“That’s right,” she drawled out, standing up and inching closer to him. “You’re the king of Atlantis now. Boy, you should’ve seen the reactions of folks here when Travis came running in screaming.” 

“Where are you going with this, Piper?” He finally asked, growing tired of dancing around the conversation. He crossed his arms and fixed her with a look that was half-exasperation, half-plea for her to get to the point. The cold air stung his face, but it was nothing compared to the heat of her scrutiny.

Her smirk faded, replaced by a more serious expression as she stepped even closer to him, both their breaths intermingling in the air. “I’m not trying to corner you, Percy,” She said, her words dropping to a quieter, more vulnerable tone. “But I can’t just stand here and pretend everything’s fine. I told you how I felt, spilled my guts, kissed you, laid it all out there, and you’ve been acting like it never happened. Like I never happened. And then I see you with Reyna, with Katie and Thalia…” She trailed off, her fingers tightening into fists at her sides as she fought to keep her composure. “I know you’re busy and have so much to deal with, but after I spoke to you on that cliff, after we took the valley, I-I thought we could’ve, I don’t know…progressed.”

Percy felt his stomach twist. He wanted to look away, to find some excuse to dodge this conversation, but her kaleidoscope eyes held him in place, their shifting colors pinning him like a spotlight. He could see the hurt there, the frustration, the vulnerability she rarely let show. And gods, he hated himself for being the cause of it.

“Piper,” he started, running a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he couldn’t shake, and took a step closer, lowering his voice so the wind wouldn’t carry it back to the cabin. “I’m not… I don’t want to ignore what happened between us. What happened on the cliff, what you said, it meant something. It still does. I just…” He trailed off, searching for the right words, but they felt like trying to catch water in his hands. “I don’t know how to do this. Any of this.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t interrupt, letting him stumble through his thoughts. The silence was worse than any accusation, forcing him to fill it.

“I’ve got the whole camp looking to me like I’m some kind of king now, like I’ve got all the answers,” he continued. “Atlantis is a mess I don’t even understand, the Father’s got Annabeth and the others, and every choice I make feels like it’s gonna get someone killed. And then… there’s you. And Reyna. And Katie. And somehow even Thalia for godssake.” He winced, the names feeling like confessions of their own. “I don’t know how to balance it all, Pipes. I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m just… I’m a mess.”

Her expression softened, but only a fraction, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest. “You think you’re the only one who’s a mess?” she asked quietly, but no less intensely. “Percy, we’re all drowning here, but you don’t get to just shut us out because it’s hard. You don’t get to run off into danger alone or… or into someone else’s bed and pretend it fixes anything.”

That last part stung, and Percy flinched, his gaze dropping to the snow at his feet. He wanted to argue, to say it wasn’t like that, but the truth was he didn’t have a defense. Last night had been a blur of alcohol and desperation, a fleeting escape from everything. He hadn’t planned it, hadn’t meant for it to happen, but it did. And now he was standing here, facing Piper, with no way to undo it.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, the words feeling inadequate even as they left his mouth. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you don’t matter. You do. You always have. That night on the cliff before the Orcs marched in…” He hesitated, his mind flashing back to the way her lips had felt against his, the way her voice had calmed him, even when they were about to face a legion. “I meant what I said then. I just don’t know how to move forward without screwing everything up even more.”

Piper studied him for a long moment, her gaze searching his face for something he wasn’t sure he could give. Then she sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she uncrossed her arms. “I’m not asking you to have all the answers, Percy,” she said gently. “I’m just asking you to stop running from this. From us. Whatever ‘us’ even means.” She stepped closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin. “All I’m asking is that you look at me the same way as Reyna and Katie. After Jason, I…” she trailed off, her mind briefly flashing to the boy she had once loved. “I want to feel something too. Feel anything besides the empty pit in my chest.” 

He swallowed hard, her words sinking into him like stones in still water. He wanted to reach out, to pull her close and tell her she was enough, that she always had been, but he kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Instead, he nodded, his gaze dropping to the snow. “I hear you, Pipes. I’m… I’m gonna try. I just need time to figure this out. All of it.”

She sighed, standing on the tip of her toes before giving him a peck on his lips. The brief contact sent a jolt through him, a mix of warmth and guilt that made his chest tighten. “Time’s not something we have a lot of, Percy,” she whispered, brushing some snow off his hair. “So don’t take too long.” With that, she turned, her boots crunching through the snow as she headed back toward the cabin, leaving him standing alone by the woodpile.

Percy watched her go, his breath fogging in the cold air as he tried to process everything. The axe still rested against the chopping block, and he stared at it for a moment, tempted to pick it up and lose himself in the process again. But a voice from above stopped him. 

“Damn, that was better than watching one of Aphrodite’s soap operas on Hepeasteaus TV.”

He looked up, noticing a glint of silver flashing through the trees. There she was, the goddess of the moon, perched on a high branch, her form half-hidden by the snow-laden pines. Percy mentally groaned, hating the thought of the maiden goddess having eavesdropped on his conversation. Instead, he tried to turn the embarrassment back on her. 

“You watch soap operas?” he blurted out with a disbelieving laugh. 

Artemis’s smirk faltered, her cheeks flushing a faint pink that was almost imperceptible against the cold. “No,” she said quickly, too quickly. 

“Uh-huh,” he grinned, seizing the chance to shift the focus off himself. “Yeah sure, I believe you.” He waved a dismissive hand, beginning to walk back to the cabin. 

“I don’t, I swear!” She called out to him, her voice rising in pitch.

“Oh, for sure!” 

Silence ensued just for a moment besides the crunch of snow under his boots as he trekked back inside. Just before he reached the door, he heard Artemis call out to him once more. 

“Don’t tell anyone!” 

Chapter Text

The fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across Percy’s face as he sat slumped in a wooden chair, its creak barely audible over the low hum of the flames. The wayfinder rested in his hands, its obsidian surface cool against his calloused fingers, the silvery runes pulsing faintly like a heartbeat from some ancient, forgotten god. He turned it over, his thumb tracing the shifting patterns as he stared into the fire. He half-expected a vision to burst forth from the tool; maybe a glimpse of Othrys's or Annabeth's face, twisted by the Father's control, but nothing came. Just the quiet reminder that even divine tools couldn't fix the chaos in his head.

The cabin had quieted down for the evening, most demigods retreating to their bunks after a day of chores and light training, leaving only him in the common area. He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes for a moment and enjoying the calm. He could almost pretend that this was his life now, here in this valley with his friends, with no war or monsters looming in the distance. Just peace and quiet. He knew, though, that wasn’t possible. Not now, not in the near future, perhaps not ever. It seemed that no matter how many enemies he took down, another took their place. Maybe that was just how things were. Maybe that was what the Fates wanted. Maybe war was all he was destined for. 

A soft creak of a floorboard broke his reverie. He opened his eyes to see Thalia approaching, her silhouette outlined by the orange glow of the fire. She was bundled in blankets, but he could see, despite that, she was still shaking from the winter cold. She hesitated for a split second at the edge of the room, as if debating whether to turn back, but then she closed the distance. 

“Mind if I sit?” she asked, settling into his lap as she wrapped the blankets around them. Thalia didn't wait for an answer, of course. She never did. Percy felt the chair creak under their combined weight as she nestled into his lap, her body curling against his like it was the most natural thing in the world. The blankets she brought enveloped them both, trapping the warmth from the fire and creating a cocoon that shut out the chill of the Montana night. Her head tucked under his chin, her dark hair spilling over his shoulder

For a moment, Percy froze, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air before settling lightly on her waist, as if afraid she'd bolt if he held on too tight. Or maybe he was the one who might. His heart thudded unevenly, not from surprise, but from the sudden intimacy; the way her breath warmed his neck, the subtle press of her curves against him. 

"Couldn't sleep?" he murmured. He kept his tone casual, but his fingers betrayed him, tracing a slow, absentminded circle on her side.

Thalia shifted slightly, her hand resting on his chest, right over his heart. “I know I’m a hunter and I should be used to it, but the cold’s a bitch out here,” she replied, her voice muffled against his shirt. "And... yeah, maybe a little insomnia. Too much on my mind." She paused, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. 

They sat like that for a while, the silence stretching but not uncomfortable. He swallowed, trying not to think about how perfectly she fit against him, how her breaths synced with his without even trying.

"I'm sorry," she said suddenly, breaking the quiet. She lifted her head just enough to meet his eyes, her electric blue gaze locking onto his sea-green one. Up close like this, in the firelight, she looked softer than usual; vulnerable, even. No armor, no anger. Just Thalia. "For hitting you. And zapping you. I was... pissed. Scared, really. But that doesn't make it right."

Percy blinked, caught off guard by the apology. He'd expected her to brush it off, maybe crack a joke about him deserving it. But there was no smirk now, just sincerity etched in her features. His hand stilled on her waist, then tightened slightly, pulling her a fraction closer without meaning to. “It’s okay,” he whispered, his thumb brushing her side in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. "I get it. I broke my promise. Again. And yeah, I probably deserved a good shock to the system." He offered a small, lopsided grin, but it faded as he searched her face. "But... you were right. About all of it. I can't keep running off like that.” 

Her lips parted as if she wanted to argue, but instead, she just nodded, her hand sliding up to rest on his shoulder. The touch was light, but it sent a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold. "Good.” She shifted, her thigh brushing against his as she adjusted in his lap, seeking a more comfortable angle. Her hand, still resting on his shoulder, slipped downward in a casual drift, her fingers grazing the edge of his pocket where the wayfinder was. Her skin brushed the cool obsidian surface first, a light touch that sent a faint ripple through the runes, like a stone skipped across still water. She froze, her brow furrowing as she pulled back slightly, her hand closing instinctively around the disc before he could react.

"What the hell is this?" she murmured. She held it up between them, turning it slowly in the firelight, the runes shifting like liquid mercury, whispering secrets neither of them could decipher. Her thumb traced the edge, mirroring his earlier habit, before looking to him for answers. “Percy?” 

His breath caught, the warmth between their bodies suddenly gone. He reached for it instinctively, but she held on to it, her eyes narrowing at his sudden demeanor, silently demanding answers he wasn’t sure he was ready to give.

“It’s… a wayfinder,” he sighed finally, almost reluctant, as if saying the words aloud made the whole mess more real. He gently pried it from her hand, the cool obsidian warming slightly against his palm, like it recognized him. “Athena gave it to me. Something from Hephaestus’s old workshop. It’s supposed to guide us through places where everything’s… twisted. Like Othrys.”

Thalia’s eyes widened at the mention of the Titan stronghold, the vulnerability from moments ago hardening into that familiar, fierce intensity. She straightened in his lap, the blankets slipping slightly off her shoulder. “Othrys? Why Othrys?” 

He set the wayfinder on the arm of the chair, out of sight but not out of mind, and ran a hand through his hair, the gesture more habit than necessity. The fire popped, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney, and he stared into the flames, avoiding her gaze. Gods, he didn’t want to do this. Not here, not like this, with her pressed so close that he could feel the rapid thrum of her pulse against his chest. Telling her meant telling everyone, and the thought of dragging this camp, his family, into another bloodbath twisted his gut. They’d just built this cabin, just found a sliver of peace. Storming Othrys? It wasn’t a quest; it was a suicide pact with a Titan who’d already stolen too much.

“Percy,” Thalia pressed, her hand returning to his chest, fingers splaying over his heart as if to steady them both. Her voice softened, but there was steel beneath it. “Talk to me. What aren’t you telling me? You promised no more secrets.”

He exhaled slowly, the words clawing their way out like they were fighting every instinct he had. “The crystal… it wasn’t just some power source. It showed me things about the Father. He’s not a primordial or some random monster; he’s Kronos’s firstborn. The true heir he betrayed and locked away in Othrys’s depths before the gods were even born. That’s where he is, Thals. Chained, but leaking out his hate like poison. The crystal was part of him, a way to anchor his power here in the mortal world. We smashed it, bought some time, but he’s got Annabeth, Jason, Frank… Hazel, too, if what he said is true. Turning them into vessels, just like Luke was for Kronos. But worse. Stronger.”

Thalia went still, her body tensing against his like a bowstring pulled taut. He could see the pieces clicking together in her mind, piecing together the nightmare from fragments. Her hand curled into a fist against his shirt, knuckles whitening. “Vessels,” she echoed, the word tasting like ash. “So he’s using them to… what? Manifest? Take over?”

“Yeah.” His voice cracked on the word, the fire’s warmth doing nothing to chase away the chill settling in his bones. He finally met her eyes, and the raw pain there, mirroring his own, nearly broke him. “Athena thinks that’s his weakness. He’s not fully here, not without a host. If we hit Othrys, strike at the source while he’s weakened…”

“We?” Thalia pulled back slightly in horror. “You mean the camp. All of us. Storming that mountain.”

He nodded, but it felt like swallowing glass. “I have to tell them. Tomorrow. I didn’t do it today, which I should’ve, but tomorrow, I’ll call a meeting. Lay it all out, tell them everything. I owe that to them.” His hands tightened on her waist, envisioning blood-soaked snow and screams echoing through the air. “But gods, Thalia, I don’t want this. I don’t want to lead them into that hellhole. We just got the cabin up, Grover brought in those refugees from New Rome, the kids are finally smiling again. What if we lose it all?”

“What do you mean ‘if’?” She fiercely whispered, shoving herself off him. “You know damn well it's not if, but when. Charging Othrys?! With a hundred something demigods?! Are you fucking kidding me, Percy?” 

Percy rose slowly, his hands raised in a placating gesture, but the wayfinder slipped from the arm of the chair, clattering to the floor. He ignored it, his focus locked on her. "Thalia, I—"

"No," she snapped, cutting him off with a sharp wave of her hand. Lightning flickered faintly in her eyes as she stared up at him. "Don't 'Thalia' me. You've got this grand plan from Athena, some magic rock from Hephaestus, and suddenly we're all supposed to pack up and march into the Titans' backyard? Othrys isn't just a mountain, it's a deathtrap. Gods know what the Father’s twisted it into.”

"I'm not saying we throw everyone at it blindly," he argued. “I have maps of the place. Weak points that we could take advantage of and not lose too many numbers. Hit him where he's weak. Athena thinks—"

"Athena thinks," Thalia echoed mockingly, her tone laced with bitterness. She paced a tight circle in front of the fire, her feet tapping against the wooden floor. "Of course she does. She's safe up on Olympus, playing chess with maps and scrolls while we bleed down here. She’s not the one who has to storm a mountain full of monsters. She’s not the one who has to watch her friends die.”

Percy stepped forward, reaching for her arm, but she jerked away. “This isn't about Athena," he said, frustration creeping into his words. "It's about ending this. The Father's not going to stop. He won't rest until he's taken Olympus and everyone with it.”

The words hung in the air, heavy as the smoke curling from the hearth. He could see the storm brewing in her eyes, the way her fists clenched at her sides, knuckles whitening like fresh snow. She stopped pacing, turning on him with a glare that could’ve ignited the logs in the fire without needing a spark.

“Ending this?” she hissed. “We won’t be ending anything except our lives. It’s a slaughter waiting to happen. We’re not an army. We’re just survivors who’ve already lost everything.”

“Then what’s the alternative, Thalia?!” Percy furiously whispered, stepping up closer to her where their noses were almost touching. “Huh? Tell me another way, please, because sitting here and waiting for the Orc legions to come knocking on our door again isn’t a plan. He’s already got our friends, your brother for godssake. If we don’t hit him now, while he’s weakened from losing that crystal, he’ll just get stronger and take even more of the people we love. And by the time that happens…it’ll be too late.” 

Thalia’s face twisted, a flash of pain crossing her features at the reminder. “And what about the camp?” She jabbed a finger into his chest, right over his heart. “What about the kids? You gonna tell them to pick up swords and march into hell? Or are you planning to leave them here, undefended, while we all die up there?” Her voice cracked on the last word, betraying the fear beneath her anger. She wasn’t just mad at him; she was terrified. For her hunters, for the demigods, for him.

He caught her hand before she could pull it away, holding it gently against his chest. “I don’t want this any more than you do,” he admitted. “Gods, Thalia, you think I haven’t thought about that? Every night, I see their faces, all of them. Twisted, broken, lifeless. And yeah, the kids… I’d give anything to keep them out of this. But hiding here? It’s not a life. It’s waiting to die.”

“You’re not thinking straight,” she whispered, looking down and shaking her head, hoping that he couldn’t see the tears welling in her eyes. “You’re letting Athena push you into this, just like she tried to push you into becoming king of Olympus. Her perfect little strategy, her maps, none of that changes the fact that we’re outmatched. A hundred and twenty fighters against thousands of Orcs? And don’t even try to say Atlantis will come to our aid. Just because you’re their king now doesn’t mean they’ll listen.” 

Percy flinched back, his eyes widening at the mention of him being offered the throne of Olympus. “H-How’d you know-”

“Artemis and I spoke earlier,” Thalia admitted after a moment, looking over at the fire. “She told me everything.”

“Everything?” he echoed, his voice rougher than he intended. How did Artemis know? Gods, it must’ve been Athena that told her when she’d first arrived back on Olympus. But why hadn’t she mentioned it to him? There were plenty of opportunities to do so. 

“Everything,” she repeated, breaking his train of thought. “She told me about the offer. The throne. How Athena tried to convince you to take it, to rule Olympus as its new king. And how you turned it down… for us. For the camp.” Her words softened on the last part, the anger ebbing slightly. 

He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes. “It wasn’t some heroic choice,” he muttered. “I couldn’t do it. Becoming a god? Ruling over what’s left of Olympus? That’s not me. I’d screw it up worse than Zeus ever did. And besides…” He trailed off. “I couldn’t leave you all behind. Not after everything.”

The pair was silent for what felt like an eternity, both staring into the fire whose flames danced erratically, mirroring their inner turmoil. Finally, the daughter of Zeus uttered four words that scared Percy more than any monster, Titan, or even the pit of Hell ever could.

"You might have to."

His blood suddenly ran cold. He stared at her, his mouth dry, the warmth of the fire forgotten. "What?" he whispered, the word barely audible, as if saying it louder would make it real. He searched her face, hoping to find a trace of her usual sarcasm, a glint in her eyes that said she was testing him. But there was none. 

"What do you mean, 'I might have to'?" he demanded with a desperation he couldn't mask. His hand, still holding hers against his chest, tightened involuntarily, as if anchoring her there could keep the words from taking root. "Leave you? The camp? That's not— I won't—"

She pulled her hand free gently, her fingers lingering for a heartbeat before dropping to her side. She stepped back, wrapping the blankets tighter around herself like armor. “Just... listen,” she pleaded. “For once, don't argue. Don't try to fix it. Listen."

He hesitated for a moment but eventually relented, though every muscle in his body screamed to fight, to deny whatever was coming next. 

Thalia took a deep breath, her fingers twisting in the blanket's edge. "Artemis didn't just tell me about the throne offer. She told me why Athena pushed for it. Not just because you're strong or because you're Poseidon's son. But because she sees something in you. Something... bigger. Most of the gods are gone, Percy. Now all that’s left is us. Scattered demigods, a handful of weakened immortals, and a Titan who's been rotting in hate for eons. Athena's not wrong about Othrys being the key, but storming it with what we have? It's not a battle; it's extinction."

Percy's jaw clenched, his fists balling on his thighs. "So what? I just... ascend? Become a god and wave a magic wand to fix everything? That's not how it works, Thals. Even if I wanted to, it wouldn't change anything. The Father's not going to bow down because I put on a crown. And what about you? The camp? I become a god, and suddenly I'm supposed to rule over you like Zeus did? No. Hell no."

She shook her head, a faint, bitter smile tugging at her lips. "That's not what I'm saying. Not exactly." She leaned forward, her eyes searching his, the firelight dancing in them like captured lightning. "But think about it. You're already more than a demigod. You know this. Defeating Koios and Triton, taking on all of Hephaestus’s automatons, manifesting new powers that no son of Poseidon has ever wielded before…you’re changing, Percy. Evolving. And if Athena's right, if the Father's seeing you as his heir because of some curse or whatever, then maybe fighting him as you are now isn't enough. Maybe you need to become something more to beat him."

"Become something more?” He said through gritted teeth, barely able to keep the disgust from showing. “Like what, Thalia? A monster? A god who abandons his friends?" He paced in front of the fire, his shadow stretching long across the room. The heat did nothing to thaw the ice in his veins. "I've seen what power does to people. Luke. Kronos. Even the gods. It twists them. And as much as I hate to admit it, it twists me as well. I can feel it. Hell, you saw it in the Labyrinth. Every time I use my powers, every time I’m in a battle, the power, the bloodlust…the anger, it takes over. And even after the battle is over, it’s never truly gone. I can feel it in my chest, in my heart, in my very veins, waiting to be let out again. To take over and destroy everything in its path. If I become a god…I’ll not only be abandoning whatever little humanity I have left, but I’ll be abandoning you all as well. I can’t—I can’t live for eternity with that on my conscience. 

Thalia grabbed his arms, forcing him to stop and face her. "You're not listening," she said. "I'm not saying abandon us. I'm saying save us. If becoming a god means you can end this without the last remaining demigods dying on the battlefield, defeating the Father once and for all…then yeah, you might have to. Because if you don't…we lose. I know it. Athena and Artemis know it. And as much as you hate to admit it, deep down, you know it too.” 

“You're my family.” He brokenly whispered. “If I ascend... I'd be leaving you behind. Forever.”

"You think we'd want you to die with us instead?" she asked quietly. A tear finally escaped, tracing a path down her cheek. She didn't wipe it away. "Percy, we've lost so much already. Annabeth, Jason, the gods, our world... If there's a way for you to win this, to actually end it, without all of us dying in vain…take it. Please."

He pulled her into him then, his arms wrapping around her waist, holding her close as if she might vanish if he let go. She melted against him, her head resting on his shoulder, her hands fisting in his shirt. They stood like that, the fire popping softly, the world outside the cabin dark and silent. Percy buried his face in her hair, inhaling the faint scent of pine and ozone that was so uniquely her. He couldn’t make out a reply; his throat had tightened up, refusing to let him speak. Instead, he hoped she could see the answer in his eyes, in his tears, in his heartbroken smile that barely could reach the corners of his mouth. 

She nodded against him, her arms tightening around his back, telling him that she understood. But even as she conveyed it, he felt the weight of the decision settling deeper, like chains wrapping around his soul. The wayfinder lay at their feet, its runes glowing faintly once more, as if mocking him with the paths it could reveal…and the ones it couldn't.

The next morning dawned quicker than Percy would’ve liked. He stared out the window at the blinding white snow that glittered with the morning sun rising above the mountain peaks. It should’ve been a peaceful morning, one filled with the scent of breakfast cooking and the sound of tired demigods waking up. But instead, every time he heard a yawn or someone greeting him with a ‘Good Morning’, his heartbeat grew quicker. By the time everyone was gathered in the main hall, he felt like his nerves were frayed wires, sparking with every beat of his heart. 

The cabin buzzed with the usual morning energy; demigods chatting over plates of food and kids giggling as they chased each other around tables. Grover was demonstrating some nature magic to a group of wide-eyed children, coaxing a tiny sprout from a pot of soil. It was all so normal, so fragile. Percy stood at the head of the room, the wayfinder box and scrolls tucked under his arm, his back to the hearth where last night's embers still glowed faintly. Thalia lingered nearby, her arms crossed, her expression a mask of stoic support, but he could see the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers tapped restlessly against her elbow.

Steeling himself, he finally cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the chatter. Heads turned, conversations trailing off as eyes fixed on him. The room fell silent, save for the occasional clink of a fork or the distant howl of wind outside. He scanned the faces, all of them looking up at him with confusion, though some, like Reyna, Travis, and Nico, looked somber, knowing what was about to occur. 

"Everyone," he started. He set the box and scrolls on the table in front of him, unrolling one of the maps with deliberate slowness to buy himself a few more seconds. "We need to talk. About New Rome, about what we found there... and what comes next."

A murmur rippled through the crowd, but no one interrupted. They knew that tone, the one he used when quests turned deadly, when the world hung in the balance. He laid it all out, starting with the crystal: how it had invaded his mind, showed him the Father's origins as Kronos's betrayed heir, imprisoned in Othrys's depths. He described the visions, the Golden Age, the chains, the hate that had festered into something monstrous. Gasps echoed when he revealed all of the vessels, knowing that some people didn’t truly grasp how far the Father had sunk his teeth into their friends. He spared no details about the Orc legions, the twisted demigods they'd fought, the crystal's destruction buying them time but not victory.

He told them of the Labyrinth, of Koios, of defeating Triton and becoming king of Atlantis. He told them of Athena’s offer, of being offered the throne of Olympus and rule what is left of their world. He told them everything, leaving no stone unturned. If he was going to ask them to storm Othrys, to face thousands of Orcs and more than likely die in the process, he owed it to them to tell everything. By the time he was done, everyone’s mouths were agape, their eyes wide and filled with shock, fear, and the grim realization of what was soon to come. 

“I know this sounds like a death sentence,” he sighed, looking out the window to the mountains overhead. “Othrys isn’t just a mountain, it’s a fortress, crawling with Orcs, traps, and gods know what else. But Athena gave me this.” He lifted the wayfinder from the box, its obsidian surface catching the filtered light. “It’s a guide, forged by Hephaestus. It can lead us through the worst of Othrys, to the Father’s prison. If we can reach him, hit him while he’s still weakened from losing the crystal, we might—might—have a shot at ending this. For Annabeth. For Jason. For Frank and Hazel. For everyone we’ve lost.”

The room hung in a heavy, suffocating silence once he was done speaking. No one spoke. No one moved. The only sound was the faint crackle of the dying embers in the hearth and the distant wind howling through the valley. He let the silence stretch, feeling the weight of every gaze like a physical burden on his shoulders. His throat tightened, but he forced himself to continue. 

“I won’t order you into this,” he said finally, scanning the room, meeting as many faces as he could. “I’m not a king here, not in this cabin, not with you all. You’ve followed me this far because you trusted me, not because I commanded it. And I won’t send you to your deaths on some suicidal charge without a say. Take the day. Think it over, talk to each other, weigh what we’ve lost and what we stand to gain. Tonight, after dinner, we’ll vote. Simple majority. If we go, we go together. If not…we’ll find another way. But whatever we decide, we decide as one.”

A few nods rippled through the crowd, tentative at first, then firmer. Travis let out a low whistle, breaking the spell, and the murmurs started, whispers at first, then building into hushed conversations. Percy stepped back from the table, rolling up the map with hands that felt numb, tucking the wayfinder back into its box. He caught Thalia's eye across the room; her expression was a storm of conflict, but she gave him a small, tight nod of approval. It wasn't much, but it was something.

He stepped out of the cabin quickly, feeling as if the walls were closing in around him, the heavy wooden door thudding shut behind him like a final punctuation on his speech. He couldn’t face the stares anymore, the worried glances, the tears threatening to unleash. The winter air hit him immediately, the wind carrying the murmurs from inside for a few steps, a buzz of voices debating, questioning, fearing. He didn't linger to hear them. He couldn't. If he stayed, he'd be pulled into a dozen conversations, a hundred what-ifs, and he wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

His boots crunched through the thick layer of snow as he made his way up the familiar path to the cliff overlooking the valley. It was his spot, the one where he'd spend hours looking out at the beauty. Now, it felt less like a vantage point and more like a perch for a condemned man, waiting for the axe to fall. He reached the edge, the wind whipping at his jacket, and lowered himself onto a flat rock dusted with snow. He sat there, knees drawn up, arms resting on them as he stared out at the horizon. Hours stretched ahead, a torturous wait until sunset, when the vote would come after dinner. He could almost hear the Fates laughing, spinning out this day like a cruel thread, forcing him to stew in his own doubts.

His mind replayed the meeting on loop: the gasps when he'd revealed the Father's true nature, the horrified whispers about vessels and prisons, the way Gabriela's eyes had widened in confusion while the older demigods exchanged grim looks. He thought about Thalia's words from last night, the ones that had kept him staring at the ceiling until dawn. You might have to. Ascend. Become a god. Leave them all behind to save them. The idea churned in his gut like a poison he couldn't spit out. He'd turned down Athena's offer once, but what if she was right? What if his blood, the inheritance from the sea, and whatever dark echo the Father saw in him, demanded more? He flexed his hand, feeling the faint hum of power in his veins, the water in the air responding to his unspoken call. It scared him, how easy it was becoming. How natural.

By midday, the sun hung high, melting the top layer of snow into a glistening sheen. Percy hadn't moved, except to shift his weight when his legs went numb. His stomach growled, but he ignored it; food felt like an indulgence he didn't deserve. Down in the valley, he could see clusters of demigods forming and dissolving, debates heating up, arguments flaring. He rubbed his temples, already feeling the telltale signs of a headache forming, which pulsed with "what if" racing through his mind. What if they voted no? They'd hunker down, fortify the valley, wait for the inevitable. Orcs would come eventually, maybe led by Annabeth, Jason, or Frank. Or worse, the Father would create another crystal, another anchor, and manifest fully, turning the world into his personal abyss. And if they voted yes? Gods, the blood. He could already see it: snow stained red, screams echoing off the peaks of Othrys, bodies crumpling under Orc blades. Kids like Gabriela, too young to fight but old enough to die in the crossfire.

A crunch of snow behind him pulled him from the spiral. He didn't turn, but he knew who it was. 

"Figured you'd be up here," Reyna said, settling beside him on the rock without invitation. She wrapped her arms around her knees, mirroring his posture, her jacket zipped up to her chin against the biting wind. She didn't say anything else at first, just sat there, her dark eyes fixed on the valley below, the wind tugging at strands of her hair that had escaped her braid. Percy glanced at her sideways, noting the faint lines of exhaustion around her eyes, the way her shoulders sagged slightly, despite her trying to hide it. It seemed even she, a proud Roman, was starting to feel the pressure. 

"You didn't come up here to enjoy the view," he said finally, his throat dry from hours of silence. He picked up a loose pebble, rolling it between his fingers before tossing it over the edge, watching it disappear into the white expanse below.

Reyna huffed a quiet laugh, though there was no real humor in it. "No. Though it's better than staring at cabin walls while everyone argues themselves in circles." She turned her head slightly, her gaze meeting his. "They're scared, Percy. All of them. Even the tough ones like Clarisse. Voting on a war... it's not like choosing dinner rations. This could break us before we even leave the valley."

He nodded, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "I know. Gods, do I know. I stood up there, spilling everything, and all I could think was how many of them I'd be burying if we go through with this." He admitted. "Part of me hopes they vote no. Let the Father come to us. At least then we'd be defending home ground."

Her brow furrowed, and she shifted closer, her shoulder brushing his. “And the other part?" She prompted. 

"The other part knows that's cowardice talking." He rubbed his face, stubble scratching against his palm. "If we wait, he wins. He picks us off one by one, twists more of our friends into monsters. He’ll take this valley, burn it to the ground, and then set his sights on Olympus, where no one will be defending it. After that, he’ll have the entire world in the palm of his hand.” 

Reyna's gaze hardened. She didn't respond immediately, just stared out at the valley, her breath forming faint clouds in the crisp air. Percy could see the wheels turning in her mind, the strategist in her weighing every angle, every risk. It was one of the things he admired about her, though it was such a painful resemblance to Annabeth. 

"You're right," she quietly resigned. "Waiting is surrender. But storming Othrys... that's not a victory march. It's a gamble with lives we can't afford to lose." She turned to him fully, her hand resting lightly on his arm. "And you? What if the vote goes yes? Are you ready to lead us there, knowing what it will cost?"

Percy leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing. He had a feeling she was insinuating something different than just lives being lost. Finally, it dawned on him. “Guess you overheard us last night.” He sighed in exasperation. 

“Thin walls,” Reyna replied, leaning back slightly. 

The pair sat in silence for a long moment, trying to come up with something to say, but nothing was coming to mind. What could you really say when the world was dangling by a thread, and the only way to save it might mean losing not only yourself but everyone you cared for? Percy stared at the distant mountains, wondering if this was how Atlas felt, holding up the heavens, crushed under the weight, knowing one slip meant everything came crashing down.

“I think you should do it,” she spoke up, causing his head to whiplash toward her in disbelief. 

“Not you too,” he muttered, rubbing his face. “Reyna, you know me. I’m not built for thrones or eternity. I’d go mad up there, watching from Olympus while you all…” He trailed off, the words sticking in his throat like barbed wire.

“You wouldn’t be leaving us,” she said softly. “You’d be saving us. Think about it not as abandonment, but as the ultimate sacrifice. A god-king leading Olympus’s armies. If you ascended, we really would have a shot.” 

Percy’s jaw tightened, his free hand clenching into a fist. “And what about after? If we win, what then? I sit on a throne, immortal, while everyone I care about fades away? You, Thalia, Piper, Katie… all of you, gone in the blink of an eye for me. Eternity alone. That’s not victory. That’s a curse.”

“Better a curse you bear than a world where we’re all dead or enslaved.” Reyna abruptly stood up, brushing snow from her jacket as she took one last look at the valley below. “The vote’s tonight,” she reminded him gently. “Whatever they decide, you’ll lead us through it. But if it’s yes… promise me you’ll consider it. Not for Athena, not for the gods. For us.”

“Yeah. I’ll… think about it.” He nodded, though it felt like a lie.

She squeezed his shoulder and headed back down the path, leaving him alone with his thoughts once more. The afternoon dragged on, each minute a slow drip of agony. Percy stayed on the cliff, skipping lunch despite the insistent growl of his stomach. As the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the sky purple and orange, he finally descended. His legs ached from sitting so long, but the physical discomfort was a welcome distraction from the storm in his mind. The cabin loomed ahead, smoke curling from the chimney, dinner preparations, no doubt. He pushed open the door, the warmth and smells hitting him immediately. But the atmosphere was thick, conversations hushed, eyes flicking to him as he entered.

He nodded greetings, keeping his expression neutral as he grabbed a plate and loaded it with food he wasn’t sure he could stomach. The tables were full, but the usual banter was absent. All was quiet, everyone silently picking at their food as they awaited a verdict that would change everything. Percy found a spot at the end of a table, away from the main groups, and picked at his meal as well. He couldn’t eat despite not having anything the entire day. His nerves were so frayed that even just the slightest bite would probably make him throw up.

Across the room, he caught glimpses of the others, all waiting for everyone to finish eating. Grover caught his eye from a nearby table, offering a small, encouraging nod. His reed pipes lay idle beside his plate, no music tonight. Even the kids sensed the heaviness; their usual rambunctious energy subdued, sticking close to one another at their own table.

As plates emptied and the sky outside darkened fully, Percy pushed his full plate aside and stood. The room quieted almost instantly, forks clattering to a stop, eyes turning to him once more. He cleared his throat, the sound echoing in the silence.

"Alright," he announced, looking around the room. "We've had the day. You've talked, thought it over. Now... we vote."

Percy paused, his hands gripping the edge of the table. He could feel the stares pressing down on him, a mixture of fear, desperation, and uncertainty. He could see Gabriela clutching a book, her small knuckles white, Travis and Nico staring emptily ahead at him, and Grover's hooves shifting nervously under the table. Even Artemis, who had slipped back into the cabin unnoticed during dinner, stood in the shadows near the door, her silver eyes fixed on him with an unreadable expression.

"But before we begin," he added, his voice dropping to a grave tone. "I need to make sure you all understand exactly what we're up against. The Father isn't just some Titan leftover or a monster we can outsmart with a clever plan. He's something worse. Something that's been festering in the dark for longer than any of us can imagine. And he's proven just how powerful he already is, especially against demigods like us.” 

Percy's fists clenched on the table, his knuckles whitening as the horrors he witnessed surged back stronger than ever. “He doesn't just control; he consumes. He breaks your will, twists your soul until there's nothing left but a shell echoing his rage. Both Travis and I can attest to that.” 

The son of Hermes nodded solemnly, his dead gaze locking onto Percy’s as he recalled the time he was almost possessed by the Titan’s poison. “It’s a pain worse than death,” he whispered quietly, but everyone heard what he said. 

"He's patient. Methodical.” Percy continued. “He doesn't just kill; he corrupts. Makes you destroy what you love before he claims you. And his army? Those Orcs aren't mindless grunts. They're infused with his essence. A hive mind that adapts mid-battle. We've fought them before, but at Othrys? It'll be thousands, maybe tens of thousands, guarding his prison. Add in traps that warp time, illusions that turn allies against each other, and his direct influence... seeping into your thoughts, making you doubt, rage, break."

He straightened, meeting their eyes one by one. "That's the Father. That's the power we're facing. If we vote yes, we're not just storming a mountain; we're diving into his domain, where he's strongest. We've got the wayfinder, the maps, maybe even Atlantis if I can convince them. But even with all that... some of us won't come back. Maybe most of us. So vote with your gut, but know the truth: he's not invincible, but he's damn close. And if we don't stop him, no one will."

The room seemed to hold its breath after that statement, the atmosphere thick with unspoken fears. The fire in the hearth crackled faintly, as if even it were hesitant to break the silence. He scanned the faces one last time before letting the process begin. He picked up a small wooden bowl from the table, one usually used for drawing lots during chores, and set it down with a soft thud. "We'll do this simple. Yes to storm Othrys, no to hold back and find another way. Drop a stone in the bowl; white for yes, black for no. We'll count them together.”

He nodded to Butch, who stood and began passing out handfuls of small, smooth stones from a pouch at his belt, half-polished quartz, half-obsidian pebbles scavenged from the riverbed. The demigods took them without a word, all looking as if there was an internal battle going on in their heads. Percy watched, his heart pounding like a war drum, as each person approached the table. Some hesitated, fingers hovering over the bowl before dropping their choice with a decisive clatter. Others moved quickly, as if afraid to linger on the decision. 

The process took longer than it should have, the tension stretching each second into an eternity. Percy didn't vote; he couldn't. This was their choice, not his command. When the last stone dropped, which was Nico’s, the room exhaled collectively. Percy stepped forward, tipping the bowl onto the table. The stones spilled out in a cascade, white and black mingling like fallen stars on a night sky.

He counted them aloud, his voice echoing in the hush. "One... two... three..." The whites piled up slowly at first, then faster. Blacks interspersed, but not enough. Not nearly enough. When he reached the end, the tally hung in the air like a death sentence. He looked up from the table, the room deathly quiet save for his rapidly beating heart, as everyone awaited the verdict. 

“It’s decided,” he announced, his breath coming out shakily. “We bring the war to Othrys.”