Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Truly, this whole situation was something else. Should Elysia have traveled this close to camp? No. Absolutely not. But was it her fault? Also no. The shadows had a mind of their own when she used shadow travel.

At least she didn’t end up in a tree again.

Or, you know—Italy.

Small victories. 

With her father going through what she affectionately called an adult tantrum , Elysia had peaced out of the Underworld so fast that Persephone probably got whiplash. She could practically hear her stepmother muttering something about "Why are all of you like this?" as she left.

In her defense, she'd been trying to go home. To her mom. To the world of normal problems, like overdue library books and whatever new drama the PTA had started this week. But no. Some silly little pull had dragged her somewhere else entirely. The shadows had decided—against her will, against everything she’d been told to avoid for the past two weeks—that she needed to be here.

At Camp Half-Blood.

Her father, Lord of the Underworld, King of the Dead, Resident Expert on Doom and Gloom , had been very adamant about her avoiding godly interaction for a while. Something about her powers being “a little too much, too soon” and “do you know how hard it is to keep a demigod hidden when they teleport into enemy territory at random?”

Listen. It had been one time. And, in her defense, Italy was only an enemy if you considered angry Roman ghosts an issue.

Anyway.

The whole “no godly interaction” thing was exactly why she wasn’t supposed to be here this summer. No one to find out the truth. No powers. No monsters. No prophecies involving apocalyptic disasters. And no one had known.

Well.

Until the Incident.

It happened on the last day of her first and only year at camp—literally the last day. Everyone was supposed to be relaxing, enjoying the bonfire, roasting s’mores, and not awakening latent abilities that could make a bunch of demigods freak out like she’d summoned the apocalypse.

Which, to be fair, she technically hadn’t.

Silena Beauregard, being an absolute queen, had sworn to keep what she saw a secret. Just between them. And no one else. Elysia was still trying to figure out how she’d bribed her, because if anyone in camp could keep a secret, it sure wasn’t a bunch of demigods with ADHD.

Going back a year ago— if someone had told her she was special, she would’ve raised a brow, politely declined the statement, and turned away to scoff—because Mama told her never to be rude to someone’s face unless they really deserved it.

But what did being special even mean? Special meant work. Special meant responsibility. Special meant more people shoving their problems onto you and calling it a “privilege.”

Like the time her mom’s friend suggested she try horseback riding competitions. Oh, Elysia, you’re so good at riding! You should try for championships! Then suddenly, she was dragged into hours of practice, stuck with trainers who took it all way too seriously, while both she and the poor horse were just done with life. She won gold, sure, thinking that was the end of it—only to get roped into even more events.

Or how she was somehow really good at Ancient Greek, which meant every group project magically became her project in that class. Oh, Elysia, you’re so good at this! Can you do all the work for us, pretty please, because we are utterly incapable of doing anything ourselves? That last part, she added out of spite. Because, honestly? Being special isn’t worth shit. It just meant more work and more people using you.

And when she found out she was a demigod? Yeah, no. The only cool thing about that was the powers, because what do you mean that just because a mortal woman and a god got together, she had to suffer the consequences?

No, thanks.

Fuck being special. 

The fat, wet drops of rain pulled her out of her thoughts, and Elysia groaned, the cold water soaking through her hair and into her already chilled skin as she wandered through the forest just outside the camp’s border. Shadow travel always left her exhausted, but this? 

LA to New York was no joke.

This had completely drained her.

And now?

Now she was just pissed that after all that effort, she hadn’t even landed inside camp.

A deep rumble rolled across the sky, and a flash of lightning illuminated the massive pine tree in the distance—the marker of Camp Half-Blood’s border. Elysia squinted through the rain. Really? She’d nearly killed herself hopping dimensions, and she couldn’t even land on the uphill part?

Fantastic. Was she being a little dramatic? Maybe.  But she was cold, drenched, and about two seconds away from throwing a fit—

Until she heard it. A scream—loud, guttural, full of rage and pain.

Elysia froze, her head snapping toward the sound. What the hell? That hadn’t been normal. Her pulse spiked, adrenaline flooding through her brain as she took off toward the noise, dodging slick tree roots and muddy puddles.

She burst through the treeline just in time to see—

A Minotaur.

An actual Minotaur.

Why was she surprised? 

And a boy—drenched, shaking, his hands gripping a massive broken horn—as the beast disintegrated before him, crumbling like sand in the wind.

Elysia skidded to a stop, chest heaving, her eyes wide as she stared at the boy, taking in the wreckage of a fight she had completely missed.

The boy’s head snapped up. His sea-green eyes locked onto hers. 

For a second, Elysia forgot how to breathe.

Not just because they were ridiculously pretty eyes (which, wow, rude, this was not the time), but because of the way they moved —alive, shifting, stormy.

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Both breathing hard, both drenched in rain, both clearly not expecting to be here.

Her mouth moved before she could think.  

“Holy gods.”

The boy didn’t say anything—just kept staring, like he wasn’t sure if she was real. Then her eyes flickered past him, and—

“Oh my gods, Grover?” She rushed forward, kneeling beside the Satyr, taking in his pale, barely-conscious face. Her stomach dropped. 

Her mind raced, trying to piece together what could’ve happened. The boy was most likely a demigod, and Grover was his Protector. Made sense. Except for the part where Grover looked half-dead.

Granted, she did remember Chiron saying something about sending Grover off on a mission last year.

“Okay.” She took a steadying breath. “We need to get you guys to Chiron. Like, now .”

The boy—whoever he was—swallowed hard. "Chiron?"

"Long story." She shook her head. "Help me get Grover up. We need to move. There could be more."

And just like that—

Still soaking wet, still confused as hell, still running on pure instinct—

Elysia and the boy hauled the Satyr up together and started toward the lights in the distance.

The rain had finally stopped, but the air was still thick with moisture, making her dark clothes cling uncomfortably to her skin as she and the mystery boy half-carried, half-dragged Grover toward the farmhouse.

She was so grateful Persephone had done her hair earlier—braiding it before pinning it up into a bun with delicate gold and blue gemstones on an onyx clip. A small comfort, even now.

The boy was staggering, his breathing heavy, his knees wobbling like they might give out at any second, but he refused to let go of Grover. 

Despite the exhaustion still pulling at her limbs, she admired the stubbornness. Dumb , sure, but admirable. They trudged up the hill, mud sucking at their shoes, their pace frustratingly slow.

“Almost there,” she muttered, more for herself than for either of them.

The boy gave a tired grunt, which she took as agreement. The closer they got to the farmhouse, the brighter the lanterns glowed, casting warm golden light across the front porch. The big wraparound deck loomed ahead, looking impossibly far away for how little energy Elysia had left.

She shifted her grip on Grover, who let out a weak groan but didn’t move otherwise. “Okay, just a few more steps.”

The boy swayed slightly. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Hey, you good?”

He exhaled sharply. “Yeah. Just—”

And then, of course, his knees finally gave out.

“Whoa—”

She barely managed to swing her body to brace him, keeping him from face-planting into the mud. Thank the gods for training. “Okay, nope. That’s it.” She turned toward the farmhouse and shouted, “Chiron! We need help!”

The door slammed open so fast she barely had time to react.

And there he was. Still in his wheelchair form, Chiron rolled onto the porch with the kind of urgency that told her he already knew something was wrong .

Mr. D followed at a leisurely pace, his Diet Coke in hand, looking mildly annoyed as he took them in. “Oh, you’re not dead, Eliza? Elisa? Elsy-whatever?”

“Wow, thanks, Mr. D. Your concern is overwhelming.”

“Mmm.” He hummed like he barely heard her. She had exactly one brain cell left to process how much she wanted to kick him in the shins,

“Found them outside the border,” she called up. “Minotaur attack.”

Chiron’s expression tightened. “Bring them inside. Now.”

Elysia nodded, tightening her grip on Grover, nudging the boy beside her. “Come on, you’re not passing out on me now.”

The boy, still barely holding it together, gave her a wobbly nod and forced himself forward.

Elysia winced as the boy stumbled beside her, his weight sagging like a puppet with cut strings.

She was about to say something—something along the lines of “Oh, for gods’ sake, stay upright for five more seconds” —when he just—

Collapsed.

Flat onto the wooden porch.

Hard.

The dull THUD echoed through the night, rainwater splattering around him.

She flinched. Stared down at him.

“…Well. That’s not good.”

Chiron immediately rolled forward, scanning the boy with a critical gaze.

Mr. D? 

Didn’t even look concerned. “Great. He dies on my porch, and now I have to deal with that paperwork.”

Elysia shot him a flat glare. “Mr. D, respectfully —”

Then a flash of blond rushed forward, ignoring both of them entirely, kneeling beside the boy. “He’s the one. He must be.” 

She blinked.

Excuse me?

The daughter of Athena looked like she had just unlocked the final piece of a puzzle she’d been putting together for years. Before Elysia could even ask what the hell that meant, Chiron spoke.

“Silence, Annabeth,” he said. “He’s still conscious. Bring him inside.”

“Not for long he isn’t.” Elysia snorted, adjusting her grip on Grover, who let out a weak groan. 

Annabeth gave her a pointed look but didn’t argue, already moving to grab one of the boy’s arms. Elysia rolled her shoulders, already feeling her limbs bark in protest, but trudged inside the farmhouse without further complaint.

The warmth of the place hit her immediately. The scent of herbs and clean linen filled the air as she made her way to the Infirmary, trying not to drip water everywhere.

She unceremoniously dropped Grover onto one of the beds.

“There. One satyr, slightly used, good condition.”

Grover groaned weakly, shifting, but didn’t argue. She exhaled, shaking the rain from her arms before turning on her heel and heading back out. Annabeth was still maneuvering the unconscious boy toward the door.

“Okay, okay, I’m here,” Elysia muttered, moving to help Annabeth lift him properly. “Gods, he’s heavier than he looks.”

“Less talking, more moving.” Annabeth grunted but didn’t disagree.

Together, they half-dragged him inside.

“Hi, Argus,” Elysia called out as they passed the one-hundred-eyed giant.

Argus gave a slow nod, at least ten of his eyes blinking at her.

Grover groaned something about food, and Elysia figured Argus would probably handle it. Meanwhile, the boy was well and truly passed out now.

Annabeth barely waited before turning on Elysia.

“Where have you been ?” she demanded. “I thought something happened to you! Everyone came back to camp two weeks ago.”

Ah. Right. That.

Technically, summer vacation had started, and she’d been whisked away to the Underworld before she could so much as pack.

Not that she could say that.

Considering she wasn’t supposed to exist and had never been officially claimed, as far as anyone at camp was concerned, her godly parent was still unknown.

She raised an eyebrow, shaking out her arms after dropping the mystery boy onto the bed. “Nice to know you were worried about me,” she quipped. “I was handling something.”

Annabeth crossed her arms. “Handling what?”

“Family business.”

“You disappeared off the face of the Earth for two weeks, Ely. Do you know how many monsters could’ve gotten to you? And now you just show up dragging Grover and—” she gestured toward the unconscious boy, exasperation bleeding into her voice. “—him, of all people?”

She shrugged. “Grover needed a lift. And as for him, I dunno. I just got here.” 

“Miss Silena has been asking about you,” Chiron interjected kindly, rolling into the room. “I believe she was worried something had happened.”

Silena.

Of course she had.

“It’s good to see you’re okay,” Chiron continued.

Elysia was about to reply—something easy, something light—when the fatigue hit her all at once.

A sudden, heavy pull at the back of her skull.

The kind that came from using too much power, too quickly.

Her vision swayed slightly.

She barely even realized it had happened before Annabeth’s hand shot out, gripping her elbow, steadying her.

“Whoa—Ely, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just—tired.” Elysia sighed, running a hand over her face. 

Annabeth gave her a look. “No kidding.”

“We’ll get you settled back into Cabin Eleven tomorrow. For now, you can use one of the guest rooms upstairs. Argus will escort you.” Chiron said.

She nodded.

 “And we’ll get you some new clothes,” he added.

She barely hid a wince. She hated the orange shirts. They made her look like a bad traffic cone.

But she wasn’t staying long enough for that fight.

“Aye aye captain,” 

The Titan appeared at her side, all one hundred eyes blinking in a weirdly synchronized pattern as he motioned for her to follow.

Elysia gave Annabeth one last glance. Yep. That face definitely meant she wasn’t off the hook.

With a sigh, she trudged after Argus.

The walk to the second floor felt longer than it should have. Maybe it was the exhaustion settling into her bones, or maybe it was the way Argus’ many, many, many eyes followed her movements, even as he led the way. When they finally stopped in front of a guest room, the titan opened the door, gave her a silent nod, and stepped aside.

"Thanks, Argus," she muttered, slipping inside. 

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, she stood there for a second, listening to his footsteps fade down the hall. Then, without hesitation, she moved. 

She barely had the energy for this, but it didn’t matter. Elysia took a deep breath, let the shadows curl around her fingers, and sent them stretching outward—searching.

She focused, reaching through the Big House, letting the darkness snake its way through the cracks and corners, until—

There.

Something cold. Metallic. With a snap, the shadows latched on, pulling the object back to her like a thief in the night. A faint clink echoed in the quiet room as a single golden drachma landed in her palm.

She let out a slow breath.

Step one: complete.

Now for step two. Elysia turned toward the small bathroom, twisting the shower knob just enough to let steam rise up in thick clouds.

As the mist swirled, she reached into her shadows again, this time manipulating them to twist the light in the room, bending it, scattering it across the moisture in the air. A faint glow of color shimmered in the mist—a rainbow, small but enough.

With that done, she flipped the drachma into the steam, watching it sink into the mist like a stone into water.

“Oh Iris, goddess of the Rainbow,” she murmured, her voice low and careful.

The colors deepened, the mist shifting.

“Please accept my offering—show me the Queen of the Gods, Hera.”

The air shimmered. The rainbow bent, twisted—

And then, Hera appeared.

Her expression was already exasperated, like she had far more important things to do.

"You best be dying. Right now isn't a good time—" Then she stopped. Her golden eyes narrowed, her expression shifting from irritation to scrutiny in an instant. “You are not in the Underworld where you should be.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Elysia huffed, crossing her arms. 

“Explain.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to end up here, okay? The shadows had a mind of their own . I was aiming for home, but nope—straight to the woods outside camp.”

Hera’s lips pressed into a thin line. "Sloppy."

She scowled. “I just traveled across the country, excuse me for not having perfect control of an ability I barely understand.”

The goddess tilted her head, looking her over like she was a particularly complicated chess piece. “And does anyone at camp know?”

"No. Not yet. I mean Chiron—"

Hera’s expression didn’t soften, but there was something else there now. Something calculating. “Then leave. Immediately.”

"Wow, no pleasantries? Not even a 'how are you, dear?'"

“You cannot be there. You know this. If your identity is discovered—”

“I know. ” Elysia gritted her teeth, her frustration mounting. “But I don’t exactly have a ride back, do I?”

The queen let out a slow, very put-upon sigh, rubbing her temple. “Stay one night. No more.”

She blinked. Huh. She was expecting more yelling.

“In the morning,” Hera continued, “find a way to leave. Discreetly. ”

“Can’t you come get me? I can sneak out in the morning, go to the same spot you dropped me off last year.”

The goddess’ expression darkened slightly, her golden eyes narrowing in warning. “You expect me to personally escort you back to where you should have stayed? Have you forgotten what subtlety means, child?”

Elysia sighed, rolling her eyes. "Oh, forgive me for not wanting to shadow-hop my way straight into the Atlantic Ocean. Again."

“You will manage.”

She huffed, rubbing at her temples now. "Fantastic. I'll just wing it, then. Maybe hitch a ride on a Pegasi—oh, wait, can't do that, because that would be too obvious ."

"Elysia." Hera pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaling slowly, like she was holding back a very deep, divine sigh of frustration. Then, after a long pause, she exhaled sharply. “Fine. But you are going straight back to the Underworld. There is too much happening right now for you to be parading on the surface.”

“Ugh, but Dad’s all pissy, something about his weird helmet being stolen.” She groaned, throwing her hands up. 

Hera’s expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes shifted.

A flicker of interest.

Elysia tilted her head, suddenly realizing something.

Wait.

“You already knew, didn’t you?”

Hera’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That is not your concern.”

“Oh, okay,” she mocked, crossing her arms. “Not my concern? Because I live down there currently, Hera. Forgive me if I’m a little invested in whether or not the Lord of the Dead is on a warpath.”

“You will return. That is all that matters.”

Elysia scoffed. "Yeah, sure. Because what I really want is to be trapped in the Underworld while my dad sulks for the next century."

There was a sigh.

An elegant, condescending, absolutely done sigh.

And then—

The mist shimmered—

And vanished.

Leaving Elysia alone, staring at the space Hera had occupied seconds ago.

She exhaled, letting her head fall back against the wall. Then, with a slow, tired breath, she let the shadows go.

Yeah.

This was stupid. She had barely been back on the surface for a few hours, and already, she was neck-deep in problems she hadn’t even asked for.

Her thoughts trailed backward, to a time before all of this.

Before gods and monsters.

Before she had to watch her every step like she was some ticking time bomb—

~            

Elysia had never really questioned much about her life. She was just… normal. And lazy. Or as normal as you could get when you had ADHD, got into trouble on occasion, and had a tendency to mouth off to authority figures.

A classic trouble maker as her Aunt would say. 

Honestly? That was fine by her. Being a “troublemaker” sounded way better than being “special.”

Sure, she liked to read, but focusing on the words was a battle. Most of her time was spent trying to study, keeping her brain from running off in a hundred different directions. Meanwhile, her friends were all about boys. 

They didn’t seem to struggle with schoolwork like she did. They’d spend entire lunch periods talking about their crushes while Elysia sat there with a workbook on her lap, half-listening, occasionally throwing in a vague “Totally.” Some of the boys were cute, sure, but not enough to make her lose her mind the way her friends did.

She had tons of friends—both boys and girls—and she fit in just fine. Her first kiss came in fifth grade, on the playground, with a kid named Andrew. It was a little awkward, but hey, it was a kiss. She went on school fieldtrips; she was invited over for sleepovers and shared snacks at lunch like every other kid.

The most exciting thing in her life? Family vacations.

Most of the time, it was just her and her mom. Honestly, she hadn’t known a single thing about her dad until she was eight.

There had just been this man who would visit twice a year—once on her birthday and once on her mom’s birthday. He’d pat her on the head and say something dramatic like, “You are growing as beautifully as your mother.” And then his very pretty wife would present her with an absolutely stunning display of flowers.

That was it. That was the extent of her knowledge.

She hadn’t even known he was her dad until one day, completely out of nowhere, she asked her mom and aunt why she didn’t have one.

Her Theía howled with laughter.

Her mom, however, had to explain the very obvious fact that: “Honey, what do you mean? Your dad always visits on your birthday.”

Elysia had just stared. 

Then her mother pulled out a picture—one of baby Elysia, fast asleep in that guy’s arms. And the pretty woman next to him? Apparently, that was her papa’s wife.

Yeah. None of that made sense in her eight-year-old brain. But whatever.

They gave her flowers, birthday money, and gifts on her birthday, and truly, to a child, that was all that mattered.

Then there was her mom’s best friend—the woman who was lovingly referred to as her Aunt, or sometimes Theía , though Elysia couldn’t remember when she started calling her that. It had just… happened.

Her aunt wasn’t around often either. Always coming and going like she had far more important things to do than sit around and entertain a kid. So really, it was just her and her mama.

And that was fine. Great, even. 

Simple. 

Normal.

Or at least, it had been—before some giant, snarling thing in the woods decided to ruin her completely normal life.

Hold up, hold up, she was getting ahead of herself.

Actually, if she was being honest, her life hadn’t been so normal, even before that damn Hellhound decided to chase her down.

If Elysia thought really hard about it, there were those moments. The kind she didn’t really talk about, because even to her, they had sounded... off.

Like how she swore she’d seen horses with wings in the pasture behind her school once—only to blink and see regular old nags grazing lazily, like they hadn’t just been defying the laws of nature.

Or the neighbor’s Rottweiler—sweet dog, loved ear scratches—but its eyes had this habit of glowing red every time she walked by.

Then there was that skeleton Halloween decoration that totally waved at her when she passed by on the porch. Like, Hey there, Elysia! Want to know where I was buried?

She shook those thoughts off because normal kids didn’t think about stuff like that. Normal kids went to haunted houses with their friends and pretended to scream when the guy in the zombie mask jumped out. They didn’t stare at the guy in the white sheet and wonder why he looked like he was actually floating—like, really floating.

And normal kids definitely didn’t predict their great-grandmother’s death down to the hour after touching her hand at a family gathering.

Yeah.

That one had been hard to explain.

Her mom had given her this strange look, like she wanted to say something but thought better of it. And when they told her dad, he had just cleared his throat and muttered something about “timing.”

Elysia had told herself it was a coincidence. Because it had to be. But the thing about really believing that you are normal was that it only worked until the world decided to prove you wrong. 

And that day? 

Oh, that day was shaping up to be a banner day for weirdness.

Case in point:

“Come on, Ely!” her friend Claire screamed, giggling as she darted out of the old, abandoned house on the corner street.

“Yeah, hurry up!” shouted Liam, who was already halfway down the sidewalk.

Elysia stood frozen in the middle of the dusty, creaky living room. Her friends hadn’t even noticed she wasn’t behind them. 

Typical. 

They were used to running in and out of this house like it was their own personal playground. It was a classic neighborhood dare—the creepy house with boarded-up windows and a front door that always seemed unlocked, no matter how many times someone nailed it shut.

But this time, something was different. Very different.

Her breath caught as she stared at the floorboards, where—oh, fantastic —two skeletons were slowly clawing their way out.

Like, actual skeletons.

Not decorations.

Not props.

Not some old furniture creaking in the dark , like she desperately wanted to believe.

These things had fingers that clicked against the wooden planks as they pulled themselves up, their empty eye sockets glowing faintly.

And then—because the universe just loved to mess with her—one of them sighed , like it was stretching after a really long nap.

“Oh no. Nope, nope, nope,” she muttered, backing toward the doorway. 

This was not happening. 

Her friends had to be pranking her. That was it. Claire probably found some weird animatronics online and snuck them in. Right?

“Hello, little one,” one of the skeletons rasped, its jaw creaking open in a way that definitely wasn’t normal.

Elysia’s heart stopped. 

Okay. Scratch that. This was so happening.

The second skeleton tilted its head, its bony fingers tapping against the air as if it were counting. “The lord’s child,” it said, its voice soft but chilling.

And that?

That was enough to break her paralysis. “Nope!” she yelped, spinning on her heel and bolting out of the house so fast she nearly tripped over her own sneakers. She didn’t stop until she hit the cracked sidewalk outside, where Claire and Liam stood doubled over in laughter.

But she refused to look back. Nope. Whatever had just happened in that house? Definitely didn’t happen. Because there was no way skeletons had crawled out of the floorboards and started talking to her.

But… they had.

Elysia shook her head, trying to shove the memory into the farthest, darkest corner of her brain where all deeply unsettling things went to die. She was not about to stand here and let her brain process it.

If she just ignored it hard enough, maybe it would go away.

That was a plan.

Ignore it, and the universe would sort itself out.

Totally foolproof.

Except, of course, it wasn’t. —

~       

It was like her shadow knew when to wake her. One second, she was out cold—the next, she jolted awake, heart lurching in her chest. It took her a full minute to realize she was still in the bathroom, the shadows curling back into their normal state.

“Shit.” She muttered, voice groggy, pushing herself up from the wall. A small groan escaped her lips as her back screamed in protest.

Yeah.

Sleeping upright had been a terrible idea. Elysia rubbed at her stiff neck, shaking off the last remnants of sleep, before standing up fully. She needed to leave. Now. But as she moved toward the door, something pulled at her. A feeling, nagging at the back of her mind—not something godly-related, not something dangerous.

Just a pull.

A quiet sensation at the back of her mind—one she didn’t quite understand, but one she couldn’t ignore. Her feet moved before her brain caught up, carrying her toward the Infirmary.

She didn’t know why.

She just went.

The room was quiet when she slipped in. Her eyes flicked to Grover first, and she bit back a laugh when she saw him.

Knocked. Out.

His hooves twitched slightly in his sleep, his mouth hanging open just a bit, breathing deep, lost in whatever Satyrs dreamed about.

Probably grass. Or Tincans.

“Figures,” she murmured, shaking her head, a small smile playing at her lips. Then, her gaze shifted. To the boy. Still out, still dead to the world, and—

Oh, gods.

Was that—drool? 

Elysia huffed, planting a hand on her hip.

How unattractive. She should’ve just left it at that—should’ve turned around, walked out, and gone on her way. But then, he shifted.

Just slightly. His eyebrows knitted together, his mouth moving in a soft, incoherent mumble—

And then, barely above a whisper—

"Mom..."

Elysia stilled. His fingers twitched, like he was reaching out, grasping for something that wasn’t there.

Oh.

Her heart panged in a way she hadn’t been prepared for. Before she could overthink it, she moved, slipping her hand into his, clasping it firmly. His fingers were cold, even in the warmth of the room.

“It’ll be okay,” she said softly.

His eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t fully wake.

“Promise?” The word was small, barely spoken—like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not. Elysia exhaled, her grip tightening slightly.

“As much as I can,” she admitted, “in a world like ours.”

It wasn’t much. 

But it was something.

His fingers curled, squeezing hers once—

And then, just like that, he was out again.

Elysia lingered a moment, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing. Then, carefully, she pulled her hand away.

She had to go. But for some reason—

She hesitated one last time. Her fingers twitched at her side, before she finally forced herself to move.

She turned toward the door, steps light as she moved, only to pause when she felt a familiar presence.

A knowing presence.

Chiron.

Still in his wheelchair form, he rolled into the room, his expression calm—but with that look. The one that said, I know exactly what you’re up to, and I’m not going to stop you, but I will make a comment about it.

“You’re going to say something annoying, aren’t you?” Elysia sighed, tilting her head at him. 

Chiron’s lips twitched, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Running away so soon after returning to us, Miss Evans?”

“Family calls.” She shrugged, slipping her hands into her hoodie pockets.

He hummed, glancing briefly toward the boy before his gaze flicked back to her. Something in his expression shifted, just slightly. “Be careful,” he murmured. “Finding out one exists is a call for retaliation.”

His eyes held hers, “Finding out a second child exists…” A beat of silence. “That calls for war.”

Elysia stilled. The words landed heavily between them. Not a question. Not a guess. A statement.

Her throat felt tight, but she didn’t react. Not outwardly , at least. She only gave a small nod, like she understood exactly what he was saying.

Because she did.

And Chiron? He knew. 

He didn’t say it outright. Then, as if nothing had just been spoken between them, he glanced down at his watch, muttering something under his breath about the time.

Elysia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, and offered a small grin. “Thanks for not saying another word.”

“I find some things are best left unsaid.” Chiron chuckled softly. 

That was as much of a blessing as she was going to get.

With that, she gave him a final nod, turned, and slipped out the door.

She didn’t stop moving. She stuck to the shadowy parts as she snuck out of camp—past the border, down the hill. The air smelled like the aftermath of a storm, thick with the scent of damp earth and pine.

She nearly slipped once, catching herself just in time, her heartbeat kicking up as she picked up her pace, jogging toward the familiar surroundings. Then, she stopped. Her breath evened out, but something in her chest tightened as she took in the clearing before her. The same place that had brought her back to a short memory

Not of the last time she was here.

But of the first time she had met a monster.—

~     

She had been walking along the trail behind her neighborhood, trying to clear her head, when the feeling started. 

A slow, prickling sensation crawling up her spine. Like something—or someone —was watching her. At first, it was just the sound of snapping twigs.

Which—fine.

Living so close to the woods—especially these woods—meant constant rustling and movement. Most of the time, it was harmless: deer, raccoons, maybe the occasional fox.

Washington state everyone. No big deal.

Then came the heavy, deliberate thud of footsteps behind her.

And yeah, that was not a deer. Way too loud. Way too heavy.

Elysia stiffened, her brain immediately doing very bad math about how many things in the forest were both big enough to make that noise and capable of chasing her down.

(Spoiler alert: None of the options were good.)

She turned her head, trying very hard to make it look casual. She immediately regretted it. Because there something was .

A hulking shadow, twice the size of any bear she’d ever seen, stalking her. Its glowing eyes pierced through the dim afternoon light, locking onto her like it knew exactly who she was.

And the snout. Twisted. Wolfish. Wrong. 

And the fangs.

Long enough to bite straight through a tree trunk.

Maybe this had been the turning point in her life.

The moment when everything started to click, when all the weird little puzzle pieces of her existence finally fit together. Before she had fully known this was a Hellhound—because yeah, that was a thing—before she had fully grasped that this massive, nightmare-fueled wolf-thing had literally dragged itself out of the Underworld to hunt down demigods like her , there had been a brief moment where she’d thought:

Well, that’s just unfair.

The thing let out a growl—a deep, guttural sound that sent a shiver straight down her spine. Before she could ask any more extremely valid questions, it lunged. Elysia didn’t have to tell herself twice.

She bolted.

The shadow-beast was right behind her, its claws scraping against the bark as it gave chase. The thick canopy overhead turned the daylight into a murky twilight, but she didn’t stop. 

She couldn’t stop.

Her lungs burned, and every muscle in her body was screaming at her to just give up already , but the sound of something enormous crashing through the trees behind her kept her moving.

Move now, regret everything later. That was the plan.

She burst out of the treeline, and finally, her brain caught up with the situation.

The fences. The split-rail fences that marked the edge of her family’s property were in sight. So was the house.

She barely registered the relief flooding through her as she vaulted over the first fence, landing hard on her knees, but she was too focused to care.

The howls of the beast followed her, louder now, almost deafening.

And then—because apparently one terrifying monster wasn’t enough—sharp, barking cries joined in.

Elysia didn’t dare look back as she cleared the second fence, her legs shaking from the effort.

And then—just as suddenly as it had started—

The noise stopped. Dead silence.

She froze, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she turned to face the woods. The trees stood still and dark, the beast nowhere in sight. No howling. No crashing footsteps. Nothing.

For a moment, she thought maybe she’d imagined the whole thing. Maybe it was just another one of those weird, blink-and-you-miss-it moments she’d been trying so hard to ignore. Maybe she was just going crazy. 

That was a much nicer alternative to reality.

But then she saw the claw marks gouged into the bark of a nearby tree, and her stomach twisted into knots.

This was real. All of it. And whatever had been chasing her wasn’t just some random animal—it wanted her. It knew her.

And she had a sinking feeling that this was only the beginning.

Elysia stared at the marks. They were impossibly deep, jagged, and precise. No animal she knew of could’ve done that. Not a bear, not a wolf—nothing that should have been in the woods near her home.

Her legs trembled, but she forced herself to move, stumbling toward the house. She half-expected the beast to come crashing back through the trees, those glowing eyes fixed on her again.

But it didn’t.

Instead—

A sharp bark split through the eerie silence. She whipped her head toward the woods, her heart still pounding.

Out from the shadows came a familiar shape—

A sleek, black Great Dane trotting toward her, his massive paws barely making a sound on the dirt path.

“Atlas?” she breathed, her knees nearly buckling in relief.

The farm had several dogs, but Atlas was hers in all the ways that mattered. He always seemed to know when she needed him, sticking close like her personal shadow. But what was he doing in the forest? He was supposed to be guarding the property near the barn, not wandering through the trees.

“Where were you?” she asked, her voice cracking as she crouched to meet him. Atlas nosed at her shoulder, his cold, wet snout brushing against her cheek. He gave a low whine, pressing against her like he was trying to comfort her—or maybe himself. 

“Come on, boy,” she murmured, standing again and glancing nervously at the forest. “Let’s go inside.”

Atlas didn’t need convincing. He stayed close as they made their way to the house, his frame practically glued to her side.

When she reached the back porch, she gripped the railing tightly, her fingers white-knuckled against the worn wood. She cast one last glance at the woods. The trees loomed tall and shadowy, but there was no movement. No sign of the hulking figure that had chased her. Just the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Like it was simply gone. 

Her mom stepped out onto the porch, already talking. “Elysia, I swear, if you tracked in more—” Then she saw her. And instantly, her expression shifted from mild annoyance to instant alarm . “Elysia?” Her mother stepped forward, eyes scanning her over. “What happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She opened her mouth. Then closed it.

Yeah, okay. She was going to explain.

Just as soon as she figured out how to phrase —

"Hey, Mama, so, funny story, I think I was just almost eaten by something straight out of hell. How was your day?"

…Yeah. That probably wasn’t gonna go over well.

She wanted to laugh, but it came out as a choked half-sob. “Not a ghost,” she said, her voice trembling. “Something worse.”

Her mom’s brow furrowed, and she stepped closer, placing a hand on Elysia’s shoulder. “What are you talking about?”

“There was—” Elysia gestured vaguely toward the woods, like that was enough to explain the absolute horror movie nonsense she just escaped. “Something was chasing me. Big. Fast. It had claws , and it… it growled at me, Mom. Like it knew me . ”

Her mother’s face went pale, her grip tightening slightly. “Claws?” she repeated, her voice suddenly very careful.

Elysia nodded. “And it stopped, just… stopped, right when I got to the fence. But it left marks on a tree. Big ones.”

For a long moment, her mom said nothing . Then she straightened, her jaw tightening like she was bracing herself for something. “That explains the barking,” her mother muttered, her gaze sweeping the treeline before dropping to Atlas.

Wait. What?

She knelt down, running her fingers through the Great Dane’s fur. “Good boy,” she murmured. “I’m guessing the others are still out there. Make sure they all come home safely.”

Atlas let out a deep, resounding bark and—without hesitation—turned and bounded back down the porch steps, disappearing into the woods.

Elysia stared after him, her heart racing for an entirely new reason. “What?”

Her mom stood, brushed her hands off on her jeans, and pressed a quick, warm kiss to Elysia’s forehead, like that would somehow explain everything.

“I have a call to make,” she said briskly. “You go relax.”

Elysia blinked at her.

Once.

Twice.

The words sank in like cold water.

“…I’m sorry, what? I just told you something chased me , and you’re telling me to relax? What is going on?” She crossed her arms, her voice rising. “I mean, I hate to ask this, but are you calling a psych ward? Because what the—what the fuck, Mom? ”

Her mom raised an unimpressed eyebrow at the language. “Watch your mouth,” But there was no real heat in her voice.. “I’m handling this. And I’m doing my best not to freak out for your sake, but this is something I need to deal with sooner than later. I’m calling your aunt.”

Elysia gawked at her. “What is Aunt Hera going to do? Tell me I’m overly stressed and seeing things? Or offer me chamomile tea and a lecture about propriety?”

Her mom laughed softly, though it lacked any real humor. “If only it were that simple.” Her tone shifted. “Look, Ely, I need you to trust me. This is… bigger than you realize. And bigger than I can explain right now. But you’re not imagining things, and you’re not crazy.” 

Now, Elysia could say that after this point, they had a very lovely conversation, and Hera fluttered in here on a chariot of peacocks and everything went smoothly.

But that would’ve been the lie of the century.—

~     

The shift in the air pulled her out of her thoughts, snapping her back to the forest before the flash of golden light.

She couldn’t help it—the smile that tugged on her lips as the goddess appeared.

Because for all her dramatics, for all her you’re an inconvenience attitude—

Hera always showed up for the people she deemed worthy.

The Queen of the Gods stood before her, regal as ever, her long black curls cascading down her back, golden eyes calculating. She was clad in a flowing gown, the fabric shifting between gold and deep purple as if the light itself couldn’t decide how to settle on her.

She eyed the Demigod, her expression somewhere between exasperation and begrudging amusement. "You look awful."

Elysia huffed out a laugh, brushing a hand through her hair. “And here I thought I was glowing.”

Hera gave her a flat look, then sighed as though just standing here was testing her patience.

“I assume you at least attempted to keep yourself out of trouble?”

“If you consider accidentally stumbling into Camp Half-Blood and maybe getting involved in something I shouldn’t ‘keeping out of trouble,’ then sure. I was a model citizen.”

Those golden eyes narrowed. “Elysia.”

“Look, it wasn’t my fault!” she said quickly, raising her hands. “Blame the shadows, not me. I tried to go home, and instead, I got a front-row seat to a bull fight fight.”

Hera pinched the bridge of her nose. “You have the worst luck.”

“Tell me about it.”

The goddess exhaled sharply, before motioning sharply with one hand. "Come along. I have things to do, and I refuse to waste more time here."

Elysia rolled her eyes, stepping forward. "Yeah, yeah. Nice to see you too, Hera."

The goddess didn’t bother replying. She just grabbed Elysia’s hand, the warmth of her touch an immediate contrast, and raised her other.

For a split second, the wind around them stilled.

The trees stopped rustling.

Then—

The forest vanished.

The earth beneath her feet dissolved into nothing.

And just like that—

The world blinked out.

Chapter Text

If there was anything off since her return, it was the dreams. Sometimes nightmares. Sometimes things that didn’t make sense. Like reliving her first days at camp—but wrong. She could never quite put it into words. Even in her own mind, the details slipped like sand through her fingers, leaving only fragments that made her stomach twist.

One dream had started normally enough. Mr. D had been playing pinochle—same as always—grumbling about everything under the sun while simultaneously re-explaining the rules. Which made no sense. Because Mr. D knew she knew how to play. She’d learned it from him last summer, but for some reason, he was going over it like she was hearing it for the first time.

She had barely been paying attention, though. Annabeth was there. Grover was there. Chiron was there.

And— she was there.

Sitting across from them. Like some weird, out-of-body experience. She couldn’t explain why it felt so wrong—only that it did. Then, out of nowhere, Mr. D had shouted something about ‘Oh, a royal marriage. Trick! Trick!’, which, sure, was confusing, but not as confusing as what came next.

Because Grover had looked up, his voice trembling, and said—

“P-please, sir. He’s just lost his mother. He’s in shock.”

And Elysia had frozen.

Because Grover wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at the boy across from him. The boy that had been her. And suddenly, nothing made sense.

Her brain yanked her out of sleep so fast she barely registered bolting out of her room, her feet barely touching the ground as she ran—

“Papa—!” She didn’t even realize she was calling for him until she nearly crashed into his arms, babbling, panicked, barely able to get the words out—

“Mom’s dead?!”

Her father blinked down at her, processing her tear-streaked face.

And thus began a very awkward Iris Message to her very alive mother.

It only got weirder from there. She tried to brush it off as some side effect of staying in the Underworld for too long. Maybe it was messing with her head. Maybe she was losing it.

But the dreams kept coming. There was one about a bathroom initiation from the Ares kids, which ended with the whole bathroom flooded . Annabeth being a stalker again. Something something sword training with Luke Castellan—except she won . Which, yeah, never happened. Luke had always handed her her ass when it came to sword fighting. And then there was the weirdest one—capture the flag .

It ended with her in the water. Being claimed. Everyone making a huge deal out of it. 

Which, obviously , was ridiculous.

Her mind was still tangled in the mess of it all during her latest training session with her father. Which was not ideal . Considering, she was stuck training for hours with a very enthusiastic squad of Spartan skeleton warriors—all of whom had knives. 

A lot of knives. 

And zero sense of personal space. Elysia ducked as one of them lunged at her, narrowly avoiding a rusty dagger to the face.

“Okay, first of all,” she gasped, barely rolling out of the way, “this seems very unnecessary!”

The skeleton did not respond.

Because, you know.

No vocal cords.

Instead, it clacked its jaw at her, like somehow she was the unreasonable one. From his throne, Hades watched with mild amusement, sipping something out of a golden goblet like he was enjoying the show.

Another skeleton jabbed at her ribs, and she yelped, twisting to avoid it.

In the distance, Persephone sighed. “You could call them off,” she said to Hades, sipping her own drink. “Before your daughter actually gets maimed.”

“She’ll be fine.” Hades merely hummed, tilting his goblet slightly. 

“I absolutely will not!” Elysia, breathless, scoffed.

She dodged another jab, then tripped over one of the smaller skeletons, barely catching herself before hitting the ground.

The skeletons clacked their teeth at her in what she could only assume was mockery.

“You have the power to tell them off,” her father said, lounging like he wasn’t forcing his daughter to play Dodge the Deadly Dagger.

Elysia twisted out of the way of another particularly aggressive skeleton before snapping, “Well, in case you haven’t noticed, Papa—I DON’T FREAKING KNOW HOW!”

As her temper flared, the shadows around her lurched, snapping out like vipers and promptly slamming two skeletons against the wall—their bones cracking as they crumbled into a pile of dust.

Elysia froze.

The remaining skeletons froze.

There was an awkward pause. Then one of them very rudely tried to stab her in the gut.

Like, come on, really?

“I can’t even control my shadows!” she shouted, stumbling back as her own power coiled at her feet like an overenthusiastic pet trying to be helpful.

“Why,” her father murmured mostly to himself, voice flat, “is your ability to harness darkness better than your ability to call the dead?”

The skeletons clacked their teeth again. She pointed at them. “See? They’re mocking me.”

Her father did not look concerned.

“Just tell them to sit.” Persephone sighed loudly from across the throne room.

Elysia blinked. “What.” 

“They’re like dogs,” she said, waving vaguely. “They’ll listen to commands if you say them with enough authority.”

Elysia looked between her stepmother, her father, and the very much armed skeletons still circling her.

“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” she muttered. Then, mostly out of frustration, she pointed toward Cerberus—who was watching this unfold with his three massive heads resting on his paws—and then at the skeletons.

“I’m better off telling that one to attack,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the massive hellhound. Then, with a sigh, she flicked a hand toward the undead soldiers.

She really didn’t expect anything to happen. The point was for Cerberus to maybe bark, or wag his snake-like tail—give her a small reaction, at best.

Cerberus only really listened to Hades. Maybe Persephone, when she bribed him with Underworld treats.

Sure, Elysia had bonded with the giant three-headed demon dog. She adored him, actually. He reminded her of Atlas in a way—big, protective, and ridiculously stubborn when it came to fetch.

She had spent countless hours playing with him between dinner and training, initially refusing to believe he would ever follow basic commands like sit, stay, or for the love of all things unholy, bring the ball back, you overgrown beast .

So imagine her absolute shock when the next thing she knew—

There was a spattered array of bones at her feet and Cerberus crunching down on what remained of one of the skeletons like it was a particularly crunchy treat.

Elysia stared.

Persephone blinked.

Hades tilted his head slightly. 

The only sound in the throne room was the wet, grinding noise of bone being reduced to dust between massive jaws.

Cerberus’s three heads perked up, the middle one tilting slightly, waiting—like a very good boy who had just done exactly what he was told.

A long pause.

“…Huh.”

“Well, that wasn’t what I expected.” The Queen of the underworld let out a soft chuckle.

“Of course he listens to her.” 

Elysia slowly turned to her father. “Did I—did I just give the biggest, scariest dog in the Underworld a kill command?”

“It would appear so.”

Cerberus wagged his tail, a deep, thunderous rumble coming from his chest. The floor vibrated.

“I think even the Erinyes might listen to her at this rate, once they return,” Persephone muttered absentmindedly.

“The what?” Elysia asked. 

“Not what—who. You’ve met Megaera and Tisiphone, no?”

“I thought they were called the Furies? That’s what Megaera told me.”

Those two had been the first to greet her when she officially started coming to the Underworld almost a year ago. When Hades had arrived to take her for her first weekend visit, they’d already been waiting inside the palace—right behind Persephone, who had practically sprinted forward to wrap Elysia in a hug and officially welcome her as Princess of the Underworld.

Apparently, that had been… unexpected.

According to Tisiphone, the Furies hadn’t realized just how involved Persephone was with Elysia’s mom—just like Hades. It seemed they were good at keeping secrets, even from their own underworld lieutenants.

“They have several names,” Hades supplied, finally standing and making his way toward her. “Most demigods call them ‘The Kindly Ones.’” He said the last part with a snort, like he still found it amusing that mortals thought a polite nickname would keep them from getting ripped to shreds. “Though you haven’t met Alecto yet.”

“I have so many questions about the naming situation,” Elysia muttered. “But where is Alecto, anyway? Shouldn’t I have met your ‘main’ lieutenant by now?”

Hades’ expression shifted, a shadow flickering across his face that made her instinctively tense.

That was anger.

Not the quiet irritation of dealing with souls who couldn't follow simple instructions. Not the mild annoyance he reserved for the Olympians when they ignored his existence unless they needed something.

No.

This was something deeper, darker. She felt it in the air around them, the way the temperature seemed to drop just slightly, the distant murmur of souls in the Fields of Asphodel growing uneasy. Persephone must have felt it too because she shot her husband a look, one hand delicately setting her goblet aside.

"Alecto has been occupied," Hades said, voice carefully controlled, but his eyes burned. Not an answer. Her gut twisted.

Up until Winter Solstice, she had never seen her father truly angry. Irritated? Absolutely. Annoyed? All the time. But actual fury? That was new. And Elysia wasn't stupid.

Something was wrong. Something had been wrong since the solstice.

Since that day in December, when the Underworld had been tense, when her father had been storming through the palace for hours, his cape whipping behind him like a violent shadow. Right after he had returned from Olympus.

When she had arrived after the new year for her weekend here, Persephone had explained it to her carefully, in that soft, knowing way of hers.

“He tries to avoid showing that side to you, you know. The side that reminds the world why they fear him.”

And yet, here it was. Now, it seemed like every time she came to visit, he was right on the edge.

Elysia exhaled, crossing her arms. "Does this have to do with the whole ‘Dad’s Missing His Favorite Hat’ situation?"

Hades narrowed his eyes. “It is not a hat.”

“Helm, hat—either way, you’re pissy about it.”

His jaw twitched.

Persephone sighed, clearly deciding it was best to step in before this turned into an actual argument.

“Elysia,” she said, gentle but firm, “Alecto is looking into matters that do not concern you. At least, not yet. And hopefully never.

She didn’t miss the emphasis on not yet .

She inhaled deeply, shoving her hands into her pockets. “So, let me get this straight,” she said, tilting her head. “Someone stole your helm. Which, apparently, is a huge deal. And instead of looping me in, you’d rather leave me in the dark.”

Hades held her gaze. “Yes.”

Elysia opened her mouth. Then closed it. “…Okay, well, at least you’re honest.”

She didn’t know what she had been expecting. Maybe some long-winded godly speech about protection, or I only keep secrets to keep you safe nonsense.

But nope.

Just ‘yes.’

Hades was nothing if not direct. His expression softened. Just a fraction. He stepped closer, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Your very existence is a means for war, my daughter.”

Elysia stiffened.

“Hera has held her tongue out of respect for your mother—and for you. But beyond that?” Hades’ eyes darkened, his voice turning grim . “I have no doubt Zeus will call for your execution.”

Her stomach plummeted. Her mouth felt dry.

Oh.

So that was out in the open now. 

A long silence stretched between them, his words settling over her like a lead blanket.

Then—just slightly—his grip tightened. “And you do not deserve to be blamed for something you did not do.”

There was something in his voice—something firm, something certain—that made her throat tighten.

He was worried for her. And that made her feel like absolute shit .

She couldn’t explain it. Not to herself. Not to anyone. Maybe it was the inner people pleaser in her. Maybe it was because, for all his dramatics and doom-and-gloom lectures, he had never treated her like an inconvenience.

He treated her like a princess. And gods help her—she might actually be a daddy’s girl. Elysia wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face to his chest.

His robes smelled of something dark and ancient, like petrichor and the last fading embers of a dying fire. For such a feared man, she hated how misunderstood he was. Hated how disregarded he was. Hated how he was treated like a villain when—

When he was just a father, standing in front of his daughter, trying to protect her. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his robes. “Okay.” She said it simply, but she knew he’d hear everything she didn’t say.

Hades hesitated for only a second before one hand rested on the back of her head, fingers lightly combing through her hair.

Soft. Unspoken. The kind of reassurance only a father could give.

And gods, that thought made her want to laugh.

Because if someone had told her a year ago that she’d be standing here, willingly hugging the Lord of the Underworld, she would’ve called them insane.

It brought her back—back to the summer before, back to when this whole mess started, back to when she was convinced her dad was some sort of werewolf.

~            

“I told you both this was going to happen!” 

Ah. 

Her aunt was here. That was fast. 

She barely had time to towel-dry her hair before she caught Hera’s voice drifting up from downstairs.

She had been banished into the house for a quick shower—quoted by her own mother—

"You stink like mud."

Rude.

Elysia frowned. She hadn’t even been in the shower for fifteen minutes, and already Aunt Hera was on her soapbox.

“You are so stubborn, Lizbeth,” Hera’s voice continued, exasperated. “She’s his daughter! I’m amazed she was this safe for the last 12 years. But the first monster always marks the start, and they’ll smell her left and right now. So, tell me what you plan to do.”

Now, you could say she remembered the next few parts, but she didn’t.

Somehow, she ended up in her room, changed into a comfy sweater and leggings, and sat on her bed, fully convinced that her dad was either:

• A serial killer.

Or

• Some weird wolf hybrid that transformed into a beast every full moon.

There was no in-between in her twelve-year-old brain. And, to be fair, she had just finished reading Twilight.

Because that was a thing a lot of middle school girls were into at a private academy. And she, being a certified people pleaser, had read it just to keep up on social norms.

…Gods, she’d been so desperate to fit in.

And now, instead of worrying about team Edward or team Jacob, she was sitting here, wondering if her dad was literally a werewolf.

Yeah.

This was going great.

If only it had been that simple. Instead, she found herself sitting at the dining room table, staring at the two most powerful women she knew, slowly processing the fact that—Her Aunt was literally her aunt. 

Not just in the family friend kind of way. But in the divine, cosmic, universe-bending kind of way.

Oh, and she also happened to be Queen of the Gods. So that was fun.

And, her dad? Also a god.

Who?

Wouldn’t say.

Apparently, her mom and Hera thought it was best to "save her from some sort of grief."

Which, frankly, sounded like a really bad way to handle the situation. Even Hera thought so, judging by the way she scoffed when her mom said it.

Now, someone might think,

"Elysia, that’s so cool!"

Or,

"Man, two gods in your life? That’s rad."

No. That was not her being cool. That was all her mom catching the big fish and her just benefiting from it.

And honestly? That made way more sense. Because her mom was a looker. Beautiful. Model-gig side hustle kind of beautiful.

And stubborn as hell.

How her and Hera got along the way they did had to be some kind of fate intervention. Because, really? There was no other explanation.

Hera spoke first, she explained how the Greek myths weren’t just stories. They were history, alive and well. She told Elysia about half-bloods—children born of gods and mortals—and about a camp designed to keep kids like her safe.

The silence in the room was deafening until Elysia, without thinking, let her thoughts slip—

“I need a drink.”

Her mother, without missing a beat, muttered, “Me and you both.”

The Goddess beside her hummed, considering. Then, with the most casual expression, she added, “you’re almost thirteen. Back in the time, you would have already been married and drinking wine long before. I do not know why you wait.”

Elysia choked.

Her mother groaned, rubbing her temples. “Hera. We’ve talked about this.”

Hera raised a hand, unbothered. “Yes, yes. Modern sensibilities and all that.” She sighed dramatically. “Mortals are so boring now.”

“You know, I was this close to having a normal night.” Elysia gestured vaguely. “And now we’re talking about demigods, child marriage, and drinking laws.”

“I’m honestly surprised this conversation is even happening, considering they all agreed to keep this quiet.”

Then Hera laughed.

Like, full-on laughed. her laugh was the kind that made gods nervous, that made people second-guess all of their life choices. It was the laugh of someone who knew things—things they were absolutely about to ruin your night with.

And sure enough—

“Zeus is going to be so pissed if he finds out about you. I can’t wait.”

Elysia groaned, dropping her head onto the table with a thud . “Great. Love that. That’s what every kid wants to hear: that the literal king of the gods is gonna have a meltdown over their existence.”

Her mother sighed, leveling Hera with a look. “Your father wanted you to have a normal life, Ely, or as close to it as possible.”

“Right,” the Goddess drawled, swirling her tea like she was enjoying every second of this. “Because that worked out so well. Honestly, I don’t know why no one told you sooner. It was only a matter of time before you got attacked—no number of wards could keep you safe forever. You should have been brought to camp ages ago.”

Elysia’s stomach dropped. 

"I don’t—" She licked her lips, feeling like the ground had just shifted beneath her feet. “I’m sorry, but seriously, what the hell? Where is Dad? If this is so important, you’d think he would be here.”

Her mother looked guilty.

Hera, however, didn’t miss a beat.

“That idiot has no idea we’re telling you.”

“Hera!” Her mother scolded.

“What?” She shrugged, completely unbothered. “My biggest regret was letting either of the two meet you, and now I will take my consolation prize in the form of making fun of them. And officially spiriting Elysia off to the place she’ll be the most safe. Mostly.”

The hesitation on ‘mostly’ was concerning.

Her mother frowned. “Is that even a good idea?”

“Lizbeth, she will never be safe, at least let her learn to defend herself.” Hera gave her a pointed look. “Besides, look at her. She has Apollo’s sunshine all over her—no one will suspect.”

Elysia squinted. “I—what?”

She had no idea what that meant. Sure, she took after her mom: lightly tanned skin, a faint natural blush on her cheeks—she practically radiated warmth. Her dad, though?

Polar opposite. What little she did share with him were her eyes. A deep, almost black shade of brown, but flecked with gold.

Gold that, according to Hera, shifted—from a light honey gold when she was excited or happy to a dark maple gold when she was upset.

The more she thought about it, the more it just made sense. Not once in her life had she really studied in any of her Greek classes, but she knew it, like it was apart of her. She'd always been faster and stronger than the other kids. Elysia had hit the ball so hard during tetherball once that it had gone flying, actually flying across the school grounds. She'd been teased for that for days by the other kids.

Apparently, accidentally launching playground equipment into orbit wasn’t normal.

"You are aware of the absolute fit he will have once he finds out, because he will find out." Her mother said under her breath.

"I plan on it."

Elysia let out a long, slow breath, leaning back in her chair, trying very hard to act nonchalant even though her mind was racing.

Because suddenly, the conversation was hitting her all at once.

She was going to have to leave.

She was going to have to leave her mother.

And that thought? That was the first thing that truly scared her.

“So, let me get this straight—” she pointed at her mom, “—you knew my whole life and just decided to drop this bombshell today?”

“I didn’t decide—”

“And you,” she turned to her aunt, “have also known and are now telling me I have to go to this camp?”

“Correct.”

“Okay, cool, cool, cool,” she muttered. “So, um, just wondering—do I get a say in this, or am I just supposed to pack my bags and hope for the best?”

Her mother’s gaze softened, just slightly. “Ely…”

“Right. Of course. Of course I don’t get a say in this.” She laughed, a little hysterically. “Why would I? God forbid I actually get to process this before getting sent off to who-knows-where with a bunch of other kids who might also have gods for parents. So, what does this mean for me now? What if I don’t want to go?"

Lizbeth sighed, like she knew this part of the conversation was coming. "Elysia."

That was never a good start.

"It’s not just some summer camp, it’s—"

"A glorified survival program with questionable child labor laws?" 

"Sweetheart, this isn’t up for debate."

Elysia stiffened.

"So, that’s it? You’re just shipping me off?"

Hera snorted, setting down her teacup. "Then I suppose you’d rather stay here and deal with the next monster that finds you?"

Elysia’s jaw snapped shut.

Her mother reached across the table, her fingers warm as she took Elysia’s hand. "I know this is sudden, and I know it’s scary. But the wards that have protected you your whole life? They won’t be enough anymore. Not after today."

"So that’s it? I just leave everything behind?"

Her mother’s expression softened, and for a second, Elysia thought she saw her own fear mirrored there. "It’s not forever, honey."

"That depends entirely on if she survives long enough to visit home." Hera scoffed.

"HERA."

"What? I'm being realistic."

Elysia wished she could say she took this all in stride. That she took it like a big girl, accepted her fate with quiet dignity and courage.

But she didn’t. Not even close. After the whole conversation was over—after she was told that once the school year wrapped up, she’d be taken to this camp, that her 13th birthday would be spent somewhere she’d never even been before—

She broke.

She went straight out to the pastures, into the barn, and just… cried.

Some of the dogs wiggled their way in beside her, pressing their cold noses to her face and shoulder, huffing soft little breaths like they were trying to say, We got you. You’re okay.

The horse in the closest stall lowered its head, nudging Elysia several times, as if that could physically push the sadness out of her.

She sniffled, leaning into the solid weight of the animal, stroking its muzzle absentmindedly.

She couldn’t say no. Not to her mother. Not when she looked at her like that, like she was trying so hard to be strong for both of them.

So, no.

Elysia didn’t fight. She let herself break for a little while, let herself cry where no one could see—

She'd fallen asleep in that barn, curled up in the hay with one of the farm dogs draped over her like a weighted blanket, her fingers still tangled in the horse’s mane.

And for a little while, just a little while, it had been okay.

But reality didn’t care about barn naps or the way the world felt a little softer when she was surrounded by animals. Reality was packing up her life in a duffel bag. Reality was saying goodbye to her friends, forcing a smile when they asked if she’d be back next semester, and pretending like she knew the answer.

Reality was her mother making her favorite meal the night before, curling up with her on the couch, watching movies like nothing was about to change.

Reality was waking up early the next morning with a pit in her stomach, pacing the living room while waiting for Hera to show up.

Reality was leaving.

And she hated it.

She hated how her mother had smiled so gently, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. Be strong, my girl.

She hated how Hera had simply held out a hand, as if this was nothing more than another errand for the day. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood.

She hated how beautiful it all was—the shimmering lake, the rolling fields, the amphitheater nestled between the trees.

She hated that she hesitated.

Hera hadn’t stepped over the border, of course. Instead, she’d left her there, at the hill’s edge, with only a satyr guide and a whole lot of questions.

And gods, she had so many questions.

But none of them had mattered.

Not right now.

Because right now, she was just staring at the valley below, gripping the strap of her bag so tightly her knuckles ached.

Right now, she was standing at the edge of something she didn’t understand, something bigger than her.

And she was scared.

~      

She hadn’t understood how much that memory still affected her until she found herself gripping onto her father’s cloak, following him around the palace like a lost shadow.

No one commented on it.

The spirits bowed their heads in quiet respect as she passed. The attendants carried on as if nothing was unusual. Even Persephone only gave her a passing glance before murmuring something to Hades in a tone too soft for her to hear.

No one said a word. No one questioned why the Princess of the Underworld looked this close to breaking.

And maybe that was worse. Because it meant they understood.

She was scared again. She knew because her fingers wouldn’t unclench. Because her breath felt tight in her chest. 

Not of her father. Not of this place. But of herself. Of what she was. Of what she meant. 

Of the simple fact that her existence alone was a burden. And she wasn’t sure how to stop feeling like it.

And it didn’t go away for days.

Then that night’s dream had rattled her. 

It started normally—well, as normally as dream nonsense could go. Chiron was talking about a quest. Something about the summer solstice, something about Zeus and Poseidon going to war.

Elysia barely followed—until she caught the part that made her gawk in fury.

“The Lord of the Dead is the only possibility.”

Excuse me? She wasn’t sure what her dad was getting blamed for, but it boiled her blood. And here she thought Chiron was so nice! How dare he.

Before she could yell at dream-Chiron, the vision shifted. Suddenly, she was at a bus stop.

Annabeth and Grover were next to her, Annabeth laughing at something, and—

Wait. She was laughing too. Something about Grover eating the apple that had been their Hacky Sack.

Then—

She stopped laughing. Her voice came out of nowhere, and it wasn’t her talking, not really.

“Who is Elysia?”

Elysia frowned. What?

Annabeth’s face shifted, first worried, then annoyed.

“I already told you,” Annabeth sighed, like she was repeating herself. “She helped you carry Grover to camp. Unclaimed kid.”

That last part hit differently.

Then Grover chimed in, shifting uncomfortably. “Chiron said Elysia chose not to come to camp this year and was only in town to say hi when she found us.”

Then, after a glance at Annabeth—who was staring into the distance, arms crossed—Grover leaned in. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Annabeth’s really upset she didn’t stay. And that Elysia hasn’t answered any of her letters in the last two weeks.”

Elysia felt herself hesitate, the words forming in her mouth without her control. “Is there… any reason she might be in trouble? Like, stuck somewhere?”

Why would she ask that? Why would Elysia be in trouble?

Concern flickering across Grover’s face. “Why? Did the Oracle say something?”

“No, no, just a thought.”

‘Because yeah, totally normal to have dreams about some girl fighting skeletons and getting cornered by hellhounds right before a trip to the Underworld. Super comforting. No red flags at all.’

Elysia shot awake so fast she nearly tumbled out of bed.

That voice hadn’t been hers. Neither had that thought.

She didn’t sleep for the rest of the cycle. Instead, she wandered the palace halls, her mind tangled in knots. She was so caught up in it that she didn’t notice the pull until it was too late. Shadows coiled around her wrist and yanked her sideways into a narrow alcove. She barely swallowed a yelp, biting her lip to stay quiet.

She would’ve hissed at them outright—told them off for doing that without her permission—

But then she heard voices.

Familiar voices.

“You mean to tell me,” Hera’s voice dripped with disdain, “that the daughter of the Underworld—the very child we have spent thirteen years shielding, the girl who can command the dead and bend spirits to her will—fears her own power?”

Elysia pressed herself further into the alcove. Oh, they were talking about her.

She knew she should leave, slip into the shadows and pretend she never heard any of this. But her feet stayed planted, her breath shallow.

“She will come into her power when the time is right,” Hades said, his voice even.

Hera scoffed. “The time is right? And when, pray tell, will that be? When Olympus is already drowning in war? When your helm remains lost, and she is dragged into it whether she wills it or not? You know as well as I do—her time is running out. The longer she remains unclaimed, the worse the consequences will be.”

Silence.

Then Hera’s voice dropped, turning cold. “Zeus suspects.”

Hades sighed. The god’s exhaustion hung in his voice. “I know.”

“Then act.”

Hades’ voice hardened to iron. “And do what, Queen of Olympus? Hand her over to you so you may mold her into one of your playthings? Let her be paraded before the rest like some prize? Shall I allow you to shape her fate to fit your convenience?”

“If you refuse to claim her, fine. I will not fault you for that—not after everything. But the Great Prophecy still looms, and she is your daughter. The Fates will not be denied. One way or another, they will make her a hero. Do you really believe she will escape that path?”

“You should have never sent her to that cursed camp,” Hades snapped.

“What is done is done.” Hera’s tone was final. Then she softened, in the way a queen does before delivering an ultimatum. “Give her to me, and I will name her one of my champion. She will be free of this hero’s destiny. She will have power, yes, but on her own terms.”

Elysia’s breath hitched.

Champion? Prophecy?

Hades let out a bitter laugh, low and dangerous. “A generous offer. One you did not extend to Poseidon when he dared to claim his own son. And look how that turned out.”

Elysia’s mind stalled. Her breath came in short, uneven bursts, her pulse thrumming in her ears. Panic clawed at the edges of her chest, and before she could fully process what was happening—

The shadows answered. They surged, curling around her arms and legs, pulling her through the wall in a rush of cold air.

And she was in her room. Not in the palace corridors. Not on the other side of the wall.

On her bed.

Perfectly placed, as if she had never moved at all.

Her hands trembled as she pressed them against the mattress, the shadows still lingering around her, whispering against her skin. They slid along the walls, threading the space into near-darkness, murky and thick, waiting—

For what?

For her command?

For more? Elysia exhaled sharply, curling into herself as she ran a hand over her face, pressing her palms into her eyes.

There was nothing but self-pitying thoughts circling in her mind, looping endlessly, suffocating her. This was what drowning must have felt like.

She hated whatever this game was. She had never asked to be a demigod. To be special. To have her entire existence mean something.

She just wanted to be Elysia.

And she wasn’t even sure who that was anymore.

She missed her friends. Her camp friends—

~ 

When she thought about it, the first two hours of being at Camp Half-Blood had been... a lot.

Elysia had been mostly quiet, nervous as hell, sticking to short answers and avoiding eye contact. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to seem unbothered or if she was just too bothered to function properly. Chiron had been patient, doing his best to coax her out of her shell, but every attempt had been met with a nod, a shrug, or a clipped "yeah."

And Mr. D?

Well, he’d taken one look at her, sighed dramatically, and said, " Try not to get into too much trouble. And don’t die. It’s terribly inconvenient for paperwork. Cabin Eleven."

Then he’d shooed her away. Shoved her off like a paperwork problem he didn’t want to deal with.

Developing abandonment issues much? 

Chiron had tried to soften the blow, guiding her through camp, explaining things, reassuring her that she would find her place here. But she wasn’t sure if she wanted a place here.

Because this wasn’t home.

And no matter how much she wanted to believe otherwise—she wasn’t sure if it ever would be. 

The orientation film had been... well, interesting was one way to put it. If she had to sum it up, she’d say it was a lot. A variety show mixed with a badly directed Apollo ego trip. It had game shows, musical numbers (some of which she hated admitting she enjoyed), and comedic sketches that made her wonder if gods actually had a sense of humor or if they were just that out of touch.

By the time it wrapped up, she’d learned three things for certain:

• Apollo was very into himself.

• The Greek gods were real (which, obviously, she already knew).
• And Chiron was absolutely that centaur (which she also kind of already knew, but seeing it spelled out for her in a musical number was an experience she would never recover from).

Now, as Chiron led her down the steps and onto a wide gravel path, Elysia let the warmth of the sun soak into her skin. Camp was alive around her—kids her age darted past in bright orange shirts, jostling, laughing, completely at ease. A satyr played a reed pipe off to the side, a light, cheerful tune floating through the air.

It was the complete opposite of how she felt. Her fingers traced the edges of her bag, restless. Her mind being pulled in two directions as she tried to take in everything around her.

Then she saw them.

Pegasi.

It was a stupid thing to focus on, really. But they were familiar. Not these pegasi, obviously, but horses in general—something constant in a life that had just been flipped upside down. Her gaze locked on the creatures instantly, watching the way their wings stretched, the way the sunlight gleamed off their coats.

Chiron caught the shift in her attention. “Would you like to take a closer look?” His tone was gentle, careful, like he already knew the answer.

She hesitated, then nodded.

“Then let’s get you situated in the cabin, and I shall introduce you to Silena. She is the Counselor of Cabin Ten.”

That barely meant anything to Elysia. Then she got the oddest feeling, one that made her panic a little.

The feeling of being watched.

Her stomach twisted. For a split second, she half-expected to see another hellhound prowling in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. But that didn’t make sense. The orientation film had made it clear—monsters couldn’t get past the camp’s borders unless someone invited them. She swallowed, forcing herself to glance over her shoulder.

Nothing. No glowing eyes staring back at her. No shadowy figure lurking nearby. No giant monster waiting to pounce.

And yet…

The feeling lingered. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, but she forced herself to shake it off, inhaling deeply before turning back to Chiron.

If he noticed her moment of hesitation, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he gestured for her to follow, leading her further down the path.

“You’ll be staying in Cabin Eleven for now,” he said, his voice calm and reassuring, like he could sense how overwhelmed she felt.

Elysia raised a brow. “That’s Hermes’ cabin, right? The one where they dump all the unclaimed kids?”

Chiron sighed, but there was no arguing with the truth. “It is tradition for new campers to stay in Hermes’ cabin until their godly parent claims them.”

Elysia hummed, gripping the strap of her bag a little tighter. Right. Like that was ever going to happen. 

Still, she followed as they weaved through camp, passing the various cabins arranged in a U-shape. Some were obvious—the one that looked like it could survive a nuclear blast had to be Ares’, and the glowing, sun-kissed one was definitely Apollo’s.

Then they reached Cabin Eleven.

There were so many people. More than any of the other cabins she had passed. Kids sat on the front steps, leaning against the railing, tossing a volleyball between them, laughing like they had all known each other forever.

She swallowed.

She didn’t belong here.

Chiron must have sensed her hesitation, because he gave her a reassuring nod. “You’ll be in good hands, I promise.”

The door swung open before she could respond, and a boy stepped out, looking way too confident for someone close to her age. “Chiron! Oh, is this our newbie?”

She flinched at the direct attention, dropping her gaze to the floor.

Chiron nodded. “Elysia, this is Luke, this cabin's Head Counselor.”

Luke’s gaze flickered over her, quick and assessing, before he offered a small, easy grin. “New kid, huh? Welcome to The Bunker.”

Elysia shifted, glancing up only briefly. “…That what you call it?” Her voice came out softer than she intended.

Luke shrugged. “When you’ve got this many people crammed into one space, you get creative.”

She nodded, not knowing what else to say.

Chiron gave her a kind look. “I’ll leave you in Luke’s care. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

She just nodded again, eyes glued to the ground.

Chiron left, and Luke stepped aside, gesturing for her to come in.

She hesitated for only a moment before slipping past him, keeping close to the edge of the room.

Inside, the cabin was exactly as packed as she expected. Bunk beds lined the walls, the space between them cluttered with shoes, duffel bags, and half-unpacked belongings. It was warm—probably from the sheer number of people—and loud.

Elysia fought the urge to shrink into herself.

Luke leaned against the doorframe, watching her with something that almost looked like understanding. “Pretty overwhelming at first, huh?”

Her fingers curled into the hem of her jacket. “…yeah, it’s alot.”

He hummed, nodding like that was fine. “You’ll get used to it.”

Would she? She wasn’t sure.

He pushed off the wall and gestured toward an open spot on the floor. “That one’s free. It’s not much, but we’ll get you a sleeping bag—”

Elysia stopped listening. If she wasn’t already overwhelmed by this whole camp situation, then this might have been her breaking point.

The floor. 

She was supposed to sleep on the floor.

Gods, she could handle a lot of things. Wild hair? Whatever. Mud on her clothes? Fine. Getting picked on? Been there, done that. But this? No pillows? No extra blankets? She didn’t go camping. She went glamping.

This might actually be the point where she starts crying. But she wasn’t about to do that in a cabin full of people. “It’s fine,” she murmured quickly, moving toward the spot without another word.

Luke watched her for another second. “Alright. I’ll let you settle in. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

She just nodded again, keeping her head down.

Her moment of peace didn’t last.

Looking back, she was glad it didn’t. Because her first real friend at camp arrived a few minutes later.

Silena Beauregard.

The pretty Aphrodite head counselor that Chiron had sent to take her to the stables.

It was amazing how quickly she and Silena hit it off—from the moment she followed her out of Cabin Eleven to the short walk across camp, they had already covered two different topics. Not the typical who’s your parent? or the whole welcome to camp speech.

Instead, they talked about riding.

The feeling of the wind in your hair. The thrill of moving as one with a creature so powerful. The way the world melted away when you let yourself fly.

Silena had listened with a kind of quiet understanding, nodding along as Elysia described growing up around horses, the long rides through pastures, the feeling of complete freedom when she let the reins loose and trusted the animal beneath her.

“I love that,” Silena had murmured, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “That’s exactly how it feels with Pegasi. Except, y’know— flying.”

Elysia had laughed—really laughed—for the first time since arriving.

She had almost forgotten to be nervous. Now, standing just outside the stable doors, she could already hear the gentle snorts and rustling of wings from inside. The scent of fresh hay, leather, and something almost electric filled the air.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, an old instinct kicking in.

Silena caught the motion and grinned. “C’mon,” she said, tugging her forward. “I’ll introduce you.”

Inside, rows of Pegasi lined the stalls, each one more beautiful than the last. Their coats shimmered under the stable lights—sleek blacks, soft dappled grays, even a few with golden feathers woven into their wings. A stunning chestnut with white socks peeked over its stall door, ears pricked in curiosity.

Elysia inhaled deeply, letting the familiar smell of hay and horses settle something inside her.

“I think they like you,” Silena observed, nodding toward the Pegasi who were all watching Elysia with interest.

She let out a breathy laugh, stepping closer to the nearest stall. A striking dark grey Pegasus, its wings dusted with silver, stretched its neck toward her. She reached out carefully, fingers brushing over its muzzle.

The Pegasus exhaled against her palm. Warm. Trusting. So similar to home.

Silena, watching with a knowing smile, took a lead rope and gently guided the Pegasus out of the stall. Alongside it, she led another mare, explaining the differences between riding a regular horse and a winged one.

"It’s all about balance," she said, adjusting the saddle. "And trusting them to do what they’re made for."

Elysia listened, absorbing every word. She had been riding since she could walk, but this? This was new. The weight of wings. The shift of movement. It was exciting.

By the time she sat proudly atop the gray Pegasus—lovingly named Alva—that feeling returned. The feeling of being watched. Her fingers instinctively tightened on the reins. She glanced over her shoulder, scanning the stables, the training grounds beyond—

Nothing.

But it was there. That quiet, nagging awareness crawling up her spine.

Silena must have noticed her hesitation because she asked, “What’s wrong?”

Elysia didn’t bother lying.

“It’s just... I feel like I’ve been watched since coming out of the Big House.”

Silena let out a long sigh, rolling her eyes like she already knew exactly what was going on. “That would be Annabeth.”

“What?”

“She keeps an eye on all new campers,” Silena said knowingly, adjusting the reins on her own Pegasus. “She’ll probably stop in a few days—try not to let it bother you.”

Elysia frowned, shifting in the saddle. “Why would she—?”

“Annabeth doesn’t like not knowing things,” Silena huffed a small laugh. “She probably hasn’t figured you out yet. Or maybe she’s trying to connect some dots.” Then, with a teasing smirk, she added, “Or you could just confront her, y’know.”

Elysia made a face. Yeah. No thanks.

Silena clicked her tongue, signaling her Pegasus forward. “Come on, let’s get moving. It’s time for your first riding lesson. Pegasi edition.” 

With one last glance over her shoulder, Elysia clicked her tongue too, and Alva moved forward, following Silena toward the riding path. The wind ruffled her hair, and as they picked up speed, she let herself focus on nothing but the ride—

~ 

She picked at the edge of her bed covers as she came out of the memory, blinking back the sting behind her eyes.

It wasn’t fair.

Since she’d come into her powers, animals ran from her. Most of the time, at least. Dogs still didn’t mind her—if anything, they were drawn to her. Crows, for whatever reason, would flock near her, cawing like they knew something about her that she didn’t. And sometimes, on rare occasions, cats would even find the courage to approach.

But everything else?

She exhaled, slumping forward.

Horses had been her second love. Her second comfort. And now, most of them wouldn’t even look at her.

Back home, the horses on her mother’s farm had kept their distance for a week after her powers had awakened—skittish, uneasy, watching her with wary eyes like she was a predator instead of the girl who had spent her childhood brushing their coats and whispering to them when no one else was around.

Eventually, they had adjusted.

But any new horses that came to board?

They panicked around her, wide-eyed and trembling, nostrils flaring as if she smelled like death itself. It had broken her heart. It’s why she refused to summon the dead. Why she stuck to the parts of her power that didn’t invoke fear—the shadows, the travel, the little tricks she could play.

So, yes.

Elysia was afraid.

A common thing in her life now, wasn’t it?

~                               ~                                ~

It took her a while to realize Persephone was gone. Back to the surface. Back to her mother.

Apparently, she’d only stuck around long enough to make sure Elysia was still in one piece before heading back—so Demeter wouldn’t, quote , “throw a fit and send a cold front sweeping across the states.”

Which, frankly, sucked. Because now her dad was pissed .

All. The. Time.

Like, he tried to keep it together in front of her, but come on—he was the literal god of the dead. His emotions didn’t exactly sit quietly. The whole Underworld was on edge.

Even the ghosts were hovering extra nervously, and they were already dead.

So, in a move of sheer self-preservation, Elysia had started avoiding him.

Which meant more time hanging out with Cerberus.

The three-headed death dog was surprisingly great company. No unsolicited advice. Just vibes. Occasionally he’d bring her bones to play fetch with, which, yeah, probably still had some soul residue, but it was the thought that counted.

Unfortunately, her avoidance tactics backfired slightly, because now she had officially met Alecto.

Which, yes, was terrifying—but also oddly formal.

She had taken the appearance of an older woman—somewhere in her fifties—and had actually bowed when she introduced herself.

Elysia had just kind of awkwardly nodded back.

Then, in the same polite, I-will-definitely-strike-you-down tone, Alecto had casually dropped:

Something was going to happen on the Summer Solstice.

And, oh yeah—

Apparently, the son of Poseidon had escaped her and her sisters. Again.

Yeah. No idea what that meant but, she shadow-traveled to her room anyways before her dad could blow up. 

She felt the ground shudder beneath her. Yup. Papa was pissed.

That’s when she spotted the envelope.

Gold. Wax-sealed. A delicate lotus emblem pressed into it—ornate, regal, and unmistakably Hera.

Elysia stared at it for a moment, dread settling in her stomach like a stone.

That couldn’t be good.

She hesitated before picking it up, breaking the seal with careful fingers. The parchment inside was thick, the handwriting precise and elegant—each letter crafted with the kind of patience only an immortal could possess.

To my dearest Elysia,

You are hereby summoned to Olympus on the Summer Solstice to discuss matters of great importance regarding your continued existence.

I cannot say with certainty who will strike first, nor who will stand victorious when the dust settles—but rest assured, war looms on the horizon.

As such, I offer you a bargain.

This is not a request. You will be expected at the earliest of my convenience.

Do not keep me waiting.

Yours,
Hera
Queen of the Gods, Goddess of Marriage, Women, and Childbirth

Elysia read the letter twice. Then a third time. And promptly shoved it under her pillow. 

 She tried to forget about it. 

It wasn’t out of spite. Not really. It was more of an if you ignore it long enough, maybe it’ll just go away kind of thing. Like an inconvenient homework assignment. Or an oncoming storm she could pretend wasn’t creeping closer.

Maybe if she stayed down here, just stayed —she wouldn’t have to deal with it. She could visit her mom once a month, spend the rest of her time in the palace, let the world above carry on without her.

But that wasn’t living, now was it?

~                               ~                                ~

The dreams had started to make her spiral. Fractured pieces of things that didn’t add up. 

The first had been of the Furies attacking. She had felt the panic, the sting of a wound that wasn’t hers, the rush of adrenaline as someone fought back.

Then Medusa. A sword in her hands. The slow, awful realization of what she had to do. The way she had watched a severed head roll across the floor, eyes still glowing, before stuffing it into a bag and sending it off to Olympus. Impertinent , the voice had hissed in her mind.

The mother of monsters. Echidna. The Chimera’s hot breath in her face, the scent of poison thick in the air. The terrifying moment where she had almost drowned in a collapsing archway. 

The god of war. Ares, looming over her, grinning like he knew something she didn’t.

By that point, she was starting to understand. These weren’t just dreams. 

They were real. Someone else was living them. And somehow, she was there .

Then, one night, she had caught her own reflection in a passing window. Except—those weren’t her eyes.

Not gold, but then it had blurred and she couldn’t remember the color. And suddenly, she was no longer in the dream, trying to get Ares’ shield from a waterpark.

Instead, she was on a beach. The night sky stretched endlessly above. The waves crashed softly against the shore.

And a boy was standing there, staring right at her.

The beach was quiet. Almost eerily so.

The kind of quiet that stretched deep, like the universe itself had taken a breath and was holding it, waiting.

Elysia shifted, fingers curling slightly at her sides as she took in the boy standing in front of her.

She couldn’t make out much. The dark softened the edges of him, blurred the details. His face was shadowed, unreadable—but his presence was overwhelming.

And his emotions?

She could feel them.

Grief. Determination. A weight pressing on his shoulders like the world had already asked too much of him.

Her throat felt tight. He didn’t say anything. He just stared at her, like he was trying to figure out if she was real.

Elysia hesitated. Then, finally— gently —she spoke. “Don’t be afraid.”

Something flickered in his expression, barely there before it was gone.

Her lips curved slightly. Softer, almost like a whisper, she added—

“What was lost can be found, I promise.”

The waves lapped at the shore. The stars stretched endlessly above them.

And before she could say anything else—

The dream shattered.

Chapter Text

It was then that the nightmares grew worse. 

No.

When the true nightmares began—what she had experienced before simply didn’t compare to these. Monsters and voices haunted her; in one, she had been trapped in a birdcage, her hands pressed against cold metal bars as unseen figures whispered her name. 

In another, Annabeth had been dead in her arms, her body limp, her warmth fading, and then something had cooed at her—a soft, sickly sweet sound that sent a chill down her spine. Like she was a pet, like she was something small to be kept, something to be played with . 

She had tried to scream, to move, to fight, but the dreams pinned her down, forcing her to watch, to listen, to endure. And when she woke up, gasping for breath, the echoes of those voices lingered, like shadows curling at the edges of her mind, waiting for her to fall asleep again.

It had bothered her. A lot.

The feeling of being helpless—of being trapped. No control, no escape, just the crushing certainty of something inevitable happening every night . No matter how hard she tried to move, to fight back, she was stuck, frozen in place, forced to witness something she shouldn’t have to see. 

The fear crawled under her skin, suffocating, wrapping tight around her ribs like a vice. It didn’t matter how much she struggled or how desperately she wanted to claw her way out. The dream never let her. It swallowed her whole, drowning her in a silence so deep it rang in her ears.

And the darkness? It was no help. It had decided to be a little menace, flickering and shifting along the walls, replaying snippets of her dreams like it was teasing her, curling into shapes she didn’t want to see.

Who knew the dark had such a personality?

The Furies had been hard to be around, too. After what she’d seen, terrifying was an understatement. She knew they wouldn’t harm her—she was the daughter of their lord, after all—but that didn’t make it any less unnerving. Their eyes burned too brightly, their wings rustled like whispering ghosts, and the way they watched her made her feel like she was standing on the edge.

Alecto? She wasn’t sure about yet.

But Megaera and Tisiphone? They liked her well enough to chat with her, to teach her things when her father was busy. Lessons about the Underworld, about its rules, about the things that lurked beyond even its deepest pits.

That was how she learned about her half-siblings.

The immortal ones. The mortal ones. Some of them she thought were really cool—and others?

Well.

What do you mean Harriet Tubman and Elizabeth Báthory were both her half-siblings? And somehow landed on opposite sides of the coin?

Then came Makaria and Zagreus.

And, very hesitantly, she was told about Melinoë.

Along with a warning. Melinoë did not tolerate mortals' past playthings, and she and their father were on somewhat tense terms.

Which, considering the family? Probably meant trying to kill each other for the next century.

On some nights, she managed to escape the nightmares. Sometimes, she’d  remember standing alone on that beach at night. No voices. No figures. No dark dreams. Just her, right before reality yanked her back.

So, she finally asked her mom about the so-called letters. Maybe it was a way to prove to herself she wasn’t losing her mind—maybe these visions were just stress dreams.

But nope.

“I’m not sure,” Lizbeth had said, frowning through the Iris Message. “I’ve just been putting everything with your name on it in your room, but I can go check.” 

Then she’d disappeared for two minutes before popping back up, holding a handful of letters. “These are from New York.”

Her stomach had dropped. 

Which meant Annabeth was finally going on that big quest she’d always dreamed about, probably shaking with excitement even while pretending she wasn’t. The thought made Elysia's chest ache a little. Not quite sadness, not quite regret—just a pang of something almost like homesickness.

It made her think back to how they had first met. And how, somehow, they had ended up as friends.

~   

This hadn’t been the plan at all.

She was just trying to go to the bathroom while also avoiding the hell out of Clarisse La Rue.

Silena had sworn she’d talk to Clarisse, that she’d convince her to leave Elysia out of the whole “initiation of new camper members” ritual—which apparently involved getting dunked in a toilet.

And, like, she tried not to be violent.

Daughter of the war god or not, Elysia was not about to let some meathead shove her head into a public restroom. She would absolutely break a nose before she let that happen.

So, she had taken Silena’s advice very seriously—she made it a point to avoid all of the Ares kids like the plague.

They were easy to spot.

And Elysia? Was very good at hiding.

She was standing beneath the stars, breathing in the crisp night air, letting the quiet of camp settle over her. This had become her favorite time of day.

Elysia used to be terrified of the dark. When she was little, she couldn’t sleep without a nightlight casting a soft, golden glow across her room. More nights than she cared to admit, she’d crawl into her mother’s bed, seeking comfort from whatever shadows lurked in her imagination.

It felt ironic now—standing here alone, bathed in silver light, when she had once been the kind of kid who couldn’t face the dark without a tiny lamp to keep the nightmares at bay. But it had been her father who had tamed that fear as she grew older.

He had taught her to appreciate the night, to find beauty in the endless stretch of stars, to understand that darkness wasn’t something to fear—it was an old friend, gentle and familiar, wrapping around her like a soft blanket.

And yet—

Something gnawed at the back of her mind. A whisper of recognition. A thought just out of reach.

Her godly parent.

She knew—she had to know.

Didn’t she?

A flicker of movement caught her eye. Golden curls. A scanning gaze.  Elysia exhaled slowly, watching as the girl turned, searching, her storm-gray eyes darting through the night like she was hunting something.

Or someone. Elysia had an inkling it was her. Maybe confrontation was best at this point.

She crossed the short distance behind her, stepping lightly before speaking.

“You know—”

Annabeth jumped like she’d been electrocuted, whirling around so fast Elysia was almost impressed. Her eyes were wide, shock flashing across her face.

Perfect.

“You could just, I don’t know, talk to me instead of stalking me all day.”

The girl blinked. Then, with zero shame, she straightened, crossed her arms, and deadpanned, “I wasn’t stalking you.”

Elysia arched a brow. “Really? Because I could’ve sworn I saw you lurking behind the amphitheater for twenty minutes earlier.”

“I was observing.”

“Right. Totally different.” she snorted. “No offense, but I find this really creepy and considering my first monster hunted me, I don’t like being watched like this, so is there something I can help you with?” 

Annabeth hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second. But it was enough.

“No.” Then the daughter of Athena turned away and walked off, whispering something about, “She isn’t the one.”

And you would figure that would be it.

It wasn’t.

“Books? What are you, a nerd, Evans?”

Elysia barely looked up from where she was flipping through a well-worn copy of The Iliad before delivering a solid punch to Travis Stoll’s arm.

“Hey! Violence!” Travis yelped, rubbing the sore spot.

“Yeah, yeah, walk it off,” Elysia said, deadpan.

On her other side, Conner snorted, clearly entertained. The Stoll brothers had unofficially wormed their way into her daily routine, which—considering their general talent for trouble—was both a blessing and a curse.

Their friendship (if you could call it that) had started on day three when Travis had shoved her off a log into the lake while she was balancing on it. She had come up sputtering, hair dripping, blinking in absolute betrayal.

"Was that necessary?" she had demanded.

"Completely," Travis had said, grinning ear to ear.

It took less than 24 hours for her to get even.

Silena, who had way too much experience with Hermes Cabin shenanigans, had been the one to suggest the ultimate counterstrike.

"You have to establish dominance quickly with Hermes kids," Silena had said seriously while they rode out on horseback the next morning. Alva had let out a snort like she agreed.

They had crafted the perfect plan: poison ivy powder everywhere.

“Let me introduce you to Katie,” Silena had said, smiling in a way that made Elysia nervous. “She’s the head of the Demeter Cabin. I think we can get them on board with this little plan.”

It had worked beautifully.

Travis had spent three very itchy days regretting his choices. Conner, Julia Feingold, and half the Hermes Cabin had suffered collateral damage, much to camp gossip’s delight. Someone had even called her a petty bitch with what she assumed was admiration.

The best part? Luke had caught her in the act of dusting Travis’ bunk.

He had paused, raising a brow, and then—when she explained what she was doing—he had laughed so hard she thought he might piss himself.

"You thought about getting the whole cabin?" he had wheezed, shaking his head. "Gods, remind me never to get on your bad side."

His only contribution to the crime was an approving snort and an easygoing, “As long as I’m clear, I didn’t see anything.”

Which brought them to now, where Elysia was just trying [key word] to read, and Travis was being, well… himself.

“You can’t tell me the thought of lying in a hammock in the woods with a good book isn’t calling to your soul.”

Both Stoll brothers stared at her like she had grown a second head.

“You’re so weird,” Conner said, shaking his head.

“Well, now I see why neither of you are so bright.”

“Rude,” Travis said, pressing a hand to his heart.

“I mean,” Conner offered, thinking, “if you actually want books, the Athena Cabin is your best bet. Or maybe Chiron?”

Elysia tapped a finger against her knee. “Yeah, I guess…”

She didn’t really want to go to the Athena Cabin. Something told her that if she walked in there looking for books, Annabeth would pop out from behind a shelf and start following her. Again.

Not that it mattered. Because, as it turned out—

Annabeth had still been keeping tabs on her.

Two days later, the daughter of Athena was standing in front of her, holding out a book.

“This is the Greek version of The Iliad. You’ll have an easier time with it than that one.”

Elysia blinked, looking between Annabeth and the book like this was some kind of trap. She hesitated for only a moment before reaching out and taking it.

“…Thanks.”

The Daughter of Athena nodded, like she hadn’t just done something weirdly thoughtful, and then—without another word—she sat down next to her, pulling out a book of her own.

Elysia glanced at her, expecting the girl to say something, maybe make some comment about how she should actually read it instead of just carrying it around, but instead, the blonde just flipped open her own book and started reading.

She stared for another few seconds, then, shrugging to herself, opened her new copy of The Iliad.

And from there, instead of stalking her, Annabeth had started actually hanging out with her. It was never something they talked about. It just happened .

At training, Annabeth would sit near her, sometimes across from her, sometimes beside her, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. During free time, if she found a good shady spot to read, Annabeth would show up—never asking, never announcing herself—just dropping down beside her with a book of her own.

And weirdly enough, it wasn’t annoying.

Elysia had gotten used to people being loud, especially at camp. The Stoll brothers were constantly stirring up problems. Julia and the other Hermes kids never shut up. Even Silena and her siblings had a way of filling every silence with easy conversation. But Annabeth?

She was quiet .

Not in an awkward way. Just… calm. Like she was perfectly content to exist in the same space without needing to fill it with words.

One day, after they’d been reading for about an hour, Elysia caught herself glancing over at Annabeth’s book.

"What are you reading?" she asked, breaking their usual silence.

Annabeth didn’t even look up. "The Parthenon: Architecture and Influence in Ancient Greece."

Elysia made a face. "Gods, you’re such a nerd."

Annabeth turned a page. "Says the girl reading The Iliad in the original Greek for a second time."

There was no argument for that.

And that was that.

No big declarations. No dramatic shift. Just Annabeth, showing up. Again and again. Until one day, Elysia realized she’d stopped wondering why Annabeth was always there.

She just was .

~                               ~                                ~

She had tried. Really , she had. 

But Elysia was at her limit.

She did not understand how her father could stand being down here this often. It was suffocating—choking, even. The Underworld pressed against her skin like something living, something watching, something waiting.

There were too many moaning souls. Too much screaming when she got too close to the Fields of Punishment. Too much silence in the palace because it was the only place she felt like she wasn’t losing her mind. And even then , it was still too much.

Her last straw had been the nightmare.

The one she couldn’t shake.

The one that clung to her skin, to her bones, to the hollow space in her chest where breath should be.

She had felt it— felt it in a way she never had before. The crushing stillness. The cold creeping in, curling tight, stealing the last warmth from her fingertips. The weight of nothingness. Not pain. Not fear. Just… absence.  

And that taste in her mouth, iron and metallic.

Thick. Potent. Lingering.

It coated her tongue, clung to the back of her throat, heavy and unmistakable. No matter how much she swallowed, it never went away. It was in the air, in her lungs, in her. Like she had breathed it in. Like she had drowned in it.

Even awake, even here, the memory of it lingered.

She still couldn’t stomach anything that required gutting an animal. It didn’t matter how well-seasoned, how perfectly cooked, how removed it was from what it once had been. The taste was always there, ghosting at the edges of her senses, turning every bite into something unbearable.

And when she had jolted awake that night, gasping, her hands had flown to her chest, to her throat, to any part of her she could touch— just to make sure she was still here.

She missed the sun. The warmth of it on her skin. The fresh air. The soft kiss of a breeze. The simple warmth of being above.

And Elysia knew— technically —she was supposed to stay in the Underworld. It would’ve been for the best. Would’ve made things easier.

Buuuuut… that hadn’t stopped her. 

The first time had been an accident. Right after the nightmare, her shadows had spirited her away . One moment, she had been in the palace, mentally drowning, and the next—she was gasping, her knees hitting soft earth, her fingers sinking into dewy grass. Sunlight streamed through the trees above, warm and golden, touching her skin, caressing her face like it had missed her just as much as she had missed it.

She had landed in Athens, Greece.

Getting back had been an all-day event.

The second? Definitely not.

And by the sixth time, she had developed a bad habit of sneaking out.

The first three times, she got caught. The lectures? Brutal.

She had actually cried during one of them, much to her father’s horror. The man was terrifying, but even he had faltered at his daughter sniffling mid-scolding. Which had been embarrassing.

But in her defense, her dad had the scariest disappointed-dad-energy known to existence. Like, literally The "I am not angry, just deeply, profoundly let down" vibe radiated off of him.

It had wrecked her soul.

And in the weirdest turn of events—her apology gift for all the emotional damage? A very lovely onyx ring, lined with small golden gems circling the band. A tether to bring her home when she wandered too far.

Because apparently, her father processed things through gifting expensive jewelry.

Which, honestly? She wasn’t complaining.

So by the time the summer solstice was just a little more than a day away, Elysia had once again ignored all common sense and shadow-traveled her way into LA.

She needed a break. 

So she shopped. Wandered around. Tried on a few outfits. Had an entire field day all to herself.

It was great . 

Until, of course, her luck ran out. Because knowing her life? Obviously, this wouldn’t last.

She had been heading back toward DOA Studios, fully prepared to sneak back into the Underworld like nothing had happened—when the shadows around her stretched long and one of them had the audacity to tug at her leg.

Urgently. Like, hey, dumbass, maybe pay attention?

Elysia stopped. Her stomach curled uneasily. The shadows never acted like this unless something was really wrong. And then she felt it.

That familiar, crawling sensation prickling at the back of her neck.

She wasn’t alone. Elysia knew it was trying to tell her something. That the monster stalking her?

Was already here.

And the worst part? She had tagged it an hour ago .

At first, she thought she was being paranoid—because obviously a teenage girl alone in the city was going to be on high alert. But then the feeling hadn’t gone away.

It had stayed there, gnawing at her like an itch she couldn’t scratch. So, naturally, she did what any reasonable person would do.

She dipped into a few stores. Changed her route. Backtracked. Even went into a crowded food court, ordered an overpriced iced coffee, and sat there for a solid twenty minutes, waiting to see if the feeling passed.

It didn’t. And the moment she stepped outside again?

Yeah.

Still being followed.

So now here she was—standing down the street from DOA Studios, trying very hard not to visibly freak out while the shadows curled around her legs, basically screaming at her to move—when a low, guttural growl rumbled from somewhere behind her.

Oh. Great.

She turned her head slightly, pulse spiking, already bracing herself—

And there, a massive , hulking figure, crouched just beneath the dim streetlights, claws scraping against the pavement. Its yellow eyes gleamed, slit like a reptile’s, locked right onto her.

Oh, for the love of—

“Okay. Fine. Guess we’re doing this now.” Elysia muttered under her breath.

The monster tensed. Then lunged.

And Elysia?

She did not move.

But the monster’s shadow did.

This— this —had been the point of staying in the Underworld for so long. To control the dark. To bend it to her will without hesitation. 

Weekends sacrificed to understanding what she was. Late nights spent in the deepest corners of the Palace Underworld, chasing shadows that slipped through her fingers like smoke. Early mornings spent listening to whispers curling through the palace halls, studying the way they moved , the way they listened when no one else was watching.

Weeks spent testing her abilities—pushing herself past the limits of what anyone thought she should be capable of. Trying, failing, trying again. Reaching for the darkness, feeling it pulse at her fingertips, only for it to recoil like a living thing, teasing her with glimpses of what it could be if she just learned to wield it properly.

Over a month in the Underworld, wrestling with her own frustration, forcing herself to be patient even when every instinct screamed at her to command. To own this part of herself instead of fearing it. And through it all—through every setback, every moment where she wanted to tear at the shadows and demand they obey—there had been voices telling her to let it go.

To turn to her other abilities. The ones that made more sense, the ones they understood. The ones she did not want.

And for what felt like the first time, the shadows surged in answer.

Darkness snapped up from the pavement like a living thing, constricting around the beast, pulling tighter and tighter —until its growls turned to panicked snarls.

And just as it struggled, just as it fought against the inevitable—

That was about when she noticed him.

A boy rounded the corner, shouting something about DOA being here —when he stopped dead, eyes locking onto hers.

Sea-green eyes.

They blinked at each other.

The monster let out a strangled noise. Then crumbled into dust.

And in that split second—that fraction of a moment where the silence stretched and her mind finally clicked —

Everything slotted into place.

You know that feeling? When your brain finally catches up, when the missing pieces snap together so perfectly that you wonder how you ever didn’t see it?

When recognition slams into you like a freight train, knocking the air from your lungs?

Yeah.

This had to be what people meant.

Because she knew those eyes.

Seeing them in the dark or in dreams was not the same as seeing them in the setting light. Here, with the sun bleeding into the horizon, fading into dusk, they glowed . Like trapped ocean currents shifting beneath the surface, caught between calm waters and an impending storm.

And he looked different.

Not drastically. Not in a way that was immediately obvious. But something had changed since the first time they met.

She wasn’t sure what it was.

No.

That was a lie.

She did know.

She’d seen it.

It was confirmed in the way he carried his shoulders. The quiet in his stance, the tension humming beneath his skin. The exhaustion that didn’t just linger in his shoulders but settled behind his eyes, as if he had seen too much, lost too much.

The shadows skittered around before disappearing.

And then another voice, frantic and familiar, came rushing in behind him.

“Percy, wait—”

Another kid skidded into view, breathing hard, nearly barreling into him. And right behind them, a satyr stumbled after, looking beyond tired—his hooves scraping against the pavement, eyes darting wildly before slumping over, bracing his hands on his knees, gulping in air now that they’d finally stopped running.

And before Elysia could even process what was happening—

Annabeth blinked, taking her in.

A split second of recognition. A shift in her expression.

Then she moved .

Elysia barely had time to brace before Annabeth stormed forward and punched her in the arm.

Hard.

“ Ow! What the—” Elysia recoiled, wincing as she clutched her arm. “Annabeth, what the hell ?”

The Daughter of Athena just glared at her, hands on her hips. “Where have you been?!”

"Uh—”

“No. Nope. Don’t you ‘uh’ me.” Annabeth jabbed a finger at her. “You vanished — again . No note, no letter. Do you have any idea how hard you are to track down? How many of us were worried?”

Elysia’s brain caught up just enough to grimace. “...I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

Annabeth made a noise somewhere between a scoff and an exasperated sigh, looking like she was debating punching her again. Then—her expression shifted. The edges of her frustration softened just a little as she looked Elysia up and down, her brow furrowing.

“You look pale,” she said, the heat in her voice cooling into concern. “Are you okay? What are you even doing here?”

It was true.

She had become paler—not ghost-white, not that dramatic, but her usual sun-kissed tan was nearly nonexistent. Like she had spent months indoors without seeing so much as a sliver of daylight. Which, to be fair, wasn’t far from the truth.

The first time she had seen her own reflection in the daylight after too long below—

She had been horrified.

Like, full-on staring at her reflection in disbelief, waiting for it to morph into something recognizable, except it never did.

And now, with her friend looking at her like that—

Like she had noticed something wrong—

Elysia could feel it again. That creeping, unsettling off-ness she had been trying to ignore. The disconnect between who she was and who she looked like now.

So she did what any rational person would do when confronted with concern.

She deflected.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed, forcing an easy grin. “It’s just the lighting. I’m fine.”

Annabeth didn’t look convinced.

“Uh—” The boy ( Percy , Elysia finally put together) lifted a hand. “Not to interrupt this very intense conversation, but—” He gestured between them, brows raised. “We’re kinda running out of time.”

Grover, who had been hunched over, still trying to catch his breath, finally looked up.

His ears perked. His eyes widened.

“Oh! Elysia! ” He straightened so fast his hooves nearly slipped against the pavement. “You’re okay!”

Before she could react, he rushed forward and hugged her.

It was sudden—warm and genuine, the kind of relieved squeeze that knocked a little air out of her.

Elysia froze. Blinking.

“Oh,” she said, thrown.

Then, slowly, she patted his back. “Uh. Yeah? I mean. Mostly?”

Grover pulled away, frowning. “ Mostly? That’s not reassuring. Why do you look so pale? And you smell weird.” His gaze flicked over her, taking in the way her usual glow had dimmed, how her usual energy seemed off— like something had drained the warmth from her without her even noticing. His scowl deepened. “Chiron said you were home, but then we never heard anything back and—I was really worried about you! So were several of the nymphs. Oh! And Alva has thrown such a tantrum that Silena is the only one allowed to ride her now, but she did let Percy near her once—”

She exhaled, letting a small smile slip through as she reached out and squeezed Grover’s arm.

“I missed you too, Grover,” she said sincerely, giving him a knowing look. “And I’m really glad you’re in one piece.”

He sniffed, ears twitching before he gave an awkward little cough. “Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta be worried about you.” 

Her and Grover’s friendship was a simple one.

It had started after her first month at camp—when she had absentmindedly offered him the tin can she’d been eating pineapples out of once she was finished. No grand gesture, no deep conversation. Just a quiet exchange, a small moment.

And that had been that.

Elysia’s smile softened just a bit before she turned, finally facing Percy properly.

“Well, officially introduced—Percy, was it?” She tilted her head slightly before holding out her hand. “Elysia Evans. It’s nice to put a name to a face.”

For a moment, he just looked at it. Something flickered in those sea-green eyes, unreadable but there all the same, before he reached out and shook it. His grip was firm—like he was sizing her up just as much as she was him.

“Yeah, it’s good to see you are okay.” 

She tilted her head at that. A part of her wondered—

Had he seen the same things she had?

Had he been there , too?

The beach.

The water lapping at the shore, dark and endless, stretching far beyond the dark horizon. The salt-heavy air, thick with something more —something waiting . She had woken up from those dreams with the feeling of sand still clinging to her skin, the scent of brine in her lungs.

Had he?

Was this recognition she saw flickering behind his gaze, or was she just imagining it?

She almost asked. Almost let the question slip past her lips. But she wasn’t going to say anything. Not when she wasn’t even sure if she was losing her mind.

Instead, she just grinned, dropping his hand. “Well. Now that we’ve got the awkward intros out of the way. You guys were looking for DOA, right?” 

A blink. A subtle shift in posture—just enough to suggest a small alarm bell had gone off in Percy’s head. “How do you—”

“Well, you happen to be pretty loud, and I happen to have pretty decent hearing.”

That didn’t seem to reassure him. If anything, his eyes narrowed slightly, the kind of scrutiny that made it very clear he was used to things going wrong whenever something seemed too easy.

“It’s fine, Percy, she’s a friend.” Annabeth assured him.

“I just think it’s weird that we happened to run into her here,” he muttered, shooting a glance back toward Elysia. “How do you even know about DOA?”

“Why? You don’t trust random strangers who conveniently know things they shouldn’t?”

“No.”

“Smart.” A grin tugged at her lips. “Glad you’re not as dumb as you look.”

Flat disbelief crossed his face. “Oh, yeah. Real reassuring.”

She simply twisted on the balls of her feet, clearly unbothered. “Come on, the entrance to the Underworld is just down this way.” A casual gesture for them to follow before glancing over her shoulder. “Unless you want to keep arguing in the middle of the street and risk getting jumped by another monster. Your call.”

“Percy. Come on. ” Annabeth groaned.

Percy exhaled, clearly still not thrilled about this, but—he finally started walking. “You know, for someone offering to help, you’re kinda the worst.”

“And yet,” she shot back with a smile, “here you are—following me anyway.”

He grumbled something under his breath but kept walking, his eyes flicking between her and the street ahead like he was just waiting for something to go horribly wrong.

Annabeth, on the other hand, walked beside Elysia with the ease of someone who had long accepted that half the people in her life were mildly unhinged. “So,” she said, casting a glance toward her. “How exactly do you plan on getting us in?”

“Simple. I walk in. You guys follow. Nobody asks questions.” Elysia hummed, shoving her hands into her pockets. Like this was nothing more than a casual errand.

Grover frowned. “That… doesn’t seem like much of a plan .”

“Just pretend to be dead.” 

The group reached the entrance, pausing in front of gold letters etched in black marble: DOA Recording Studios. Beneath them, stenciled on the glass doors, a warning:

NO SOLICITORS. NO LOITERING. NO LIVING.

Percy narrowed his eyes. “Okay, seriously? We’re just walking in?”

Annabeth sighed. “Percy, would you relax? I’m sure she knows what she’s doing.”

“Does she?” He gestured toward Elysia like she was an elaborate magic trick he still hadn’t figured out. “Because all I know is that she popped up out of nowhere, roasted me immediately, and now we’re trusting her to walk us into the Underworld ?”

Elysia clutched her chest dramatically. “Aww. You do think I’m suspicious.”

“Yes, actually ,” he deadpanned.

Grover, who looked incredibly distressed, rubbed his temples. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

A snort escaped her. “You’re about to walk into the land of the dead. I’d be concerned if you didn’t have a bad feeling.”

“Alright. Fine. But if this goes sideways, I told you so.” Percy exhaled, clearly still skeptical but also aware they were running out of time. 

“Noted . ” Then, without another word, she pushed open the door, letting the cool, artificial air of the lobby wash over them.

And walked in like she owned the place. 

The atmosphere in DOA Recording Studios was the same as always—Muzak humming softly from hidden speakers, the air thick with the scent of something vaguely metallic. The walls and carpet were a cold, lifeless steel gray. Pencil cactuses stretched up from their pots in the corners like skeletal hands.

And the people.

She didn’t even have to focus on them to know what they were.

Some sat on the sleek, black leather couches, staring blankly ahead. Others stood by the tall windows, gazing at the outside world they could no longer be a part of. No one spoke. No one moved.

Just… waiting.

If you didn’t look too closely, you might think they were just ordinary people, lost in thought. But the moment you did focus on any one of them, their bodies turned hazy, the edges blurring—ghostly outlines of what they had once been.

She was used to it. Mostly.

The trio, on the other hand?

Yeah. Not so much.

Percy had completely frozen, his eyes flicking between the lobby’s occupants, his face shifting between confusion and dawning horror. Grover let out a noise somewhere between a whimper and a strangled bleat.

She felt bad for them. 

Annabeth’s expression was unreadable, but the way she stood closer to Percy told Elysia she wasn’t exactly comfortable either.

She couldn’t blame any of them.

The first time she had come to the Underworld, it had been overwhelming. No amount of whispered myths or campfire stories could prepare you for the reality of it—the weight of it pressing against your skin, the sheer presence of so many who no longer belonged to the world above.

Her father had known that.

So he had introduced her to it bit by bit, piece by piece, weekend by every other weekend. She’d been eased into the vastness of it, the endless rivers, the judgment, the silence that sat deeper than any silence on Earth.

And even now, after all this time, there were still aspects of it that bothered her.

Things that felt too heavy. Too vast. Too final .

She glanced at Percy again.

The way he was standing so still , fists clenched, muscles coiled—like he was bracing for something to reach out and grab him.

Like he had already known too much in his short time as a demigod.

A casual nudge with her elbow. Just enough to pull him out of whatever downward spiral his brain was currently in. “Deep breaths. You’re not dead yet.”

Percy startled slightly, like he had to remind himself to breathe. “Yeah. Right. Not dead.” He swallowed. “Yet.”

From beside them, Grover made another distressed noise. “I really hate that you added ‘yet’ to that.”

“Yeah, so,” she said, rocking back on her heels. “This is DOA. Fun place, right?”

Only then did Percy finally tear his gaze away from the ghosts to give her a look like she’d lost her mind. “How are you so chill about this?”

“How are you not?”

Before he could respond, a voice from the front desk interrupted them.

“If you’re quite done gawking—”

The security guard’s podium stood elevated above them, forcing them all to look up. She barely kept herself from sighing as Percy started muttering something about Chiron.

Tall, elegant, and dressed in a pristine silk Italian suit, Charon sat comfortably behind the desk. His chocolate-colored skin gleamed under the dull fluorescents, bleached-blond hair shaved in a precise military cut. Tortoiseshell shades rested on the bridge of his nose, and a black rose was pinned to his lapel beneath a silver name tag.

The same as always.

A grin broke across her face. “Hai, Charon.” Leaning an elbow against the counter, she flashed her most charming smile.

"Ah, if it isn’t the little lady."

"Little lady?" She'd heard Grover behind her.

"I'm loving the new suit!"

The Daimon grinned at her. "That is a high compliment coming from you."

“I mean, you are the most fashionable guy in the Underworld. Gotta give credit where it’s due.”

With a satisfied hum, he adjusted his cufflinks, looking appropriately pleased. “ Finally , someone with taste.”

Behind her, Percy muttered, “Are we seriously complimenting the guy who ferries dead people?”

She ignored him, tapping her fingers against the counter. “So, here’s the thing. I’ve got a couple of new passengers for you.” She gestured at the trio behind her. “Special delivery.”

Charon sighed, long-suffering as ever, and peered over the rim of his shades. “Do they have payment?” Then he actually looked at the trio behind her. “M’lady, are they even dead?” 

“Define dead . ”

A flat look was sent her way. “Don’t play cute with me.”

“They could be dead. You don’t know.”

 “Mmm. And what, exactly, did they die of?”

She opened her mouth—then paused. “Uh.” She turned back to the trio. “Thoughts?”

Percy, bless him , immediately floundered. “Uh—” He shot a look at Grover. “Drowned?”

“Drowned,” Grover repeated quickly. “In the bathtub.”

A single, perfectly groomed eyebrow lifted. “All three of you?”

In sync, they nodded.

“Big bathtub,” Annabeth added, completely serious.

The ferrier looked mildly impressed. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he leaned back in his chair. “I don’t suppose you have coins for passage. Normally, with adults, you see, I could charge your American Express, or add the ferry price to your last cable bill. But with children… alas, you never die prepared. Suppose you’ll have to take a seat for a few centuries.”

Percy tensed, already looking like he was about to argue.

Before he could, three golden drachmas clinked against the counter.

Charon’s entire demeanor shifted. His fingers twitched, hovering greedily over the coins. “Well, now…” He licked his lips. “Real drachmas. Real golden drachmas. I shouldn’t be surprised that the lord’s given you coin. I haven’t seen these in…”

Then, suddenly, his head snapped up, his tortoiseshell shades locking on behind her.

Elysia barely resisted a sigh.

Was it really too much to hope that he would’ve just taken the golden coin and let it go? Maybe skipped the theatrics, maybe not taken his job so damn seriously for once? Sure, he had only met her twice , but damn his loyalty to her father.

“You,” Charon said slowly, his voice a dangerous purr. “Couldn’t read my name correctly, could you?”

Percy hesitated. “I—uh—”

“Dyslexic.”

“No, I’m dead,” Percy tried.

Charon leaned forward, took a sniff, and immediately scowled. “You’re not dead. I should’ve known.” His lips curled. “You’re a godling.”

Elysia stepped forward, palms up. “Okay, okay. So, minor detail. Let’s not get caught up in the technicalities.”

A deep, displeased noise rumbled from Charon’s throat.

Immediately, the spirits in the waiting room stirred, their movements going from still and detached to restless, agitated. People started pacing, lighting cigarettes, wringing their hands, checking their watches.

“Little lady,” Charon said darkly, “you should take them and leave while you can. This is highly inappropriate.” He exhaled heavily. “I’ll just take these and forget I saw you.”

Before he could touch them, Percy—who had somehow ended up right behind her—snatched them back in one smooth motion.

“No service, no tip,” he said, voice light, but there was a bit of smugness in there.

Then, with a surprising amount of confidence, he added, “You wouldn’t take your little lady’s money like that, would you?”

Elysia bumped her shoulder against his, playing right along. “Exactly. To me of all people.”

“The utter audacity.” Percy shook his head, looking appalled. “To treat such a lady like that?”

A dramatic gasp escaped before she placed a hand over her heart. “Truly disgraceful.”

“I mean, where’s the respect? ” He gestured wildly. “Where’s the dignity? ”

“A complete travesty of customer service,” she added, shaking her head.

Percy nodded solemnly. “You hate to see it.”

“Absolutely shameful.”

“For shame.”

“I think I should file a complaint about being treated like this,” 

Charon growled —a deep, blood-chilling sound that sent a ripple of unease through the spirits, who suddenly started pounding on the elevator doors.

Annabeth and Grover both took a half-step back.

Percy did not. “It’s a shame, too,” he sighed, reaching into his pocket. “We had more to offer.”

His hand emerged holding the entire bag of drachmas. A fistful of gold spilled through his fingers, glinting under the dim fluorescents.

The growl cut off instantly. Charon’s nostrils flared. His expression shifted from murderous to… considering .

“Do you think I can be bought , godling?” he rumbled. Then, more quietly—“Just out of curiosity, how much have you got there?”

“A lot,” Percy said. “I bet Hades doesn’t pay you well enough for such hard work.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” Charon huffed. “How would you like to babysit these spirits all day? Always Please don’t let me be dead or Please let me across for free. I haven’t had a pay raise in three thousand years. Do you imagine suits like this come cheap?”

A solemn nod from Elysia as she slid a coin onto the counter. “You deserve better.”

“A little appreciation,” Percy added, stacking another. 

“Respect.”

“Good pay.” Another coin.

A slow exhale flared through Charon’s nose as he stared at the growing pile of gold. Fingers twitched, his gaze briefly dropping to his silk jacket as if picturing himself in something even better.

“I must say, lad, you’re making some sense now,” he mused. “Just a little.”

Another few coins clinked against the counter. “I could mention a pay raise while I’m talking to Hades,” Percy offered.

A long-suffering sigh escaped Charon, but it was clear he was wavering. Then, at last, he straightened, swiped up the money, and waved them forward.

“The boat’s almost full, anyway,” he muttered. “Might as well add you three and be off.”

They pushed through the crowd of waiting spirits, who immediately started grabbing at their clothes like the wind, their voices whispering things too faint to catch.

Charon shoved them aside with an unimpressed glare. Muttering something under his breath, he turned back toward Elysia. “Are you joining us, little lady?”

All three turned, expecting her to follow.

Instead, she shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

A frown creased Percy’s brow. “Wait—what? You’re not coming?”

Annabeth’s brows pulled together slightly, like she was piecing something together. “You got us all the way here. Why stop now?”

“I have my own plans,” Elysia said easily, rocking back on her heels. “Getting you guys inside was just a bonus.”

The frown on Percy deepened. “So, what—you’re just ditching us now?”

Ditching implies I was ever supposed to go with you.”

Annabeth studied her for a beat longer, but whatever conclusion she came to, she kept to herself.

Frustration flickered over Percy’s face, but the realization that they were out of options settled in just as fast. No choice but to move forward. No time to argue. He turned toward the boat, only to pause when she called his name.

“Jackson.” His last name—no one told her, but she had overheard things.

Eyes narrowed slightly, he turned back, wary. “What now?”

She stepped forward, pulling the onyx ring from her finger. Before he could flinch away, she grabbed his hand, flipping it palm-up and pressing the ring into it.

 “Uh—”

“Relax,” she muttered, closing his fingers over it.

His gaze flicked between her and the ring, suspicion carved into every line of his face. “What exactly did you just give me?”

“Insurance.”

His eyes narrowed. “Against what?”

“Figure it out if you need to.”

“Why does that sound ominous?”

A grin curled at the corner of her lips. “Because it probably is.”

For a moment, she just looked at him. And in a way she didn’t quite expect, something in her chest loosened.

Because, yeah, she wasn’t supposed to exist. 

And neither was he.

Two birds of a feather.

Two sides of a coin.

“You don’t have to trust me,” she said, tilting her head. “But I fully expect you to return that ring to me in the end.”

Then, without another word, Elysia turned on her heel and skipped out of the building, leaving Percy staring after her—ring in hand, questions on his tongue, and no answers in sight.

Because seeing the Son of Poseidon with that ring?

It was either going to grant them safe passage—

Or piss her father off entirely.

~                               ~                                ~

Finding a fountain before the sun had fully set wasn’t hard. Dropping her last golden coin into the mist for an Iris message wasn’t difficult either.

But saying the name—that was the part that stuck in her throat.

The conversation with the goddess had been looping in her mind ever since she’d overheard the gods talking. Every word, every carefully placed pause, every implication threaded between the lines.

And seeing Annabeth and Grover again? It only made it worse.

It made her miss her friends. Made her feel the ache of something she had nearly forgotten—the need to live . To breathe fresh air, to exist in a world that didn’t start and end in shadows.

Not to be caged in the dark, no matter how much her father wanted that to be so.

She took a breath.

The rainbow shimmered, light refracting in the fountain’s rippling surface—

And then, Hera’s face emerged in the shifting colors.

The Queen of the Gods tilted her head ever so slightly, eyes knowing. “Now this was not a message I expected today,” she mused, her voice smooth as glass, carrying that ever-present undercurrent of disapproval. Then, with the faintest smile, she added, “And certainly not to see you in the last piece of light. You are not where you are supposed to be. Again.”

“Figured I’d keep you on your toes.”

“How bold of you.” Hera hummed, unimpressed. 

“The Son of Poseidon entered the Underworld.”  There was no reaction—no surprise, no curiosity. Of course, she already knew. “You said there might be war on the horizon, and no one is saying anything to me. I don’t—” She paused, licking her lips. “I don’t understand. I just—”

Because how was she even supposed to explain this? These dreams that she barely understood herself? That hey, I’ve been dreaming of bits of this random boy’s life since I met him, I know something happened. Something important. Something that matters.

But no one was telling her anything .

A sigh left Hera, long-suffering, almost bored . “Hades hasn’t explained what is going on, has he?”

The answer was obvious.

Her father never explained anything. Always playing his cards close to the chest, even with her. Especially with her.

The Goddess took her silence as confirmation. “Of course he hasn’t. Why would he? He never did learn how to properly communicate.” She flicked her fingers dismissively, as if this were a minor annoyance rather than something that could shift the balance of the entire world. “Very well. Since no one else will educate you, I suppose I must.”

Elysia straightened, listening intently.

Hera’s eyes gleamed, satisfied. “Your father is not the only one who keeps secrets. The same can be said for my husband and his dear, short-tempered brother.”

That didn’t sound promising.

“The Master Bolt,” Hera continued, “ Zeus’ Master Bolt—his symbol of power—was stolen on the Winter Solstice. Zeus, in all his wisdom, has declared that Poseidon is the only possible culprit.”

“And what does Poseidon say?”

The Goddess let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, Poseidon denies it, of course. Swears on the River Styx that he has no idea where it is. But Zeus refuses to believe him. He is convinced that Poseidon has taken his Bolt in an attempt to overthrow him.” She tilted her head. “Tell me, child, do you know what happens when gods go to war?”

Elysia hesitated. “People die.”

“Everyone dies.” Hera’s voice was cool, detached, like she was explaining the weather. “The skies would burn. The seas would swallow the land. And the Underworld?” She smiled thinly. “It would be overflowing.”

“But if Poseidon didn’t take it—”

“Then someone did,” Hera cut in smoothly. “And Poseidon has done himself no favors by so boldly claiming his son. A new, forbidden hero steps onto the board, and how does it look? The sea god’s one and only child appears just as the Master Bolt disappears. How very convenient.”

Elysia felt a cold settle in her stomach.

“Your father certainly thinks Perseus Jackson has stolen the Helm of Darkness as well.”

“What?”

“Do you think your father would let Zeus have the only grievance? His own symbol of power—the helm that makes him untouchable—was stolen the very same night as the Master Bolt. And Hades, much like his youngest brother, has already decided who is to blame.”

Percy.

Her father thought Percy had taken it.

“And now,” Hera continued, voice smooth as silk, “Poseidon's son marches blindly into the Underworld.” She tilted her head, as if waiting for Elysia to put the final piece in place. “Tell me, dear. What do you think happens when Perseus Jackson walks into Hades’ realm empty-handed?”

“Oh, shit .”

“Indeed.“

“He’s going to—he’s going to think Percy came to mock him. Or that he’s stalling for time. Or worse—that he’s covering for Poseidon.” Her stomach twisted. “If my father really believes Percy stole the Helm—”

“He will not let him leave,” Hera finished. “Yes, I expect as much.”

Annabeth. Grover. They were going to be blamed as well. Oh my gods, what had she done?

Fuck. She should have gone down with them. Should have at least tried to smooth over some of that anger, tried to mitigate the inevitable storm brewing behind the throne of the Underworld.

Her breath came faster, panic clawing its way up her ribs. “I have to stop him. I have to—”

A perfectly manicured hand lifted, cutting her off effortlessly. “There is nothing you can do now,” Hera said, finality ringing in her tone. “The boy has already crossed the Styx. The Underworld’s gates are closed.”

The sheer calmness in her voice made something hot coil in Elysia’s chest.

Hera continued as if none of this mattered , as if this was merely an inconvenient detour rather than a potential disaster. “But I believe the boy will live,” she added, like it was an afterthought, a minor footnote in an otherwise unshaken plan. “And when he returns from the Underworld, I ask that you escort him to Olympus.”

Elysia blinked, thrown. “Wait— what? ”

Escort him? To Olympus ? After this ?

“When he emerges, he will be expected before the throne room. And I would prefer you both arrive in one piece.” Hera smiled faintly. “I trust you can handle that?”

This wasn’t a request.

“…And if I say no?”

An arch of a delicate brow. “Would you?”

Elysia looked away.

Of course not.

Hera’s smile widened. “Good.”

The message began to flicker, the rainbow mist thinning.

“Oh, and one more thing,” The Goddess mused. “Do try to stay out of sight for the time being. The last thing we need is more… complications. Zeus may be more willing to forgive Hades currently , but adding another forbidden child to this picture might end with a daughter for a daughter—considering what Hades did to the last demigod that,” she scoffed, “was my husband’s.”

The breath in Elysia’s lungs froze.

She knew exactly what happened to Thalia Grace.

Hera’s expression didn’t change, but there was something pointed in the way she watched her. “Best be careful, dear. It would be such a waste if all this effort was for nothing.”

And with that, the message vanished—leaving Elysia alone, the last of the evening sun disappearing beyond the horizon.

Chapter Text

For a long time, she didn’t move from that spot by the fountain. Contant letting the silence settle around her, pressing against her skin. Letting her own thoughts gnaw quietly at the edges of her mind. Only the stars glimmered above—scattered, infinite, indifferent.

Eventually, her legs carried her forward. Whether it was from anxiety or the aching need to do something , she didn’t know.

She wandered.

Somehow, she had found her way down the LA streets, wandering between the neon glow of LED signs and the flickering buzz of bar lights. The world moved around her—cars humming, people laughing, music spilling from open doors—but it all felt distant. Like she was watching it happen from the other side of glass.

At some point, she stepped into a sliver of shadow, and it whisked her away—pulling her through the dark, slipping between spaces unseen. One stop. Then another. Moving through pockets of night until the air changed. Until she heard the sound of waves.

Stepping out onto the pier, she followed the wooden planks until they turned to sand beneath her feet. The cool salt-heavy breeze wrapped around her, carrying with it the distant, restless cries of gulls that should’ve been asleep. But they, too, seemed anxious.

Her sneakers dangled from her fingers. Toes sank into the damp sand, the tide washing over her ankles in rhythmic pulses.

And she thought, solemnly, that if something happened to Percy, how easy it would be for the ocean to get even. Right here. Right now.

Elysia didn’t even think she’d mind. It would put an end to the nightmares. No more deciding whether to sleep or suffer. That choice would be made for her. And Poseidon and Hades would be even. A daughter for a son. One child for another. Maybe they’d hold a grudge for a few centuries. Maybe they’d eventually forget.

Everyone did, in the end.

For a while, she just stood there . Letting the world settle. Letting the quiet wrap around her. It took hours before everything shuddered .

A deep, resounding tremor rolled through the earth, rattling up her spine and sending violent waves crashing against the shore. The ocean heaved, surging forward before retreating, as if it, too, could feel the shift.

Yeah. That was not a good sign.

Her father was pissed.

Shadows curled around her ankles, licking up her arms, tightening like restless serpents—coiling, shifting, warning.

And behind her, in the distance, Los Angeles was set ablaze.

Plumes of smoke rose from neighborhoods all over the city, thick and curling against the predawn sky, blotting out the first hints of light.

The knot in her chest tightened. No thoughts, just prayers. Whispered words to anyone who might be listening. Patience. Calmness. Restraint. 

Something foreign to the gods, she was sure.

Then, in the rising haze of dawn, she spotted them.

The trio stumbled onto the beach, completely drenched, towels slung over their shoulders, moving sluggishly—exhausted, but alive. Relief crashed through her so hard it nearly knocked her down, something in her chest loosening, untangling.

But before she could move, before she could call out, Percy saw her first. Disbelief flickered across his face. Then panic.

And suddenly, she was reliving something. The sensation of getting shoved. Cold water swallowing her whole.

Getting pushed into a lake—

Because one second she was standing on solid ground, and the next—

She was shoved straight onto her ass, right into the sea. Water rushed over her, cold and shocking, completely immobilizing her for a moment as she sputtered. “Dude, what the f—”

“Your insurance plan worked, kind of,” he cut in quickly, eyes darting around like he was expecting something to come out of the sky. “But he’s sending the Furies after both of us.” His voice was clipped, rushed. “They’re gonna try and drag us back to the Underworld.”

Her mind blanked for a moment. Why would her father send his furies after her? 

Elysia wiped seawater out of her face, blinking up at him in sheer bewilderment. “And that required yeeting me into the ocean?”

He looked completely serious. “They smell really well, right? Maybe we can confuse them—make them think you’re not here.”

She just stared at him, saltwater dripping from her hair.

Why was he freaking out for her?

They had just met. And she’d been… kind of a jerk. Not completely mean, but definitely not all that friendly. Honestly, if she were him, she would’ve let the Erinyes drag her straight back to the Underworld without blinking. Especially after everything he had gone through.

She wouldn’t have blamed him.

But here he was, eyes wide, panic clear, as if her safety was anywhere near the top of his list.

Weirdo.

If someone told her he’d lost his mind, she’d probably believe it.

Annabeth and Grover finally caught up, both completely out of breath, looking at Percy like he’d lost his mind.

“What the hell are you doing?” Annabeth demanded.

“Dude, why would you just shove her into the ocean?” Grover wheezed.

He ignored them. “Annabeth—give her your hat.”

The daughter of Athena blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Just do it,” 

“How about you explain what the hell happened before I try to drown you.” Elysia hissed, standing up and wincing when she noted that her shoes were dripping wet. 

Ew. Gross. They were going to squish now.

“Drowning him wouldn’t work,” Annabeth pointed out, already pulling something from her pocket—her Yankees cap. Holding it out to Percy, she muttered, “I don’t believe it. We went all that way — ”

“It was a trick,” Percy cut in, his voice tight. “A strategy worthy of Athena.”

Annabeth shot him a glare. “Hey.”

“You get it, don’t you?” he pressed.

Her jaw clenched, hesitation flashing across her face before she exhaled, some of the fight draining from her. “Yeah. I get it.”

Elysia tilted her head, brows pulling together.

What the hell happened down there?

“Well, I don’t! Would somebody—” Grover groaned.

“Percy…” Annabeth’s voice softened. “I’m sorry about your mother. I’m so sorry.”

Oh. 

Elysia stilled, her breath catching before she could stop it.

Was—was she dead ? Had he seen her soul?

She had thought he missed his mom that night. That quiet word he had called out—she’d recognized it. A feeling she thought she understood.

But if she was dead …

Her stomach turned. She wouldn’t have put it past her father to use the woman as leverage, a bargaining chip in one of his power games. He could be kind, yes—but when it came to protecting his realm, Hades played the long game. Cold. Calculated. Strategic.

Would he really go that far?

Percy didn’t say a word. His expression shut down like a curtain had been drawn. He turned slightly, shoulders rigid, eyes locked on the ground.

She recognized that reaction. The way grief tightened its hold in your chest, how it made you lock down just to keep from falling apart.

He took a breath, shaking his head. “The prophecy was right,” he said. His voice sounded distant, like he was putting the pieces together as he spoke. “‘You shall go west and face the god who has turned.’ But it wasn’t Hades. Hades didn’t want war among the Big Three.”

“Yeah, no shit. I could’ve told you that.” Elysia snapped, practically baring her teeth. It was a knee-jerk reaction.

The words were out before she could soften them. But she didn’t want to soften them. Every time someone dragged Hades’ name through the mud, something in her bristled.

Percy blinked, taken aback. “I wasn’t—”

“I know what you meant,” she cut in, crossing her arms tight across her chest. “But it’s always the same, isn’t it? Like it’s the most obvious answer. He’s the one with the spooky underworld and the scary ghosts and Cerberus at the gate, so obviously he must’ve stolen it. Because why not blame the guy no one likes?” Her voice wavered slightly toward the end, the anger starting to fray at the edges.

Annabeth’s brow furrowed. “We weren’t trying to blame him personally, it’s just—”

“ Everyone did,” Elysia bit out. “Even the gods. Even Zeus . And you think that doesn’t get old? The one god that tries to hold a kingdom together while his brothers treat him like dirt?”

The daughter of Athena opened her mouth, then shut it again. Even she looked hesitant.

“It’s lazy,” she continued, voice quieter now but no less pointed. “And it’s exactly the kind of thinking that gets people hurt.”

Silence stretched for a beat.

Grover shifted awkwardly. “You, uh... seem pretty sure about all that.”

“I pay attention,” she muttered, not looking at any of them.

Percy watched her a moment longer, eyes narrowing—not suspicious, exactly. More like he was trying to work something out. But if he guessed anything, he kept it to himself.

His voice was rough when he finally spoke again. “Someone else pulled off the theft. Someone stole Zeus’s Master Bolt, Hades’s Helm, and framed me because I’m Poseidon’s kid.” His jaw tightened. “Poseidon will get blamed by both sides. By sundown today, there’ll be a three-way war . And I’ll have caused it.”

Why was he shouldering this like he deserved it? Why was he letting it settle on his back like it belonged there? 

He could’ve blamed his dad. Could’ve passed it back up the chain. But instead, here he was—carrying it.

There was something painfully familiar about that kind of guilt. The kind you picked up even when it didn’t belong to you. A burden of existence.

“But who would be that sneaky? Who would want war that bad?” Grover asked, shaking his head.

Elysia had a few very strong guesses—

Like, who out of all the gods loved war the most? Who would get the biggest kick out of it, considering it was literally in his title? Sure, she was still learning about this whole immortal world thing, but even she understood by now that a god’s title wasn’t just for show. It meant something. It defined them.

Before she could say anything, Percy stopped in his tracks.

She followed his gaze, confused, until—

Oh.

Oh, shit.

“Gee,” he muttered, as he took the cap and jammed it onto Elysia’s head. “Let me think.” 

She had barely processed getting the Yankees cap shoved onto her head before the whole situation spiraled into madness. One second, she was standing there, invisible, staring down at where her hands should’ve been. The next, she was watching Percy walk straight up to Ares like he hadn’t just strolled in with the exact energy of a final boss fight.

Ares had definitely been expecting them. He lounged casually against his motorcycle, all smug confidence, clearly enjoying the fact that he had just sent three middle schoolers on a death march for his own amusement.

And, as it turned out, the entire quest had been one big setup. Ares had arranged the theft of the Bolt and the Helm, not by stealing them himself—because apparently, gods had rules about that—but by using some poor, unfortunate mortal as his errand boy. 

Which, frankly, was a little insulting. You’re telling her that the god of war couldn't bother to do his own dirty work? He had to DoorDash it?

His whole master plan? Let Percy die in the Underworld, let Poseidon and Hades blame each other, and then let Zeus get dragged into the mess, igniting a war that would probably reduce half the world to rubble.

She barely resisted the urge to facepalm.

And just to make things even dumber, he had literally given Percy the Bolt.

In a backpack.

Ares: war god.

Also Ares: chaotic dumbass.

Of course the most powerful weapon in Olympus had been chilling in Percy’s luggage like a forgotten snack.

Naturally, Percy had questions. Mainly: why didn’t Ares just keep the Bolt for himself?

And for one glorious second… the god glitched .

Full-on, buffering wheel , system failure .

And that? That was interesting.

Something—or someone—had nudged him into this, and the moment that was pointed out, Ares snapped. He went full “I AM THE GOD OF WAR” mode, which, in Elysia’s experience, meant that he was absolutely taking orders from something bigger.

Which, frankly, was not their immediate problem, because the God then decided he was done talking and summoned what could only be described as the worst possible version of a farm animal—a massive boar, all rage and tusks, fully prepared to gore on sight.

And Percy did not run.

Call that stupid, call that reckless, she was just flabbergasted by it. 

Instead, he casually sliced off one of its tusks and then yeeted it into the ocean like it was a minor inconvenience.

Cue Ares looking mildly annoyed and finally deciding to fight Percy himself.

Which was objectively a horrible idea.

Ares had every advantage—divine strength, centuries of battle experience, a weapon that could probably level cities—and Percy was, well… a waterlogged twelve-year-old, and the laws of physics really should have had something to say about it. But nope. Percy stood his ground, and somehow, the fight was actually happening.

And then, because he apparently had negative self-preservation, he went for Ares’s heel .

And it worked.

Ares bled .

That should have been the worst part.

Except then something worse arrived.

A weight in the air so wrong that everything froze. The world turned colorless , the temperature plunged , and for the briefest moment—

Even the God hesitated.

Then, just as suddenly, it was gone .

Visibly pissed, but also not interested in sticking around—Ares decided he’d had enough. He left, but not before making sure Percy knew that he had just personally earned the lifelong grudge of the god of war.

Which, you know. Great. Fantastic. Love that for them.

Then, with one final burst of unnecessary dramatics, Ares vanished, leaving behind a battlefield of burning cop cars, scattered bystanders, and, of course, the Helm of Darkness.

Elysia let out a very long breath.

So, to summarize:

• The god of war had been playing 4D chess, only to get his pieces knocked over by a teenager with a sword and ADHD.
• Percy had stabbed a literal god and somehow lived.
• The ocean continued to be the best battle strategy.
• And, most importantly—

They were so, so screwed.

“What the fuck did I just witness?” She muttered.

Annabeth jumped beside her, visibly startled, because—right. She was still invisible. “When I tell you this has been our entire quest, Ely, I’m not joking.”

She barely had time to process the absolute nonsense she had just witnessed when the familiar sound of wings cut through the air.

The Furies had arrived. Alecto landed first, her leathery wings folding behind her.

Elysia didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. 

The low, rasping voice carried between her sisters—murmuring something in their old, curling language. Something almost… curious.

Something about her.

Even unseen, unheard, she could feel it—their awareness pressing in around her.

They had been looking for her.

And she had known that, of course. She had just… pushed it to the back of her mind, shoved it under all the drama and distraction. But now, standing there, watching them, something unpleasant curled in her stomach.

Because she hadn’t told her father where she was going.

She had just left.

The conversation between Percy and Alecto blurred together—something about how they had seen everything , something about how he wasn’t the thief. She caught only fragments of it, her ears ringing slightly.

She had just left, and she hadn’t given a damn about how that might’ve looked to Papa.

That realization landed harder than she expected, heavy in her chest, settling like wet sand in her lungs. A quiet, nagging guilt curled at the edge of her thoughts. He hadn’t known where she was, hadn’t been warned or even given a goodbye. 

And sure, it wasn’t like she hadn’t vanished before—she was known for it, actually. But not like this. Not when Olympus teetered on the edge of fighting, when war felt like it was scratching at the walls. Not when tempers were flaring and her absence could be mistaken for betrayal.

Before she could think too hard, her body had already moved. Step by step, she walked forward, the sand shifting beneath her feet.

Percy tossed the Helm of Darkness into Alecto’s grasp just as she reached his side.

And then—before she could talk herself out of it—she pulled the Yankees cap off her head.

Percy visibly startled, his entire body snapping toward her in disbelief. Like he’d seen a ghost materialize beside him.

“What are you doing?!” he hissed under his breath.

The Furies jolted.

Alecto’s wings flared just slightly, her fingers curling tighter around the Helm. Elysia didn’t miss the way her sisters shifted at the sight of her—like her sudden appearance had been the last thing they expected.

“I’m not going back,” she said evenly, looking at the trio. “Not yet.”

Alecto’s eyes narrowed, studying her, like she was already preparing a counterargument.

The Demigod lifted her chin. “Tell Papa I’m going to see Theia ,” she said. “He’ll know what that means.”

For a brief moment, the Fury didn’t speak. Elysia felt her stare, like every word was being dissected, every hidden meaning, every reason behind it.

Then—finally—Alecto spoke. “But the Lord has specifically ordered us—”

“To bring me home? Yeah , I figured.” She exhaled, tilting her head toward Percy. “Especially with this one panicking for me.”

Percy bristled . “I wasn’t panicking—”

She ignored him. 

“Rather than argue with me,” she continued, “he most likely wants his Helm back before me.”

How true was that? She didn’t know.

Alecto’s lips curled slightly, something akin to amused flickering across her expression, but it was gone as quickly as it came. The Fury tilted her head, considering. Then, with a slow nod, she lifted the Helm, adjusting her grip before spreading her wings.

And just like that—

They were gone.

She barely processed it before Percy hesitated. Then, like he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted the answer, he muttered, “Were you named after—”

“Elysium?” She finished for him, glancing his way. His mouth opened slightly, like he wasn’t expecting her to just say it , but she only shrugged. “He thought it was fitting. In hopes that I’d find happiness, at least.” A pause. Then, a small, almost fond smile flickered across her face. “And my mom fell in love with the name as soon as he thought of it. It’s pretty obvious, huh?” 

She half-expected him to mention their dreams. Maybe bring up the whole little lady thing. Something obvious .

Instead, he said, “He thought we had done something to you. Or that you were taken when we arrived. He panicked—the same way I’ve seen my mom panic when she lost me in the store as a kid.” Percy paused, like he was still piecing it together. “It wasn’t hard to figure out that he was a parent worried about a missing kid.” A beat. Then, with a slightly amused glance, he added, “Though I think Annabeth thinks you pissed off the God of the Underworld somehow.”

A snort escaped before she could stop it. “Wow, and you didn’t tell her?”

Percy didn’t respond immediately, just watched her like he was trying to figure her out.

Which, honestly? Good luck with that.

She was still trying to figure that out herself.

Then reality finally caught up. “Seriously, how are you not dead?”

He really should be.

After everything that had happened—after everything he had faced —this kid should be dead. Six feet under. Pushing up daisies. A tragic headline.

Yet, here he was. Standing. Breathing. Somehow not a charred pile of dust or dragging his feet through the Underworld.

Percy startled, blinking at her, like he hadn’t even considered that fact himself.

She didn’t give him time to answer. “You should be dead,” she shouted, throwing her hands up. “I see death on a daily basis! I have met death personally! And yet—” she gestured wildly at him “—somehow, somehow, you are not dead! After facing a literal god! Two gods back to back!” 

Her mind was just not wrapping around this.

And Perseus fucking Jackson just had the audacity to shrug at her. Like she was making a big deal out of it.

Elysia gaped at him. “Are you an idiot?”

It wasn’t rhetorical. It was an actual, genuine question. At this point? She was starting to think the answer was a very, very firm yes.

He huffed, crossing his arms. “Okay, first of all, rude. I barely know you and you’ve insulted me twice now in the span of twenty-four hours.” Then, with far less bite, “And second of all… trust me, I get it.”

For all his bluster, for all his sarcasm, Percy looked... tired.

Like this whole quest had finally hit him, like it was weighing on him in a way he hadn’t let himself acknowledge until now.

Elysia could have said something. But what?

So she didn’t. Not as they rejoined Annabeth and Grover. Not as Grover insisted that whatever that dark feeling had been absolutely could have been the Furies (sorry, Grover, but yeah, it absolutely could not). Not when they started talking about flying to New York.

Honestly, she would’ve just peaced out by then—except for one tiny, annoying detail.

Hera had asked her to go back with him.

So, really, it wasn’t that hard to grab four tickets for a flight to New York. Not when she had a very convenient emergency credit card ( Thank you, Madra. You are the best. ).

And, of course, Percy and the others made the absolute most of their situation—playing up the victimized, exhausted, deeply traumatized kids for the LA news cameras.

A solid strategy. Except for one problem.

Boarding. If Elysia had really thought about it—she’d never been on a plane alone before.

Ever.

Any family vacations? Either by car or under Hera’s careful supervision.

Which led to right now. Her and Percy, standing at the gate, staring at the death trap with wings that was about to take them to New York.

Percy turned to her. She turned to him. Neither of them said anything for a moment.

Then, hopeful, he asked, “You wouldn’t happen to be able to pull in a favor with your dad to transport us—the two of us at least—would you?”

She winced, slowly shaking her head. Then, holding out her hand, she said flatly, “Currently? Don’t think he’d let us leave the Underworld if we went to ask.”

Percy deflated slightly.

“But you know,” she continued, offering a very forced smile. “At least two forbidden kids flying together? That’ll totally go over well. We can get front-row seats to Zeus starting a real war with both our dads.”

He didn’t hesitate. He took her hand immediately, and squeezed tight. She didn’t care how it looked. She was freaking out, too. Takeoff was a nightmare. Every little jolt of turbulence sucked, and the fact that Annabeth had let both her and Percy sit together? Terrible idea.

Because neither one of them was calm enough to calm the other down.

Maybe that was the point. Maybe Annabeth was pissed at both of them and had decided they deserved to suffer together in thirty thousand feet of existential terror. Not that Elysia could even be sure Annabeth had fully pieced things together yet—about who she was, what she was. But if she had ... yeah, this seating arrangement was definitely intentional. 

Every time the plane shuddered, Percy tensed like he was ready to leap out of his skin. Every time it dropped slightly, Elysia gripped the armrest like it had personally wronged her.

It was a disaster. A shared disaster. The kind that bonded people forever or left emotional scars in the shape of airline seats.

So, she did the only thing she could think of—the only thing that might actually help.

She made him talk .

Forced him to yap, really. About anything. Everything. Dumb stories. Camp gossip. Which gods were probably the worst tippers. The best pizza they’d ever had. How weirdly soft Cerberus actually was if you got close enough.

If they were going to plummet out of the sky at any point, she at least wanted to be in the middle of a stupid story.

“So,” she said, gripping Percy’s hand a little too tightly as the plane gave another gentle— read: horrifying —shudder, “I kind of expected you to have a bigger reaction to the whole ‘who my dad is’ thing?”

He blinked at her, looking equally disturbed by that turbulence and the abrupt conversational pivot. But she just kept going.

“Especially since everyone probably painted him as a villain to you.”

There was a beat. He hesitated, like his brain was lagging—caught somewhere between panic and actually trying to engage with what she was saying. Eventually, he let out a breath.

“I mean,” he muttered, “he did try to kill me.”

She made a face. “Okay, first of all , that’s a dramatic way to phrase it. He was having a bad night.”

“Oh, was he?” Percy shot back, one brow arched. “I think the actual army of the dead he sent after me would beg to differ.”

Before she could argue, he slipped his hand from hers and pulled something from his finger—a familiar onyx ring. Without fanfare, he dropped it into her palm.

“Thanks for the insurance,” he said. “Cerberus recognized it, so we didn’t exactly have to fight our way through—besides a red ball. And watching the god of the dead pause like his brain short-circuited when he saw this? Totally worth it.”

She blinked, processing that, then grinned. Rolling the ring between her fingers, she glanced up at him.

“Oh yeah?” she said. “How worth it?”

“Like, top three moments of my life.”

The plane shuddered again, harder this time. And without thinking, without looking, their hands found each other’s again.

When the turbulence finally eased, Elysia exhaled slowly and cracked her eyes open—only to find Percy already watching her.

A flicker of something unreadable passed across his face, and then he looked away way too fast, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. The tips of his ears turned noticeably red.

She blinked, brows furrowing as she tilted her head. “What? Is there something on my face?”

Percy coughed, shifting in his seat, clearly avoiding eye contact now. “No. Just… your eyes.”

“My eyes ?” She blinked again, slower this time.

He finally glanced back at her, hesitant, but still tracking her carefully. “They change color,” he said, voice quieter now. “When the light hits them, the gold kinda… overtakes the brown.”

That made her pause.

Her hand lifted, rubbing at one eye like she could smudge the weirdness away. “You sure you’re not just overtired?”

She knew the gold in her eyes shifted with her emotions, but overtaking the brown completely? That was new.

Percy huffed, the ghost of a grin tugging at his lips. “Pretty sure.”

Her gaze narrowed at him, studying for any sign he was messing with her, but… he looked weirdly serious about it.

Weird.

Rather than dwell on that longer than necessary, she shifted, glancing at the illuminated seatbelt sign above them. Still lit. Still glowing that annoying shade of orange. Fantastic. More turbulence. Just what she needed.

“Got any stories from your quest to share?” she asked, a little too fast, trying to redirect her brain and his.

Percy didn’t hesitate. He told her everything—starting from the Oracle’s prophecy, to meeting Annabeth, to the Minotaur, to getting shoved into a semi-truck that ended up being a black market circus.

“That’s real, by the way,” he added, watching her reaction closely. “Ares stuck us in a truck full of zoo animals. With no air-conditioning . You ever smelled a zebra after hours on the road?”

Elysia grimaced. “I can imagine . ”

“Yeah, don’t.” He shuddered. “Trust me. I still think I have trauma from it.”

They sat in silence for a moment after that, the soft hum of the plane filling the space between them. It wasn’t awkward. Just quiet. Settled. Like the story had scratched an itch neither of them realized they had.

Then Percy shifted, his expression tightening with something a little more serious.

“Do you think…” He trailed off, brow furrowed as he worked through whatever he was trying to say.

Elysia tilted her head, giving him space to find the words.

He exhaled slowly, then tried again. “Do you think you could get your dad to release my mom?”

The question caught her completely off guard.

Her fingers clenched slightly against her armrest, and for a second, she didn’t know what to say.

Noticing her pause, Percy quickly backtracked, shaking his head. “Never mind. Forget I—”

“I’m gonna be honest with you,” she interrupted, voice firm but careful. “I don’t actually know what that means . ”

His confusion was immediate.

“I had no idea he even had your mom,” she admitted, finally turning to meet his gaze head-on. “But I’ll talk to him. I promise.”

Something in his expression shifted—like he wasn’t sure whether to believe her, like he wanted to hope but was afraid to let himself.

There was a pause. Then he made a small, crooked face. “You know, it’s weird hearing that. ‘I promise.’ ” His brows furrowed slightly, like he was only just realizing it. “I feel like I’ve heard it a couple times lately—right when things have been at rock bottom—then I get this weird dream that makes me feel like everything’s gonna be fine.”

“Odd , ” she said, carefully casual. “And these dreams… they, uh, say what exactly?”

He shrugged, shifting against the seat like he wasn’t sure how to explain it. “It’s never, like, clear . Just these little moments—sometimes words, sometimes just a feeling. But every time, it’s like someone’s promising me it’s gonna be okay.” His lips pressed together before he let out a short, humorless laugh. “I dunno. Maybe I’m just losing it.”

“Sounds about right.” She muttered more to herself. 

And somehow—against all odds—they landed safely at LaGuardia.

The airport was a blur. Overhead announcements. Suitcases wheeling by. People weaving through each other like schools of fish, earbuds in, coffee cups clutched in one hand, all of them moving too fast. She barely had time to adjust.

The press was already waiting just outside security—cameras flashing, voices shouting, the smell of cheap perfume and stale airport air thick in the space between them. Elysia flinched back on instinct, eyes narrowing. She considered slipping into the shadows, letting this pass through her like smoke.

Annabeth had other plans. A few well-placed shouts, a strategically used Yankees cap, and suddenly, the reporters were running in the opposite direction, chasing ghosts.

They reassembled at baggage claim, moving toward the taxi stand. Annabeth and Grover had their orders—to head straight to Camp Half-Blood, to tell Chiron everything. Percy stood his ground, insisting he had to finish this last leg alone.

Elysia didn’t argue. She didn’t make some big dramatic declaration, didn’t ask if he wanted company. The second he slid into the taxi, she followed without hesitation.

The door shut behind her with a thunk , sealing them inside as the driver pulled into the flow of Manhattan traffic.

Only then did Percy let out an exasperated sigh, turning to face her with a low voice. “Okay, seriously , why are you here?”

She stretched out her legs, arms crossing over her chest as she leaned back against the seat. “I could ask you the same thing. You really think it’s a good idea to walk into Olympus alone?”

He huffed, keeping his voice just as hushed. “It’s my quest. My responsibility.”

She pulled a mock-serious face, sitting up straighter and deepening her voice just enough to sound extra dramatic. “ It’s my quest, ” she echo-whispered, clutching her chest like it was some noble declaration. “ My responsibility. Gods forbid anyone else try to help the brooding son of Poseidon—he alone must carry  Olympus on his tragically damp shoulders.”

Percy rolled his eyes. “You done?”

“Not even close. I’m the one who was told to make sure you actually get there.”

A pause.

His frown deepened. “Told by who?”

Elysia hesitated for only a second before answering, still watching the city blur past the window. “My Theía.”

He blinked, the confusion clear on his face. “Your what? ”

She turned just enough to meet his gaze, the corner of her mouth twitching like she almost found this amusing. “My theía . ”

His brows furrowed. He mouthed the word once, like he was rolling it around in his head. Then his expression froze.

She could see the moment it clicked. The moment he realized what she actually meant.

His voice dropped even lower, barely audible over the rumble of the car. “You’re telling me a Titan sent you?”

She nearly choked on a laugh. “Gods, no. Not that kind of theia.” She shook her head, barely suppressing a smile. “It means aunt in Greek.”

“…Your aunt told you to come with me.”

She hummed as a response.

Then, with deep suspicion, he whispered, “And which one of the gods is your aunt?”

Elysia didn’t answer. Instead, she simply raised a brow at him before turning her gaze toward the window, watching the city lights flicker in the reflection. That wasn’t information she wanted to give out.

So, she did what she did best—redirected. "Have you lived here your whole life?"

Percy blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, kinda. My mom and I moved around a lot, but it was always here —New York, I mean.”

“Must be nice.”

He let out a short laugh. “Yeah, real nice. Especially when the Minotaur’s wrecking your summer plans.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “Okay, excluding monster attacks.”

He sighed, looking out his own window. “I dunno. It’s home, I guess. Noisy, crowded, always smells kinda weird. But it’s ours .” He grinned slightly. “Even if half the people in it are jerks.”

“That’s just city life.”

“Yeah, but New York has a special kind of jerks.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, leaning her head against the seat. “And what about your mom? What’s she like?”

That question made him pause for half a second, but when he answered, it was with more certainty than anything else.

“She’s the best . ” His voice softened. “She works too hard. Always trying to give me a normal life even when everything was very much not normal.”

Something in the way he said it made Elysia’s chest tighten just slightly.

“You love her a lot.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

“I do.”

The cab ride ended not long after, and twenty-five minutes later, they stepped into the gleaming lobby of the Empire State Building. The guy behind the front desk didn’t even look up from his book—some fantasy novel with a wizard in a pointy hat on the cover.

Percy approached first, clearing his throat. “Six hundredth floor.”

No response.

Elysia drifted up beside him, casting a lazy glance at the cover of the book. She blinked once, unimpressed, then looked at the security guard.

Without warning, she reached out and pushed the book down flat against the desk with two fingers. Her voice was cool. Clipped. Laced with just enough venom to sting. “Oh, I’m sorry—were you busy ignoring us?”

The guy looked up, blinking like he hadn’t been interrupted in years.

“You were asked a question,” she added, tone fake sweet.

“No such floor, kiddo.”

Percy didn’t waste time. He leaned in just a bit, voice low but serious. “I need an audience with Zeus.”

The guard blinked. “Sorry?”

“You heard me.”

She raised an eyebrow. Wow. So much for subtlety.

At first, it looked like they were going to be laughed out of the building—or worse, escorted out by actual security. But then Percy unzipped his backpack just enough to show the gleam of celestial bronze inside.

The color drained from the man’s face. Completely.

“That isn’t…”

“Yes, it is,” Percy promised, voice flat. “You want me to take it out and—”

“No! No, no no no.” The guy nearly knocked over his chair in his hurry to fumble a key card out from beneath the desk. He shoved it toward Percy with a shaking hand. “Insert this in the security slot. Make sure nobody else is in the elevator with you.”

Percy nodded once and turned without another word. She followed.

The elevator doors shut behind them with a soft ding , the noise oddly final. 

She didn’t say anything at first, just stared at him with a deadpan expression. “You really just threatened a security guard?”

He shrugged, unapologetic. “Worked, didn’t it?”

She huffed, shaking her head but maybe a little impressed.

Percy slid the key card into the slot. The machine beeped once before the card disappeared entirely into the panel. A glowing red button appeared, labeled 600 .

He pressed it without hesitation, and the elevator lurched beneath their feet, beginning its slow ascent. Muzak crackled to life overhead, and the opening notes of Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head warbled through the speakers. Elysia blinked, incredulous, before snorting aloud. “Oh, this is a choice.”

The song played on, relentlessly cheerful, as the elevator climbed higher and higher, the pressure shifting just enough to make her ears pop. Finally, with a gentle ding, the doors slid open—and for a moment, Elysia could only stare, because the air in her lungs seemed to vanish all at once.

Before them stretched a narrow stone walkway, suspended in open sky, with nothing but clouds and blue on either side. Below, Manhattan sprawled like a toy model, the grid of streets and skyscrapers reduced to fragile shapes beneath their feet. 

But it was what lay ahead that rooted her in place: white marble steps climbing the back of a living cloud, winding higher and higher until they disappeared into the heavens. And at the end of that impossible staircase… was a mountain peak. Floating. Snow-dusted. Impossible. Palaces clung to the slope in layered tiers, gleaming gold terraces, sweeping white columns, braziers burning with light that shimmered like starlight. A marketplace bustled in the distance. Amphitheaters. Gardens. Temples. An entire city built into the sky.

Olympus.

Elysia exhaled slowly, barely above a whisper. “…Well. Shit.”

It wasn’t ruins. Not cracked stone or weather-worn relics like the temples she’d studied in books. Olympus was alive. Clean. Luminous. Vibrant in a way that made it feel like the gods had never left—even though they never should’ve been here to begin with. Not in this world. And yet they were. The way Athens might’ve looked millennia ago—unfaded, untouchable. Unreal.

She tried to take it all in, drinking in the sight before her with a tight chest and a cautious heart.

This place can’t be real.

The thought kept circling in her head, looping over and over again, even as her feet moved on instinct. A mountain suspended over New York City, floating like some billion-ton asteroid on a string—seen by no one. How was it here? How did the mortals not notice? How did no one speak of it? She had been in the city not even an hour ago. This should’ve loomed like a second moon.

But it didn’t.

It just… was.

And now—so was she.

They walked in silence through the streets of Olympus. Her thoughts dulled as the daze of it all sank in. Giggles rang out overhead as a group of wood nymphs leaned over a balcony and pelted olives at one another like children playing with water balloons. 

From the nearby market, hawkers shouted over one another—offering ambrosia-on-a-stick, a freshly-forged shield guaranteed to withstand lava for five minutes, and what looked like a glitter-weave replica of the Golden Fleece proudly stamped “As seen on Hephaestus-TV!”

The nine Muses sat in a nearby amphitheater, lazily tuning lyres and pipes, their melodic notes floating on the breeze. A crowd gathered to listen—satyrs leaning on their staffs, naiads perched on marble benches, and a handful of demigods or minor deities, each glowing with effortless beauty.

No tension. No dread. No whispers of war on the horizon.

Just celebration.

As they passed, more than a few eyes turned to Percy. Quiet murmurs followed their path, gazes lingering. He didn’t seem to notice—too focused. But she did.

She ignored them.

Their journey continued, the path winding up toward the palace that crowned the entire mountaintop.

Everything glittered—white marble laced with silver veins, sunlight bouncing from one surface to the next. It looked like a painting. A dream.

And that’s when it hit her.

The resemblance.

She hadn’t noticed it at first, but now that they were closer, it was impossible to miss. The palace. The layout. The way the light hit the columns and the slope of the grand stairs. She knew this shape. Not in brightness, but in shadow.

The Underworld’s palace—her father’s—hadn’t been built to stand apart. No. It had been shaped to match this one. A mirror of Olympus carved in black marble and glowing bronze. An echo in the dark.

Because he hadn’t been welcome here.

Hades had been allowed entry only once a year, on the winter solstice, like a tolerated guest at a party he helped build. So he’d made his own. Far from their halls. Beneath the world they ruled.

And something about that stung.

She could understand that kind of bitterness. The quiet ache of being kept at arm’s length. Of building something beautiful underground because you’d been locked out of the sun. Because you had to.

Elysia didn’t say a word as they reached the top of the stairs.

But she understood.

Gods, did she understand.

And waiting just outside the throne room was someone straight out of a myth: tall, luminous, and painfully beautiful in that effortless, otherworldly way only a nymph could be.

The woman bowed slightly, a practiced elegance in the movement. “I’ve been waiting for you, Lady Elysia,” she said warmly, her voice like honeyed wind. “It is good to see you are well.”

Elysia blinked.

She had no idea who the hell this was.

Before she could ask, the nymph turned to Percy, her expression slipping into something more ceremonial. “And the hero returns, just as her majesty expected. She will be pleased.” Her ivy-green eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, assessing, then softened slightly. “But alas, your audience with his lordship is yours alone, Perseus Jackson.”

Percy tensed—barely—but she caught it. Shoulders setting, jaw tightening. Already preparing for whatever storm Zeus was going to throw at him.

The nymph’s attention shifted back, her gaze settling on Elysia like it had never left. A knowing smile touched her lips. “You, on the other hand, have your own audience with Her Majesty.”

The demigod exhaled slowly, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

Of course she did.

“I have been tasked with the honor of escorting you to her rooms,” the nymph continued, voice light but firm.

Elysia flicked a glance toward Percy.

He gave her a look that very clearly said, You signed up for this.

She shot him one right back. So did you.

The nymph merely waited, unbothered by their silent exchange, before tilting her head expectantly. “Shall we?”

Elysia sighed, stretching her arms over her head before flashing Percy a grin. “Good luck, Jackson.” She stepped back, eyes glinting. “Try not to get smote before I see you again.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, same to you.” A beat. “And maybe don’t get spirited away while you’re in there.”

She rolled her eyes. “No promises.”

With that, they turned in opposite directions, heading toward their respective audiences—each walking straight into the lion’s den.

The nymph introduced herself as Nepheleis, one of Hera’s personal ladymaids.

Elysia followed her through several doors, the palace interior shifting around them with seamless grandeur. At first, nothing seemed out of place—marble halls, gilded fixtures, impossibly smooth stone beneath her feet. But somewhere along the way, the air changed.

She didn’t realize they had entered the Queen’s rooms until she stepped into a garden straight out of a painting.

The transition had been so smooth, she almost missed it—one moment, she was walking through a corridor, and the next, she was surrounded by open sky.

A long white stone path stretched ahead, lined with delicately carved pillars that held up a ceiling so high it felt like the sky itself. The air smelled faintly of olive trees and wildflowers, and at the far end of the path, a temple-like structure stood, its entrance grand yet serene.

Elysia followed the path, half-distracted by the sheer beauty of the place—until she finally noticed the goddess.

She had expected something… regal. Something formal.

And in some ways, Hera was. But she was not seated on a throne, draped in flowing silks and heavy gold, radiating divine authority like some ethereal figure from myth.

No.

Hera sat facing a stone wall, black hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Instead of an elaborate gown, she wore something strikingly mundane—yoga leggings and a fitted tank top.

A paintbrush moved steadily in her hand, each stroke adding intricate details to the hundred-headed dragon within the mural she was working on. Swirls of gold and deep crimson intertwined, forming the scales of the beast, the paint catching the light in a way that made it look almost alive.

Elysia stared .

For a brief, almost stupid moment, all she could think was, Well. Didn’t see that coming.

“I thought you only did paint and wine with my mom?” Elysia asked, nodding in thanks to Nepheleis as the nymph silently excused herself.

The Goddess didn’t pause in her work, instead dipped her brush into a pot of deep blue, sweeping it gently across the background of the mural. “You assume the Queen of Olympus doesn’t have time for hobbies. That my existence is solely spent managing my husband’s messes and hosting feasts.” A short breath, amused and pointed. “I have done this for years, child. Centuries. ”

She leaned back slightly, tilting her head as she studied her work. “Creation is an extension of order. If I wish to maintain balance, I must understand how things are made, how they are woven together. Only through that do I truly know how to preserve what is worth saving.”

Elysia folded her arms, watching as Hera switched brushes, dipping into a shade of burnished gold. “So you paint to, what? Keep everything in check?”

“I paint because I can. Because I wish to. Because even a queen is allowed to create something of her own.”

The dragon’s eye gleamed under her touch, the gold deepening, shifting, until it seemed to watch them.

Hera finally turned her head slightly, acknowledging Elysia fully for the first time. “Tell me, my dear. Are you here simply to gawk at your Theia’s artistic endeavors, or have you come to say something of importance?”

Her voice was smooth, poised, but there was a sharpness beneath it—one that made it very clear she already knew the answer.

Elysia straightened, exhaling slowly. “You tell me,” she muttered. “You’re the one who summoned me.”

The Goddess smiled, something knowing behind her eyes.“Indeed, I did.”

The moment the brush was set down, the space around them changed .

A marble table and two chairs materialized effortlessly in the middle of the garden, as if they had always been there. A delicate tea set rested at the center, steam curling from the spout of a gilded teapot. An assortment of fruits, nuts, and honeyed pastries sat arranged on polished silver trays, each piece looking absurdly perfect—because of course even the food here had to be pristine.

Hera waved a hand toward the seat across from her. “Sit.”

It wasn’t a request.

Elysia hesitated for only a second before stepping forward, pulling out the chair and sinking into it. The moment she did, she felt Hera’s gaze settle fully on her.

The Queen of Olympus lifted the teapot, pouring dark amber liquid into a cup with the kind of grace only an immortal could manage. “You should eat.”

She didn’t have to be told twice.

Elysia plucked a grape from the table and shoved it into her mouth, barely chewing before speaking. “So… something something about a bargain?”

Hera let out a slow, measured breath, setting the teapot down with a quiet clink . “ Really, ” she huffed. “No, ‘ How are you, Theía? ’ No inquiry about my well-being? No acknowledgment of my hospitality?”

“Okay, fine. How are you, Theía?”

Hera’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You do not mean that.”

A grin tugged at the mortal's lips. “Not even a little.”

The goddess sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as if this conversation alone was deeply exhausting. “You are insufferable.”

“You invited me.”

“Yes. A choice I am currently reevaluating.”

“I have that effect on people.” Elysia grinned, popping another grape into her mouth.

The corner of Hera’s lips twitched just slightly —almost like she was amused but refusing to show it.

“Regardless,” the goddess said, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from her top, “I assume you are, how should I put this, content stepping away from the underworld for the current time.” 

“Aren’t you the one who has been pushing me to stay there?” 

“At Hades’ request.” Hera met her gaze evenly. “I let him do what he thought was best.” A pause. Then, with quiet finality, “It was not . ”

That caught her off guard.

The goddess reached forward, fingers brushing gently against Elysia’s cheek for a fleeting moment. It wasn’t a grand gesture—not even particularly affectionate—but there was something deliberate about it. Hera studied her, catching details most wouldn’t bother with.

“You look better with more color on your face,” she murmured.

Elysia blinked, momentarily thrown by the softness in her tone. It was gone just as fast. Hera withdrew her hand, shifting back to the poised elegance she always carried.

“So,” she continued, voice smooth, controlled, “I offer you a deal—something that will ensure that, should Zeus confirm your… parentage , it will shield you. This will ensure that you do not need to be hidden away. That you will have your place here. Go between the underworld, and here as you see fit. A title in my court. My immortal champion, for as long as you may wish.”

Silence.

A position tied directly to the Queen of the Gods? A title that meant protection, favor, but also responsibility. Obligation. Loyalty.

She wasn’t stupid. A deal like this wasn’t just about shielding her.

It was staking a claim.

But then her mind replayed the word immortal . She wanted to say no right away. It was too much. Too permanent. Too binding. Too much work.

But at the same time, her thoughts drifted back to her nightmares—of the feeling that was fading away, of being swallowed by nothingness. Her breath caught slightly, and she tried pushing the thought to the back of her mind.

“Can I… think about it?” she finally asked, her voice quiet, uncertain.

That hadn’t been the right answer.

Hera’s nose flared, the only sign of her surprise. “About what? What is there for you to think about? You are being offered something greater than your very being, and you want to think about it?”

The near-disappointment in Hera’s tone made Elysia’s stomach twist painfully. Her chest tightened, anxiety curling firmly beneath her ribs. She hated that feeling.

“You’re asking a fresh-faced fourteen-year-old to live forever!” She shouted, her words tumbling out in a sudden rush of panic. She couldn’t explain why she felt so defensive—it was just that tone in Hera’s voice. That edge of judgment. Of expectation.“It’s a big deal, and I—”

The goddess held up a hand to cut her off, looking upward and taking a breath.  “You will only obtain immortality should you complete three great quests for me. I merely give you this title as protec—” Hera’s words faltered as she suddenly looked at Elysia, brows knitting together in confusion. “ Fourteen? ”

“Yeah.”

The single word carried more than it should have.

For once, there was no immediate response. Just silence.

Did it suck that no one remembered? Absolutely. 

Was it such a big deal? No .  

Elysia had taken herself on a solo date anyway. Got herself an absurdly expensive cupcake and walked the city. Treated herself like she deserved. It wasn’t like she’d expected much. She only got to talk to her mom once a week through an Iris message, and maybe— maybe —she had thought they would be able to talk before then. But nope. No one had said anything.

Too much had been happening. Too many bigger, more important things. And Elysia didn’t want to feel like a burden.

Even if the day had nearly been ruined by a monster attack.

Hera exhaled slowly, closing her eyes for a moment. “Your birthday was yesterday.”

The demigod shrugged, forcing a grin she didn’t quite feel. “At least it didn’t land on the Summer Solstice this year.” She tried for a joke, because gods , what else was she supposed to do? “Would’ve hated it if a whole war started on my birthday, but also… my fourteenth might’ve kicked off with a bang.”

There was something in Hera’s gaze, something almost —no, that wasn’t pity, was it? “It slipped my mind.” 

“You and Dad both,” Elysia replied, and immediately hated how small her voice sounded.

“We had been preparing a gift for you. However, it isn’t quite ready—not with everything else that’s been happening. I… apologize for that.”

“It’s fine.” The words came out clipped. Because saying it’s fine was easier than saying it hurt .

And honestly? That’s not what mattered right now. Not really.

“I think…” Elysia started, then stopped. She wasn’t sure how to phrase it without sounding like she was trying to run. “I think I’d like to go back to camp for the rest of my summer.” The words spilled out in a breath. Quick. Almost desperate.

She didn’t want to go back to her dad. To the cold stone halls of the Underworld. Not yet, anyways.

“I’d give the camp four hours— four , if I’m generous—before everyone knew you were Hades’ daughter. And once that truth spreads, there will be questions. Fear. Suspicion. Mortals, demigods, and immortals alike will scrutinize your every move.”

That… was a fair point.

But still— why was Hera pressing so hard? Why was she so desperate to control where she went, who knew what, how she lived? That was a very interesting question.

Because the thing was—some people already did know.

Percy hadn’t freaked out when he found out. His reaction was… weirdly calm. Like it was no big deal.
And Silena? The girl definitely knew. She’d walked into the woods and found Elysia talking to a ghost mid-meltdown and just said, “Huh,” before charm-speaking the ghost into leaving and offering her a piece of gum.

Even Chiron knew. So… what if everyone just knew ? Would that really be so bad? Would it give her father a heart attack? Probably.

But maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t about her at all. Maybe Hera was trying to keep control of something else. Maybe she wanted to win this little divine chess game more than she wanted to protect Elysia.

Curiosity sparked in her chest. A tiny flame.

What would happen if she went back? Would Zeus strike her down just for existing? Would Olympus implode? If Percy hadn’t been blasted into god-dust yet, why would she?

And those dreams…

The ones that tied them together, her and Percy.

Too many questions. Too many missing pieces. Too many answers that no one seemed willing to give.

And she was starting to get tired of being the only one in the dark.

Her fingers curled slightly against her thigh as she drew in a breath.  “I think that’s a risk I’d like to take, Theía .” Her voice didn’t waver—not this time. “I’ll give you my answer at the end of summer.”

A beat passed. Just long enough to feel what she’d said settle into the air between them.

And maybe it wasn’t the answer Hera wanted.

Maybe it wasn’t the smart one.

But it was hers.

The only choice she could give the Queen of the Gods at this moment.

And she’d have to bet everything on it.

Chapter Text

To her surprise, it was Hera herself who escorted Elysia to the edge of the queen’s private chambers. Just before parting, the goddess leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

“For what it’s worth,” the Hera said, her voice laced with something almost fond beneath the layers of dignity, “happy fourteenth birthday, Elysia. Even if I am a day late—and no matter how frequently you test my patience—I do not forget those who fall under my care.”

The words struck her more deeply than she expected. Elysia hadn’t known what to do with that. What was the proper response when a queen kissed your forehead? What was the etiquette for Olympus?

She hesitated longer than she should before dipping into a curtsy—one that wasn’t perfect, but wasn’t a disaster either. Persephone had taken it upon herself to teach her court etiquette, brushing out her shoulders and correcting the angle of her wrists until it stuck. “He is the King of the Underworld,” she’d said once, adjusting Elysia’s chin with two fingers, “and you are a princess of it. Learn to move like it.”

She kept her chin tucked, her hands light at her sides, and offered softly, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

The Queen gave her a nod—small but acknowledging—then turned and disappeared down one of the shimmering, column-lined corridors.

Nepheleis was already waiting. The nymph didn’t rush her, simply leading her back down the steps, through the marble-and-gold sprawl of the gods’ city. Elysia kept her gaze ahead, but she could feel the eyes on her—curious, cautious, whispering.

She didn’t hear the words, but she felt them. Heard the rustle of murmurs like wind through leaves.

And if Nepheleis hadn’t leaned over and murmured, “Don’t pay them any mind. They talk because they lack better purpose,” Elysia might’ve snapped. Or at least tried to hunt one of them down to demand they say it to her face. Whatever it was they thought they knew.

Honestly, she’d been getting awfully confrontational lately.

Which was weird. Not like her. She usually went out of her way to avoid arguments, to duck out of attention, to sidestep trouble like it was second nature. She didn’t like being looked at too long, didn’t like giving anyone a reason to stare.

But lately… her patience had been paper-thin. And her cursing? Way worse than usual. She caught herself dropping words her mother would’ve winced at. Maybe the nightmares were finally catching up. Maybe they were starting to bleed into everything else.

Maybe this was just how it came out—this slow, quiet spiral.

She tried to let the whispers slide off her shoulders like water. Tried to hold onto that practiced calm, the way her mother always had.

That’s when she saw him.

Standing awkwardly near the elevator, shifting his weight from foot to foot like he couldn’t decide whether to wait or walk away. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders tense—like maybe he’d been standing there a while. Like maybe he didn’t know if she’d even come back.

For a split second, Elysia hesitated.

She was going to say something—witty, probably. Something about him not being fish food. Maybe tease him for not getting smote. But before she could open her mouth, Percy looked up—and grinned.

“She’s home,” he said, voice light, but still caught on something quieter beneath. “He let her go.”

She blinked, confused. That hadn’t been the sentence she expected. And he must’ve seen it on her face, because he explained, words tumbling out just a little too fast.

“My dad—Poseidon—he said Hades let her go. Said he pays his debts.” He paused, the grin softening into something almost disbelieving. “He returned my mom home.”

For a beat, she didn’t say anything. Just noticed the way his hands fidgeted like he didn’t know what to do with them now, the cautious relief in his eyes like he was afraid to trust it.

And then, she smiled.

Not the teasing kind. Not her usual grin that came with snark.

Just a smile—quiet and genuine, slipping through before she could stop it. She was happy for him. Genuinely. Glad that, for once, something had gone right .

Percy blinked, like he hadn’t been expecting it. His gaze lingered a second too long—just long enough for her to catch it before he quickly looked away, the tips of his ears going faintly pink.

Her brows lifted slightly at that, but she didn’t say anything. Just brought her hands together in a small, half-hearted clap.

“Good,” she said, voice light. “Guess running from an army of the dead was worth it for this?”

He huffed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, totally. New favorite hobby: nearly dying and getting chased by hell-beasts.”

She snorted, waving goodbye to the nymph and giving him a nudge toward the elevator. He stumbled a bit, muttering something about “aggressive celebration,” but didn’t protest.

They were quiet for maybe a full second before—

“So,” Percy said casually, “how’d the whole meeting go with, y’know?”

She glanced over, raising a brow. “Hera?”

He nodded.

She shrugged. “Exactly how you’d expect. Didn’t get reduced to dust, so I’m calling it a win. You?”

“Oh, you know,” he said, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Met my dad. Got told I’m overreacting by the other god. My dad told me I was ‘a true son of the Sea God,’ right before I left to see if you were gonna ghost me. Said Hera was still in her audience, and that’s when it finally hit me that when you said ‘Theía,’ you actually meant it. Like. Her. ”

It took everything in her not to make a face. “It took you that long to figure it out? Even after Nepheleis basically spelled it out for you?”

He gave her a wounded look. “Okay, in my defense, I’m running on like, zero sleep and residual trauma. Forgive me for not immediately connecting ‘aunt’ with Queen of the Gods. ”

She sighed dramatically. “I want to insult you so badly right now.” The face he made almost made her laugh.

“But no,” she added, quieter now. “Not literal. I’ve just known her long enough that she became Theía before I knew about… all this.” She waved vaguely upward, toward Olympus. “Before this reality showed up and wrecked my life.”

He was quiet for a beat, then tilted his head. “You don’t like being a demigod?”

“Gods, no.” The answer came out fast. Harsher than she meant it to.

She didn’t elaborate. Didn’t feel like she had to. 

And, to his credit, Percy didn’t press.

~                               ~                                ~

Fifteen minutes later, and somehow, she was the one stuck waiting on him. Of course she was. It had been his idea—“moral support,” he said—but she’d drawn a firm line at the apartment building’s front steps. 

There were just some things that didn’t require an audience. So she’d crossed her arms and told him, “This is something you need to do alone. She’s your mom. I’m sure she missed you just as much as you missed her. But I’ll be out here. Just give a holler.” And with that, he’d nodded—tight and anxious—and disappeared inside.

Now she was loitering awkwardly on the curb, watching the world move around her. Cars passed, horns honked, and people bustled by with too much coffee and not enough awareness. She shifted from foot to foot, unsure of what to do with herself now that she wasn’t actively playing backup. For a few minutes, she paced. Then doubled back. Then paced again.

That was when a sleek, overly enthusiastic Doberman spotted her from across the street and promptly dragged its owner over like it had just found its long-lost soulmate. The girl holding the leash barely had time to register it before the dog trotted right up to Elysia, tail wagging furiously. She crouched, her tone gentle as she asked, “Is it okay if I…?” The girl nodded, and she didn’t hesitate.

“Hey, you,” she murmured, fingers sinking into glossy fur. “You are such a good boy. The best boy.” The Doberman leaned in, eyes half-closed, clearly in heaven. 

They chatted for a minute—small talk, something about the weather and how much the dog didn’t normally like strangers—before the owner offered a polite smile and tugged the Doberman gently away. Elysia gave one last scratch behind his ears and watched them go, a small grin still lingering at the corner of her mouth.

Clink.

Her head tilted. That sound—metal on pavement.

Elysia turned toward the noise and blinked.

A coin rolled across the sidewalk.

Another one followed.

And another.

Her shadow—literally, her shadow —was tossing them out of nowhere, quarters landing one by one in a neat little row. She stared at it, more annoyed than startled at this point. “Really?” she asked aloud, voice flat. “Now?”

Still grumbling under her breath, she bent down and scooped the quarters off the pavement. Her fingers curled around the cool metal as she glanced down the block—and there one was. A payphone sitting on the corner like it had been waiting for her to notice. Her shadow’s idea, clearly. Why else would it start tossing change around?

“This is exactly why people carry phones,” she muttered, already crossing the street. Not that she had hers. That had been a whole discussion—about security risks, about monsters tracking signals, about how her mom didn’t want to stress for her over the potential danger.

She didn’t even bother checking if it worked before cramming the coins into the slot. The dial tone kicked on with a screech, too loud, like it hadn’t been used in awhile. Her fingers flew over the keypad, punching in the Washington area code and the seven digits she knew by heart. Muscle memory took over before her brain caught up, because honestly… what was she even going to say?

“Hi, Mama, I ran away from the Underworld, just wanted you to know I’m safe and loitering outside a random boy’s apartment while he talks with his mom.” Yeah. That’d go great. Real heartwarming stuff.

She rocked back on her heels, the phone wedged between her shoulder and cheek, and listened to the ring echo in her ear.

One ring.

Two.

Her heart tapped nervously against her ribs, uncertain—like it couldn’t decide whether it wanted someone to pick up or no one at all. Did she really think her mom would answer a number she didn’t recognize? Maybe not. 

She could be out with the dogs or dealing with the horses or running late from a shoot. Honestly, Elysia had half a mind to hang up after the second ring. This was dumb. Her mom was busy. She was always busy.

But then the ringing stopped.

“Hello, this is Lizbeth speaking.”

That voice—soft, familiar, kind—nearly shattered her.

“...Hai, Mama,” Elysia said quietly, the breath she’d been holding slipping out with the words.

A beat passed.

“Ely!” Her mother gasped, warmth pouring through the phone like sunlight. “Oh my goodness, happy late birthday, my darling. I am so, so sorry I missed it. I was worried something happened and—I knew I told your father I was busy with a shoot yesterday, but I didn’t think he wouldn’t let us talk—”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” She cut in, her voice soft. She didn’t want to admit it—to say out loud that her father had forgotten too. That was a can of worms better left sealed. “It was a hectic day. A lot of high emotions.”

Her mom paused again. The way she always did when she was picking apart her daughter’s tone, trying to figure out where the truth ended and the lie began. “Did something happen?”

“No... Well, kind of. I don’t wanna talk about it.” It wasn’t even a lie—not really. She just didn’t have the energy to get into all of it. Not when she barely understood it herself.

“You sure?” her mom asked, even softer now. “You sound... different.”

Elysia opened her mouth—then closed it. She could say she was fine. That she was just tired, or distracted, or that it had been a long week.

But something about the way her mom was speaking made her hesitate. And maybe it was because it had been a while since she’d heard someone ask like that and mean it. Maybe it was just the sound of her voice, a little frayed at the edges with worry, like she always sounded when she hadn’t seen her daughter’s face in too long.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I just—things are really complicated right now. And I feel like everything’s moving too fast. And I’m trying to keep up but I also kinda want to scream.”

Somewhere beside her, footsteps approached. She barely acknowledged them. Just a small wave, low and brief, when Percy reappeared and lingered at her side, watching her with that quietly curious look of his.

“Did you have a disagreement with your father?”

“I wouldn’t say we had a disagreement,” Elysia said into the phone, words casual, practiced. “Just... I’d prefer to spend the summer here. At camp, obviously.”

A soft sigh crackled through the receiver. Her mother didn’t push. Didn’t demand an explanation. Just asked, gentle as ever, “Ely, if that’s what you really want, I’m not going to tell you no. But are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I promise. Safe, even.” Liar. She felt the lie settle cold in her chest, but she didn’t take it back. What else could she say? “I’ll be back at the end of summer. Before the academy starts.”

“Okay,” her mom said. “But Ely... don’t forget that your father just wants the best for you.”

She bit back the eye roll. Barely. “I’m aware.”

“I love you, baby. Stay safe, okay?”

“Miss you. Love you. Bye.”

She hung up.

The silence that followed settled deep in her bones. She didn’t look over right away. Just let the receiver drop gently back into place before turning her head.

Percy was still there. One brow raised.

“You’re not the only one who loves their mortal parent,” she muttered.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just offered the faintest, knowing smile. The kind that said, Yeah. I get it.

She didn’t ask how it went in the apartment. Whatever happened in there had left him quieter, but not worse. Calmer, maybe. And whatever answers he’d found clearly weren’t hers to pry into. So she didn’t.

Instead, they slipped into another taxi—one last leg of the trip—and rode in silence toward camp.

And Camp Half-Blood looked almost exactly the same.

The strawberry fields still glowed golden in the afternoon sun. The cabins still stood in their familiar horseshoe. And yet, stepping through the borders felt like returning to a place frozen in time. The only problem? She wasn’t the same kid who’d left.

The return was... well, weird. Her name wasn’t on any official quest scroll. She hadn’t faced any monsters for glory. And yet, her sudden reappearance after vanishing for nearly a year had the camp buzzing. Most of her old friends reacted with stunned joy that she was alive. The kind of joy that said, We already mourned you. Apparently, going off the radar meant getting added to the unofficial ‘probably dead’ list.

Silena Beauregard found her first, eyes wide, arms already outstretched. She pulled Elysia into a floral-scented hug that nearly knocked her breath out.

"I'm so glad you're alive," Silena whispered, genuine and a little shaky.

Elysia offered a wry, half-smile. "Seriously, everyone thought I was dead."

“You vanished, Ely.”

Apparently, that was all it took.

Then came the rapid-fire updates that left her head spinning—new campers, new satyrs, a few very dramatic relationship breakups. 

The Stoll brothers were next, crashing through the reunion like twin whirlwinds. They dragged her off toward the Hermes cabin, talking over each other about pranks she’d missed and new campers she had to meet. Travis tried to offer her his bunk since the new campers had taken her spot. Connor said she could wrestle one of them for the better bed. She didn’t even bother responding to that one—just shot them a look that said she’d win.

It was a mess.

And weirdly, it felt like home.

Kind of.

Percy, Annabeth, and Grover were ushered toward the Big House, then swept into celebration like they were the gods themselves. First heroes to return alive from a quest since Luke Castellan. Naturally, the camp went all out. Laurel wreaths. A feast in their honor. Procession to the bonfire where they got to burn their own burial shrouds.

Before she could even claim a s'more or find a place among the sing-along crowd, a hand clasped hers and yanked her sideways with purpose. Annabeth. Golden laurel still slightly crooked on her curls,, dragging her toward the shadows of the forest.

“What the hell?” Elysia muttered, trying not to trip.

They barely made it ten steps into the trees before Annabeth spun on her, the air shifting. “How in the world did you manage to piss off the god of death?” she demanded in a whisper-shout.

Elysia blinked. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me,” the daughter of Athena hissed. “Percy has an art for pissing off gods. I’ve seen it. But you? I never would’ve believed it if I hadn’t seen him slam his hand on the Throne of Bones, demanding to know what we’d done with you. He looked ready to tear Olympus apart.”

There was something in her voice that caught—something between awe and horror, like even she couldn’t quite believe what she’d witnessed.

And then Elysia saw it. The moment the last piece fell into place. The hitch of breath. Her eyes widened, pupils narrowing like her brain was suddenly flipping through every interaction they’d had since the Underworld.

“Little Lady…” Annabeth whispered. “That’s what the Ferryman called you. Because you’re his boss’s—”

“It’s just a nickname,” Elysia cut in quickly, tone flat. “Charon’s dramatic. Likes to feel important.” She crossed her arms and looked away. “And my dad’s just… overprotective. Probably thought you were dragging me back to camp against my will or something.”

Annabeth stared at her like she was seeing her for the first time. Took two steps back like the realization physically knocked her off balance. “How didn’t I see it?”

“Great question. Percy figured it out pretty quick.”

The forest around them buzzed with the sound of cicadas and distant laughter from the campfire, but in the shadowy clearing, everything felt still. Too still. Questions piled up behind her teeth. Did you know? Do you see it now? Do you think Zeus is going to fry me where I stand? Are we still friends, even if my dad’s the reason Thalia became a tree?

But none of those made it past her lips.

Annabeth's voice dropped to something softer. “If you’ve known… why not say anything?”

Elysia hesitated. Then, voice low, she admitted, “Because I don’t think he’s ever going to claim me. Not publicly, anyway. And I’d rather be unclaimed than have everyone think I’m just some liar trying to stir the pot.” She exhaled a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Besides, could you imagine the drama if I stood up in front of everyone and went, ‘Surprise, I’m the secret love child of the god of death’? I think Mr. D would drag me to Olympus himself just to throw me into a pit. That kind of truth doesn’t make things better—it just causes more problems. More suspicion. You’ve already stepped away from me.” 

That landed. She could see it in the way Annabeth blinked, in the way her mouth parted slightly like she had a reply and then thought better of it. Her gaze dropped to the dirt between her shoes, jaw tightening like she was chewing on words she couldn’t quite make herself say.

At last, Annabeth’s lips twitched—uncertain, caught somewhere between a frown and a grimace.

“…Okay,” she muttered. “That’s fair.” A pause. Then, with a breath, “My lips are sealed.”

And that was all Elysia could really ask for. It wasn’t perfect. It didn’t solve anything. But it was something.

They rejoined the rest of the campers shortly after. Percy raised a brow the second he caught her eye, and she offered a small thumbs-up in return. He nodded like he understood, like he knew what they had talked about.

And weirdly, it had been as simple as falling back into routine after that. At least, on the surface.

She got assigned a bunk in the Hermes cabin again—top corner, wedged near the window where the breeze crept in just enough to make her toes cold at night. Not that she minded in the summer. She was used to cold.

But mornings were the worst. Getting out of bed took effort. It was like something in her bones resisted the shift from dream to daylight. She’d shuffle down to breakfast half-asleep, wrapped in a sweater that had definitely seen better days, while the rest of the camp teased her for looking like she’d crawled out of a grave.

Her only response was to flip them off with a yawn, which earned her a “sternly disappointed” look from Chiron and a five-minute lecture about “manners.” She stared blankly through the whole thing, chewing toast.

Swordplay? Still a nightmare. No amount of “just keep your balance” or “follow through” made it stick. By the second day, she was barely trying, lazily swatting at her opponents like they were annoying flies. The wooden blade hung awkwardly in her grip.

“Do you even want to win?” Percy had asked after she let a ten-year-old land a hit on her.

“No,” she said flatly, already turning toward the shade. “I want to take a nap under that tree and pretend I’m good at something else.”

He’d made a show of being offended, but the next time they trained, he was gentler. Less instruction, more quiet sparring. Less pressure, more teasing. They talked between swings—about music, about camp, about the fact that she still couldn’t eat cherries because she once found a maggot in one.

Some nights, they’d meet by the canoe lake, not on purpose but because the quiet helped them both. Percy would skip stones across the water, each flick of his wrist sending another ripple into the dark. Elysia would lie back on the dock, arms folded behind her head, eyes tracing constellations that felt too bright, so unlike the stars above the Underworld.

Afternoons, she still met up with Annabeth for reading sessions beneath the trees. But halfway through, her book would fall to her chest, and she’d roll into the sun, letting its warmth lull her into sleep. A few pages here, a chapter there. Meanwhile, Annabeth devoured books like she was racing time itself.

It had taken a while, but Elysia had finally gotten comfortable enough to show the kind of soft affection that didn’t come naturally to her. Sometimes, without a word, she’d plop her head into Annabeth’s lap mid-reading, eyes already fluttering shut as if she hadn’t just made herself the world’s most inconvenient bookmark. Annabeth never complained—just adjusted the book in her hands and kept reading.

And then there was Alva.

She hadn’t been back to the stables since she’d returned. Not really. Not fully. The thought alone made her stomach twist. The what-ifs hung heavy in her chest. Silena had been waiting by the stable entrance, chatting absently with another camper, but the second she noticed Elysia hadn’t moved, her brows drew together.

She turned back, walking toward her. “What’s wrong?”

Elysia’s voice was barely above a whisper. “They’re going to know.”

Silena blinked. “Who?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze stayed fixed on the shadowed arch of the stables, where a few of the pegasi shifted restlessly, hooves clattering against the floor. “The animals. Alva.” Her hands flexed at her sides, restless. “They’ll smell it on me. That I’m not... the same.”

Silena was quiet for a moment, eyes softening. “You didn’t come back different, Ely.”

“Didn’t I?” Her laugh was short, bitter. “The other day a nymph asked if I’d been in a crypt recently.”

“Well,” the daughter of Aphrodite said slowly, “you have been spending a lot of time with Percy and Annabeth. Who had been in the underworld recently.”

That startled an involuntary laugh out of her.

Silena bumped her shoulder gently. “Just go to her. You’ll feel better once you do.”

It still took Elysia a few more minutes to get her feet to move—but eventually, she stepped past the threshold. The scent of hay and sun-warmed wood hit her first, familiar and inviting. The soft shuffle of hooves and the occasional low nicker of the other pegasi stirred something in her chest. Something like memory. Something like home.

Then came the sound.

A soft snort at first. Her gaze flicked toward the far stall, and her heart jolted. Alva.

The pegasus shifted, silver-dusted wings fluttering at her sides as she peered over the stall gate. Her ears perked, and a louder, more urgent huff escaped her—a cross between a whinny and a warning, like she was done waiting. Like she was calling her in.

That sound cracked something open.

She stepped forward without thinking. Crossed the stable floor in quick strides and reached the stall gate just as Alva pressed her head over it, nosing insistently at Elysia’s chest. Her coat was warm from the sunlight, and her breath huffed against Elysia’s shirt, smelling of hay and salt and something familiar enough to make her eyes sting.

“I’m here,” she whispered, voice breaking as she opened the stall and slipped inside.

Alva didn’t shy away. She leaned into her, solid and unafraid, and Elysia buried her hands in the mare’s mane, fingers curling tight. Her forehead came to rest against Alva’s neck, and for a moment, she just breathed. In and out. Letting the presence of the pegasus hold her.

When Elysia finally stepped back, wiping at her eyes, Silena was already halfway to the tack wall, pulling down two saddles.

“I thought we could go for a ride,” she said softly, not pushing. “Before dinner.”

Elysia nodded, throat thick. “Yeah,” she managed. “I’d like that.”

And from there, it became their evening routine—her and Alva. Just the two of them gliding along the tree line in those golden, late-day hours. Mornings were too hard. No matter how hard she tried, Elysia’s body refused to cooperate, refusing to rise before the sun or be cheerful before breakfast. The nightmares didn’t help.

Then, one afternoon, she returned from sparring with the cabin to find something waiting on her bed.

Her bag.

Not just any bag— the bag. The one she’d brought to the Underworld. The canvas was slightly dustier, a few new scuffs on the edges, but unmistakably hers.

It was nestled on her neatly made sheets, and carefully arranged around it, like a quiet offering, were a handful of flowers.

Blue forget-me-nots. And in their center, a single white camellia, nearly glowing in the late light.

Elysia stood frozen in the doorway for a moment, her heart thudding. The message was subtle—but clear.

You are missed.

You are forgiven.

She stepped forward slowly, fingers brushing over the soft petals before sinking down onto the edge of her bunk. Her bag didn’t feel heavy when she picked it up. It just felt... familiar. Like a piece of herself had been returned.

Inside, tucked carefully beneath the zipper, was a folded note. “You remain one of my greatest sources of frustration. And, despite that, my pride. Happy (belated) birthday, little star.” No signature. No explanation. Just those quiet words resting on top of a small box that held delicate gold hoops. Simple. Thoughtful. And somehow, it made her throat ache.

She didn’t cry. Not really. But she sat there for a long moment, the note between her fingers, the flowers still perfuming the air like a whispered apology.

By the time the Fourth of July rolled around, the whole camp had gathered at the beach for the annual fireworks show hosted by Cabin Nine. As expected from the Hephaestus kids, it was less of a display and more of a full-blown production. The barge anchored offshore looked like something straight out of a military exercise. Packed with rockets the size of ballista bolts with enough firepower to probably alert NORAD.

Elysia found herself wedged between Percy and Annabeth on a picnic blanket, a half-eaten strawberry in one hand and the salty breeze brushing through her hair. 

She didn’t remember exactly how she’d been dragged into this. One minute she was minding her own business, the next Percy had waved her over like it was a crime to sit alone, and Annabeth had shoved a plate of snacks into her hands like she hadn’t just been scowling at her two weeks ago in the forest.

Now? Now she was trying not to fall asleep in the middle of the sand with their laughter humming in the background.

“You’re seriously about to pass out,” Percy teased, nudging her shoulder as she tucked her arms beneath her head.

“Shut up,” she mumbled without opening her eyes. “I’m conserving energy. This is strategy.”

Annabeth snorted. “You’re napping through history. Cabin Nine’s about to launch a full-blown animated myth into the sky, and you’re going to miss it.”

“Wake me up when Hercules starts punching lions,” she muttered, barely biting back a yawn.

It was… nice, actually. 

And then Grover showed up.

She sat up slowly, brushing sand from her arms as the satyr approached. There was something a little different about him—more solid. His horns were longer, his smile tinged with nerves.

“I’m off,” he said, voice casual, but not really.

Annabeth hugged him first. Percy clapped him on the back. Elysia just gave him a small, honest smile.

“Don’t let Pan kick your ass,” she said, which earned a surprised laugh from Grover.

Fireworks lit up in the sky behind them—shapes dancing in impossible patterns. Hercules slaying the Nemean lion. Artemis drawing her silver bow. Even George Washington crossing the Delaware like some mythic general.

Grover paused at the edge of the trees when Percy shouted after him.

“Wherever you’re going—I hope they make good enchiladas!”

Elysia leaned her head on Percy’s shoulder without thinking as Grover vanished into the woods, swallowed by green.  “He’ll be okay,” she said, mostly to herself.

“He will,” Annabeth murmured, like a promise.

The boom of fireworks crescendoed in the distance, the sky above them exploding in color. Then a voice called out—someone from Cabin Nine asking for help resetting part of the display.

Elysia was already on her feet, brushing crumbs off her shirt and jogging toward the fireworks team before Annabeth or Percy could stop her. “Be right back,” she called, glancing over her shoulder with a grin. “Try not to blow anything up without me.”

Percy just shouted something about her being a pyromaniac.

She didn’t deny it.

By mid-July, Elysia had adopted a different approach to sparring—one that didn’t involve her getting smacked around in front of the entire arena. Courtesy of Silena… and, surprisingly, Luke.

“You are awful at swordplay,” Luke muttered one afternoon, leaning on the hilt of his training sword like the very concept personally offended him. “Seriously, you’re a dau—” He cut himself off, glancing at Silena, then back at her. “You should be better.”

Elysia almost let it slip that her father thought the same thing. That he’d actually muttered it once during a sparring match and accidentally set off a minor identity crisis. Instead, she offered a dry, “Thanks. That’s super encouraging.”

She was passable with daggers—courtesy of several very intense rounds of Dodge the Deadly Dagger back home—but they weren’t her favorite. Honestly, she didn’t have a favorite. Weapons didn’t exactly call to her.

“So,” Silena cut in, her tone much gentler, “we thought maybe you’d be better at something else. Something a little less...” She hesitated. “Something that gives you an edge for Capture the Flag.”

Silence fell like a dropped shield.

Elysia looked away, jaw tight. She didn’t have to ask what they meant. Everyone had noticed by now that every Friday after lunch, she disappeared.

It was practically a camp-wide mystery: the Friday Vanishing of Elysia. Annabeth had tried tracking her down once, only to end up face-first in a very grumpy nymph’s pond. Percy had tried and ended up in the stables for two hours. The Hermes cabin had made it a betting pool. Mr. D had not tried—but he had helped her hide in the Big House more than once.

“I don’t have the energy to play,” she’d said one week, sprawled on his office couch with sunglasses and a book of Greek tragedies. He hadn’t even blinked, just muttered something about teenage melodrama and pointed her to the roof.

So she’d gone. Laid out in the sun like a lizard. Warmth soaking into her bones. Quiet. Unbothered.

Let the rest of the camp charge around waving swords. Let them play war. She wanted no part of it.

They’d tried, though. Gods, had they tried. Silena with her endless patience and Luke with his calculating eyes—both of them determined to find something she didn’t suck at.

Spears? Too long. Unwieldy. She dropped the first one within minutes and had the gall to mutter that the balance was off, like she was some kind of weapons expert.

Bows? Boring. And the string bruised her wrist. “This is so much work,” she’d grumbled once, not really meaning it, but not exactly taking it back either.

Swords? Luke looked like he was in physical pain watching her hold one again. He muttered something under his breath about teaching statues to dance being easier.

Daggers, though. Daggers had potential. She moved better with them. More instinct, less weight. At least until one of her spins landed a shallow cut on Luke’s arm.

She froze. Luke didn’t.

He just hissed under his breath, grabbed a cloth, and waved her off like it was nothing.

But after that, she was done. Emotionally, physically, cosmically. The heat, the noise, the pressure . She dropped to the grass like a wilting flower and let her limbs go limp, face buried against the cool ground.

“I don’t care what my weapon would be,” she muttered dramatically. “If I die, bury me with a fan.”

She heard the arguing before anything else. Hushed voices a few yards off.

“Are you sure?” Luke asked, his voice low, strained.

“I know what I saw,” Silena hissed back. She sounded agitated. Defensive.

The next few words were too quiet, but she caught fragments— forest , charmspeak , something about it listening this time .

Elysia didn’t lift her head. Just closed her eyes tighter. Whatever they were worried about, it didn’t matter to her.

And they left her be after that. Silena gave her a look on the way out. There was a flicker of something close to relief in her eyes. Like she’d been holding her breath the whole time.

July blurred by after that. Hot days, warm nights, time marked only by the rise and fall of cabin chatter and the rustle of camp routine. No one brought up capture-the-flag. No one tried to force a sword into her hand again. Even Luke had backed off. 

Which was probably why she’d chosen this evening to take Alva out on a longer ride. Right before sunset, when most campers were at dinner and the paths were quiet.

The pegasus followed easily at her side, her lead slack in Elysia’s hand. Hooves clicked softly against the packed dirt path, the rhythmic sound lulling her more than she cared to admit. 

It was peaceful. 

The moment she rounded the last bend near the trail, she spotted someone already there. Leaning slightly against the wooden fence, hands tucked into his pants pockets, posture casual—but his eyes were somewhere far away.

She knew that kind of look.

“Well, well,” Elysia said, a teasing lilt to her voice as she approached. “The great hero himself, all alone? Where’s your entourage?”

That seemed to pull Percy out of his thoughts. He blinked up at her, momentarily startled, as if he hadn’t even noticed she was there. Which, honestly, was kind of impressive, considering she was leading a full-sized pegasus in his general direction.

His expression shifted quickly, though—confusion melting into something easier, familiar. He leaned against the fence, arms crossed, that boyish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Entourage? Do I look like a guy who has an entourage?”

She gave him a once-over, exaggeratedly slow, like she was seriously considering the question. “I mean, sometimes,” she admitted, shrugging. “Annabeth. Grover. The occasional godly relative. Random monsters that want to kill you. You’ve got a whole parade going on most of the time.”

Percy rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Which, fair. She wasn’t wrong.

Alva flicked her ears, shifting slightly at Elysia’s side, and she reached up absentmindedly, running a hand along the pegasus’s neck. “So?” she pressed, watching Percy with interest. “What’s got you brooding out here? Did Chiron give you another impossible quest? Did the Stoll brothers prank you again?”

A short huff of laughter escaped him.“Nah. Just… thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

He shot her a look, but there was no real heat behind it. “You’re hilarious,” he deadpanned.

“I try,” Elysia said, grinning. “Come on. You look like you need a distraction, and I was gonna go riding anyway.” She gave Alva’s lead a light tug. “You in, or are you too busy with your brooding?”

His brow furrowed slightly, as if the idea of her riding had never occurred to him. “Wait—you know how to ride?”

One of her eyebrows arched. “Obviously. What do you think I do at the stables every evening?” The fingers at Alva’s neck traced an idle pattern in the pegasus’s coat. “Been doing it since I could walk. Just, you know—none of the flying attachments.”

The corners of Percy’s mouth twitched, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be impressed or poke fun. “So, what, you started out with ponies?”

“Ponies. Horses. A particularly grumpy mare named Moxie.” A sigh. “I miss her.” 

With an easy movement, she grabbed the saddle and hoisted herself up. The pegasus barely shifted under her, used to the routine. A glance down found Percy still watching, like he wasn’t sure if this was a setup.

“Well?” she prompted, instead of waiting for an answer, she stretched a hand out toward him, fingers wiggling slightly in invitation. 

His eyes flicked from her hand to Alva, then back to her face. “Wait. Both of us? On one pegasus?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Alva’s strong enough to carry two, maybe three people. What, you scared?”

Percy scoffed, but there was a flicker of hesitation before he grabbed her offered hand. “Just wondering if this is a ploy to send me face-first into the dirt.”

“Now, why would I waste a perfectly good ride on something I can do literally any other day?” Her grip tightened as she helped him up, and to his credit, he swung himself onto the pegasus behind her with minimal flailing.

“You good back there?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Percy shifted slightly, adjusting to the unfamiliar position. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t usually ride, but sure, this is fine. Totally fine.”

A grin tugged at her lips. “You sound convincing.”

Before he could throw a sarcastic remark back at her, she gave Alva the lightest squeeze of her heels, and the pegasus launched forward, picking up speed. The shift sent Percy gripping instinctively at her waist before he could think better of it.

“Oh, you did that on purpose,” he muttered.

Laughter bubbled out of her, the wind whipping through her hair as they rode across the field. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

A single click of her tongue had Alva huffing in acknowledgment before smoothly turning onto the riding trail, hooves kicking up soft clouds of dust.

“She says she knows,” Percy muttered, like that was somehow a betrayal.

“What?”

“Alva says she knows where she’s going,” he repeated, then paused as the pegasus let out another breathy huff. His fingers tensed slightly at her sides before he exhaled, deadpan. “Okay, that’s just rude. Sorry, I’m not Miss Perfect over here.”

Another pointed snort from below, very much sounding like a judgmental hmph if Elysia had ever heard one.

She didn’t even try to hide her grin.

But before Percy could say anything else, Alva moved—wings spreading wide, powerful. The ground dropped away beneath them with a lurch of wind and weightlessness, and then they were airborne. The earth fell behind, and the sky stretched open in front of them.

It wasn’t anything like flying on a plane—no engine hum, no recycled air. Just wind and sky. Alva adjusted her wings effortlessly, riding a current like she was born for it—because she was. It was smooth. Serene. Almost meditative.

Percy was quiet for a full ten seconds before blurting, “You are so weird.”

She twisted slightly to glance back at him. “Wow. Thanks.”

“No, like—seriously. You’re all ‘don’t bother me with this nonsense’ and ‘don’t talk to me before breakfast,’ but then you get on a flying horse and suddenly you’re all competent.”

Elysia arched a brow. “Sorry that grace under pressure offends you.”

“It’s not the grace, it’s the hypocrisy. You whine about sword drills like they’re mortal offenses. You act like climbing the lava wall is some kind of divine punishment. Now here you are, soaring through the sky like you’re starring in some ancient hero’s tragic origin story.”

“I am someone’s tragic origin story.”

He snorted. “Okay, calm down, goth princess.”

“You’re just mad she likes me more.”

That earned a scandalized gasp. “Excuse you, I bribed her with apple slices! I am delightful!”

Alva let out a deep snort, this one almost dismissive. The pegasus tilted her wings and dipped suddenly, and Percy let out a very undelightful yelp.

“Alva, I thought we had a bond, ” he hissed.

“She says you’re dramatic.”

“She says you’re dramatic, ” he mimicked in a higher voice, making her laugh.

Elysia leaned forward slightly, brushing her fingers along Alva’s neck. “She just likes people who aren’t scared of the dark.”

Percy blinked at her. “Is that what this is about? You think you’re mysterious? Please. You snort.”

She shot him a dry look over her shoulder. “So do you.”

“Yeah, but I make it sound heroic.”

“Like a dying goat.”

“You wound me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. What does Annabeth call you? Seaweed Brain? I’m starting to see it.”

He clutched his heart like she’d stabbed him. “Wow. Low blow.”

She didn’t reply—just clicked her tongue once, a gentle signal. Alva snorted in approval and lifted them higher, cutting smoothly through the clouds. The air turned cooler, thinner, and the world below began to blur into soft golds and deepening blues.

Elysia didn’t look back at him, but her posture shifted, just a little straighter, a little quieter. This was one of the few places she felt weightless in the right kind of way.

She figured no one had shown him this yet—what the sunset looked like from above the clouds. Silena showed the newer campers normally, back when everything still felt a little more magical and a little less dangerous.

And that’s when Percy muttered it, barely loud enough for the wind to carry, mostly to himself.

“Weirdest girl I’ve ever met.”

She smiled—just a little.

Chapter Text

Within the last week of summer, on the final Friday, Elysia lost the war against Capture the Flag. It was humiliating how fast it happened.

After weeks of avoiding the game like it was actually cursed, she finally got cornered—taken down by an unholy alliance between Silena Beauregard, half the Hermes cabin, and a bribe of Hershey’s Kissables that she was still mad about. She’d given in with a long-suffering groan, only to immediately regret everything the moment she saw what she was expected to wear.

“If I already refuse to wear the Camp Half-Blood shirt because it’s orange, ” she hissed through gritted teeth, “why the hell would I wear this monstrosity?”

This being an absolutely tragic Frankenstein’s monster of armor: a dented chestplate with a faded paint handprint on the back (why?), a lopsided helmet clearly designed for someone with a head twice her size, and a spear that hummed ominously every time she shifted her grip. She was 80% sure it was cursed. Ares-cabin-style cursed. Like, might start shouting battle cries in Latin cursed.

She adjusted the helmet with a dramatic sigh as Silena turned around, took in the whole tragic ensemble, and immediately started wheezing. “You look like you mugged a historical reenactor.”

“An underfunded school play,” one of the Aphrodite kids choked out between laughs. “But, hey, the palette’s very autumnal!”

“I’m going to fall off the hill and roll into the ocean,” Elysia muttered. “That’s what’s going to happen.”

Silena gave her a once-over, lips twitching. “At least you match the foliage.”

“I hate all of you.”

Everything about the armor felt like a trap. The breastplate pinched her ribs when she breathed too hard, the spear vibrated like it was trying to communicate in Morse code, and the helmet had committed a full betrayal by trying to slide down over her nose again. Meanwhile, every other camper looked like a background extra in a Greek war epic—perfect armor, perfect confidence, probably perfect dental plans.

Then came Beckendorf.

Charles Beckendorf strolled over from the Hephaestus side of the prep zone like he was the main character, clipboard in hand, his armor gleaming like Hephaestus himself had personally buffed it with a divine rag. He didn’t even look sweaty. Just competent and unbothered and definitely not being eaten alive by his helmet.

He took one look at Elysia and stopped walking. Not because of the gear—because of the unholy expression on her face.

“Is she about to murder someone,” he asked, eyebrow raised, “or just spontaneously combust?”

“She hasn’t decided,” Silena said brightly, like they were discussing flavors of iced tea.

“I’m leaning toward both,” Elysia grumbled, stabbing the spear into the dirt and immediately regretting it when the thing let out a low keening noise.

Somewhere behind her, a Hermes kid started whispering about prophecies.

Beckendorf approached, clearly fighting a smile as he gave her gear a once-over. “Your shield’s upside down.”

She looked down. Paused. Then looked up at him with the most offended face she could muster. “How dare you speak such truths.”

That got a quiet laugh out of him—warm and a little too easy. Unfortunately, Elysia didn’t hate the sound. In fact, her traitorous brain clocked it as nice , which was deeply inconvenient. “You know, you’ve got a solid grip. Just needs a little polish.”

“If I had a drachma for every time someone said that to me, I’d have two. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it’s happened twice.”

He grinned for real this time, tightening the strap of her helmet with practiced fingers. “You’ll be fine.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You say that like you’re not betting on me stabbing one of your cabinmates.”

“ Accidentally, ” he corrected. “Just a little poke. Maybe a minor maiming.”

“No promises.”

He chuckled again, backing off with a nod. “Good luck out there. Try not to die.”

“I’ll pencil it in,” she said dryly.

As Beckendorf headed back across the prep zone, clipboard swinging at his side like he hadn’t just handed her her dignity back with a helmet adjustment, Elysia caught Silena watching him go.

And not in the “ooh, shiny muscles” kind of way. No, this was a whole moment —her eyes soft, expression slightly dreamy, armor gleaming in the late-afternoon sun like a goddess of mild existential crisis.

Not her usual smile. Not camp-fabulous Silena. This was something gentler. Quieter.

Elysia blinked. “Oh,” she said aloud, voice full of sudden clarity. “That explains so much.”

Silena whipped around, cheeks already going red. “Shut up .”

“I didn’t say anything,” 

“You were thinking it.”

“I’m always thinking something.”

Silena looked like she was two seconds from launching her helmet at Elysia’s face. Instead, she huffed and turned away, cheeks flushed with something that wasn’t just frustration. “Try not to impale yourself before the horn.”

“No promises!” Elysia called after her, grinning like a menace as she trudged toward the flagpost, already preparing for battle. Or humiliation. Possibly both.

Definitely both.

The conch horn sounded a heartbeat later, echoing across the field in a low, dramatic wail. Red team was officially underway. Not that she knew what the plan was. No one had bothered to fill her in, and honestly? That suited her just fine. 

Instead, she slipped into the treeline, her boots crunching quietly over fallen leaves. The forest was cooler than the fields, shaded and still, and she welcomed it. The noise of camp dulled behind her—swords clashing, people yelling like they were auditioning for a war movie. 

She didn’t care about the game. She wasn’t even sure who was technically on her team. Silena had shoved a red band in her hand and told her to “go stand near the flag or something,” which Elysia had immediately interpreted as permission to disappear into the trees and not come back until the horn blew again.

Her mind had been buzzing all morning, thoughts circling like vultures. Ever since she’d woken up too early that morning from another dream she didn’t remember, chest tight and sheets tangled around her legs. The tightness hadn’t faded. It never did anymore. Not fully. It lived there now, under her ribs, like it had taken up permanent residence ever since the Hera conversation over a month ago.

That offer—her champion. She’d decided. The answer was going to be no. Absolutely, one hundred percent, irrevocably no.

Elysia already hated doing things. She was tired. Always tired. Too tired to climb the lava wall. Too tired to deal with the way her fingers still shook sometimes when she held a weapon. Too tired to care if it made her look lazy.

But tired wasn’t the right word.

She’d rather help the Demeter kids with weeding than pretend she gave a damn about playing pretend war. At least Katie and her siblings were kind. They remembered things—like her favorite snacks, or that she didn’t like being asked too many questions. She owed them help from last year anyway. Saying no to Katie felt like a war crime.

Elysia moved on autopilot, steps light but aimless. Her fingers trailed along the bark of a tree as she passed, holding herself in something physical, something real.

And that’s when the shadows shifted.

It was subtle at first—just the faintest flicker in her peripheral vision. But then they gathered. Pulled. Tugged at her like invisible threads winding around her fingers.

She stopped walking.

The shadows curled near her boots, moving with a restless urgency she hadn’t felt in weeks. Not since…

Her brow furrowed. “I haven’t seen you guys act like this since I went to Percy’s mom’s apartment. What the hell?”

The shadows surged again, darting toward the right—deeper into the forest, toward the darker, less traveled paths.

She hesitated. Elysia was used to them following her, responding to her emotions, sometimes even shielding her. But leading her? That was new. They tugged again, insistent, like hands reaching out to pull her forward.

“No,” she muttered. “Nope. That’s the direction of monsters.”

Because, of course, just as she opened her mouth to protest, a low, guttural growl rumbled through the trees. The kind that set every hair on her arms on edge. It was distant, but not distant enough.

“Great,” she whispered, already moving—why was she moving toward it? What was wrong with her? “Why would I want to go that way?”

The shadows pulsed again—quicker this time, jittery with energy like they were tapping their foot, waiting for her to get with the program. Impatient or anxious, she couldn’t tell which. 

She ran, weaving between trees and low-hanging branches, her spear tucked close, steps fast and quiet. Her heart thumped loud in her ears, the sound half adrenaline, half oh no, what now. And then she heard it: the metallic scrape of clashing weapons, a shout of pain—someone’s name maybe—and then the guttural roar of something huge and definitely not happy. 

She pushed through the treeline just in time to see the fight unfold.

Cabin Nine was there—Beckendorf, Nyssa, Jake, Shane, the works. All of them backpedaling, trying to regroup, trying to look like they had a plan while a monster the size of a delivery truck tried very hard to eat them. The thing was covered in fur and rage, lunging faster than anything that big should’ve been able to move. Its tail cracked through the trees like a whip, snapping entire branches off like they were twigs, while its jaws gnashed and foamed and—okay, yeah, that was a problem.

That thing could flatten her in half a second. Honestly, it looked like it wanted to.

“I told you taking the high path for a sneak attack was suicidal, ” someone gasped—Jake, probably, or maybe Shane, the panic made their voices hard to tell apart. “This was the worst idea. ”

The logical part of her brain screamed to turn around. This wasn’t her fight. No one had asked her to help. No one even expected her to show up

But then Beckendorf’s shield arm buckled under a brutal hit. Nyssa tripped on an exposed root. Jake’s sword went flying through the air and landed twenty feet away.

And that was it.

There was no hesitation.

Something twisted in her chest and her shadows exploded forward

They launched from the treeline in a sweeping arc, pitch-black and fast, streaking across the ground like spilled ink alive with purpose. They reached the monster in seconds, coiling around its legs with the practiced precision of something that had done this before. The beast howled and thrashed, tail lashing in wild arcs, claws carving trenches in the earth.

They climbed the monster’s limbs like vines, thickening, tightening, knotting around its torso and throat and arms until it couldn’t move. The thing thrashed once more, then buckled forward with a strangled screech. The weight of her power dragged it down, and it hit the forest floor with a thud that shook the ground beneath her boots.

She watched, breath caught in her chest, as her shadows pulsed once—like a heartbeat—and then squeezed.

The monster didn’t die.

It disintegrated.

Its body crumbled inward, collapsing like wet paper as the shadows crushed it from every direction. No blood. No final roar. Just a shuddering wheeze of air and a sound like breaking stone. In the next breath, it was gone—nothing left but a drifting scatter of ash, catching the golden light between the trees and spinning lazily through the air like confetti at a funeral.

She was breathing hard without realizing it, one hand still outstretched like she’d forgotten what her body was doing. Her shadows, the traitorous little monsters, slithered back toward her boots slowly—almost sheepishly, like they knew they’d gotten a little too excited and now didn’t quite know how to apologize for the scene they’d made.

And she’d just made a very, very dangerous choice.

That power? That wasn’t something you just stumbled into. That narrowed down who she could possibly be. Severely. She might as well have started waving a sign that read “Hey, guess which god I belong to?”

But then her eyes flicked to Beckendorf—shield arm bleeding steadily down to his wrist. To Shane, whose shirt was scorched along one side, still breathing in short, ragged bursts. To Nyssa, pale and shaking and trying very hard not to look like she was about to throw up from the crash of adrenaline.

So, no.

She wasn’t sorry.

Not even a little bit.

Even if she was absolutely, one hundred percent going to regret this later.

She took a slow step forward, lowering her hand with what she hoped looked like casual indifference. “You guys okay?” she asked, pitching her voice low, easy. Like she hadn’t just summoned the abyss and crushed a monster like a soda can.

Jake blinked at her like she’d sprouted a second head. “Y-yeah,” he managed after a second, but the hesitation was there, like he wasn’t quite sure if he was answering the right question. Like none of them were.

She could feel it—that heat at the back of her neck. The weight of four stares, lingering too long. Her shadows were still coiling faintly at her ankles, like they were unsure if the threat had truly passed. She resisted the urge to shoo them away.

It made her want to disappear. Or crawl under a rock. Or have the ground open up and swallow her whole. That would be convenient.

And like they couldn’t take a hint, the shadows curled up her legs in a silent, pleased sort of purr before melting back into her own. Showoffs. Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t scold them. Not when they’d just kept her friends from getting flattened.

Beckendorf was the first to break the silence, voice rough as he sheathed his sword. “I have to ask,” he said, glancing at the others before looking back at her. Not unfriendly. Just curious in a way that made her stomach twist. “Do you… you know. Know who? ”

The sigh that escaped her was half exhaustion, half resignation. Of course they would ask. She didn’t blame them. They’d just watched her disintegrate a monster like it was made of papier-mâché. But part of her still flinched instinctively, like the question had been a punch she didn’t quite dodge.

She forced her legs to move, stepping closer even though every instinct screamed to stay back. She expected them to recoil—to shrink away now that they’d seen what she really was. The weird kid. The maybe-cursed kid. The something’s wrong with her kid.

But they didn’t.

They held their ground.

If anything, Beckendorf shifted slightly closer, like he wasn’t afraid at all.

She crouched low, grabbed a stick, and dragged it through the dirt with a half-hearted scowl. The "drawing" she scratched out wasn’t just bad—it was tragically bad. A lopsided stick figure with Xs for eyes, like something a furious six-year-old would scribble mid-meltdown. Elysia stabbed the stick into the ground beside it like a flag and lifted an eyebrow, daring them to argue. “You get it?” 

They stared at the dirt for a beat too long.

Nyssa huffed, crossing her arms like someone had just spoiled the end of her favorite movie. “Ugh. That’s so annoying.”

“…Huh?” Elysia blinked.

“I lost fifteen drachma,” Nyssa continued, frowning. “I was so sure it was Ares. You’ve got the whole passive-aggressive thing down.”

Jake snorted and shook his head, looking her over like she’d just grown a second shadow. “I bet thirty on Cabin Ten. Love goddess or bust.”

He said it so seriously she almost forgot to be offended. Almost.

“Explains how you’re always popping up out of nowhere, though,” Jake added, like that was a completely normal thing to accuse someone of.

“I’m so, so lost,” Elysia mumbled, genuinely bewildered.

Beckendorf chuckled under his breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s a betting pool,” he admitted. 

“…A what now?”

“Hermes cabin started it last summer,” he explained, grinning a little like he knew how ridiculous it sounded. “Everyone’s been trying to guess your godly parent.”

“You’ve been betting on me?” Her voice pitched a little higher than intended, both incredulous and exasperated.

Shane shrugged, totally unapologetic. “Hey, it was bound to happen.”

“You’re a walking mystery,” Nyssa said with a half-smile. “And, I mean, the vibes were there.”

Elysia opened her mouth, ready to ask what vibes , because she was pretty sure her main vibe was perpetual disaster, but Beckendorf beat her to it. He stepped forward and gave her a light, grounding pat on the shoulder, like he thought she might bolt if they looked too closely.

“You saved our asses,” he said simply. No fuss. No pity. Just the solid kind of statement you couldn’t argue with. “That’s what matters. Gods or no gods.”

She blinked at him, throat tightening. For a second, she just stood there, weirdly unmoored. Then—almost against her will—the corner of her mouth twitched.

“Also,” he added with a mischievous glint in his eye, “good luck getting out of sparring now. People are gonna be really curious.”

She grimaced immediately, glancing between them like she expected a mob with swords to jump out of the bushes. “Actually...could we maybe not? Tell anyone?” she asked, the words tumbling out faster than she meant. “I don’t really want people knowing.”

They exchanged a look—one of those silent group decisions only people who trusted each other could make without speaking. It wasn’t even a hesitation.

“Hey, your secret’s safe with us,” Jake said easily, reaching out to give her another solid pat on the shoulder before wandering ahead, already whistling like nothing huge had just happened. Shane and Nyssa followed, both giving her matching shoulder taps as they passed—some weird, wordless show of solidarity that made Elysia feel about five seconds from short-circuiting.

That left her and Beckendorf lingering behind. She hesitated, awkward and twitchy, before finally glancing up at him.

“Thank you, Beckendorf,” she said, trying to sound normal and totally not like she was about to spontaneously combust.

He lifted an eyebrow at that, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Charlie,” he corrected. “Call me Charlie.” He didn’t say it like it was a casual thing. He said it like it meant something. Like offering her that name was a promise.

“You saved my siblings,” he added simply. “That matters.”

Elysia didn’t quite know what to do with that—didn’t know how to hold something that solid without dropping it or throwing it away. So she just nodded, a little too stiffly, and fell into step beside him. 

For about thirty whole seconds, she let herself believe that maybe— maybe —this would be okay.

And then Jake opened his mouth.

“So, theoretically,” he said, dragging the word out like it was harmless, like he wasn’t plotting some new disaster, “could you maybe help us get some non–Chiron-approved supplies for our next project?”

She sighed the long-suffering sigh of someone who definitely knew better than to encourage this and yet somehow still wanted to get involved. “Probably.”

Nyssa barked a laugh so loud she startled a flock of crows from a nearby tree. “We’re so dead.”

Their team, of course, lost Capture the Flag.

Brutally.

And then—just like that—the last night of the summer session arrived.

Dinner was quiet in that content, end-of-summer way—buzzing with lazy laughter and half-packed bags. Some campers were already dragging duffels behind them, others lounging at the tables like they could delay leaving by sheer force of will. Plans for next summer were tossed around like promises they fully expected to keep.

Elysia had been cornered by the Stoll brothers just before dinner, both of them dramatically pleading with her to swear she’d come back next year. She’d rolled her eyes but agreed, laughing when they fist-bumped like they’d won something.

By the time they reached the bonfire, it was already crackling high with flames, sparks darting into the breeze like fireflies. Senior counselors stepped forward, and the circle grew quieter, attention focusing as the end-of-summer beads were announced.

She kept to the back. Her leather necklace was looped twice around her wrist, worn like a bracelet. One bead hung from it: a soft lilac, with a silver pegasus stamped into the center. Last year, that race had been the highlight of the season—her and Silena, back-to-back on Alva, stealing first place and a week of bragging rights. She'd never been more sunburned or proud.

Now, half-sitting in the grass, half-yapping with several of the demigods who hadn’t yet fallen into the last night melancholy. Someone passed her a half-melted marshmallow skewered on a stick. She took it without looking, popped it in her mouth, and grinned when the sugar stuck to her teeth. Shane was mid-story about a firework mishap when Elysia’s attention snagged on a single word—Percy.

Her eyes flicked toward the firelight just as Luke stepped forward, holding a leather necklace up for everyone to see. “This bead commemorates the first Son of the Sea God at this camp,” Luke announced, “and the quest he undertook into the darkest part of the Underworld to stop a war.”

There was a beat of silence before cheers erupted across the circle.

Even the Ares cabin stood.

She blinked, a little caught off guard by how much noise one camp could make. Even more so by the look on Percy’s face. He looked... overwhelmed. Happy, sure, but something about it was fragile too. Like all hadn’t quite settled. 

She clapped, a tiny smile pulling at her mouth.

She didn’t say it aloud, but it settled in her chest like a secret.

I’m glad I came back.

~                               ~                                ~

She hadn’t planned to end the night at the dock.

But somehow, that’s where she ended up. Barefoot, the fabric of her shirt slightly clinging at the sleeves, one foot dangling just below the surface of the lake while the other curled up beneath her, chin resting lazily on her knee. The water was cool, gentle as it lapped against her skin, casting soft ripples across the glassy surface.

She knew it wasn’t exactly the smartest idea to be out this late, Chiron would probably have something wise and disapproving to say about it. But the breeze was calm and the lake shimmered like someone had dusted it with stars. And more importantly, it was peaceful.

So when footsteps creaked down the dock behind her, she didn’t flinch.

She glanced over her shoulder just in time to catch Percy dropping down beside her with a low sigh, legs swinging over the edge like they belonged there. He didn’t say anything at first. Neither of them did. They just sat, listening to the lake breathe—soft waves tapping the wooden planks, the hum of cicadas somewhere out in the trees, to the quiet rustle of a breeze.

Eventually, his voice broke the quiet.

“Do you think…” he started, then paused. His eyes stayed on the water, like he thought maybe it could answer for him. “Do you think you’ll go home? Or stay here?”

She snorted, the sound automatic. “Home. Duh. ”

That pulled the faintest smile from him, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She shifted slightly, casting him a sideways look. “What, you thinking about staying?”

He shrugged, not looking at her. His fingers toyed with the edge of the dock, brushing little patterns into the wood. “I don’t know. My mom’s waiting. But this place…” He trailed off, exhaling through his nose. “It’s weird. It feels more like home than anything else ever has. Even with all the monsters.”

Elysia didn’t answer right away. Her eyes drifted back to the lake, to the way it shimmered and shifted. Maybe she understood what he meant. Maybe that was why she had come back.

“Maybe,” she said softly, “it’s being afraid of no longer fitting into the world. Now that you’ve finally found the one place you do.”

His head turned just slightly, watching her in that quiet, thoughtful way he did sometimes. “That’s… very wise of you.”

“I am older than you.”

He rolled his eyes. “By, what? A few months?”

“A year, ” she replied, with the smug satisfaction of someone who’d waited the entire conversation to bring that up. “Birthday was the day before the summer solstice.”

His brows lifted, eyes widening a little. “Wait—seriously?”

“Mmhm.” She tilted her head back, letting her chin rest against her knee again. “Tragic, I know.”

There was a pause, then he asked—genuine curiosity laced with something softer—“Why were you alone in Los Angeles fighting a monster on your birthday?”

She let out a slow breath, fingers picking absently at the wood of the dock. “Everyone kind of… forgot,” she admitted. She didn’t mean for it to come out that way, didn’t mean for the hurt to sneak into her voice like that, but it did. Quiet. Unavoidable. “There was a lot going on, as you know.”

He didn’t respond right away. He just looked at her. Like he didn’t know if he was supposed to apologize on behalf of the universe, or set something on fire, or maybe just sit with her. His mouth opened—then closed again. Whatever he was going to say died somewhere in his throat.

Instead, he stood.

“Wait right here,” he said quietly, already turning, already jogging off into the dark before she could ask why.

She blinked after him, confused. Her toes traced slow circles in the lake, disrupting the moon’s reflection and fracturing it into a thousand silver shards. Part of her assumed he wouldn’t come back. That he’d get distracted, or forget, or maybe just… leave.

So when she heard the sound of his footsteps again—light, fast, and definitely headed her way—she sat up straighter, blinking in surprise.

“Okay,” Percy said, a little out of breath, holding something out in his hand. “It’s dumb. And small. And, like, wildly late. But…” He opened his palm. “Belated birthday present.”

It was a shell.

Not just any shell, she could tell that much at once. This one was delicate, almost translucent. The surface swirled in soft blues and lilacs, shifting in the moonlight like it had absorbed the colors from the sky itself. It looked like it had come from the very bottom of the sea, untouched by anything but time and salt and patience.

Her breath caught before she even realized it.

She reached for it slowly, fingertips brushing his palm before curling around the shell with care. It felt impossibly light in her hand—so fragile she thought it might dissolve into foam if she gripped it too tightly. Her thumb traced its edge, and something in her chest cinched tight. She hadn’t even known how badly she’d needed someone to do something like this. Not big. Not dramatic. Just… something small. Something quiet. Something just for her .

“I know it’s not much,” he said, quieter now, “but… I wanted you to have something.”

She didn’t answer right away. Couldn’t. Her throat felt too tight, and the words she might’ve said tangled up behind it.

“It’s fine,” she said at last, voice soft. And it was—more than fine, actually. She just didn’t know how to tell him that. Didn’t know how to say that it was perfect in the way all the best things were. She tapped the small gold hoop in her left ear, the ones she’d only just started wearing. “My father did get me something.”

Percy’s eyes flicked to it, catching the glint of moonlight on gold before shifting back to her. Something in his expression changed—tightened. His brow pinched like the words she hadn’t said had settled into his chest anyway. Like they made sense to him in a way most things didn’t.

“Doesn’t make up for forgetting,” he said, not unkindly. “They still should’ve remembered.”

A pause.

“I didn’t really expect anyone to,” she admitted, her fingers closing gently around the shell. “People have bigger things to think about. Monsters. Prophecies. Saving the world.”

“But you’re still here,” he said. “You made it through all of that.”

She turned her head to look at him. His expression was serious, unguarded in a way that caught her off-guard.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, meaning it more than she thought she would.

He bumped his shoulder lightly against hers. “Anytime, birthday girl.”

A smile tugged at her lips before she could stop it. She ducked her head slightly, like she could hide it behind her knee, but the warmth in her chest didn’t fade.

“For what it’s worth,” she added after a moment, quieter now, “I think your mom would love to have you home again. She has a great son. One who loves her.”

That made him let out a small, almost sheepish laugh. “Thanks.”

And maybe that would’ve been the end of it.

But before she could talk herself out of it, before the moment could pass, the words just slipped free. “I’m leaving in the morning, by the way.”

She didn’t know why she said it out loud. Maybe it was the lake, or the stars, or the shell still resting gently in her palm. Maybe it was the way the night felt suspended in amber—like a dream half-remembered, a beach lit by moonlight she’d only ever seen in visions. Or maybe it was just that she’d finally opened the envelope an hour ago, the golden wax seal pressed with the lotus crest already telling her everything she needed to know.

A summons from Hera.

He looked at her. “Leaving for good?”

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “Nothing like that.”

“You coming back next summer?”

“It’s in the plan. Unless another war tries to kick off, or someone loses a lightning bolt again.”

He snorted. “No promises.”

She tilted her head, as if the thought had just occurred to her. “Since I’m pretty sure we’re friends now,” she said, glancing at him sidelong, “I figured I’d ask how you feel about writing letters.”

Percy blinked. “Letters?”

“Yeah.” She shifted, tucking one leg beneath her. “I started writing them to Silena and Annabeth last summer. The Stoll twins got added pretty quickly. It started because of the whole technology-attracts-monsters thing. I figured... letters were a way to stay up to date.”

He stared at her for a second, then raised a brow. “So... what? Like a weird demigod newsletter?”

Elysia grinned. “Exactly. The very exclusive, totally unfiltered chronicles of Elysia.”

He tried to look unimpressed. Failed completely. “And what kind of stories do you include in this newsletter?”

“Oh, you know.” She waved a hand vaguely. “Updates. Terrible handwriting. Wild accusations. Sketches of mythical creatures but all drawn like weird animals. Occasionally a curse word in ancient Greek.”

Percy’s smile tugged wider, warm and amused. “Alright. You’ve convinced me. Add me to your mailing list.”

“Good. Because now we’re pen pals, and you are legally obligated to send me dramatic updates on your tragic hero life.”

He laughed, low and genuine. “Deal.”

~                               ~                                ~

Returning to Olympus felt… weird.

Elysia hadn’t told anyone else. No dramatic goodbyes. No farewell tour. She’d just woken up and slipped out of camp. She’d shadow-traveled most of the way, though, as usual, it had dropped her a little off-course. Not where she meant to arrive, but close enough.

She didn’t even have to explain herself this time when she stepped into the lobby.

The security guard barely glanced up from his desk before standing, retrieving a keycard from the drawer like it had been waiting there with her name on it. Maybe it had. Maybe Olympus had its own brand of prophecy for these things.

He handed it to her without a word, and she nodded once in quiet thanks before making her way to the elevator. It hummed to life the moment she approached, doors parting with a soft chime.

No buttons. No instructions.

Just Olympus waiting at the top.

The doors slid open again, and there it was—the glimmering mountain suspended in the sky, its marble columns and golden towers impossibly bright against the morning haze.

And waiting for her, perfectly poised, was Nepheleis.

“You look well, Lady Elysia,” the nymph said smoothly, already turning to guide her along the winding sky-road that curved toward the halls of the gods. “Much more alive than the last time I saw you.”

The comment nearly made her snort.

Alive. Sure. Technically. She was upright, breathing, still capable of sarcasm—so that counted, right?

She did look better, she supposed. The sun-kissed tan she’d picked up from days spent riding Alva and napping around camp had chased away the washed-out pallor she'd arrived with. There was more color in her cheeks, a steadiness in her gait. Even if the dark circles under her eyes still came and went depending on the nightmares.

“And you look perfect,” she muttered, shooting a sideways glance at Nepheleis. “Exactly like the first time I saw you. It’s honestly kind of unfair.”

The nymph offered a knowing smile. “I am honored by your words,” she replied smoothly, dipping her head. No hint of sarcasm. No pride, either. Just a simple, ageless elegance, like compliments were something she accepted the way one might accept sunlight on their skin.

The walk through Olympus was quicker this time, more familiar—but it still managed to feel surreal. Marble arches towered overhead. Columns gleamed. Every step echoed like a heartbeat across stone and sky. Elysia tried not to stare too long at anything—afraid if she looked too closely, she’d start feeling too small.

Until they reached the door.

It opened on its own.

Nepheleis offered a bow and excused herself without another word, disappearing as silently as she’d arrived.

Inside, the room was bathed in soft gold light. The scent of honey and fresh bread hung in the air, warm and comforting in a way that made her stomach twist unexpectedly. She blinked.

This time, Hera was not standing before a mural. She wasn’t painting or brooding.

She was simply waiting.

Seated at the head of a low table set for two, dressed in an ivory chiton threaded with gold. Not a goddess playing queen, but a queen who had always been a goddess. Regal. Composed. The crown of stars in her hair glimmered like it had been placed there by the night sky itself.

The table in front of her was laid with care, not extravagance—bowls of pomegranate seeds catching the light like rubies, still-warm bread nestled in linen, figs glazed in honey, and golden tea steaming in delicate cups. Citrus and rosewater curled through the air.

An offering of hospitality.

Her mouth watered, and her stomach betrayed her with a quiet growl.

Hera arched a single brow, then gestured toward the empty seat opposite her.

“You look well,” the goddess said, voice cool but not unkind. “Better than last we met.”

“And you’re still terrifying,” the Demigod muttered under her breath—then blinked, realizing she hadn’t meant to say that part out loud. “Thanks,” she added quickly, clearing her throat.

The corner of Hera’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. But not not one, either.

“Come,” she said simply. “Sit. Tell me how camp went this time.”

And so Elysia did.

To her own surprise, the words just… spilled out. Maybe it was the food, maybe the quiet way the God listened—never interrupting, only tilting her head or arching a brow when something caught her interest. Maybe it was that this woman was the one she remembered as her Theía. 

She talked through the highlights: the lazy mornings, the disastrous sparring sessions, the garden naps, the strawberry-sunshine days she didn’t think she’d get back. She didn’t mention Annabeth figuring it out. Or the shadows. Or the monster in the forest.

Some things didn’t need to be said.

She talked with her mouth half-full more than once, pausing only when Theía interjected with a question or a wry observation, her words often followed by a dry sip of tea or the ghost of a smile. 

Maybe Elysia was rambling. Probably. Because underneath it all, she knew she was stalling. Hera wasn’t going to like her answer. And saying no to a goddess, especially this one, was the sort of thing most people didn’t walk away from unchanged.

“…And yeah, I’m here now,” she finished with a small shrug. “Honestly, I’m ready to go home.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Hera replied with a soft, knowing lilt. “Your mother is excited to see you. She spent yesterday cleaning the whole house, trying to decide between that rolled cabbage dish or the spinach lasagna she knows you’ll complain about.”

Elysia snorted. “I hate that lasagna.”

“I know.” Her Theía’s smile turned faintly wicked. “She’s making it anyway.”

The laugh that bubbled out of Elysia was real. Low and startled, warm in the way things were when you weren’t expecting to be understood. It was halfway through that sip of tea that Hera moved—reaching for something just beside her, something Elysia hadn’t noticed at all until now.

A box.

Simple, elegant. Midnight blue with gold trim, tied with a ribbon that shimmered faintly like starlight.

She placed it gently on the table between them and sat back, folding her hands in her lap with the practiced ease of someone who’d done this countless times across countless eras.

“Happy belated birthday, my dear,” Theía said, her tone smooth as silk but carrying something more beneath it. “A gift—from both myself and your father.”

Elysia reached for it slowly, fingertips brushing the ribbon before tugging it free with a whisper of silk. The lid lifted easily. Inside, nestled against black velvet, was a ring.

Silver. Heavier than it looked. The band curved in a split design—two sweeping arcs that moved toward each other but never quite touched, like twin blades drawn in tandem, or leaves caught in mirrored wind. Flecks of gold dusted the edges as if they’d been painted with a god’s hand.

She’d seen leaf rings before. She’d even worn a few. But nothing like this. This one wasn’t meant for stacking, or aesthetics. 

“That is its dormant form,” Hera added lightly, as if discussing the weather. “Hephaestus was quite clever in shaping it that way. I admit, I doubted it could be done—but alas, he took inspiration from Anaklusmos . ”

“You had Hephaestus make this?” That... surprised her. Deeply. 

Of all the names she expected Hera to drop, that wasn’t one of them. Given their history—fractured and fire-forged as it was—the idea that they’d worked together on something, for her, felt almost impossible. Hera and Hephaestus in collaboration? That was like asking a thunderstorm and a wildfire to braid each other’s hair.

But the Goddess merely gave a slight shrug, more amused than offended. “No. He came to us. Saw what Hades made you, frowned like only he can, and declared—rather dramatically, I might add—that no girl should be expected to carry that around every day. Then he said something about ‘messing around with it’ and vanished into his forge for a week.”

Elysia’s brows pulled together. “So this… isn’t just a ring?”

“It is not,” the immortal confirmed. “He brought us that updated version as a thank-you—for helping one of his own. I do not know what you did, but it benefited you. Greatly.”

She blinked again, glancing down at the ring in her hand, like it might start glowing.

“Put it on,” Hera instructed. “Wait a second, and then remove it—but only with the intention to use it. The ring will know.”

Of course it would. Because gods didn’t do anything simple.

Still, Elysia turned the band between her fingers for a breath longer. Then, slowly, she slipped it onto her middle finger.

It fit perfectly.

There was a cool pulse of metal against her skin—followed by a flicker of warmth, like something had settled into place. And then… light.

A faint, deep violet glow began to pulse along the edges of the ring. Not blinding, but strange enough to hold her still. She didn’t breathe.

Then came the prick. A sting, and she hissed, startled as a bead of her own blood welled up against the metal and vanished, absorbed into the silver like ink sinking into paper.

Her brows shot up. “The hell was that?”

“Oh, don’t mind that. Something about recognition by blood. A safeguard. Unless you willingly give the ring away, it will always find its way back to you.”

“Comforting,” Elysia muttered. Her hand flexed. “What exactly did you guys give me?”

“Only one way to find out,” that smile was all queen and no mercy. “Up, up. I don’t want the table damaged.”

The mortal stood, warily, and braced herself as she reached for the ring. Her fingers curled around it, pulse ticking fast. She focused—not just on pulling it off, but on calling whatever lay within. Letting that want, that purpose, surface like instinct.

The moment it slipped past her knuckle, the air snapped.

The ring unspooled like thread caught in a storm, metal elongating and folding outward in a cascade of impossible motion. It didn’t just grow—it forged itself in real time.

The result hit the floor with a solid thunk .

Elysia staggered back a step, blinking at the thing now in her hands. A weapon. No question. No pretense. No training blade or ceremonial heirloom. 

It was a polearm—but not like any she’d ever seen in training. Long and elegant, the shaft was forged from dark iron streaked with thin, lightning-like veins of gold, like magma frozen mid-flow. It was cool to the touch, but it thrummed faintly in her grip like it was alive. Each end bore a massive crescent axe blade, their curves perfectly mirrored, edges glinting wickedly in the light like they were daring someone to get close.

It was beautiful. Intimidating. Absolutely the kind of weapon that would look incredible on a battlefield or in a mural.

Not in her hands.

“What…?” Her voice cracked slightly. “What am I supposed to do with this? I can’t carry this. I can barely hold up a freaking sword!” she hissed, clutching the axe like it might explode. She tried to lift it into a ready stance—tried being the operative word—and while it wasn’t as heavy as it looked, her grip wobbled embarrassingly.

It was like giving a dragon-slaying lance to a girl who still sometimes tripped over uneven stairs.

Across the table, Hera didn’t poke. Didn’t mock. She simply raised a brow like the goddess she was and said evenly, “Learn to use it.”

As if it were the easiest thing in the world. As if training with a weapon like this, meant to do more than just wound, should come naturally. Like it was written in her DNA, something she'd just forgotten how to access. The casualness of it, the assumption that she could, that she would, made Elysia bit her lip.

“That,” the Goddess continued, gesturing toward the polearm, “is Stygian Iron. The gold is no more than decoration.” 

The Demigod blinked, completely lost. “I don’t understand a single word that you just said to me.”

And so, a few long minutes and an unsolicited lecture later, Elysia got the rundown:

“Okay,” she muttered, mostly to herself now, “so—Stygian Iron. Magical underworld metal. Creepy as hell. Apparently forges in the River Styx or something equally morbid. Unlike Imperial Gold or Celestial Bronze, which are usually picky and only hurt monsters or gods depending on who’s wielding it… this thing? This thing just goes for everything . Mortals, monsters, immortals, gods. No discrimination. Equal opportunity weaponized doom.”

Hera didn’t so much as blink. “You’re welcome.”

Of course she was unbothered. Elysia was now wearing a death ring that turned into a giant axe, and the Queen of the Gods said it as if they were discussing fashion.

“Now,” her Theía said smoothly, setting down her cup, “onto our main topic. What of my offer?”

Right. That.

Her heart gave an uncomfortable twist. She hadn’t come up here to say yes. She was going to say no. That had been the plan the moment she stepped off the elevator. She was going to tell Hera exactly what she thought about immortality, and titles, and eternal servitude disguised as glory.

But the word never made it to her lips.

Something shifted. Not in the room—within her.

Her shadows, which had been quiet and still since she arrived, suddenly stirred. They twisted uneasily beneath her chair, coiling in tight circles like smoke caught in wind.

Her brow furrowed. “What…?”

They tugged at her heel.

Not hard. Not aggressive. But urgent. Nervous.

She glanced down and saw them flicker across the marble floor—shaping into something, anything they could manage with their limited form. A flash of a boy—spiky hair, a sword in hand. A monster. A scorpion. Fangs. Movement. Camp. Ocean waves.

Fear.

Elysia’s stomach dropped.

“I have to go,” she said, pushing up from her seat so fast the chair scraped back against the floor.

Across the table, Hera lifted her chin, one perfectly arched brow rising in mild disapproval. “Our conversation is not finished. I have given you all summer.”

Elysia barely heard her. The shadows were writhing now—tugging at her ankles, twisting like smoke around her calves, jittery and anxious in a way she hadn’t felt.

“I need to get back to camp,” she said tightly, already stepping back. Her heart was beating too fast. “Something’s wrong. I don’t know what, but I have to go.”

Across from her, Hera didn’t rise. She didn’t shout or conjure fire or thunder. She simply narrowed her eyes and stayed perfectly still. A queen watching a child flail. “You’ve had weeks ,” that voice was honey steel. “And now you want to run? Without an answer?”

“This isn’t about that,”  Elysia snapped before she could stop herself. She caught the edge in her own voice, bit down hard on it, and forced herself to breathe. “Please. I don’t have time to explain. Just let me go—” 

There was no time. No time to argue. No time to plead. No time to untangle everything knotted up inside her. The shadows beneath her chair were coiling tighter now, lashing in restless, warning circles. Her skin prickled. Her blood itched. Her instincts screamed like sirens in her skull: Go. Go. GO.

Her fists clenched.

If she said no now, Theía would stop her. She’d press. Ask why. Demand an explanation. And Hera never asked gently. It would take time—too much of it. Time Elysia didn’t have. 

“ Fine, ” she growled, the word catching behind her teeth. “I’ll be your champion.”

Hera’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“But I need to get back to camp now, ” the Demigod continued, her voice cracking just enough to betray the urgency beneath it. “ Theía. Please. Can you send me straight there?”

For a moment, the goddess simply studied her—like she couldn’t quite understand the sudden panic but was intrigued by it nonetheless. Hera’s fingers tapped once against the porcelain rim of her teacup, and something in her gaze flickered. Then, she gave the smallest nod.

“Very well, my dear.”

With a snap of her fingers, the world changed.

Pain seared across her collarbone—a bloom of burning magic that scorched her right down to bone. It felt like being branded. She staggered, her breath ripped from her chest, shadows surging to catch her even as the marble vanished from beneath her boots. No warning. No time to brace. Just that snap—and then the ground slammed up to meet her.

She hit the earth hard.

Damp forest floor, pine needles, the faint scent of moss, and something acrid. Heat clung to her skin as her body jolted with the force of re-entry. The transition from Olympus to Camp Half-Blood’s borderlands left her dizzy, and for a second, she just crouched there, fingers digging into the dirt, lungs dragging in breath after breath.

Her shadows pulsed anxiously around her, flickering and twitching like they wanted to bolt in every direction at once.

Then she heard it.

A wet crack . Wood splintering. A body hitting bark.

Her head snapped up.

And she ran.

The trees blurred around her as she tore through the forest, ignoring the branches clawing at her arms, the burn in her lungs. Her shadows raced ahead, clearing her path, dragging her toward something—someone.

Percy stood at the edge of a small clearing, sword drawn, barely upright. A massive black scorpion the size of a small dog was crawling up his leg. In one last burst of strength, he swung Riptide—and sliced it clean in half midair.

She almost cheered.

Then she saw his hand.

A blistering welt had already bloomed across his palm, swelling angry and red, oozing yellow at the edges like something sick rotting from the inside. His sword hit the ground with a hollow clang that barely registered over the sound of her own heartbeat. He stumbled, dragging himself to the nearby stream like instinct alone was guiding him, and collapsed into the shallow water with a splash that sent ripples lapping against the bank.

Elysia’s heart nearly stopped.

She was at his side in an instant, knees hitting the earth, not caring about the mud or how biting the rocks felt beneath her palms. Percy was shaking, his skin cold and clammy, his breaths growing more uneven with each passing second. His eyes were glassy, unfocused. She reached out instinctively, her hands hovering uselessly over his. 

She had no healing gifts, no celestial ambrosia tucked in her pockets, no miracles to offer. Her shadows flared at her back, coiled and tense, responding to her fear with an unease of their own.

Then she felt it.

It wasn’t just that Percy was hurt—she felt it. Like something deep and ancient was pulling at the threads of him, unraveling him slowly from the inside out. The way her stomach hollowed. The chill that slid down her spine. It was the same feeling she got standing in the Fields of Asphodel, in those terrible quiet moments when she brushed too close to the River Lethe and felt the echoes of souls begin to fade. Death wasn’t near. It was coming —fast, wrapping its cold fingers around him—and her chest locked at the knowing.

He was dying. And she knew it.

“No, no, no—hey, stay with me,” she breathed, voice cracking, her hands finally landing on his shoulder, the side of his face. “You’re fine. You’re gonna be fine, okay?” But her voice trembled. She didn’t believe herself. She couldn’t. Not when every part of her heritage screamed at her that he didn’t have long.

“Someone help me!” she screamed this time, desperation breaking through the panic. “He’s been stung!”

The trees shifted. Two nymphs emerged from the shadows, their expressions tightening in alarm the moment they saw him. One hesitated for just a breath—just long enough for Elysia to shoot her a look that could’ve curdled milk—before nodding and taking off toward camp like the wind itself carried her. The second one knelt opposite her, already slipping Percy’s arm around her shoulder without a word.

Elysia stood and moved with her, slipping beneath his weight, trying to carry what she could even though his limbs hung heavy, too heavy, like he was already halfway gone. Every faltering breath made her own come shorter. Every lurch in his step sent fresh waves of dread crawling through her bones. His head lolled against her shoulder, and her grip tightened. She wasn’t letting him fall. 

“You’re okay,” she whispered, not sure if she was saying it for him or herself. “Almost there. Just stay with me. Please.”

The trees parted. They stumbled into the clearing.

A counselor was already shouting. Another camper pointed, wide-eyed, and a conch horn blew somewhere in the distance—loud, brash, and urgent.

She barely registered the hands that came to help, or the voices trying to take charge. All she could hear was the thunder of her own heartbeat and the whisper of too late crawling along her spine.

And then Chiron was there. She didn’t know where he came from. Just that suddenly, his towering centaur form was in front of her, speaking to her in a tone that was meant to soothe. But it didn’t reach her. Her head just shook back and forth, uselessly, helplessly.

“He’s dying,” she said. The words came out like a broken prayer. “He is dying, Chiron. I feel him dying—”

She repeated it again, and again, like maybe if she said it enough, it would change. As if speaking the truth could unmake it. But her voice cracked on the last repetition, and she wasn’t even sure she could feel her own feet anymore.

And then Chiron’s eyes landed on her— really landed. Like something in him shifted. Like he was seeing not just Elysia, but something he hadn’t expected. Something that didn’t match the puzzle piece he thought he’d placed a long time ago. 

But then everything blurred again.

She remembered glimpses—Annabeth bursting through the crowd, her face pale and frantic. Mr. D raising a brow at her, Percy being lifted off her shoulder, carried past her like a broken thing. The doors to the Big House flung open. Someone shouting instructions. A flash of gold. A healing salve. Magic? She didn’t know. She couldn’t move.

She just stood there, rooted to the hallway, her hands still shaking, her legs refusing to bend. Her brain was trying to make sense of it all, trying to put it into neat boxes—but it couldn’t. None of it felt real. It was too fast. Too loud. Too much.

It felt like a movie playing out in front of her. Like she was watching herself from a distance. That had to be it. Because this— this —couldn’t be her reality. She’d gotten back in time. She had . She had to have.

But she couldn’t breathe.

Her chest locked, her vision swimming. Her heart pounded against her ribs like it was trying to claw its way out, and everything of what she’d felt when Percy started to slip, of what she couldn’t stop, pressed down on her until her knees nearly gave out.

And without another thought, without a word, she let the shadows rise.

They crawled up her legs like smoke and swallowed her whole, grateful, eager to answer her distress. And Elysia let them. She let them take her. Let them pull her under and away and anywhere else that wasn’t here. Because being here meant feeling everything.

And she wasn’t ready for that.

Chapter Text

If there was one thing Elysia had come to understand about herself in the months since leaving Camp Half-Blood — since the whole Percy nearly dying incident — it was this:

She was a coward.

No, really. What else would you call someone who panicked in the middle of a crisis, let shadows swallow her whole, and then just… left? She hadn’t even waited to see if he’d be okay. Just vanished like a ghost and didn’t look back.

Annabeth would never have done that. The other demigods wouldn’t have either, probably. Not the real heroes. Not the ones who didn’t let fear choke them out when it mattered.

But her? She’d run.

Sure, she’d followed it up with a letter—sent a week later on pale purple stationery decorated with little stars in the corners. Her handwriting had been neat, the kind she only used when she was overthinking. The note hadn’t been long. Just a quiet: Glad you didn’t die. Sorry I disappeared. Should’ve stayed to make sure you were okay. I hope you’re better now. I really do.

She’d left out the part about it being a panic attack. She hadn’t even realized it was one until days later, when she woke up sweating and shaking in her own bed, the memory of Percy going limp in her arms flashing behind her eyes.

She hadn’t touched her axe since. Hadn’t called on her shadows unless absolutely necessary. Hadn’t seen Hera or her father, either. Not because they were busy—but because she was actively avoiding them.

All of it, her guilt, her shame, her anger at herself, had started to bubble over, and eventually, it leaked out in the way it always did: through her behavior.

If Elysia had been quiet last school year, this year she was trouble . Capital T. Trouble. Her record wasn’t exactly sparkling. Detention twice in the first month. A cafeteria altercation. A pencil snapped in two and launched like a dart across the classroom. And then, the one that finally made the school call home: punching a kid square in the face.

Her mother had been mortified .

Not angry. Not immediately, at least. Just… stunned. Which was somehow worse. They’d sat in her mom’s Mercedes for almost half an hour after picking her up from the principal’s office, neither saying a word, the silence awkward and heavy.

Until finally, Lizbeth sighed and glanced over at her daughter, still gripping the wheel like she might drive them off a cliff if Elysia didn’t speak soon.

“Did you at least win?” she asked, deadpan.

Elysia snorted. “ Duh. ”

And that was it. The end of the conversation.

Well—until later that week, when she overheard her mom on the phone, paying the school to keep her enrolled. And then came the real talk: “Elysia, if you keep this up, you’re going to have to repeat the eighth grade. We might even have to transfer you. Again.”

So she dialed it back. Mostly.

She kept her sarcasm low and only mouthed off to teachers under her breath. Her grades didn’t tank, but she definitely wasn’t trying either. She was just… surviving.

And yes, she was fourteen and still in the eighth grade. And if you were wondering why, it was a fair question.

Long story short? Her mother hadn’t put her into school on time.

Apparently, something had spooked Lizbeth enough when Elysia was little to delay kindergarten. by a whole year. She never said what—only something vague about needing more time, about Elysia not being “ready” when the other kids were. Not in the way that made sense developmentally, but in the way that made Lizbeth flinch whenever certain dates on the calendar came around.

It had never made much sense to Elysia.

But at this point, nothing did.

“Sometimes, I miss California,” she muttered one afternoon, slouched across the couch, legs draped over the side.

Her mother didn’t even look up from the magazine in her lap. Just gave her that signature Lizbeth look—half disbelief, half you-must-be-insane. “Do you even remember it? You were what, nearly seven when we moved.”

But she did remember. Not everything—but enough. Enough to recall her mom at the kitchen table, her fingers massaging her temple while bills fanned out in front of her. The hush of the TV left on in the background. The quiet way her mother used to talk to herself in ukrainian while budgeting, calculating how to make it all stretch.

She’d never understood back then why her mom never just asked him for help—why she didn’t press her dad for more money. He had money. God of riches, hello? But Lizbeth had always been stubborn. Independent in that quietly fierce way. Even if she was a model, she’d taken fewer jobs back then. Chosen to stay home. Chosen to raise Elysia herself, because the idea of leaving her daughter in someone else’s hands gave her anxiety.

Elysia understood that now.

Compared to her mom, Elysia hadn’t known a hard life. Not really. Her mother had always pulled extra money out of thin air when needed, made sure her daughter had what she needed. After-school programs. Clean uniforms. Good schools. It hadn’t always been glamorous, but it had been safe. And maybe, now that she was older, Elysia could see it for what it really was: Lizbeth trying to give her daughter everything she hadn’t had growing up. Especially as a first-generation immigrant who’d been taught to survive, barely thrive.

“I remember the sun,” Elysia said, voice softer this time as she reached for the small pile of letters beside her.

She tore open the one on top—Annabeth’s. Neatly folded, typewriter-precise penmanship. A full rundown of the start of her school year, a bullet-point list of which monsters she thought might be stalking her school.

Elysia read as she wrote, pen dancing across floral paper, matching letterhead to mood. That was her thing. She had dozens of sets—stars, moons, pressed flowers, sarcastic cats with bows. Stationery for every possible occasion, and maybe one too many colorful pens.

She opened Silena’s next—glitter stickers, pink ink, a list of boys she was considering kissing (or hexing).

And then Percy’s.

She snorted the second she saw the handwriting—slanted, messy, like he’d half-scribbled it between classes or during lunch. It veered off-topic halfway through, started recounting something about Mrs. Dodds nearly vaporizing a guy for chewing gum too loudly, then trailed into a side-note about his mom’s lasagna. Rambling. Endearing. Very him.

Still, her lips curved into a smile as she folded the letter carefully and pulled out a fresh sheet of her lavender stationery. The one with little gold suns pressed into the corners. It matched the vibe. And maybe, just maybe, she liked the idea of him reading something neat and pretty after sending her a letter that looked like it had barely survived a monster attack.

She was halfway through telling Percy about Seattle’s winter markets—how there were entire blocks of booths, each lit up with string lights and smelling like hot cider and roasted chestnuts—when her mom’s voice floated in.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Lizbeth called casually, “your father asked if you’d spend winter break with him and Persephone again this year. I told him he can have you up until New Year’s, but I get you at the start of the year. And you all have to come home for christmas.”

Her pen stopped mid-word. Ink pooled into a soft purple dot.

She blinked slowly, trying to act like she hadn’t just been sucker-punched. “What? That’s like—in a week.”

“You went last year,” her mother replied simply, as if that was supposed to make this easier. “He’s already expecting you.”

There was no way she hadn’t noticed the way Elysia had been tiptoeing around the subject for weeks. The sidestepped questions. The way she changed the topic every time the word Underworld came up. Her avoidance wasn’t subtle. It was practically carved into her schedule.

“I was going to play video games during break,” Elysia muttered weakly, not even bothering to make it sound convincing. It was a bad excuse and they both knew it. She could bring her Gameboy, even her entire console setup if she wanted. The Underworld wasn’t some black-and-white movie set. Her room there probably had better Wi-Fi than the entire state of Washington.

But that wasn’t the problem. Not even close.

She hadn’t seen him in months. Not since Olympus. Not since she agreed to be Hera’s Champion and bolted the second Percy collapsed at her feet. And more than the trip, more than missing her mom or even the creeping feeling of unfinished business—what unsettled her most was the silence. 

“Stop making that face,” Her mother huffed. “You look like someone canceled your birthday and ran over your dog.”

“I get it from a certain parent,”

“Yeah, yeah—Mr. ‘I am the god of doom and gloom’. He probably has a cloak for moping.”

“I’m telling Papa you’re making fun of him.”

“Good. Tell him I said he can take his brooding and fold the laundry with it.”

Elysia blinked, snorted, and went back to her letter.

Yeah. Definitely her mother’s daughter.

And then it felt like the week vanished in the blink of an eye.

One second, she was curled up with a pen in her hand and her mother heckling her from the kitchen, and the next she was standing in the front hallway, backpack slung over one shoulder, making Lizbeth promise—again—to Iris-message her dad if any letters came for her while she was away.

Finals week had been... annoying. Not brutal, not impossible, just the slow, dragging kind of time that left her both overstimulated and under-functioning. Between barn chores in the freezing cold and marathon sessions with textbooks she didn’t care about, Elysia had spent most of it hovering somewhere between “barely surviving” and “quietly losing it.” Every hour spent pretending to be normal, to fit in with kids who didn’t dodge monsters on their walk between classes, felt like a bad joke. 

She was tired. Bone-deep, soul-wrapped tired. And all she wanted to do was sleep.

For like… three years.

Maybe she could get away with that in the Underworld. Who was going to stop her from shadow-traveling straight into her room and immediately knocking out? Persephone? 

Still, there was something about walking the streets of L.A. again that made everything feel weirdly real and distant at the same time. The air was warmer than back home, buzzing with leftover sunlight and smog and that faint holiday energy she usually liked. Not today. Today, it all just reminded her that she’d spent the entire walk from the shadow exit taking the long route.

Totally not because she was still avoiding going home. Nope. Not at all.

She’d told herself it was to say hi to Charon. That she definitely needed to check in on Cerberus and get the big guy his usual snack and ear scritches. That Annabeth would kill her if she didn’t stop by and give the three-headed beast a hello from his favorite daughter of Athena. But even she knew she was stalling.

And if petting a literal hellhound for fifteen extra minutes kept her out of that first awkward conversation a little longer?

So be it.

Charon had tolerated her presence for maybe fifteen minutes, tops. Long enough for her to hand over some snacks and receive one arched brow and a very pointed “You do know he’s waiting for you?” before Cerberus let out a bone-deep whine that echoed all the way across the asphodel plain like a guilty summons.

She muttered something very eloquent under her breath—something like “traitor”—and trudged on.

The River Styx hissed its cold eternal song, its whispers clawing at her thoughts while her ring seemed a tad bit colder on her hand. The black volcanic sand crunched softly beneath her boots as she followed the winding path, past drifting souls and half-seen shades that instinctively parted for her without being asked. She didn’t say anything to them. Didn’t have to. They knew who she was.

The tollbooth ghouls in their black-robed silence bowed their heads as she passed, murmuring low, half-audible words that made her skin prickle. Welcome home, she thought she heard. Or maybe welcome back.

And weirdly?

She didn’t feel panic. Or dread. Or the aching, breathless suffocation that had followed her the last time she’d been here. When her birthday had turned into an escape plan she hadn’t even meant to follow through on. She didn’t feel like she was running anymore.

She just felt… still.

And then—because of course— the ground shuddered.

There was a low, echoing rumble and the sudden press of heat behind her, and a moment later, a massive three-headed Rottweiler crashed through the shadows in front of her with all the grace of an earthquake.

Cerberus.

The middle head let out a joyful bark, tail wagging like a sledgehammer on the stone path.

The left head lunged immediately for her backpack, clamping its giant teeth around the strap like it was a chew toy.

And the right one? The right one barreled into her side and shoved its snout under her arm, making a high, whiny noise like it hadn’t seen her in years.

She laughed, breath catching in her chest as she stumbled back a step and dropped to one knee, wrapping her arms around the thick fur of Cerberus’s right neck. “Okay, okay, I missed you too,” she muttered, burying her face against him. “You oversized disaster dog.”

The left head was still gnawing at her bag.

“Stop that,” she scolded, pulling it away. “There’s chocolate in there, and I’m not fighting death’s dog over it.”

Cerberus let out a sound suspiciously close to a sulk.

The right head huffed against her, snout nudging her cheek affectionately.

Yeah. She was definitely back.

It didn’t take long after that for him to herd her down the path like a parade float, barely letting her walk. The Furies even showed up halfway through, hovering in the distance with eerie smiles and nodding their heads like courtly greeters. Elysia nodded back—awkwardly, as one does when three immortal murder aunties decide to show up like she was royalty returning from exile.

By the time she got to the palace, she was half-expecting an awkward reunion. Stilted words. A lecture.

But instead, Persephone had swept her up into a hug the second the doors opened. No words, no ceremony. Just warmth, and a soft, “There you are, little bloom. We’ve missed you.”

And her dad had just walked over, paused in front of her with that unreadable look he wore like armor... and patted her head.

He didn’t speak at first. Just stood there for a long moment.

Then he said quietly, “Welcome home.”

And honestly? That almost got her.

Later, after she’d cleaned up and Cerberus had been fed and dismissed (reluctantly), she curled up in one of the palace’s smaller sitting rooms—though “small” was relative in a place built like a Gothic cathedral crossed with a five-star hotel. It felt more like a self-contained home tucked inside a kingdom, all warm lamplight and cozy couches and heavy velvet curtains that kept out the whispers from the River Styx.

Persephone sat by the fire, flipping through a book. Hades stood near the window, staring out at the gently flickering fields of Asphodel.

Elysia stretched across one of the chairs, twisting her hair into a lazy bun. “So. Mom says if you two don’t show up for Christmas dinner, she’s going to be pissed. And also, quote, ‘figure out how to poison two immortal beings.’”

Persephone smiled faintly without looking up. “I always do like her flair for dramatics.”

“She says it with love,” Elysia added.

“Mm,” her father muttered. “Her love comes with arsenic.”

“She bakes you cookies.”

“Poison cookies apparently,” he corrected. “But yes.”

It was quiet for a beat, the fire crackling, the Underworld settling around them in the way it only could—like silence, emptiness.

“Liz said you got into a physical altercation,” Hades commented, voice light but firm in that way that meant he’d been holding it in for exactly long enough.

The Demigod groaned, flopping her head back against the cushions. “Gods, she told you?”

“She did.”

“She said she wouldn’t make it a thing.”

“She said it in a very pointed letter,” Persephone added, flipping a page. “As if she couldn’t have just Iris-messaged.”

Elysia sat up and crossed her arms. “He put his hand on me,” she said flatly. “So I punched him.”

Hades looked over at her then, slowly, and for a second, something dangerous flickered behind his eyes. The kind of look that said that boy was lucky Elysia had handled it before the God could.

“Not like that,” she amended quickly. “I mean—he grabbed my arm, that’s all. He was just being a jerk, and I just… reacted.” Her voice pitched up slightly. “It was instinct. Like—my brain didn’t even get a vote. I knew I didn’t like him, he was always kind of a bully, but I didn’t plan it or anything.”

She mimicked the quick jab she’d thrown, more for emphasis than demonstration. “Boom. Reflex. No thinking involved.”

There was a pause. A long one.

And then, because silence made her anxious, she added, “I know it was dramatic. I wasn’t trying to be. It just kind of happened. I’m not exactly proud of it.”

The gods shared a small look—one of those quiet, wordless conversations Elysia had learned to read over the months. Then Persephone stood, gently closing her book and setting it aside.

“My little bloom,” she said, voice soft and warm, “you’re a demigod. That reaction isn’t some flaw in your character, it’s how your mind’s been wired to survive. Especially when your instincts are screaming at you that something’s off. It’s not something to be ashamed of.”

Elysia ducked her head, mumbling a quiet, “Still kind of felt like an overreaction.”

“At least my daughter chooses to fight,” Hades said, calm as ever—but there was a thread of pride braided through the words.

She scrunched up her nose. “I’m pretty sure your daughter is a coward.”

Persephone snorted under her breath, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of the mortal’s head. “You two need some time.”

And with that, she swept out of the room with the kind of grace only the Queen of the Underworld could manage, calling something faint and vague about checking on the solarium on her way out.

Elysia watched her go, then slumped back into the cushions. The silence stretched between her and her father until it was too thick to ignore.

“It’s like I’m not comfortable in my own skin anymore,” she admitted at last. Her voice was quiet—tired. “Like my body and my mind are trying to do things I don’t understand. Fight things I can’t even see yet. And if I don’t hold on—really hold on—then my shadows act on their own. They move. They feel things.” She swallowed, throat tightening. “I felt him start to die, Papa.”

She didn’t say who. She didn’t feel the need to. The memory of Percy collapsing still lived behind her eyes, heavy and raw. Saying it aloud made her stomach twist.

And Hades, for a long moment, said nothing.

Then he exhaled. A slow breath. A tired breath she felt. 

“You are,” he said carefully, “afraid of yourself. Of what you are meant to become. And my sister did you no favor by making you her Champion without care or clarity. The title was meant to make a statement—and it did. Any god will see it.”

She just made a face. What did that even mean? Like some kind of tether? “A statement? Like… what? I’m some kind of walking banner?”

Her father shifted slightly, walking to her then reached out and tapped the spot just above her collarbone. She blinked at him. She remembered something burning there but nothing had ever shown up. 

“There is a mark there,” he said, “invisible to your eye unless Hera wills it. Or if you draw strength from the pact you made.”

Her brows knit together. “She didn’t… offer me anything. No power. No training. Just the title.”

That made Hades pause. Then, slowly, he blinked.

“Verbal discussion of terms?” he asked.

She shook her head, confused. “No. She just… looked at me, and I panicked. And I said yes.”

In any other situation, the silence might’ve been funny.  Then, in a very un-godly, deeply mortal expression of parental exasperation, Hades dropped his head into his hands and groaned. “You agreed to Hera’s terms without negotiating them.”

Elysia raised both hands. “It was kind of an emergency!”

“You gave your word to Hera.”

“I was having a crisis! ” she snapped back. “All I said was, ‘Fine, I’ll be your champion.’ That’s it. She said the title was for my protection . ”

“I take full blame for this,” He muttered, now looking upward like some divine memo from Olympus might descend to explain how his daughter had become the equivalent of a diplomatic bargaining chip. “Elysia, you’ve accepted the role of Champion. That means you are hers to command —to serve her whims, her fleeting interests, her political maneuverings. And you didn’t ask for anything in return?”

She winced. “Papa, she said the only thing I’d be expected to do was three great quests if I wanted immortality, and I don’t —” She stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes locked onto his.

A horrible, sinking pause.

“…She wouldn’t.”

Hades didn’t smile. Didn’t reassure her. He just looked tired.

“My sister can be... generous. To those she favors,” he said carefully. “But she is also the Queen of Olympus for a reason. And she will take every opportunity given to her. Even if there is no immediate threat, even if the promise seems optional—she plays the long game. Hera always has.”

Elysia stared at him. Her stomach twisted.

“I thought—I figured it was ceremonial,”  her voice a little too small for her liking. “Like a title. Like it wouldn’t actually mean anything unless I wanted it to.”

“Titles always mean something. Especially when gods gives them.”

Elysia flopped back onto the couch like the sheer weight of her life choices had finally flattened her. “This is so dumb.”

Hades folded himself into the armchair beside her. “She’s at least placed herself between you and any... divine retribution. For now. This Champion business is her version of protection.”

“Which is stupid ,” Elysia growled, flinging an arm over her face. “Why do we have to suffer because gods can’t keep it in their togas ? Why is my existence a political inconvenience?”

Her father snorted—an actual snort—and she peeked out from beneath her arm to glare at him.

“That’s the most vocal you’ve ever been about it,” he said, dry amusement in his voice. “Normally you go quiet. Trail after me like a little lost shade. Or shut yourself in your room for days on end.”

She didn’t dignify that with an answer. Just reached up and spun the ring on her finger, the same one hiding a weapon forged from nightmares. The cool metal caught the firelight in slow glints as she twisted it absently.

“You’ve yet to share your thoughts on your birthday gift,” Hades added mildly.

Her hand lifted to brush against one of her gold hoop earrings. “Considering I still wear them? I find them... lovely.”

He shook his head with a faint, disbelieving smile and gently took her hand, angling it so the ring caught the glow of the hearth. “Hera did tell you it was from the both of us. I wouldn’t put it past her to leave that part out.”

Elysia rolled her eyes. “And like I told Theía , when she said it was a joint effort, what in the hell am I supposed to do with it? Hera hasn’t seen me train. You have. You know I suck. I’m barely decent with daggers.” She shifted on the couch to face him fully, arms crossed. “So your grand idea is to hand me a double-sided murder axe? For what, spiritual growth? Intimidation? Accidental self-decapitation?”

He flicked her in the forehead.

Hard.

“ Ow! ” she hissed, rubbing the spot. “What was that for?!”

“To remind you you’re not helpless,” Hades said simply. “And you are no coward.”

She blinked at him.

“I do not want you to have a hero’s fate,” he continued, voice quieter now, something rawer at the edges. “I want you to be happy. But if you choose to walk that path—if you decide to embrace what you're becoming—then I will not stop you. I can’t begrudge you for it.”

His gaze softened, heavy with something only a father could feel when his child stood on the edge of something greater—and more dangerous—than either of them could predict.

“But I can help you,” he said. “When you're ready to stop running. And if I must argue with my sister over you, then so be it. This choice is yours.”

That tugged something deep in her chest. Not painful exactly, but tight. Pulled taut with something unspoken and brittle. Love, maybe. Grief. Maybe both.

And she thought about it for a long time after that. Long after her boots were off, her jacket folded neatly on the chair in the corner of her room, her axe ring sitting on her nightstand like it was just jewelry and not a declaration of power. Her head hit the pillow, but sleep didn’t come easily.

Because the answer she kept circling back to was no.

She didn’t want to be a hero.

She didn’t want the spotlight. Didn’t want Hera or Olympus or anyone demanding her loyalty in exchange for impossible quests or the promise of immortality. Not when she was still learning how to be enough for herself. Not when just breathing felt like a challenge some days.

But she didn’t want to be helpless either.

She couldn’t love herself like that. Not after the nightmares. Not after the feel of Percy slipping away in her arms. Not after her shadows twitched and moved without her permission, stirred by something primal and dark that she still didn’t understand.

That indecision pressed on her chest.

That was when the dream came.

It started, as they often did, on the beach.

The sky was soft with twilight, washed in colors too blurred to name. The waves lapped gently against the shore, and her feet were bare in the sand, damp and warm, as if she’d just arrived. Wind tugged at her clothes. Salt kissed the air. It should have been peaceful.

Suddenly, the ground shifted beneath her.

Not dramatically.  Just the faintest tremor. Enough to throw her slightly off-balance.

Then came the fracture.

The beach cracked open in a jagged line beneath her feet, a seam tearing down the middle of the world. Sand gave way to shadow. Seafoam turned to smoke. She tried to move, but her body wouldn’t obey. The moment she blinked, the earth beneath her vanished entirely.

She was falling.

No scream. No sound. Just gone. The sky ripped upward and the ground fell away like paper. There was no weight, no sense of movement—just the endless sensation of dropping, like she’d been forgotten by gravity itself.

And then the shadows came for her.

They didn't crawl. They glided. Whispered. Sank through the corners of her mind like oil slipping beneath a locked door.

It was golden.

Too golden.

Everything shimmered with a sickly light, like the sun left too long on dying leaves. The air buzzed with static, and the ground returned beneath her feet, cracked marble, veined with something molten and glowing. It pulsed faintly in time with her heartbeat—or maybe not her own at all.

She turned, slowly, trying to find a source, something to anchor her. But the horizon just stretched into forever, warped and wrong. The stars—if they were stars—seemed to blink in and out like dying embers. And somewhere, far too close for comfort, a voice came.

Soft. Almost kind. “You are restless, little one. Even in sleep.”

Elysia froze.

She didn’t know who it belonged to, only that it felt ancient. It didn’t echo so much as wrap around her thoughts, like silk drawn tight. Her shadow flickered at her heels, uncertain. Even it seemed wary.

“You’re trying so hard to hold it all together. To keep your balance on a crumbling stage built by gods who never intended you to stand on it.”

She tried to speak—tried to say who are you or shut up —but her voice didn’t carry. The dream didn’t allow it.

“They’ll make a monster of you. If not today, then soon. They’ll call you dangerous. Unstable. They’ll whisper your name like a burden while sending you to die in their name.”

The air thickened, like golden smoke curling down her throat.

“You are no hero, little shadow.”

The world pulsed once—hard—and she staggered.

“You were never meant to be.”

She gasped as pain lanced behind her eyes. Images burned across her vision. Percy on the forest floor. Shadows curling around a monster’s throat. Hera’s voice, silken and demanding. A glint of gold on her collarbone. Her mother, looking away. Her father, weary-eyed and quiet.

“But I see something greater. You are a reckoning. A solution.”

The voice was closer now, coiling behind her ears. Gentle. Gentle in the way fire pretends to be warmth right before it devours everything.

“You only have to stop pretending. Stop reaching for chains and calling them protection.”

And then a hand—large, impossibly old—reached from the shadows behind the gold and touched her shoulder.

Elysia jerked awake with a gasp, drenched in sweat, shadows swirled at the corners, like they hadn’t decided yet if the danger had passed. Like they didn’t know whether to comfort her or brace for more.

Her hands trembled.

‘You are a reckoning…’

The words clung to her, left behind like the scent of something burnt.

She dragged in a breath and kicked off the covers. She needed air. Needed to move. To walk. To forget the way that voice had slithered through her skull like it knew every fracture she was trying to tape over.

When she shifted to stand—something felt… off.

Sticky.

Uncomfortable.

Her brows furrowed. She stilled. Then, slowly, hesitantly, she lifted the edge of the blanket.

And froze.

Blood stained the sheets. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough. Enough that her brain instantly conjured every worst-case scenario. For one terrible second, she thought she’d brought something back with her from the dream. Some wound she hadn’t noticed. Something slipping through the cracks of her mind into her body.

Her breath hitched. Her vision wobbled.

No, no, this can’t be happening—what even is this?

But then… the realization settled. Not all at once. Not cleanly. But in pieces. Slowly. Embarrassingly.

Oh. Oh gods. This is… that.

She hadn’t ever gotten it before. Not once. She’d seen other girls in school deal with it—heard the whispers, seen the emergency hoodie wraps around waists, the quiet girl-code nods and tampon trades in bathrooms—but she’d just... never had to think about it. Not until now. Of course it would wait until she was literally asleep in the Underworld after a dream full of golden rot and whispers about becoming a reckoning. Because that was her life.

Her first instinct was to bolt. Her second was to cry. Her third was to keep pretending this wasn’t happening.

Instead, she reached for her robe, tossed it over her sleep clothes, and peeked her head into the hall like she was sneaking out for snacks instead of dealing with the terrifying reminder that her body had decided now was the time to kickstart this particular rite of passage.

There was no way she was telling Papa . He would absolutely overreact. Like level-the-palace overreact. He’d summon a minor god of blood just to “make sure” everything was normal. He’d call Hera, which was already a no . He might even call Hecate . And none of that was an option.

That left one person.

Please, gods, let her be awake.

Elysia padded down the hall on silent feet, breath held like a prayer, heart pounding. Thankfully, the Underworld didn’t operate on a normal human schedule, and as she neared the edge of Persephone’s private garden, the faint hum of her stepmother’s voice drifted into earshot—low, melodic, and very much awake.

“‘Sephone?” She called softly, pushing open the ivy-laced door to the garden. The scent of wildflowers and magic filled her nose instantly, soft and blooming, a pocket of spring nestled deep in death.

Persephone turned from a bed of golden orchids, her face brightening immediately. “Little bloom! I didn’t expect you awake for another six hours. What are you—”

She stopped. Her gaze dropped.

Elysia followed it, and realized she hadn’t even thought to change. There were stains down her thighs. And her robe hadn’t hidden it. Heat rushed to her face like a slap. She wanted the shadows to swallow her whole.

“Are you hurt?” The Goddess dropped her tools without hesitation and crossed the garden in a flash. “What happened? Did something find you in your sleep?”

“No! No—nothing like that. It’s not... It’s not a monster thing.” Elysia fumbled her words, her hands gesturing vaguely. “It’s just... blood. There was blood. In the bed. And I panicked, and I didn’t know who to ask, and then I figured it out, kind of—” She winced. “I think it’s that .”

And instead of being horrified—or worse, worried—Persephone’s eyes lit up.

“Oh!” the goddess gasped. “Oh, it’s happening!” She clapped her hands like Elysia had just passed some ancient, sacred trial. “We have to tell Bea! And get you cleaned up! Oh, we need fresh linens—”

Persephone swept into motion like this was a festival day instead of a biological horror show. The Demigod barely had time to blink before she was being gently ushered back toward the corridor, shadowed by attentive spirits carrying towels, robes, and what she swore was a pouch of heat packs woven from celestial wool. Her room was already being aired out and cleaned by the time they arrived.

“We’ll have a lovely little coming-of-age ball,” Persephone went on, voice positively glowing. “Announce your maturity to the entire Underworld—oh! And of course, the formal marriage proposals will start rolling in.”

Elysia’s mouth dropped open, brain struggling to process. “You’re kidding,” she said flatly, eyes narrowing.

Her step-mother hummed, smiling all-too-innocent as she passed over a towel. “Am I?”

“I don’t want everyone knowing!” Elysia groaned, her face buried in her hands as Persephone nudged her toward the open bathroom door. The goddess had the audacity to laugh, a soft snort before the door clicked shut behind her—mercifully, finally—leaving her alone.

It took her a full five minutes, a hot shower, and two attempts to get the cotton pads right before she realized that oh . Persephone had been teasing. Not to humiliate her, but to take the sting out of it all. To soften the panic, the embarrassment. It was weirdly comforting, in a completely mortifying sort of way. Only an immortal stepmother could turn a first period into a pretend red-carpet event.

And that ended up being the defining moment of her winter break. A biology milestone in the middle of her stepmom’s underworld garden. Lizbeth had sent an Iris-message care package the next day: herbal teas, milk chocolate, and a note in her mother’s loopy, beautiful handwriting that read, “I’m proud of you, please don’t hex anyone over this. Also, drink water.”

Christmas itself was... weirdly normal. At least, as normal as it could be when the literal King and Queen of the Underworld were there. The pine tree had been dragged in from an overpriced farm on the outskirts of town, its needles still shedding everywhere despite her mother’s best attempts to keep it alive. The fairy lights blinked evenly. Wrapping paper shimmered in blacks and golds. Lizbeth’s vareniki steamed on the stove in overlapping batches, the smell of browned butter and dill filling the house. There was a playlist of Ukrainian Christmas-slash-american music in the background that, by noon, had Elysia ready to bite someone.

And in the middle of it all? Persephone, sitting cross-legged on the couch, sipping cocoa from a mug shaped like a penguin, her hair braided with tiny golden bells that jingled every time she moved. Hades had been forced to swap his usual regal attire for a charcoal-black cardigan—something her mom had gifted him apparently—and was currently reorganizing the spice rack like he was solving an ancient riddle. He had helped peel potatoes earlier. Like, with a real mortal peeler. She wasn’t even sure he’d used one before.

“You’re using the wrong cinnamon,” he’d commented dryly.

“Do you want to cook it yourself, or do you want to continue haunting my seasoning cabinet?” Lizbeth had shot back without looking up from the pan.

They’d all eaten at the table like it was any other December evening. Hera hasn’t even shown up.

Then came January. The semester restarted with all the usual exhaustion. Elysia coasted through her classes—not top of her year, but not unnoticed either. A few teachers commented she’d “come out of her shell.” She hadn’t. She just promised to try. 

The New Year’s party her mom dragged her to was loud and sparkly and way too filled with drunk adults giving her dating advice she never asked for. The only good part was sneaking out onto the porch with a mug of cider and writing to her friends about the mess.

Every other weekend, her Underworld visits picked back up. They were...normal, in the weird way only her life could be. Persephone made her tea. Her dad asked if she was sleeping. ‘

The new group of rescue horses arrived sometime in mid-January—five in total, most skittish from whatever they'd been through, except for one. A young black Friesian mare that practically headbutted Elysia into a snowbank the first time they met. Her mom had tried to name the horse Hades, but settled on Ebony when Elysia refused to be emotionally damaged every time she had to feed it.

February rolled in with Valentine’s Day chaos at school. The kind involving too many pink flyers, awkward candygrams, and a classroom party where somehow she ended up sitting between three different boys who were all very suddenly interested in hearing her opinions on literally anything. She didn’t think much of it—chalked it up to boredom and too many sugar cookies.

Then came the bonfire party. It wasn’t even her idea to go—some girl in homeroom handed her the invite and Elysia figured why not. She didn’t expect to stay past midnight. Didn’t expect to laugh that hard or make s’mores for six different kids who didn’t know how to use a stick. And she definitely didn’t expect that when she finally headed home, there’d be whispers again in her dreams. That voice. Two nights in a row, it returned..

"They’ll make a monster of you, you know. The gods don't protect things they fear. You are no hero. But you could be something greater."

By March, she’d started actually participating in gym class again—not that she loved it, but it beat sitting on the sidelines pretending to care. And besides, punching things helped. Sometimes. So did sprinting.

Halfway through the month, she hadn’t meant to give Percy her phone number. It just sort of... happened. She was multitasking—half-listening to Annabeth rant about structural inconsistencies in some new mortal history textbook, half-writing her weekly letter to Percy and friends. She must’ve scribbled her number in the margin without thinking, between lines about the horse that tried to eat her hoodie and a drawing of a very smug-looking Cerberus with bunny ears. She only remembered it two days later and by then figured—eh. He probably wouldn’t call.

So when her phone rang a week later, she didn’t think twice. She was in the middle of the final Elite Four battle in Pokémon, battery light flashing red, palms sweating, Typhlosion holding on by sheer pixelated will. She grabbed the phone without looking, wedging it between her shoulder and ear.

“Elysia, speaking,” she muttered distractedly, thumb jabbing the A button like it owed her money.

There was a pause on the other end.

And then, right as Lance’s Dragonite knocked out her Typhlosion, she hissed, “You absolute bitch,” loud enough to probably scare half the Underworld if they’d been listening.

Another pause. Before, finally, a voice on the line, amused and way too deadpanned for her comfort: “Okay, wow. That’s rude.”

Her brain stalled. She blinked. Then yanked the phone away from her face and stared at it like it had grown horns. “—Percy?”

“Hi to you, too,” he said dryly. “ I call once and immediately get verbally assaulted by you again. I was going to say I liked your stationery, but now I’m just hurt.”

She flopped backwards on the couch with a groan, tossing her Gameboy aside. “Oh god. Sorry. I was getting my ass majorly kicked by Lance’s Dragonnite.”

There was a beat. “Pokémon?”

“Yeah,” she muttered, rubbing her face with one hand. “He killed my poor Typhlosion. It wasn’t fair. I had a plan.”

“No, not that—” Percy cut in, disbelief mounting. “You play video games?”

She frowned into the phone. “What, girls can’t like games?”

“No, no, that’s not what I—” He sputtered for a second, and she could tell he was trying to reword whatever dumb thing had almost left his mouth. Then, deadpan again: “You are so weird.”

“Thank you,” she said sweetly. “I try.”

“I didn’t say it was a compliment.”

“But you were thinking it.”

“I was definitely not.”

Elysia rolled her eyes, grinning now despite herself. The warmth in her chest surprised her. This felt normal. Stupid and chaotic and weirdly easy.

She settled deeper into the couch, tucking her legs under her. “So, to what do I owe the honor of your actual voice instead of another messy, rambling letter full of run-on sentences?”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from Miss ‘Sorry for the ink smudge, I spilled tea on the envelope again.’”

“I was multitasking! That was lemon ginger and it was hot!”

“Right, and I was multitasking when I started drawing battle maps on your last letter.”

“I thought that was a doodle of a turtle.”

“It was the Labyrinth!”

They bickered like that for another hour. 

And when she finally hung up, cheeks sore from smiling too long, her Gameboy long forgotten on the carpet, Elysia had one very clear thought:

Yeah. She was definitely calling him back tomorrow.