Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It first happened during the sing-along after they burned Percy and Annabeth’s shrouds.

Io! They come, they come!
    Garlands for every shrine!
Strike lyres to greet them home;
    Bring roses, pour ye wine!

The Apollo cabin led the song. Percy and his friends passed around s’mores.

Swell, swell the Dorian flute
    Thro' the blue, triumphant sky!
Let the Cittern's tone salute
    The sons of Victory.

Percy closed his eyes as he took a bite of s’more, savoring the taste of home. It couldn't ever beat his mother’s blue chocolate chip cookies, but it was home, still. He had two homes, now: Sally Jackson and Camp Half-Blood.

With the offering of bright blood
    They have ransomed hearth and tomb,
Vineyard, and field, and flood—
    Io! They come, they come!

Soon, other kids from different cabins took up the song. “Camp Half-Blood’s rendition of the Ancient Greek Chaunt of Victory,” Annabeth told him. She gave him one of the books they used for sing-alongs, before joining in the singing and chanting. Percy hummed, flipping through the book, surrounded by friends and content. His friends had very nice voices.

Sing it where olives wave,
    And by the glittering sea,
And o'er each hero's grave—
    Sing, sing, the land is free!

The book was in Ancient Greek, thankfully. He found the entry for the song they were singing. He traced the printed letters with the fingers not sticky with s’mores, reading along with the singing, his mouth opening and closing in silent recitation.

Mark ye the flashing oars,
    And the spears that light the deep?
How the festal sunshine pours
    Where the lords of battle sweep!

The chant invited him, lulled him, swayed him into a sense of serenity. He found his voice joining the others, growing louder and louder as he gained confidence.

Each hath brought back his shield—
    Maid, greet thy lover home!
Mother, from that proud field,
    Io! Thy son is come!

Percy sang.

Who murmured of the dead?
    Hush, boding voice! We know
That many a shining head
    Lies in its glory low.

Breathe not those names to-day!
    They shall have their praise e'er long,
And a power all hearts to sway,
    In ever-burning song.

But now shed flowers, pour wine,
    To hail the conquerors home!
Bring wreaths for every shrine—
    Io! They come, they—

Snap.

Percy choked on air. He wheezed, hands grabbing at his throat. His s’more and the book dropped to the ground, forgotten in his desperate attempt to breathe. He opened his mouth, but no voice came out.

It was then that he noticed the silence.

Percy looked up, and what he saw plunged his heart into the pit of his stomach. Everyone had collapsed, campers strewn across the amphitheater like fallen leaves in autumn. Annabeth was slumped over her seat, her hands limp at her side. Grover, at his other side, was lying unmoving over another just as still camper.

Percy glanced around, but everywhere he looked there were only passed out campers. His gaze halted at the high table. Chiron still stood, though with eyes glazed over, while Mr. D had his hand out, poised as if he'd snapped his fingers. He was staring at Percy over his sunglasses, his wine dark eyes burning into Percy’s own.

“I think that's enough, Peter Johnson.”

In the end, all the campers were evacuated to the infirmary.

Fortunately, they always stationed some of the Apollo kids on shift so there were actually some healers around. Unfortunately, the infirmary wasn't big enough for seventy-five plus campers, so a lot of them were taken to the Big House. Also, unfortunately, none of them knew what in the Hades happened. Percy being the first child of Poseidon in sixty years, they’d never seen anything like this before.

Mr. D took to healing every camper personally, grumbling all the while, and the remaining children of Apollo prayed to their father. Percy just kind of stood in front of the infirmary awkwardly, throat closed up not by godly influence but by the massive guilt choking him. Did he almost kill the entire camp? His newly-found friends?

“Oh, save your teenage angst, Jensen,” Mr. D said, and Percy snapped his head up from where he’d been glaring at his shoes in self-recrimination. “You're a baby; your singing only knocked them out and gave them minor brain damage.”

“Minor brain damage?!” Percy nearly screeched. His voice was raspy and rough, as if he’d been yelling instead of singing. He coughed. Then, the rest of what Mr. D said sank in. “I’m not a baby!”

Mr. D waved a hand absent-mindedly. “You’re a baby siren if I ever saw one.”

“What?!”

“What's a baby’s first and only defense? They cry. Baby sirens sing to escape from predators. You did it because it was the only way of singing you know.”

Percy stood there, hands unclenching from the fists they'd made at his sides. Mr. D almost sounded… reassuring? Was that even possible? Did his singing give Mr. D minor brain damage as well?

“Well, at least it happened here, where there was Mr. D and we could get the situation under control,” Lee Fletcher, the counselor of the Apollo cabin, said from his post at one of the infirmary beds. He tucked in the sheets around the camper resting there—his brother, Michael Yew—before walking toward Percy. He clapped Percy on the shoulder. “Trust me, Percy, this isn't the worst accident the camp has ever seen. Probably only the third worst. Everyone will be fine.”

Percy let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for a long time. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Percy scuffed his shoe on the ground. “I’m really sorry.”

“Not the first time the abilities we inherited from our godly parents caused some troubles,” Lee said kindly. “There was one time where Castor and Pollux accidentally got some people drunk and insane.”

“I never sang before. Never. I don't know why I started then. I’ll never do it again.”

“Percy, it wasn't your fault. This doesn't mean you can't ever sing, okay? Just like it doesn't mean Castor and Pollux can't never kiss anyone ever again.”

Kiss? “What—”

“Anyway.” Lee clapped his hands together. “It's past curfew, so back to your cabin before the cleaning harpies get you.”

Percy thought he’d never sing again.

But the next day, after a surreally normal breakfast where only a few people looked at him any differently, several Apollo kids came up to him at the Poseidon table.

“Dude,” Austin Lake said, “you’ve got a killer singing voice.”

Percy held back a wince. “Look, if this is about yesterday—”

“You should totally join our choir!”

Percy gaped. “What?” he asked, baffled.

And so Percy joined the camp choir.

The Apollo kids were very persuasive. It could help you with your ability, they said. This is all because you're a baby siren, right? So we just have to train your voice.

Okay, first of all, he was not a baby. Second of all, how did everyone know he was a—a baby siren, of all things?!

“The camp’s walls are thin,” one Apollo kid said, during Percy’s first practice session.

“We’re very close-knit,” another said.

So now Percy had Music every weekday instead of three times a week, and he spent it with the choir instead of trying and failing to play various musical instruments.

It wasn't bad, actually. Not at all.

His first practice session had nothing to do with choir. Instead, the Apollo kids, plus several other members from different cabins—even Ares—gathered around him to test the boundaries of his “siren’s song,” as Austin had put it. They were armed with earplugs and a healer. Volunteers were picked out to be guinea pigs.

“Let's start with something basic,” Austin suggested. “Give us some scales.”

“What?” Percy said. That was a word he’d been saying a lot lately.

“Do-re-mi-fa-sol-la-si-do,” Kayla Knowles helpfully demonstrated for him.

Once everyone had earplugs on, sans the guinea pig—Jerry—Percy cleared his throat. Once, twice. He sang the scale.

“Whoa,” Jerry said. He had a bit of a dazed look on his face. At his signal, everyone else took out their earplugs. “A bit off tune, but that was beautiful. I can't believe you’d never sang before.”

Percy’s face burned, and he fidgeted while the healer checked over Jerry.

“A bit dazed, but you're physically fine,” the designated healer pronounced.

“Oh, me!” Gracie said. “Me next!”

And so on it went. They discovered that wordless singing, like the scale, caused only a slight daze. Everyone had a theory that with lyrical singing the effects would depend on the words he sang, like the case was with Apollo kids and their hymns, but after a bit of very careful and very cautious experimenting—for Percy refused to sing outright like last night—so far it only briefly knocked out the listeners.

“Are you sure they don't have minor brain damage?” he anxiously asked the healer about Yan, his latest victim.

“Nope,” the healer said. He clapped Yan on their back. “This one’s fine.”

“That was awesome,” Yan said.

Percy didn't know how to feel about all this. He was still extremely guilty for what he’d done last night, even though logically he knew he hadn't done it on purpose, that it was an accident, but a bitter part of him resented that another thing made him different from everyone else. It wasn't cool stuff like breathing underwater or talking to sea creatures and horses, but a voice that, so far, only caused harm to the people he considered as friends and home.

But their easy acceptance helped. He’d thought it would be like when he was claimed, that everyone would treat him like he had the plague. But, no. Instead, they seemed more eager than him to learn all about his newfound ability. It made him feel warm and tingly inside.

Throughout the rest of the summer, Percy continued to train with the choir. They didn't always focus on Percy’s ability. Sometimes Percy sat out while they practiced their pieces, learning to read note blocks and music sheets, about tempo and pitch and musicality. He felt like he was slow to learn it all, but they kept reassuring him that it was normal, and that even if it wasn't, he still should just learn at his own pace. He guessed his bewilderment stemmed from never having a positive learning experience at school.

By the end of the summer, he’d figured out how to sing without knocking anyone out. Not singing at full volume yet, but a quiet kind of singing where you were a background voice to the main star. Even so, everyone gave him a round of applause. Percy smiled, cheeks aflame, and followed his impulse to bow, and the applause increased in volume, mixed in with friendly laughter and hooting.

Then, the end of summer came, and Luke invited him to the woods to look for something to fight.

Sing, the thought came to Percy as he tried to drag himself across the ground away from Luke and Backbiter, a hand pressed over the bleeding wound on the inside of his other arm. Just sing.

But then Luke hesitated with his blade raised, and hope sparked in Percy’s chest. Hope that whatever he’d said got through Luke, that when faced with the choice to kill Percy or not, Luke would choose not to. But in the light of the fireworks, Luke’s face turned grim, and he reached out to roughly yank Percy to his feet. Percy opened his mouth, to try to convince Luke, maybe, to say anything, to scream, but Luke clamped the hand not holding his sword over his mouth, and all Percy could let out was a muffled shout of surprise.

Luke began dragging him toward the portal, Percy kicking and squirming in his hold. He bit Luke’s hand, tasting the metallic tang of blood, and Luke cursed and loosened his grip just enough for Percy to slip through. He dived for the creek, reaching out with his powers, but Luke fisted a hand in his hair and pulled and Percy yelped, his concentration breaking and the water falling just short of his outstretched hand. He dug his feet into the ground, stalling, one hand searching his pocket for Riptide while Luke hauled him closer and closer to the portal.

Dryads and naiads melted out of the trees and rose from the creek, unable to watch and stand by any longer. One of the dryads held up a bow and took a shot at Luke and hit him in the shoulder. Luke hissed in pain, but it wasn't enough to get him to drop Percy. It was, however, enough to give Percy time to pick Riptide out of his pocket and flip the cap off. His right arm still incapacitated, he clumsily swung his sword with his left arm. He didn't know what he hit, but Luke let go of him with a curse and he fell to the ground.

Luke deflected the next arrow from the dryad with his sword, breathing hard and glaring at Percy. Percy scrambled back.

When Luke took a step toward him, instincts took over. Percy screamed.

It wasn't a song, so its effects were muted. But Luke winced, hands flying up to cover his ears. He staggered toward the portal, and the portal shut behind him.

“We’re approaching the island of the sirens,” Annabeth said grimly.

Percy could barely make out the island ahead of them, just a dark spot in the mist.

“Sirens?” he said. “You mean like me?”

“No, Seaweed Brain. You’re a son of Poseidon. Sirens, meanwhile, are daughters of Phorcys—or the river god Achelous, depending on the myths. You just happen to have a siren-like ability,” Annabeth explained. “Maybe it's one of the features common to children of the sea.”

“Oh.”

“I want you to do me a favor,” Annabeth said. “The sirens… we’ll be in range of their singing soon.”

His mind flashed back to that night in the amphitheater the time they got back from their first quest. If he, a—a—fine, a baby—could do that amount of damage, what could full-grown sirens do?

“No problem,” he assured her. “We can just stop up our ears. There’s a big tub of candle wax below deck—”

“I want to hear them.”

Percy blinked. “Why?”

“They say the sirens sing the truth about what you desire. They tell you things about yourself you didn’t even realize. That’s what’s so enchanting. If you survive… you become wiser. I want to hear them. How often will I get that chance?”

I can sing for you, Percy thought, and then immediately banished that line of thinking. What was he, mad? All he could offer her was knocking her out at best and another minor brain damage at worst.

Besides, he probably couldn't offer to sing for Annabeth the way she wanted. If the choir’s theory was correct, as he matured, the effects of his singing would depend on the song and his intentions, and despite his best intentions he didn't know Annabeth’s deepest desires. That’d beat the purpose. He wondered how sirens knew exactly what to sing about to entice.

Annabeth told him her plan. Reluctantly, he helped her get ready.

As soon as the rocky coastline of the island came into view, he ordered one of the ropes to wrap around Annabeth’s waist, tying her to the foremast.

“Don’t untie me,” she said, “no matter what happens or how much I plead. I’ll want to go straight over the edge and drown myself.”

“Are you trying to tempt me?”

“Ha-ha.”

Percy promised he’d keep her secure. He then took two large wads of candle wax, kneaded them into earplugs, and stuffed his ears. He wasn’t sure if his siren-like ability gave him protection from actual sirens, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He took his spot by the pilot’s wheel.

He didn't keep his promise.

He couldn't stand to see Annabeth so miserable, to ignore her pleas so cold-heartedly, so he looked away for as long as he could, and in that time, Annabeth had wiggled her dagger free and cut out of her ropes and dived into the sea. He rushed to the side of the boat. “Annabeth!” he screamed her name, but it was no use. He saw her paddling madly for the island, the waves carrying her straight toward the jagged rocks. She was entranced, swimming toward her death.

“Stay!” he told Queen Anne's Revenge, and then jumped over the side

He sliced into the water and willed the currents to bend around him, making a jet stream that shot him forward. He came to the surface and spotted Annabeth, but a wave caught her, sweeping her between two razor-sharp fangs of rock. With no choice left, he plunged after her.

He dove under the wrecked hull of a yacht, wove through a collection of floating metal balls on chains that he realized afterward were mines. He had to use all his power over water to avoid getting smashed against the rocks or tangled in the nets of barbed wire strung just below the surface. He jetted between the two rock fangs and found himself in a half-moon-shaped bay. The water was choked with more rocks and ship wreckage and floating mines. The beach was black volcanic sand.

He looked around desperately for Annabeth. Luckily or unluckily, she was a strong swimmer. She’d made it past the mines and the rocks. She was almost to the black beach. Then, the mist cleared and Percy saw them—the sirens.

They were the most beautiful women he’d ever seen from the waist-up, and a cross between a bat and a fish from the waist-down. Leathery wings sprouted from their hips, spanning seven feet across and tipped with sharp, spindly claws. Their bottom half was a fish tail as long as their wingspan, with translucent fins where their thighs were supposed to be and more dark-colored fins folded up toward the end of their tail. The end of their tail was shaped like a hook at the end of a whip. They wore necklaces made out of netting and decorated with pearls and bones.

Annabeth swam toward them.

Percy couldn’t let her get out of the water. The sea was his only advantage. He propelled himself forward and grabbed her ankle. The moment he touched her, a shock went through his body, and he saw the vision the sirens must’ve been giving Annabeth. Tears stung his eyes even through the saltwater. He blinked hard and pulled Annabeth back into the surf.

Think, think, think. Sound didn't travel as well through water as it did through air, so Percy dragged them both under, ordering the waves to push them down. Ten feet, twenty feet. He blew bubbles from his mouth, willing them to merge and expand and surround both of their heads. But still Annabeth trashed, the force of the sirens’ songs too strong even at this depth.

What to do, what to do. Percy struggled to think through Annabeth kicking him in the face, tightening his grips on her hands and doing his best to keep her from escaping.

Should he sing?

What should he even sing?

He was a baby siren, as Mr. D had put it. What can a baby siren do against fully-grown adult sirens?

“What's a baby’s first and only defense? They cry.”

Cry. Babies didn't cry to escape from predators—they cried to ask for help.

So Percy summoned the worst memories he had. He thought of Smelly Gabe, of being separated from his mother every year for another boarding school that didn't even want him, of his mother in the Minotaur’s grip, crumbling into golden dust.

He sang.

He sang for his mother. He sang of the prayers he’d said to a father he didn’t know he had, of the pleas for his stepfather to stop, to leave, for his mother to come home yet another day. He sang of the grief he felt for Annabeth, the could-have-beens and the never-could-have-beens.

Annabeth slowed in her struggle. She gasped and coughed, her whole body shuddering. When she looked at him, he couldn't describe the expression that crossed her face. She started to cry—horrible, heartbreaking sobs—and lunged to hug him, her hands rubbing up and down his back. Something about it felt strange, as if she was seeking to comfort him instead of the other way around.

He held her though it, anyway.

The day after Thalia’s awakening, when they all gathered around the campfire as per their nightly ritual, the Apollo cabin led a sing-along for the daughter of Zeus.

Percy was part of the choir now. He’d progressed enough to the point where he could sing without acquiring any casualty. Even free for his enchantments, people told him he had a nice voice. He still sang at a lower volume than most of the choir, but his confidence was growing with every sing-along in which he participated.

Thalia’s face looked red in the campfire light, her lips pursed in embarrassment. He commiserated, somewhat. It’d been one thing when they sang about Percy, Annabeth, and Grover’s glory after they returned from their first quest; they’d been together, it was a team effort, and it’d been a party for everyone. It was another thing when they suddenly busted out a song about your heroic deeds alone.  

After the campfire, when everyone dispersed to go back to their own cabin, Percy found himself walking alongside Thalia. That was right—the Zeus and Poseidon cabins were right next to each other, forming one curve of the reversed U.

“Uh,” Percy said smartly. “Thanks for sticking around for the song, back then. I know it's a bit awkward for you.”

Thalia just stared at him. “You were one of the singers,” she observed, and Percy flushed.

“Uh, yeah. I told the others we should ask for your permission, but everyone was really excited that you're back and wanted to surprise you.” Percy scratched the back of his head. “So.” He shrugged and took a deep breath. “Anyway, I know what it's like to be the odd one out. I had a hard time when I first came to camp and got claimed. I just want to say, as the only children of the Big Three, we should stick together.”

He held out his hand, feeling his cheeks burn when Thalia just stared at him some more. Finally, she reached out and shook his hand. “We stick together.”

A powerful burst of electricity shot through Percy’s hand the moment they touched. Percy yelped, pulling back and cradling his hand.

“Oh, sorry!” Thalia said. She seemed frustrated with herself. “It’s—they—it hasn't been a good day.” She grimaced.

Percy couldn't help it. He laughed.

“What?” Thalia said, sounding offended now, but Percy only shook his head and apologized for laughing.

“The first time I sang, I gave nearly everyone minor brain damage,” Percy told her, stifling his giggles. “So don't feel bad about a bit of static electricity.”

Thalia’s eyes widened. “What?!”

“Exactly what I said!”

The next insight on Percy’s ability came from an unexpected source.

“You siren’s song—it sounds like charmspeak to me,” Silena Beauregard commented one day, as they were brushing the coats of their respective pegasus after Pegasus Riding. Every Wednesday, the Poseidon and Aphrodite cabin had Pegasus Riding together.

Percy frowned. “Really?” He knew about charmspeak—it made the Aphrodite cabin a formidable enemy during Capture the Flag—but not in detail, and he’d been lucky so far to have avoided being targeted with it. He and Silena were pretty close friends, having bonded over their love for the pegasi, but it just hadn't come up in their conversations.

“Yeah. A siren’s song is supposed to be enticing, right? Persuasive? Sounds like charmspeak to me,” Silena said, stroking her pegasus in between brushes.

“I think charmspeak is more versatile,” Percy said, giving Blackjack a scratch under the chin, to his satisfied neighing. “You can just say what you want, whereas I have to sing, and so far, it has the universal effect of hurting everyone within earshot.” Or make people want to comfort me. He didn't say that part out loud; he still had some pride, after all. “I can't make people do specific stuff like you and Drew can.”

Silena raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Yeah, sure,” she said, in a way that demonstrated that a double positive definitively equaled a negative. “Anyway, what do you think of sitting in our charmspeak practice sessions?”

Percy halted in his scratching, at which Blackjack immediately let his displeasure known. He was flattered, truly, but he and the camp choir had a system that worked, with a certified healer on hand and a bunch of Apollo kids as backups. Would the Aphrodite cabin have that?

“C’mon.” At his hesitation, Silena just smiled brightly at him. “It’ll be so much fun.”

Percy folded like a piece of paper.

Silena told him that the Aphrodite cabin held charmspeak practice sessions during Saturday’s free time, right before their spa day. Percy was, of course, also invited to their spa day. Percy usually spent free time on the beach, enjoying a swim, talking to and helping lost or entangled sea creatures, and practicing his water manipulation. It was fun and relaxing, but it could get lonely sometimes, so despite a part of him that balked at the idea of being pampered or pampering himself all day, he said yes.

The next Saturday found Percy in front of the Aphrodite cabin, armed with earplugs, knocking on the door. The door opened to a beaming Silena. “Come in!” she said, and so Percy stepped into the Aphrodite cabin for the first time.

It was just as pink on the inside as the outside, with white window trims as well as pastel green and blue beds-and-curtains breaking up the color. It smelt heavily of perfume, and Percy held back the urge to sneeze by pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, a trick he learned from the camp choir, because sneezing or coughing during a sing-along was considered rude. All in all, it looked like the inside of a dollhouse Percy once saw in a toy store, but softer and cozier.

Various children of Aphrodite were spread throughout the room, lying on the beds, sitting on the floor, and lounging on the couches. Their animated chatter only paused for a brief moment before resuming. It seemed Silena had said charmspeak practice session for his benefit, because it wasn’t a practice session for only charmspeak but also various powers the children of Aphrodite had. Mitchell was teaching Lacy how to change her hairstyle and color. On the couches, Valentina Diaz was leading a class for the older kids on something called amokinesis.

“Manipulating feelings of love and desire,” Silena explained to Percy, catching his staring, her voice serious. “It can be a dangerous ability if it goes untrained.”

Silena, Percy, and Drew Tanaka—the only other child of Aphrodite with charmspeak—converged on one of the beds. Drew, sitting on the bed, had her arms crossed, peering up at Percy curiously. In the beginning, Percy and Drew didn’t have the best track record with each other, Drew being somewhat of a bully and Percy hating bullies with every fiber of his being, but under Silena’s guidance, it seemed that she’d eased up.

“Right,” Silena began, taking a seat beside Drew on the bed. Percy sat on the floor in front of them. “Percy, Drew and I usually practice charmspeak on each other. Since we also have a natural resistance to charmspeak, it’s good to increase the strength of our charmspeak, whereas practicing with the other Aphrodite kids is good for our control. Since we can do that every week, anyway, we’d like this practice session to be more about you. We hope our natural resistance to charmspeak can help you with your siren’s song.”

“Uh,” Percy said. “I don’t know where to begin, to be honest.”

Silena smiled. “That’s okay—I have a few ideas.”

They went over what he could already do: 1) cause a slight daze by wordless singing, 2) briefly knock people out or give them minor brain damage by lyrical singing, and, Percy was embarrassed to admit, 3) by singing something sad, he could urge people to drop whatever they were doing and comfort him. Then, they examined his level of control; he could sing normally, but as soon as he put any intentions behind his song, and it wasn’t a song made out of the worst memories of his life, it’d either briefly knock people out or give them minor brain damage.

“Why don't we start with something simple?” Silena suggested. “Not a song, but a simple order, sung.”

It was awkward, mainly because there was no way to make singing ‘Drew, touch your toes’ not awkward. When nothing happened after several attempts, and with Percy not feeling anything in particular, they decided to move on.

“Maybe we should stop treating it like charmspeak and look at real sirens for inspiration,” Drew said helpfully, surprising Percy and Silena. “Sirens sing about people’s deepest desires, right? That's how they lure sailors to drown themselves. Maybe you need to take a closer look at whoever you're singing to. Maybe you need to sing about them. I don't know.” She shrugged.

Silena blinked, then went in and hugged her sister, to Drew’s squawking protests. “Drew, you're so smart!” She turned to Percy. “Oh, sing about me!”

Percy gaped. “But—I can't make up a song on the spot!”

“Oh, yes you can. You sang that song to Annabeth on the spot, remember?” At this, Silena giggled, and Drew smirked. Percy didn't want to know what they were thinking about to cause such reactions.

Silena reached out and held his hand. “It’ll be fine, Percy. Just sing about what you think of me. No need to be embarrassed.”

Percy fidgeted, passing the earplugs to Drew. He opened and closed his mouth. He cleared his throat. He closed his eyes.

He sang about Silena, how she’d found him in the stables, wallowing at his own isolation after he’d been claimed, and how she’d warmly welcomed him to camp. He sang about her love for her siblings, and about her care for the pegasi. Most importantly, he sang about how much Silena loved her shoes and really wanted to touch them now.

When he opened his eyes, he was greeted to the sight of Silena looking over his shoulder, eyes glazed over, both hands on her shoes. Drew’s jaw went slack.

Despite his burning cheeks, he grinned.

The first song Percy composed was a dirge.

It could be argued that the first song he composed was the song he sang to Annabeth at the Sirens’ Bay, but that song was a mishmash of things he’d rather not think about, a collection of memories he weaved into tapestry out of sheer desperation, with threads fraying open on every edge. The song he sang for Silena was something else, a small piece of a bigger puzzle. No, the first song he composed was a dirge for Bianca di Angelo.

In the land without rain, after they’d failed to find Bianca, Percy knelt by Talos’ fallen figure. He didn't know much about Bianca, had only known her for a few days, but something was caught in his throat, something anguished needing to escape. And so he sang. He sang about Bianca and Nico, two children lost in the Lotus Casino hotel, lost in time. He sang about their encounter with the Hunters of Artemis, about Bianca’s deciding to join them, about the little brother she left behind but still cared for so much. He sang about her bravery and her kind heart and her sacrifice, not just for the quest, but for the little brother she loved.

Zoë sat down and wept. Thalia yelled in rage and impaled her sword in the giant’s smashed face. Through it all, he heard something else. An echo, as if he was singing in a cave instead of a desert.

“Wait,” Percy croaked. He coughed, his mouth dry like he’d been asleep for an entire day. He stood up, catching everyone else's attention, but he couldn't hear the echo anymore. An idea came to mind.

“Water,” he rasped. “Give me some water.”

Zoë wiped at her eyes and stood. She was evidently still grieving, but she was once again Artemis’ lieutenant. She narrowed her eyes. “What art thou doing, boy?”

Grover reached into one of their packs and retrieved a bottle of water, which he gave to Percy. Percy drank it greedily, wiping his mouth afterward. “I can't explain it yet, but give me a moment. Trust me.”

He sang, and heard the echo again. He moved toward where he thought the echo was coming from. Zoë, Thalia, and Grover were looking at him in bemusement, but they followed him a moment later.

“Percy,” Grover said, when Percy started climbing the giant automaton. “The prophecy—it happened just as it was supposed to. One shall be lost in the land without rain. Bianca is dead.”

Percy didn't stop singing. He explored the automaton until he found a hatch, opened it, and climbed inside. Inside, it was near impossible to hear the echo he was seeking over the actual echo of his voice, but he was close. He could feel it.

There. His voice caught in throat. “Bianca!”

There was a mad scramble as everyone tried to climb inside, but eventually they managed to bring Bianca’s body outside. Her hair and clothes were singed, and she had burns all over her face, neck, and arms. Percy collapsed to his knees, breathing hard. With shaking hands Zoë checked Bianca’s pulse.

“No,” she sobbed. Percy’s heart dropped. Thalia knelt by Bianca’s body. “No!”

“No, no,” Percy echoed. “It wasn't supposed to be like this. This is wrong.”

“Percy?” Grover asked, crouching and putting a hand on Percy’s shoulder.

“Lost,” Percy emphasized. “Sometimes what is lost can be found. What belongs to the sea will always return to the sea.”

He crawled toward Bianca’s body, hovering on his hands and knees over her. He touched his forehead to Bianca’s and sang. And on and on he sang and sang—

The next time he opened his eyes, it was to the sight of a blue sky. He was lying on the ground warmed by the morning sun. There was blood in his throat and crying. There were sounds of crying. He shot up to his elbows and felt all the breath leave him at the sight in front of him, at the sight of Bianca sitting up and being surrounded and hugged to death by their friends.

“Ow,” Bianca said, but she was crying and laughing and smiling. “My burns.”

They all pulled back, apologizing over one another. But they were also crying and laughing and smiling. At the sight of it, Percy laughed, near hysterical, but due to his extremely sore throat it just sounded like if one were to squeeze a duck.

His voice drew Grover to his side, a bottle of water at the ready. Percy gulped it at an impressive speed, swallowing blood and water, feeling the wounds in his throat stitching closed. It was still hurting, but at least it wasn't bleeding anymore.

Grover hugged him. “Sometimes what is lost can be found,” he repeated, and bleated. “Percy, you're a genius!”

Zoë stared at Percy like he’d grown wings and a tail. “How did thou do that?”

Percy opened his mouth, closed it, and then pointed at his throat. He didn't think he would be able to speak for a while.

“Percy is a baby siren,” Grover said, completely ignoring the elbow Percy drove to his side. “His voice was so nice Bianca came back to life to hear it.” He laughed.

It was Zoë’s turn to open and close her mouth like a fish. But then she did something unexpected. She turned to Percy and bowed her head. “Thank you.”

Percy was stunned, but he managed to nod back. Thalia ruffled his hair.

And so five shall go west.

Chapter Text

Something deep and primal inside Percy knew that it was a one-time thing. That Bianca’s resurrection was not only Percy’s miracle, but Bianca’s as well.

“I was there,” Bianca said, once they were back in the safety of the camp. The five of them, losing Zoë and gaining Annabeth, held council in the Big House’s rec room with the counselors and Mr. D and Chiron. “When I… died, I was still there. I watched you all search for me. I couldn't speak or move, but I was there, in the desert. Someone—someone came for me. A god.” Here, she blushed. “I don't know how, but I immediately knew who he was.” 

“Thanatos,” Annabeth supplied.

Several people inhaled sharply. “The god of death,” Katie Gardner added.

“Yes,” Bianca confirmed. “He was there to escort me to the Underworld, but I waited. I waited until sunrise. I was about to take his hand when I felt an irresistible pull.”

“Percy,” Grover said.

Bianca nodded. “His singing—it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. It was Percy’s turn to flush. She turned to Percy. “You sang of Nico, of the Hunters. You reminded me I had so much to live for. I moved. I led you to my body. I don't—I don't remember what happened next.”

“Percy said something,” Grover said, “before he sang again. That it wasn't supposed to be like this. That it was wrong. That sometimes what is lost can be found.”

“He also said what belongs to the sea will always return to the sea,” Thalia piped up. “Percy, do you remember saying that?”

Percy shook his head. “No, I don't.”

“Did you have dreams about it before?” Lee asked. “About Bianca dying?”

“I had dreams, but not about Bianca.”

Lee leaned back in his chair. “I thought you had a prophetic dream, that the events that happened didn't align with it and so you had a feeling something was off.”

“It's still possible,” Annabeth said. “One of Poseidon's more forgotten domains is prophecy. Percy could've inherited it.

“I think this is Percy and Bianca’s doing,” she continued, always two steps ahead of everyone else. “Percy is of the sea. Bianca is Percy’s friend. Therefore, Bianca belongs to the sea and will return to the sea, to Percy. Bianca was the only one who could banish the skeleton army. She recognized Thanatos on sight. Bianca, you're a daughter of Hades. Your ties to the Underworld and souls and death probably allowed you to remain in the realm of the living, at least for some time. That's also why you were able to ignore Thanatos for as long as you did.”

Percy knew, even before Annabeth explained it all, that it was a one-time thing, that it was defiance carved out of extraordinary inheritance and circumstances. He knew it deep in his bones, in the very folds of his being. He’d watched the Fates themselves cut someone’s string and felt the finality of it. 

And yet, he hoped, and he tried. He tried to defy fate. He tried to sing Chris Rodriguez back from insanity. After the Battle of the Labyrinth, he tried to sing Lee and Castor and every one of the fallen campers back to life. He sang until Clarisse La Rue pried his shaking hand off of Chris’, until Lee’s body grew cold, until Castor’s fingers, hand held by his twin Pollux, tinged blue.

He tried, and failed, and grieved. His grief was steeped in anger—at his hubris, at his incompetence, at failing his friends. At the forces that caused their demise. At the Titans, and even at the gods.

He knew, deep down, it’d be impossible. 

And yet, he hoped, and he sang.

Chapter Text

Percy had a book.

In it, he wrote songs about the people he knew, about the people still living and newly dead, friends and enemies. He started after the Battle of the Labyrinth, forever wondering—had he known what to sing to certain people, would he have been able to bolster their spirit, make them just a little bit stronger, a little bit faster? Grant them the strength and speed to dodge a fatal strike? Give them a lifeline to hold on to until a healer reached them? Or could he have even scared the enemies away, like Grover did with the call of Pan?

He wrote like a madman. There were ‘bases’ for different situations: fight songs, pacifying songs, healing songs, and so on. For each person’s entry, he used the bases and added what he knew about the person. His friends had the most detailed songs, down to their deepest desires, but he had something for most of everyone. He’d tried getting familiar with more campers over the summer, memorizing their names, their personalities, and moments important to them that they were willing to share. By the end of the week, three-quarter of the book was filled with chicken-scratch, misspelled writing—in blue ink, of course.

At first, he was embarrassed at the idea of it. Writing songs felt like spilling a part of his soul on paper, and singing them felt like baring and sharing his soul to anyone who’d listen. Compared to everything at stake, though, it felt very childish to let embarrassment reign over him when they had a war going on and kids dying.

And so he spent the rest of summer getting to know more and more campers, writing more and more songs, and fleshing out what he’d written. Several times, he tested them on volunteers—mostly kids from the camp choir. They found out that he could do almost all of what he’d been wondering since that fateful battle. He could bolster their spirit, grant them strength and speed, or scare them away. The more the song captured the essence of the person, the stronger the effects. But he couldn't heal others. At best, he suspected he could urge them to hold on just a little bit longer.

By the end of summer, he had an entry for everyone currently at camp. Of those that left camp for the enemy, he’d asked around for their story. For them, and the common monsters, he had a base for fear songs.

There was one important entry missing.

Luke Castellan.

What he had on Luke could perhaps work into a fight song. Luke was the best swordsman the camp had seen in three hundred years. He’d been the oldest camper and he’d cared for the younger kids, including Percy. Everyone had looked up to him, including Percy. Percy refused to write a fight song for Luke. What use would it be, anyway? He was the enemy.

But he didn't have enough information for a fear song. He’d have to ask Annabeth, and Annabeth was not talking about Luke since what happened in the Labyrinth.

Would it even work with Kronos possessing his body?

He had no answers to that.

So, he sighed and closed his book, for now. He slipped the book under his pillow, turned off the jellyfish lamp on the end table by his bed, and settled down to go to sleep—only to end up staring at the ceiling, watching the pool-reflected moonlight dance across it. Tomorrow, he was going home, and in two days, he’d be fifteen. One year away from the prophecy.

As sixteen drew nearer, Percy had no shortage of monsters to test his songs on.

His fear songs stood to be an effective area-of-effect crowd control, especially when there wasn’t any large body of water around, but he’d had to tune it multiple times. It must be general enough to encompass all common monsters, but specific enough to leave demigods unaffected—which was a difficult task. Fear, after all, was a universal experience.

Annabeth, while still reluctant to talk about Luke, had an idea. What was the one thing all monsters shared? When killed, they turned to dust and returned to Tartarus.

“So I have to sing about Tartarus?” Percy asked through the Iris-message. “How? I’ve never been there.”

Annabeth had her thoughtful face on. She looked to be in a library, thankfully in one of those private cubicles. “Books, certainly. There are a few that describe Tartarus—I’ll get you the titles. You can also use your imagination. People don't have to experience the real thing to write about it.”

“Um, wait. Isn't Tartarus, like, a god? Should I even be singing about a god?”

“A primordial.” Annabeth hummed. “Maybe don't use the T-word—names have power, especially in a song or chant—but you can still describe it, its vibes. It's a place that definitely inspires fear.”

So he should sing about the vibes of hell. Cool, cool, cool.

The next time he encountered a monster—a hellhound sniffing through their trash—he led it to a secluded alley, and then he sang. He sang of the unfathomable darkness of the pit he saw in the Underworld, the gravity of it, of the boiling heat in the air and the shrapnels of glass underfoot, of the screams of pain and tortured souls in the river Cocytus. It worked too well when the hellhound whimpered and ran away. He had to go chase it down in a weird role-reversal.

After dispatching the hellhound, he looked around at the mortals. No one was passed out or stopped in their tracks, dazed, not more than the usual for New York, anyway, so he counted that as a success.

(He wouldn't find out until much, much later how true his song was.)

“Come forward,” Luke—no, Kronos said. He smiled. “If you dare.”

The crowd of monsters parted. The Princess Andromeda was silent. Percy moved up the stairs, his heart pounding. He felt his pocket and found his pen returned, waiting. He took it out and uncapped it, and Riptide grew into a sword.

Kronos’s weapon appeared in his hands—a six-foot long scythe, half Celestial bronze, half mortal steel. Just looking at it made his knees weak. But before Percy could change his mind, he charged.

Time slowed down. Literally. He felt like moving through pitch, his arms so heavy he could barely raise his sword. Kronos smiled, swirling his scythe normally and waiting for him to come within range.

He concentrated on the sea around him.

He took another slow step forward. Giants jeered. Dracaenae hissed with laughter.

He felt a wrenching pain in his gut. The entire boat lurched sideways, throwing monsters off their feet. Four thousand gallons of saltwater surged out of the swimming pool, dousing him and Kronos and everybody on the deck. The water revitalized him, breaking the time spell’s hold on him, and he lunged forward.

Percy struck at him, but he was still too slow, and he made a mistake of looking at his face—Luke’s face—someone who was once a dear friend of his. Kronos, in turn, showed no such hesitation. He sliced downward with his scythe, and Percy leaped back just in time, the blade cutting a gash in the deck right between his feet.

He kicked Kronos in the chest, who stumbled back. It felt heavier than kicking someone of Luke's stature should’ve been—it felt like kicking a brick wall.

Kronos swung his scythe again. Percy intercepted it with Riptide, but his strike was so powerful, his sword could only deflect it. The edge of the scythe shaved off his shirtsleeve and grazed his arm. The entire side of his body exploded with pain. Careful, fool, he remembered a telekhine had once said, in Mount Saint Helens. One touch, and the blade will sever your soul from your body.

Stumbling backward, he switched Riptide to his left hand and lunged desperately. It should’ve been a fatal blow, but the tip of his sword only deflected off Kronos’ stomach, like hitting solid marble.

The monsters were getting back to their feet. They surrounded him.

Kronos laughed. “A poor performance, Percy Jackson. Luke tells me you were never his match at swordplay.”

His vision started to blur. He didn't have much time. “Luke had a big head,” he said. “But at least it was his head.”

“A shame to kill you now,” Kronos mused, “before the final plan unfolds. I would love to see the terror in your eyes when you realize how I will destroy Olympus.”

His arm throbbed. Black spots danced in his eyes. He needed the sea. “You’ll never get this boat to Manhattan.”

“And why would that be?” Kronos’s eyes of molten gold glittered. “Perhaps you are counting on your friend with the explosives?” He looked down at the pool and called, “Nakamura!”

Ethan Nakamura, son of Nemesis, pushed through the crowd. He was in full Greek armor, and his left eye was covered with a black patch. Percy had saved him in the Labyrinth and in return he’d raised Kronos.

“Success, my lord,” Ethan said. “We found him just as we were told.”

Two giants lumbered forward, dragging Charles Beckendorf between them. Percy’s heart dropped. Beckendorf had a swollen eye and cuts all over his face and arms. His armor was gone and his shirt was nearly torn off. “No!” Percy yelled.

Beckendorf met his eyes. He glanced at his hand like he was trying to tell him something. His watch. That was the detonator, and they hadn't taken it yet. Was it possible the explosives were still armed?

“We found him amidships,” one of the giants said, “trying to sneak to the engine room. Can we eat him now?”

“Soon.” Kronos scowled at Ethan. “Are you sure he didn’t set the explosives?”

“He was going toward the engine room, my lord.”

“How do you know that?”

“Er…” Ethan shifted uncomfortably. “He was heading in that direction. And he told us. His bag is still full of explosives.”

Kronos hesitated.

Buy the story, Percy prayed. He could barely stand from the pain in his arm.

“Open his bag,” Kronos ordered.

One of the giants ripped the explosives satchel from Beckendorf’s shoulders. He peered inside, grunted, and turned it upside down. Cautious monsters surged backward, but what fell out were a dozen cans of peaches. Percy could hear Kronos breathing, trying to control his anger.

“Did you, perhaps,” he said, “capture this demigod near the galley?”

Ethan turned pale. “Um—”

“And did you, perhaps, send someone to actually CHECK THE ENGINE ROOM?”

Ethan scrambled back in terror, then turned on his heels and ran. He gestured for some of the monsters to follow him.

Percy cursed silently. He couldn't let them reach the engine room and disarm the explosives. He fell to his knees, his vision clouded with black spots, but still he opened his mouth and sang his fear song. Monsters went still, and then began to panic, running in every direction but generally away from Percy, some even jumping overboard and into the sea. Percy’s voice grew hoarse, and sweat dripped down from his temple.

Beckendorf elbowed his way through the stampede of monsters to reach him. He saw the shadow of Kronos raising his scythe to behead him. Beckendorf ran and slid in, grabbed Riptide out of his limp grip, and parried the slash with a loud clang!

They wasted no time. Beckendorf helped Percy up, supporting him with an arm around the shoulders. Kronos struck again, and Beckendorf tried to block, but he was holding Percy up with one arm and Riptide off-balance in his other hand. The strike slipped through the block and sliced a thin, diagonal line across Beckendorf’s unprotected chest. No. They jumped over the railing, straight into the empty pool, Kronos’ scythe slicing the air over their heads. Percy called on the water remaining on the deck to them, and swirls of water caught them and tossed them over the side of the ship and into the sea.

Percy made an air bubble for Beckendorf. Then, he willed the currents to take them far, far away—a hundred yards, two hundred yards. Even from that distance, the explosion shook the world. The Princess Andromeda blew up from both sides, a massive fireball of green flame roiling into the dark sky, consuming everything.

Then he blacked out and sank like an anchor toward the bottom of the sea.

Percy jerked awake from his nightmare.

Atlas, a golden Titan, Krios, Nico—

His head felt like mush. He opened his eyes and saw a large shadow looming over him. “Beckendorf?” he asked hopefully.

The shadow shook its head. “No, brother.”

Percy’s eyes refocused. A misshapen face, ratty brown hair, and one big brown eye full of concern. A Cyclops. “Tyson?”

His brother broke into a toothy grin. “Yay! Your brain works!”

Percy wasn't so sure. His body felt weightless and cold, his voice sounded wrong, and he could only hear Tyson as vibrations inside his skull. He sat up, and a gossamer sheet floated away. He was on a bed woven out of silk-like kelp, inside of what looked like to be a giant clam shell. He glanced up and found the iridescent inside of the shell, and when he peered out of it he could see giant glowing pearls floating around the ceiling, providing light. The room was paneled with abalone shells.

Percy jolted back when his eyes passed over the bedroom window. A variety of fish, crustaceans, and sharks drifted outside, looking in curiously. “Where—”

“Daddy’s palace,” Tyson answered.

Atlantis. He’d dreamed for years of visiting his father’s realm. But his head hurt. His shirt was still speckled with burn marks from the explosion. At least, the wound in his arm had healed—he hadn't been sure if a wound from Kronos’ scythe could even be healed. Still, he felt like he’d been trampled by a Laistrygonian or two.

“How long—”

“We found you last night,” Tyson said, “sinking through the water.”

“The Princess Andromeda?”

“Went ka-boom,” Tyson confirmed.

“Beckendorf—he was with me. Is he…?”

Tyson’s face darkened. “I am sorry, brother,” he said solemnly, and Percy’s heart just about stopped. “He was not of the sea. It could not heal him as it did you.”

He stared out the window into the deep blue that was barely visible behind the crowd of onlookers, thinking of how Beckendorf was supposed to go to college in the fall. He had a girlfriend, lots of friends, his whole life ahead of him. He’d saved Percy’s life. He couldn’t be gone.

Gods, Silena—she’d be devastated.

Eventually, one brave hammerhead shark swam through the window and snuggled its way into his lap. Percy raised his arms in surprise. The shark, settling in, wiggled from side to side, as if asking for pets. Baffled, Percy lowered his arms and held the shark for a while before petting it.

As if waiting for such a cue, other marine life started coming through the window. Some swam, some drifted, some climbed, but they all gathered around him. They didn't say anything—it was strangely quiet in his head. They seemed to just want to comfort him with their presence.

Percy hugged a particularly persistent beluga whale, resting his head on top of its melon and staring at nothing. A part of him wondered—if Backendort hadn't tried to save Percy from Kronos, he might’ve lived. But another part of him knew that was very unlikely. Even if Beckendorf survived the hundred-foot fall into the sea, he had no way of getting far away enough to safety without Percy, and if they’d waited any longer the enemies would have found and disarmed the explosives.

A distant blast shook the room, the world. Green light blazed outside, turning the whole sea as bright as noon.

“What was that?” he asked.

Tyson looked worried. “Daddy will explain. Come—he is blowing up monsters.”

“Delphin,” the old man said, “send Palaemon and his legion of sharks to the western front. We have to neutralize those leviathans.”

The dolphin—Delphin—spoke in a chattering voice, but in his mind Percy could understand it: Yes, lord! it said, and sped away.

Percy looked in dismay at Tyson, then back at the old man. “...Dad?” he asked.

The old man looked up. He recognized the twinkle in his eyes, but his face looked like he’d aged fifty years. “Hello, Percy.”

“What—what happened to you?”

Tyson nudged him, shaking his head, but his father didn't look offended.

“It’s all right, Tyson,” Poseidon said. “Percy, excuse my appearance. The war has been hard on me.”

“But you’re immortal,” Percy said quietly. “You can look… any way you want.”

“I reflect the state of my realm,” Poseidon said. “And right now that state is quite grim. Percy, I should introduce you—I’m afraid you just missed my lieutenant Delphin, god of the dolphins. This is my wife, Amphitrite. My dear—”

The lady in green armor stared at him with an inscrutable gaze. Her hair was kept together with a net and on her head was a crown of crab claws. She uncrossed her arms and made a move toward him, but then stopped in her tracks, clenching and unclenching her hands. “Excuse me, my lord. I am needed in the battle.”

She swam away.

Poseidon cleared his throat. “Yes, well… and this is my son Triton.”

“Your son and heir,” the green merman corrected. His double fishtails swished back and forth. He smiled at him, but there was no friendliness in his eyes. “Hello, Perseus Jackson. Come to help at last?”

If one could blush underwater, he probably did. “Tell me what to do,” Percy said, with all sincerity and conviction.

Triton’s smile faltered. He turned to Poseidon. “I will see to the front line, Father.” He nodded politely to Tyson, and then he shot off into the water.

Poseidon sighed. “I’m sorry about that. It's been a long time since we have a baby in the palace. They simply don't know what to do around you yet. Do give them time to get used to you, Percy.”

Wait, what— “I’m not a baby.” This, again? It didn't make sense, anyway. From their brief interaction, Amphitrite and Triton treated him like they disliked him, like his existence was an inconvenience, not like he was a baby. Which, while awkward, he couldn't blame them for, especially Amphitrite.

Poseidon smiled a soft smile. “By our standards, you are one. My wife has longed for another child of our own, another little one, and now here you are, a baby within reach but one she could not hold. Triton feels similarly, but he is prideful. He didn't actually want to send you to fight, and your response upset him.” Another rumble shook the ground. His smile waned. “Percy, we may not have much time. Tell me of your mission. Did you see Kronos?”

So, Percy told him everything. Looking down at the courtyards below, he saw hundreds of wounded mermen and mermaids lying on makeshift cots, and rows of coral mounds that must’ve been hastily made graves. He realized Beckendorf wasn’t the first death. He was only one of hundreds, maybe thousands. He’d never felt so angry and helpless.

“How did…” His voice choked up. “How did Beckendorf die?” Did he drown? Did he die because Percy was too weak?

His father stroked his beard. “He was wounded by Kronos’ scythe. The sea couldn't heal him, for he wasn't of the sea—even you, my son, are far from recovered. Beckendorf fell in battle; he chose a heroic death. You bear no blame for that. Kronos’ army will be in disarray. Many were destroyed.”

“But we didn’t kill him, did we?”

“No,” Poseidon admitted. “But you’ve bought our side some time.”

Percy drifted through the hallway.

“Rest, for now,” his father had said. “Tomorrow, go to camp and tell Chiron it's time. You must hear the entire prophecy.”

He couldn't just rest when there was a full-blown war going on, when he could’ve helped in the battlefield. But Poseidon had shook his head and reminded him how seeing a baby amid the danger would only sow confusion and distract the mermen and mermaids, that they’d try to protect him, powerful son of Poseidon or not. Tyson was also sent back to the forges.

But Percy couldn't just rest, so here he was, wandering through the palace. There were no stationary guards that he could see. When he did see someone, they were usually in a hurry to get somewhere else. Messengers, probably—and those carrying the wounded. So many were wounded.

He turned around the corner and stopped in his tracks. Amphitrite was standing by the balcony, overseeing the sick and injured below and the battle farther back. Sensing him, she tilted her head to look at him.

“Lady Amphitrite,” Percy greeted. “I, uh, thought you were needed in battle?” He winced. That came out like an accusation.

Amphitrite regarded him with the same unreadable expression. “I am. I’m a goddess; I can split myself into many parts. A part of me is on the front line, another tending to the wounded, another guarding the palace, our seats of power.”

“Oh, I see.”

Silence, then. For several moments, there was nothing but the sounds of faraway battle. “You inherited the siren’s song,” Amphitrite said, apropos of nothing.

“How—”

“Your voice is unmistakable.” She looked back at the rows and rows of casualties. “I am the loud-moaning mother of the fish, seals, and dolphins. I taught the first sirens how to sing. I did not imagine that the spawn of my husband and a mortal woman would possess such an ability.”

Percy waited, but she said nothing else. An idea swirled into mind. A stupid idea, but his treacherous mouth said, “Will you teach me?” before his brain could register the consequences of his actions. “I mean, you don't have to, of course,” he tried to backtrack, but then everything kind of just spilled out from there. “It's just—it’s been hard, figuring this out on my own. The first time I sang, I gave everyone at Camp Half-Blood minor brain damage. Mr. D—um, that's Dionysus—said that was because I was a baby. But I’m not a baby anymore. I can do stuff with my singing now. I write my own songs. Nothing compared to an expert, though, so your help would be very appreciated. Ma’am.”

Amphitrite stared at him with a blank look. Percy wanted to sink into the ground. But then the corner of her mouth twitched up, just the slightest bit, and he let out a breath he didn't know he’d been holding.

“Not a baby anymore, you say?” she said amusedly. She drifted closer and put a hand on his shoulder. “Why don't you show me your songs, little one? In return, I’ll teach you to sing songs of the seas.”

Chapter Text

“What do you see,” Percy asked, once upon a time, “when you hear me sing?”

Annabeth was sitting against Thalia’s tree, sketchbook propped up on her knees. Her tongue poked out in concentration, the smooth slide of graphite on paper blending with the rustle of leaves, the distant chirps of birds, and other noises from the camp down the hills. The shadows cast by the afternoon sun, and the occasional glints from the golden fleece resting on the exposed roots when the light shafts hit it just right, didn't seem to bother her. She kept building a beautiful temple out of carbon-grey streaks and smudges. At his question, her pencil paused on top of the page.

“When?” she asked. “At the sing-along, the first time? Or in the Sea of Monsters?”

“In the Sea of Monsters,” Percy clarified, because at the sing-along, the first time, the campers he’d asked mostly said the same thing: a celebration, like the song was about, but wrong. Distorted faces, haunting music, and rotten olives. Wine red as blood, flowers dipped in tar, and wreaths weaved out of snakes. “Was it anything like the visions from real sirens?”

Annabeth took a moment to think about it, tapping the eraser tip of her pencil to her chin. “It didn't feel like a different vision. I was still in the world the sirens showed me, with…”—she grimaced, and Percy held back a wince; right, Luke was there—“...but I saw a kid at the edge of the park. He was—crying, and I suddenly felt so sad. There I was, feeling the happiest I’d ever been, and yet the world I built would make a little kid cry like that?” Annabeth shook her head “I didn't want it anymore.” She glanced at him. “That was you.”

Heat crept into Percy’s face. He picked at a stain on his shirt, dirt from tending to the strawberries this morning. “Did you see anything else?”

Annabeth stared at him, her grey-eyed gaze piercing. “I got up, and I went to you. I—woke up while we were swimming to the ship.” She looked back to her sketching and continued drawing. Scritch, scritch. Her cheeks were just the slightest bit pink. 

“That's it?”

“That's it.”

Percy now knew Annabeth enough to know that there was something she wasn't telling, but he also trusted her enough to know that she’d tell him if it was truly important to him. He wasn't too keen on describing how, under his influence, she’d hugged and soothed and shushed him like he was a little kid, either. 

“You know you can tell me if you have any trouble, right?” Annabeth said, surprising him. She’d stopped sketching to look at him in the eyes again, her jaw clenched. “To be able to sing something so sad… you must’ve experienced something terrible.”

“I know,” Percy said, maybe a bit too hurried. “I trust you. But, hey, you're the one who told me people don't have to experience the real thing to write about it.”

“I’m serious, Percy,” Annabeth insisted. “If anything or anyone is giving you trouble… You helped me with my dad, with so many things. I want to help you, too.”

“You do. We help each other,” Percy stressed. “I was just glad you didn't see anything bad.” He paused, took a deep breath, and sighed. “Something terrible did happen, but I want to tell you when I’m ready, not during a life-or-death situation. That's why I asked.”

Annabeth reached out and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Whenever you're ready.”

Percy smiled. “Thanks, Wise Girl.”

“Seaweed Brain.”