Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gently, Hestia rose from her place by the hearth, the firelight seeming to cling to her as though reluctant to let her go. The soft rustle of her robes was enough to draw every gaze, god and demigod alike. “Now that the chapter is finished,” she said, her voice calm but edged with finality, “we must allow the demigods their breakfast. It will also give us—” her eyes swept across the Olympians with quiet insistence “—a chance to speak among ourselves, without burdening them with our disputes.”

Most of the gods inclined their heads in agreement, though two did not. Apollo leaned lazily back in his seat, golden eyes flicking toward me with deliberate care. “Actually, I’d rather remain here,” he said, tone deceptively light. “It gives me the perfect excuse to keep an eye on the campers—especially Perseus. I’d like to make sure that little incident with his wound hasn’t left any… complications.” His words were smooth, almost casual, but the gleam in his eyes told a different story. And I knew exactly what it was.

Dionysus, on the other hand, didn’t bother with finesse. He took a long sip of his Diet Coke, then shrugged like the whole affair was beneath him. “I don’t want to go. Far too tedious. I’ll stay.”

The dismissiveness earned him a crack of thunder overhead, Zeus’s warning clear as the air rumbled with displeasure. Dionysus only sighed, swirling his can as though daring his father to smite him.

He finally relented when both Hestia and Hades fixed him with equally sharp looks. “Fine. We will reconvene in two hours. Do not be late.”

At Zeus’s curt dismissal, the demigods rose and drifted toward the dining tables, which had been shifted back into place after serving as audience seating. One by one, the Olympians vanished in bursts of divine light, not bothering to so much as stand before leaving. In the end, I was still sitting on the couch, the hearth suddenly too quiet without their presence.

The other campers glanced at me, worry written plainly across their faces. Honestly, I couldn’t blame them. It had barely been an hour since they’d learned I wasn’t dead, and most of them still looked like they weren’t convinced this wasn’t some elaborate trick of the Mist. I gave them a lazy wave and a lopsided grin, the kind of smile that said: I’m fine, really. We’ll see each other at breakfast.

But not everyone was ready to let it go.

Jason, Thalia, Reyna, and Nico rose from their couch and came to stand around me, forming a circle tight enough to feel like I was back on trial for something. They left just enough space for Will—or Apollo, if he wanted—to join in. From where I sat, I caught Will staring openly at Nico, his mouth half open like he’d just forgotten how words worked.

I slouched back against the cushions and raised an eyebrow at Nico, who promptly responded with one of his patented death glares. Typical.

Rolling my eyes, I shifted my attention to the two Romans looming above me. “Well?” I asked dryly. “You two should go grab breakfast too.”

But they clearly had other plans. Jason flopped down on one side of me, Reyna on the other. “We were concerned about you and wanted to know more of what was going on,” Jason said with a shrug and an easy grin.

Reyna nodded in agreement. “Besides, given who our parents are, we’d just be sitting alone at the tables. We figured we’d keep you company instead.”

I couldn’t help smiling at that.

Then Apollo cleared his throat, breaking the quiet that had settled over us. “As kind and heartwarming as this little gathering is, I do need to steal Percy from you all for a moment. I have something to discuss with him, and I doubt he wants an audience.”

Jason leaned back against the couch, crossing his arms like he had no intention of moving. “If it’s about his health, you can say it here. We’ve already had enough secrets for one morning.”

Apollo’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes sharpened. “Ah, but some matters don’t belong to the entire room. Even family needs boundaries.” His gaze flicked deliberately toward Nico, and I wasn’t sure if it was meant as a jab, a warning, or something else entirely.

Reyna gave a thoughtful hum. “You’ll forgive us if we’re reluctant to just hand him over. Olympian business has a habit of spilling onto the rest of us.” Judging by the approving look Thalia shot her, Reyna had just voiced what everyone else was thinking.

I let out a long breath, trying not to sound as tired as I felt. “Look, if Apollo wants a word, I’ll hear him out. Worst case, it’s a lecture about ambrosia consumption or my charming habit of almost dying once a year.” I pushed myself up from the couch, ignoring Nico’s deepening frown. “Besides, it’s not like I can stop a god from talking at me.”

For a moment, no one moved. Then Thalia tilted her chin in a silent signal that she’d back down; for now at least. Jason followed suit, though not without shooting Apollo a glare that could probably melt gold.

Apollo, smug as ever, gestured toward the archway leading out of the pavilion. “Excellent. A short walk should suffice.” He didn’t wait for me to agree before heading that way, sunlight trailing behind him like he’d rehearsed the whole thing.

I rubbed the back of my neck and muttered, “Guess I’ll be back before the pancakes get cold.”

“Don’t let him charm you into anything,” Nico said flatly. It sounded less like advice and more like a threat aimed directly at Apollo.

“Noted,” I replied, giving him a two-finger salute before trailing after the god.

The moment we stepped beyond the cabins, the warmth shifted. The air grew sharper, quieter, like the whole camp had decided to hold its breath. Apollo slowed his pace, glancing back at me with that same too-casual grin.

“So, Perseus,” he said, and though his tone was light, it carried a heavier weight beneath it. “Tell me—when exactly were you planning to explain the… changes?” He gestured flamboyantly, trying—and failing—to be subtle.

I crossed my arms and shrugged. “I wasn’t. Or at least not until it became unavoidable. Dropping that kind of reveal would only piss off the Fates, and I’m not in a hurry to get on their bad side. Besides, it’s not like I chose this.”

I kept my posture relaxed, but inside, the distance between us stung. It felt like starting from scratch with someone who didn’t remember me at all. Maybe this was how the others had felt when Hera wiped my memories.

Apollo tilted his head, golden hair catching stray shafts of light that seemed to bend toward him no matter where he stood. “Not chosen, perhaps. But accepted, yes. The Fates may weave the thread, Perseus, but you’ve already tugged hard enough to alter the pattern.” His eyes narrowed, the humor slipping just enough to remind me he wasn’t just some laid-back god with a lyre—he was prophecy itself, staring me down.

I swallowed, forcing a grin that didn’t reach my eyes. “Funny. You almost sound concerned. That’s new.”

He chuckled, warm but edged, like sunlight on broken glass. “Don’t mistake concern for sentiment. I’m trying to decide whether you’ll unravel things further—or hold together long enough for Olympus to survive the fallout.”

My chest tightened at the way he said it—not accusatory, but like I was already a variable in some equation he couldn’t solve. “So what? You want me to swear loyalty? Promise I won’t accidentally blow up Olympus next Tuesday?”

“Not loyalty.” Apollo’s voice softened, and for an instant I saw something real—worry, maybe even fear—before the mask slipped back into place. “Honesty. Because the next time that… spark inside you shows itself, it won’t just be me who notices.”

We stood there in the half-shadow of the pavilion, locked in silence. I hated that he was right. I hated even more that he was looking at me like I was both a puzzle and a threat.

I exhaled slowly. “Then maybe stop staring at me like one of your prophecies and start treating me like a person.”

Apollo blinked, caught off guard. For a heartbeat, the god of truth faltered—then he managed a smile. “Careful, Perseus. You’re starting to sound like me.”

The words lingered, his smile curling at the edges like parchment beginning to burn. “Perhaps you’re right,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “But you and I both know the luxury of being treated like ‘just a person’ ended the moment you were born.”

I didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, I shoved my hands into my pockets and looked back toward the dining pavilion where the others were gathering. Laughter carried faintly across the grass, a reminder of what normal was supposed to sound like.

Apollo followed my gaze, the sunlight around him dimming just slightly. “Enjoy the illusion while you can, Perseus. Because when the time comes…” He trailed off, as if finishing the thought would make it too real. Then, with a flicker of golden light, he straightened and slipped his easy grin back on. “But for now, go eat your pancakes. Even heroes burn out without breakfast.”

Before I could reply, he vanished in a ripple of warmth and brightness, leaving me blinking at empty space.

I stood there for a moment longer, trying to will away the knot in my stomach. Then, with a sigh, I turned back toward the pavilion. The smell of syrup and bacon drifted through the air, and I knew the others would be waiting—watching, probably.

Pretending everything was fine had practically become my specialty.

But before I could rejoin the others, Dionysus caught my eye. He stood exactly where he had been that morning, wearing the same unreadable expression. If not for the sunlight shifting across the courtyard, I might have sworn we’d slipped into a time loop instead of some form of paradox.

Just as I started toward him, he waved me off with a flick of his hand—dismissive, almost bored—and turned back inside without another word.

I froze mid-step, unsettled in a way I couldn’t put into words. For all his grumbling and theatrics, Mr. D was usually predictable: cranky, sarcastic, obsessed with his Diet Coke. But this? This silence, this deliberate dismissal—it felt heavier, like he knew something I didn’t.

I rubbed at my arm, unease prickling down my spine. The gods loved their cryptic nonsense, but there was something different about Dionysus today. Almost like he was waiting for something… or someone.

Either way, chasing after him didn’t feel like a good idea. Not yet.

With a shake of my head, I turned back toward the hearth, forcing the thought aside. Syrup and bacon were a much safer mystery to tackle.

When I made it back, Apollo was already surrounded by the group I’d left behind. Nico was glaring daggers at him, the kind of look that could curdle nectar. Thalia stood close, her arms crossed, saying something low but sharp, her body language tight with restraint.

Reyna and Jason lingered just behind them, both wearing the same expression—somewhere between solidarity and discomfort—as though openly siding with the Greeks against a god would be pushing the line a little too far.

Will, meanwhile, looked like he wanted to sink straight through the floor. He wasn’t defending his father, but he wasn’t stepping away either, caught in that miserable space between loyalty and silence.

I stopped a few feet away, taking in the scene. The air was thick enough to cut, and I had the sinking feeling that if I didn’t step in soon, Nico’s glare was going to escalate into something a lot less subtle.

“Alright,” I said, sliding back into the circle with a lazy grin I didn’t really feel, “what’d I miss? We started a camp tradition of picking fights with gods while I was gone? Thought that was my thing.”

Thalia glanced at me, her mouth twitching like she wanted to smirk but refused to let herself. Nico didn’t look away from Apollo, though the shadows at his feet stilled just slightly. Jason and Reyna both exhaled at the same time, like I’d cracked the pressure valve.

Apollo, of course, looked utterly unbothered, golden and smug as ever. “Your friends were simply expressing their… enthusiasm for your continued well-being,” he said smoothly.

“Uh-huh,” I muttered, shooting him a look. “And by ‘enthusiasm,’ you mean ‘thinly veiled threats.’”

No one denied it. I was just glad that, for all his posturing, Apollo was one of the more relaxed gods when it came to disrespect. So long as you didn’t insult his mother, mess with his cows, or touch someone he considered his, you were safe enough. Or at least he has calmed down since Ancient Greece times.

“Tomayto, tomahto. What matters is that you’re back and I’m starving,” Thalia cut in, linking her arm with Jason’s before waving us toward the tables. “Let’s go before all the good stuff’s gone.”

Jason rolled his eyes but let her drag him off. Reyna followed with a little more dignity, though I caught the faintest quirk of her lips—her version of a laugh. Nico muttered something about “ridiculous siblings” under his breath, but Will hovered close to him anyway, like a magnet he couldn’t break away from.

I chuckled, some of the invisible weight finally slipping from my shoulders. But when I glanced to the side, Apollo was still there, watching me with a look that was equal parts thoughtful and calculating.

The charm at my neck pulsed, faint but noticeable, and the feeling it carried was muddled—hesitation, curiosity, conflict. Even Apollo, the god who thought he had an answer for everything, seemed stumped. Maybe it was the Fates sending three demigods from the future into the past. Maybe it was other campers being pulled from their own timelines. Or maybe it was something else entirely.

Whatever it was, his golden eyes said one thing clearly: this wasn’t over. I smirked at him but kept walking, not giving him the chance to continue to lecture or hassle me for answers. 

When we got to the tables, I noticed everyone had more or less ditched the whole “sit at your parent’s table” rule. Which, honestly, made sense—there weren’t that many of us demigods, and the gods weren’t exactly sitting around to scold us. Still, it was hilarious watching a child of Athena plop down at Poseidon’s table like it was no big deal.

Well—everyone except Octavian. He sat stiffly at Apollo’s table, glaring at the rest of us like we’d just broken some sacred Roman law. I snorted when I saw Frank happily ignoring him, chatting with Clarisse like he had zero regrets about ditching his fellow Roman.

I nearly burst out laughing when Jason of all people dragged Reyna and Thalia toward the center, steering them into some open spots like a camp counselor herding rowdy kids. Reyna looked unimpressed, Thalia looked annoyed, and Jason just looked smug about pulling it off.

The only ones still standing were Nico, Will, Apollo, and me. I lingered at the edge, hesitant. The last thing I wanted was to sit down and get peppered with a dozen questions I wasn’t able or ready to answer—especially when some of those questions would come with actual death glares attached.

But before I could slip away and make a strategic retreat, a firm hand closed around my wrist. I blinked down in shock to find Apollo, of all people, tugging me forward like I was a wayward toddler. With his other hand, he caught Will’s shoulder, herding the both of us toward the benches before I had the chance to argue. Will, as if to have control over the situation, grabbed Nico’s wrist to bring him along.

Next thing I knew, I was sandwiched in the middle—Apollo on one side, Will and Nico on the other. Nico immediately looked like he was reconsidering every life choice that had led him here, Will flushed pink as he sat down beside him, and me?

Yeah. My face burned red hot.

However, a moment later it felt like I’d been drenched in freezing water, because Annabeth’s voice cut through the chatter like a blade.

“So… we’re just going to pretend you showing up alive isn’t the biggest problem in the figurative room?”

Her words slammed into me harder than any monster ever had. Conversation died instantly. Forks froze midair. All eyes turned to me.

“Annabeth—” I started, hands raised, already knowing I was on sinking ground. “We can’t… I can’t talk about that right now. The Fates were clear. I’m sorry. I know it’s not what you want to hear, but—”

“No.” Her voice cracked like a whip, sharp enough to sting. She leaned forward, eyes blazing, every inch of her fury focused squarely on me. “You don’t get to vanish, make everyone think you’re dead, and then just sit here like it’s fine. We were the ones left behind, Percy. We were the ones picking up the pieces while you were—what? Playing secret games with the Fates?”

My throat tightened. “Annabeth, please. I didn’t choose for that to happen. Besides, I’m not even from your time, I’m from after it—”

Her laugh was short, bitter. “Not your choice? That’s your excuse?” She shook her head, her knuckles white against the table. “Do you ever even think about what happens after you dive headfirst into danger? About the people left behind? You’ve always been reckless, but this—this was selfish. We mourned you, Percy. Do you understand that? You left us to mourn you.”

The words hit like a blade to the gut. I swallowed hard. “I didn’t want that—”

“But it happened.” Her voice rose, her composure fraying, sharp enough now that Silena flinched across the table. “You think being a hero means you can take all the risks and everyone else just deals with the fallout. Like your life’s worth more than the rest of ours because you’re the one meant to save the day. Well, newsflash: you’re not the only one who bleeds when you get hurt or disappear.”

My fists clenched under the table. “I know it matters. Gods, Annabeth, of course it matters. But some things—I can’t explain. Not yet. You think I like keeping secrets from you? From any of you?”

“Then prove it!” she snapped, voice raw. “For once in your life, stop hiding behind fate or prophecy or whatever excuse you’ve got and just be honest!”

“Annabeth.” Thalia’s voice was sharp enough to cut, her hand locking on Annabeth’s arm. Storm clouds churned in her eyes. “That’s enough.”

Annabeth didn’t move, jaw trembling with the force of everything she wasn’t saying. “No. He doesn’t get to just walk back into our lives and act like nothing happened. Not this time.”

Nico leaned forward, shadows curling at his shoulders. His tone was flat, but dangerous. “Yelling at him won’t change what’s already happened.”

Annabeth turned on him instantly, fury sparking. “And what—your solution is to say nothing? Pretend it’s fine until it blows up later? That works well for you, right Nico?”

Nico’s eyes narrowed, dark and hollow. The whole table seemed to dip colder.

“That’s enough.” Thalia’s voice cracked like thunder now, slamming into the tension before it could spiral. Her glare swept across Annabeth, then myself, daring either of us to push further. I looked away, my thoughts spiralling. 

But Annabeth’s plate scraped loudly across the wood as she shoved it away, the sharp sound making half the table flinch. She leaned back, arms crossed, jaw locked tight, but her eyes still burned.

And then Apollo, predictably, filled the silence.

“Well,” he drawled, twirling his spoon, golden eyes glittering with curiosity. “That was… enlightening. All this talk of fallout, recklessness, not explaining things, being alive. Almost sounds like there’s more to the story.” His smile curved, almost amused. “Care to share with the rest of us?”

Every gaze snapped to me.

I couldn’t answer. My throat had closed up. All I could do was give a sharp shake of my head.

Apollo arched a brow, his smirk thin. “Ah. One of those secrets.”

He knew I couldn’t talk about it, I said that earlier, he’s just trying to stir the pot so to speak. 

The food on my plate might as well have been stone. My stomach twisted, my hands staying hidden in my lap.

The silence pressed in—until Beckendorf cleared his throat.

Not loud, but steady. Solid. He set down his fork with deliberate calm. “Alright,” he said, voice carrying. “That’s enough for one morning. We’ve survived worse breakfasts without ripping each other apart. Whatever Percy isn’t saying, it’s not coming out right now. So maybe let him eat in peace. Yeah?”

Relief flickered across the table. Connor muttered, “Can we go back to Travis getting stuck in a tree? That was funnier.”

Travis groaned. “I told you, I slipped—”

Grover actually bleated with laughter, and the tension cracked, just a little. Even Clarisse’s muttered, “Typical Athena drama,” got an elbow from Silena but earned a few uneasy smirks.

Jason leaned toward Thalia, muttering dryly, “And you say Romans are uptight?” Reyna shook her head, posture taut but controlled, and picked up her fork again. “Eat,” she ordered, mostly at Jason, but her eyes flicked briefly toward me.

Will kept sneaking glances at me while chewing mechanically on his toast. Nico, shadows curling faintly at his edges, didn’t eat at all.

Apollo sighed loudly and reached for the syrup. “Fine. But if no one passes me the pancakes, I will write a ballad about starvation.”

It wasn’t funny. Not really. But Travis snorted, Connor cackled, and Frank chuckled awkwardly as he shoved more bacon into his mouth.

Me? I stayed quiet, staring at my empty plate.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, something slid onto it. A single bite of pancake—dyed unmistakably blue.

I blinked and glanced sideways. Nico’s hand was already back, his face unreadable, eyes fixed on his own food. He didn’t say a word.

My throat tightened. It was stupid—just a piece of pancake—but it cracked something in me I’d been holding shut.

I nudged it closer with my fork. “Thanks,” I muttered, barely audible.

Nico didn’t look at me. But the corner of his mouth twitched. Almost, but not quite, a smile.

The first bite was sweeter than I’d expected, grounding me more than I wanted to admit.

The chatter rose around me again. Connor reenacted Travis flailing in the branches, Grover’s laughter loud enough to echo, and even Clarisse smirked into her cup.

I caught myself listening. Just… listening.

When Jason deadpanned, “Really? A tree?” I snorted before I could stop myself.

Thalia pounced instantly. “There it is. Kelp-Head remembered how to laugh.”

Heat crept up my neck. “Don’t make it a big deal.”

“Too late,” she shot back, smirking.

Reyna gave me the faintest nod. Will’s shoulders loosened. And Annabeth—she didn’t look at me, but she exhaled long and slow, like forcing herself not to break all over again. The weight on my chest didn’t vanish. But it shifted, making it not so crushing and all consuming.

And just like that, breakfast moved on. Not forgetting. Not forgiving. Not yet. But moving.

Nico didn’t say a word for the rest of the meal, but he didn’t have to. Every so often, another piece of pancake or toast or fruit would quietly appear on my plate, like he’d decided feeding me was his personal mission. I didn’t protest. I couldn’t. Slowly, bite by bite, the knot in my stomach eased enough to let me eat.

At some point—I couldn’t have said when—I leaned into his side, the steady weight of him grounding me more than I cared to admit. My hand found his, cool and solid, and I started idly spinning his rings between my fingers. It was almost instinct now, the nervous energy bleeding out of me with every twist of metal.

Nico didn’t pull away. He never did. I was starting to think he only wore half these rings so I’d have something to fidget with.

His thumb brushed mine once—brief, deliberate—but he kept his gaze fixed on his plate like nothing had happened.

And for a moment, it was easy to pretend nothing had happened either. Just pancakes, laughter, the clink of silverware. Normal.

Thalia noticed first. Her stormy eyes flicked to us, then softened. She smirked into her cup but it wasn’t sharp this time—more like the kind of grin an older sibling gives when they’re glad you’ve found someone who gets it. She leaned across the table just enough to nudge my foot under the bench, a subtle “I see you” gesture that grounded me almost as much as Nico’s steady presence did.

“Don’t get syrup on his jacket, Kelp Head,” she teased, her voice light but her gaze warm. Nico rolled his eyes at her, muttering something about “drama queens,” but the faintest hint of color brushed his ears.

Jason caught the exchange, eyebrows raised, but Reyna’s hand on his wrist kept him quiet. She tilted her chin at Thalia instead, as though silently asking if she was sure about this. Thalia’s shrug—half a smirk, half a warning—was answer enough.

Silena smiled knowingly into her juice, while Clarisse once again muttered something about “mushy nonsense,” only to get elbowed in the ribs by Beckendorf. Grover let out a quiet bleat of laughter, clearly relieved the tension had finally cracked.

Annabeth didn’t look. She didn’t have to—the stiffness in her shoulders said enough. Pretending she didn’t see was safer than admitting anything.

Will, though—Will saw. He watched me more than Nico, eyes sharp but not prying. A healer’s gaze, weighing fractures no one else could see. He didn’t look conflicted—he looked like he understood. Like he’d recognized that something in me was frayed, older than it should be, and fragile in ways words couldn’t touch. That I was almost always feeling ungrounded now, that since Tartarus I rarely felt stable. 

For a flicker of a moment, there was recognition in his eyes, like he almost said a name that wasn’t mine. Then he blinked, softened, and looked away. Choosing not to press. Choosing to let me have this.

And Thalia—sitting just across from us—shot me one more glance, a small, fierce smile tugging at her mouth. Protective. Sisterly. A promise, unspoken: you’re not carrying this alone.

And for the first time since the gods had arrived, I let myself believe it.

As breakfast finished up, the conversations remained in lighter territory even if they never quite recovered to what they were before mine and Annabeth’s not quite fight. Laughter was a little too sharp or a little too forced, but at least people were either getting to know one another or catching up. 

When the last plates were pushed aside, the air shimmered. Power rolled through the pavilion and the gods reappeared. 

They didn’t say anything at first. Their gazes swept over us—at Greeks and Romans sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, at Nico and me pressed close, at Annabeth stiff in her seat, at Thalia with her storm-cloud eyes flicking between everyone. They saw the tension clinging to us like smoke. They noticed. Of course they noticed.

Athena’s frown lingered longest, sharp and precise as she took in who sat where. Hera’s mouth tightened. Even Hermes, floating casually in his spot with practiced ease, let his eyes narrow ever so slightly, like he was reading the story written across the table.

But none of them said a word.

Zeus gave a single, dismissive wave, and with that the moment passed. “Well it seems you all have finished eating. Get yourselves cleaned up and meet us at the fire. Do not be long.”

And just like that he dismissed us and led the other gods to the fire, all of them pulling out various means of reading material. Even from beside me Apollo summoned his own before getting up and following the rest of them, a flirty grin on his face as he waved us goodbye.

Will looked vaguely grossed out at his dad’s flirtatious tone. I was so glad that my dad generally didn’t have many demigod children, even before the Broken Oath. 

Now that Apollo was gone, the sharp edge of the tension seemed to fade with him. Maybe it was just the way things worked—gods didn’t usually linger around their kids unless they were handing out quests or punishments.

But even with the weight lifted, the silence lingered. No one wanted to be the first to speak.

So, of course, it had to be me.

“Annabeth,” I said, careful but steady. “You have every right to question what happened. And I get that you probably meant well. But you just dropped a pretty major piece of the future in front of a god.” I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes a little. “Regardless of what domains he likes to wave around.”

The color drained from her face. For once, Annabeth looked less like the girl who always had the answers and more like someone who’d just realized she’d stepped straight into quicksand. It was clear she hadn’t thought of the Fates when she’d lost her temper—hadn’t remembered the warning until I shoved it back in front of her.

Annabeth’s mouth opened like she wanted to argue, but nothing came out. Just silence. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she looked away, shoulders rigid. The reminder of the Fates hung over all of us like a storm cloud no one wanted to acknowledge.

Chiron cleared his throat softly, the sound carrying more weight than words. “Perhaps,” he said, in that calm centaur way of his, “we should take a moment to regroup. You’ve all been through more in a few hours than most mortals experience in a lifetime. Breakfast is finished. Go to your cabins. Freshen up. Breathe. We’ll reconvene soon.”

His dismissal was familiar, it brought a sense of normalcy. 

Enough that it brought us to action. Plates scraped back, benches shifted, and conversation picked up in careful, low tones as campers pushed back from the tables. As everyone got up, little clusters started to form.

Thalia hooked her arms around Jason and Reyna’s before either praetor could protest. “C’mon, you two. Zeus’s cabin has enough room to breathe, and if we’re going to face the gods again, you’d better not show up looking like you slept in your armor.” Jason groaned but didn’t fight her, Reyna giving a small nod as the three of them headed off together.

Frank hesitated for half a second, caught between the Romans and Greeks, before Clarisse jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. “Don’t even think about ditching me, Zhang. If I’ve got to deal with your Roman friend giving me stink-eye, you’re coming with me.” Frank’s ears turned red, but he followed her toward the Ares cabin without argument.

Will was slower to move, shifting awkwardly until Octavian swept past with a scowl. “If Apollo insists I lower myself to this circus, then at least one of his children should act like a Roman.” He marched toward Apollo’s cabin with all the dignity of a prancing peacock, leaving Will sighing as he trailed reluctantly behind, a snickering Rachel walking beside him.

I stayed where I was until Nico nudged me with his shoulder. “‘You coming, or are you planning to sit here and let Chiron lecture you?” His tone was flat, but there was a softness in his eyes that undercut the sarcasm.

I pushed myself up, not trusting my voice, and followed him. He didn’t say anything else, just walked beside me, quiet and steady. The kind of quiet I could lean into.

For the first time since breakfast started, it felt like I could actually breathe.

Nico and I walked shoulder to shoulder toward my cabin, the gravel crunching under our feet. Neither of us spoke. We didn’t have to. Silence had stopped being uncomfortable a long time ago.

In the beginning, it hadn’t been like this. Back then, every moment between us was raw. Nico was still drowning in grief for Bianca and I was carrying the weight of knowing I couldn’t save her. Our words had been sharp, our silences sharper. But somewhere along the way, the sharp edges dulled. We had it out, more than once. We cried, more than once. And after the second war, when the dust settled and the nightmares didn’t stop, we learned how to lean on each other instead of pushing away.

Things got better after I finally told him why I didn’t want to be his hero. Why the thought of him putting me on that kind of pedestal made my skin crawl. 

I didn’t want to become his Luke—the kind of role model who broke under the weight of expectations and dragged others down with him, who started a war because of reasons older than us. Nico understood. Maybe better than I thought he would. And after that, something shifted. We weren’t just allies, or even just friends. We were… steady. Brothers that we never had.

By the time we reached my cabin, it felt almost like muscle memory—walking into the space together, letting the door shut behind us, and moving in comfortable quiet.

In sync, we stepped into the cabin and I nudged Nico toward the bathroom first. “Go on,” I said, forcing a smile. “I need to find something before I get ready.”

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, I went straight to the drawer under my bunk. Most of the stuff in there was clutter—camp T-shirts, half-burnt drachma, a pen cap I swear used to belong to Riptide—but buried beneath it all was the one thing I was looking for.

My fingers closed around a small, smooth shape. I pulled it out and held it in my palm: a little shark, carved from some kind of cheap blue plastic. Sally had given it to me when I was five, back when I was obsessed with sharks and convinced I’d be the world’s greatest marine biologist. It was small enough to fit in my pocket, something I’d carried for years before I outgrew the habit.

Even now, though, it still smelled faintly of saltwater. Or maybe that was just in my head.

The second I felt its familiar weight, the tension in my chest eased, just a little. Holding it made me feel like I was home, like no matter how messed up things got, my mom would always be there. Which was a lie, of course. Today of all days, I knew I’d have to relive the truth of losing her. But right now, with the shark in my hand, I could pretend.

The bathroom door creaked open. I didn’t bother hiding the trinket, and Nico—freshly towel-drying his hands—paused in the doorway. His dark eyes flicked to the little shark in my palm. For a second I braced for a comment, a question, maybe even one of his clipped jokes.

Instead, he just smiled. Small. Understanding. No words. Then he moved past me, giving my shoulder a brush that said more than anything he could’ve spoken aloud as he flopped on my bed and started looking at the intricate designs that covered the head board of each one.

And for once, I didn’t feel the need to explain. Instead, I tried to lighten the mood. “Why is it that whenever you’re in here, you and Thalia always end up on my bed instead of the other dozen perfectly good ones?”

Nico didn’t bother answering. He just smirked, like he knew exactly what he was doing, and jerked his chin toward the bathroom.

I rolled my eyes but obeyed, slipping the little shark into my pocket and brushing past him to take my turn.

The bathroom itself wasn’t grand in its decorations, but it was definitely fancier than the one in our old New York apartment. It was a simple half-bath, but the architecture was similar to the rest of the cabin’s interior. 

It didn’t take long to see why everyone—especially Thalia and Nico—had been so worried about me.

I looked wrecked. Dark bags carved shadows under my eyes, my skin had gone pale and shallow, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d really slept without dreams clawing at me. I guess having your emotions yanked through an involuntary rollercoaster takes more out of you than you realize. And there wasn’t much I could do about it.

With a sigh, I splashed cold water on my face, willing it to do something—reset me, recharge me, anything. The water slipped away without answering. Still, the sting against my skin made me feel a little more awake, and for the moment, that had to be enough.

By the time I stepped back out, Nico was still sprawled across my bed like he owned it. He gave me one of his half-smiles, and I managed to return it. Neither of us said anything. We didn’t have to. 

Instead I walked over to the end of the bed and grabbed the sweater he’d left draped there. It was a bit big on me, the sleeves slipping past my hands, but it smelled faintly of sunshine—warmth and late summer fields, something I hadn’t realized I’d been missing until it wrapped around me.

I wasn’t sure how he’d managed to snag one of the hoodies Apollo had let me permanently borrow during one of our first dates, but I wasn’t going to complain. It was the kind of thing Nico would never admit to doing on purpose—keeping something sentimental close by—but the thought of him hanging onto it anyway softened something inside me.

It was also another sign this place was a paradox.

The hoodie itself was simple, but elegant in a way that almost felt unfair. A deep, slightly unsaturated blue—like the sea just before twilight—was offset by intricate gold detailing stitched along the cuffs and hem. If you looked closer, you could see tiny embroidered suns and waves hidden in the pattern, subtle enough that most people would miss them. The fabric was heavier than it looked, soft but solid, like it was meant to hold you together when you felt like falling apart.

Pulling it over my head was more than just getting dressed. It was grounding. A reminder that someone had cared enough to notice the moments when I needed this, even if I never said it out loud.

With a small smile, I grabbed his hand and tugged until he stood. Then steered him toward the door.

We stepped outside together, sunlight spilling over us, the familiar crunch of gravel under our shoes grounding me more than the cold water ever had. For a moment, it almost felt like the morning might stay quiet.

Then I saw her.

Annabeth was standing a few feet from the cabin, arms crossed, sharp gray eyes already fixed on me. Waiting.

The little ease I’d felt evaporated.

I touched Nico’s shoulder before he could say anything. “Hey—go on ahead. I’ll catch up. Let the others know we'll be at the hearth in the moment. Make sure Thalia and Rachel don’t try to outwit one another, it’ll be like world war three.” I joked, earning a dry huff. 

He didn’t look convinced, but after a pause, he gave a small nod and slipped away, his figure disappearing between the cabins. That left me and Annabeth, and the weight of everything unsaid pressing down like a storm about to break.

As I stepped up to her, her gaze went straight to the sweater. For a second she just stared, calculating in that way only Annabeth could—like she was dissecting a battlefield. Then something in her expression shifted. Resignation.

“We don’t work out, do we?” she asked quietly.

That caught me completely off guard. Out of everything I thought she might say—an accusation, a lecture, a sharp question—it wasn’t that.

She gave a humorless chuckle, eyes flicking away for just a moment before returning to me. “Was it because of my fatal flaw? Did I want more than you could give? Or… did our directions just split?”

I shook my head quickly, almost too quickly, and the ache in my chest reminded me why, once upon a time, I had seen myself with her so clearly. With a sigh, I shoved my hands deep into my pockets, trying to find words that didn’t sound like an excuse.

“No,” I said finally. “If anything, it was because of my flaw. Some things in the future… they happen in a way that permanently changes us. We’re still friends—we’ll always be friends—but there wasn’t anything we could’ve done to save… us.”

My throat tightened, but I pushed through. Like most of my problems, it all came down to Tartarus and the gods. That fight against Misery herself had carved something out of me, left a hollow space nothing could really fill. Not even Aphrodite’s meddling could patch it together.

Annabeth didn’t say anything right away. Her eyes searched mine, weighing every word, every hesitation, like she was trying to decide if I was being honest or just protecting her from the worst of it.

In the end, she only gave a small nod. Not acceptance, not really—but understanding.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “At the end of the day… you’re still one of my best friends, Annabeth. That never changes. Not in the past, not in the future.”

Her mouth pressed into a thin line, but her shoulders eased. She looked away, blinking fast, before managing a quiet, “Good. Because I don’t think I could handle losing you twice.”

For a moment, the weight between us shifted into something lighter. Not forgotten, not fixed—but steady enough to stand on.

Then she arched an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Still, you’ve got terrible taste in sweaters. Figures.”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed, tension slipping loose with the sound. With a smirk, I shot back, “Careful, I’m not the one who picked it.”

Her cheeks went pink, and for once Annabeth looked almost… flustered. She gave a small, softer smile before rushing out, “For the record, I just wanted to say sorry for breakfast. Regardless of my feelings, I have no excuse for how I talked to you. It’s not your fault for what happened.”

The apology hung between us, surprising in its openness. Annabeth didn’t often admit to being wrong, and I knew how much it cost her to say the words.

I swallowed, then gave her the smallest, real smile I could manage. “Thanks, Wise Girl. That… means more than you think.”

Before she could argue, I offered my arm. She rolled her eyes—because of course she did—but still hooked her elbow through mine. 

Together, Annabeth and I slipped back into the hearth, the quiet between us carrying less weight than before. As we rejoined the others, the hearth was already resetting itself into the same order as earlier—like breakfast had been nothing more than a pause in some larger rhythm.

The gods reclined on their couches, looking perfectly at ease. Demigods filed into their earlier spots, cushions now spread on the floor in front of Poseidon’s couch for Apollo and Will. 

By now, Annabeth was making her way back to be beside Artemis while Nico dropped down beside Hades, a hesitant look on both of their faces. I smiled at him encouragingly. He grimaced back.

Thalia had reclaimed her space near Jason and Reyna. Everyone else followed suit with the kind of instinctive shuffle you get when a routine’s already been drilled in.

I still hadn’t moved from my spot, lingering by the edge of the firelight, the flames throwing shadows against the stoneI watched as the gods exchanged knowing looks. Apollo’s smirk hadn’t faded. I looked at Annabetha and we both knew that Apollo told them about breakfast. Annabeth was sitting stiff-backed, jaw tight, like she already knew what was coming.

That was when a scrap of parchment flared into existence in the fire, curling only slightly at the edges before dropping onto the hearthstones. It didn’t burn. It didn’t smoke. It just waited, impossible to ignore.

Mr. D, being the closest, bent down and picked it up with careful fingers. Quickly, he scanned it—his face darkening with each line. When he read it aloud, the voice wasn’t quite his own. The cadence was sharper, crueler. The words of the Fates.

“Annabeth Chase, Daughter of Athena,

You have broken the thread of silence and sought to twist the weave of destiny. For this, your punishment is immediate and absolute.

You will carry the weight of Perseus Jackson’s burdens. His doubts, his griefs, his helpless rages, his bone-deep exhaustion—you will feel them as he felt them, from his first quest until the moment in time from which he was taken. You will not die of them, but they will never leave you.

And when your tongue dares to form words of what has not yet come to pass, you will find them rotted into meaningless sound. Your wisdom will fail you, and your pride will betray you before all.

This decree will bind you until the hour of fire and loss beneath the earth, where the threads may loosen once more.

We have spoken.

—The Moirai”

By the time he reached the end, no one moved. The air itself seemed heavier, like even breathing had become dangerous.

The final signature landed like a blade. The Moirai. Not their softened Roman name. Not even the safer “Fates.” Their true name, dragged out into the open.

The parchment disintegrated into ash the moment Dionysus’s fingers left it, scattering into the fire like it had never existed. But the silence it left behind was deafening.

Every demigod’s eyes inevitably slid toward Annabeth. No one said a word, but their expressions said enough. Jason’s mouth pressed into a tight line, Reyna’s brow furrowed as though calculating the weight of it, and even Thalia, usually so sharp, just looked… concerned. Rachel’s gaze lingered the longest, like she was trying to measure how much Annabeth could really endure.

But the gods—they weren’t all troubled.

Poseidon leaned back, his sea-green eyes glinting in something close to satisfaction. Beside him, Amphitrite’s lips curved into a smile that was almost too sharp to be kind. Apollo, lounging casually, gave a little half-smirk, clearly pleased with the Fates’ decision, while Triton didn’t even bother hiding his amusement.

Athena, though—her fury was unmistakable. Her knuckles whitened where she gripped her armrest, her storm-gray eyes locked on her daughter. For once, it wasn’t disappointment or cold calculation. It was pure, unrestrained rage.

I didn’t move toward her. Or toward Annabeth. Or even back to where my family waited, their eyes sharp and—Poseidon help me—more pleased than concerned. Apollo’s smug little “I told you so” expression didn’t help either.

Instead, I crossed the space in silence and lowered myself to the floor by the hearth. The warmth curled around me, steady and grounding, and Hestia shifted just slightly to make room, her flame-light brushing against my shoulder like quiet reassurance. She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. That was the point.

Annabeth’s eyes darted toward me, just for a second, and I saw the way her jaw clenched. Athena noticed too—her glare sharpened, if that was even possible. Apollo’s expression faltered at last, like he wasn’t expecting me to choose firelight over sunlight. Like he couldn’t comprehend why I wouldn’t choose him.

The hearth crackled, breaking the silence. Then, without ceremony, the journal shimmered back into Hestia’s waiting hands.

“Shall we continue?” Hestia asked softly, her gaze flicking once toward Annabeth.

And just like that, the reading began again… for all of two seconds. The letters shimmered across the page, and Hestia’s calm voice carried through the hall.

“Chapter Two,” she said, with a faint note of wryness. “Three Old Ladies Knit the Socks of Death.”

Silence fell, sharp and uneasy.

Thalia let out a low whistle. “Not ominous at all.”

Nico shifted in his seat, pale fingers worrying at his rings, while Silena hugged her arms tight around herself. Clarisse snorted, but her laugh was too loud, brittle at the edges.

Grover made a nervous bleating sound, muttering, “You don’t joke about old ladies in myths.” Beckendorf’s jaw tightened, and the Stoll brothers, for once, didn’t dare speak.

Across the circle, Jason and Reyna exchanged a wary look, while Rachel’s eyes seemed distant, her whisper barely audible: “The Fates.”

Among the gods, Hermes raised his brows in amusement, Aphrodite rolled her eyes, and Dionysus muttered something about at least the title having style. Ares smirked, clearly entertained.

But Poseidon’s trident shimmered faintly into being at his side, Amphitrite smirked, and Triton leaned forward as if eager to see me squirm. Zeus rumbled faintly and Hera pursed her lips.

Only Hestia remained steady, turning the page as the fire crackled gently behind her, a reminder that even with death hanging over us, the hearth’s flame endured.

“I was used to the occasional weird experience… hallucination was more than I could handle. It was even starting to make me question if what I knew I saw even happened. I just wanted to see my mom.”

Grover let out a saddened bleat at that, his ears drooping as he glanced over at me apologetically. “Percy, I’m really sorry that we never realized how much us lying to you affected you. I should have noticed at the very least.”

I gave him a small smile but shook my head. “Nah, you wouldn’t have. I’m sure it’ll come up why, but I have a lot of practice lying—or hiding things—from others. For better or worse.”

A ripple of silence passed through the circle. Concern etched itself across the demigods’ faces—Thalia’s brows knitted, Nico looked down at his hands, and Silena’s lip trembled as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t. Even Clarisse, for once, had no sharp retort, her scowl directed at the floor.

Hermes, though, leaned forward slightly, intrigued. His eyes gleamed in recognition of his domain in my words. He probably wouldn’t look so interested once he heard the real reason behind all that practice. Once Gabe came up.

My dad let out a low hum, the sound resonant, like the sea itself considering its next move. His eyes were stormy as they lingered on me—not angry, but pained. A father realizing pieces of his son’s life had gone unseen, maybe even unasked.

“For the rest of the school year, the… had been our pre- algebra teacher since Christmas.”

From his spot, Beckendorf let out a low whistle. “Geez, I think anyone would feel like they were going insane.”

Despite the validating words, I felt frustration bubbling up inside me. It was the consequence I knew rationally, but it didn’t stop me from feeling like I was going crazy. From the corner of my eye, I caught Annabeth’s face flush slightly, a small furrow creasing her brow.

Frank shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah… having everyone around you swear that reality is different than what you know? That’s—” he hesitated, searching for the word, “that’s terrifying. Makes you start doubting yourself even when you’re right.”

Dionysus gave a dismissive snort, though his eyes flicked toward me with something sharper than boredom. “Mortals call it madness. I call it Tuesday. You think you’re holding onto the truth while the world insists you’re wrong. Drives mortals to drink.” He took a deliberate sip from his wine glass of diet coke. “You’d be amazed how many of your kind unravel faster from that than from monsters with fangs.”

Most of the demigods shifted uncomfortably, perhaps realizing for the first time some of their less than kind actions towards me during my first summer at camp. I wasn’t bothered by it anymore, but it was nice to be reminded that everyone here—gods included for the most part—can learn from their mistakes. Even more so considering how many of them here had fatal flaws related to pride. 

“Every so often I would spring a Mrs. Dodds… stare at me like I was psycho. It got so I almost believed them—Mrs. Dodds had never existed.”

“There’s a key word in there somewhere, and I think it’s almost,” Apollo drawled, that lazy interest painted all over his face.

I rolled my eyes but gave him a tiny nod.

A groan cut through the air, and Connor flopped over like some fainting heroine from an old rom-com. “It’s Grover, isn’t it? That goat couldn’t lie his way out of a paper bag.”

Grover’s face went beet red, but the lack of denial earned him a ripple of chuckles. He twisted his cap between his fingers and mumbled, “I try, okay? But satyrs aren’t really… wired for lying. Nature doesn’t exactly encourage it.”

I snorted, drawing a few eyes my way. “Funny, considering the myths peg satyrs as mischievous tricksters—half their fun came from lying or deceiving someone.” I smirked at Grover’s indignant bleat, which only made me grin wider.

“Nature or not,” Travis cut in, grinning, “you still blew our cover more times than I can count.”

“Which,” Grover muttered, ears drooping, “is why Percy is always stuck covering for me.”

The laughter shifted then, softer and warmer, the space caught in that rare balance between humor and sympathy. For a heartbeat, the tension in the air actually eased.

“Almost. But Grover couldn’t fool me.”

Connor let out a vindicated laugh, pointing dramatically like he’d just solved the greatest mystery of the century. “See! I was right!”

Grover groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “Do you have to rub it in?”

“Yes,” Connor said smugly. “Absolutely yes.”

Travis grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Honestly, it’s a miracle Percy survived middle school with you as his backup. Satyr instincts my—”

“Language,” Hestia said mildly, though her eyes were soft.

Hephaestus rumbled, his tone practical but carrying something heavier underneath. “Still… it was better that you couldn’t lie. If you had, Perseus might’ve doubted himself even more.”

The laughter faltered for just a moment before Rachel stretched and broke the silence with a drawl. “Or he’d have gone crazy faster. Honestly, he is always walking the edge anyway.”

Nico shot her a look. “Not funny.”

“Wasn’t trying to be,” Rachel said, though the glint in her eyes was unreadable.

Connor, oblivious, threw an arm around Octavian’s shoulders, earning him a scoff of disgust that he kindly ignored. “Look at it this way, Goat Boy. You may stink at lying, but hey, at least you saved Percy’s sanity. Kinda. Almost.”

“Gee, thanks,” Grover muttered, ears drooping as scattered chuckles rippled through the hearth.

Connor’s triumphant laugh faded, leaving a soft ripple of chuckles across the hearth. Grover shifted in his seat, twisting his cap nervously, unaware of the subtle scrutiny. That was, of course, until I noticed the quiet gleam in my dad’s stormy eyes. Poseidon wasn’t frowning or glaring—he wasn’t even leaning forward. He just… watched. Triton mirrored him, and Amphitrite’s gaze lingered a fraction too long, calm but impossibly sharp.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible to most, but my stomach tightened. I exchanged a glance with Artemis, who had tilted her head slightly, the corner of her mouth twitching in acknowledgment. Dionysus, ever casual, sipped his drink with a faint smirk, eyes twinkling in a way that made me certain he’d noticed too.

Grover, thankfully oblivious, let out a small, awkward laugh. “I… I guess I’m just not built for this.” He put emphasis on the I’m.

Connor, completely unaware of the deeper currents, finally removed his arm from Octavian. “Relax, Goat Boy. You did fine.”

Octavian was dramatically brushing off his arm like there was dirt on it. Everyone decided it was better to just ignore him and not feed into his theatrics, including the God of Theatre himself. 

“When I mentioned the name Dodds to him, he would hesitate, then claim she didn’t exist. But I knew he was lying. Something was going on. Something had happened at the museum.”

The first one to comment was Zeus, “You should trust your instincts more, boy. They will do you more justice, than letting others cloud your judgement.”

There was resounded silence, a stunned surprise being spread among everyone, god and demigod alike. Here was Zeus, a god known for his wrath, hypocrisy, and overwhelming horniness, giving me sound advice without a threat or an obvious motive, that made this twice today. 

What was up with him?

Hades shifted uncomfortably while clearing his throat. Drawing attention away from the God King. Without a word, he gestured for Hestia to continue, not unkindly. 

“I didn’t have much time to think about it during the days, but at night, visions of Mrs. Dodds with talons and leathery wings would wake me up in a cold sweat.”

The familiar feeling of impending doom crept up my spine, cold sweat prickling at the back of my neck. A shiver ran through me before I could stop it. From beside me, Hestia quietly raised the heat of the hearth. We both knew it wouldn’t actually chase away the chill clawing at me, but the gesture still helped. Warmth from her fire always did.

Annabeh seemed to be feeling the same way, considering that she was now clenching her jaw and shifting her shoulders like he was brushing something off.

Of all the gods, it was Demeter who broke the silence. “Are demigod dreams always that bad? Or is Percy an exception?”

Clarisse—of all people—answered before anyone else. “Demigods in general have bad dreams,” she said with a shrug. “Comes with the job. Part god blood, part trauma. But Jackson’s always had it worse.”

Ares, to his credit, didn’t interrupt. His expression was carefully neutral, but I caught the faintest twitch of concern in his jaw. The god of war didn’t meddle in his kids’ fights—the same way he didn’t want them in his—but for once, it looked like he wanted to. I respected that. A little. He was still a sexist jerk, though, so no brownie points.

“It could be connected to an older belief,” Chiron mused, eyes flicking toward me. “Poseidon was once regarded as a prophetic deity, before Apollo’s domain expanded. Perhaps some of that sight remains in his line.”

Apollo brightened immediately, leaning back with an easy grin. “Well, I wouldn’t call it an expansion,” he said, his voice smooth as ever. “More like… a well-deserved promotion.”

Poseidon didn’t respond, but the faint ripple of amusement in his expression made me wonder if Apollo had any idea how close he was to getting splashed.

“The freak weather continued, which didn’t help my mood… small planes that had gone down in sudden squalls in the Atlantic that year.”

Perhaps still stung from the embarrassment of the last chapter, Hera merely huffed, crossing her arms with a sharp tsk at the mention of “unimportant mortals.” Hestia, however, turned toward her brother with a quiet, unimpressed look—no words, no divine thunder, just that calm, steady disappointment only she could pull off.

It worked. Zeus’s ears flushed pink, and he slouched in his throne like a scolded child.

Then, without a word, she turned her gaze toward Poseidon. The Sea God froze under her patient, expectant stare before letting out a sigh and mumbling, “Fine. Sorry.”

Hestia inclined her head in quiet acknowledgment, the corners of her mouth softening just slightly, and then returned her attention to the journal in her lap.

“I started feeling cranky and irritable most of the time. My grades slipped from Ds to Fs.”

Immediately, I felt defensive—but not only because of what the journal said. It was because of Annabeth and Athena. “One, those were the worst grades I’d ever gotten, and two, I was being influenced by my dad’s emotions.”

Athena rolled her eyes with the kind of grace that made it look like an art form. Annabeth shook her head, exasperated but teasing. “That’s not true—you’re the brawn in our operation. There’s a reason I don’t let you make our plans.”

I gave her a look but shook my head at the other demigods to not bother arguing. Trying to reason with Annabeth about this would’ve been like arguing with a wall that had a degree in architecture. Pride was her fatal flaw for a reason—and no matter what we’d talked about earlier, not being the smartest in the room, even with gods among us, wasn’t something she could let slide.

Across the circle, Athena’s faint smirk said she agreed entirely. Figures. Gods forbid, a son of Poseidon was in fact not brainless.

However, from the corner of my eye, I caught Amphitrite smacking the back of Poseidon’s head—a sharp, deliberate thwack that echoed faintly through the air. Her look was pointed, ocean-blue eyes narrowing in quiet reprimand. When he turned to her, confused, she only tilted her head slightly toward me, her meaning clear even without words.

It seemed he got the message. Poseidon blinked once, exhaled, and then turned his gaze toward me.

I blinked owlishly back, sitting a little straighter under the weight of his attention. I had no clue what silent argument I’d just witnessed, but from the way Triton frowned between them—brows furrowed, lips parting like he wanted to ask—it wasn’t something even he was expecting.

“Perseus,” my father said finally, his tone calm but heavy with something that almost sounded… human. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior—even if it was unintentional. My emotions shouldn’t have touched you, especially before I claimed you. That was… careless of me.”

The hearth went still.

All around, demigods—Greek and Roman alike—stared with wide eyes. Even the gods looked a little thrown off. A god apologizing to their child was practically unheard of. Jason and Frank exchanged looks somewhere between disbelief and awe. Thalia just mouthed ‘what the Hades?’ under her breath.

Except for Octavian, of course, who looked like he’d swallowed an entire lemon whole.

I didn’t really know what to say. Words felt clumsy and too small for the moment. So I just nodded once in quiet acceptance—not forgiveness exactly, but acknowledgment. He still hadn’t apologized for how he’d acted the first time we’d met, but… maybe this was a start. An earlier one too. 

“I got into more fights with Nancy Bobofit and her friends. It was like she was purposely trying to get me expelled or suspended after I reported her for stealing Grover’s crutches. Although I did find myself seeking her out to fight. I was sent out into the hallway in almost every class.”

At that reminder, I winced and looked away, very deliberately not meeting Artemis’s gaze. I could practically feel the disapproval radiating from her side of the circle—sharp and cold like a drawn arrow.

Aphrodite gave a soft hum, crossing one leg over the other and tucking a golden curl behind her ear. “Honestly, fighting with a mortal girl—for your best friend, no less? How very classic hero of you, Percy.” Her tone was airy, teasing, but there was a glint of something more measured in her eyes. “Still… passion suits you. Even back then.”

Thalia snorted, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. “Passionate? Please. This is Percy we’re talking about. The guy picks fights like most people pick snacks.”

“Hey,” I said defensively, pointing a finger at her, “she was stealing Grover’s crutches. I wasn’t just gonna let her get away with it. And I reported her! I just—” I hesitated, shrugging, “—made sure her detention had a little… impact.”

Grover groaned, covering his face with both hands. “You tackled her into the art room, man! There were paintbrushes everywhere!”

That earned a ripple of laughter around the circle—Travis and Connor nearly falling over each other, while even Clarisse snorted into her hand.

Silena smiled faintly, tilting her head. “Still… that’s kind of sweet. You were just trying to protect your friend.”

Charles leaned back beside her, his deep laugh rolling through the air. “Sweet, sure—but maybe next time try a strategy that doesn’t involve property damage.”

I groaned. “Oh, come on, it’s not like I meant to break the window—”

“Window?” Thalia wheezed, eyes wide. “You didn’t mention a window!”

“Because it was barely a crack!” I argued, throwing my hands up.

From across the circle, Poseidon coughed into his fist—definitely hiding a proud smirk—while Amphitrite sighed, murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like, “He’s your son, alright.”

Artemis’s voice cut in, cool as a winter breeze. “You resorted to violence for your friend’s dignity. Admirable motive, poor restraint.”

“In my defense, I caught her trying to do it again that morning, she literally was trying to sneak into our dorm. Also, I’m pretty sure the head master put her up to it, now that I think about it. Before the mood swings from dad, I had actually been doing good, I was completing assignments with 70’s with no aids, and the fighting was minimal.”

That last part seemed to catch the gods off guard. A few exchanged looks—some skeptical, others almost… impressed?

Ares barked out a laugh. “Seventies, huh? Guess you didn’t inherit your old man’s brain for waves and nonsense.”

“Hey,” Poseidon said mildly, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “He’s better with his head than you give him credit for.”

Travis, Connor, and Hermes obviously were very mature and definitely didn’t snort at his phrasing. Apollo, Artemis, and Rachel rolled their eyes at their antics.

Athena arched a brow. “And yet still insists that throwing himself at problems—sometimes literally—is an acceptable solution.”

“Worked out most of the time,” I muttered under my breath, but judging by the way Demeters’ eyes narrowed, I hadn’t muttered quietly enough.

Aphrodite chuckled, resting her chin in her hand. “Honestly, it’s almost charming. Tragic flaw and all. You defend the people you care about, consequences be damned. Classic fatal-hero energy.”

“Fatal’s a bit dramatic,” I said, though even I knew that was debatable. I did almost die like four times during my first quest and a handful of times before it. 

Thalia smirked. “Yeah, well, you’re lucky the only fatal thing that time was the window.”

The laughter that followed broke the tension again, easy and warm—though I could still feel Artemis’s gaze like a cold current at my back, measuring, assessing. And just beyond her, my dad’s expression had softened.

For a heartbeat, the teasing quieted, and in the flickering firelight, I caught something almost proud in his eyes. It was quiet and unspoken, but there.

I didn’t really know what to do with that, so I looked away, pretending to be distracted by the twins’ continued snickering.

“Barely a crack,” I muttered again.

Connor grinned. “Sure, Jackson. Bet the window said the same thing.”

“Nice personification,” I pointed out, and no, I wasn’t pouting. 

 “Finally, when our English teacher, Mr. Nicoll, asked me for the millionth time why I was too lazy to study for spelling tests,”

Feeling that old spark of irritation that only my English teacher could inspire, I huffed and crossed my arms. “You know, for an English teacher, that guy couldn’t read my 504 plan to save his life. I told him—multiple times—that I actually studied for the stupid test, but I’ve got horrendous dyslexia and no reading aids.”

I straightened my posture, putting on an exaggerated British accent to mimic him. “ ‘Because aids are cheating, Mr. Jackson, and I simply don’t believe you can have both ADHD and dyslexia.’ ”

The reaction around the circle was instant. Poseidon’s eyes darkened like a storm brewing over the sea. “He said what to you?”

Apollo looked just as offended, his sunny expression snapping into something sharp. “Ignorance should be a punishable offense. I could write an educational anthem about that level of stupidity.”

Thalia’s hands crackled faintly with static as she glared at the fire. “If I ever meet that guy, he’s getting a very personal demonstration of how lightning works.”

Nico muttered from beside her, voice low and cold. “Or I could just make him fail every spelling test for eternity when he inevitably dies.”

I blinked, caught between amusement and surprise at the collective outrage. “Uh… thanks? But I think the school district handled it. Pretty sure his licence was revoked after Chiron caught wind of what he was doing to students.”

Poseidon still didn’t look convinced, but nodded at Chiron as if that one action got him out of his hit list. The air around him shimmered faintly with mist, his jaw tight. “No teacher should speak that way to a child—especially my child.”

“Yeah,” Thalia said, crossing her arms. “Pretty sure even Zeus would’ve struck that guy down out of sheer principle.”

“The headmaster sent my mom a… my obnoxious stepfather and his stupid poker parties.”

At the mention of Gabe, several demigods furrowed their brows—Thalia and Nico among them.

I hadn’t told them about Gabe. I didn’t want to. It was humiliating, somehow, to admit that a mortal man—one who smelled like cheap cigars and resentment—still scared me more than any god or monster ever had. And that was saying something, considering I’d been to Tartarus.

“I didn’t know Paul played poker,” Nico said carefully, glancing my way. “Or that he hosted poker parties.” His tone was light, but there was an edge of concern under it—he knew I liked Paul, and he’d picked up on the bitterness in my voice.

I shrugged half-heartedly. “Paul doesn’t play poker.”

That earned me a few confused looks. I could feel Nico’s curiosity spike, his mouth opening to ask, but before he could, Hades rested a gloved hand on his son’s shoulder. He gave a small shake of his head—a silent warning to let it go. The Lord of the Dead didn’t look at me directly, but something in his stillness said he understood exactly what I wasn’t saying.

Annabeth shifted uncomfortably, but I knew it wasn’t from being cold or anything, it was the lingering feeling of fear. The same one I still got whenever I smelt cigars or he was mentioned.

A faint tremor rippled through the floor, subtle but unmistakable. My stomach twisted. Poseidon didn’t say a word, but I could feel his attention like a riptide pressing at the edges of my thoughts. His expression remained perfectly neutral, but the sea-green in his eyes had darkened, deep and cold as the ocean floor.

No one mentioned the tremor. No one had to.

“And yet…there were things I’d miss at Yancy. The view of the woods out my dorm window, the Hudson River in the distance, the smell of pine trees.”

Perhaps trying to lift the mood, Thalia suddenly let out a triumphant whoop, punching the air. “Hey—that’s me!”

A few of us couldn’t help snorting at her enthusiasm, while the Romans exchanged bewildered glances.

Nico grinned, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in that way that meant he was about to cause trouble. “Sorry,” he said, leaning back with exaggerated nonchalance, “can’t tell you more. Spoilers.”

Jason groaned loudly while Reyna pinched the bridge of her nose. “That’s not fair!” Jason complained. “The rest of you get the joke—even the gods apparently!”

Thalia smirked at the Romans, clearly enjoying herself far too much. “Don’t worry,” she said mock-sweetly, “you’ll catch up. Eventually.”

“Or die trying,” Nico added, deadpan.

The look on Reyna’s face made it clear she wasn’t sure if he was joking.

“I’d miss Grover, who’d been a good friend, even if he was a little strange. I worried how he’d survive next year without me.”

“Aw, thanks, Percy!” Grover bleated, his face tinting pink as his hooves kicked lightly against the floor. His grin was wide and bashful, clearly soaking in the rare bit of sentimentality.

From beside him, Dionysus sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes, swirling the contents of his glass. “Oh, spare me the Hallmark moment,” he muttered. “Next thing you know, they’ll start holding hands and singing campfire songs.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Grover shot back with a cheeky bleat, which only made a few campers snicker.

I chuckled and leaned back slightly, giving him a fond look. “Of course, you’re my G-man. My best friend. How else would I have survived all these years without you?”

Grover’s grin softened into something a little more genuine. “Honestly? Probably not at all.”

That earned a quiet laugh from the group, but even Dionysus’s eyes flickered with something almost—almost—approving before he took another sip of his drink.

“I’d miss Latin class, too—Mr. Brunner’s Mr. Brunner had told me about this subject being life-and-death for me. The fight with Mrs. Dodds and past odd experiences, made me start to believe him.”

As soon as the words left the page, the air shifted. The laughter and low chatter faded, leaving only the steady crackle of Hestia’s fire.

I stared into the flames, the words sinking in heavier than I expected. Back then, I hadn’t understood what Mr. Brunner meant by “life and death.” Now… I did. All too well.

From beside me, Hestia didn’t speak, but the flame nearest to us flared just a little higher—warm, steady, comforting. It didn’t reach the cold pressing at my ribs, but I appreciated the gesture anyway.

Across the circle, Thalia had gone still, her gaze flicking toward me. There was no teasing in her eyes this time—just quiet understanding. Nico also caught my eye, though his was drawn toward his father, who was studying me with a kind of measured concern.

Even the gods had fallen silent. Apollo’s usual brightness dimmed to a faint glow as he stared at the floor. Poseidon’s sea-green eyes lingered on me, unreadable but deep with thought. And Hermes… Hermes looked uneasy. His hand tapped absently against his knee, too quick, too deliberate. His gaze wasn’t pitying—it was searching, as if he could sense something moving where it shouldn’t. Something beneath the surface.

For once, Dionysus didn’t have a quip ready. He just swirled his wine, eyes unfocused, before muttering, “Life and death… you mortals always think it’s just a figure of speech.”

The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.

I didn’t say anything more. I just sat there, feeling the heat from Hestia’s hearth against my hands—and wishing it could reach all the way to the cold in my chest. There was that hollow ache again, like something missing, something I couldn’t name. Maybe it was just the journal stirring old memories. Maybe it was something else.

Either way, the warmth didn’t reach.

“The evening before my final, I got so frustrated I threw the Cambridge Guide to Greek Mythology across my dorm room.”

Maybe she was trying to lighten the somber mood, maybe she was actually outraged—but at the mention of me throwing a book, Annabeth let out a scandalized gasp. “Percy!”

Her attempt, however, fell flat. The tension didn’t ease; if anything, it thickened. Not because of her reaction, but because it was Hera who let out a scoff. “Can you halflings stop interrupting every five minutes? At this rate, it will take a month to finish this chapter.”

Despite it technically being a question, her tone left no room for argument.

Before anyone could bristle, Apollo spoke up, his usual brightness tempered to something steady, almost quiet. “Isn’t that the point, though? To listen, to react—to actually learn from what we’ve done and prevent it?”

He didn’t look at Hera as he said it. His gaze flicked briefly across the gods instead—Poseidon, Hephaestus, even Artemis—before settling on the floor. Then, almost without thinking, he wrapped an arm around Will and drew him closer. It was a small, protective gesture, the kind of quiet defiance no one dared to name aloud. Whatever weight his words carried, it wasn’t entirely for her—and maybe, just maybe, it marked the beginning of something he’d stopped trying to hold back.

It gave me hope that maybe the Apollo I came to know wasn’t as gone as I thought. 

Hera’s jaw, however, only tightened. She said nothing this time, only crossed her arms and turned away, the faintest scowl tugging at her lips as if the silence itself had proved him right.

“Words had started swimming off the page,... between Chiron and Charon, or Polydictes and Polydeuces.”

Before anyone could jump in to scold me, I quickly raised my hands. “I know the difference now! Believe me, I haven’t mixed them up since I was twelve.” I very conveniently left out the part where that lesson came from a much more… hands-on experience.

Across the circle, Annabeth and Grover both gave me identical looks—eyebrows raised, lips twitching like they were fighting smiles.

“Not. A. Word,” I warned, glaring at them. “No spoilers, remember?”

They shared a look that screamed we’re definitely talking about this later before shrugging in mock innocence.

Connor snorted, breaking the moment. “Okay, but can we applaud Percy for his creepily accurate description of what our dyslexia feels like? Like, dude, you made it sound poetic and tragic at the same time.”

Travis nodded sagely beside him. “Yeah, I almost felt inspired to fail English again.”

Annabeth groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You were already failing English, Travis.”

“See?” Travis said, grinning. “Percy just made it sound noble.”

Even I couldn’t help but laugh at that—though the faint, lingering warmth in my chest told me the moment meant a little more than it should have.

“And conjugating those Latin verbs? Forget it. I paced the room, feeling like ants were crawling around inside my shirt.”

As the line was read, a restless current crawled under my skin. My leg started bouncing, then my fingers twitched against my knee. Before I knew it, I was on my feet, pacing near the hearth. Sitting still wasn’t an option—it felt like every breath was too tight, every second too long.

Across the fire, Annabeth shifted too. Her fingers dug into the couch cushion, her shoulders tense. She didn’t meet my eyes, but I saw her jaw tighten—the curse biting at her just as hard.

“Percy,” she said quietly, not a warning exactly—more like a reminder that she understood.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, though the lie sat heavy in my chest. Forcing myself back down beside the fire, I rubbed my hands together, staring into the flames. The heat should’ve helped. It didn’t.

From somewhere across the circle, Hephaestus watched me with a faint frown. Maybe it was the twitch in my hands, or the way I couldn’t quite meet anyone’s gaze, but his eyes softened—a spark of recognition, like he’d seen that same jittering tension in his forges before something broke.

No one else spoke.

“I remembered Mr. Brunner’s… never asked a teacher for help before. Maybe if I talked to Mr. Brunner, he could give me some pointers.”

“You know,” I murmured to myself, “now that I think about it, Chiron was the first teacher I actually felt comfortable asking for help. He didn’t make me feel stupid.” I shrugged, tilting my head in consideration.

“At least I could apologize for the big fat F I was about to score on his exam. I didn’t want to leave Yancy Academy with him thinking I hadn’t tried.”

“I never once doubted that you were trying, Percy. I wouldn’t have—even if you weren’t a demigod,” Chiron said, guilt flickering across his face.

“I know I already apologized, but I truly am sorry for placing so much pressure on you, especially before you fully understood who you were. I should have considered the mental and emotional consequences of my actions,” he added quietly.

Hades’ dark eyes held mine steadily. “Chiron’s choices… they came from necessity, not cruelty. A demigod unprepared is a demigod dead. The world you were born into demanded strength.”

I shrugged, fiddling with the edge of my sleeve, trying to keep my voice light. “Yeah, I guess… I mean, I get it now. He was trying to keep me alive. Makes sense. Totally makes sense.”

A faint pause. I looked down at the hearth, letting the warmth seep into my hands. “Not that it made it any easier at the time,” I admitted quietly, more to myself than anyone else. “But… I’m aware now. I know why he did it. That counts for something, right?”

Across the circle, Thalia’s storm-gray eyes softened just slightly, her arms uncrossing. Nico leaned back against his father, giving me a small, almost imperceptible nod. Even Silena’s smile carried something warmer than amusement.

Travis and Connor, ever dramatic, both froze mid-shift in their seats, sensing the change in the air. Clarisse raised an eyebrow, as if noting that the quiet maturity I now carried wasn’t something to underestimate.

“I walked downstairs to the faculty offices… A voice that was definitely Grover’s

said “…worried about Percy, sir.””

“I knew someone was there,” Chiron grumbled, his tone sharper than usual.

I wasn’t the only one giving him a strange look. Even the Romans were exchanging questioning glances. Over time, they’d picked up on Chiron’s more cool-toned, precise nature, and it seemed to make them uneasy.

I squinted at him. “I thought you knew and just didn’t mention it.”

If nothing else, I would have thought Grover would’ve told him when we first got to camp. But I kept that thought to myself. I didn’t want to risk Chiron’s wrath… or, worse, the Fates’ ire for spoiling anything.

Chiron shook his head but said nothing further, giving the impression that he didn’t want to talk about it.

We collectively decided to move on.

“I froze. I’m not usually an eavesdropper, but I dare you to try not listening if you hear your best friend talking about you to an adult.”

All of the demigods, and even some of the gods, shrugged or nodded in agreement, even Triton. Mind you, he looked less than impressed about agreeing with anything I said, in the journal or not. 

Grover’s ears twitched. “Honestly… I’d probably listen too,” he admitted sheepishly, earning a small nod from Percy.

Beckendorf leaned back, grinning. “Same here. You can learn a lot from hearing what others think.”

Rachel tilted her head, looking thoughtful. “I wouldn’t deny it. Sometimes the truth only comes out when you’re quiet and listening.”

Even Ares, arms crossed and brow furrowed, gave a grunt. “Of course. If it matters, you listen. Nothing more tactical than knowing what’s being said.” He looked annoyed at agreeing with me. 

I know I was annoyed that he agreed with me. The last thing I wanted was to share similar opinions with that jerk. 

“I inched closer…. a Kindly One in the school! Now that we know for sure, and they know too—””

“Oh lovely,” Will muttered, voice low, “you just officially confirmed to Percy that monsters do exist. Great. Now they’ll be coming for him even faster.” He shook his head, like the revelation was both amusing and frustrating.

For a moment, my chest tightened. His mannerisms reminded me a lot of Apollo. It made sense, considering Will was his kid, but Gods, I missed him, even though he was technically right there. 

““We would only make matters worse by rushing him,” Mr. Brunner said. “We need the boy to mature more.””

Silena scrunched her nose, clearly unimpressed. “’We need the boy to mature more,’ didn’t sound creepy at all,” she quipped, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Chiron, calm as ever, merely raised an eyebrow, but several of the gods—Poseidon, Hades, Aphrodite and even Amphitrite, shot him with judgmental looks.

““But he may not have time. The summer solstice deadline—”... “His imagination,” Mr. Brunner insisted. “The Mist over the students and staff will be enough to convince him of that.””

“Is that how you treat all of your cases, or is Percy another exception?” Dad ground out, his voice low and edged with both annoyance and frustration, like the sea itself was churning behind his words.

Apollo was looking at his first student in disappointment, he had thought that he had guided Chiron better. Ironically, he had the same reaction when I told him the first time. He truly lived up to his role as protector of youth—even if his methods in the present left something to be desired.

Chiron didn’t—couldn’t—respond.

That said everything it needed to. I was the exception, for more reasons than just one.

““Sir, I…I can’t fail in my duties again.” Grover’s voice was choked with emotion.“You know what that would mean.””

Thalia leaped up from her spot, “What happened wasn’t your fault Grover, it was bad luck and, at the end of the day, my dad’s fault.” 

Both Hades and Nico looked up at her in shock. Hades' shock made sense, it was afterall him who sent those monsters after her all these years ago.

As if sensing his thoughts, she continued, looking directly at Zeus who puffed his chest out as if to intimidate her.

The rest of us demigods stiffened, straightening in our spots, at attention should anything happen. In my pocket, I felt Riptide return. I guess I felt threatened enough.

It didn’t work.

“If you hadn’t gone after Maria di Angelo for having children before the oath, Hades wouldn’t have needed to target me. If you hadn’t almost killed his children—just like you did to his lover—he might have protected me. You caused all of this because of your jealousy and your inability to accept that he was the only one who didn’t break the oath you forced him into.”

A hush fell over the space as the gods processed the words. Apollo, Hermes, and Hephaestus exchanged small, approving nods, clearly impressed by the audacity and sharpness of her argument.

Athena’s eyes narrowed into slits, and Hera’s glare was cold enough to freeze fire. Zeus, meanwhile, deflated and slumped back, jaw slightly slack. He had no arguments to refute it. She wasn’t wrong, but his pride wouldn’t let him acknowledge it.

““You haven’t failed, Grover,” Mr. Brunner said kindly. “I should have seen her for what she was. Now let’s just worry about keeping Percy alive until next fall—””

I felt my stomach drop, apprehension flooding me. 

At the same time, Frank and Clarisse let out low whistles, their expressions a mixture of astonishment and disbelief.

“You know,” Jason added, shifting nervously in his seat, “maybe it’s for the best that Percy was the one who discovered you guys. Honestly, if it had been anyone else—Mist or no Mist—they’d probably have reported you straight to the authorities.” He gave a small, uneasy laugh.

Rachel shook her head, frowning. “Based on how his school operates? Not likely. More probable that they’d antagonize Percy even more instead of helping.”

Apollo frowned, not liking how much the American Education System seemed to be failing children. 

“The mythology book dropped out of my hand and hit the floor with a thud.”

Trying to break the tension, Hermes dramatically yelled out, “No! That’s rule three, never get caught for any reason.”

I smirked at the Stoll brothers, making them shake their heads in sync, before mischievously adding, “Well, I guess your children have been breaking that rule for a while.” 

The brothers let out scandalized grasps and flopped on to either side of this dad whining, “do you hear this slander, dad? That just because we fail to steal from him, we automatically can’t from everyone else?” 

I laughed, shaking my head. “Relax, it’s not a universal law—just seems like you two keep picking the one mark you can’t hit.”

Hermes shot me a mock glare, though the corners of his mouth twitched like he was struggling to keep a straight face.

Travis and Connor sat up, still flailing a bit, and groaned in unison.

I shrugged innocently. “Hey, I just call it like I see it. Consider it… professional courtesy.”

Even Grover snorted at that, while Mr. D murmured, “Professional courtesy, huh?”

The circle erupted into quiet laughter, the tension from earlier dissolving just a bit, though I could still feel the faint hum of anticipation from the gods lurking underneath. 

Some not to be named were getting impatient not knowing how the fates played into this chapter.

“Mr. Brunner went silent. My heart hammering,... wheelchair-bound teacher, holding something that looked suspiciously like an archer’s bow.”

Reyna leaned back in her seat, voice dripping with dry sarcasm. “Well, if he wasn’t sure that something freaky was going on before, he definitely is now.”

I snorted. “It gets worse, don’t worry.”

Before anyone could respond, the air beside me warped—shadows curling and twisting until Nico materialized out of thin air. The sudden chill made the hairs on my arms stand up.

He didn’t say a word, just shot me a knowing look. Yeah, his expression said, it really does get worse.

“Dude,” I muttered, giving him a halfhearted glare. “You’ve got to stop doing that. I nearly had a heart attack.”

Nico shrugged, deadpan as ever. “You’ll live.”

A few quiet chuckles rippled through the demigods. Even Reyna cracked a smile, though she shook her head like she was pretending not to find it funny.

Then, before I could blink, the shadows rose again, swallowing Nico whole—and taking me with him. My vision went dark for half a second, like being dunked underwater, and then I was suddenly standing beside him, right in front of Hades. The god’s cold presence sent a shiver down my spine. He gave Nico a small, approving nod that somehow managed to look both terrifying and proud.

Nico looked completely unbothered, giving me a short nod of acknowledgment before slipping back into his seat like nothing had happened.

I, on the other hand, barely managed to stay upright. “Warn a guy next time,” I muttered under my breath, brushing phantom shadows off my arms.

He rolled his eyes and dragged me down by my arm so I was sitting against him. 

Dad was glaring at Chiron, the weight of his stare sharp enough to make even a god flinch. For a moment, it looked like he might actually say something—unleash the full force of a sea god’s anger right there—but he didn’t.

“I opened the nearest door and slipped inside. A few seconds later I heard a slow clop-clop-clop, like muffled wood blocks, then a sound like an animal snuffling right outside my door. A large, dark shape paused in front of the glass, then moved on.”

“Huh, so you really didn’t see me?” I asked, blinking at both Grover and Chiron in disbelief.

Grover’s face turned a deep shade of red as he rubbed the back of his neck. “After your fight with Mrs. Dodds, we thought our surveillance was just… getting to us,” he admitted sheepishly. “We were exhausted, and, uh, there was that whole issue from the Winter Solstice still hanging over us.”

Chiron sighed, shoulders sagging as he gave a small nod. “We should have been more careful. I underestimated how quickly things would escalate between the gods and the monster attacks.”

I couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that slipped out. “You think?”

“A bead of sweat trickled down my neck.”

I felt phantom sweat starting to build up on my neck. At the same time, I saw Annabeth rubbing the back of hers.

“Somewhere in the hallway, Mr. Brunner spoke. “Nothing,” he murmured. “My nerves haven’t been right since the winter solstice.” “Mine neither,” Grover said. “But I could have sworn…””

“Wow, you guys really were paranoid,” Annabeth pointed out, her eyebrows raised.

Chiron let out a weary hum, gaze distant. “Paranoia, perhaps,” he said quietly, “but not unfounded.”

I shot him a sidelong look, a touch of bitterness slipping into my tone. “Yeah, you can say that again—especially since you guys called me paranoid about my ‘unfounded worries.’”

Grover winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, yeah, that might’ve been… a little unfair,” he admitted. “But in our defense, at the time, you didn’t know you were a demigod, and we were trying to preserve that as long as possible.”

I huffed, leaning back slightly. “Preserve it? You mean make me think I was losing my mind?”

Grover gave me a sheepish look. “Technically, that wasn’t the goal. It was just… a side effect.”

From across the circle, Thalia snorted. “Yeah, classic satyr defense—‘it wasn’t the goal.’”

Dionysus leveled her with a glare. A glare she chose to ignore.

““Go back to the dorm,” Mr. Brunner… studying his Latin exam notes like he’d been there all night.”

“Huh, the satyr can’t lie, but he can act,” Frank hummed, clearly miffed.

Grover groaned, burying his face in his hands. “It wasn’t acting, it was preserving the cover!”

Thalia smirked, kicking her boots up onto the edge of her chair. “Sure, and pretending to be asleep during patrols is ‘preserving alertness,’ right?”

That earned a round of laughter from the demigods—except Octavian and Grover. The latter peeked through his fingers with a wounded bleat.

““Hey,” he said, bleary-eyed. “You going to be ready for this test?” I didn’t answer. “You look awful.” He frowned. “Is everything okay?” “Just…tired.” I didn’t want to talk about what I’d overheard, or the knot of worry twisting in my gut about the summer. Plus, I still hadn’t told him I wouldn’t be coming back next year. I was just… exhausted. ”

After a moment of silence, Silena spoke up, her voice gentle but uncertain. “That’s the second time you’ve sounded… hesitant about going home for the summer.” She fidgeted with her hands, glancing between me and the fire.

I let out a quiet huff and reached for Nico’s hands again, grounding myself in the familiar chill of his touch. By now, everyone knew there was something off about my home life; and judging by the look Thalia and Jason exchanged, at least two people in the figurative room already knew exactly why.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said finally, forcing a weak laugh that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “I’m sure it’ll come up later. I know I mentioned it at some point.” My gaze dropped to the journal, a wry smile tugging at my lips. “It’s not like I ever expected anyone to actually read these journals, anyway.”

As if sensing that this was a hill I wasn’t going to back down from, everyone quietly let the topic fade. The fire cracked softly, the only sound filling the heavy silence that followed. Still, I caught it—a fleeting exchange between Will and Apollo. It wasn’t mischievous this time, but something quieter, heavier. Concern. Understanding. Maybe even resolve. Whatever it was, I had the uneasy feeling that they weren’t going to just let it go.

“I turned so he couldn’t read my expression, and started getting… I didn’t understand what I’d heard downstairs. I wanted to believe I’d imagined the whole thing.”

“That wouldn’t have worked, Peter,” Mr. D said stiffly. His face stayed blank, but there was something off about his tone—less detached than usual, like he was forcing himself to keep the distance he usually held so effortlessly.

“I know,” I said with a small shrug, eyes flicking toward the fire, “but you, of all gods, should know how fast a mortal will cling to ignorance if it means they don’t have to change.”

“But one thing was clear: Grover and Mr. Brunner were talking about me behind my back. They thought I was in some kind of danger."

“You were,” Poseidon said quietly, his voice carrying that heavy, ocean-deep wisdom he rarely used with me. For a moment, regret flickered across his face, brief but unmistakable.

It seemed he was finally realizing what I’d known for years: that, like the rest of the gods, he’d only claimed me when it was convenient, when it served him. The one thing he’d always sworn he was above. But I wasn’t one of his monsters or some creature of the sea, I was half human, half god. That difference alone made me something he couldn’t quite understand, something that didn’t belong in his world.

And that was why Triton and Amphitrite would always look at me the way they did, not as family but as a reminder of the two vows my father broke, one to his wife and son, and one to the King of Olympus.

Even in the future it was a sore spot between the two of us, one we rarely if ever actually talked about. 

“The next afternoon, as I was leaving the three-hour Latin exam,”

Rachael’s eyes widened. “Three hours? That’s… that’s borderline torture.” She shivered as if the thought alone could scar her. To be fair, she was one of the few still actively in school, even if it was a private, wealthy one.

Grover sank further into his seat, letting out a long groan. “Yeah, well, try living through it. Trust me, it’s even worse in person.” His ears drooped, and he gave a small bleat of exasperation, as if reliving the ordeal was enough to make him collapse all over again.

“my eyes swimming with all the Greek and Roman… but that didn’t seem to be the problem.”

All of the demigods, and even Apollo, groaned, as if anticipating exactly where this was headed. “Please don’t tell me Chiron is about to give you one of his ‘pep talks,’” Travis whined, looking seconds away from sliding off the couch to kneel in protest. 

As if that was about to save him from the second-hand embarrassment that he was about to receive.

Chiron’s face flickered red, just enough to notice, but he wisely remained silent. Even he seemed aware that his version of encouragement often landed somewhere between intimidating and painfully awkward.

““Percy,” he said. “Don’t be discouraged… “This isn’t the right place for you. It was only a matter of time.””

The hearth fell quiet as the words echoed through the air.

Poseidon’s expression darkened immediately, his trident hand tightening just enough to make the air around him ripple like a brewing storm. “You what?” he said, voice low but rumbling with restrained fury. “You told my son that? In front of a room of mortals who already had it out for him?”

Chiron visibly winced, shoulders tensing. “I…was trying to ease him into the truth,” he admitted, tone quieter than usual. “He didn’t belong there, not with the danger surrounding him. But perhaps…” He trailed off, regret flickering in his eyes. “…perhaps I should’ve been gentler.”

Poseidon’s eyes flashed like the depths before a wave breaks. “You think?” he snapped. “He was a child, Chiron. My child. You made him feel like he didn’t belong anywhere.”

“Dad.” I cut in, my voice firmer than I expected. “He’s right, though. I didn’t belong there. Not really.” I gave a small shrug, though my chest still felt tight. “He was just saying what we both already knew.” 

Nico wrapped his free arm around my shoulders and started to rub my arm.

Poseidon didn’t respond at first. His jaw worked, ocean-blue eyes softening as he looked at me—no less fierce, but undeniably pained. “Knowing it doesn’t mean you needed to hear it like that,” he said finally, voice quieter now, carrying that deep, tired sadness only a god could hold.

Around us, the others stayed silent. Even Hermes and Ares, usually quick with a joke or, in the latter's case, make a jab at me, had the sense to say nothing.

“My eyes stung.”

I felt the same stinging sensation I had the first time this happened, the familiar shame of feeling like I didn’t belong anywhere, only now it was sharper, heavier. I blinked rapidly, holding back the tears, but Annabeth wasn’t so lucky. A few slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them, the rush of emotions catching her off-guard.

Around us, the space stayed quiet. Even the gods who normally thrived on commentary were subdued, watching in silence. Grover shifted in his seat, ears drooping, giving me a small, understanding glance that somehow carried more comfort than words could. 

Hestia’s hearth flared just a little, warmth stretching across the space between us, a silent reminder that some things could be steadied. Poseidon’s expression was hard to read, but the ocean-deep blue of his eyes lingered on me, carrying both concern and a quiet acknowledgment of how much I had endured.

Perhaps Annabeth’s punishment and subsequent reaction served as a reminder for everyone else. That just because I could hold it together did not mean it was easy, and it didn’t mean anyone should have to. Not to the degree I did at least.

“Here was my favorite teacher, in front of the class,... “Thanks a lot, sir, for reminding me.””

Many of the Greek demigods winced at how brutal Chiron was, even if it wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t just the words themselves, but the weight behind them, the way they carried years of expectation, disappointment, and the kind of pressure only someone like Chiron could understand.

At the same time, their eyes found me, filled with regret, as if remembering how they had treated me during my first summer at camp. The memory of being looked at with suspicion, tested at every turn, seemed to linger in the air between us.

From her couch, I noticed Triton and Amphitrite shooting Chiron sharp glares. Their expressions were taut, angry, and protective all at once.

I knew how sharp their disapproval was, considering how often it was in the direction of me whenever I was in Atlantis. 

The romans were staring at each other in quiet surprise, as if they didn’t expect how dysfunctional we were. I mean, it makes some sense seeing how organized their camps and cities were in comparison.

““Percy—” But I was already gone. On the last day of the term…talking about their vacation plans…. on a hiking trip to Switzerland. Another was cruising the Caribbean for a month.”

“Dang, you really went to a rich, rich school.” Jason whistled.

I shrugged. “Not as fancy as it sounds. It was one of those schools for kids who… let’s say, struggled with the regular system. Tuition was low, but I got a scholarship. Apparently, my grades weren’t bad, they were just completely useless without the proper help for dyslexia and ADHD. Once I actually got the accommodations I needed, I wasn’t failing everything.”

Annabeth’s eyes flicked up to me, her expression sharp. “Wait… so all those terrible grades before… that wasn’t really you?”

I smirked, leaning back slightly. “Apparently not. Turns out if the school stops pretending I’m broken, I can actually pass stuff. Who knew?”

She tilted her head, considering, like she was seeing me in a slightly new light. “Huh. That explains a lot.”

I shrugged and added, “Of course, the bureaucracy still insisted on making me jump through hoops for every little thing. Standardized tests, approvals, endless forms… apparently proving you can think independently is more complicated than fighting a god or something.”

Annabeth blinked, not expecting the comparison, then gave the faintest smirk. The other gods shifted interest while Ares grumbled in annoyance. 

Ironically it wasn’t actually him who I was referring to.

“They were juvenile delinquents, like me, but they were rich juvenile delinquents. Their daddies were executives, or ambassadors, or celebrities. I was a nobody, from a family of nobodies.”

I raised an eyebrow, forgetting for a moment that this was the past and my tone might not be received well. “Well, I didn’t know that now, did I?” I added quietly, so even Nico couldn’t hear me, “Plus, it’s not like knowing actually changed my problem of not belonging.”

Haephetus winced, like he was bracing for some catastrophic outcome. Hera looked poised to act, her gaze sharp and electric, as if she could punish a thought itself. Dionysus, however, leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on her, ready to intervene—or at least redirect whatever chaos she was about to unleash.

Before she could make a move, Hermes cut through the tension, gasping in mock outrage and clutching his chest like Percy’s words had just mortally wounded him. “And the son of Poseidon continues his streak of disrespecting the gods,” he declared, voice theatrically horrified.

A faint ripple of nervous chuckles moved through the circle. Even Poseidon’s jaw tightened slightly, though his eyes betrayed a glint of restrained amusement.

Aphrodite leaned back gracefully, one hand lazily draped over the arm of her chair, a faint, knowing smile tugging at her lips. She gave a small nod toward Hermes, clearly appreciative of his theatrics; after all, she didn’t want her moment of entertainment spoiled. Her eyes flicked to me, glinting with amusement, as if silently promising she was enjoying every second of the chaos he stirred.

“They asked me what I’d be doing this summer… walking dogs or selling magazine subscriptions, and spend my free time worrying about where I’d go to school in the fall.”

Rachael tilted her head, squinting. “Wait… you were twelve? Legally, you couldn’t even have a full-time summer job.”

Apollo raised an eyebrow. “And worrying about school? That’s what your mom and stepdad are supposed to do.”

I shrugged, grinning a little. “Yeah, well, having a job meant I could stay out of the house. And by that point, I’d already been kicked out of enough schools that figuring out which one would actually take me was kind of important.”

Will gave me a small, knowing smile. “You always did like doing things your own way,” he said, like it was a compliment.

Poseidon’s jaw tightened just slightly, but there was a glint in his eye that made me think he was secretly proud. “Seems like you’ve always had that stubborn streak. Just like the sea,” he muttered.

I smirked. “Yeah, guess that’s one way to learn responsibility. Or at least avoid being yelled at all summer.” 

The last part wasn’t really a joke.

Everyone let out little chuckles, even Apollo, and I could swear Clarisse rolled her eyes, muttering, “Somehow I feel like this kid is doomed to do everything the hard way.”

““Oh,” one of the guys said. “That’s cool.” They went back to their conversation as if I’d never existed.”

Thalia huffed, crossing her arms. “Rude. They could have at least included you.”

I shook my head, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Nah, that’s just how it worked at Yancy. You had your own group and stuck to it. Honestly, the fact that they even asked me? That was the weird part.”

Thalia rolled her eyes but gave a tiny smirk. “Figures. You get the occasional surprise favor and act like it’s normal.”

I shrugged. “Hey, I’ll take the odd kindness where I can get it.”

Grover snorted from the side, ears twitching. “Yeah, and the fact that you survived that school without dying from boredom or weird rich-kid chaos is impressive enough.”

I nodded, chuckling. “Oh god, do you remember Spencer? He actually tried to get the entire school banned from using the vending machines because they ran out of his favorite energy drink.”

Grover’s ears twitched. “Wait, the whole school? I remember that!”

“You were involved? I thought you were off campus that week due to a ‘medical issue’ or something” I raised an eyebrow.

“Of course I was,” he said, groaning. “As I was leaving, he cornered me in the cafeteria and begged me to rally the younger kids for his petition. He promised extra dessert points if I helped him. By the end of lunch, half the school was chanting ‘Energy rights for Spencer!’ while the teachers looked like they’d lost their minds.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “And don’t forget, by the end of the week, the principal banned all energy drinks school-wide. Spencer nearly had a meltdown.”

Grover’s ears drooped. “He still cried about it during art class. Ms. Garcia had to escort him out while muttering something about ‘privilege-induced hysteria.’”

I smirked. “Welcome to rich-kid drama at boarding school. Some of us were just trying to survive algebra, and he managed a full-blown vending machine rebellion.”

The gods were staring at us like we’d lost our minds. Maybe we had, after all the concussions from fights and training.

Grover leaned closer pretending as if he was telling a scary story in the dark, “And somehow, Spencer still thought he was the hero of it all.”

I chuckled, shrugging. “Some kids grow up running companies, some orchestrate cafeteria uprisings. Same energy, different battlefield.”

“The only person I dreaded saying good-bye to was Grover, but as it… Grover kept glancing nervously down the aisle, watching the other passengers.”

Nico was looking at Grover with a judgmental squint. “That’s kinda creepy, dude, and that’s coming from me.”

Annabeth crossed her arms, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, that’s a guaranteed way to make him ditch you the first chance he gets.”

Jason raised a brow, smirking slightly. “To be fair, I’m pretty sure anyone would, not just Percy.” He gave a small shrug. “At least I would.”

Grover groaned, slumping down in his seat. It looked like he wanted to defend himself, but the no-spoiler rule had him clamping his mouth shut.

Maturely, I stuck my tongue out at him, earning a few chuckles from the others.

“It occurred to me that he’d always acted nervous… Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

Demeter let out a knowing hum, eyes glinting and with a slight unhinged chuckle to top it all off. “Oh, I know that look. He’s about to give you a heart attack, isn’t he?”

Grover only groaned louder and shoved his face into his hands, as if he was reliving the feelings involved with this bus ride in real time like I was. 

“I said, “Looking for Kindly Ones?””

Nico immediately smacked my arm, frowning. “Jesus, Percy, stop doing that to people.”

I gave him an incredulous look. “Says the guy who shadow travels just to pop up behind people and scare them half to death. You literally did that to me fifteen minutes ago.”

Nico didn’t even look guilty. “Yeah, well, mine’s funny.”

Before I could reply, Uncle Hades sighed like a tired teacher. “That’s enough, you two. Let’s try to make it through this chapter within the same century.”

We both quieted down. I shifted so my head rested in Nico’s lap, fiddling with the rings on his hand while he absentmindedly tapped his fingers against my shoulder.

That’s when I noticed Will and Apollo watching us, both with that confused, slightly concerned look people get when they can’t tell what’s going on. Nico noticed too, and we shared a look before turning to stare back at them in perfect sync.

They both froze like deer in headlights. Apollo awkwardly cleared his throat and started fixing his hair, while Will suddenly found something very interesting about his shoelaces.

Aphrodite let out a small laugh. “Relax, boys,” she said, amused. “They’re just friends. You can stop trying to label it.”

Nico muttered something under his breath, and I rolled my eyes. “Guess some people just can’t handle a little human contact,” I said, smirking at the two still-awkward sun gods.

“Grover nearly jumped out of his seat. “Wha—what do you mean?” I confessed about eavesdropping on him and Mr. Brunner the night before the exam.”

Hermes immediately jumped on the moment like it was made for him. “No, don’t confess! That’s how you get into trouble!” he exclaimed, pointing at me with so much energy it was a wonder he didn’t fall off his seat.

I hummed thoughtfully, pretending to consider his advice before shaking my head. “Maybe, but I wanted to know what was going on. And at the end of the day, Grover’s still my best friend. Well-meaning deception aside, I trust him with my life.”

Hermes froze mid-gesture, his grin faltering into something more surprised than anything else. Even he seemed taken aback by the sincerity.

Across the fire, Dad’s expression softened. He didn’t say anything, but the small nod he gave Grover spoke volumes. It looked like he was finally starting to accept that my satyr wasn’t just a guide or protector—he was family. One that couldn’t be replaced or removed, no matter what anyone said.

After all, without Grover, I probably would’ve fallen into Tartarus during this quest. And I knew, with absolute certainty, that I wouldn’t have made it back out.

“Grover’s eye twitched. “How much did you hear?”... no such person as Mrs. Dodds, and…” “Grover, you’re a really, really bad liar.” His ears turned pink.”

As if channeling his past self, Grover’s ears flushed pink and he let out a small, embarrassed bleat. It earned a few chuckles from the others, but he only sank lower in his seat.

“From his shirt pocket, he fished out a grubby business card… Grover Underwood Keeper Half-Blood Hill Long Island, New York (800) 009-0009 “What’s Half—””

Athena’s eyes narrowed as she studied the deck. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say that you, Dionysus, made the cards. The same cards that you’ll be changing the moment we leave this place.”

Dionysus didn’t even bother pretending to look guilty. He smirked and waved his hand lazily, the faint scent of grapes and mischief in the air. “Of course I’ll change them. You think I’d let mortals and half-bloods read the same thing twice? Where’s the fun in that?”

Athena exhaled sharply through her nose. “So you admit to tampering with them.”

“Oh, please,” he drawled. “I call it creative editing. You call it tampering. Tomato, tomahto.”

A few of the younger demigods snorted, while Athena pinched the bridge of her nose in visible restraint.

Silena spoke up before anyone else could. “Eh, he makes them annoying to read, but not impossible. If he changes the script, he increases the size. If it’s the color, he adds contrast or simplifies the lettering. It’s pretty chaotic-neutral all things considered.”

Athena blinked, her hand lowering as she considered that. “That’s… surprisingly logical,” she admitted, clearly reluctant to say it.

Dionysus smirked over his glass, but wisely didn’t stir the pot any further.

““Don’t say it aloud!” he yelped. “That’s my, um… visit your mansion.” He nodded. “Or…or if you need me.” “Why would I need you?””

I could feel all eyes on me, the weight of judgment practically pressing down from every direction. A few demigods were already opening their mouths, clearly ready to launch into a lecture. I held up my hands, trying to ward them off without sounding too desperate. “Aunt Hestia,” I said quickly, voice polite but edged with urgency, “could you… read the next sentence for me?”

“It came out harsher than I meant it to.”

The few demigods who had been poised to lecture me froze mid-gesture. Slowly, they nodded, expressions softening as if my words had reminded them I wasn’t intentionally being rude and that sometimes my mouth ran faster than my brain. 

The tension eased, and I felt a small relief settle over me as they sank back into their seats, letting the moment pass without further comment.

“Grover blushed right down to his Adam’s apple… All year long, I’d gotten in fights, keeping bullies away from him. I’d lost sleep worrying that he’d get beaten up next year without me. And here he was acting like he was the one who defended me.”

Grover’s ears flushed a deep pink, and his eyes widened slightly. “Wow, Percy… I had no idea,” he said, his voice a mix of surprise and concern. “You worried so much about me back at the Academy? You didn’t have to. I could handle myself, even then.” He shook his head, more concerned that I’d been losing sleep than impressed by the gesture.

I shrugged with a small smile. “Of course I did. You were my only friend at that school, and I knew how easy it was for people to pick on you. Between the two of us, you’ve always been more sensitive.”

““Grover,” I said, “what exactly are you protecting me from?” There was a huge grinding noise under our feet. Black smoke poured from the dashboard and the whole bus filled with a smell like rotten eggs.”

From his spot, Hephaestus muttered, “Sounds like some kind of transmission issue, probably a catalytic converter failure.” His voice was low, precise, like he was analyzing a complicated mechanism rather than just making a casual observation.

Beside his dad, Beckendorf chimed in, “That doesn’t sound good, especially considering the title of the chapter.” His tone carried the weight of someone who knew the stakes, even if he didn’t have all the pieces.

Their words made the room feel heavier, the air dense with tension. Everyone’s attention shifted to the looming threat that had been building throughout this chapter, a quiet pressure that refused to be ignored.

I could feel the weight of unspoken assumptions. Everyone—except Thalia, Nico, and, if my guess was right, Mr. D—was convinced my string had been cut. I couldn’t correct them without revealing more than I was allowed. I clenched my jaw and stayed quiet, even when Dad looked at me like he was already planning my funeral. 

I didn’t mention that I was already twenty.

“The driver cursed and limped the Greyhound over to the side of the highway…. We were on a stretch of country road—no place you’d notice if you didn’t break down there.”

“Oh nice, you’re in a secluded location. No murder vibes at all, Your Honor,” Connor said, his voice thick with sarcasm. He wisely stopped mid-sentence when his dad shot him a pointed look that could curdle milk.

Even the trickster god knew when it was a good moment to be serious.

“On our side of the highway was nothing but maple… just three old ladies sitting in rocking chairs in the shade of a maple tree, knitting the biggest pair of socks I’d ever seen.”

Everyone, even Octavian, sucked in a sharp breath.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Dad gripping his armrest like his life depended on it. Amphitrite crouched beside him, rubbing his back and whispering quietly in his ear, her tone calm but firm. From the floor, Apollo shifted slightly, his fingers drumming absently against his knee, subtle enough that only someone paying close attention would notice his unease.

“I mean these socks were the size of sweaters, but they were clearly socks… The weirdest thing was, they seemed to be looking right at me.”

I felt Nico’s grip tighten beside me, his knuckles turning white. Fear was winning over logic. He knew the thread wasn’t mine, but that didn’t matter—losing anyone else wasn’t something he could handle again. I didn’t blame him. My own chest felt tight, that same cold dread from the first time hitting me like a freight train.

Annabeth wasn’t doing much better. She had her knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them, her eyes distant but glistening.

I caught Thalia’s gaze across the fire and gave a subtle nod toward Annabeth. Whatever tension still lingered between us, I wasn’t going to let it stop Annabeth from getting comfort when she needed it. Thalia hesitated only for a heartbeat before getting up and sitting beside her.

The silence was unbearable—thick, suffocating, and heavy with unspoken fear. Then, as if breaking under the weight of it, Dad let out a strained noise and stood abruptly. He strode toward me, his expression tight with worry. Without asking his brother for permission, he sat down beside me and gently lifted my legs into his lap, grounding me with the small, protective gesture.

I blinked at him, startled. For a moment, I thought he’d just carry me back to his seat entirely. Maybe the flickering shadows curling at Nico’s feet were enough to dissuade him from that—but it didn’t stop him from staying close, his hand steady against my ankle as if making sure I was still there.

“I looked over at Grover to say something about this and saw that the… “Yeah. Weird, huh? You think those socks would fit me?””

“Percy! What is wrong with you?” Reyna shouted, her voice laced with exasperation and something dangerously close to panic.

I tried for a grin, the tension clawing at the back of my throat. “That’s a long list, Reyna. Give me a week and I can email it to you if you want.”

The attempt at humor fell flat instantly. Dad’s hand tightened around my ankle—a subtle warning. When I glanced at him, his expression was all disapproval and barely restrained worry. His eyes, though calm on the surface, betrayed something deeper—fear. It was enough to make me stop hiding behind jokes, at least for the moment.

““Not funny, Percy. Not funny at all.”... “What?” I said. “It’s a thousand degrees in there.””

“Listen to him, Percy,” I heard Dad murmur under his breath, the tension in his shoulders so visible that even those across the hearth could see it.

Still clutching Nico’s hand, I reached over and gently took one of Dad’s. Without saying a word, I pressed his palm against the inside of my wrist, right over my pulse. A silent message—I’m here. I’m alive. Breathe.

His hand trembled just slightly before he steadied it, the roughness of his thumb brushing over the steady beat beneath his fingers. It wasn’t much, but it seemed to ground him again.

And yet, even as I tried to steady him, a cold realization hit me square in the chest: at some point during this reading, I’d have to tell everyone about what was coming—my inevitable ascension. The thought alone felt like someone had poured ice water down my spine.

I would never grow old enough to die, not in the mortal sense. No slow fading, no peaceful end surrounded by family. My story would never end that way. Unless Zeus decided to make an example out of me, I wasn’t even sure death was something the Fates would allow anymore.

The idea sat heavy in my chest—a strange mix of dread and resignation. Immortality sounded like a gift in stories, but sitting there between my father and one of my closest friends, it felt more like a sentence I hadn’t agreed to serve.

““Come on!” He pried open the door and climbed inside, but I stayed back. Across the road, the old ladies were still watching me. The middle one cut the yarn, and I swear I could hear that snip across four lanes of traffic.”

The air grew impossibly still after Hestia read the line. Nobody moved. The faint crackle of the fire was the only sound, each pop echoing louder than it should’ve.

Thalia’s hand twitched like she wanted to summon her spear, eyes wide and unblinking. “That’s—” she stopped herself, exhaling shakily. “That’s not a sound anyone wants to hear—or can ever forget.”

Beneath me, Nico’s grip on my hand tightened hard enough to sting. The shadows around him darkened, pulsing in sync with his heartbeat, but he didn’t seem to notice. “That wasn’t yours,” he said quickly, voice low and tense. “They weren’t cutting yours.”

I swallowed hard, regretting not telling Thalia and Nico about it before now—about the Fates, the yarn, that moment.

Annabeth had pulled her knees up, arms wrapped around them like she was trying to hold herself steady. Her eyes were unfocused, calculating, like she was running through every possible meaning at once and hating all of them.

My dad looked like he’d been carved from marble. His thumb pressed against my wrist so tightly I could already feel the crescents his nails would leave behind when he finally let go.

Across the fire, Apollo was silent. The usual light in him was gone, replaced by something old and heavy. His jaw flexed once, the only sign he was still present.

The silence that followed was suffocating—the kind that made your heartbeat sound too loud, too fragile, like it might be cut next.

“Her two friends balled up the electric-blue socks, leaving me…engine compartment. The bus shuddered, and the engine roared back to life.”

It was as if the pressure broke all at once. The tension snapped like a string being cut, and everyone seemed to sag in relief at the same time. In that collective exhale, it almost felt like they’d forgotten I was even there—breathing, living, not the one who’d been in danger.

Even Ares looked thrown off. And honestly, since we’d started this reading, most of the gods had been acting… different.

Especially Zeus. Still prideful, still self-righteous, but somehow less performative about it. Like he didn’t feel the need to constantly remind everyone he was king of the gods. It was unsettling.

“You boys never thought to mention this?” Amphitrite’s voice cut through the quiet, sharp and strained. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, knuckles white.

Grover still looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack, so I spoke before anyone else could. “You can’t defy fate, and death’s inevitable,” I said quietly. “It wouldn’t have mattered whether I told anyone or not.” I exhaled through my nose, a humorless laugh that sounded wrong in my own ears. “Besides, I’m here, aren’t I? I made it past twelve. It’s been almost a decade since then.”

Taking a breath, I added, “And while I can’t tell you who it was, I can tell you it wasn’t mine—and it won’t happen for a couple more years.”

Silena sniffled, seizing on the small opening. “But why would the Fates show you someone else’s string? Were they trying to scare you?”

I shook my head slowly. “No. The Fates don’t need to scare anyone—they just are. But their kind of mercy isn’t human. No one really understands them, but…” My voice faltered for a moment, memory bleeding in at the edges. “When they looked at me, it didn’t feel like a warning. It felt like being dissected by something that didn’t know or care what pain meant.”

Grover frowned, his voice trembling. “How is that supposed to help anyone?”

“By showing me that my fate wasn’t just mine.” I let the words hang in the air, hollow and cold. “That everything they touch is a thread in the same web—and sometimes they tug just to remind you how easily it can unravel or be crossed.”

No one spoke after that. The silence stretched, thick and uneasy. And for a moment, I swore I could still feel their eyes on me—three gazes older than time, watching from somewhere just beyond the light. 

“The passengers cheered. “Darn right!” yelled the driver. He slapped the bus with his hat. “Everybody back on board!” Once we got going, I started feeling feverish, as if I’d caught the flu.”

Immediately, I was too hot in the sweater, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to my skin. A tickle rose in my throat, sharp and insistent, and I had to fight the urge to cough. Lying down wasn’t helping—it made the space feel closer, heavier, like the air itself had turned to syrup.

With more effort than it should’ve taken, I brushed off the hands trying to keep me still and swung my legs over the side, forcing myself upright between Nico and my dad. The motion was clumsy, unsteady. The world tilted in response, colors swimming at the edge of my vision.

Apparently, I’d moved too fast. A wave of nausea hit like a punch, and the sound around me dulled into a low, pulsing hum. I pressed a shaky hand to my forehead, trying to steady myself, but before I could blink, that hand was gently brushed away.

A cooler one replaced it—steady, sure, and almost luminous. When I finally worked up the courage to open my eyes, Apollo was crouched between my knees, golden light spilling faintly from his touch. His expression wasn’t his usual lazy smirk; it was focused, almost grim, the kind of seriousness that didn’t suit a god of sunlight and song.

“You’re burning up,” he murmured, voice softer than I’d ever heard it. His thumb brushed over my temple, checking for fever with the care of someone used to holding fragile things. Behind him, I could feel the tension rolling off the others—my father’s silent restraint, Nico’s worry sharp as a knife.

Apollo frowned slightly, the corner of his mouth tightening. “You shouldn’t even be sitting up yet.” He glanced at my dad meaningfully, then looked back at me. “The curse seems stronger now. More aggressive than when you got cut before.”

I groaned, my throat raw, each word scraping like shards of glass. “Probably because the cut wasn’t that bad the first time, despite how it sounded. And… I rarely got sick as a kid, so when I did, it hit harder than usual.” A shiver of discomfort rolled through me, and I pressed a hand to my chest. “But this shouldn’t last too long. The first time it passed pretty quickly… I felt fine after, like, five minutes.”

Apollo didn’t look convinced. His golden eyes softened slightly, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. “You’re not invincible, no matter how much you act like it.”

I flopped back slightly, closing my eyes against the dizziness, and he reached out, steadying me with a firm hand on my shoulder. “Let it pass,” he said, low and insistent. “No sudden movements, no talking too much. Just breathe.”

Then, Apollo got back up and went to sit back down with Will, tucking him back into his side once again. 

After a moment, Dad started to gently—but insistently—maneuver me back into the same position I’d been in before. His hands were firm, unyielding, but careful, making sure I didn’t topple over or make any sudden movements.

When I was finally laying down again, Nico found his fingers in my hair. He was always surprisingly good at it, smoothing stray strands, untangling knots without a word. Probably came with the territory of having an older sister—learning patience, learning to notice the little things. I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of the moment anchor me, the chaos of the curse fading just slightly at the edges.

“Grover didn’t look much better. He was shivering and his teeth were chattering… They’re not like…Mrs. Dodds, are they?””

“Nope, they’re debatably worse, actually,” Hades said, calm but edged with that same dark weight he always carried. Out of everyone here, he was probably the most experienced with both the Fates and the Furies.

Clarisse snorted, leaning back in her chair. “Worse than the Furies? Come on. Those things hunt people for fun.”

Hades’ eyes flicked toward her, shadowed and unamused. “The Furies hunt with rage. The Fates hunt with certainty. One terrifies your body, the other terrifies your mind.”

Frank shifted in his seat, glancing down at his hands. “Your mind?”

“Yes,” Hades said, voice low, almost a whisper. “They weave your choices, your fears, your every possibility into threads you cannot escape. By the time you realize what they’ve done, it’s already too late.”

Annabeth’s brow furrowed, her sharp mind always searching for patterns even while feeling like she had a hundred degree fever. “So… they manipulate fate itself? I always thought they just had divine insight and maintained order.”

“They have complete control over Fate itself, not the other way around,” Hades replied. “And they don’t forgive mistakes—not like the rest of us. Their cruelty is silent, inevitable, and far more personal than any battle you’ve faced. That’s why they added the last clause to your punishment, child of Athena. They know how much you pride yourself on your logic and reasoning.”

“His expression was hard to read… but it wasn’t. It was something else, something almost—older.”

“Huh, even while feeling like garbage you noticed that? Like… I know I was feeling bad and their cutting wasn’t even targeted at me,” Grover mumbled, half-impressed, half-bewildered.

I lifted a shaky hand and gave him a thumbs-up, the best I could manage. A few quiet laughs rippled through the room, the kind that broke tension just enough to breathe again.

Thalia smirked from her spot near the hearth. “Look at that—Seaweed Brain noticing things. Guess miracles do happen.”

Annabeth rolled her eyes, but I caught the faint smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t sound so surprised. He’s observant when it counts.”

Clarisse snorted. “Yeah, sure. Next thing you know, he’s gonna start giving strategy lessons.”

Even Jason chuckled softly, shaking his head. “We’ll try not to die of shock.”

The laughter faded, but the warmth lingered—just enough to make the heavy air around us a little less suffocating. I sank back against the couch, pulse still hammering, but for the first time since the reading started, it felt like I wasn’t drowning alone in it.

“He said, “You saw her snip the cord.” “Yeah. So?” But even as I said it, I knew it was a big deal. “This is not happening,” Grover mumbled. He started chewing at his thumb. “I don’t want this to be like the last time.””

Connor rolled his eyes and muttered, “You’re just gonna freak him out more than he already was, dude.” His tone was dry, like this hadn’t already happened.

““What last time?” “Always sixth grade. They never get past sixth.” “Grover,” I said, because he was really starting to scare me.”

Connor leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “See? Told you.” His tone was casual, almost like stating a fact rather than provoking anyone.

Nico shot him a quick glare but said nothing, clearly more focused on me.

““What are you talking about?”... “Grover—that snipping of the yarn. Does that mean somebody is going to die?””

You know that surprise at me following Apollo’s directions of not talking, yeah that went out the window when I said, “Yes, yes it does—” the rest of my sentence was cut off from Nico putting his hand on my mouth with a warning glare. “Not a word Percy.”

I froze, blinking up at him, half tempted to bite his hand just to get it off. I decided not to when I saw both dad and Hades staring at me with twin glares of their own. In an act of self preservation, I muttered under my breath, “Fine, fine… I get it.” My words were muffled, but they seemed to do the trick.

“He looked at me mournfully, like he was already picking the kind of flowers I’d like best on my coffin.”

Hestia closed the book, officially signaling that the chapter was over.

After glancing at the sun, she cleared her throat. “Given the time, we should be able to get through about two more chapters before lunch. Who would like to read next?”

Ares’ hand shot up immediately. “I’ll do it,” he said, a little too quickly, his voice sharp in that way that made it sound like he was daring anyone to argue.

Hestia nodded smoothly. “Thank you, Ares. That’s very… generous of you.”

He hesitated, jaw tightening, and muttered under his breath, “Generous, huh?” as he reluctantly stepped forward. Even though he’d volunteered, the way he held himself—stiff shoulders, clenched fists—made it clear he’d rather be anywhere else.

I leaned over to Nico and whispered, “Look at him. God of War, clearly thrilled to be leading storytime.”

Nico snorted quietly, covering it with his sleeve. “Yep. Living the dream, as usual.”

Ares ignored us, flipping open the book with a sort of grumble that somehow sounded both annoyed and ridiculously intense.