Chapter Text
What … what did that mean?
“You must be mistaken” Percy insisted. “I am Perseus Jackson, son of Sally Jackson and Poseidon. Some god or the other cursed me, and I found myself in the body of Icarus, son of Daedalus. We are not the same people. I am not deluded.”
Thanatos ruffled his wings in the most elegant shrug Percy had ever witnessed, but the god’s looks had lost a lot of their draw to Percy.
“There is definitely something wrong with his soul, my lord,” Daedalus informed Thanatos, simultaneously pleased with the confirmation that his son was still his son and horrified with the knowledge that the boy had somehow twisted his self into creating an entirely new personality.
“Perhaps it is a reflection of his mental state?” the Death God suggested with a lack of concern that would have irked milder people than Percy. “All I can ascertain is that the soul inside this body burns bright with the connection only a soul born into it can possess. Whoever he may be, Perseus or Icarus, he has always been that person. With or without his knowledge.”
Done proselytizing, Thanatos inclined his head in Apollo’s direction. “If we are done here?”
Apollo offered a jerky nod.
Thanatos spread his wings – revealing fluffy feathers multiple shades of indigo, violet, and black, each streaked with a dash of sparkling silver – before flapping the massive appendages once, and simply … vanishing.
Some facts had the lamentable effect of casting a pall on even the happiest of occasions – and the news imparted by the Death God was one of them.
“Does this mean it really is all in my head?” Percy mumbled softly to himself. Surely not, right?
Yet, he couldn’t help remembering his own assumption the first time he’d found himself in the Labyrinth – or the sheer relief at the realisation that he wasn’t trapped inside his own mind with no recourse other than to play a deceptive Titan’s games.
His breathing sped up.
Traipsing all over the place, desperately chasing a god, formulating escape plans – all to be told that it had all been a futile endeavour?
What was even the point?
A choked-out sob escaped Percy’s throat.
Even as Apollo’s warm arms gathered him close, even as a worried Daedalus hurried over to comfort him, Percy could only register the rushing sound of his own heartbeat.
He was falling again – falling, and crashing, and swallowing water only to realise that he was drowning.
The fall hurt the hardest when you fell from a height.
Failure hurt the most when you’d held the hope that you might succeed.
If all this was part of Kronos’s convoluted plan to destroy Percy’s conviction, dash his psyche to the rocks, and render him insensate to reality – he was succeeding. Percy was neither aware of Nico’s screams, nor of the drone produced by the figments of his imagination.
Then something happened that was a little harder to ignore – someone shook him so hard his brain rattled inside his skull.
Percy stared in shock at a stern Daedalus. “Stop ruminating over what you cannot change and start thinking of what is possible,” the inventor ordered.
The wild determination exuding from the man’s grey eyes made Percy ashamed of his minor breakdown. Daedalus, whether real or imagined, was right. Percy couldn’t give up now. And yet …
“What is there to change?” Percy asked helplessly. “Either I am trapped inside my own mind, unable to break free on my own; or I am an impossibility stuck in the past. You heard Thanatos.”
“What I heard,” Daedalus replied with asperity, “is that you are Icarus – only you have become convinced that you are also someone else. That is immaterial to the entirely real urgency that is your deteriorating soul. Healing that is what we must focus on.”
Percy stared at the man in frustration. How was he supposed to convince the inventor that the fact Thanatos had failed to find any presence of Percy was a calamity that required immediate attending?
“Lord Apollon,” Daedalus addressed the god, who kept looking at his own hands and Percy like he couldn’t quite believe the demigod had been wrenched out of his arms so easily. “Is there any likelihood of this rot in his soul being due to his mental instability?”
Apollo opened his mouth to give a snappy answer, only to visibly reconsider at Daedalus’ narrowed eyes. “Noo,” the god ultimately drew the word out. “The torment required to damage your own soul is not one that exists within Perseus.”
“Icarus,” Daedalus corrected. “There is no reason to entertain his delusion.”
Percy jerked away from Daedalus at that denouncement, even as Apollo replied sardonically, “Considering that the boy even thinks of himself as Percy, I dare say that ship has already sailed.”
“Can we focus on what’s truly important here?” Percy demanded. “How do I escape this time loop? Preferably before I turn into a shambling zombie?”
Apollo sighed. “That would depend on the terms of the curse. Most curses have a loophole – some are embedded into the conditions by the caster themselves, while some exist because the caster didn’t think to specifically forbid it. What was yours?”
Percy heart raced madly inside his chest at even the thought of remembering that traumatising moment. His muscles locked, his hair stood on end, and an Arctic cold froze his blood.
It felt like he was reliving that moment again – the same talons sinking into his chest as if his ribcage was a mere illusion, shoving aside his internal organs with callous disdain, and then gripping that which was never meant to be touched.
Through numb lips, Percy recited the Titan’s words. “This fascination with death will be your undoing. Why labour ceaselessly to prevent an outcome you have yet to experience? You wish to prevent the deaths of others? Why don’t you give it a try first?”
Percy’s mouth continued moving, but no sound escaped his lips. It took a couple of seconds for the demigod to realise that the sudden silence, coupled with the tightness in his chest, was because he’d exhausted his air supply and forgotten to replenish it.
He took in a deep breath, his ribs throbbing at being forced to expand to such an extent.
“Icarus,” Daedalus began hesitantly, but that name was incentive enough for Percy to resume speaking
“Why don’t you try getting over death, little godling? That might help you fulfil your prophecy.”
“What prophecy?” Apollo demanded instantly.
“The Great Prophecy,” Percy explained, eager to grab onto any topic that was not his evisceration at the hands of a Titan. “It said I’d make it to sixteen against all odds. And either save Olympus or condemn it.”
Apollo’s lips twisted in thought, even as the muscles in his arms bulged with sudden tension. “How old are you now?”
“He hasn’t seen six and ten summers yet,” Daedalus asserted.
“Depends,” Percy asked. “Are you counting my body? Or my mind?”
“Depends,” Apollo rejointed, “on what the prophecy counts.”
“There was another prophecy,” Percy added reluctantly. “Made after I was already stuck in this loop. It spoke of broken promises and prophecy sent astray.”
Apollo scoffed. “Prophecy doesn’t go astray. No matter your attempts to circumvent it, what is meant to be, will always be. The path taken might diverge, but the destination will always be the same.”
“What if it does count the days spent in the loops?” Daedalus proposed with a frown. “Icarus makes it to six and ten against all odds in some of these loops – but then he finds himself in his younger body yet again, all progress lost. That would certainly send a time-dependant prophecy astray.”
Apollo scowled. “Perhaps. But I am least concerned with the loops continuing till eternity if that means the possibility of Olympus’s fall never arises.”
“Do you truly believe that is a possibility?” Percy asked with raised eyebrows. “Do you really believe we’re not all pawns in the Crooked One’s hands – unknowingly doing all that is possible to bring his plans to fruition?”
Apollo sighed, all the years he’d lived abruptly reflected in the slump of his shoulders, the exhaustion on his face, and even the faded glow of his eyes. “That is the problem, isn’t it?”
Percy frowned, mind racing now that they’d run through all existing ideas. Thanatos had left before Percy could ask him about any Kronos shaped anchors, but Daedalus was right. The continued existence of Percy’s own soul was what was important right now – he couldn’t help thinking the rot that increased with every single loop was a direct consequence of Kronos’s actions.
Percy reached a tentative hand to the spot on his chest that still throbbed with remembered pain. “Is my soul … here?” he asked. “Inside?”
Apollo’s eyes widened. “The heart is the centre of being.”
Percy had died of a heart attack.
Kronos had reached inside and grabbed something inside him.
And now his soul was infested.
Percy’s hand dropped.
Oh.
The tethers Kronos had sunk into Percy weren’t anything so superficial a simple scythe could carve them out.
While Apollo’s mark was a chain around his soul, Kronos was a worm crawling inside his being.
Amputation wouldn’t be enough – Percy would have to be shattered into infinitesimally small pieces to reveal Kronos. And even that might not be enough to eradicate the Titan’s presence.
***
“Perseus,” a golden youth shining with all the allure of a chunk of pyrite called out.
Percy was tempted to pretend ignorance or deafness, but the guard at the drawbridge was more attentive – and nice.
“There’s your companion,” the man told Percy, pointing out the figure even now strolling their way in a distinctly feline manner.
Percy nodded a reluctant thanks before hoisting his bag of supplies a little higher on his shoulders and setting out towards the man he’d once known as Apollodorus. They met in the middle of the little dirt road that led away from the palace.
“And who would you be, stranger?” Percy asked with fake cheer.
Apollo fell into step with Percy and answered equally glibly, “Just a concerned bystander. Has the hospitality of our kingdom already worn off for you?”
Percy peeked at the god from the corner of his eye. “Or perhaps, there is somewhere I need to be.”
“Alone?” Apollo raised one sceptical eyebrow. “The roads can be dangerous for the lone traveller.”
“Perhaps I mean to take the sea,” Percy countered.
Indeed, true to his words, the road would ultimately lead them to the small port – and the trading vessels hopefully willing to take on a passenger ready to work for room and board for a one-way trip to the Greek mainland.
“And go where?” Apollo inquired politely.
Percy shrugged. “Such wonderous attractions everywhere – who’s to say I have any one destination in mind at all?”
Possessed by a mischievous urge, Percy added, “I might even go visit Delphi. The centre of the word seems like a wonderful place everyone should see at least once.”
“Haven’t you already seen it once?” Apollo commented dryly.
“What do you mean, oh stranger?” Percy asked in pretend surprise. “This is only the second land I have ever been to.”
Apollo’s shoulders shook. “Really, Perseus. Where are you going? Not to throw yourself in my Uncle’s embrace in the hope his waters can wash the disease off you?”
Percy … hadn’t considered that. But no, he’d taken enough dips in the sea to know his father’s domain did nothing but hasten the degeneration.
Percy considered the god beside him again, wondering if it would be worth it to explain his intentions. On the one hand – Apollo could decide to become the worst impediment possible. On the other, the god could reduce an uncertain journey that might take years into the span of a second.
The answer was clear.
Softly, carefully, Percy stated, “They say there is a waterfall in Greece, from which fall waters capable of washing clean even a goddess. Perhaps it can be the solution to my own parasitic problems.”
Apollo stood stock still, incredulity twisting his features into something unrecognizable. “You wish to bathe in the headwaters of the River Styx?”
Percy smirked. “Who said anything about bathing?”
The rot, after all, was inside his soul. It would take something a little stronger than just a topical antibiotic to fix it.