Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The night air was cool and still as Artemis’ silvery moon shone down onto the lush, fruitful strawberry fields of Camp Half-Blood, small dewdrops twinkling like fallen stars. Crickets sang their nighttime choir while owls darted gracefully in between the trees. Gentle waves lapped at the coast, wetting the sand and depositing little seashells to be found by curious campers come morning. 

All of the campers were, for the first time in a long time, sleeping soundly. Even Percy Jackson, resident nightmare record holder, Saviour of Olympus twice over, and current most monitored patient in the infirmary, was finally granted a peaceful night, free from the ghosts and visions that usually plagued his mind. Perhaps it was because he was currently being held by his closest companion and soulmate, Annabeth, or perhaps it was a divine blessing, a small ‘thank you’ from the Gods, for everything he'd done.

Even the present immortals were within Hypnos’ domain this night. Chiron snored softly, both chests rising and falling slowly, legs tucked up on his rounded, down feather bed. Dionysus had one arm tucked beneath his pillow, curls splayed out on the impossibly silky fabric. 

All of this was to say that no one was awake to see It.  

It was imperceptible at first, even to those with inhuman eyes. A tiny, hair-thin split appeared in the sky, right in between two stars. It rippled and warped the air around it, like a mirage formed from heat. Light of an indescribable colour poured through, sliding into the sky like oil being poured into water. Slowly, the tear widened, stretching and shifting and flickering. Small, thin tendrils began to come through, writhing like snakes. Eyes, human and not human and everything in between, popped in and out of existence, scanning the surroundings.

The intruder slid past the fabric of reality, dripping down until the tendrils brushed the moist grass. Like a mass of living, glittering nerves, It twitched and glided across the grass, spreading out before retracting back, making not even the slightest sound as it moved. It seemed curious, almost fascinated by the world around It, reaching to touch and feel every little thing. 

It kept creeping along until It reached the first of the cabins, freezing in place suddenly. Tentatively, gently, It brushed against the outside wall, near revenant in its movements. Endless mouths gasped and grinned in silent joy, a thousand hearts racing as one. The mass shivered, rearing up and coiling around itself as It felt the small, twinkling souls within. It expanded its reach, rippling and shivering with delight when it found even more. Spurred on by this discovery, It kept reaching and reaching and reaching, seeking out every little light until It came across one that practically shone, like a newborn star gracing the universe with its light.

A godling.

But oh, oh, he was hurt.  

There was a blackness encroaching on his soul, like a poison that refused to leave the body. The gold that had just begun to shimmer in his blood was flecked with inky darkness, and the one curled protectively around him was not faring much better. Fire bubbled in their guts, burning away the ambrosia and nectar that should have been healing them. Scars, old and new, marred their skin; some natural, and others disturbingly supernatural in nature.

The intruder crooned in despair, reaching for the two injured demigods. They felt almost foreign as It grazed their sleeping figures, new and wondrous and achingly unfamiliar. This. This is what It had been searching for, had been missing. The perfect combination of divinity and humanity, wrapped up in a powerful, yet still very mortal little bundle.

It coiled around the two slowly, like a python wrapping itself around unsuspecting prey. Flickering capillaries sunk into their flesh, searching for more information on just who It had managed to find.

Oh. Now wasn’t that interesting?

Around the boy’s injured soul was a number of claims. There were the deep, gouged warnings of the Sea God, a clear warning to all who could see them to stay away, lest the offender incur the wrath of the boy’s sire. There was the long faded mark of Styx, the great promise-keeper of the divine, as well as the faint etchings of her brother, Phlegethon.

That would explain the blazing hot fire-water that lingered in the demigod’s bellies. 

There were smaller marks, too. Dionysus’ thorny vines were wrapped, faintly, around the souls of all who currently slumbered within the camp’s borders, like the barely open eye of a lazy guardian; content to allow the bearers to wander from his view, but still acting as a silent reminder to any who may have ill intent that the God of Madness was around. 

Silvery moonbeams and radiant sunlight also shone upon this particular soul, iridescent and shifting. Not enough to be a true claim, but rather a blessing, indicating that this one had earned the attention of both the Sun and the Moon.

The last of the marks came in the form of flecks, little, twinkling stars that radiated love and friendship. These were from the other campers, unknowingly leaving their marks on the son of Poseidon. It was a starmap of relationships, some burning brighter than others, with constellations made from the bonds forged over his lifetime. Clearly, this boy was loved.

And yet…

The marks were, well, fainter than It had expected. The claims had been laid, but not truly maintained. When It searched deeper, It found signs of divine anger, of malice, turned onto these demigods. Wounds from monsters sent to maim and kill, traces of stolen memories, and curses from those who should be above such things.

How disappointing. It wondered how things had gotten to this point, how things had varied so differently from the world that It came from. These demigods, these children, were not being appreciated like they deserved, were not being taken care of like they deserved. It could taste lingering bitterness, desperation and anger in the air around It, the fear of not being enough nearly suffocating It.

This Pantheon didn't know how good they had it, how lucky they were to have children who only wanted to be seen by them. To be loved by them.

They wanted to squander this gift? Fine. It would take them instead.

It sunk into the curled up children’s memories, seeking out who It should take first. It wanted to ensure that the transition would be as smooth as possible, and for that It wanted familiar faces. 

Places and people flashed before It, entire lifetimes viewed in mere moments. When It was finished, It hummed in consideration. There were a few souls that It wanted that were no longer among the living, but that did not matter to It. The only concern was that if It took them, then there was a chance It’s presence would be noticed soon after, and It really didn’t want to risk this Pantheon coming into contact with It’s own. It was trying to fix It’s strings, not further tangle them. 

It would simply have to take them last.

Like a deep sigh, the otherworldly being expanded outwards once more, sinking into the ground and stretching out across the land. It wrapped itself around the dulled stars of the Underworld first; a missing twin and a regretful hero, one waiting in Elysium, the other seeking rebirth. It had only planned to take one child of the 12 Olympians at first, but It could not leave the poor little leopard without his other half. Besides, Dionysus would drive the mortals all mad if he ever learned that one of his only babies had been left within Thanatos’ realm, and that wouldn’t help things.

The child of Hermes was an… interesting case. There were far easier choices available, and this one had caused so much harm, but within his torn soul It could still find immense love for those he had allowed himself to be turned against. He’d made the ultimate sacrifice in the end, and perhaps that meant he deserved a chance to be better, free from the one who had poisoned his mind. A protector would be needed, for the world It came from was fraught with danger, and It could sense that he would kill to protect those he cared for. 

Lastly, It turned It’s attention to the Hunt of the Moon Goddess. A daughter of Zeus slumbered peacefully under the protection of Artemis, her soul snapping and bristling with untamable energy. Her absence would be noticed almost as swiftly as those who resided below, for the Thunderbringer and the Hunt Queen both had etched many claims into her soul. It did not particularly care, however. It did not bend to the whims of the God King, and if It wanted this one, It would have her. It would have all of them eventually. With It’s hold secure, the intruder began to work It’s magic. 

It started with the little Sea Prince. It wrapped itself around him like a cocoon, plucking his strings as though he were a lyre. The strings resisted for a time, but It’s will was too great, and eventually they caved, allowing It to do as It pleased. 

It started by rewinding the years, easing scars from his skin and tucking memories deep, deep down. It could not chase out the sickness entirely, that would only go away with tender care and time, but It could make accepting his approaching divinity easier. Soon, It was cradling not a teenager, but a young child. Honed muscle had been replaced by the clinging remnants of baby fat, calloused skin smoothed over and left looking quite new. 

Next, It came for the marks. It hurt, slightly, to wipe away the signs of a devoted father and the blessings of other Gods, but it was necessary. The bonds needed to be remade, and It was sure that the ones that would replace them would be ironclad and numerous. There would be no scorn or hatred for this child born of a broken oath, only elation at his mere existence. It was sure that these children would have magnificent tributes made by the finest artists as soon as their parents deemed them old enough to venture from their arms.

Once all was said and done, It beheld the little one that would be the first to come to It’s world. He was still asleep, something that It had willed, and one of his little fists was tightly gripping the shirt of his bedmate, who would soon be just as small as he was. His lightly tanned skin was soft and free of what abrasions could be cleared away. A few scars still remained; the one on his palm from the dreaded pit scorpion, the ones on his shoulders and across his back from when he’d held the sky, and the ones on his very soul from his time in Tartarus. Those scars would never fully heal, but they would eventually begin to fade.

It smiled with mouths unseen and drew the boy into itself, coating him with the indescribable light that had heralded It's arrival. In mere moments, it had grappled the strings of all It's chosen few away from the Fates, spinning them into Its own loom. It could feel the confusion and rage bubbling up from the Beyond, a being that mirrored Itself starting to blink into awareness. 

No matter, for by the time anything could be done,

Fate would be gone.

When Luke woke up, dawn was just beginning to break over the horizon.

Now, immediately, something about that sentence was wrong. Beyond wrong, actually.

See, Luke was never meant to wake up. At least, not in this body, and certainly not with any of his memories. He was dead. He had been dead for some time now, trying to decide if he truly wanted to seek rebirth, or if he should just take the paradise he'd been offered, regardless of how out of place he felt.

Taking in a deep breath, Luke blinked, his eyes beginning to moisten when no burning ache followed, when no warm blood coated his throat. The air here was sweet and warm, carrying the scent of newly grown grass and the ocean. Slowly, he sat up, taking the time to run his hands through the dew-speckled grass. Little ground shrubs and flowers kissed his skin, tangling lightly in his fingers as he gently felt their leaves and petals, his mind almost refusing to allow him to believe that this was real.

“Where am I?” he whispered, glancing all around in sheer wonder. 

Wherever he was, it was beautiful. He was sitting atop a small cliff, and the greenery around him almost glowed pink in the pale, rosy light of the sunrise. Down below was a beach, clear waves crashing against white rocks. The air was a bit chilly, but Luke could tell that it would warm up, especially with how clear the sky seemed. Little bugs buzzed and hopped around, oblivious to the newcomer in their midst.

This… was not Manhattan. This wasn’t Camp Half-Blood. Hell, this wasn't even Elysium. He didn't have the faintest clue where he'd ended up, or how.

“Mnh- Luke?” 

The son of Hermes froze, every muscle in his body tensing up. 

No. No. There was no way. He had to be dreaming. 

But… the dead don't dream.

Slowly, as if he were afraid of what he'd find, Luke turned around, looking back over his shoulder.

A little girl was beginning to stir, her blonde hair falling in her face. She rubbed her eyes, not looking quite awake yet, wearing a worn yet still fairly bright orange Camp Half-Blood that looked too big for her small body. She yawned, and her eyes fell open, revealing two startlingly grey orbs.

“Annabeth.” he breathed, his heart constricting in his chest as the tears finally fell.

She looked exactly like how he remembered her; big, owl-like eyes, hair that tangled horribly unless you ran a brush through it twice a day, and a grumpy pout that always appeared when she had to get up in the morning.

Now, however, that pout had been replaced by a look of concern. 

“Are you okay? You're crying!” she exclaimed, pushing herself off the ground. She wobbled for a moment, looking disoriented, before she found her footing and rushed over to where he was kneeling.

Without thinking, Luke swept Annabeth up into his arms, his shoulders shaking slightly as he felt her little arms wrap around him as best they could. He pressed his face into her hair, smiling slightly when she patted his back, mimicking the way he and Thalia used to comfort her. She was warm in his hold, warmer than he’d thought she’d be, considering the temperature of this area, but he couldn’t bring himself to focus on that. All he could think about was the fact that his little sister was here, that she was in his arms and letting him hug her. It was as if all his mistakes had never happened.

And yet, as she pulled back from the hug, he saw it; a streak of grey-ish white that disrupted the blonde. A physical reminder of the strain he'd forced her to endure. 

Swallowing, Luke fought the urge to look away from her in shame. Now that his mind was truly his own again, the overwhelming sense of gut-churning horror and revulsion at what he'd done was beginning to sink in.

That godsforsaken prophecy might have named him a hero, but Luke knew that he wasn't. Heroes didn't sic a pit scorpion on a frightened 12 year old. Heroes didn't poison their first friend. Heroes didn't raise an army of children to slaughter their siblings. He was no hero.

 He was a monster.

A sudden pressure on his cheek brought him out of his spiraling thoughts. Annabelle had started patting his face, her little hands lightly slapping him.

“Hey, don't do that.” she scolded, “You're going to your away place again.”

Luke shook his head, giving her the best smile he could muster. He didn't know what was going on, if this was some kind of dream, or a fucked up divine punishment that would tear this all away from him in a moment, but he was bound and determined to make the most of it.

“Sorry,” he apologized softly, pulling her hands back down, “I got in my own head again.” 

Annabeth gave him one of her patented ‘no shit Sherlock' looks, and he huffed out a laugh. 

Gods, he'd missed this.

“Come on,” she said, getting up and pulling at his arm with less strength than he was used to, “we need to find Percy!”

“Percy?” Luke frowned. If this was some sort of weird dream about his past with Annabeth, then why would Percy be here?

Annabeth looked at him like he was stupid, and it was in that moment that Luke realized something.

Annabeth's eyes, which were usually unnervingly bright and attentive, now held a sort of glassy sheen, as if she was having trouble focusing. Her face was unusually red, and not just from the sunrise, and she was sweating.

“Shit, ” Luke swore, jolting forward to press the back of his hand to her forehead, “Annie, you’re burning up!”

Oh, gods, this was a punishment, wasn’t it? Was he going to have to watch Annabeth die from some unknown illness?

“Swear.” she mumbled, leaning into his cooler skin. “Percy’s sick, too. We need to find him!”

“Annabeth, why would Percy be here?” he asked, scooping the girl up into his arms once more. She was surprisingly light, even for her age… actually, how old was she?

Annabeth scrunched her face in disbelief, as if Luke had just started speaking Japanese.

“Because we’re here?” she replied, speaking in a way that implied that this should be an obvious fact, “Luke, did you hit your head? You’re acting weird.”

“I-” Luke trailed off, unsure of how to reply. After a moment, he decided to just go along with whatever insanity he’d found himself wrapped up in. “You know what? I think I must have. Would you mind filling me in on why Percy’s with us while we go look for him?”

“You saved him, remember?”

Luke froze mid-stand, his mouth dropping open in shock.

“I- I what? ”

“You saved him from the mean man. The smelly one that kept yelling at him.”

The mean man?

Luke wracked his memories, trying to dig up any recollection of who the hell Annabeth could be talking about. It certainly wasn’t Poseidon; the Sea God was known for defending his children, after all, and while Mr. D was far from the most pleasant person to be around, Luke knew that he hadn’t actually harmed any of the campers, most likely because it wasn’t worth the headache that came from dealing with their godly parents. 

“The one that… you know…” Annabeth trailed off, before softly adding, “hurt his mommy? And him?”

Luke sucked in a sharp breath. Shit. Holy Shit. What kind of grief induced hallucination/dream/punishment was this? Did Percy have an abusive stepparent at home? Was that something he’d ever mentioned to Luke? The scarred young man flicked through every interaction they’d had before he’d left camp that he could remember, searching for signs that he’d overlooked.

Now that he was actively looking for them, he did remember occasionally seeing Percy go uncharacteristically quiet and still whenever someone raised their voice, as well as flinching when the older campers moved too quickly near him. He hadn’t focused on these behaviors before, chalking it up to him being a traumatised, ostracized kid. But when he considered what Annabeth was describing, Luke began to reach a disturbing conclusion.

Anger, familiar and white hot, began to surge through his veins. Surely, surely, Poseidon had to know, right? So much for being godly dad of the year! That egotistical Master of Moisture couldn’t even be bothered to get off his ass and save his so-called ‘lover’, or his fucking son, from an abusive household?! No, no of course not. It didn’t benefit him, so why even bother, right? Who cared that a few mortals got hurt?

Taking a deep breath, Luke forced his anger down for now. He readjusted Annabeth, schooling his expression into something calmer and friendlier. Annabeth needed a brother right now, not a venom-spitting preacher.

“I think I remember now. Bits and pieces anyway.” he lied smoothly, tucking some of Annabeth’s hair out of her face, “How are you feeling?”

“M’ stomach hurts.” she admitted, her poor state overriding her pride, “It feels like I swallowed fire.”

“Well, if you start to feel sick sick, let me know. I’d rather not get puked on today.” Luke replied jokingly, masking his worry. He didn’t know what was causing Annabeth to be sick, nor what he could do to fix it.

…Was there anything he could do? Was this real? 

Suddenly, a flash of colour caught his eye, and Luke picked up the pace, a feeling of dread beginning to pool in his gut.

The bright orange of the camp shirts were a real eyesore, but they also made it very easy to spot tiny bodies.

A young boy was curled up on the grass and scrub brush, unruly black hair obscuring his face. His breathing was slow and ragged; betraying the illness that had settled in his lungs. His eyes were closed, but even if they weren’t, Luke was certain the boy wouldn’t even have realized they were there.

“PERCY! ” Annabeth cried, wiggling as she tried to get out of Luke’s hold. The blonde tightened his hold, just enough to ensure she didn’t drop onto the ground. Instead, he allowed himself to go down, his thigh and hip taking the brunt of the fall.

Setting Annabeth down, Luke hesitated for only a moment before reaching out towards Percy. Somehow, he was even lighter than Annabeth, feeling frail and delicate in his arms. His skin had paled to an unhealthy shade, and there were dark, heavy bags around his eyes. Despite him clearly being young, he looked as though he’d lived through a lifetime of hardship.

Luke swallowed down the bitter bile that threatened to scorch his throat at the sheer wrongness of what he was seeing. Percy Jackson was not light. He was not weak. He’d survived everything Luke and Kronos (Had they become the same being even before Luke had given the Titan his body? After everything, was he still himself? ) had thrown at him. For the Saviour of Olympus… for his saviour, for in the end, that is what Percy had been, to be laid so low by something as horrendously mortal as an illness felt like a spit in the face.

Annabeth’s lip wobbled as she clumsily brushed a few black locks away from his sweat-soaked forehead. She looked up at Luke, her big, grey eyes shiny with tears. She’d always been prone to getting emotional when she was sick.

“You can help him, right?” she asked, pleading with the older demigod to make things better. Adults were supposed to be able to fix things like this.

Luke looked at her, then back down at the demigod in his arms.

Could he?

His gaze wandered towards the ocean, watching as the waves rippled along the surface. Water would help, Luke was sure. Hell, maybe his dear old dad would even offer some aid for once. If anyone had the knowledge and resources to heal Percy, Poseidon would.

But what would he ask in return?

Luke grit his teeth and fought the urge to snarl. No. The gods had never invited anything other than trouble and pain into his life, and he wasn’t about to risk drawing their attention by praying to them now. Instead, he turned to Annabeth, who was looking distinctly misty-eyed by now.

“I’ll find someone who can.” he said, the whisper of a promise in his voice, “Can you climb on my back? I need to carry Percy, and it’d be kinda hard to carry both of you in my arms.”

Annabeth, always eager to please, nodded as enthusiastically as she could. In less than a minute, Luke got to his feet once more, one child clinging to his back, the other limp in his arms. He huffed softly at the extra weight, but they truly weren’t too much of an added burden. Honestly, he’d prefer it. At least then he’d know these two had been eating enough.

As the sun finally rose above the horizon, Luke closed his eyes, drew in the deepest breath he possibly could, and held it. This was it. Either he’d wake from this dream and find himself once again in his undeserved paradise, or the lack of oxygen would cause his lungs to start burning, and he’d know that something had seen fit to give him another chance.

He waited, and waited, and waited…

An ache began to bloom, his body demanding fresh air, and Luke granted its request with a breathy laugh.

He was alive again.

“Alright, little owl,” he grinned over his shoulder at Annabeth, the sunlight turning their blonde hair a radiant gold, “where do you suppose we are?”

Annabeth blinked, as if she hadn’t even noticed that they weren’t still on a grimy street somewhere, running for their lives. The little girl glanced around, intelligent eyes taking in every little detail, her mind no doubt working overtime to find an answer, despite the fever.

Suddenly, her eyes widened, her brow furrowing in confusion. She looked around again, as if she wasn’t sure she’d seen things right, before she looked back at Luke.

“Luke, why are we in Greece?”

Well, shit.

“Swear.”

Chapter Text

The moon had not even yet reached its peak when Dionysus awoke.

He frowned, sitting up and allowing his silken sheets to pool around his hips. Something was… wrong. He couldn’t figure out what it was, but there was something tight and heavy sitting in his chest, feeling horrendously close to anxiety. He scowled and flopped back down onto his bed, closing his eyes. He knew sleep would likely not come, but if he wasn’t being summoned to Olympus by his father, then Dionysus figured that, whatever it was that had happened, it didn’t require his immediate attention. He willed the strange feeling away, and frowned harder when it refused to subside.

It was too damn early for this.

He allowed himself to laze in bed until the chirping of birds reached his ears. Soon, the camp would be filled with the ear-grating chattering of early rising campers, and any hope Dionysus had of falling back asleep would be dashed. He would once again be forced to watch over the gaggle of assorted brats under his care, barred from using his most prominent domain to ease the pain.

Sure enough, after another half hour passed, Dionysus heard the sound of cabin doors opening and felt little feet step out onto his territory. It was probably Hermes’ brood, looking to cause some pre-dawn mischief, or perhaps one of Apollo’s little medics going to check on the resident troublemakers. The god let out a sigh, waiting to hear the inevitable sound of grouchy yelling from some unsuspecting schmuck getting pranked or robbed, or the annoyed grumbles of one Annabeth Chase, who hated getting up early almost as much as Dionysus.

After a moment, he did hear something, but it wasn’t what he was expecting.

“Has anyone seen Will?! Percy and Annabeth are gone! ”

Oh, Fates, not again.

Dionysus groaned and put his head in his hands, grinding his palms into his cheekbones before letting the appendages drag down his face. Why? Why? Why was it always those two? Were they allergic to making things easy for him? Was it truly so hard to just stay put?

“Uncle P is going to have a fucking fit. ” he growled, fighting the urge to summon a bottle of Barolo to help prepare for the absolute shitstorm he was about to have to deal with.

“I- I don’t know! He wasn’t in the cabin when I got up!” another voice called out.

Dionysus felt a headache start to come on, and that was a really hard thing to achieve when you were a god. 

“Please let him just be canoodling with the emo one.” he pleaded, “Don’t let this be another case of spur-of-the-moment quest bullshit.”

With a snap of his fingers, Dionysus dressed himself and appeared in Chiron’s room. The snap wasn’t necessary, but he liked to do it. Walking over to where the old centaur was sleeping, he crouched down and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Chiron, wake up.” Dionysus hissed, giving him a light shake before quickly stepping back.

As predicted, the centaur snorted and startled, limbs striking out to kick whatever had woken him up. After a moment, he collected himself, giving Dionysus a confused look as he pulled his legs under himself and staggered to his hooves.

“Dionysus, what-” he began, but the god held up a hand.

“Thing 1 and Thing 2 are missing.” Dionysus said, crossing his arms, “Billy from the Apollo cabin might be gone, too.”

It took Chiron a moment to parse out who Dionysus was referring to, but once he did he cursed, stamping a hoof on the floor.

“I swear, we’ve had more problems in the past five years than in the previous century.” he grumbled tiredly, “Any idea where they’ve gone? I doubt it’s Hera again, but…”

Dionysus shook his head. “Just got up myself. Guess we should go round up the little bastards and ask if they know anything before ol’ Barnacle Beard catches wind of this and loses his shit.” he shrugged, “Who knows? Maybe they just went to sleep in one of the cabins.”

Both of them knew it wouldn’t be that simple, but it was nice to pretend for a moment.

Making their way outside, the duo could see various campers running around, knocking on cabin doors and swiftly gesticulating to the bleary-eyed head counselors, no doubt asking them if they’d seen Peter and Amanda. The funny feeling from before reared its ugly head again as Dionysus watched the older campers shake their heads before ducking back inside to ask their siblings.

Beside him, Chiron produced his conch horn and brought it to his lips. The sound got an instantaneous reaction; all the children freezing in place before looking towards their camp directors. Like the good little Pavloved brats they were, the campers all rushed over to group up around the porch, even the ones that were just barely awake.

Scanning the crowd, Dionysus felt his mouth twitch down into a frown. There seemed to be several campers not present, not just the three that he’d heard about. The assembled demigods, the ones that were actually awake anyhow, seemed to notice this as well, older siblings pivoting in place to quickly count the number of heads around them. Let’s see…

No Peter, no Angelia, no Wyatt, no Nathan, no Clara, no…

Pollux.

Where was his son? Hadn’t he heard Chiron’s horn? The kid was a heavy sleeper, just like his old man, but he’d been finding that harder to do after…

Dionysus shook his head and refocused his attention on the crowd, stamping down the constrictive feeling that threatened to crush his ribs. He’d go and rouse Pollux in a minute.

“Alright, what’s going on?” he asked, his tone holding a note of sterness that he didn’t usually inflect.

One of Apollo’s kids stepped up, her blonde and green hair sticking up wildly, betraying just how quickly she’d gotten up.

“Mr. D, none of us can find Percy, Annabeth, or Will.” she said, her voice dripping with stress, “We tried knocking on Cabin Three’s door, to see if maybe they were in there, but no one answered, and we can’t go in without permission.”

“Go.” Dionysus said, waving a hand towards the cabin. The door cracked open, and the girl nodded and took off. “Where’s La Rue and di Angelo?”

The Ares cabin glanced at one another before shaking their heads. Juno’s little champion stepped to the front of the crowd, since he was the only one present who would know the son of Hades well.

“Gone. His stuff is exactly where he left it, and he didn’t say anything about leaving, so I don’t know where he could have gone.” Jason said, looking distraught, “This isn’t- no one took them, right? This isn’t like what happened with me and Percy?”

Dionysus considered this, giving his Roman counterpart a nudge. Ever since the war had ended, communication had been much easier, though he had to really concentrate to get words across. Usually it was just feelings.

‘Hey, dumbass, I’m missing some kids. They show up on your end?’

‘No. Juno has not stolen from you again.’ came the reply, ‘Something is wrong, though. Don’t you feel it?’

Dionysus chose to ignore that last part.

“This isn’t our Roman counterpart’s doing.” he confirmed, which drew a few relieved sighs from the crowd, “Look, don’t panic, alright? If they’re not in Jackson’s cabin, then they’ve probably just wandered off to do some weird little group bonding… thing. We’ll wait until the sun comes up, and if they’re still not back, then-”

“Mr. D! Chiron!”

The daughter of the Sun was sprinting back towards the group, something grasped in her hand. The gathered children parted for her, and she approached the two adults with shakily, her face pale. Slowly, as if she were holding some dangerous creature, she extended her hand and unfurled her fingers.

A simple ballpoint pen sat innocently on her palm, the metal glinting in the morning glow.

At first, Dionysus didn't understand why the kid was so worked up over office equipment, until he heard Chiron take in a sharp breath.

Wait a second.

“Is that…” he trailed off, watching with widening eyes as the centaur picked up the pen.

“Anaklusmos. ” Chiron confirmed, his own face going several shades whiter.

Several campers, the ones who recognised the name, gasped in shock. The ones who didn't shuffled uneasily, unsettled by their siblings’ reactions.

“That's impossible. ” Dionysus said, glaring at the pen as if it were personally responsible for all of this, “I can practically taste the enchantments on that thing. There's no way that it could be here.”

“And yet,” Chiron said, his voice pained, “here it is.”

The feeling in his chest expanded to his stomach, settling like a lead weight. This wasn't right; enchantments from the Sea were some of the strongest in the world. Removing them would be like trying to remove the ocean.

 But the enchantments weren't removed. There was no reason for the sword to not be at its master's side. It was maddening, and not in a good way.

Dionysus went to pick up Anaklusmos, to see if he could detect any attempted sabotage or meddling, but the second his skin brushed against the pen, he flinched back with an instinctive, inhuman snarl, his eyes going from a dull wine color to a bright, vibrant magenta.

The pen was almost completely scentless.

Now, to a normal human being, that sentence makes absolutely no sense, but if you said that to a god, they would probably react in much the same way.

You see, gods see the world differently than you or I. When they interact with things, specifically things of a divine, mythological, or otherwise supernatural nature, they leave behind a sort of scent marking. It is almost always tied in some way to their domain, and while multiple scents can overlap, there is always a dominant one, usually left by the god that owned the item or the territory it was in. 

Other gods can try and overpower the dominant scent and claim the item for their own, but to do that is to issue a challenge, so this is usually avoided. Demigods also leave these scent markings, unknowingly of course, though they are weaker than a god’s or even a monster’s. Weapons gifted to children carry the scent of their godly parent, an extra claim laid upon them, as well as their own scent. They never fade, only getting stronger as the demigod gets older and more powerful. Not even death will remove the scent, and it is common for gods to keep something that carries their children’s scent in their personal quarters or on their person once they pass on.

All of this is to say that it was extremely alarming to find Anaklusmos bearing no trace of its wielder or his father’s claim upon him. 

Chiron stepped back nervously at Dionysus’ reaction, but the Wine God barely noticed. Something had gone horribly wrong here, and he cursed himself for not acting sooner, for not noticing sooner. Forcing his true form back into its mortal-esque facsimile, he disappeared in a crack of energy, reforming inside his cabin, desperately searching for his son, his only remaining child.

Pollux’s bed lay empty, the sheets hardly even disturbed. Dionysus frantically reached for the only things that now lay on the bed; two well-loved stuffed horses, Horsey and Spirit. He’d gifted them to his sons on the day they were born. Pollux slept with both of them now, and so he should be able to use them to help locate where his son was. His hand found the ratty mane of Horsey, Pollux’s stuffed steed.

Nothing. Empty, scentless nothing.

Dionysus froze, his ichor turning to ice in his veins.

No.

He forced his hand to brush against Spirit’s threadbare muzzle, years of being slept on having reduced the soft, creamy velvet to a thin layer of greying fuzz. 

Fabric was all he felt. No trace of the love that had once been infused into the plush, awash in the scent of a vineyard in summer.

No trace of Castor. 

Dionysus keened, dropping to his knees as he dragged the stuffed horses into his arms, cradling them like he had once done with his sons. His form flickered wildly, teeth elongating into fangs as his leopard-print shirt ceased to look like an article of clothing and began to look more like a pelt, spots shifting and swirling in rapid, unfathomable patterns. In the recesses of his mind, he felt Bacchus go still and quiet with shock, before sending a wave of hurtconfusiongriefangerangerANGER over their shared connection.

Shimmering tears streaked down his face as he hysterically tried to find his children’s scents, his cries worsening each time he failed to find even his own claim on the toy equines.

How could this have happened? What did he miss? His territory hadn’t been intruded on, he would have felt it, and no god would ever dare to even try to overpower his claim on his children, especially with their most precious items. But this… this wasn’t even that! This wasn’t a challenge to his claim, this was complete and total erasure.

It was as if they’d never even existed.

A sudden sound forced Dionysus back to alertness, his senses practically screaming at him that someone was close, too close, to his cabin. He snarled in rage, clutching Horsey and Spirit to his chest as he clawed himself into a low crouch, eyes swirling with barely restrained madness. 

“Dionysus, what’s wrong?!” asked the voice from outside, the familiarity hitting Dionysus like a splash of ice water.

Chiron. Teacher. Friend. Family. Peacekeeper. Defender.

Dionysus forced himself to calm down, just enough so that when Chiron opened the door, the centaur wasn’t sent into a fit of seizures and incoherent ravings. He was still growling, though, and Chiron wisely stayed in the doorway upon hearing the sound. The old horse looked deeply concerned and more than a little fearful, his entire body tense. His coat was soaked, and beyond the cabin’s threshold Dionysus could hear the sound of rumbling thunder.

He must have let his anguish leak out more than he thought. He could feel the familiar buzz in his chest that told him he was being summoned to Olympus.

“Dionysus,” Chiron tried again, lowering himself down to the god’s level, “what has happened? What has caused your distress, old friend?”

Dionysus made a pained sound, unable to form words. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever felt so weak. Instead, he extended one of the stuffed horses, clawed hands keeping it well within his hold. He was not bequeathing the precious toy, merely willing Chiron to touch it, to understand what he could not bring himself to say.

Still wary of the near feral god, the centaur awkwardly shuffled closer, taking one plush hoof into his hand.

If the other immortal had been tense before, he was now marble-like in his stillness. He seemed to be having trouble understanding what his senses were telling him.

Finally, reality struck him, and Chiron reeled back, hooves clattering and sliding on the cabin floor as he whinnied in alarm, his pupils becoming horizontal slits. His twin chests heaved as he panted fearfully, his damp white fur bristling.

In that moment, he understood why the god before him wept. 

The children weren’t missing. The children weren’t dead.

The children were gone.

“What- ” he croaked, voice hoarse from his sudden trumpet, “What could have- who could have-?!”

He nickered in distress, tail lashing. Dionysus bared his teeth in solidarity, feeling just as lost and confused and afraid.

“The other children!” Chiron gasped suddenly, his terrified expression illuminated by a flash of lightning, “I- I left them near the Big House- I left them alone!”

Dionysus snarled at the mere thought of any more children being, what, taken? Erased? He didn’t know! All he knew was that he’d drive all of New York mad if any more of his charges fell victim to whatever had taken his sons.

That feeling from this morning… earth and sea and sky and all the stars above why didn’t I check-

“Go,” Dionysus managed to grit out, “get them inside and for fuck’s sake make sure they stay there! Keep your gaze on them, αγέλη ηγέτης. You and I both know they like to wander.”

The Wine God forced himself to stand, Horsey and Spirit still clutched close to his chest. “I am being summoned. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I’ll be keeping part of my consciousness here. If anything happens, call me, and I will come.”

Chiron nodded before taking off in a full gallop back towards the Big House. Dionysus watched him go for a moment before closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, and wiping away the tears that dripped down his face.

He needed answers, and to find out how far spread this was. How many children had been stolen away while they slept?

“Don’t worry, αστεράκια μου.” he muttered in a broken voice as he looked down at the stuffed horses, “Ο μπαμπάς θα σε βρει.”

Dionysus disappeared once more, leaving behind an empty cabin and the faint smell of grapes.

“-ia…”

“-alia…”

“THALIA!”

Thalia shot up, her sudden awakening leaving her disoriented for a moment. Her instincts, honed to near perfection from years on the streets, made her reach for her weapon, a snarl pulling at her lips. Before she could, however, the realization of who had spoken stuck her.

“Nico? ” she breathed, moving her hands to instead rub the grit from her eyes, “What are you doing… here…”

She trailed off as the boy came into view. And he truly was a boy. Gone was the quiet, scruffy, eternally tired-looking emo teen that she’d come to know, replaced by a wide-eyed child that looked too small for his jacket. His black hair was a mess, sticking up in random places while being matted down by sweat in others.

“Oh my- Nico, what happened to you?!” Thalia gasped, pushing herself up off the mossy ground.

Wait, the ground? Hadn’t she just been sleeping in her tent?

“What happened to me?” Nico cried, his voice higher and squeakier than she could ever remember hearing it, “What happened to you?!”

Before Thalia could ask Nico what the hell he was talking about, someone spoke up from their right.

“Neeks, I love you, I do, but please shut the fuck up.” a sleepy southern voice pleaded, and when Thalia looked, she saw another young boy. He sported blonde hair, sunkissed skin, and a great many freckles. Currently, he was curled up on a thick, plush bed of moss, a small beam of red sunlight shining on him, “I haven’t gotten any real sleep in, like, three days.”

“Will! ” Nico yelled, almost looking like he was going to cry as he scrambled over to where the other was laying.

That seemed to get the blonde’s attention, as the boy, Will, apparently, pushed himself up just in time for Nico to slide into his arms, tucking himself into his neck.

“Woah, easy there, death boy.” he soothed, “What happ- Nico, why are you small?”

“That’s what I want to know.” Thalia said, causing Will to look her way. He had bright blue eyes, just a few shades darker than her own. A child of Apollo, no doubt.

Will blinked at her once, then again, before slowly replying, “Thalia, right? Daughter of Zeus? Recovering pine tree-ification victim?”

Thalia nodded.

Will swallowed, looking her up and down as he hugged Nico closer. “You, uh, you might want to take a look at yourself.”

A sick swooping feeling filled the young Huntress, but she did, indeed, look down.

Her hands were almost swallowed by the sleeves of her black leather jacket, and when she turned her palms upwards, she saw no trace of the calluses she’d developed over her lifetime. Her pant legs drooped over her shoes, and she was definitely closer to the ground then she had been in years. A spot on her left leg ached, and when she rolled up the fabric of her jeans, her hands shaking, she saw a newly formed scar, still pink and new. 

It was her old leg injury, the one that had forced Luke to lead them back to his home to seek treatment. It had long since faded, becoming little more than a pale stripe upon her skin, and yet it now looked as though it had just finished healing.

“What,” Thalia breathed deeply, a crackle of energy arching across her shoulders before leaping into the ground, “the fuck.”

Silence washed over the trio, broken only by heaved breaths and birdsong.

Thalia slowly pried her fingers away from the denim, stretching the appendages to chase away the ache that threatened to take hold in her joints. She plopped back down onto the ground, hugging her knees to her chest and letting her chin rest upon them. Glancing up, she saw that Nico and Will were still entangled, fingers interlaced as their frightened eyes sought out all the changes in each other. They both looked so young, definitely younger than she’d ever known them to be.

How… how old was she, then? Was she as small and baby faced as them? How was this even possible? Why couldn’t they just catch a break?

The daughter of Zeus took a few minutes to feel sorry for herself, allowing tears to drip down her face and fall to the ground with a soft plip, before she collected her wits, dragging her sleeve across her face to dry her eyes. They weren’t going to get anywhere by just sitting around, and Thalia wanted answers.

“Come on,” she said, getting to her feet, scuffed boots kicking up tiny bits of moss, “let’s look around. Maybe we’ll find whatever, or whoever, brought us here and did… this.” 

She gestured to herself with a sneer, before offering a hand to the two boys.

They took it, and so they set off.

The place that they had awoken in was old.

In its prime, it might have been a temple, a place of worship and devotion for a god unknown to the trio. Murals and tapestries had faded and decayed into nothingness, leaving behind little to clue the half-bloods in on where they now found themselves

Jagged stone edges had long since been smoothed by decades of wind and rain, and collapsed passageways were inundated with all manner of flora. The sun-bleached bones of a fountain rested peacefully in what had once been a courtyard, the now empty basin lined with larkspur. Green grass sprouted up from in between a pathway of stones, leading the three demigods to the temple’s exit.

And it is there that they find Clarisse.

What an odd thing it was to see; the fierce daughter of Ares, slayer of the mighty Drakon, usually all bared teeth and barked words, looking so young and defenseless as she slumbered in a patch of meadow grass. Her worry lines were gone, as were the deep scars that had marred her chin and arms. Undoubtedly she would retain her fiery anger, but she no longer had the size and well-earned muscle to back it up, nor her beloved spear.

“Oooh, she’s gonna be so pissed. ” Will groaned, crouching down next to Clarisse and poking her cheek.

“Hey, La Rue.” he called softly, “Come on, you gotta get up.”

“Grrr- piss off, sun boy.” she snarked back, swatting away his hand without opening her eyes, “Go play mother hen with Jackson or something.”

“As much as I would love to be doing that,” Will deadpanned back, “I’m more worried about us right now.”

Clarisse gave an exacerbated huff, but finally cracked open an eye.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“Knowing us?” Nico piped up, “Probably some divine meddling.”

“Ah, so just another Tuesday, then.” Clarisse snorted, rolling over and closing her eyes again, “Wake me up when there’s an actual problem.”

“Clarisse,” Thalia growled, “you’re fucking twelve again! Get UP!”

Clarisse jolted, her eyes widening when she saw that she was, in fact, not in her cabin. She looked down at herself, gasping when she saw her changed body.

“The FUCK?!” she shrieked, jumping up and shaking her hands out, as though she could force the youth to leave her.

“Yeah, that was pretty much what we said.” Nico offered, watching as she glared at her arms, her burning gaze almost intense enough to leave scars on her skin once more.

The enraged girl growled low in her throat, slapping a hand to her forehead and letting her nails dig lightly into her skin as she dragged it down.

“Right, okay, yeah this is definitely some godly bullshit.” she sighed, sounding far older than she was, “Alright, where’s Percy?”

The other demigods looked at each other.

“Um, he’s not-” Nico began, but Clarisse held up a hand, cutting him off.

“Listen, if there’s one thing I’ve learned these past few years, it's that Prissy is always at the centre of weird shit like this.” she stated firmly, “He’s like, god catnip, or something. They just show up to talk to him all the time.”

“Well…” Thalia said, before shaking her head, “no, actually, you’re right. That boy attracts way too much trouble.”

“He really isn’t here, though.” Will added, “Unless we just haven’t run into him yet, of course.”

Clarisse humphed, looking around the room critically.

“I’d bet all my drachmas that he’ll pop up sooner or later. Little punk better be suffering like the rest of us, or I swear… ” she clenched her fists.

Will paled slightly, remembering the state the teen had been in. “For his sake, I really hope you’re wrong. I don’t think Percy’s gonna be able to help get us out of this mess, even if he is here.”

Clarisse’s furious look softened slightly at the reminder. For all they postured and played up being rivals at camp, the daughter of the War God actually held a lot of respect for Percy Jackson. She knew he was suffering, and though she wouldn’t openly admit it, she didn’t actually want him to be dragged into this new mess. She wasn’t sure if his body or his mind could handle another adventure so soon.

“Fine, so we’re on our own.” she shrugged, stamping down the ember of nervousness that ignited in her gut, “We’re heroes, we can handle… whatever this is.”

Clarisse cracked her knuckles, giving her fellow campers a cocky grin. The others grinned in turn at her bravado, eyes flashing with delight at the thought of glory. It was a trait that almost all half-bloods harboured; the need to be praised, to be seen. It made them incredibly determined, kept them from succumbing to the fear that came from simply being alive in their world, but it could easily slip into being a fatal flaw if left unchecked.

“Now,” she said, looking around at her feet, “where’s my spear?”

Thalia, Nico, and Will all cringed.

Who was going to tell her?

Chapter Text

As it turns out, lugging two sick seven year-olds along with you for miles on end will, eventually, start to wear on you. Even with his demigod strength, Luke found himself resisting the urge to pant as the sun climbed higher and higher. 

His little passengers weren’t fairing much better; Percy had yet to awaken, still shivering despite the uncomfortably warm sunlight that was beaming down on them, and Annabeth whined as she nearly slipped off his back for the umpteenth time. As much as he wanted to keep going, to find some form of civilization, Luke knew that they couldn’t keep going on like this. They needed rest, food, and, most importantly, water.

Scanning their surroundings, the teen spotted a small grove of trees not too far from them. They were small, but their leaves were green and plentiful, offering a thick shade cover beneath their branches. The low foliage would also offer an extra layer of camouflage, for the grass here was high; reaching up to Luke’s knee.

“Hey, Annie, let’s take a break, yeah?” he asked, softly nudging the girl with his head to get her attention, “I don’t know about you, but I am beat. I think my legs might actually fall off this time.”

That got a small laugh out of Annabeth, so Luke counted it as a win.

Making his way towards the trees, Luke’s eyes lit up with relief when he saw that they weren’t just any trees. Fat, succulent peaches hung from the branches, their weight forcing the wood to bend and droop, leaving the fruit within easy picking distance. He licked his dry lips, his mouth watering at the idea of filling his belly for the first time in years.

Ducking his head, Luke felt the leaves brush over his hair as he slipped into the blissful shade, exhaling softly in relief as he felt Apollo’s sun leave his skin. He kneeled slowly, carefully easing Percy down into the gently swaying grass. Annabeth dutifully followed suit, relinquishing her hold on Luke’s neck as she flopped down onto the cool dirt. Grasshoppers and cicadas buzzed all around them, their songs making up the symphony of summer and all its beautiful and unforgiving warmth. 

Luke yawned, his body urging him to lay down and wait out the highest temperatures. Unfortunately, due to the company he found himself in, he had once again become the Mature And Responsible Adult™ in charge of making sure they all stayed alive by default, and thus it was his job to feed them.

Fortunately, Ancient Greece (gods, that was so weird to say), was proving to be more fruitful than the various grungy city streets he’d scavenged. 

Hah, fruitful.

Luke stood back up, ignoring his protesting limbs, and reached for one of the peaches. It yielded easily to his touch, barely rustling the leaves as he plucked it from its branch. He turned it over, inspecting it. When he found no worm holes or patches of rot, he rubbed it on his shirt and handed it to Annabeth, who eyed the fruit like it was a cool bottle of water.

Luke grimaced internally. Shit, if he was hot, then Annabeth was probably dying for something to drink. He’d almost forgotten how young she was now.

“Here, Annie.” he said, handing her the peach. Usually, he’d toss her a snack, to test her reflexes and to laugh when she occasionally didn’t catch it before it smacked her in the face, but he wasn’t about to go hucking fruit at a sick kid, “Try not to eat this too fast, okay? You can have as many as you want, but I don’t want you to make yourself sick.”

“Okay.” Annabeth replied, taking the peach with a grateful smile, “Thanks, Luke!”

And oh, didn’t that make his heart twist?

How long had it been since she’d looked at him like that? When had he stopped bothering to look?

“Of course.” he said, each word feeling like a jagged shard of glass in his throat, “Anytime, little owl.

Once he saw Annabeth tuck into her peach, Luke reached up for another, feeling around to find the ripest, juiciest one. When he found one with skin that gave easily under the slight pressure he placed upon it, he twisted and pulled it down, carefully holding it to his chest as he kneeled down once more, this time reaching for Percy, who really wasn’t looking too hot.

“Hey, champ,” he tries, giving the boy a nudge, “time to get up. We need to get some fluids in you.”

Percy’s brow furrowed, but his eyes remained shut.

Luke frowned, nudging a little harder. Still, the little half-blood failed to rouse, his breaths coming in slow, even rises and falls. The blonde hummed in thought, trying to decide what to do. He didn’t want to hurt Percy; he didn’t think he even could, not after being given a second chance, but he needed him to wake up.

‘Think, Luke!’ his internal voice demanded, ‘What do you do when kids won’t get up?’

An idea popped into his head, one born from years of being around siblings that didn’t always enjoy rising with the sun.

Setting aside the peach for a moment, Luke rolled his neck, cracked his knuckles, and made his fingers curl into the shape of claws. Then, with the practised precision that only the most annoying of older siblings possessed, he struck.

Percy jerked to awakeness, shrieking in surprise as Luke tickled his ribcage, his little legs striking out to kick at his attacker. Luke grinned as he relented, pulling his hands away. He was here to help, not relentlessly attack, after all. Percy panted for a moment, before he squirmed into a sitting position, glassy sea-green eyes glaring at Luke with such ferocity that it gave the teen pause.

Had he misjudged Percy’s mental state? Did the boy remember what Luke had done?

“Luke, that’s not nice!” he whined, and Luke let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Sorry, buddy.” Luke replied, ruffling his hair and suppressing a frown at how warm Percy felt, “I just wanted to get you up so you could eat.”

Percy blinked at him, and Luke heard a quiet gurgling sound. Ah, the famous Jackson appetite had shown itself at last.

“Is it blue?” the boy asked hopefully, his voice sounding painfully hoarse, “Blue food always makes me-”

Percy stopped abruptly, his head tilting downwards. He was staring at his hands, which were currently pressed against the lengthy grass that surrounded them. He jerked them back up to his chest, his eyes widening as he looked around as quickly as he could manage.

“Wha…” he murmured, shifting closer to Luke, who put a comforting arm around him instinctively, “Luke, why are we in a field?”

“We’re in Ancient Greece!” Annabeth chirped helpfully, which caused Luke to cringe. Smooth, ‘beth. Way to ease him into it.

Percy’s eyes somehow found a way to widen even more, leaving him looking like a fevered frog. Or maybe a tadpole, because he was still little.

Luke rubbed the poor kid’s back, trying to lessen the shock, “It’s okay, Perc. I know it’s a… a lot to take in, but I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

‘Gods, I know I have no right to ask, but please let that not be a lie.’

Percy leaned into his side, his nose brushing against one of Luke’s ribs, “I know.”

Luke drew Percy in closer, fighting back the pressure he felt building behind his eyes. He didn’t deserve Percy’s trust, didn’t deserve his loyalty. If he was a good person, Luke would tell the boy the truth; that he wasn’t someone to hand your heart to, because he would always break it in the end. Unfortunately, Luke wasn’t a good person. He was greedy and selfish and starved for comfort, longing for a time where people looked at him with fondness instead of fear.

He didn’t deserve Percy’s loyalty, but he would take it anyway.

“Here, Percy,” he said softly, voice just audible above the breeze as he reached for the discarded fruit, “have a peach. It’ll make you feel better.”

Luke would get one for himself, but he’d lost his appetite.

Elysium looked different today.

That was the first thought that passed through Castor's mind. The second was that he was not where he had been a moment ago. 

Gone was the clear, cool pool of water he'd been laying next to, as was the pile of shiny stones he'd been collecting. Instead, he now found himself surrounded by enormous reeds, feathery plumes swaying in a gentle breeze. The plants were so tall, he couldn't see over them, leaving him somewhat blind in this bizzare mockery of a corn maze.

Confused, but not yet frightened, Castor got up, dusting himself off on reflex, though his clothes never dirtied anymore. To his shock, however, he felt bits of plant fibre and dirt slide off his shirt, landing at his feet silently.

Castor stared at the ground for a long moment, before grabbing his shirt, his mind racing.

This… this was not what he had been wearing. He had been enjoying eternity in comfy pajamas, not his obnoxiously bright camp shirt. Yet, clear as day, there it was, replacing his silky lavender purple nightshirt.

Was this some sort of prank? Had someone undressed him without him noticing somehow? He shivered, disgust prickling across his skin.

Everything about this was wrong. Had he done something to deserve his eternal rest being disturbed? He couldn't remember doing anything that would warrant this reaction, but the alternative was that something less than benign had managed to get into Elysium, and that thought was far more terrifying.

He needed to look around. Maybe he could find someone who would know what was happening.

Pushing his way through the reeds, Castor's mouth settled into an annoyed frown as more and more of the plants greeted him, showing no sign of thinning out. He huffed, nose wrinkling as some of the feathery seed pods brushed against face, causing him to sneeze.

“Bless you.”

Castor stiffened, stopping in place as he whipped his head around. That voice… could it be?

“...Pollux?”

Silence. 

Then, slowly, the reeds in front of him began to rustle. A hand reached through the grass, pushing aside the stems, and as they bent Castor saw his own face appear before him.

Pollux had regained his youth in death, looking to be around the age Castor had been when he'd died. Perhaps a few years younger than even that, because his twin seemed to be missing a few scars, and his hair still curled around his jaw, the way it did before the war. His eyes were wide and shining, unshed tears glistening over his mulberry and wine-coloured irises.

“ Castor? ” the teen breathed, his voice shaking.

Castor smiled, feeling his own warm tears beginning to pool, and opened his arms.

Pollux sobbed, crashing through the reeds to tackle his brother. The two hit the ground with a dull thud, and Castor's joy snuffed out the pain that blossomed in his back at the impact.

“CASTOR!” Pollux cried, shoving his face into Castor's neck. Castor locked his arms around Pollux, pulling him into a crushing hug as he cried into his twin’s hair, “Gods, I was so afraid I'd never get to see you again!”

“Planning on stealing a golden apple?” Castor teased through his sniffles.

Pollux laughed wetly, the sound quickly devolving back into heaving sobs. Castor said nothing, for he was fairing just as poorly. His shirt was going to look like he'd just walked through a downpour once he was done, but the son of Dionysus couldn't bring himself to mind. For all Castor cared, the world could burn down around them; he had his brother back.

“How- how did you…?” Castor managed out, not lifting his head.

“Oh, shit, I didn't even-” Pollux gasped, before groaning softly, “Oh man, I died in my sleep? That's so lame. ”

“It's not a bad way to go.” Castor murmured, silently thanking the gods that Pollux hadn't suffered.

“No, I guess not.” Pollux acquiesced, shifting so that he wasn't lying directly on Castor, instead choosing to rest his head on his twin's chest while the rest of him lay at Castor's side,“It's just- I feel bad. Everyone's still trying to recover, especially with Percy and Annabeth being how they are, and now they're going to have to deal with… that on top of everything else.”

Castor tilted his head, curiosity and concern rippling through him. He'd heard of the war with Gaea through the whispers of the recently departed, but nothing about his old friends specifically, “What's wrong with Percy and Annabeth?”

Castor felt his twin sigh.

“They're sick. Really sick. They had to go on some crazy quest and they ended up,” Pollux paused, taking a moment to swallow his gorge, “falling into Tartarus.”

Castor gasped, his eyes widening as he sat up slightly.

“No they fucking didn't.” he whispered, “You're lying.”

Pollux shook his head.

“I wish I was. We got a note from them while they were down there, and when they eventually got back, you could tell they'd been somewhere bad. After everything with Gaea ended, I guess the exhaustion took its toll, because after they went to bed that night, they didn't get up.” Pollux took Castor's hand, squeezing it gently, reminding himself that this was real, “Last I saw, they were in the infirmary. Lord Poseidon wanted to take Percy to Atlantis, but dad stopped him. He said that they got worse when they were separated, and since Annabeth can't breathe underwater, they have to stay at camp.”

Castor made an upset face, imagining the brave little kids he’d grown up alongside laying on those terribly firm cots that the infirmary used, wasting away from something beyond their control.

“That’s horrible.” he said, “Do you think…?”

“That we’ll see them soon?” Pollux finished, “I don’t know. I hope not. I hope we don’t see them for a long, long time.”

“Yeah, me too.” Castor said, “I… I wish you’d had more time, too. I’m so happy to see you, Pol, but you deserved to live your life.”

Castor felt Pollux shrug, but the other teen said nothing, and Castor didn’t push. What’s done is done. There was no undoing death.

The two demigods lay there for a while, simply watching the clouds roll by above the reeds as the sky faded from orange, to pink, to its final colour of a bright, vibrant blue. Strangely enough, Castor found it hard to get comfortable after a time, something he wasn’t used to. Elysium was always comfortable, even if you were laying on a rock, or face down in the sand.

“Can I ask you something silly?” Pollux asked, startling Castor out of his thoughts.

“What?” he asked, before his brain caught up to what his twin had said, “Oh, yeah, go ahead. I won't promise not to laugh, though.”

“Dick.” Pollux muttered, before propping himself up on one arm to look at Castor, “Okay, here it goes. We’re dead, right?”

Castor blinked, then arched a brow, “Uh, yeah? ”

“Okay, so, then-” he pointed to Castor’s chest, “why does your heart still beat?”

Castor stared at Pollux, his mouth working as he tried to form words.

“Why does my- it doesn't? ” the demigod replied, absolutely bewildered, “Pol, my heart doesn’t beat. What are you talking about?”

Pollux’s expression shifted into multiple different emotions, as though he couldn’t decide how he felt about Castor’s response. Eventually, he landed on a mix of realization and shock, before he lifted up the hand that was still entwined with Castor’s own and, before Castor could argue or ask what he was doing, placed it right where his heart would be.

Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub.

Holy shit.

Castor sat straight up, pressing his hand harder against Pollux’s chest. Sure enough, he could feel his twin’s heart as it beat, the organ pulsing under his touch. With his free hand, the son of Dionysus felt for his own. The same sensation met his palm, the beats perfectly synchronized with Pollux’s.

Castor looked up, meeting startled eyes that mirrored his own. A silent understanding passed in between them. Pollux hadn’t died,

Castor had come back to life.

Hermes had, all things considered, been having a pretty good morning.

Oh, sure, he’d had to get up before Apollo even got into his ‘sweet ass Sun Car,’ but there had only been a few deliveries waiting for him! That was a rare treat, and he had planned to take full advantage of it.

Keyword being had.

He’d only been able to relax for about 15 minutes before he felt the call of his father in his head, the buzz settling on his tongue like flavourless Pop Rocks. He sighed, the wings on his head fluttering slightly in annoyance, before he dove down towards an enormous cloud, the world spinning by around him as he focused on appearing in Olympus. When he emerged, streams of cloud fluff clinging to his hair and feathers, he was flying above the familiar infrastructure of his home. 

He paused midair, cocking his head in surprise. Instead of being brightly lit by the dawn light, the surrounding skies were so stormy and dark, Hermes could almost believe that it was still nighttime.

‘Well, that isn’t a good sign.’ Hermes frowned as he swooped down towards the uppermost courtyard.

He spotted Apollo making his way towards the grand doors of the temple, the blonde looking particularly displeased that his sun was being so thoroughly blocked out after he just raised it. Hermes touched down next to him, and Apollo greeted his brother with a nod.

“Morning, Apollo.” Hermes said, falling into stride beside him, “Do you know what’s got father in such a mood?”

Apollo shook his head, “Beats me. Knowing him it could be anything from ‘the world is ending’ to ‘some random mortal said I was just a myth.”

Hermes laughed, his wings flapping in amusement, “Let’s hope it’s the second, hmm?”

Apollo groaned, throwing his head back dramatically.

“Stars and sky, yes! There’s been far too much going on in such a short period of time.” he said, his tone thick with exacerbation, “I swear, if this keeps up I’m going to start going grey. I’m too beautiful for that, Hermes!”

Hermes snorted and ruffled Apollo’s hair, earning an affronted yell. For all that Apollo likes to tease and gloat about being his older brother, he certainly tends to act like a little sibling.

“Nonsense, you have always been as ugly as an inbred warthog.” Hermes replied easily, for that was his job as the actual younger sibling.

Apollo gasped at that, a hand flying to his chest as his eyes flash gold. In an instant, Hermes was tackled, sent sprawling through the doors of Mount Olympus. The two grappled for a time, their forms flickering as each vied for control. Swan wings battered snake scales, hissing insults meeting bird-like shrieks. 

The two gods would have likely continued their childish brawl for hours, if not for the deafening CRACK of thunder that echoed throughout the temple, scolding in its nature. Hermes paused, his mouth mere inches from Apollo’s arm, his canines having morphed into wicked fangs, before reluctantly releasing his sibling.

“Right. Super important summons.” he sighed, kicking Apollo away from him and grinning with all his teeth when he heard the other grunt from the impact.

“One of these days, I’m going to rip those stupid wings right off your head.” Apollo grumbled, smoothing out his now wrinkled outfit, “Maybe your tongue, too.”

“No you won’t.” Hermes replied, before offering a hand to Apollo. The Sun God took it, and the two continued on to the throne room.

As they passed the intricate murals and masterfully sculpted statues, Hermes noticed that Apollo’s sunny disposition had yet to return. In fact, he looked troubled, an expression the Messenger God was unused to seeing on his brother’s face.

“Is something bothering you?” he asked, arching a brow, “You seem a little off.”

Apollo glanced over at him, rubbing the back of his neck. It was a mortal reflex he’d picked up during one of his many, many excursions to Earth. 

“I don’t know. There’s just something… off about today.” Apollo admitted, “Something woke me up last night, and I guess it hasn’t quite left me yet.”

“A new prophecy?” Hermes asked, suddenly dreading Apollo’s answer.

The Sun God shook his head, “No, not yet. This is something else.”

Before Hermes could open his mouth to pry, Apollo stopped, and out of instinct, Hermes did too. It was a good thing he did; they had reached the throne room doors, and he was sure Apollo would never let him live it down if he’d smacked into them because he was distracted.

Hermes pushed the doors open, his feathers ruffling at the sudden influx of energy that settled over him. The room was positively alive with electricity, blue bolts of lightning licking at the walls and leaping up columns. Hermes and Apollo glanced at each other, eyes widening.

‘Oh shit. It might actually be scenario one.’ Hermes blanched, quickening his pace as he made his way to the centre of the room.

Zeus was on his throne, as usual. To Hermes' great surprise, his expression was not just one of anger, but also one of worry. When his father’s gaze landed on him, Hermes bowed without any of his usual theatrics, wanting to get this meeting going as quickly as possible.

“My Lord.” he said respectfully. At his side, Apollo repeated his actions, looking just as nervous as Hermes felt.

Zeus dipped his head in acknowledgement, his serious expression softening a fraction, “My sons,” he greeted, “I am relieved to see that you are both well.”

This time, Hermes couldn’t hide his surprise. He glanced at Apollo, who blinked slowly in shock, before looking back at Zeus, “Father, why would we not be well? Has something happened?”

Hermes was the messenger. How had he missed something big enough for his father to show concern?

Zeus’ frown deepened, “Did you not feel it? Something has greatly upset Dionysus.”

Dionysus? Their father was getting all worked up over Dionysus being upset? The Wine God got upset every week!

Hermes’ thoughts must have shown on his face, because the serious expression on Zeus’ face returned full-force, “I would not have called you here over one of his tantrums. I sensed his distress late last night, but he did not call for aid, so I assumed something had merely frightened him, and that the problem had been resolved.”

Hermes sensed Apollo’s own emotions spike slightly, and a lump wedged itself in Hermes’ throat.

‘Something woke me up last night, and I guess it hasn’t quite left me yet.’

Zeus focused his gaze on Hermes, and the God of Travellers met it. Something bad was coming, and Hermes felt himself tense.

“Then, just a short time ago, it returned, far worse than it had been.” his father continued, “Hermes, Apollo, your brother was screaming. ”

Hermes felt his wings flare out in alarm, and not just the ones on his head. No, all of his extra appendages showed themselves. Twin sets of wings sprouted from his back, flapping as he hissed, the sound low and threatening. Scales crawled up his arms and legs, nails elongating into talon-like claws. Feathers lined his jaw, bristling like fur in response to his emotions.

“Who dares? ” he snarled, eyes serpent-like as his pupils became little more than wavering slits.

Zeus did not reprimand Hermes for his outburst. Though the God King was Dionysus’ father, Hermes had cared for him in his youth, and given that the other god had just recently lost two of his favoured sons, he could understand Hermes’ rage.

“I do not know what has caused Dionysus’ distress. I have summoned him here, and he should be arriving-”

Crack!

“...soon.” Zeus finished, his eyes widening when he saw the state that his son was in. 

Dionysus had appeared directly in the throne room, taking no time to idle outside or chat with any of the residents of Olympus. He looked absolutely terrible; his eyes were tinged gold, his cheeks sparkled with drying tears, and he was trembling, holding onto a pair of stuffed horses as though his immortal life depended on it.

‘Pollux and Castor’s horses.’ Hermes’ mind helpfully supplied, working to assess the situation even as he failed to comprehend what he was seeing, ‘You brought him the finest silk velvet and delivered an enchanted needle from Athena to help him make them, so that they could fade from love but never break.’

Zeus stood from his throne, walking with an uncharacteristic amount of caution, as though he were wary of what Dionysus would do if he moved too quickly. Hermes took in the deepest breath he could, forcing his form to stabilize as he, too, stepped towards the Wine God. 

Apollo, however, did not believe in the concept of walking up to someone who looked as though they’d just gotten in a fight with their greatest inner demons and lost.

“Holy shit, Dio!” he yelped, rushing over and cupping the other’s face, his eyes sunlight yellow as he searched for any wounds or ailments, “What happened to you? How did I not feel this earlier?!”

“Don’t touch me!” Dionysus snarled, his fangs bared as he jerked away.

Apollo threw his hands up in surrender, wisely choosing to back off. Hermes placed a hand on his shoulder, both to comfort and to keep him from approaching Dionysus again. 

“My son,” Zeus began, his voice as gentle as he could make it, “what has happened? What pains you so?”

Dionysus looked at their father, his fangs retreating back slightly as his shivers returned. 

“Father,” he rasped, “something terrible has happened, and I can’t-”

He paused, taking a moment to take in a gasping breath, before continuing.

“ Please, ” he begged, looking at Zeus with tear-dampened eyes, “please tell me that I’ve gone mad. That my domain has turned against me, and that I have inflicted Chiron with the same madness. Please, because I don’t know what to do if my senses have not abandoned me.”

With shaking hands, he extended the stuffed horses, their limp cloth legs swaying slightly, to Zeus. 

“Please, tell me you can feel them.”

Apollo’s hand found Hermes’ arm, his nails digging into the flesh. Hermes said nothing, his eyes locked onto the two velvet horses.

Zeus hesitated at first, staring at the toys as though he thought they would come alive and chomp down on his hands, but he quickly shook off his stupor, cupping his hands as he stepped forward, allowing Dionysus to choose when he relinquished the stuffed animals. To anyone not in the know, the sight would have looked ridiculous; Zeus, the king of all gods, ruler of Olympus, holding his hands out with such care, you’d think he was being handed the world itself.

Hermes understood, though. For his brother, those horses were his world, or at least, a very important part of it. They belonged to his sons, one of which was no longer with them, and, based on Dionysus’ state, the other may have gone as well.

But… even after Castor’s death, Dionysus hadn’t looked this bad. In fact, Hermes didn’t think he’d ever seen the god look so, so… bedraggled. Something cold and curdled formed in his gut, whispering that a fate worse than death had befallen Dionysus’ remaining child.

After a heartbeat of quiet warring with his instincts, Dionysus gave in, releasing the twin equines from his grasp. The second Zeus caught them, the God of the Sky froze, his pupils constricting as he suddenly bared his teeth in a horrified snarl. His form rippled, bull horns and eagle feathers dancing in and out of existence as he stared down at the horses. A strange noise, like an eagle’s cry, escaped his throat.

“Father?” Apollo called, worry clear in his voice.

The cold spread, crystalizing Hermes’ ichor.

 This was wrong. 

“Dionysus, what- ” he clicked his teeth together, eyes flashing so brightly they seemed almost white, “what manner of trickery-”

“ TRICKERY?! ” Dionysus exploded, the air around him swirling as his form changed rapidly, never quite settling on one animal or human appearance, “YOU THINK I WOULD WEEP FOR A TRICK?! ”

Hermes dragged Apollo away from the enraged god, his wings returning as he drew the Sun God into his side. Never had he seen such anger from Dionysus, and based on Zeus’ shocked face, neither had their father.

“MY SONS ARE GONE! I CAME TO YOU, LOOKING FOR HELP, AND YOU ACCUSE ME OF TRICKERY? ” Dionysus was openly crying now, shimmering tears coating the floor, “DO YOU TRULY HOLD SUCH LITTLE LOVE FOR ME? DO YOU TRULY THINK ME SO- SO-”

The god turned away with an agonized scream, the marble at his feet cracking as thorn-coated vines forced their way through. Hermes, unwilling to watch this continue any longer, pushed Apollo behind him before darting forward, ignoring his elder brother's shout of warning. He rolled beneath a twisting vine before springing to his feet, reaching for Dionysus. He caught him easily, forcing the screaming god down to the floor as Hermes encased him in his wings. Dionysus clutched onto his shirt as he sobbed, his claws nicking the Messenger God’s chest. Hermes ignored the pain, focusing instead on calming Dionysus down.

“ Shhh, λίγο λεοπάρδαλη . ” he soothed, “Βλέπω τη θλίψη σου και ξέρω ότι είναι αλήθεια.”

His ear feathers perked when he felt the other Olympians enter the throne room, Poseidon and Hades rounding on Zeus when they saw the state that their youngest was in, but he chose to tune them out for now.

“I’m not lying, αδελφός,” Dionysus choked, “I would never joke about this.”

“Father is an idiot.” Hermes murmured back, his feathers bristling, “Even someone both deaf and blind could see that you were suffering.”

Dionysus trembled again, and Hermes pulled him in closer.

“Tell me what happened, and I swear on the Styx that I will believe you.” he promised, hearing the thunderclap even over all the yelling.

Dionysus blinked, his eyelashes damp with sparkling tears, and suddenly his son’s horses were back in his hold.

“You helped me make these,” Dionysus said, having to work to get the words out, “so you know how much of a claim I put on them, how much love I put into them.”

Hermes nodded. 

Dionysus looked at the plush steeds, his expression one of unfathomable grief. 

“Hermes,” he whispered, pushing the horses into the Messenger God’s hands, “something has stolen my children, and I think it took more than just them.”

The horses were cold, and they smelled of nothing. They held no trace that they had ever belonged to anyone.

Hermes felt his skin erupt in goosebumps, his feathers all raising as one as he reeled back, a terrified rattle coming from somewhere deep inside himself. An emotion washed over him, one so primal and ancient he’d almost forgotten what it felt like, having long since decided that it was beneath him.

It was fear, and the hold it had on him was absolute.

Chapter Text

“Guys, I can't lie to you,” Nico said, pausing to catch his breath, “this sucks and I want to go home.”

The group had been faced with a partially collapsed cliff not too long after they'd left the temple, and so they'd been forced to spend the better part of an hour scaling the rocky precipice, leaving their hands all scraped up and bleeding by the time they reached the top. Now, as Apollo's sun rose higher in the sky, they were beginning to feel the heat as well.

Thalia grumbled in agreement, wincing as she shucked off her leather jacket and tied it around her waist, leaving her in a black band t-shirt with its sleeves cut off. Her jacket nearly brushed the ground, and she lamented the loss of the height she'd gained over the years.

“Yeah, this is bullshit.” Clarisse growled, still upset over being left without her beloved weapon, “What kind of quest doesn't even let us have our weapons? Or at least some freakin’ armor.”

“Qbthm?” Will questioned.

“What?” Nico asked, looking towards his boyfriend, who was face down in the dirt currently.

“I said, ‘quest?’” Will replied, lifting his head from the ground, little seeds and small leaves catching in his hair, “This isn’t a quest, this is some kind of divine punishment! The gods are having a laugh at our expense.”

Thalia frowned, “Why would they do that? We just helped them.”

Will rolled onto his back and threw his hands up into the air, the light catching on his reddened palms, “I don’t know! They’re gods, why do they do anything?”

“They’re also our parents. ” Nico reminded him, “They care about us… in their own weird, distant way. I think.”

Clarisse gave Nico a disagreeing look, but didn’t dare speak her thoughts aloud, not when she didn’t know who was listening.

“Look, the point is, I don’t think that they’re angry at us.” the dark haired boy reasoned, “I mean, we’re still alive, right? If they were mad, for… whatever reason, then I think we’d be a lot worse off. At least we haven’t been turned into flowers or some kind of animal.”

“Yet.” Clarisse muttered, before getting to her feet with a grunt, “Come on, it’s getting way too hot, and I’m not getting burned just because glowstick over here is having a crisis.”

“I’m ten again!” Will cried, “I think I should be allowed to have a crisis!”

“Well, have it while we’re walking. ” Clarisse hissed, grabbing the back of Will’s shirt and hauling him up to his feet before stomping away.

Nico went over to Will, picking the plant debris out of his hair as they started off once more.

“It’s okay, Will. She’s just being mean because she’s scared.” Thalia said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Will sighed, “Yeah, I know. This isn't the first time I've seen her lash out like that.”

He looked over his shoulder, staring out at the vast, unfamiliar landscape that lay behind them. Even in the daylight, he could find nothing that told him of where they were. Even worse, the way ahead was open and  almost entirely flat, leaving them vulnerable to any nearby monsters that might pick up their scent.

“I don't blame her either,” he said softly, “I am too.”

Clarisse grit her teeth as she felt the smooth bark of the stick in her grip brush against a particularly sore cut, but she didn't drop it. It felt humiliating; being reduced to using something as primitive as a sharp stick as a weapon, but on some level it also brought her a sense of comfort.

She knew that it wouldn't do jack shit against a monster, but those weren't the only dangers in the world, and having a poor weapon was better than having no weapon at all.

She wasn't the only one who'd scavenged for something to use. Thalia had picked up a thicker, heavier stick to use as a club, while Will had taken to picking up any sharp rocks that he found. Nico, the lucky bastard, had managed to unearth the leg bone of some large animal, and was now resting it on his shoulder as he walked.

At some point in their little journey, Thalia had taken up the lead, leaving Clarisse with the job of guarding the rear. She didn't mind; it gave her more time to look around, scanning the horizon for any signs of danger.

“Where are we?” she wondered aloud, breaking the tense silence that had settled over them, “Shouldn't we have seen signs of civilization by now?”

“It's… definitely odd.” Nico agreed, “I can sense that there've been quite a few deaths here, nothing recent, but I don't see any signs of war, plague, or anything else that would usually cause that.”

Clarisse arched a brow, impressed, “You can sense where people have died?”

It felt weird to ask that question to someone who looked like they hadn't even passed third grade, but Nico nodded like it was the most normal question ever.

“One of the perks of being a son of Hades.” he explained.

“Huh.” Clarisse said, “ Nice. You can't tell what killed them, though?”

Nico made a so-so gesture with his free hand, “It depends. If it's recent, or I catch the person before they actually pass, then I can tell what was wrong. These people, though…” he motioned to the sparse area around them, “Their bodies have long since rotted. I'd have to work really, really hard to try and figure out what they died from. Like, pass out levels of hard.”

“Well, if you do, I could carry you.” Clarisse smirked, reaching over to ruffle Nico's hair, “You're even tinier than Prissy was when he first showed up to camp.”

Nico bared his teeth in a weak snarl and batted Clarisse’s hand away, “I am not tiny.”

“Uh-huh.” Clarisse hummed in amusement, “Just keep telling yourself that.”

The quiet returned for a moment, broken only by the sound of the demigods’ feet hitting the ground, before Nico asked “What was Percy like when he came to camp?”

Clarisse snorted, “He was a skinny little runt, probably 90 pounds soaking wet, and he had this habit of mouthing off to anything and everything. So, you know, he hasn’t changed much in that regard.”

“But…” she paused, before continuing in a mildly resigned tone of voice, “he could back up that bravado. He killed the Minotaur before even making it to camp, and without a weapon, too. When we pushed him, he pushed back, and harder. ”

“He was a little shit, but I guess we all were, back then.” she admitted.

“So, you haven’t changed much in that regard?” Nico teased, earning a punch to the arm for his efforts.

“Brat.” the daughter of Ares curled her lip, though there was no real malice in her tone.

“So, if he was that tough, did you guys get along?” Nico asked, and Clarisse laughed in surprise.

“ Gods, no. We hated each other. Everyone at camp was so jealous when he got claimed so quickly, and being given a quest on top of that didn’t help.” Clarisse replied, “We all avoided him for the most part. It wasn’t until… the incident that we stopped glaring at each other over every little thing.”

“The- the incident?” Nico tilted his head, “What’s ‘the incident?’”

Clarisse’s eyes widened a fraction, “Oh, shit, Jackson never told you?”

Nico shook his head, all his attention now on the older camper.

Clarisse ran a hand through her hair, her expression darkening as the memory of that day came back to her.

“The morning Percy was supposed to either decide to stay year-round or go home, he went off with Luke into the woods. No one noticed, or, if they did, no one thought twice about it, because Luke had been Percy’s closest friend aside from Grover until his quest.” she said, trying to think of what she’d been doing at the time. Probably packing her things, since she was going to visit her mom, “We didn’t know anything was wrong until someone spotted him on the edge of the woods. He was being dragged out by two of the nymphs, and I remember thinking he was dead when I first saw him, because his skin was practically grey. ”

Nico sucked in a breath, his eyes looking like saucers, “What happened to him?”

“Luke sicced a pit scorpion on him.” she growled, stomach churning as the image of the sting site flashed in her mind, “Chiron managed to heal him, obviously, but… it was a very close call. The beach got swamped with violent waves until he was better, and I don’t think anyone got any sleep the night after it happened.”

“ Gods, ” the son of Hades breathed, a shiver running through him. Pit scorpion venom was no joke, “that couldn’t have been easy to come to terms with.”

“It wasn’t.” Clarisse admitted, “Luke was… like an older brother to the entire camp. He made everyone who stayed in the Hermes cabin feel like they belonged, and I know that when Chiron broke the news, a lot of the campers flat out refused to believe it at first. It was only after we found his stuff missing, and when he didn’t come back, that people really accepted what had happened.”

“I didn’t realize you were so bothered by it.” Nico admitted, “You always seemed so angry whenever he was mentioned, I just assumed you’d always hated him.”

Clarisse closed her eyes, fighting down the stinging pressure that began to build behind her eyes, “Luke’s betrayal hit us all. Even after everything, I didn’t truly hate him until… until Silena. After that, all I had left was hatred.”

She gripped her makeshift spear, feeling it strain under the pressure, “I know it wasn’t really him in the end, but he made choices that got my best friend killed, got my siblings killed.”

The pressure increased.

“Part of me hopes he didn’t get into Elysium, because why should they have to see the man who betrayed and murdered them?!”

SNAP!

All four campers paused, turning to look at where the sound had come from.

Half of Clarisse’s spear lay broken on the ground, the other half digging into her palm so hard that it reopened her wound and caused hot blood to drip out. The daughter of Ares stared at it, a hollow chuckle passing her lips.

“This is becoming a really fucking annoying trend.” she spit, dropping the other half of the spear before wordlessly walking off to go and find another weapon.

The other three demigods let her go, a silent agreement passing through them to not bring up the fact that she was crying.

Poseidon knew something was wrong the second he materialized on Olympus.

Most of his fellow Olympians were standing near the steps to the temple, their faces pinched in concern and confusion as they looked skyward, and Poseidon could understand why.

The clouds around the city were dark and practically hissing with how charged they were. The streets were empty, all of the citizens and visitors having sequestered themselves away in fear of the violent weather. This wasn’t Zeus’ normal moody storms, this was something else , something the Sea God hadn’t seen in a long, long time, near the beginning of his immortal life. This was distress.

This was fear.

Poseidon barely felt Hades appear beside him, his elder brother coming to the same realization he had. They locked eyes, a vast sea of green meeting a void of black, and as a cohesive unit they surged.

Shadows raced alongside a tidal wave, thundering hooves and curved claws clattering against the marble floors of Mount Olympus as the two gods raced for the throne room. Behind them, the others followed at a distance, clearly disturbed by the two elder gods’ alarm. 

Poseidon reached the doors first, a wave of ice cold saltwater crashing against them as he pulled his form back into a more solid state. Iridescent scales of every blue, green, and purple hue replaced skin as his bones and muscles slid and snapped into place, claws catching on the grooves of the door as the Sea God shoved his weight into it.

As soon as the door cracked open, Hades slipped in, chasing back any remaining light as a hound’s maw howled their arrival, sharp teeth gnashing at whatever had caused his youngest brother to darken the skies into a false night. Poseidon reared up to his full height, a growl that every being on Olympus could feel emanating from deep within his throat, rows upon rows of pointed teeth glinting in the wild flashes of lightning. The moisture in the air around him coalesced near his waiting hand, and in the next clap of thunder, his trident appeared, ready to serve its master in smiting whatever horrid thing had managed to drag such immense dread out of a god.

Much to his confusion, when he looked upon the throne room proper, there was no enemy to be found. What there was, however, was an uncharacteristically stunned looking Zeus, a frightened Apollo, and Hermes, his four great wings cradling something that wailed with grief. Poseidon breathed in, and the scent of ill-made wine hit his tongue, sour and rotten. 

What had happened here?

“Brother,” he called, his voice slipping into something older, deeper, “ Diwo, what is this? Why does young Diwonuso cry like a beaten whelp?”

The God King’s form changed at the mention of his name, his first name. The aged man before him suddenly looked younger, wilder. His hair was long, flowing around his shoulders like clouds, a laurel wreath of eagle feathers braided around his crown. Bull horns curled upwards from his head, and his deep olive skin was broken in places by splashes of a tone much paler.

Diwo’s eyes bore into Poseidon’s own, full of terror and uncertainty, and the god had to reign himself in to avoid letting Posedawone take over. The sea did not like to be restrained, but if it was not, if he was not, then he would flood the world as the ancient deity searched for what had brought his family harm.

No, Posedawone was his own monster, and he would not be allowed out this day.

Diwo blinked hard, and Zeus returned, his suit looking rumpled and his expression tight. Then, he opened his mouth and said something that sent Poseidon reeling.

“I made a mistake. ” 

Before Poseidon could think of a possible response to that, Zeus turned from him, moving to kneel down before his sons. Off to the side, Apollo was fidgeting nervously, white feathers rippling along his arms as onyx markings appeared around his eyes, shaped like those of a swan. Hermes was still on the floor, though it was clear that his mood had shifted. His feathers, usually smooth and well groomed, when he deigned to show them, were now ruffled and raised, as if the Messenger God was trying to make himself look bigger. His ears were laid flat against his head, and he had yet to acknowledge the other gods in the room, nor had he released Dionysus from his hold.

Zeus extended a hand, laying it gently on one of Hermes’ wings. It was one that belonged to the top set, the ones that resembled a magpie, and showed a starmap on their underside. The other set, a folded pair of albatross wings, were as dark and stormy as the sky outside, reflecting the weather to any who looked upon them. Hermes flinched at the touch, drawing his wings closer to his body as he whipped his head around to look at Zeus. 

“ Father, ” he said, voice wavering between a fearful warble and a stern warning, “Dionysus has not deceived you. Please, don’t drag this fight out any longer.”

“I will not.” Zeus replied, eyes softening as he turned to Dionysus, whom Poseidon could not see, “I… I am sorry, my son. You did not deserve such accusations, not after what you have brought to light.”

An admittance of guilt and an apology? Who was this strange creature that wore his brother’s face?

Hades, who had not yet spoken since he arrived, stepped forward.

“You speak of accusations, brother. What could you possibly have accused Dionysus of to warrant such a response?” he said, tilting his head towards the shattered floor and thorny vines.

Zeus met Hades’ gaze, and the God of the Underworld hissed as he felt the other god’s fear spike once more.

“I will wait until the council is assembled to explain. This… this is something that affects all of us.” Zeus said, before turning back to his children, “Dionysus, go back to the camp. Find out if… that … has happened to anyone else.”

Dionysus said something in a voice too quiet for Poseidon to hear, and he saw the young god hand his father something. Zeus went still again, closed his eyes for a long moment, before opening them and giving Dionysus his nod of approval. There was a crack!, and the God of Wine was suddenly on his throne, a bottle in one hand, the cork in his teeth, and two stuffed horses, of all things, tucked under his other arm. Zeus was either feeling guilty enough to rescind his punishment for now, or the god thought his son would need the alcohol in order to get through this meeting.

Soon enough, the other Olympians arrived, stepping cautiously into the room. Even Ares, who was usually bickering with Athena, merely took in the state of the room, and, more importantly, his father, with wide eyes. Hestia found her place by the hearth as the others sat in their thrones, all eyes on Zeus as they waited for him to reveal what had caused his outburst.

Zeus’ gaze swept around the room, lingering on a few different people; Hades, Apollo, Athena, Ares, and Poseidon. He held Poseidon’s gaze the longest, before turning his attention towards the flickering flames of the hearth.

“What I am about to say,” he began slowly, “does not leave this room.”

Any hope Poseidon had of this not being another catastrophic issue was thrown violently out the window at those words.

“It is not a joke, nor is it… an accusation. I am not placing blame on anyone here, for I know that none of you would ever go this far.” Zeus continued, his words causing the assembled gods to glance at each other nervously, “Dionysus has brought something of utmost importance to my attention, and I am decreeing, here and now, that this will be our primary focus until the issue is resolved.”

The God King took a deep, steadying breath, before going on. Poseidon sat forward in his throne, his near-luminous eyes locked on Zeus.

“Tell me, did any of you feel a… disturbance last night?”

The Olympic council members looked at each other, and, slowly, a few hands rose into the air. Apollo, Artemis, Athena, Hermes, Ares, Dionysus, and Hades all put their hands up. Poseidon did as well, having felt some odd feeling settle in his chest around when the moon reached its zenith. To his surprise, Zeus also raised a hand.

“Am I right to assume that it was when the moon was at its highest point?” Poseidon startled at his brother’s words, wondering for a moment if he’d somehow gained the power of telepathy.

“Brother, where are you going with this?” Hades snapped, pointed, silky black ears flicking back in a mix of annoyance and apprehension, “If this issue is as serious as you say, then stop dancing around it!”

Zeus frowned at Hades, but his usual barking retort never came. Instead, the God of the Sky extended his hand and unfurled his fingers, revealing what it was that Dionysus had given him.

Poseidon felt his heart leap into his throat when he caught sight of Anaklusmos in its hidden form. How was this possible? Why was the pen here, and not with Percy?

“Zeus,” the Sea God said slowly, his voice eerily calm as he fought to keep his rage from bubbling over, “why do you have my son’s sword?”

“Touch it.”

Dionysus’ voice drew the attention of the entire council to him. Now that Poseidon was closer, he could see the absolute state that his nephew was in. If he hadn’t been so focused on his words, he would ask if he was alright.

“What?” 

Dionysus focused on Poseidon, his gold-rimmed eyes shining in the dim throne room light, “He’s not going to be able to explain it without you losing it on him. Touch the pen, uncle.” 

Poseidon didn’t like this. He wanted to stand up and demand that Zeus explain what was going on, but the hollowness of Dionysus’ tone gave him pause. After a moment's hesitation, he held out his hand to take the sword-turned-pen. Zeus gave him an almost pitying look and carefully deposited Anaklusmos onto the Sea God’s palm.

Cool metal was all he could feel. There was no trace of the scent of homemade chocolate chip cookies that he somehow knew were blue, nor the smell of the ocean that covered everything he claimed as his. Gone was the thankfulness of a hero whose life they owed to the blade, as well as the protections of a worried father, fretting over the perils that would one day plague his newborn son. The pen brought back no memories of impossibly tiny hands reaching for him, of his domain reaching out to snatch a precious life away from the hungry jaws of death, shielding it beneath the cool water. Poseidon could not feel his claim on the weapon.

Poseidon could not feel his claim on his son. 

His baby.

His sick baby, who’d only just been returned to him after he’d fallen into Tartarus.

No.

NononononononononoNONONONONONONONO NONONONONONONO!

“WHERE IS HE?!” Poseidon’s roar shook the entire temple, enormous cracks spreading out across the marble as he slammed his trident down, the godly weapon pulsing with ethereal light, “WHERE IS MY SON?!”

His teeth were razor sharp as he bared them at his fellow Olympians, glowing sea green eyes searching for any signs of guilt. A deep, navy blue ombré of scales ran from his clawed hands all the way up to his elbow, intricate stripes flashing in time with his pounding heart.

“Poseidon, control yourself!” Zeus demanded, gritting his teeth as he felt an immense pressure start to press down on him from every side.

The Sea God let out a wordless howl, feeling as though his heart had been torn out of his chest.

“WHY? WHY IS IT ALWAYS HIM? ” he cried, tears sliding down his face and pooling on the ground. Soon, if the flow didn’t cease, it would begin to flood, but Poseidon couldn’t bring himself to care, “HAS HE NOT EARNED A REPRIEVE? CAN I NOT TURN MY GAZE FROM MY SON FOR EVEN A MOMENT, LEST HE BE TORN AWAY FROM ME?!”

“IT IS NOT ONLY HIM! ” Zeus boomed, lightning crawling over his body as it formed into a pair of enormous wings. The intense light and heat caused many to shy away, and it managed to stun Poseidon long enough for Zeus to push him back into his throne.

“It is not only him. ” he repeated, his voice softening as the wings folded and disappeared. Poseidon collapsed into his throne, clutching onto Anaklusmos as he willed the many storms his rage had created to veer well away from Camp Half-Blood. His son was fond of all who resided there, and so they would not be harmed. His mother and her family, too, would be spared, but he made no such promises for the rest of the world.

“Father, what is going on?” Athena asked, desperately hoping for an explanation as to what had caused Poseidon’s rage.

Zeus turned to look at his daughter, a hand carding through his hair as he tried to figure out how to explain what he had learned.

“Someone, or something, has removed our claims on several demigods, and has taken them somewhere beyond our reach.” he said, deciding to just rip the bandage off, “Most of them were at Camp Half-Blood, but… Dionysus’ can no longer find young Castor’s scent, either.”

Gasps and yells erupted into the room. Hermes jerked as though he’d been electrocuted, a sickening look of panic overtaking his face as he whipped around to look at Hades, who had become little more than a writhing, vaguely dog-shaped mass of darkness and bones. Ares' sunglasses melted off his face as the fire in his eyes grew white hot, jagged tusks erupting from the corners of his mouth as he snarled loudly. Athena went so still, you could mistake her for a statue, before she exploded in an enraged shriek, her form becoming that of an owl as she took to the air, unable to remain seated any longer. Apollo and Artemis had twin expressions of horror stamped on their faces, the former clearly fighting the urge to go to Camp Half-Blood, desperate to see his children, to comfort them and find out who had been stolen.

“SOMEONE INVADED ELYSIUM?!” Hades screeched, hundreds of skeletal jaws snapping at once, “WHAT VILE CREATURE DARES TO TRESPASS INTO THE MOST SACRED OF MY DOMAINS AND VIOLATE IT IN THIS WAY?!”

“Husband, how do you know this?” Hera asked, looking quite frightened herself, despite not having any children that could be stolen.

“Their scents and claims have been completely stripped off their belongings. I felt it myself earlier, when Dionysus brought me his sons’ beloved horses.” Zeus replied, nodding towards an absolutely miserable looking Dionysus, who growled at the mention of the stuffed animals in his hold, as if he feared that they, too, would be taken from him. 

Poseidon tightened his grip once more.

Zeus faced the council, sorrow swimming in his bright blue eyes, “I hate to ask this of you, but we must know for sure who is missing. Please, summon an object that you know has both your claim as well as your child’s. One for each of your children, even… even those who have recently passed.”

Poseidon watched as various objects appeared before the thrones, feeling strangely untethered. Vaguely, he was aware of his wife and remaining children’s distress and confusion at his sudden violence, but it felt hard to focus on them at the moment.

Weapons, toys, armor, jewelry, and more decorated the floor. The assembled gods stared at the items. No one wanted to make the first move, afraid of what they would find. As the minutes passed and no one moved, Poseidon felt himself begin to grow irritated. His son was missing. Someone had stolen him, and Poseidon wanted nothing more than to go home and prepare search parties.

“We’ll start at the end and work our way to the middle.” Zeus declared once another minute of stillness passed.

Dionysus lifted his bottle weakly to Hermes, who looked as though he might be sick. They all collectively decided to ignore the way the Messenger God’s hands trembled as he reached for the first item; a small stuffed goat. As his fingers brushed the animal’s fur, he audibly exhaled, his wings drooping in relief. One by one, he touched the objects that he’d summoned, quietly naming the child that it belonged to. Finally, there was only one item left; a crochet snake, made with pale yellow yarn, big, blue button eyes, and a bright red tongue. When Hermes’ hand got near, it seemed to wake up, looking up at its creator.

Hermes froze, his wings trembling. 

“No, ” he whispered, “please, not him. ”

Poseidon knew who the snake belonged to, even without hearing his name.

The snake stretched itself up towards the god’s hand, coiling around his wrist in the snake equivalent of a hug. Hermes screamed, crumpling in his throne as he held the snake close to his chest. Dionysus got off his throne, appearing next to Hermes in the blink of an eye. The God of Madness held his brother, letting him sob into his shoulder. Hiccuping chirps passed Hermes’ lips, a desperate attempt to call for a son that could not hear him.

“Keep going.” Zeus ordered, sounding as though the words had hurt to say.

Hephaestus and Aphrodite went next, but by the end, all of their children were accounted for. The two gods sagged in relief, giving each other a knowing look. 

The stoop of Artemis’s throne was barren, but her twin was not so lucky. Apollo swallowed and began to go through his children’s items. They were mostly musical instruments or bows, and as he moved through the line up with issue, he began to relax slightly. However, as his knuckle brushed against a small doctor’s bag, he shrieked, white wings erupting out of his back as he quickly scooped it up.

“Will?! Oh, oh no, not my sweet boy!” he cried, “Not my little healer, please! ”

“Apollo, there are more that must be checked.” Hera reminded him gently, but Apollo merely shook his head, rubbing his cheek on the doctor’s bag as he desperately tried to restore his lost claim.

Without a word, Artemis moved to her twin’s side, quickly running a hand over the remaining objects.

“There are no more.” she said quietly, pulling Apollo into a hug.

Athena landed back on her throne, her form becoming more humanoid as she ran a clawed hand over worn books and carefully sharpened swords and daggers. She paused, hand hovering a well-loved book about Greek architecture. A quick glance up revealed that Ares had also reached the last of his children’s things, a carved wooden boar with a spear stuck into its hide. She met her brother’s eyes, and he nodded. Together, they lowered their hands.

Together, both war gods felt the pain of losing a daughter.

“ Annabeth. ” Athena wheezed, her feathers rattling in distress as she tried to find the words to express the pain she felt. A broken hoot escaped her throat, and Athena made no move to muffle the noise.

Her voice was drowned out by Ares’ bellow of grief and fury. He summoned a spear and hurled it at the wall, howling his misery out into the heavens.

“WHEN I FIND THE FUCKER THAT DARED TO TOUCH MY DAUGHTER, I’M GOING TO RIP THEIR GUTS OUT THROUGH THEIR BACK AND MAKE THEM EAT IT!” he swore, his body shaking with rage, “I’LL BOIL THEIR BLOOD AND FLAY THEM ALIVE BEFORE THEIR LOVED ONES!”

Ares left in a burst of flame and smoke, leaving behind the scent of blood and burned armor. Whether he was going to camp to see his other children, or to try and search for his daughter, Poseidon didn’t know. Either way, Zeus did not call him back. The God of War was known for being fiercely protective of his daughters, and Ares’ ire would not fade until she was found.

Poseidon turned his head to watch as Demeter picked up her chosen objects, setting them down one by one. She sighed shakily at the end, looking towards Hera. The God Queen had only one item; a stuffed golden ram. She hesitated, before reaching for it slowly. Zeus’s eyes were locked onto her face, his body tense as he waited to see her reaction. She gently lowered her palm onto the ram’s head, and said a quiet ‘thank goodness’ when she apparently found her claim on her champion still intact.

Only Zeus and Hades remained now. 

Hades had three objects before him; a Mythomagic figurine, a sword, and a small, flocked toy dog with three heads. The God of the Underworld reached for the tiny Cerberus first, the shadows forming into curved black talons. He tapped the toy’s head, and it bobbed up and down. Next, he allowed his claws to run along the length of the blade, dragging the process out so he didn’t have to face the last object. Eventually, though, he reached the sword’s edge, leaving him with just the figurine. The claws curled inward, before slowly unfurling again to grasp the toy that had belonged to his youngest.

A low, mournful howl filled the throne room as the temperature plummeted. Poseidon saw his breath steam on his next exhale, and his scales ached uncomfortably in the sudden cold. Hades curled around the figurine, like a dog trying to keep its last pup warm in the dead of winter. The sound never stopped, only quieting over time as the god slumped down to the floor like Poseidon wanted to do.

The God King was the only one left, and he had, like his wife, only one object. It was a music box, with a little eagle rotating inside as it played a soft lullaby. It belonged to his only mortal daughter, and the God of the Sky’s hand shook as he reached for the lid. At his brief touch, the lid flipped down, silencing the music.

‘How poetic.’ Poseidon thought numbly as the walls around them exploded in a cacophony of ear-piercing screams and blinding lightning flashes.

Nine. Nine demigods missing. Nine children stolen.

Poseidon leaned back on his throne, closed his eyes, and willed himself to return to his underwater palace. As the cool sea water washed over him, he opened his eyes again, only to be greeted by a worried Amphitrite and Triton.

“Poseidon, what…” his wife began, but trailed off when she saw the devastated expression on his face. Shooting her son a worried look, she approached her husband, reaching up to hold his face gently in her hands.

“What happened? ” she whispered.

The Sea God looked at her, trying to find the words, but his tongue failed him. Triton swam up next, his fins flexing nervously as he felt his father’s mood ripple throughout the ocean.

“Father?” he tried, laying a hand on his arm.

Poseidon looked at his son, took a stuttering breath, and swept him into a hug. Triton gasped at the sudden contact, but he quickly returned it, not understanding why this was happening, but indulging in the comfort of being held by his father. 

Poseidon held his godly son close, felt his claims thrumming loudly in his chest,

and wept.

Chapter Text

Annabeth loved lots of things. She loved the old books that her dad used to read to her sometimes, she loved owls, she loved the color green, and peanut butter and honey sandwiches with the crust cut off. But most of all, Annabeth loved being with Luke and Percy.

Luke was her big brother in every way but blood. He'd taken her in when she'd been running around on her own, lost and hungry. He'd protected her from the scary monsters that tried to eat her, and kept her safe and fed. He would carry her when her legs turned into jelly and stopped listening to her, and he always listened when she made a suggestion. To Annabeth, Luke was warmth, protection, guidance. He was a glowing sun in a world of darkness.

Percy, on the other hand, was just hers. He had been Annabeth's the moment Luke had scooped him up off those freezing concrete steps, covered in glass and stinking of those drinks that Luke said were just for grown ups, shivering as he had been tucked into the teen's other arm. His bright green eyes had met her near-silver, and she knew that they were always going to be together. He was hers, just as she was his.

Percy had taken a little bit longer to catch on. He'd been a wild, unrestrained thing; hurting and scared and very prone to biting. He'd flinch whenever Luke or Thalia raised their hand, and the teens would need to stop and reassure the kid that they wouldn't hurt him. Luke had gotten numerous bites along his hands and arms whenever they'd needed to run and the blonde had picked Percy up unexpectedly, and that particular behavior had only stopped when Percy had made the mistake of biting Annabeth when she'd startled him awake one night.

Annabeth had left teeth marks on his arm for a week, and had gotten in so much trouble, but Percy had seemed to calm slightly after that, looking at her with wide eyes that were ringed with astonished understanding.

From then on, Percy was always beside her. If Luke was the sun, then Percy was the moon; pulling her in like the tide and surrounding her with a reflection of Luke's protective nature. Where Luke was all firm hugs and flashing blades, Percy was bared teeth and clasped hands. When Luke had to tuck them away somewhere hidden to go and find food or work his thieving magic, Percy would stay with Annabeth, listening with shining sea-green eyes as she told him about all the things she'd build someday, about the monuments that would last for thousands of years. When the storms raged overhead and both Thalia and Luke were too exhausted to hear Percy's fearful whimpers, Annabeth would pull him into her lap and pet his silky hair while he whispered make-believe stories about little cows with eel bodies, or dark-furred pegasi who wanted donuts more than apples.

Annabeth wasn’t sure why she loved Percy in a way that was different to how she loved Luke and Thalia; she didn’t even have a name for it, and none of the words she had found didn’t seem to quite get it, even the yucky romance words. Still, she tried not to let it bother her, even though the frustration of not knowing what to call them clawed at her brain and made her nose scrunch in frustration.

Maybe… maybe she could find answers here, since they’d somehow gotten swept away from home. The Ancient Greeks knew a lot of things. Well, some of them, anyways. Some of them seem to be really stupid, if all the stories about them disrespecting the gods were to be believed.

Luke definitely believed. He said that the gods were dangerous, that they were the reason that they couldn’t ever stay in one place for too long, that they always had to keep running. The monsters that chased them, Luke said, were the other children of the gods, and that they all wanted nothing more than to slay and eat demigods. Luke told them that, although their parents were gods, they wouldn’t save them.

“Thalia’s dad is Zeus, the king of the gods,” Luke had told them once, when it had been Thalia’s turn to look for food, “but he wasn’t supposed to have any more children. He broke a sacred oath, sworn on the river Styx, and now Thalia is paying for it.”

He’d pulled them closer, scowling upwards as a rumble of thunder shook the walls of the warehouse they were hiding in, “Children of the Big Three are always destined to suffer for their parents’ mistakes, but they still won’t help. If Zeus really cared about his daughter, she wouldn’t be running around outside in a storm so that we don’t starve. Instead, he’s allowed his brother to continue sending monsters to try and kill her.”

Luke had looked down at them then, pain and desperation reflected in his deep blue eyes.

“Promise me,” he’d said, “promise me you won’t pray to them anymore, won’t ask them for help. The price of a god’s attention is never worth whatever they may give you in return.”

And they had, for neither of them had ever been able to refuse Luke, not when he was practically begging. Annabeth stopped hoping that her mom would show up, would show her where to go, would offer her some advice, would say she mattered to her. She only used her gifted hat when it was absolutely necessary, no longer allowing herself to play games with its power. Percy didn’t even know his godly parent, so the promise had come far easier to him. After all, it was hard to call for help when you didn’t know the number.

Annabeth thought she might.

See, she didn’t really have any proof, but one night, when she was supposed to be asleep, she’d caught the fractured pieces of a conversation between Luke and Thalia.

“Thals’, we can’t keep going like this.” Luke had whispered, his tone firm but not unkind, “Why do you keep…”

“...his eyes?” Thalia had hissed back, sounding equal parts desperate and exhausted, “I mean, really looked?”

She’d heard Luke shift, jeans brushing against cement and worn paint.

“Zeus?” he’d asked softly, unsure, “Not… too bright.”

“No,” Thalia had replied, her breath catching as she spoke the next word, “Poseidon.”

Poseidon.

Annabeth told Percy everything; every secret, every worry, every fear. Nothing was too sacred to share between them.

Annabeth did not tell Percy about that night, and she made extra sure to keep any mention of the God of the Sea and his underwater kingdom out of her mouth. In fact, she kept every divine name off her tongue. She knew the power of names, and so divine beings such as Hermes and Athena became ‘Luke’s dad,’ or ‘my mom.’ 

Even now, as Luke led her by the hand through the birthplace of the gods, Annabeth kept her promise, even if she really wanted to ask her mom to make her feel better, to take away the aching sickness that seemed to cling to her.

Annabeth wasn’t sure when she’d gotten sick exactly. Her memories seemed fuzzier than they should be, but she didn’t have the strength to try and make them clearer. All she could remember was being somewhere cold and unforgiving, something impossibly heavy pressing down on her shoulders, scaring the skin that it touched. Then, as the weight receded, she felt her stomach swoop into her throat as she became weightless, plummeting down, down, down, to a place that her body and mind instinctively cowered away from. That time, though, she’d felt Percy grab her hand, as he always did, and some of her bravery had returned.

She was pretty sure that… that place was why she was sick, why Percy was sick. They’d gone somewhere bad, and that badness had sunk its teeth into them, leaving behind a venom that made each step a battle, and left an unyielding soreness that started in her shoulders and seeped into every bone, muscle, and pore. It made the peaches in her belly feel heavy and rotten, chasing away the sweetness she’d felt in the hours prior. It made the light of the slowly setting sun burn her eyes, causing her to squeeze them shut, holding onto Luke's shirt as a guide as she walked.

As she saw the light beyond her eyelids start to dim, she risked cracking one eye open. Luke looked just as tired as she felt, his blue eyes slightly unfocused as he led them along the worn dirt path they’d stumbled upon. She wasn’t sure where they were going, but she figured it was better than wandering around in the wilderness, where any stray monster or beast could be waiting to gobble them up. Roads, at least, always led to somewhere.

“Luke?” she mumbled, causing the blonde to look down at her, “Can we stop soon? I don’t feel good.”

Luke sighed, his shoulders slumping as he reached his free hand towards Annabeth. He gently brushed back her hair, tucking the curly blonde locs out of her eyes.

“Soon, ‘beth. I just…” he looked around warily, his mouth set in a grim line, “I just want to find a safer place to rest tonight. I thought we’d have found a town or something by now.”

Annabeth glanced around as well, her own frown making its way onto her face. They’d been walking away from the coast for a while now, and while she didn’t know every town and city in Ancient Greece, she knew enough to understand that there should have been plenty of little towns and fishing villages around where they were. Plant life and game was abundant, and the land seemed flat enough for settlements, so… why hadn’t they seen anyone yet?

“Do you think we’ll find one before the sun goes down?” Annabeth asked, squinting towards the bright orange sun, which was drawing ever closer to the ground.

“I don’t know, Annabeth, I-” Luke began, but cut himself off when a noise rang out behind them.

Crunch!

Annabeth whipped around, pressing herself into Luke’s side as her vision swam slightly. Her hand instinctively reached for her dagger, and horror filled her heart when her fingers brushed against denim, and not the familiar leather-wrapped hilt of her weapon.

“ Luke! ” she hissed fearfully, “My dagger is gone!”

Luke cursed and reached for his own weapon, his eyes widening after a moment. 

“ Shit, mine’s gone too!” he whispered hoarsely, causing a shiver of terror to jolt through Annabeth, “How did I not realize?!”

Crunch! Crunch!

Annabeth squeaked as Luke’s arm suddenly wrapped around her middle, dragging her up off the ground as he began to back up. Looking up, she saw a look of pure fear on her brother’s face. He drew Percy’s sleeping form closer to his chest, and Annabeth could feel the teen’s heart begin to pound, the noise pulsing in her ears.

Crunch! Crunch! Crunch!

An enormous tawny yellow paw stepped out of the brush. As its owner put pressure upon it, curved black claws emerged, long and wicked sharp. Another followed it, showing off a muscular, furry leg. A snout pushed through the branches and leaves, long, dripping fangs glinting in the dying sunlight. The creature’s mouth frothed with black foam, the disgusting slobber dripping down its chin, staining its fur. As it emerged, Annabeth saw the creature for what it was. A lion’s body and face, half a goat merged to its spine, and a hissing serpent for a tail.

“ Chimera. ” Luke’s voice broke, his chest stuttering as he struggled to draw in his next breath.

The Chimera strode out of the forest, all three of its heads screeching and yowling with delight, its black eyes glistening with malice. It regarded the three half-blood children hungrily, the lion head licking its onyx lips. The monster walked with the confidence of a hunter that knew its prey had no chance of escaping, content to play with them until it grew bored enough to make the killing blow. There was no hurry in its gait, only lazy, methodical steps.

Luke stumbled back, his breathing picking up as he desperately tried to look for any way out of the situation they now found themselves in. Annabeth clawed her way up his body until her arms could wrap around his neck, her tiny form trembling. Luke continued to back up, his teeth bared in panic.

Annabeth didn’t know what to do. She’d lost her invisibility hat, her only gift from her mother, when she’d awoken this morning, so how had she forgotten to check if her dagger was still with her?

The Chimera roared, a terrible sound that vibrated in Annabeth’s chest and caused Percy to startle awake with a gasp, and she tucked her face into Luke’s neck, tears springing to her eyes. She knew the myths about the Chimera, how only one person had ever managed to slay it, and he’d needed Pegasus’ help to do so. They were just three unarmed humans with no magic flying horse to carry them through the skies, so what chance did they have?

“Get back! ” Luke screamed, panting as shivers ran through his body, “Get back or I’ll gouge your fucking eyes out, you corpse-breathed, flea-bitten mange hound!”

The Chimera paid no heed to his threats, continuing to prowl forward. The serpent tail rose up behind the monster, hissing and showing off a set of oozing fangs, venom dripping from its mouth like an overflowing cup. The goat’s legs pulled at the Chimera’s flesh as it turned around, its throat glowing with unreleased flame, putrid black smoke curling from its nostrils.

“Luke, I’m scared! ” Annabeth cried, “I wanna go home!”

“It’s okay, Annie. It’ll-” Luke swallowed, straining to speak through his fear, “it’ll all be okay. Just- just don’t look, okay? Keep your eyes closed!”

Annabeth sobbed harder, her teeth clicking together with how badly she was shaking. She could smell the monster’s horrendous breath, the scent of death and poison clogging her throat, making her cough and choke. The Chimera roared once more, all three heads crowing their approaching victory, and it took all Annabeth’s will not to release Luke’s neck and clap her hands over her ears. Percy was sobbing now too; a terrible, wheezing sound that pierced her heart.

Was this it? Were they going to die here?

Annabeth didn’t want to die.

But she knew that, even if she begged, the gods wouldn’t help them.

Annabeth squeezed her eyes shut, her body tensing up as she waited for the inevitable pain of teeth biting down, of fangs injecting her with lethal venom, of flame boiling her blood and scorching her skin. She waited for death.

“ ΣΤΑΣΗ, ΑΘΛΙΟΣ ΘΗΡΙΟ!”

Annabeth’s head shot up, shock rippling through her as a new voice rang out into the twilight. Her vision was blurred by tears, but even so, she could make out a figure on horseback now barreling down the path towards them. Luke, too, noticed the stranger, and quickly leapt out of the way, crouching low to the ground as he turned away from the fight, shielding Annabeth and Percy with his body.

Annabeth, however, did not look away. She watched, eyes wide, as a man clad in shining Greek battle armor fearlessly charged the Chimera, which reared with a fierce snarl. His steed, which almost seemed to glow in the last remaining dregs of daylight, wasn’t even fazed by the legendary monster. It carried its rider faithfully, snorting and whinnying as it galloped forward at full speed. The man pulled back his arm, and Annabeth saw, for a brief moment, that he held a strange spear in his grip. It was a gleaming alabaster white, serrated and inlaid with intricate gold letters from a language Annabeth didn’t recognize. 

With a mighty yell, the man launched the spear at the Chimera, catching the fire-breathing goat in the throat. The monster screamed, dark blood bubbling out of the wound as it thrashed and bucked. It dropped to the ground and rolled, desperate to dislodge the spear. The man’s horse kicked out at the wounded Chimera, catching the lion head in the mouth and knocking out one of its gigantic fangs. The beast howled once more, gurgling as blood filled one of its throats. Eventually, as the man was circling around for another charge, the serpent managed to grab ahold of the spear’s shaft, pulling it free with a sickening ssshhlick!

The reptile dropped the weapon, and the Chimera fled, crashing through bushes and rocks as it scrambled away from the road, thick globs of near-black blood and spilt venom trailing behind it. The man watched it go for a moment, his chest heaving, before he turned to look at the three huddling half-bloods. Slowly, he dismounted his steed, pausing by its side to remove his helmet. 

The man’s appearance was a complete contrast to his actions. He had caramel skin and soft, almost doe-like brown eyes that shone in a thousand different hues in the fractured sunlight. His curly, chin-length hair was a shade of brown so deep, Annabeth almost mistook it for black. Laugh lines creased the skin around his mouth, which curved up into a warm smile.

“Are you little ones alright?” he asked, his voice deep and rich, “I was so afraid that I might not arrive in time.”

Annabeth felt Luke shift, the teen struggling to get to his feet. The blonde exhaled a long, shaky breath, a few tears slipping down his cheeks.

“We are now, thanks to you.” Luke said, tone bursting with gratitude.

Their savior walked forward, his horse following faithfully behind. He knelt down and picked up his spear, the long, shimmering point now coated in blood.

“Not many dare to walk this path anymore, especially not young ones such as yourselves.” he said, tilting his head slightly, “Where have you come from? Your accent is unknown to me, and I have never seen garb of that color or style.”

Annabeth shifted slightly, unwilling to release her hold on Luke, but wanting to see what she was wearing. A neon orange t-shirt greeted her, a black pegasus stamped on its front. There were words, but they blurred and danced in her vision when she tried to focus on them.

“We’re from… a more northern land than this.” Luke replied smoothly, “We were taught Greek, but I suppose our accents must make it sound off.”

“Ah,” the man nodded, “I see. And where are your parents? Surely you have not come by yourselves.”

Luke bit his lips, his face wilting in fabricated sadness, “We have no family, not anymore.” he replied, before adjusting Annabeth and Percy in his arms, “I’ve been caring for these two for some time now, but… they recently fell ill. I don’t know what it is, or where it has come from, but I had heard that there were skilled healers in this land, and since we had nothing to lose…”

He shrugged weakly, playing up the image of a young, struggling guardian, “I figured I had to try. We stowed away on a ship, and managed to make it most of the way before a terrible storm destroyed the vessel. We were lucky enough to wash up on the shore this morning, but I saw no trace of the ship, nor the people that were on it.”

Luke had told Annabeth and Percy once that the best lies were woven with threads of truth. It made them easier to believe, and perhaps more importantly, easier to maintain. 

The stranger’s face crumpled with sadness and pity as he gazed at the trio, and he ran a hand down his face.

“By all the stars above, I knew the gods have been testing us lately, but…” he said softly, before trailing off.

 “Have you truly been alone? All this time?”

Luke nodded.

The man made an upset noise, before gesturing for them to come closer.

“I cannot allow children to be left out in this unholy place.” he said firmly, “Come, come. You shall be guests in my home for as long as you like, and you may ride upon my horse, as I can see that you are about to drop where you stand. I shall see you cared for, and if you like, I can guide you to the great city of Thebes. The patron cities are some of the only safe places anymore, and I have heard tales of a wise healer that lives in the heart of Thebes. He may be able to help you.”

Annabeth felt a knot begin to loosen in her chest at the news that there were people who could help them. She looked up at Luke, who seemed to be weighing their options. Sleeping in a stranger's home was a risk, but so was staying outside. Luke peered down at Annabeth, before glancing over at Percy, who hiccuped softly, exhaustion threatening to pull him back into slumber even as he wiped at his eyes, trying to clear away the tears that had sprung up during the attack. He blinked up at Luke with big, wet eyes, and Annabeth saw the moment when the teen’s resolve broke.

“ Okay. ” he agreed softly, “Thank you, Mr…?”

The man slapped a hand to his forehead, muttering something under his breath, “Ah! Forgive me, young ones, I seem to have lost my manners sometime during my ride.”

He smiled at them again, grabbing hold of his horse’s reins, “I am Arepo, son of Behnam.” he patted the sleek horse’s muzzle lovingly, “And this is Kallippos, my closest companion.”

“Luke.” the blue-eyed demigod introduced. Apparently, they weren’t going to risk using fake names with Percy so sick. Annabeth loved him, truly, but the boy could not lie to save his life, “And this is Annabeth and Percy.”

“Hi.” Annabeth said, shyly waving, “I like your horse. He’s very shiny.”

Arepo laughed, a joyful sound that made Annabeth want to smile too, “Almost seems like he is made of gold, yes? He is an Akhal-Teke. His great grandsire was my Pedarbozorg’s favourite steed, a gift from a Turkish king, and when he and my Mādarbozorg came to this land, they brought their horses with them.”

Kallippos seemed to perk up when he was mentioned, shaking his long white mane as he lifted his head proudly. He whinnied, and Percy laughed at the sound, drawing the stallion’s attention. The horse leaned over and cocked his head, studying the sick boy. His ears fell all the way forward, and his near luminous blue eyes seemed to twinkle as the night’s first stars began to appear overhead. After a moment, he pressed his muzzle into Percy’s hand, nickering softly.

“Well, would you look at that?” Arepo said, surprised, “He is usually rather indifferent to others. You must have a good heart, little one.”

“He’s very soft.” Percy croaked, before looking into Kallippos’ eyes, “Is it okay if we ride on your back, Mr. Kall-i-ppos?”

The horse, of course, did not answer. What it did do, however, was swing its head around to Luke’s back and nudge him closer, seeming to almost be urging the blonde to climb onto his saddle.

Annabeth felt her stomach twist. If… if Percy’s dad was who she thought he was… then it was entirely possible that Kallippos did understand Percy’s question, and while that would have been fine if it was just him, Annabeth and Luke, there was a very mortal person bearing witness to their divine-born strangeness.

Arepo blinked at his horse, gaping at the sight, before his mouth curved up into a grin again.

“Kallippos, have you decided to replace me so easily, old friend?” he joked, patting the animal on the neck, “Come now, let us be off. The night is beautiful, but she hides a great many dangers beneath her cloak.”

Annabeth went first, Arepo helping her climb up into the front of the saddle. Luke pulled himself up after her, still holding Percy close to him, like he was afraid the black haired boy would slip and fall onto the ground if he loosened his hold too much. Once they were settled, Arepo took up the reins with one hand, wielding his spear with the other.

“What kind of spear is that?” Annabeth asked, unable to contain her curiosity, “I've never seen one like it.”

“You would not have.” Arepo nodded, “It is an ancient weapon, made from the horn of a Shâd'havâr and blessed by Verethragna himself long, long ago.”

“Verethragna?” 

“A god from beyond these lands.” Arepo explained, “I would tell you the story, but I fear it shall have to wait for another day. The moon is rising, and so we must be off. These roads are no longer safe to travel.”

Annabeth thought about the fact that there were other gods all the way back to Arepo’s homestead.

Pollux didn't let go of his twin's hand the whole time that they were walking, too afraid of losing him again.

Castor didn't seem to mind, his shoulder brushing Pollux’s as they weaved through the sparse forest, carefully picking their way over stumps and rocks. It was night time now, but Artemis’ moon was full and bright, and the stars were so numerous, they almost cast their own light as they twinkled in the clear sky above. 

“We should have stopped back on that hill.” Pollux grumbled, catching himself as he nearly tripped on a root, “There were no tripping hazards there!”

“There also wasn't any good soil.” Castor reminded him, “I don't know about you, but I actually want to eat tonight.”

Pollux's stomach growled noisily at the mention of food. They hadn't found any wild growing berries or fruits, and without weapons their chances of successfully hunting down some game were slim to none. Their best bet was to find somewhere that had soft, fertile ground, where their abilities would be stronger. Vines they could do, but asking the plants to bear fruit in bad soil required more energy than they could afford to expend.

“Where are we even?” Castor asked, “I thought we'd find, like, a McDonalds by now.”

“ Eughh, I know. ” Pollux complained, “I’d take the risk of making dad mad and drive some mortals just a little bit nuts for a Big Mac right now.”

There was a stretch of time where the only sound was the soft crunch of leaves and twigs underfoot, before Castor said, “Why do you think he isn’t answering?”

Pollux paused, looking at his twin.

“What?”

Castor shuffled in place, kicking up some dirt.

“I prayed to him when we realized that I was, you know,” he gestured to his chest, which rose and fell evenly with each breath, “ alive. I thought he’d be… happy to see me? Maybe? But…”

Castor let his hand drop. He looked upset, and Pollux squeezed his other hand in comfort.

“He’s not here. He didn’t come to help us. I can’t even feel that weird buzzy feeling that I get when he’s acknowledging me.” he said, his voice quiet and strained, “Was he- did dad care when I died, ‘Lux?”

Pollux took in a sharp breath, feeling like someone had just driven a dagger into his heart. He pulled Castor’s hands into his own, forcing his twin to pay attention to him.

“Cas’, dad was destroyed when you died. He barely left the Big House, and when he did it was to come and make sure I hadn’t snuck off to try and get revenge. It took… it took a while before he stopped looking like he was going to cry or kill someone whenever he saw me.” Pollux insisted, running his thumbs over Castor’s hands, “Dad loves us. I don’t think he’s staying away because he doesn’t care, I think it's because he can’t come to us.”

“What- what are you talking about?” Castor asked, “Dad’s a god, and he’s always been able to at least answer us.”

Pollux pursed his lips, recalling old memories as he tried to decide how to go about explaining this.

“A… a few years after you, uh, passed, ” he started, “after we beat Kronos, Percy went missing. We searched everywhere for him, and dad had to go and ask Lord Poseidon to calm the waters around camp so we didn’t all drown while we were searching. Annabeth kept going out day and night, and Chiron had to force her to stop and rest sometimes.”

He frowned, remembering the mix of panic and worry that had permeated Camp Half-Blood, “Eventually, we found out that Hera, of all people, had stolen him, taken all his memories away, and dumped him in San Francisco with, get this, the Romans. ” he hissed, “She sent her champion, this guy named Jason Grace, Thalia’s little brother, to camp as a sort of exchange. He’s nice enough, I guess, but we all just wanted Percy to come back.”

He shook his head, getting back on track, “Anyways, that’s why we couldn’t find him; it was divine intervention. She broke the Ancient Laws and hid him from everyone, even his dad. I think that, maybe, that’s what happened to us. ”

Castor blew out a long, whistling breath.

“That’s- that’s a lot to take in.” he said eventually, “The Romans are still alive? ”

“Yeah. Bunch’a uptight weirdos, but they’re not the worst. ” Pollux shrugged.

“Do you really think that this is the gods meddling when they shouldn’t?” Castor wondered, glancing up at the moon warily, “I mean, we’re not, like, Percy-level important, right?”

“I don’t know what else it could be.” Pollux replied, turning to continue walking, “If it is, then we’re on our own.”

Castor frowned, but followed. 

The two continued through the woods for another hour before they finally reached a field of swaying grass and wild wheat. Cricket-song filled the night, and bats swooped and dove through the starry sky, snapping up moths and fireflies as they fluttered above the green and gold plants.

A few rocks broke the silhouette of the great, flat expanse, but nothing else dotted the dark horizon. There were no buildings, no signs of civilization.

“Damn, we really ended up in the sticks, huh?” Castor muttered.

“Lucky us.” Pollux drawled, before squinting and pointing out towards something to their left, “What’s that?”

Castor followed his brother’s gaze, stepping forward a bit.

There was a strange wavering off in the distance, something grey occasionally flooding over the stars. Intrigued, Castor reluctantly pulled away from Pollux, climbing up onto a rock for a better view. From his new vantage point, he could see a small, reddish-orange glow, four figures sitting around it.

“It’s a campfire!” Castor exclaimed, eyes widening.

“Really?!” Pollux hauled himself up next to his twin, gazing out towards the fire, “Holy shit, it is! And there’s people!”

“Thank the gods, I was beginning to think we were alone out here.” Castor laughed, “Come on, let’s go say hello.”

“What if they’re not friendly?” Pollux asked, sliding off the rock.

Castor turned to his brother, his violet eyes swirling with restrained power.

“Then we’ll make sure they can’t hurt us.” he replied, smirking.

Pollux returned his smirk with one of his own, and the two boys set off through the field. With how flat the terrain was, it wasn’t hard to quickly make their way over to the campfire. Slowly, the figures became more distinct. They were small, smaller than Castor and Pollux were now, and there seemed to be an even split of boys and girls. Castor cocked his head slightly as they got close enough to hear the group’s hushed conversation, their voices making his face scrunch in confusion.

“ What the hell? ” he murmured softly. Apparently, though, he hadn’t been as quiet as he thought, because the assembled kids jumped, the one closest to the twins snatching up a large chunk of sharpened stone as she spun around in a defensive crouch. Castor gasped in shock, and he felt Pollux freeze beside him.

“Clarisse?!”

That night, Grover dreamed of darkness.

Now, this wasn’t something that happened to him most of the time. Usually, he dreamed of soft meadows and wild, untamed wilderness from a time long passed. Sometimes, if it was a bad night, he’d dream of a hungry blind cyclops, of Percy spitting blood as he took on the weight of the sky, or the sight of Pan laying within the Labyrinth as he died, translucent and fading with every heaved breath.

This wasn’t any of those. When the satyr blinked into awareness, there was nothing around him. His hooves touched something solid, but there was no floor that he could see. It was like standing on solid air, cool and soundless. There wasn’t anything to see, so Grover began to walk forward, his ears twitching as he searched for any scrap of noise.

“Grrrrrr…”

Grover’s fur bristled as he spun around, eyes wide as he tried to see where the noise had come from. His eyes found nothing but void, vast and empty. He backed up, ears swiveling in every direction. 

“GRRRRRRRRAHHH!”

The darkness seemed to melt, something before him becoming impossibly darker. Teeth, glowing white and unnaturally cold, materialized before the terrified satyr, jagged and misshapen. A tongue of liquid fire slathered them in dripping saliva, causing them to steam and melt before instantly refreezing. Acid green eyes opened within the blackness, locking onto the Lord of the Wild and regarding him with pure malice. The being pulled itself up, towering over Grover as a noxious gas began to pour from its mouth.

Grover fell onto his rump, a panicked bleat escaping his throat. He scrambled backwards, desperate to escape the nightmarish entity.

Suddenly, something blindingly bright appeared in his peripherals. A blur of radiant gold soared over Grover, landing in front of him protectively. A new beast appeared; one with long, splendid legs and a winding tail. It reared like a wild stallion, roaring in defiance and showing off its own sharp teeth. Stripes and intricate markings flashed across its hide with piercing white light, forcing Grover to look away.

The two entities collided, becoming a swirling mass of light and darkness. Grover panted with fear as his fur became charged with the energy the two created, little sparks dancing between the hairs on his legs. He couldn’t make out their distinct shapes anymore, only catching glimpses of bared teeth and hateful eyes.

“HEY!”

A shimmering green thread suddenly shot out from the darkness, splitting into two and wrapping around each of the beings. They screamed and howled in rage, but the threads dragged them away from each other, forcing them back into the nothingness.

A warm hand found Grover’s shoulder, and he looked up, his pupils wavering slits.

Percy’s tired face greeted him, his soft smile and shining green eyes chasing back the fear that raced through the satyr.

“ Percy! ” Grover bleated, scrambling to his hooves to hug his friend. It had been some time since they shared a dream, and with Percy being as sick as he was, their bond had dulled slightly.

Percy hugged Grover back tightly, a content sigh brushing past Grover’s ear.

“Hey, Grover. You don’t know how happy I am to see you.” he said warmly, pulling back from the hug.

“What were those things?” Grover asked, gesturing to where the two beasts had been, “I’ve never seen anything like that! ”

“Well,” Percy tilted his head slightly, “that would be Tartarus and Divinity.”

Grover felt his stomach drop, an icy chill sliding down his spine.

“W- what?”

“The jumbled pieces of them, anyways.” Percy continued, as though he hadn’t heard Grover, “Percy’s mind is fractured right now, and so they are too.”

“But,” Grover swallowed, taking a minute step back, “but you’re Percy.”

“I am.” Percy nodded, “And I’m not.”

The satyr stomped a hoof, “That makes no sense! Tell me what’s going on, right now!”

Percy-but-not-Percy sighed and sat down on the non-existent floor. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in many days.

“I am Percy’s Mortality.” he explained, “I’m his humanity, his love for life, his instinctive fear of death, and I will be what allows him to pass on when his time comes.”

The teen nodded towards the void behind Grover, “Unless one of them wins.”

Grover eyed this ‘Mortality’ wearily, before slowly lowering himself down, “What… what happens if they win?”

“If Tartarus wins, the sickness he got from being in that place for so long will consume Percy’s soul, and he’ll be lost to oblivion.” Mortality replied, his voice somber, “If Divinity wins, both Tartarus and I will be burned away, like a fever purging a virus, and Percy will ascend to godhood.”

Grover swallowed, his throat as dry as sandpaper. What was this? Was this truly a dream, or something deeper?

“Oh, this is real, Grover.” the satyr jumped, causing Mortality to smile, “This is Percy’s mind, and I am Percy, somewhat. Nothing hides from me here.”

“So, what,” Grover threw his hands up, frustration and fear mixing in his heart, “Percy either has to face death without an afterlife, or become a god? That’s not fair!”

“I agree.” Mortality said, “That’s why I called you here. In order for Percy to remain mortal and alive, I need to be able to do more than keep Tartarus and Divinity from killing each other. I need to be able to seal them away until Percy is well enough to fight back himself, and for that, I need my sword.”

The sea-eyed teen frowned suddenly, running a hand through his hair, “Problem is, I can’t remember what it's called. I could summon it, but to do that I need to speak its name.”

Grover grinned.

“Well, that’s easy! It’s…” he started, before trailing off as his mind went blank, “ It’s… ”

Mortality shook his head, sighing in defeat.

“Percy doesn’t remember it, so neither can we.” he said, “You’ll remember when you wake up, and forget when you sleep. It's a vicious cycle, huh?”

“So what do we do?! ” Grover cried.

“You need to bring Percy his sword, make him remember the name.” Mortality said, “That won’t be easy, though. He’s gone somewhere beyond where you, his friends, or even the gods can see. You’ll need the Fates for this quest.”

“The Fates? ” Grover squeaked, mind racing as he tried to comprehend all that he was being told, “But, but they-”

“Are plenty angry.” Mortality finished, “Trust me, they’ll be willing to help. Their strings are all over the place.”

The teen snapped his fingers, and the glowing green thread returned, laying across Mortality’s hands.

“See?” he held it up, and Grover could hear Percy’s voice faintly emanating from it, a million little snippets of conversations that had been, were occuring, and would be had.

Suddenly, the world trembled, and cracks of pure white light began to appear all around the duo.

“Looks like you’re waking up.” Mortality said softly. He looked at Grover, his shoulders sagging when another roar split the air around them.

“Hurry, Grover.” he said, his voice fading away as the cracks grew longer, “I’ll keep them apart for as long as I can, but something will have to give eventually.”

The void splintered beneath Grover, and the satyr fell into the white with a startled yell.

“ Go! Save Percy! Save them all! ”

Grover sat up, a scream still on his lips. He was sweating, his body shivering as a cool, early morning breeze blew over him. His ears were flat against his head, and he tugged them gently, the contents of his dream flashing before his eyes. On instinct, he reached out for Percy through their bond, needing to feel that he was alright, that his night terror had merely been a result of all the mushroom enchiladas he’d eaten last night.

A dull emptiness met him. Only the fact that he could still feel the bond’s existence, and the fact that he wasn’t dead, prevented him from breaking out into a fit of screaming bleats. Grover sat still for a moment, stunned, before he leapt up to his hooves, leaping about frantically as he gathered up his supplies.

He needed to get home immediately.

He needed to go to Camp Half-Blood.

Chapter Text

Chiron did not dare move from his spot, no matter how much the ache in his limbs begged him to reconsider. He was in the Big House’s living room, a small fire crackling in the hearth behind him, its miniscule warmth feeling blazing hot against his fur. 

Around him lay his campers, all in various states of consciousness. Several of the younger ones were tucked into his side, resting in a nest of pillows and blankets. Travis and Conner, older though they may be, were nestled in by his chest, his forelegs curled on either side of them. He’d all but dragged the colts there himself after he’d caught them trying to sneak outside, ready to face the terrible storm that had been plaguing their camp since sunrise, and thus keeping them trapped within the Big House. They’d fussed for a while, complaining that they were too old to be coddled like the baby-faced newbies Chiron had herded into the very centre of the room, but the old centaur was a stubborn beast. He’d helped to rear Hermes’ foals from the moment they’d stumbled past the camp’s borders, their wide eyes still wet from the grief of losing their mother; he knew how to force them to settle.

His tail swished against the floor as he scanned the room, mentally counting how many children were with him. He’d done this many, many times already, and he knew he’d do it many more. It was instinctive; a reflex born from a time where his kind had to worry about monsters snatching their foals, or mortals taking vengeance on their weanlings for something their parents had done. His body was tense, nervousness and paranoia running parallel beneath his skin. Chiron was tired, exhausted, actually, but he would not yield to sleep’s call. He was the only adult here, and since Dionysus was gone, he was Lead Stallion. That meant that the responsibility of keeping the herd safe, of keeping them alive, fell squarely on Chiron’s shoulders.

He’d failed too many times for him to feel confident in the role. First, he’d lost Percy, allowing the Sea’s foal to be taken beyond where even his father could find him, and now he’d lost him again, along with several others, including his sweet little Annabeth, who had always looked at him with the trusting eyes of a child, looking for love and reassurance from someone she viewed as a parent.

Chiron didn’t deserve that trust. It was his job to train these children, to keep them safe, but how many times had he been just a bit too late, had seen the signs after the danger had already fled? How many of his charges had snuck away in the time before that accursed war, lured by the honeyed words of his father and the built-up resentment towards the gods?

How many had perished by the hands of monsters he had not been able to reach in time, or, worse, by the hands he had once held as he showed their owners the camp that would henceforth be their home? How many faces, which used to look upon him with trust and respect, faced him down in the heat of battle with teeth bared, blood dripping from wounds that Apollo’s children would not heal? How many foals, faces still rounded with youth, had Chiron been forced to put down, in order to save the ones that had refused to turn?

Many. 

Too many.  

Too many, because even one was too much for his poor heart to take. That battle had taken a teacher, a caregiver, a protector, and forced him to become a murderer.

Chiron drew his legs closer to the Stoll brothers, forcing himself to calm as he felt little bodies shuffle sleepily around him, limbs brushing against his ribs as they adjusted themselves in sleep.

A sudden sound almost made him jump, hackles raising as the urge to stand and face this new potential threat thrummed through him. Chiron stamped it down when the familiar scent of grapes reached his nose. Dionysus had returned, looking seconds away from collapsing right there and then. His sons’ stuffed horses were still tucked under his arm, and bits of their velvet hides sparkled, as though the god had cried onto them. The few of the campers that were still awake looked towards the god, surprised to see him suddenly appear, but they remained silent. His appearance made them too wary to speak the questions that sat heavy on their tongues.

“How did it go?” Chiron asked, having no such reservations about speaking to his nephew.

Dionysus made a sound, low and growl-like, before snapping his fingers. A plush, violet bean bag appeared in the free space next to Chiron, and the god wasted no time in throwing himself onto it. Travis stirred slightly at the sound, but he quickly fell back into a deep sleep as the centaur ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.

“Bad.” Dionyus replied quietly, “Terrible, actually. I’m not sure it could have gone worse.”

He rolled onto his back, sinking further into the bean-filled furniture piece.

“Castor isn’t the only soul missing from Elysium. Hermes’ favoured traitor-spawn, ” he drawled venomously, “is also missing. Chances are, wherever the kids ended up, if they ended up somewhere, he’s there too.”

Chiron’s gut twisted in a most unpleasant manner, and he felt bile crawl up his throat. On one hand, it would be a wonderous thing for his old pupil to be alive, to have him defy nature's laws and be given a second chance. On the other, Chiron truly did not know if Luke would hurt the others.

The curious, still awake little demigods in the room all paled, clearly having heard Dionysus’ words. Most glanced towards the door, as if wondering whether or not they could make it outside, either to run away from the possible return of such a threat, or to try and hunt down Luke to send him back to the Underworld. Never before had he been so glad that the Stoll brothers were asleep; they'd raise hell once they knew that Luke might be alive once more, and Chiron needed time to prepare for that.

“If any of you brats move,” Dionysus said, without lifting his head, “I’ll turn you all into dolphins and toss you into an aquarium while we wait for your parents to show up.”

Chiron looked at Dionysus.

“They’re coming here? ” he asked, unable to stop his surprise from leaking into his tone.

Dionysus sighed and nodded.

“None of us could locate where our children have gone, not even Father and my uncles.” he replied, “They’re all out tearing the world apart trying to find them, but they made it very clear that they would be stopping by camp to check on their other brats. Regularly. ”

“But, the Ancient Laws-” Chiron started, blinking in shock.

“-Have been temporarily lifted.” Dionysus explained, “At least, the ones concerning demigods. Nothing like this has ever happened, and since no one knows what caused it, everyone’s kinda going into panic mode. They don’t want to risk anyone else disappearing.”

There was a humourless snort from somewhere in the room, and Chiron was fairly certain that it had come from Chris Rodriguez. He was seated in the corner of the room, legs draped over the arm of a chair as he thumbs the sleeve of a battered, blood-red hoodie that doesn’t quite cover his midsection. It isn’t his, but Chiron isn’t surprised that he’s wearing it.

“Hermes is speaking with the other pantheons, seeing what they know, and warning them about what they might not.” Dionysus continued, “Normally, we’d stay as far away from them as possible, too many conflicting domains, but with what’s happened…”

He let himself trail off, sighing as he sunk deeper into the depths of the bean bag. In that moment, the god looked every bit his age, no sign of the youthful visage he had always worn before his punishment.

“Is there anything that I can do?” Chiron asked, the urge, the need to not be useless nipping at his skin.

“For now?” Dionysus finally lifted his head, his eyes a purple so dark they’re almost black in the low light of the room, “ Sleep. We’ll take shifts, and I know Athena and Ares are sending some kind of guardian each to watch the borders. We won’t be caught unawares again.”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

This time, Chiron did jump, jostling the children closest to him. They whined in confusion, but were quickly silenced by the growl that built in Dionysus’ throat. Travis and Conner jolted to alertness, their sharp eyes trained on the door as they scrambled for their weapons, which lay on the ground beside them. Chiron snagged them before they could stand fully, dragging them behind him as he rose to full height. He looked to Dionysus, whose bared teeth had sharpened into those of a fearsome predator.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

“Mr. D! Chiron! Can someone please open the door?”

Chiron blinked, but before he could register the familiar voice, Dionysus had already moved, crossing the room in microseconds and flinging open the door.

Grover stood on the porch, his shaggy brown fur soaked with rainwater, his breaths coming in fluttering pants. Before the satyr could speak, Dionysus gripped him by his scruff, causing the goat boy to go limp in the god’s hold. The God of Wine strode back over to the fire, the door closing behind him, before putting Grover down on the bean bag chair. Grover was still for a moment, before the scruffing instincts wore off and he shook himself, embarrassment causing his face to flush. Chiron allowed himself to relax, stepping back as his campers shuffled in closer to the satyr.

“Grover, what are you doing here?” Travis asked, fishing out a blanket to give to their friend. 

“I got a message from Percy through our bond!” he bleated, and Chiron could feel the room still. Dionysus’ gaze was hyper focused on Grover, who hadn’t noticed the stares yet, “Or, rather, part of his consciousness, I guess? It was a weird dream, but I know it was him. He said that he was beyond where any of us could find him, and that we needed-”

The satyr swallowed, ears going flat in nervousness as he looked around warily.

“He said that we needed to contact the Fates, and that they were angry about something.”

At the mention of the Fates, everyone cringed instinctively. Even Chiron, a long-lived immortal being, bowed his head. No creature with the ability to grasp the concepts of fate and mortality wanted to meet the Fates, for fear of seeing their life-string caught betwixt the blades of Atropos’ scissors.

Chiron pawed at the ground nervously. Things were changing in a way that he’d never once seen in his long, long life, and the uncertainty of it all made him feel ill with worry. Why couldn’t things just be easy for a change? Why did all his foals have to continue to suffer?

Dionysus looked as though he’d swallowed a lemon, his nose scrunched up as he curled his lip. The god’s eyes flitted over the room, and Chiron could sense his discomfort at the thought of the Moirai being anywhere near the children.

“Yeah, no.” he stated firmly, “There’s not going to be any of this “we” bullshit. I’ll inform Father of your dream, and ask him to go and speak with… them. If he refuses, then Apollo will certainly go. You, all of you, will not be going anywhere.”

He locked eyes with Grover, his mouth working into a serious frown, “Be prepared to go before the Olympian council to verify your claim, though I taste no hint of deception in your mind. They will be angry, but not at you. Hermes and myself will ensure that nothing happens.”

Grover trembled slightly, and Chiron knelt down next to him, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder, “But not tonight, correct?” he asked, giving his nephew a look.

Dionysus glanced towards one of the rain-battered windows, a streak of lightning flashing in the reflection of his eyes.

“No, not tonight.” he agreed, “The brats all need sleep, and they won’t get any if my bumbling siblings come crashing in here at the mention of the Loom Weavers.”

Some of the demigods giggled slightly at that, a needed reprieve from the tense atmosphere. Chiron felt some of his muscles relax, though the swirling pit of anxiety in his gut remained.

“Right, all of you settle back down, then.” the centaur said, eyeing the campers carefully. He counted them again, fully laying back down once he was sure that none had disappeared while his attention had been pulled away.

“Grover?” a small voice called softly. It was a little girl, Sofie; a daughter of Demeter, “Is Percy okay? He and Annabeth were really sick.”

Chiron watched the satyr’s expression carefully. Grover’s ears twitched, flicking backwards for a moment, his eyes darting down and to the right as he considered his answer.

“He’s… he’s okay, for now. He’s alive.” Grover responded carefully.

Alive.

Chiron exhaled a long, relieved breath. Obviously, if Percy had communicated with Grover, then he must be alive, but it was still a relief to hear it said aloud.

The centaur’s eyes met Dionysus’, and the sick feeling from before returned. If Percy was alive…

…then so was Luke.

Luke shifted slightly as he lay on his strange sort-of-bed, sort-of-couch. A kline, Arepo had called it. Somehow, he got the distinct feeling that he was being thought of.

Percy and Annabeth were curled up together on the kline beside his own, small bowls of broth in their hands. Neither looked particularly hungry, but they did occasionally lift the bowls to take small sips. 

Arepo busied himself near the hearth, keeping the fire strong enough to keep his home warm, but not so hot as to burn the pot of broth he had bubbling away over the flames. Once the man was satisfied, he got to his feet, grunting softly.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked, looking over at his guests, “I believe I may have more blankets stored away in my winter cellar, if you’re still cold.”

“We’re alright.” Luke reassured their host, “Thank you, Arepo.”

Arepo smiled kindly and sat himself down in a chair that sat across from the demigods.

“Would you children like a story?” he asked, leaning back into the old cowhide seat, “My mother used to tell me many tales of her homeland when I was small, and they always helped soothe me to sleep.”

Luke perked up slightly. As a son of the God of Travellers, he’d always been partial to a good story. He nodded, smiling slightly when he saw Percy and Annabeth do the same.

Arepo hummed, eyes drifting skyward. He drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair, thinking.

“Alright,” he said at last, clapping his hands together, “since you are new to Greece, I shall tell you of how the gods of this land came to be.”

Luke forced his expression to remain pleasant, fighting the sneer that wanted to mar his face. They were in Ancient Greece; of course the story would be about the gods.

Arepo, unaware of Luke’s internal anger, cleared his throat.

“Many eons ago, before the age of man, before the age of gods, the world, new and unshaped, was ruled by monstrous beings called Titans…”

There were twelve Titans in all, born from the great Earth Mother, Gaea, and her cruel husband, Uranus. Chief among these Titans was Kronos, the youngest and most wicked. Kronos and his mother worked together to castrate Uranus, before splitting open his midsection and spreading his blood and body parts across the world, from which spawned a great many creatures, including the first goddess, Aphrodite.

Once the deed was done, Kronos took complete control of the world. He stole the Heavens from his father, wrenched the Earth from his mother, and threatened his siblings, Oceanus and Tethys, until they yielded and gave him the Seas. He ruled as an unchallenged tyrant, taking his sister Rhea as his wife and imprisoning the beasts that his father’s blood had borne in Tartarus, the unholy inverse of the sky. Under his rule, there was no day nor night, no moon or sun. Death was not yet a thing understood, as only one being had ever died, and life was chaotic and strange, following no rules.

Eventually, Rhea fell pregnant, and was due to birth her first child, the goddess Hestia. Unfortunately, Kronos had inherited his father’s cruel nature, and he had heard whispers of a prophecy; one day, he would be overthrown by his children, losing control over the workings of the world as they rose to power. Paranoid and lacking any love in his heart, Kronos wrenched Hestia from Rhea’s arms and devoured his daughter whole the moment she was born, leaving her trapped in his stomach, unable to die, but also unable to escape.

As each of his children were born, he repeated this abhorrent act with each child that followed. Demeter, Hera, Hades, and Poseidon all were sucked down his gullet before they could even catch a glimpse of the world. Heartbroken by the loss of her children, Rhea, pregnant with her youngest child, fled to her mother’s side and begged her for help. Gaea could not do much, for her power had been stolen by her traitorous son, but she was determined to help her daughter. She instructed Rhea to travel to the island of Crete, and to give birth there. Before she left, Gaea created a special stone, one cloaked with the most ancient magicks, to help conceal what Rhea had done.

Following her mother’s advice, when it came time for Rhea to give birth, she left for Crete, where she had her final child; Zeus. Rhea, though she longed to stay with her son, knew that she had to leave in order for him to live, so she placed him at the teat of the she-goat Amalthea and swaddled the enchanted stone before returning to her husband. To Kronos, the rock appeared to be a newborn, and so he swallowed it without question.

Meanwhile, Zeus, under the care of Amalthea, grew up to be a wild young god. He prowled the land, plucking pieces of the world around him to fashion himself new forms. From the sky he snatched clouds, which marked his skin with pale patches as he wrangled them into the shape of feathers and wings, and from the bones of the prey he hunted, he crafted splendid horns and ivory claws. 

For a time, Zeus was happy on Crete, but as he grew he began to hear strange things in his dreams; voices calling out for help and screaming in agony. The sounds disturbed him so much that, once he was grown, he left Crete in search of the source of the voices. Along the way he met Metis, the daughter of Oceanus and Tethys, who told him about his father, and what he had done to Zeus’ siblings. Horrified, Zeus asked the Titaness for help in getting revenge, and Metis agreed, having long since grown tired of her uncle’s tyrannical rule.

Metis made for Zeus a special mixture that would force Kronos to vomit up the other gods, and so Zeus snuck back to Greece and disguised himself as a simple cupbearer. He added the mixture to Kronos’ favoured drink, and within seconds the Titan Lord was brought to his knees as he expelled all of his children, along with the stone, from his gut. 

Zeus’ brothers and sisters had grown while trapped in Kronos’ stomach, but they had not emerged unharmed. Hestia had long since screamed her voice into little more than a raspy whisper. Demeter’s ability to hear had been damaged from years of being trapped in an echo chamber of agonized wails. Hera, who had once sported beautiful claws of many colours, had worn them down to useless nubs by clawing at her father’s stomach lining. Poseidon was completely blind in one eye, the area around the milky orb now heavily scarred, and Hades, who had done his best to keep his siblings from the acid that dwelled at the very bottom of Kronos’ stomach, had legs of bone and shadow from his toes up to his knees.

Still, despite all their pain, the children of Kronos were thrilled to meet their baby brother, and eternally grateful that he had freed them. As a result, they swore allegiance to him, crowning him their king and promising to follow him for the rest of their immortal lives. Zeus, who had never known such love, swore that he would lead them to victory, and would help them gain enough power so that no one would ever be able to hurt them again. This promise of unity would swiftly become important, because Kronos had no intention of yielding to his children. He immediately set about rallying his fellow Titans, intent on destroying his sons and daughters so thoroughly, their very essence would be lost to Khaos. 

And so began the Titanomachy, the hundred year war between the gods and the Titans. For many years they battled, neither side able to turn the tides. Finally, during the last years of the war, Zeus freed the Hecatoncheires and the Cyclopes from Tartarus, and in exchange they promised to help him and his fellow gods achieve victory. The Cyclopes crafted three divine weapons for the most powerful of the gods; Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon. For Hades, they pulled the darkest shadows out of the Underworld and poured them into their forges, crafting for the eldest brother a helm made of pure darkness. For Poseidon, they drained one of the world’s oceans into a mold, and created a trident strong enough to force the tides to yield. And, finally, for Zeus they gathered up all the energy in the sky and pressed it into an enormous, endlessly powerful thunderbolt, from which all others would be born. This weapon was so powerful, it split open Zeus’ skin the first time he held it in his hands, and he had to attune his very being to its strength in order to wield it.

Refusing to be left out, the goddesses demanded that they also be given divine items of their own, and so they, too, were gifted items of extraordinary power. For Hestia, the Cyclopes wove an intricate necklace of the finest gold, the metal cradling five crystalline beads, each one representing one of her siblings. So long as the necklace was worn, she would know exactly where her siblings were, what they were feeling, and if they were in danger. For Demeter, a staff was created, one that channeled the power of the Earth itself, allowing her to create rich, fertile landscapes, or, if she so wished, to make lands barren and dead. Hera was originally offered a softer gift, like her sisters, but she refused, declaring that she wanted a fierce weapon, and so she was gifted a set of gleaming iron claws, enchanted to leave wounds that, if she so wished, would never heal.

Armed with these new gifts, Rhea’s children made their final stand against Kronos and his army. With the Hecatoncheires raining boulders down upon the Titans, Zeus and his brothers attacked their father head on. Hades used his helm to cloak both Hera and himself, allowing them to slip past his father’s defenses. Once they were behind him, Hera sliced open the back of his knees, biding the blood to flow until none remained. As Kronos fell, Poseidon surged forward with the power of the seas, driving his trident into Kronos’ back, keeping him pinned to the earth, which, at Hestia’s rasped command, Demeter molded into a flat expanse of jagged stone and bubbling magma.

Finally, Zeus stood before his father, his Masterbolt thrumming with divine power and a thirst for vengeance as he prepared to blast Kronos apart and send his remains to the deepest parts of Tartarus. Just before he could, however, Kronos managed to spit out a vile curse, the very first of its kind, and one that settled over each and every one of his children.

“You dare to destroy your father? To strike down the being that allowed you to exist? Then hear my words, children; you shall never bear nor sire any healthy offspring. Their existence, should they manage to draw breath, shall drain you, and leave you wracked with pain and illness until they take part of your power, or find their own. You will watch beings beneath you achieve something you can only dream of, and you shall know the pain of loss one thousand times over!”

Zeus, upon hearing this curse, became enraged, despite not truly understanding the power behind it, and so he lit up the sky with thousands upon thousands of lightning strikes, each one aimed at his dying father. Kronos was indeed destroyed, and the scattered, charred remains of his body were thrown to the very edge of Tartarus’ depths, balancing on the edge of existence and oblivion. 

Victorious, the children of Rhea rejoiced. With the world now under their control, they set about establishing their domains, choosing their kingdoms and building their homes as they explored the world they had inherited. Zeus became Lord of the Sky, and he ordered that a grand palace be built atop the tallest mountain in the land, Mount Olympus. Poseidon found comfort in the seas, and became their master with ease, eventually meeting Aphrodite and introducing her to his siblings, who quickly adopted the goddess into their fold. Hades, shadow cloaked and finding the surface world entirely too bright on his sensitive eyes, found comfort in the darkness of the Underworld, carving out spaces for souls to reside as Death became a part of the natural laws of the world. The sister goddesses each found a place on the land; Hestia became Lady of the Hearth and Home, always found where people found truest comfort. Hera, following the birth of humanity, became the Goddess of Women, Childbirth, and Marriage. Lastly, Demeter became the Goddess of Seasons, Fertility, and of the Harvest, earning praise and love from all who farmed the land and lived upon it.

Eventually, humanity began to worship the Olympians, as they came to be called, sacrificing animals and precious riches in their names. The gods were pleased by this, and for a time they were content with just themselves. However, as the ages passed, and they observed their people, a strange yearning began to build in them. The mortals had families, and with those families came children; perfect mixes of a mother and father, who would devote themselves to the people who brought them into the world. The gods could feel the joy that children brought their parents, and they found themselves wanting to feel that, too. So, naturally, they paired up together, expecting to birth new gods with ease.

But they had forgotten, or perhaps ignored, one very important thing; their father’s curse. 

It was Zeus who first tried to produce a child. He wanted a daughter, one that was as clever and wise as the Titaness that had helped him to save his siblings, so he, using all his divine power, attempted to give life to that thought, that wish for a child. 

It worked, and he was granted the daughter that he’d desired, but it came at a terrible cost. The birth of Athena left him with an enormous head wound, one that exposed bone and dripped ichor relentlessly. He wept from the pain, having never experienced something so horrid, and from his ichor and tears sprang a set of twins; one boy and one girl, who glowed with ethereal light. Through his pain, Zeus managed to name them; Apollo and Artemis. They were wild, untamed things, having inherited the father’s more feral nature, and they ran off to chase down the first of their domains, which became Light and the glorious Hunt respectively.

 The Lord of the Sky was stricken with an unrelenting fever, and it is said that the skies thundered for a year without ceasing while Athena, who had been born fully grown but almost as sick, struggled to claim her domains. Eventually, in order to cease her friend’s suffering, Metis relinquished her domain of Wisdom to Athena, ending the young goddess’ sickness, and allowing her to cease drawing on Zeus’ life force for her continued survival.

Zeus’ siblings were wary of trying for their own children after witnessing the toll it took on their brother, but, inevitably, they were tempted by love and lust to take the risk, and each of them suffered greatly for it.

Ares and Hephestus, sons of Zeus and Hera’s coupling, nearly tore the world apart in a storm of fire and rage when they were born. Hera, her judgement clouded by pain and illness, cast Hephestus off Mount Olympus, resulting in him becoming permanently disfigured. Zeus, laid low by burning fever once more, could not help Ares when his eyes burned to the point of permanently becoming balls of pure fire. Hermes, the son of Zeus and the shy nymph, Maia, could not hold his shape for many years, writhing and flickering painfully between avian and reptile until he managed to ensnare Language as his first domain, and later Thievery and Lies, and many other useful things. Poseidon destroyed and reshaped coastlines when his first child came into the world just barely breathing, and he was quick to nudge control over Waves into Triton’s control. Even after that, Triton remained sickly for years, and Poseidon became intensely protective over his child, who was not as powerful as his cousins. There were more, of course, but not all made it. Some faded back into Khaos only moments after their birth, others lasted a few years before passing, leaving behind bereaved parents and siblings.

The last god born was Dionysus, and for good reason. You see, when it became clear that having purely godly children would only cause pain and, more often than not, heartbreak, the gods decided to try coupling with mortals. This, however, proved to be a mistake.

Again, it was Zeus who tried first. He impregnated a mortal woman, and was overjoyed to find that the pregnancy did not send him into a fit of illness. The King of Gods eagerly awaited the birth of his child, sure that he would finally get to raise a child, to see them grow without the haze of agony and ailment clouding his view.

But, it was not to be. His mortal lover suffered complications halfway through the pregnancy, and lost not only the baby, but her life. Zeus was devastated, and immortalized them both as the very first stars in the night sky, so that he could always have them close, even if he couldn’t see them. When the pain ebbed away enough for him to want to try again, he decided to craft himself a womb and carry the child, hoping that his divine blood would strengthen the fetus enough for it to develop fully. And it did.

But it did not keep the child alive.

The babe was born without breath in its lungs, and it is said that the mighty Zeus, Lord of the Sky and King among Gods, was rendered so still by the shock and deep pain of this loss, his siblings and children worried that the curse had turned him to stone. When the paralysis broke, however, the world felt his pain. The sky churned with dark storm clouds for many years, killing crops and unleashing great famine upon the land. Zeus’s siblings, attuned to his suffering, mourned with him, and the land was reformed from their grief. Landmass became islands, plains rose to be mountains, hills collapsed into valleys. 

And, above it all, a new star shone, brighter than all the others.

It took hundreds of years before any Olympian laid with another mortal, too afraid of feeling that terrible, horrifically mortal grief, and this fear was not unfounded. The hybrid children that managed to survive a divine pregnancy looked nothing like their progenitors, oftentimes consuming their mortal parent. They stalked the lands, the skies, and the seas, terrorizing towns and travelers, feasting upon any soul unlucky enough to cross their path, at least until the sharpened teeth of the Hunt found them.

Only one mortal-born god ever made it beyond birth, and it was only through sheer luck and suffering. Dionysus, son of Zeus and Semele, survived because Zeus revealed his true form to Dionysus’ mother, vaporizing her instantly. Zeus stitched Dionysus into his thigh with thread made from his own ichor, which constantly needed to bleed from his body, and, by some miracle of fate, the tactic worked, gifting the world the final Olympian.

After Dionysus, the gods pulled back, unwilling to break their hearts anymore. They sire and bear no more children, though many speculate that they still yearn for them, jealous of the mortals who, for all their lack of power, can have what they themselves cannot.

Luke stared, slack jawed, at Arepo, who was currently chugging a cup of water, his throat undoubtedly parched after telling such a long story.

That… that was not the story Luke knew. There were far too many differences, far too many impossible statements. 

“Wait… you’re telling me that the gods have no mortal children?” he exclaimed, disbelief colouring his tone.

Arepo nodded, setting down his cup, “That is what all the stories and murals say. Dionysus was the closest thing, but Zeus granted him godhood before he even left his thigh.”

Luke ran a hand down his face, mind racing. 

Where the absolute fucking hell had they ended up? This was not the Ancient Greece he was taught about! Was this the past? Or had he somehow gotten sucked into a twisted alternate timeline?

He looked over at Percy and Annabeth, wondering what they thought about Arepo’s tale, only to find them fast asleep. Luke felt his own exhaustion clawing at his overworked mind, and it must have shown on his face, because Arepo gave the blonde a look that was scarily similar to the one his mother used to give him when he wouldn’t go down for a nap.

“Get some sleep now, Loukás. You and your little ones will be safe here.” he promised, and Luke, favoured son of the God of Lying Tongues, found only truth in his words, so he lay down on the worn bedding beneath him and closed his eyes, dreaming of eagles that wept when they saw the night sky. 

Chapter Text

Will bit back a moan of delight as he chewed on the fresh, ripe grapes Castor and Pollux had grown. Hunger still clawed at his stomach, but the bundle of purple fruit in his hand would soon quiet it.

All of the gathered half-bloods were also indulging, juice dripping from their jaws before they dragged their arms across their purple-tinted mouths. The shock of seeing the twins, young and together, despite the impossible, insurmountable circumstances that should have kept them apart for many years, had taken some time to fade, but once it had, Clarisse had lunged for Castor, pulling the boy into a crushing hug. She hadn’t cried, but Will saw her body tremble as she shook the poor boy, screaming at him to ‘never pull that kind of shit again.’ 

Will had grabbed him next, tucking his head under Castor’s chin while Clarisse started questioning Pollux, who began to fire back his own questions. Will had been young when he met Castor, likely around the age his body was now, and while they hadn’t been best friends by any means, the sons of Dionysus had to regularly visit the infirmary for mental health checks, due to their father’s sway over madness, which gave Will plenty of time to get to know the twins. Personally, Will thought that all campers should have had to do that, but that rule hadn’t been made until very recently.

Will had seen a lot more of Pollux after Castor had died. Sometimes he’d come in tired and lacking nutrients, and other times he’d be dragged into the infirmary by his sparring partner, sporting more wounds than he should have been. Pollux never brought up why he was letting himself be sliced by swords, and Will, young and afraid for his friend, but not knowing what to do, had never asked.

He squeezed Castor tighter, feeling him breathe, and Castor hugged him back.

“Hey, Willy.” he smiled into Will’s hair, “Long time no see. Didn’t hit puberty, huh?”

“Dick.” Will snarked back, grinning into Castor’s chest.

Will pulled back, and suddenly Nico was beside him, staring up at Castor with wide, dark eyes. Castor shuffled back a step, looking unsure as Nico squinted at him, his gaze intense and searching, which looked odd on his adorable little face.

“You,” he said slowly, tilting his head slightly, “were dead. But you don’t smell dead.”

“Uhhh…” Castor rubbed the back of his neck, “That’s- that’s good, right? Corpses smell gross.”

“No, I mean-” Nico shook his head, looking puzzled and more than a little frustrated, “everything that was dead, even if it lives again, carries the scent of death. You don’t, but you should, and I can’t figure out why.”

“Nico,” Will nudged his boyfriend, “you sound like your dad right now. Cut it out.”

Nico blinked, slow and cat-like, before seeming to come back to himself. His olive skin flushed pink, and he threw his hands up in apology.

“Oh, my gods! ” he squeaked, “I am so sorry! That was so rude of me! I- I didn’t even-”

Castor laughed, clapping a hand onto Nico’s shoulder. Pollux looked over at the sound of his twin’s laughter, before being sucked back into his conversation with Clarisse, who had somehow managed to rope Thalia in as well.

“Don’t worry, strange little cousin,” he said, his mouth quirked up into a smile, “I’ve spent enough time around Apollo’s children to get used to weird moments like that.

Nico visibly relaxes at Castor’s reassurance, and Will instinctively puts an arm around him.

“Hey, dead boy!” Clarisse called out, and both Castor and Nico turn to face her. Pollux is making a face at the nickname, but the daughter of Ares pays him no mind as she jacks a thumb towards their campfire, “Come sit down. You look like you’re about to drop.”

Will glanced at Castor again, this time with the eyes of a healer. The teen does look tired, his arms and legs scratched up from whatever brush he’d stumbled through, and so the son of Apollo wastes no time in pushing Castor forward, his twin easily finding his place beside him as they resettle themselves next to the glowing flames.

He’d healed Castor and Pollux’s injuries, and in return the boys had produced vines that hung heavy with grapes and strawberries, which was why Will now found himself licking juice off his fingers.

“So,” Castor began, swallowing down his mouthful of fruit, “have you guys managed to figure out what the fuck is going on yet?”

“Sunny D over there thinks we’re being punished by the gods.” Clarisse said, nodding towards Will, “Me personally, I think that’s bullshit, because what could they possibly be punishing us for?”

Will shrugged.

“I don’t know, but it's the only answer that makes sense. I mean, we woke up with nothing; no food, no water, no weapons and no clue about what we’re supposed to be doing. If we weren’t feeling the strain of being alive, I would have thought that we’d died. ” he explained, resting his chin on his knee as he stared at the fire, annoyance clear on his face.

“Well, we could be experiencing a Percy Quest.” Pollux offered, looking up from the rather large thorn he was attempting to grow, “You know; stolen from home and dumped somewhere new to ‘bridge the gap between camps’ or some crap like that. Maybe we’re supposed to find some, like, Egyptian demigods or something.”

“Maybe.” Thalia agreed slowly, sounding unsure, “Pretty sure da- the Lord of the Sky would lose his shit if my… step-mother tried that again, though.”

“Yeah, and we just finished fighting in another war for them.” Nico hissed out, shuffling closer to Will, who leaned against him, “Don’t we deserve a break? ”

The assorted demigods made various noises of agreement.

“You know,” Clarisse said, poking at the fire with a long stick, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but some part of me wishes that they were still ignoring us. I mean, it sucked, especially when I was younger, but if this is what their idea of attention is, then I don’t think I want it anymore.”

“Yeah,” Will sighed, “I hear you. I thought my dad even acknowledging me was the greatest thing in the world after our fight with Kronos, but after everything that’s happened…”

He growled, tossing his grape stems and strawberry leaves into the fire. He did not offer up any of his actual food, and no words of worship or thanks passed his lips.

“I know the Ancient Laws prevent them from being in our lives, but it sure doesn’t stop them from ruining them, huh?”

Thalia turned away from the campfire, a distant look in her eyes.

“If only Luke could hear us now,” she muttered darkly, “getting angry at the very thing he died to get us.”

Clarisse growled, looking every bit her father’s daughter as the flames danced in the reflection of her eyes.

“I hope he can hear us.” she snarled, “Gods, I really do. Fucker deserves it.”

Thalia bristled, her own eyes flashing with energy as she turned to rebuke Clarisse’s statement. Will felt his muscles tighten, his mind racing for a way to calm the two girls down before they started tearing into each other.

Awoooooooooooooooooooo!

Will froze, doing his very best impersonation of a statue as an unnaturally long howl echoed out across the flat, empty expanse. Every single one of his hairs began to stand on end, his arms erupting with goosebumps. Nico’s hands were suddenly wrapped around his arm, and Will managed to break through his fear-induced paralysis long enough to latch onto his boyfriend.

Clarisse was trapped in an awkward half sitting, half standing position, her eyes wide as she glanced around, searching for the source of the sound as best she could without moving. Thalia was in much the same predicament, hand reaching for a weapon she no longer had. Pollux had grabbed the back of Castor’s shirt, his grip so tight it made the cotton groan slightly. Castor, for his part, didn’t seem in any hurry to move.

The six half-bloods kept absolutely still and silent, each one trying to pick up even the slightest sound.

A sudden cacophony of howls and braying barks exploded from the nearby woods, and it was all Will could do not to pick a direction and start sprinting. Clarisse and Nico’s minds became synchronized for a moment, and both lunged forwards, Nico almost dragging Will along with him as he did so. The two began furiously kicking dirt over the fire, struggling to put out the flames that Clarisse had put so much effort into building up. 

Another echoing chorus of predatory songs sounded out, closer this time, and Will all but leapt to help the trio, soil spraying everywhere as he fervently hacked away at the earth. Once the fire had been reduced to barely smoldering embers, a hand snatched the collar of his shirt and tugged him down, a warm body cushioning his stumbling fall. Pollux was next to him, the teen’s arm wrapping around his chest. He brought a finger to his lips, the universal sign for ‘be quiet’, and Will felt something start to cover his body. Thornless vines slid over his limbs and torso, thick leaves creating a tiny canopy over the demigods.

Will felt himself begin to shake as the sound of a terrified animal screaming for help split the night air, the ground vibrating with the force of many feet hitting it, one after the other. Suddenly, something streaked past the terrified children, its red-ish brown fur glowing slightly beneath the light of the enormous moon that loomed overhead. It was a stag, fully grown and sporting a rack of many-pronged antlers. There was a single bite on one of its hind legs, the wound leaking blood as the animal bounded across the plains.

The stag bellowed in pain as it stepped into a too-deep groove in the earth, its body crumpling to the ground as the limb twisted in an unnatural way. It writhed on the ground, its eyes looking far too human as it attempted to stand, the beast’s great chest heaving with the effort. 

Will shifted, the instinctive need to help flickering to life. He made to get up, but Thalia was quick to nip that thought in the bud. She forced him back down to the ground, a warning look in her wide, electric blue eyes. The daughter of Zeus shook her head, lifting her hands slightly as she turned her palms upwards, her fingers wiggling for a moment.

It was the sign for wait.

Will swallowed and nodded, reluctantly turning back to the stag.

It had managed to get up, though it was clear that it wouldn’t be running anytime soon. It was holding one of its front legs off the ground, and the stag could only slowly limp forward, its mouth frothing with saliva as it cried out in agony.

AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Both the stag and the demigods stilled as the unearthly howl sounded out again, this time from right behind them.

Will forced himself not to move, even as his stomach, lungs and heart threatened to burst out of his chest. The grass nearby crunched as something began to walk forward slowly, each step calculated with absolute precision. Will pressed a hand over his mouth as a small, silvery hoof stepped into view right in front of his face, attached to a thin leg that was covered in black, shining fur. 

The stag cowered low to the ground, the whites of its eyes wet and shimmering in the moonlight. A doe, lithe and small, came into view before them. She was mostly black, with a flashing white tail and little spots of white all over her back. As if her strange colours weren’t enough of an indication, when she began to circle the stag, Will caught sight of the doe’s eyes and felt his heart stop.

It was as though the doe’s eyes were made of moonlight, twin orbs of radiant white light that never blinked. They seemed to be looking nowhere and everywhere all at once. 

Will was so focused on the doe, he failed to realize that they’d become surrounded until a wolf soared over his head, followed by several more. They were young, perhaps only a year or two old, with white and silver coats and piercing eyes of every colour. The pack paced around the two deer, licking their lips as they sized up the downed animal. 

The stag bellowed loudly, jabbing its antlers wildly at any wolf that dared to come near. The wolves seemed to laugh at the creature’s efforts, yapping and yipping as they all but danced around the stag. One of the wolves, which had a strange, somehow familiar band of silver nestled into the fur of its head, darted forward, nipping at the stag’s good leg. The deer snorted and reared up, attempting to strike the wolf.

And that was when the doe pounced.

The skin of the animal’s snout pulled back, revealing sharp, silver teeth and a golden tongue. The doe moved like a bolt of black lightning, sinking her fangs into the stag’s throat. Blood began to flow down her slender neck, puddling at her hooves and soaking into her hide. The stag jerked, trying to wrench itself free, but it was no use. The doe had locked her jaws into his windpipe, causing the pained animal to choke on its own blood as its limbs started to shake. 

Will had to fight back the urge to gag as the animal began to spasm wildly, its throat still held in place by the strangely calm doe. There was a wet snapping sound, like raw bones being forcibly torn away from each other, the tendons and skin tearing along with them, as the stag’s legs began to shrink and straighten. The animal’s body contorted as its bones began to shift and slide beneath its muscles, hooves splitting apart in five different places while its snout was crushed flat against its head. Its fur sloughed off, revealing not the raw pink Will was expecting, but rather olive skin that was pockmarked with scars.

The son of Apollo just barely managed to hold in the vomit that suddenly filled his mouth as he realized what exactly he was looking at. That wasn’t a stag;

it was a person.

“Gods above-” Thalia choked out beside him, her voice only audible to those who were pressed against her sides.

As the man became fully human once more, the doe dropped him on the ground unceremoniously. As soon as he hit the dirt, the wolves descended upon him, tearing open his exposed belly as they began to gorge themselves on his flesh and organs. One of the wolves, the one with the circlet, raised its head from the carnage, a dripping heart clasped in its gore-covered jaws. It padded over to the doe, offering the still shuddering organ to her. 

The doe stood up on its hind legs, its pelt turning silver and white as the moonlight poured over it like water. It began to glow, and Will averted his eyes out of instinct. When he looked back, his eyes widened for a fraction of a second, before he immediately looked away again, covering his eyes for good measure. 

He swallowed down the bitter slurry that sat in his mouth and prayed that the figure did not hear him, for the goddess of the Hunt was not known to be forgiving to any male who gazed upon her without permission, especially when she wasn’t wearing anything more than a black pelt that was looped around her waist.

Unfortunately, averting his gaze did not spare him from having to hear the nightmare-inducing squelch of a human heart being bitten into.

Next to him, on either side, he could hear repressed gasps and gags. Nausea roiled in his guts as the sound of chewing reached him, and Will shoved his face into the dirt and pressed his hands firmly against his ears as he tried to block out the sound.

What was this? What kind of fucked up nightmare was Will trapped in, and how did he make it stop? Where was the kind, if a bit stern, aunt that he’d glimpsed on occasion? Where was the goddess that Thalia sung the praises of during her visits to camp? Where was his father’s beloved twin sister, who got mad when he called her silly nicknames in front of others?

Where was Artemis, and who was this- this monster that wore her skin?

Will wasn’t sure how long he’d laid there, face pressed into the earth, ears covered and eyes squeezed shut, but it felt like an eternity. When he at last felt the vines pull away and shaking hands reach down to help him stand, it was still nighttime, but the stars had shifted, and he could hear birds beginning to sing their morning tunes. 

Artemis and her wolves were gone, as was the body of the man they’d devoured. All that remained of their crime was a patch of blood staining the grass, which glinted in the light of the setting moon.

The sight caused Will’s nausea to return in full force, and he barely had time to turn away from the remains of their fire before his miniscule dinner came back up with a vengeance. He retched for a good few minutes, his stomach clenching even after it had been wholly emptied. His throat and mouth burned, the sensitive flesh having been eaten away at by stomach acid. Will sniffed and spat, cringing at the globs of mucus that had dripped down from his sinuses and onto the back of his tongue. His eyes hurt, both from how hard he’d been squeezing them shut, and from the tears he’d been unable to keep at bay.

Off to his left, he could hear the sound of someone else puking their guts out, and he wasn’t at all surprised to see Thalia hunched over, her entire body shaking violently. Clarisse was rubbing her back, a distant, unseeing look on her pale, tear-stained face. Faintly, Will wondered if she was going into shock. Demigods were usually quite resistant to that, but what they’d just seen would fuck up anyone, even the fierce drakon slayer.

Will jumped as he felt cold fingers brush his own. Nico, the little ninja, had snuck up on him, albeit unintentionally. His boyfriend was pale, almost back to the shade he’d been for the better part of five years. His dark eyes were blown wide open, something Will might have laughed at if he hadn’t felt so damn close to crying.

If he’d been anyone else, Will would have expected Nico to ask him if he was okay; it was the knee-jerk reaction to seeing someone in a state of upset, after all, but the son of Hades knew better. He knew Will wasn’t okay, and he wasn’t going to waste his time or Will’s by asking that stupid fucking question.

Instead, he laced his fingers with the blonde’s squeezing his hand in comfort and solidarity, silently reaffirming to his boyfriend that he was here, with him, and that he understood the severity of what they’d just been through. It was a nice gesture, a sweet gesture, and one that probably would have brought Will a sense of comfort.

If he hadn’t decided to look down.

His hands were still stained with strawberry and grape juice, the combination leaving a sticky red mess all over his fingers.

Sticky and red… just like…

Will’s face crumpled, and he turned away from Nico as he began to heave once more.

The dream started off normal, at least by Percy’s standards.

He was kneeling on the ground, his legs cushioned slightly by warm hay. He could hear people speaking around him, but he couldn’t quite make out the words. There was something soft pushing against his palm, and when he looked down, he saw a small muzzle nosing at him. A newborn foal was laying next to him, its pearlescent coat still damp from its birth. Blue eyes blinked up at him, and in his mind, he heard a young, feminine voice speak to him.

‘Who you?’ as the words rang in his thoughts, the foal tilted its- her head.

Percy opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly the world was spinning, becoming an incomprehensible blur of colours.

When his eyes refocused, he could feel something moving beneath him, and he was holding onto a flowing mane of white. The night sky loomed above them, looking as though it was missing several constellations. Looking to his side, Percy saw Annabeth riding atop the back of a gorgeous mare, the foal from before galloping alongside what must be her mother. 

She looked at him, grey eyes wide, “Where are we going?!” she cried.

Percy wanted to answer, but words failed him. What could he say? He didn’t know what was going on!

The world spun once more, and Percy found himself on a beach. It had been a long time since he’d gotten to go to the beach, so perhaps he was remembering wrong, but he recalled always feeling reassured by the smell of the ocean, feeling safe and protected as he swam in its waters. Now, he felt wary and slightly fearful as he crouched mere feet away from the crashing waves, a sharp piece of shale grasped in one hand, and what felt like rope in the other. Annabeth was beside him again, closer this time as she worked to untangle a long, beautiful tail from what could only be a net.

“You have her eyes. No other has that shade of silver.” a voice whispered, and Percy felt a soft hand brush against his cheek. When he looked up, he heard a gasp, before his vision was suddenly flooded by shadows.

The ground disappeared beneath the young boy, and Percy couldn't hold back a scream as he fell. Down, down, down he went, a horrible sense of deja-vu washing over him. The air around him turned cold and stale, and suddenly he hit cold stone with a painful thud! Wincing, Percy pushed himself up, coughing wetly. He looked around, trying to see through the shadows.

A terrible scent hung heavy in the air, stinking of blood and rot. Energy pulsed through every inch of this space like a heartbeat, the sensation almost sending Percy to the floor once again. Something shifted in the darkness, a sound like wet flesh sliding against coarse stone reaching his ears. Trembling, he slowly inched closer, eyes darting about wildly. His foot, which lacked the shoes he'd been wearing for most of the day, touched something warm and wet, the sensation causing pins and needles to envelop his leg. Percy stifled a noise of surprise as he stumbled back, lifting his foot up to try and see what it was he'd stepped in.

Liquid gold coated his toes, dripping onto the stone floor with a soft plip. A sense of pure, unfiltered wrongness surged through his body, and Percy jerked away from the spilled gold with a ragged gasp. He began to heave as he stumbled around the liquid, eyes struggling to find its source in the darkness. 

There, tucked away in the corner, was a figure. They were as still as a statue, their head forced back by a taunt chain that was affixed to a slim, metallic collar that sat snugly around their neck. They appeared human, but their chest neither rose nor fell, and Percy could not hear any sounds coming from them. More chains were wrapped around the figure's chest, arms, and legs, and their hands were bound together so tightly, Percy was shocked that their skin wasn't red and chaffing.

Most shocking of all, however, was the shimmering, golden blood still dripping down the figure's throat, dribbling out of the corner of their mouth.

Terrified by the sight of the bound, unnatural corpse, Percy instinctively backed away, freezing in horror as his foot knocked against an unseen object, causing it to clatter to the floor, the sound deafening in the silent room.

The corpse’s eyes slid open, and Percy felt his heart stop. He knew those eyes. He looked into them every day, finding love and comfort in their deep cobalt depths.

Those were Luke's eyes.

Percy awoke screaming, his sweat drenched hair blinding him temporarily as he thrashed, feeling trapped and suffocated by his blankets. Suddenly, calloused hands were lifting him up, and Percy found himself pressed against a warm chest.

“Woah, easy there, tadpole.” Luke's voice, still gravely with sleep, chased away most of Percy's terror, “You're alright. It was just a bad dream.”

Percy instinctively clung to Luke, stifling the sobs that were beginning to build in his throat. He was no stranger to nightmares, to sometimes seeing more than he knew he should. His Mama had always told him to never tell anybody but her about those dreams, because people might get upset by what he saw, or want to steal him for his gift. Percy worried, sometimes, when things got really bad and his heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest, that his promise came with the same rules as Gabe’s “guy secret”, and that fear had been enough to keep his mouth shut tight for years, but as Luke rubbed the space between his shoulders, Percy felt the words tumble out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“There- there were horsies and- and the world kept spinning and I didn't understand what was going on,” he warbled, tears slipping down his fever-flushed cheeks, “and then I saw… I saw… ”

Luke hushed him, brushing the hair from his eyes.

“Hey, hey, ” he said softly, “it’s okay. You were just dreaming.” 

The teen gently moved Percy so that he was sitting next to Luke, his head pressed against the other’s ribcage, “Your fever must have spiked last night, messed with your mind.” he tutted, clicking his tongue in disapproval, “Annabeth isn’t doing too well either.”

Percy stirred at the mention of Annabeth’s name, worry licking at his heart like a hungry flame.

“Is she okay?” he asked, wincing as his throat protested his speech, “Where is she?”

“She’ll be fine.” Luke reassured him, “I ran her a cool bath. Well, I guess ran isn’t the right word; more like Arepo showed me where the well was, and I dragged a few buckets of water over to a tub.

“Oh.” Percy said, slumping back against Luke as his energy left him, “Can I have one?”

A nice, cool bath sounded borderline divine right about now. Maybe it would stop his brain from trying to cook itself.

Luke laughed, and Percy could feel the vibrations run through his body, a reminder that his friend was alive and well. Proof that what he had seen truly had been just a bad dream, and not a Bad Dream. 

“You’re the only kid I know that likes bath time.” he chuckled, “Yeah bud, you can have a bath. We’ll let Annie get clean, and then it’ll be your turn, okay?”

“‘K.” Percy mumbled into Luke’s shirt, shifting when he felt Luke gather him up in his arms. He smelled like sweat and dry grass, which made Percy’s nose crinkle. It wasn’t the worst smell, but every member of their little group knew how dangerous it was to not mask their scents. 

“Oof, I am feeling the burn.” the blonde grumbled, groaning slightly as he stood up, “Next time we take a journey where I have to carry you gremlins, remind me to stretch more often, yeah?”

Percy made a noise of agreement, more focused on Luke’s heartbeat than his words. The steady sound dispelled the last of his lingering fear, a grounding reminder that he was in the waking world, the real world.

After a few moments of walking, Percy heard a door being pushed open, and he lifted his head, cringing slightly at the shift in lighting. It was a new day, and the sun had already risen above the horizon, casting a warm glow over the land. Fields of what looked like young wheat swayed as a gentle breeze blew by, bringing some relief to the ill demigod. All manner of scents lingered in the air here, from fruiting plants, to warm earth, to barnyard beasts. As he looked around, Percy saw a pasture, filled with plump cattle grazing upon green grass, little calves chasing each other through the green as their mothers ate, and other buildings further off, made of pale stone and red clay terracotta. 

He knew that word because Annabeth liked to talk about ancient Grecian building materials. A lot.

“Blaah-ah-ah!”

Percy jumped slightly as something brown and fuzzy bounded into view, barreling straight towards Luke. He tensed, ready for the creature to try and attack, but Luke made no move to get away. In fact, he smiled, and, against Percy’s protests, set the boy down on the ground. The brown blur got closer, and Percy flinched back, grabbing onto Luke’s pant leg.

“Bleeeh-eeeeeh-eh!”

Something butted against Percy’s leg, the impact noticeable, but not painful. Percy blinked and looked down.

There, shaking its little head, was a tiny goat. It had shaggy brown fur, darker on its head, and tiny little nubs that one could consider horns. Maybe. 

Percy let go of Luke, his hand hovering over the goat’s head for a moment, before he reached down to pet it. The little goat bleated happily and jumped up onto Percy’s lap, its hooves pressing against his chest. Percy giggled and pushed the animal down slightly, causing it to flop onto its side. The goat didn’t seem to mind, especially when Percy started scratching in between its horns.

A warm summer day. A weight, familiar, pressed against his stomach. His hand carding through curly locks, brushing against curved horns as he whispered reassurances to the upset being in his lap. A hand fisting his shirt, a wave of love and warmth and so much worry crashing over him, almost forcing him onto his back-

Percy jerked his hand back, his eyes misting over slightly. He blinked hard, forcing the scrambled, blurry images and feelings away. No. No. Today was going to be a good day. He was going to get to go in the water, to soak in it, not just a quick shower that never lasted long enough. He was going to get to warm himself in the sunlight, and he was not going to let his unwanted ‘gift’ get in his way.

At the goat’s seemingly offended bleat, Percy returned his hand, feeling slightly disconnected from himself, like his mind was lagging ever so slightly behind his body.

Today would be a good day. Percy would swallow down the nausea that swirled in his stomach, and he would keep his mouth shut. Percy would prove that he was good, that he wasn’t the useless little freak Gabe had tossed out onto the pavement after he’d awoken from another night of Seeing, screaming his throat hoarse.

Percy would be good. He had to be, because he didn’t know what he would do if Luke and Annabeth decided he wasn’t.

Chapter Text

Hermes hated Boston.

He hated the way the air always smelled faintly of snow and ice, even during the warmest summers. He hated the way that every other alleyway wavered with the mirage-like magic that surrounded doorways to worlds beyond ‘Midgard.’ He hated that rainbow eyesore that he was occasionally forced to look at. He hated the laissez-faire attitude that had infested this Pantheon, and he hated the way that they had laughed off his warnings.

But above all else, Hermes hated the fact that he was constantly aware of souls that had not found eternal rest.

Valhalla was a spit in the face to the psychopomp; a holding place for souls that kept them aware and somewhat alive, never permitting them true peace. The dead here never quite stayed dead, wandering out into the realms and risking oblivion everytime they did so. It made his scales crawl with discomfort and his domains twist and writhe, the urge to snatch the Warriors of Odin away and lead them to the Underworld nearly overwhelming him every time he had to visit this accursed city.

However, on this particular day, the Norse Pantheon’s methods proved most useful for the deity. Just as he’d been getting ready to leave, the scent of a warm summer's breeze, tinged with divinity and familiarity, drifted towards him, causing him to pause midair and turn his attention to the ground. It seemed to be coming from a nearby library, and Hermes, who was never one to allow his curiosity to go unsated, could not resist the temptation to take a quick peek. In the blink of an eye, he’d taken on his jogger persona and was pushing open the building’s doors in search of the scent’s origin.

It didn’t take too long to find it; the building was mostly empty, but even if it had been packed full, Hermes would have easily picked out the young boy, who couldn’t have been more than fourteen, maybe fifteen summers old before he’d died, that was huddled in the corner. Or, rather, he would have picked out the sword that was currently resting against his chest, hiding its true form.

“Sumarbrander.” he called, pulling the Mist around both himself and the startled young blonde, who flinched back at the sudden appearance of the god, “It’s been some time. Over 2000 years, right?”

The pendant hummed in barely restrained rage, sending out furious insults and warnings as the god slowly stepped closer.

‘Stay back, you lecherous, serpent-tongued manwhore!’ Sumarbrander snarled, and Hermes stilled as he felt a phantom blade touch his throat, ‘You will keep your filthy, thieving hands to yourself, snápr, or I will slice them off!’

Meanwhile, the boy, unaware of what his weapon was saying, gave Hermes a wary look, shifting his body so that it would be easier to run if he needed to. Hermes let him believe that he could; he wanted to talk to him, after all, and mortals tended to become rather poor conversationalists when he had to hunt them down.

“Who- who are you?” he asked, his startlingly haunted grey eyes darting around nervously, “How do you know Jack?”

“Jack?” Hermes repeated, confusion colouring his features until he saw the way the pendant shuddered in recognition, “Ah, of course. A weapon like that sheds its old name when someone worthy claims it as their own. He must like you quite a bit, little einherji, to allow you to give him a new one.”

‘He is MINE!’ the sword screamed, and Hermes can taste the truth in Jack’s words. The ancient weapon has wrapped the boy in many layers of claims, invisible runes branded into his skin, ‘He is mine, and you cannot have him! I will not lose him to the monster that has split the fabric of the realms, and I will not lose him to you! I will not!’

The messenger god was so shocked by Jack’s words, he almost missed the young teen’s muttered response.

“Well, it was more him picking it after he tried to take my name.” he said, sounding slightly annoyed at the sword’s antics.

‘He’ll take more than your name if you’re not careful, little sunbeam.’ Hermes thought to himself, though what he said was; “Oh, where are my manners? I’m Hermes, the messenger of the gods.” 

He extended a hand and stepped forward, inwardly smirking when he felt Jack reluctantly allow him to approach. After all, spilling Hermes’ ichor for the mere act of greeting a new face would hardly earn him any favours. The boy squinted at him, but took his hand, giving it a firm shake, subconsciously flexing his unnatural strength.

“Magnus.” he offered, “Magnus Chase.”

Hermes’ eyes lit up, his feathers shivering in delight as a plan began to form in his mind. Sumarbrander- Jack- knew something about what had happened, but the God of Travelers wasn’t stupid enough to think that the sword would willingly help him. Chances are he was counting on his own ability to cut through things that were never meant to be cut in order to protect his wielder, intent on keeping Magnus here far, far away from the mess that their children had become wrapped up in.

Unfortunately for him, Hermes was not above playing dirty.

He allowed his face to become one of pity and sadness, his whole body seeming to deflate. Magnus picked up on his change immediately, his fingers moving to fiddle nervously with his concealed weapon, which flashed a bright, angry red.

“Oh no,” Hermes gasped, moving a hand over his mouth, “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you! You’re Annabeth’s cousin, right?”

Magnus jumped up at the mention of his cousin, his grey eyes wide with worry.

“Y- yes!” he nodded, “Is she okay? Did something happen to her?”

Hermes gave the teen his best imitation of sadness, which was indistinguishable from his genuine one, unless you knew him well.

“I’m afraid so.” he said softly, sitting down on one of the slightly plush benches that dotted the library foyer and patting the space next to him. Magnus quickly filled the space, ignorant to the spewed curses of the divine weapon that hung from his neck.

‘GetbackgetbackgetbackGETBACKGETBACK GET THE FUCK BACK!’ Jack hissed and spat, his aura bristling like the fur of an agitated cat, ‘Banish whatever inane thoughts fill your empty head, father-of-thieves-and-liars, before I decide to cut that deceitful tongue of yours right out of your mouth!’

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but,” he bit his lip, dramatically looking around before leaning in close, like he was sharing a secret, “Annabeth Chase has gone missing, along with several other Greek demigods.”

Hook, line, and…

Magnus gasped in horror, and Hermes fought back a grin. 

Sinker.

“What?!” he shouted, forgetting that he was in a library. Luckily for him, the Mist was working in his favour, “Oh my- what happened?! Who took them?”

The boy looked eager to fight, to scour the world in search of his cousin, which was exactly what Hermes was hoping for.

The god shrugged weakly, “We don’t know. The whole Pantheon is looking, but we haven’t had any luck so far. Something must have snuck in under our noses, though how such a thing is possible escapes us.” he growled, and this time the emotion was genuine.

“There weren’t any witnesses, and, as far as we know, all their magical weapons have been left behind, even Anaklusmos, which is supposed to be enchanted to never leave its wielder's side for more than a minute.” he nodded towards the pendant, which flashed once more, bright colours warning of retribution most painful if Hermes didn’t stop, “Not unlike ole’ Jack there.”

“Anaklusmos. ” Magnus repeats slowly, the Greek name awkward and heavy on his Norse tongue, “Can it talk, too?”

Hermes chuckled softly, “No, I’m afraid only yours does that.”

Magnus dipped his head for a moment, his brow furrowing. Clearly, he was thinking hard about something. Hermes tilted his head slightly, watching the teen’s microexpressions flit across his face, tiny snapshots of emotion betraying his innermost thoughts.

Come on, you can do it…

Suddenly, Magnus’ head shot up, and the god saw the same bright, excited look his own children got when they came up with a particularly good idea.

“Wait, what if Jack asks Ana- Anakl- ugh- the sword what happened?” the kid offered, grey eyes shining with hope, with the need to be useful. It seemed that all demigods, even dead ones from a different Pantheon, had that innate desire. “Maybe it knows something that could help!”

Hermes grinned, letting his feathered ears flap with what the kid would naturally assume was delight. In reality, it was pure, unadulterated satisfaction. 

“Hey, that’s a great idea!” he beamed, reaching over to ruffle Magnus’ hair, pointedly ignoring the snarled warnings of his pendant, “You sure you and Annabeth aren’t siblings? Because that is a plan worthy of Athena.”

Was he laying it on thick? Absolutely. But it was working, and wasn’t that what really mattered here?

Magnus looked up at Hermes’, eyes shining with disbelief and his cheeks flushed giddy pride. This kid must not get ‘genuine’ praise very often, because he was glowing with excitement. Actually, scratch that, he was just straight up glowing.

‘Oh, Apollo would love this one.’ he thought to himself, smiling, ‘Maybe we can keep him when this mess is resolved. The Chase girl is still owed a favour for helping to defeat Gaea, after all, and Frey’s claim on him is fleeting at best. He’d do well under the House of the Sun’s care.’

“What do you think, buddy?” Magnus asked, picking up his pendant, which was practically shaking with rage, “You up for a little detective work?”

The pendant flashed white, and Hermes instinctively shifted back slightly as the golden blade materialized in Magnus’ hand. Jack’s runes had cooled to a neutral purple, but Hermes knew that it was just a front. 

“Of course, senior!” Jack chirped with false enthusiasm, “You know I’m always up to go and help a maiden in distress!”

‘Anaklusmos has not ceased screaming since her chosen was stolen. Even now, I am forced to hear that horrid sound.’ the sword snarled in Hermes’ mind, and the god felt a sharp pressure drag along his stomach and up to the base of his neck, ‘If my Magnus is taken from me because of your deception, I’ll find his Elf-father and have him enchant your wings to twist themselves off your head as I make mincemeat out of your organs.’

“Great! We should get going, then. Don’t want to waste anymore time, do we?” Hermes grinned, careful not to show too many teeth as he extended a hand to Magnus.

‘Try anything, and my snakes will strangle this boy where he stands. He’ll face oblivion, and you’ll be alone again, stuck with nothing but your own thoughts for another two millennia, or perhaps more.’ Hermes hissed back, ‘Help me get my son back, blade, and your chosen may yet avoid his fate.’

Magnus was destined to die, permanently , in Ragnarök, alongside all his fellow einherjar. However, with things changing like they were, there was a chance for destinies to be changed.

Jack hesitated for a long moment, before retreating with a low growl, the pressure dissipating. He settled in Magnus’ grip as the demigod took Hermes’ hand. 

“Will it be okay for me to go? I mean, my friends have been kinda absent lately, and I don’t want them thinking I’ve been, like, kidnapped or something if they decide to come looking for me.” Magnus said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Hermes waved off his concern, the wings on his feet beginning to flap.

“Don’t worry, Odin knows what’s going on. I’ll leave him a message explaining that you’ll be staying in Olympian territory for now.” he soothed, “Now, close your eyes. I’ve heard that travelling long distances with me can be… slightly nausea-inducing for demigods. Even dead ones.”

Magnus did as he was told, and with a snap of divine energy, they left the library behind.

On Odin’s desk, within the depths of Hotel Valhalla, a scrap of paper popped into existence.

Borrowing one of your einherjar! Will probably have him back within the month.

Maybe.

Thanks in advance!

-Hermes

“Luke?”

Luke lifted his head, setting down the block of wood he’d been carving. Arepo had lent him a small bronze carving knife earlier, and the teenage demigod had decided to practise his whittling skills while Percy had his bath. It’d been some time since he’d gotten to carve, but the memory of what to do had come back almost immediately.

“Yeah bud?” he said, glancing towards the washing room.

“I’m done.” Percy called back, and Luke heard water faintly sloshing as the boy moved about in the stone tub.

Luke pushed himself up, pausing briefly to grab the linen chiton that their host had set out for Percy. It was a creamy white colour, with the collar and sleeves sporting embroidered blue swirls that reminded Luke of cresting waves. He was sure Percy would love it, though he did wonder who it had belonged to, as it was much too small for Arepo. Maybe he had children that had grown up and moved away?

Shaking his head, Luke made his way into the washing room, careful to avert his eyes enough to give Percy his privacy, while still granting himself enough of a view of his surroundings to avoid crashing into something. Snagging a large cloth off one of the small waist height shelves, he handed it to Percy, offering him a helping hand as he wiggled his way out of the tub.

“Goodness, any longer and you would have grown gills.” Luke laughed softly, “Do you feel any better?” he asked, looking down once he was sure Percy had the cloth wrapped around him. He looked better; the flush had receded from his cheeks, and his eyes seemed brighter and more alert.

Percy nodded, his dark curls dripping water onto the floor.

“Mm-hmm. I feel lots better.” he grinned, showing off his pearly whites. One of his baby teeth was missing, giving him an adorably young look.

“That’s good.” Luke said, returning his smile, “Here; dry yourself off and I’ll help you get dressed.” 

He held up the chiton, and Percy’s eyes widened in excitement.

“Cool!” he squeaked, “It’s just like what the old Greek heroes used to wear!”

Luke nodded, glad that the boy didn’t think it was a dress or something.

“That’s right. It’s called a chiton; it’s pretty much the norm around here.” he explained, “Annabeth already has hers on, and once I have my bath, I’ll be wearing one too, so we’ll all match.”

Apparently eager to coordinate outfits with his companions, Percy began to furiously dry himself off. Once he was done, Luke moved to drape the fabric over him, but froze when he caught sight of the boy’s back.

From his shoulders down to the small of his back, intricate scars covered Percy’s skin. Curved clouds flowed down into an expanse of stars, pale spots dotting tan skin that gradually lightened into a bright morning. It was unnatural, impossible; flesh branded in a way that defied the laws of nature. These were scars that no mortal being should bear.

And Luke knew exactly how he’d gotten them.

“The sky.” Luke breathed, horrified as he stared at the pale, raised skin on Percy’s shoulders. 

Why did this happen?! Luke had thought that the grey streak was the only consequence! Did Annabeth have these too? How had he not noticed?

Percy looked over at the sound of his voice, his pupils shrinking when he saw what Luke was looking at.

“Oh,” Percy swallowed, his voice shaking, “I thought I dreamed that.”

Luke and Percy stared at each other for a long moment, neither one knowing what to say.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Percy shifted his towel to cover the scars, looking away from the teen as he cast his gaze to the floor.

“Can- can I get dressed? Please?” he asked, his voice soft and meek, “I don’t wanna think about… that anymore.”

Luke blinked, feeling a pressure beginning to build behind his eyes.

“Yeah- yes, Percy, of course you can. Here, let me-” he rambled, nimble hands working to dress the boy correctly, pinning the chiton up with a bronze broach at Percy’s shoulder, careful not to brush against the scars.

“There, all done.” Luke said, his voice barely above a whisper, 

Percy looked at the strange garment. He didn’t seem nearly as excited as before.

“Um,” Percy fiddled with his broach, still not meeting Luke’s eyes, “can I go play with Annie now?”

“Yeah, go right-” before Luke could finish, Percy bolted past him, little feet nearly slipping on the wet floor, “...ahead.”

Luke stared at the doorway long after Percy had left, his breathing steadily becoming more and more uneven as the pressure increased. Finally, when he could bear it no longer, he slumped down on one of the shelves and pulled his knees up to his chest, pressing his face into the dirtied denim.

“Gods, how did I ever make it to Elysium?” he rasped, his eyes burning with tears as he clawed at his hair, his nails leaving pinpricks of blood on his scalp, “I’m no hero,

I’m a monster.”

Annabeth was feeding a cow when Percy ran into her. Literally.

“Omph! ” she coughed, falling back onto her rump as Percy barreled into her, his arms wrapping around her like a boa constrictor.

“Wha- Percy?” she questioned, earning a muffled whine from the boy. Annabeth quickly reciprocated his hug, drawing him in close to her, though she was mindful of his still damp hair, “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Percy merely shook his head, refusing to move from his spot.

Annabeth rested her head on his shoulder, frowning when she felt him flinch. She held him tighter, content to simply hold him if that was what he needed.

Around them cicadas sang in the trees and swaying grass, birds flying overhead in the clear blue sky. It was a beautiful day, but to Annabeth, it may as well have been dark and stormy. If Percy was this upset, then she felt that the world should reflect that.

“Mooooo."

Percy lifted his head slightly as a young calf stumbled over to the pasture’s fence, its big brown eyes framed by long eyelashes and splashes of snow-white fur. The baby cow was snuffling at the grass just beyond the fenceline, its pink tongue darting out as it tried to reach a patch of yellow dandelions. Unfortunately, the fence prevented it from reaching them, and the animal mooed sadly when it realized this.

Something about the calf stirred fuzzy memories within Annabeth’s mind…

A strange creature, not quite a calf and not quite an eel, floating in a bubble of water. Wide, trusting eyes the colour of chocolate, looking between the demigods, before turning towards something else. Annabeth turned her head and-

Annabeth blinked and rubbed at her eyes. What was that? A part of a dream?

Percy shifted, sniffling and wiping his arm across his face. He reached for the dandelions, and Annabeth leaned over with him so he could keep his hold on her. He gathered up the fluffy yellow flowers and shuffled across the ground with Annabeth in what felt like the world’s most awkward game of Twister. The calf perked up as they approached, its too-big ears flapping against its fuzzy face as Percy stuck out his hand, palm up, and offered it the procured plants.

The calf mooed again, this time in happiness as it licked up the dandelions, causing Percy to giggle at the slimy sensation.

“Ew! ” he laughed, wiping his hands in the grass. Annabeth laughed along with him, up until Percy tried to wipe his now spit and grass covered hand on her. 

She shrieked and pushed him off, dashing away towards the barley fields. Percy grinned and gave chase, obviously feeling better after his bath. Faintly, Annabeth wondered if that had to do with who his dad might be, but she didn’t have time to speculate about that, not with how quickly he was gaining on her. She was, after all, still sick, and unfortunately, being wise did not give her a magical energy boost.

Thankfully, her salvation was in sight.

“Arepo! ” she cried, darting behind the man’s legs as Percy skidded to a halt, his sea-green eyes narrowing as he began to circle her like a shark, “Percy has cow slobber all over his hand and he’s trying to touch me!”

Arepo leaned against his hoe, giving Percy an amused, if slightly tired look.

“Percy,” he chastised lightly, “the sun has yet to even rise a quarter of the way through the sky, surely it is too early for such games?”

Percy tilted his head skyward, as if just now noticing that the sky still sported the deeper shade of blue that came with the beginning of mornings.

“Oh.” he said, before looking back at the duo, “Does that mean we’re having breakfast soon?”

Annabeth made a face at the idea of eating with slobbery hands, but Arepo merely chuckled.

“Yes, ο μικρός Πέρσι. I have a few more chores to tend to, and then we can eat.” he replied, “I will be bringing the horses their oats in a moment, would you like to help? Aglaia is eating for two, and I’m quite sure she’s convinced that she should be allowed to eat twice as many oats, along with all the apples in my orchard.”

“Who’s Aglaia?” Annabeth asked, looking up at Arepo.

“She is one of my mares, and the only one to be in foal this year.” Arepo explained, “Last year was rather stressful, and I fear it took its toll on my poor horses.”

“That’s so sad.” Percy said, having given up trying to chase Annabeth by now.

“What happened that made it so stressful?” Annabeth questioned, following after Arepo as he began to walk towards a small building.

“You know, I am not entirely sure.” Arepo confessed, “It happened after Longest Day; the roads around this area, which had always been blessed by Lord Hermes, suddenly became clogged with roving monsters. My spear keeps all but the worst away, but they were quite happy to turn their attention on the merchants and travellers that used to pass by here. I tried to ride out as often as possible, but my farm demands most of my time and attention, and until they learned that I was quite capable of defending myself and my land, a few beasts tried to poach my livestock.”

Annabeth frowned. Why would Lor- Luke’s dad take his blessing off the roads?

Seeing the disgruntled expression on her face, Arepo reached down and patted Annabeth’s head lightly, “Do not grow cross with the gods, young one; it will only invite ruin to your life.”

‘Maybe.’ Annabeth thought crossly, ‘But I’m allowed to think whatever I want, and I think they’re being jerks!’

 “Here, focus on something other than trying to figure out why the gods like to test us.” Arepo said, dipping a feedbag into a large burlap sack before handing it to Annabeth, “This is part of Aglaia’s feed for the morning. Give her this, and she’ll love you forever.”

Annabeth huffed as she adjusted the bag in her arms, “Where’s the rest?”

“In the hayloft. Loukás is going to help me with that part, since it involves tools that are just a bit too big for little hands.” Arepo replied.

‘Loukás?’ Annabeth’s brow furrowed for a moment, before smoothing back out, ‘Oh, that must be what Luke’s full name would be here.’

“We can help! We’re plenty big!” Percy insisted, puffing up his chest. However, Annabeth noticed a slightly uncomfortable look flash across his face at the mention of Luke’s name. It disappeared as quickly as it had come, so she resolved not to ask about it just yet.

“Ah, but if you are helping with the hay, who would bring the horses their grain?” Arepo replied, raising a brow, “If you would like to help more, perhaps you could brush their coats after breakfast? I’ve been rather busy lately, and I haven’t had the time to give them a proper grooming.”

“We can do that! Right, Percy?” Annabeth asked, looking over at the dark haired boy. Percy nodded, grinning when Arepo handed him his own feedbag.

“This is Kallippos’ food. Aglaia’s stall is right next to his, and all you need to do is loop the strap behind their ears and make sure it fits on their muzzle properly. They’re greedy beasts, and they recognize the bags, so they should lower their heads for you.” the farmer said, “The stables are just beyond the cattle pasture; you’ll know you’ve got the right building when you see a horseshoe above the door, or if you can smell the horses. If anything happens, just shout for me. Sound carries quite well here in the valley.”

“Okay! ” Annabeth and Percy chimed as one. Annabeth liked it when they did that.

The duo made their way out of the storage shed, careful not to let the oats and grain slosh out of the bags. Once Arepo was out of earshot, Annabeth leaned in closer to Percy, concern colouring her features, “Is Luke why you're upset?”

Percy startled slightly, fumbling his feedbag before quickly catching it.

“W- what?” he questioned, looking at his friend with a slightly guilty expression, “No!”

“Percy,” Annabeth replied flatly, “you suck at lying.”

Percy held her stare for a few moments, before the intensity got to be too much and he glanced away, suddenly finding the dirt to be very interesting.

“Is he being a butthead?” Annabeth asked, “‘Cause if he is, I can bite him for you.”

That got a wobbly smile out of Percy, before he sighed and shook his head.

“No, he’s not being a butthead. I think I’m being a butthead.” he admitted, “I ran away from him.”

“Why?” Annabeth didn’t understand; Percy loved hanging out with Luke, especially because the blonde had been away scavenging a lot more lately. Ever since Thalia had left to go and sell some of the stuff Luke stole, the teen had needed to go out more and more, since they couldn’t work in shifts.

Was- was Thalia here, too? Or was she still back in the present, unaware that they weren’t?

Oblivious to Annabeth’s sudden crisis, Percy began to explain, which drew the girl’s attention back to him.

“I gots lots of scars on my back, but not the ones I used to have.” he said softly, “I don’t ‘member where I got ‘em, only little bits of fuzzy memories. I thought it was just a dream, but they’re real, and I got scared because I think Luke knows what they are, but I don’t.”

Percy didn’t turn his head to look at Annabeth, but his eyes slid over to meet her own all the same.

“He was talking in his guilty voice, like when he accidentally cut Thalia when they were training that one time.” he whispered, and the world around them seemed to quiet along with him, “Why would Luke feel guilty, Annie?”

A cold mass seemed to wrap itself around Annabeth’s stomach at Percy’s question. There was something about the way he said it that made her feel like she knew the answer, that there was something important that she was forgetting, but when she tried to chase after the thought, static filled her mind. There was only one thing she could parse out through the foggy haze; golden eyes, bright and burning right through her.

Annabeth grit her teeth and willed the image away, her mind racing to repress the broken, disjointed memory. Or… was it just a figment of her imagination? A nightmare cooked up by too many nights spent being hunted by monsters that crumbled into golden dust when they died. Yes, yes that sounded right. That idea didn’t make her tummy hurt, or cause her arms to get all goosebump-y.

“He probably just feels bad that you got hurt, Percy. Luke would never hurt us; you know that.” Annabeth said, giving him the best reassuring smile her little seven year-old face could make, “Our heads are all fuzzy and messed up right now because we’re sick, remember?”

Percy looked unsure for a moment, before he nodded, looking a little embarrassed and ashamed.

“You’re right, ‘beth. I guess I’m just being a seaweed brain, huh?” he said, lowering his head.

“I’m always right, you dork.” Annabeth replied, nudging his shoulder with her own, “Just like you’re always a seaweed brain. Just say sorry for running off next time you see Luke, and I’m sure everything will go back to normal!”

Percy nodded, and the two fell into a more lighthearted conversation as they made their way into the stables.

Ares wasn’t sure what he was meant to do here.

He was leaning against a wall in what his annoying drunk of a brother referred to as ‘the Big House’, watching through his shades as his children slept. They were positioned in a semicircle on the floor, mats and pillows all pushed together. His youngest kids were tucked in behind their older siblings, hidden from sight by a wall of blankets and slumbering bodies. One was still awake; his daughter, Sandra, who was talking to one of Hermes’ brats, who for some reason was sitting near his brats. 

They hadn’t noticed him yet, but that was intentional. The God of War had split his consciousness a few hours ago; one part was out searching for any sign of his missing daughter, one was patrolling the camp boarders in the form of a monstrous boar, and the other was here, trying to decide whether or not he wanted to reveal himself.  

Ever since he’d learned that Clarisse, his fiercest warrior, had been snatched right out of the one place where Ares was allowed to protect her, the urge to watch over his remaining children had buried itself under his skin, latching on and refusing to let go until he finally relented and appeared within the camp’s borders.

“You know, most dads don’t just stare at their kids like a creep when they visit.”

Ares arched a brow as his brother appeared next to him, a glass of wine in his hand. Ever since their father had lifted Dionysus’ restriction, the god had been drinking heavily. Ares supposed he understood; if Zeus had taken away his ability to fight for decades, and then suddenly gave it back, he’d be indulging as much as possible too.

“And most babysitters don’t drink on the job, yet here we are.” Ares snarked back, smirking when Dionysus scowled at him.

“Whatever.” the God of Wine muttered into his drink, “If you’re here to do your bi-century wellness check on your spawn, make it quick. Things are about to get real messy here, and I doubt you’ll want to be around for it.”

Ares frowned.

“I check on them more than that.” he protested, “I just don’t wanna coddle ‘em. It’ll make them soft. And what do you mean ‘messy?’”

Dionysus tilted his glass towards the hearth, and Ares let his gaze follow. There was a satyr lying on the floor before the flames, a furry oddity amongst a sea of demigods. The war god squinted at the young creature. He looked familiar…

“Mr. Underwood over there came clattering up onto the porch a few hours ago. Apparently, he managed to connect to our little saviour boy through their empathy link, said he was alive and all that junk.” Dionysus explained, and Ares let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Oh, and apparently we need to contact the Morai for help.”

Ares choked, turning to look at his nonchalant younger brother with a mix of terror and disbelief on his face. 

“What?!” he snarled, the flames in his eyes licking at his skin as he stared down Dionysus, “Have you lost your fucking mind?!”

“I’m in the business of making others lose theirs, actually.” Dionysus replied casually, swirling his wine.

Ares snatched the glass and hurled it at the wall, causing it to shatter on impact. Bits of glass and dark wine splattered against the wooden boards, dripping down to the floor. The sleeping children all shrieked and startled at the sound, bleary eyes shooting open as they leapt up from their makeshift beds, little heads whipping around as they searched for the source of the sound. 

Dionysus turned to his sibling and bared his teeth, his purple eyes flashing dangerously. It was a clear warning that Ares was toeing a boundary line, one that would incite a response if crossed.

“Watch. Yourself. In. My. House. Brother.” Dionysus hissed, pupils swirling into flickering slits, “These kids have enough problems to deal with without you inviting danger into their only safe place.”

Ares stepped up to Dionysus, his own sharpened teeth flashing in the firelight.

“You are not bringing those ancient hags anywhere near my kids.” Ares growled lowly, “I’ve already lost one; I’m not risking the rest of them!”

Thorny vines coiled around Dionysus’ neck like snakes, sharp and deceptively quick. The God of Madness glowered at Ares, his own growl building in his chest.

“Those ‘ancient hags’ are our best bet at getting our children back, you thick-skulled moron!” Dionysus snapped, “If you actually listened, for once in your life, you’d know that I didn’t say that I wanted them here, just that we needed to contact them!”

The other god sneered at Ares, wine red and magenta markings flickering over his skin, “But noooo, instead you decided to continue your lifelong streak of fucking things up for others. Tell me, brother, do you make a habit of throwing things at your children?”

Rage, explosive and all-consuming, roared to life in Ares’ veins at the accusation. He lunged for his sibling, only to be caught in the gut by a large vine. Reality distorted around him, and suddenly he was skidding across wet grass, his back smashing into the thick trunk of a tree. War incarnate screamed out into the stormy night as a flash of divine light materialized before him, carrying the taste of madness and ecstasy. His own true form bled out, brutality and bloodshed filling the air like smothering smoke. He could hear nothing but the sound of weapons clashing and blood being wrenched from veins and arteries as it spilled from slit throats and gaping chest cavities. 

The two beings engaged each other, ichor smattering against the grass and staining the forest as claws and tusks ripped and tore at flesh that knit itself back together as soon as it was split. In that moment, all traces of the mortal facade they put up day after day disappeared, and they became little more than concepts, beliefs, and wild beasts that snapped and snarled with too many teeth. The plant life around the warring gods burned away and regrew in twisting, unnatural shapes, over and over in a vicious cycle. There were words being spoken, but any mortal creature that managed to overhear without being incinerated would only hear the screams of all those who had skirted too close to insanity and had become trapped in its inescapable grip, or the gurgling cries of wounded soldiers as they called for their mothers as they succumbed to the pain and went weeping into Thanatos’ hold.

“I would NEVER harm my children! They are my greatest pride! I have leveled cities and pulled free the guts of men in their name!” War snarled, flames leaping from his jaws, “Who are you to question my devotion to them?!”

“Who am I? WHO AM I?!” Madness shrieked back, his body twisting in a helix of liquid and grapeflesh, “I am the one who has always been their first brush with divinity, the one who lays claim over all who cross the border! I am the one who tastes their fears and sorrows as their minds are shaped by the trauma that comes as a consequence of their birth! I am the one who is forced, time and time and time again, to watch them die preventable deaths!”

War reared as arrows, crafted of curses made on his name, pierced his hide. He saw his children, his farrow, cleaning each other’s wounds. A girl, Clarisse, War knew his favoured child when he saw her, alwaysalwaysalways, was fighting back tears as she helped to prepare a burial shroud. It was a light pink colour, decorated with doves, roses, and a slain drakon. There were others, already made, at her side, smaller and dark red in colour. War could taste the blood of slain warriors, and the mourning and guilt of those that survived.

“It should have been me.” Clarisse whispered, clutching the burial shroud with trembling hands, “Ares damn it, it should have been me.”

War bared his fangs, barking out his dismay and refusal as he realized that he could still feel Clarisse’s guilt. It clung to him like a second skin, forcing him to acknowledge the pain his daughter still carried. He’d helped to cause this; he had allowed Kronos to get into his head, whispering tantalizing promises of blood and ichor both being spilled. He should have killed the Lightning Thief the second he realized who it was, should have never agreed to keep ahold of his father and uncle’s symbols of power.

He should have known better than to challenge Madness here, of all places. What was he thinking? When had he decided that he constantly had to fight?

“They’re afraid of you, you know.” Madness hissed in his ear, laughing shrilly as he danced out of War’s range, “Every. Single. One. Even your favoured pup cowers when you raise your voice or hand.”

War exhaled a plume of flame, his ichor bubbling like lava. Hephaestus may be the God of Fire, but him and War both run boiling hot when they get mad.

“Tell me, what happened to the god who would strip the flesh off the bones of those who wronged his descendants?” his brother asked tauntingly, the air rippling and shifting as leopards and tigers ran along arching vines that coiled around War, “What happened to the father who became the centre of the very first trial in history after his daughter was defiled? The father who took the son of the Sea and drowned him in his own blood after desexing him? When did that father decide that he wished to threaten his sons and daughters instead of protecting them?”

War turned and blasted the vines with fire, roaring as he watched it spread. Vulture wings sprouted from his back and began to fan the flames, carrying their owner high above the gold-tinged earth. Madness bared many fangs in displeasure, but he followed nonetheless; curved claws hauling the god up into the canopy.

“Where is Love’s lover? Where is the patron of soldiers coming home from the battlefield, the patron of avenging fathers?” War faltered slightly, the haze of bloodlust flickering as the sound of rejoicing families reached his ears.

“Where is the general that used to walk in step with mortal soldiers, just to feel the comradery that comes from being part of a phalanx?” Madness didn’t hiss or jeer this time. He could see the cracks beginning to form, and knew that he had almost won.

“Where is the older brother that used to love me?” 

War jolted hard at those words, wings forgetting to flap until the familiar swoop of gravity tugged at his gut. The two gods stared at each other, burning red meeting swirling magenta. Madness tilted his head slightly, curved bull horns brushing against the rain-soaked leaves of his tree. He was unused to seeing War so quiet, and hadn’t quite been expecting this reaction.

Suddenly, there were talons around Madness, pushing him away from his perch. The god flailed, caught off guard, before strong arms enveloped him, forcing him back into his more stable form as both he and War hit the ground, his brother taking the brunt of the damage.

Dionysus groaned, blinking as his true form was tucked away once more. Shifting slightly, he found that he was being held by Ares, the older god’s wings wrapped around him just as much as his arms were. Ares lowered his head down into Dionysus’ curls, and the immortal shivered in surprise when he felt a dampness that was distinctly different from the rain touch his scalp.

“You’re my baby brother, of course I love you.” Ares said, in a voice so soft, Dionysus had to almost strain to hear him, “Why would you ever think otherwise?”

Dionysus snorted.

“You have done an absolutely shit job at showing it.” he replied, his voice sounding distinctly more shaky then it should be, “You didn’t even say anything when I started fading. None of you did!”

Ares jerked back, cupping Dionysus’ face as he stared at him in pure horror. 

“When you fucking what?!” he choked, “Dionysus, I- when the fuck did you start fading?!

Dionysus stared at his brother, confusion clear on his face.

“When did I- uh, like, a year into my punishment?” he said slowly, like it should be obvious, “Father dearest stripped me of my Primary Domain, and there hasn’t been much to celebrate lately, nor any theater performances at this fucking nightmare summer camp. And ecstasy? When kids are always losing friends or siblings, or sitting unclaimed in their own father’s cabin? Forget it! With me not being born immortal, I think it had more of an effect on me than it would have any of you, but dear ol’ dad hasn’t ever done this to any of you, so I’m not too sure.”

Ares tried to make sense of what he was hearing, but it was like the information refused to sink in. Dionysus, his youngest godly sibling, fading? Without anyone noticing? How- how could he have missed this?

“Dio,” he touched his forehead to his brother’s, making sure he was focusing on what Ares was saying, “Dio I am so fucking sorry. I swear on the River Styx that I had no idea you were suffering so much. Truly, I don’t think anyone did; we just thought you were grumpy because you had to watch the brats sober.”

Ares brushed his wings against Dionysus, reaffirming his claim on his brother. He, no, they needed that reassurance now more than ever, if the desperate vines that wrapped around his feathered appendages were anything to go by. 

“You thought a massive shift in my personality was me being grumpy? ” Dionysus drawled, thoroughly unimpressed, “This family sucks. ”

Ares laughed slightly, the sound coarse and rough, “Yeah, it does. But it's the only one we’ve got.”

The war god hesitated for a moment, before asking; “You are okay now, right? I don’t need to go and get father?”

“Not sure father would help me anyways, but no, I’m fine.” Dionysus waved him off, “A couple of the campers figured out ways around father’s rule a few years back. Apparently, it doesn’t count if I eat the wine, like in a chocolate. Also, the Stoll brats put on a theatrical rendition of your beach fight with Jackson for my birthday. Best present I ever got.”

Ares groaned at the reminder of his loss against the demigod.

“Really not sure why I let myself get goaded into that fight.” he muttered, before eyeing Dionysus again, “And father would help you, Di. He actually likes you.”

“Debatable.” the God of Wine made a so-so motion with his hand, “I’m fairly certain father only really loves Athena, and perhaps Artemis.”

Thunder exploded overhead, and the two gods remembered that they were currently sitting in the middle of the, now partially destroyed and remade, woods, covered in dirt and ichor, and out in the middle of a raging thunderstorm.

“...We should probably get back inside.” Dionysus said, cringing as he watched the morning sky remain dark, illuminated only by the wreaths of lightning that cracked open the clouds overhead, “The kiddos probably think we’re out here killing each other.”

Ares felt hot shame flush through him as he remembered how their fight had started.

“Yeah, I- I need to apologize to my kids.” he said, pulling away from his brother as he got to his feet “They deserve the father I was, not whatever I’ve allowed myself to become.”

“They do.” Dionysus said, his tone firm, “They all do, and they always did.”

Ares nodded, taking a deep, calming breath. He focused on his innermost core, the very essence of his being, and winced at the out of control flames of hatred and anger that were consuming everything.

‘Whoooo boy. Okay, no more of that. ’ he thought, willing the flames to die down. The anger would never fully leave; it was a part of him, but he could control it, instead of allowing it to control him.

When he opened his eyes, they had cooled down enough to show their true appearance; vibrant ruby red irises with oval-like pupils. Dionysus nodded in affirmation, giving him a lazy thumbs up.

“Better.” he nodded, clapping his hands, “Now! Let’s go show the kids that we didn’t murder each other in the woods, yeah?”

Chapter Text

A quiet, hummed tune and childish giggling were the only sounds that filled the small village of Aciri. The streets, slick with spilled crimson blood, glittered like rivers of rubies in the morning light. Corpses of both townsfolk and animals alike littered the village, bloated and leaking. The unfortunate few that had not yet succumbed to their injuries dragged themselves away from the town centre, terror and pain fighting for dominance in their fever-swollen minds. They wouldn’t get far; not with the way their skin peeled with every movement, their reddish-purple flesh catching easily on the slightest bump or ridge, tearing off in gory chunks.

A man sat in the town centre, a woman draped over his lap and a gaggle of small children sitting at his feet. The children were playing some sort of nonsensical game, counting small stones and sticks as they arranged them into patterns and piles that made sense only to them. The man smiled warmly at them, happily accepting the smooth, shiny stones and slightly crumpled flowers they presented to him. It was a far cry from the lavish jewels and plump cattle he was used to receiving, but they were given in genuine care, and that made them even more valuable. 

Still humming, the man turned his attention back to the woman. Her hazel eyes were beginning to turn glassy, and the man tutted scoldingly. With a faint tap of his fingers, awareness returned to her gaze, her pupils constricting as she tried to speak. Of course, that was a rather difficult task to complete when one’s trachea was split open, blood oozing down in rivets as her heart was forced to beat once more.

“Now, now, none of that.” the man scolded lightly, his hum continuing even as he spoke, “I’m not done with my painting, and you can’t go without seeing it completed. It should only take me a few more hours; surely you can wait that long, right?”

The woman tried to respond, but all that came out was a gurgling wheeze.

The man dipped his fingers into her exposed throat, coating them with her fresh, warm blood. Once he was satisfied, he reached for his canvas, gently brushing his fingers against its surface. Every stroke was carefully planned and executed; you didn’t get a second try with his chosen paint, so each decision had to be considered before he committed to them. 

“Hmmm,” the man squinted at his painting, appraising it with much scrutiny, “needs something… a bit darker.”

Reaching down, he slipped his bloodied hand into the woman’s exposed torso. The man’s nails extended into curved claws, and he sliced through her liver as easily as one might slice through well-cooked fat. Popping the organ into his mouth, the man chewed slowly, deciding to watch the children play their strange little game while his teeth shredded the flesh into something usable.

They had no idea what he was doing, of course. To them, he was simply enjoying a bushel of berries while he sang them a wordless song, or perhaps some strips of pork or beef. Either way, their young eyes would never see the truth, because that was what he had willed the second he’d appeared in this wretched village. The children were innocent; they didn’t need to witness their parents and neighbours writhe in agony as disease claimed them, nor did they need to know that it was him who had caused the sudden onslaught of death and decay.

A little girl, blonde with eyes the colour of a snail’s shell, looked up from her game and met his gaze, and the man conceited that one of them might know what had happened. She was, after all, the reason he’d come here. 

When the girl, Cora, he recalled, went back to lining twigs up in order from shortest to longest, the man refocused his attention on his painting. Dipping his head down, he ran his stained tongue across the hemp fibre in neat, careful swirls. Dark red liquid, almost maroon, really, and thickened slightly by his saliva, dripped over strokes of red, pink, and brown. The man tasted the salty, metallic tinge of blood and the distinct gaminess that came with raw organ meat, felt the roughness of the canvas and the already dried trails of ‘paint’ that coated the canvas, and he smiled, rich life fluid and liquified liver dripping down his chin and splattering onto the barely alive woman on his lap.

“Finally found some inspiration, brother?”

The man pulled away from his canvas, golden eyes peering out from beneath thick eyelashes. A woman stepped gracefully through the mess of blood and rotting flesh, silver hair cascading over her bare body. Black doe ears swiveled towards the groaning near-cadavers that still managed to draw breath, but she paid them no mind. Instead, she focused on her twin, and on the blissfully ignorant children that sat on the ground before him.

“Of course.” he beamed with bloodied teeth, shifting slightly so that there was room for his sister to sit, “You know it never escapes me for long.”

“Nothing does, dear Apollo.” she agreed, setting down the large bow that was strung across her back. Her silvery, near white eyes found the half flayed woman, and she tilted her head in curiosity, “Pray tell, Sun Brother, what did these mortals do to incur your wrath?”

Apollo titled his head towards the children, his golden curls swaying slightly as a warm breeze blew through the silent village, “They thought it wise to attempt to marry off the child of one of my late priestesses before she’d even reached her sixth summer. Her aunt bartered her hand to one of the village elders, asking for a bride price of six cattle and eight goats.”

His burning gaze flicked down to the haggard woman still struggling to draw breath, his fangs still dripping as he ran his tongue across them, “I doubt she’d find much use for them now, seeing as their bodies are being rotted and devoured by my newest sickness.” 

His twin curled her lip, showing off the evidence of a successful hunt. 

“Strange, it’s usually only the men that are afflicted with such disgusting ideas.” Artemis mused bitterly, “What will you do with the children?”

“Well,” Apollo reached his non-bloodied hand down and tucked a golden buttercup into Cora’s hair, who smiled at the god in the way only children can, “I was hoping they could join your Hunt, dear Moon Sister. Cora would have made a lovely priestess, but with how things went today…”

“You see the fear already beginning to bloom.” Artemis finished, nodding her head, “Banish your worries, Apollo, I shall make them my Teeth, and they shall run with me forever, free from the sordid gaze of man.”

Artemis slipped down from the stone, her pelt pooling around her as she folded her legs neatly beneath her. Cora, who had always been able to see just a little bit more than her peers, noticed the goddess first. She set down her twigs of oak and birch and shyly stepped towards Artemis, who smiled with lips unstained and reached out to cup the girl’s rounded cheeks. There was an unspoken conversation, a promise made to the Hunt Chieftess to never stray from her pure, moonlit path, and when the sealing words were spoken, Artemis’ eyes flashed luminous white. Suddenly, she was holding a young she-wolf, silver all over, save for the single golden patch of fur on her forehead, shaped like the petals of the flower Apollo had gifted her.

“Run along, little buttercup. My Fang will be waiting for you at the forest’s edge, and your playmates will follow soon after.” she instructed, and the pup barked in affirmation before dashing off down the blood-soaked road.

Apollo watched with a soft smile and no small amount of sadness as each of the children shed their human forms and pranced off to join their Hunt Siblings in the woods. Once the last little tail had left his sight, the God of the Sun let himself sigh.

“It’s getting worse.” he murmured, absentmindedly twirling the woman’s guts around his fingers, “This is the third time this year that the mortals have so brazenly acted against my will. Honestly, it’s like they want to be smote.”

“Ever since Father decreed that we would be limiting our contact with them, the mortals have grown overconfident in their actions and lazy in their worship.” Artemis growled, her wicked fangs flashing as she bared them at the dying woman, who’s insides Apollo was using as both a reference and a source of painting supplies, “They forget that we still hear and see their actions, even if we do not show ourselves to them.”

“Indeed.” Apollo mused, curving his hand so that his claws snagged on the intestines currently slithering out of his hold. He’d long since shredded the mesentery, and was simply playing around with the long coils of organ, “Though I think a certain someone’s petty refusal to watch over the roads might have something to do with the lowered amount of sacrifices lately.”

He frowned up at the sky for a long moment, before he huffed in annoyance and turned back to his painting, drawing the very organs he was holding currently.

“Is he still refusing to come out?” Artemis shook her head, her hair turning the reflected sunlight into soft moonlight, “I told you not to pick a fight with him. For all he pretends not to care, we all know he’s sensitive, especially around the Summer Solstice.”

“I was only teasing!” Apollo pouted, “Everything I said was in jest, I did not mean to truly upset him.”

“Well clearly you did.” Artemis growled, causing her twin to bow his head, “Would you react well if someone started needling you around the time when you lost Asclepius?”

Apollo’s eyes flashed with pain at the mention of his late son, a soft whine escaping his chest.

“...No. No, I wouldn’t.” he agreed solemnly, “I will apologize in sincerity when I see him on our star sister’s birthday. No matter how upset he is, he would not dare hide himself away on that day.”

“Good. My Teeth and I enjoy a good chase, but the monsters are becoming both bolder and stronger with every passing day, and we cannot hunt down every beast that threatens travelers and merchants.” Artemis said, before getting to her feet, “Have fun finishing your painting, brother. Oh, and do remember to watch your claws; you’re tearing the canvas.”

Apollo cursed as Artemis sprang away with a laugh, her body becoming even more slim and graceful as she returned to her doe form, long legs allowing her to effortlessly bound over the various rotting corpses. The God of the Sun shot a withering glare towards his now ruined painting, his elongated nails having pressed too harshly against the fabric. He scoffed in frustration.

“Ugh, and I was so close to being done, too.” he said, voice dripping with disappointment. Head flopping back dramatically, he reached back into the woman’s chest, his hand cupping her fluttering heart as he pushed more of his healing light into her.

“Oh well,” Apollo felt a grin begin to pull at the corners of his mouth as he gazed down at his one remaining victim, feeling a hot rush of glee fill him when he saw horrified understanding in her eyes, “I suppose I’ll just have to start over.”

Nico sat on the ground next to the remains of their campfire, his knees pulled up to his chest as the events of the previous night played on repeat in his mind. Will was sitting behind him, their backs pressed together and their fingers interlaced. They didn’t speak; no one did, because if someone spoke, it would mean facing what they’d just witnessed, and none of them were ready for that.

It was almost funny, in a deeply fucked up sort of way, that this was what broke them. Everyone here had bore witness to countless acts of violence, and many of them had slain monsters with gritted teeth that turned into a grin of triumph. Hell, they’d even killed demigods, children that they’d either grown up alongside, or had never had the opportunity to get to know before they’d run them through with their swords, or watched them plummet to their deaths when Percy brought down that bridge.

However, there was a certain distance that they all allowed themselves to imagine existed between themselves and the people and monsters they slew. Monsters were easy; even if it had a face, memories, friends; at the end of the day, they were still monsters, and monsters wanted demigods dead just as much as they wanted monsters dead. 

Demigods… those were harder to distance yourself from, especially when it was someone you knew, someone who had, once, been kind to you, had perhaps shared a table with you, or had sat by your side at the sing-along while you both sang your little hearts out. You really had to be able to stop seeing a fellow human being, and start seeing someone who would kill you and everyone you loved if you didn’t kill them first. Cousins and siblings had to become monsters that bled instead of falling apart into dust, because your mind would break if you allowed yourself to think about it for too long. You had to take all the feelings that threatened to overwhelm you, all the memories of what you’d been forced to do, and put them in a box. Then, you had to bury that box deep, deep down inside yourself, where it couldn’t hurt you anymore.

Nico wasn’t really good at doing that; being able to feel when someone died probably didn’t help, but he’d been managing okay. The nightmares hadn’t gone away, but they didn’t come every night, and that was progress.

He had a feeling that he’d be having nightmares about something else for a while.

As if sensing an opportunity to make the situation even worse, Nico’s stomach growled loudly, a complete juxtaposition to the nausea that seemed to sit like lead in his guts. Will turned to look back at him, his usually lightly tanned skin having paled significantly. He looked as terrible as Nico felt, and the gentle way he pressed their foreheads together in solidarity told the young boy that his boyfriend was suffering from the same problem.

Suddenly Clarisse, who had been staring off into the distance ever since the sun came up, stood up from her place on the grassy plain, grabbed the thorn Pollux had been growing, gathered up some of the grape vines, and set off towards the woods. Nico watched her walk away for a moment, before his brain kicked into gear and reminded him, very rudely mind you, that the woods had not but a few hours ago been home to a pack of wolves and their fucked up cannibal doe-goddess who was definitely not Lady Artemis, because Nico really really couldn’t handle that right now.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who came to that conclusion, because their entire group seemed to jerk to alertness at Clarisse’s sudden decision to wander off into the wilderness. Thalia was on her feet before Nico even managed to get his fingers untangled, quickly stumbling after the other girl.

“Clarisse, where are you going?” the daughter of Zeus called, wincing as she forced her stiff limbs to move quick enough to catch up with Clarisse.

“Hunting.” was the flat response given.

“You don’t need to!” Pollux assured her, wobbling slightly as he stood, “Me and Cas can make more grapes and stuff, we just-”

He yawned, unbidden, and rubbed at his eyes, which sported heavy bags.

“Just give us a chance to catch a quick power nap, and we’ll grow breakfast.”

Clarisse gave no indication that she heard him, or, if she did, she simply didn’t care. Thalia managed to snag her arm before she could make it past the treeline, giving Nico and a bleary eyed Will a chance to catch up. She froze at the touch, her lips twitching into a defensive sneer for a second, before she schooled her features and pulled her arm back.

“We can’t live off of berries and shit forever.” she said, reaching up to snag a branch off of one of the nearby trees, “Eventually, we’re gonna need protein, and I don’t know about you, but I haven’t seen any grocery stores yet.”

Clarisse set about securing the thorn to the branch; a makeshift spear, Nico realized.

“Besides,” she grunted, holding the vines with her teeth as she worked, “we need water. Today. We aren’t going to survive out here if we collapse in a few hours from dehydration. Chances are, if there’s game, then there’s also a water source somewhere.”

“Clarisse, wait,” Nico stepped forward, feeling unstable even as he walked over flat terrain, “you can’t go out there! What if-”

He swallowed, eyes instinctively searching for any signs of silver, for any flicker of movement.

“What if they’re still around?” he whispered, having to force the words out.

A spark of fear seemed to enter Clarisse’s eyes at the mention of those godsforsaken beasts, but she just as quickly snuffed it out.

“Then they’ll meet the sharp end of this. ” she declared, holding out her newly finished spear. It didn’t look all that great; Nico was actually fairly certain that if it was used more than once, it would fall apart, but he didn’t really feel like getting punched on top of everything that had happened thus far, so he didn’t tell Clarisse that.

“That’s a stupid plan.” 

Apparently, Thalia had no such qualms.

The punk girl crossed her arms and met Clarisse’s glare without fear. Nico took a step back. They all knew that both Thalia and Clarisse had inherited their father’s legendary tempers, and no one wanted to see what would happen if these two actually got into a fight.

Thank the gods for the twins, who remembered that they were the oldest members of the group, and thus had some form of authority.

“Okay, let’s not start attacking each other just yet.” Pollux said, grabbing Clarisse by the scruff, who snarled and thrashed defiantly, “I know we all look young, but could you at least try to act your age?” Castor snatched the back of Thalia’s jacket before she could duck away, drawing a displeased grumble from the lieutenant. 

…Wait a minute.

Before Thalia, who had opened her mouth to protest, could get anything out, Nico pointed at her and asked; “Thalia, where’s your circlet?”

Thalia froze.

She blinked after a moment, looked at Nico, and then blinked again. Once she’d processed his question, her hands flew up to her hair, feeling for the shining band of silver that should have been there. It was a symbol of her allegiance to the Moon, the physical manifestation of her rank, her immortality. It should have been as immovable as the stars, yet Nico saw no trace of it.

“What the fuck? ” she whispered, running her fingers through her dirtied black curls, “That’s- that’s impossible! I literally can’t take it off, and I sure as fuck didn’t break my vow!”

Nico caught sight of Will as he threw his hands in the air, a mix of fear and exasperation on his face.

“I told you! It’s fucking divine punishment!” he cried, looking close to tears.

Will began to pace, his hands wildly gesticulating to nothing.

“I knew I recognized that silver band on that wolf’s head! It’s the same one you always wore after you joined Lady Artemis!” he exclaimed, pointing at Thalia, “We’re trapped in some- some sick fucking nightmare! Your immortality is gone! Your protections are gone! You’ll age and starve just like the rest of us!”

Will sunk down, putting his head in his hands as Nico watched in paralyzing shock as the crushing reality of their situation crashed down upon the blonde all at once. Clearly, Will wasn’t handling things well, hadn’t been handling things well, and now the final straw had been placed upon the poor camel’s back.

“We have no help, no weapons, no shelter, no food, no water, and no way home! We don’t know where or, hell, maybe when we are!” Will seemed to crumple onto the ground, and Nico dropped down out of instinct, grabbing ahold of one of Will’s hands as the rest of the demigods, who’d been stunned into silence, stayed frozen in place, “The stars are all wrong here. There are blank spaces in the night where constellations should be, but aren’t. The Twins, The Bears, Zoë; they’re all missing!”

Nico looked up, though the blue of day had long since replaced the illuminated dark. Had there been stars missing? He’d been too focused on Will, and on keeping his breakdown silent and unnoticed, to look anywhere but at the ground.

“We’re all gonna die here.” Will moaned, fully curling in on himself as he gave into his need to cry, “We’re all gonna die, and I can’t help any of you! It’s- It’s the fucking war all over again!”

The war.

The war.

The war. The deaths. Apollo’s cabin, empty save for a handful of survivors. So many golden burial shrouds.

Will’s box was opening, and Nico didn’t know how to make it stay closed.

Suddenly, there was a body next to Nico’s, and the son of Hades flinched, a tiny growl escaping him on instinct. Clarisse didn’t move from her kneeling position, but she made sure Nico could see her every slow, careful movement. She set down her spear and reached her hands under Will’s armpits, pulling him up slowly into a sitting position. He blinked at her through fat tears, his breaths still coming in hiccuping wheezes.

“Come on, Solace, up you get.” she said, her voice uncharacteristically soft, “Have your crisis while you walk, remember?”

She hauled the crying boy up to his feet, nudging her spear over to Nico, who fumbled with it for a moment before finding his grip. Will didn’t look capable of walking on his own, so Clarisse looped an arm around his shoulders and let him lean against her. Nico followed close behind, wondering what the hell the daughter of Ares thought she was doing with his sobbing boyfriend.

“You might not be able to get us home, but there are things you can help with. Things that will help us stay alive.” she said, forcing as much confidence and reassurance into her voice as she could, “Let’s start with water. You’re gonna need it after all this blubbering you’re doing.”

Clarisse turned to Nico, who felt ridiculous and young and useless standing there holding a too-big spear, dressed in a too-big aviator jacket who’s sleeves dipped over his hands.

“Come on, death boy. Your boyfriend is gonna want you around when he’s able to think clearly again.” she said, “Also, I’m not babysitting him on the way back.”

“Why are you making him come with you?” Nico asked quietly, falling into step beside her. 

Off to his right, he heard Thalia mutter something about nobody listening to her before a fourth set of footsteps started after them, followed soon after by a fifth and sixth. Guess the whole pack was coming along, then.

“Because he's going to get stuck in his own head if he can’t be helpful, and that’s the last thing we need right now.” Clarisse hissed out, just barely audible over Will’s haggard attempts to draw air into his lungs. However, even if he’d been as quiet as a mouse, Nico doubted that Will was present enough to understand what was being said,  “It’s not safe for him-”

She paused, screwing up her face in silent pain as she took a deep, unstable breath. When she opened her eyes again, her gaze was distant, looking at some far off thing, or a not so distant memory.

“For any of us to break down right now.”

“It all goes into the box.” Nico whispered.

Clarisse looked him in the eye, deep umber meeting oxblood, and nodded.

“And the box goes where we don’t touch it, not until it's safe to open it up again."

They spoke no more of what had happened; not of the stag and his violent death, not of Thalia’s revoked immortality, and not of the missing stars.

The box stayed shut.

For now.

Conner couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen his father hang around for as long as he had today.

Usually, the most he got was a quick glimpse of the messenger god before he’d teleport away, off to deliver some package or letter. He’d gotten used to it over the years; the casual refusal to even stay for longer than a moment or two, even to speak to his children, but that didn’t mean that it had stopped hurting. No, the pain had only lessened over time, dulled by every long stretch of silence that always followed each rare encounter, every fleeting glance and flashed smile.

His siblings helped. When he was small, like, small small, Travis had been his go to for comfort. Of course, he hadn’t even known his father then, but he knew enough about the typical family structure that normal kids had that the absence had bothered him. When he’d gotten a bit older, and the world had gotten a lot scarier, Luke had been sort of like a dad, always watching out for them and keeping them from getting into too much trouble, which had been a 24/7 job. He’d held and soothed him and Travis both when they had nightmares, until they’d gotten too old to go to their big brother for help with stuff like that, and even then he’d been a constant pillar of support.

His betrayal had shaken them all, of course, but Conner had been the youngest of their father’s children then, and it had taken him quite some time before he’d actually believed that Luke was gone.

After that, it felt like it was just him and Travis again. He’d started to look to Chris to fill the void, but he’d left not long after Luke had, so Conner doubled down on the one source of stability he had, refusing to stray from his brother’s side, lest he lose him too.

He’d prayed to his dad, had asked him to convince Luke and Chris to come home, but in the end he’d only gotten one sibling back, and it was thanks to Clarisse, of all people.

Conner had used his authority as co-councillor to declare the girl off limits for pranks after that.

 Look; the point was that Conner had found other people to depend on, once he’d finally accepted that his dad was kinda sorta totally a deadbeat. And not only was he a deadbeat, he was a deadbeat that played favourites.

Yeah, he’d noticed that it was Luke who had gotten the almost immediate claim, the quest offer, and the magic shoes, even though there were others who’d been at camp longer than he had, who had never gotten any of those things. They all noticed. 

No wonder Chris had left. If things had continued on like they had, if Percy hadn’t dragged the issues out into the spotlight, Conner might have fallen for Kronos’ alluring promises too.

Oof. Gods, wasn’t that a scary thought? He’d only been a few years away from being fed up enough to agree to be a mad Titan’s cannon fodder.

Okay, okay, focus. The point was that Conner didn’t care about his dad. Did he love him? Well, yeah, but he totally didn’t care that he was choosing to spend time with them now. Nope. Not even a little bit.

…Even if it was just the teeniest, tiniest bit difficult to ignore him right now, given that Conner was practically flush against his side.

See, Hermes had popped in, quite literally, a few hours ago, with a young teenager swaying uneasily at his side. Mr. D, who was recovering from some fight he’d had with Ares, (which, by the way, had scared the shit out of absolutely everyone, ) had taken one look at the new kid, who was holding a glowing golden sword, and began spitting out every Greek curse Conner knew, as well as a few he didn’t, which had been an unexpected bonus.

Through the absolute flurry of a conversation that had followed, Conner managed to parse out that the kid was a demigod from, get this, a Norse Pantheon, which apparently existed. 

Great. He loved finding important shit out through a screaming match between his dad and his uncle.

At least the new guy was cool, Conner supposed. He’d pulled the teen aside while Mr. D had been chewing out his dad, and had found out a few things. His name was Magnus, he was Annabeth’s cousin, his sword, Jack, could talk and liked to sing pop songs, and, oh, right, he was dead.

Valhalla was real, Magnus had said, and it was a hotel. A hotel where dead vikings and demigods hung out and practised their fighting skills by having all out death battles everyday, and then they slept off their fatal injuries and woke up a few hours later to do it all again. Apparently, they even brought in dragon-like creatures called Lindworms every Thursday.

Conner thought he preferred the lava rock climbing wall, thank you very much.

When an Ares camper asked the obvious question of “Hey, how the hell are you talking to us right now if you’re dead?”, the teen explained that he could leave Valhalla and return to the mortal realm, but that he wasn’t really supposed to unless he had to, because once he was beyond Valhalla’s borders, he could die for real, and if he did, then that was it. His soul would fade into nothingness, and he’d be gone.

The Ares camper, who had looked excited at the prospect of fighting an immortal warrior, quickly paled at the thought of accidentally sentencing someone to oblivion.

Before Conner could ask how he stomached the idea of ever risking such a horrible fate, Hermes had swooped over in a flash, his feathers ruffled in agitation. However, when he spotted Conner and his siblings, he seemed to calm; his pupils expanded a bit, and his feathers settled back into their normal resting positions.

“Sorry about that, kids. Ol’ Dio can get… testy when someone new appears in camp without passing through the borders.” he’d muttered, sending a sideways glare towards their Camp Director, “Magnus, buddy, why don’t you go have a little chat with him, hmm? I know he looks grumpy, but he won’t hurt you, I promise.”

“Oh, uh, sure!” Magnus had said, pushing himself up, “Bye guys! I’ll see you later.”

Conner had waved to him, even though he really wasn’t going far. 

Once Magnus had been sent off to the lion’s den, Hermes did something completely out of left field: he sat down in between Conner and Travis and pulled them in closer to him.

First of all; Hermes never sat. The only time Conner could think of was maybe during the Winter Solstice trip, when he was on his throne, and even then he’d still been moving; legs bouncing and wings fluttering was the norm, not to mention the constant typing on his caduceus phone. Now, he seemed quite content to simply exist around his children. Secondly; Hermes was sitting with them. With. Them. The Messenger of the Gods was chilling on the floor of the Big House with his demigod kids like it was no big deal. He had his arm around Travis, around Conner. Conner! Him! Him, who had never been his dad’s favourite, who probably hadn’t ever come close!

Conner, wide eyed and stiff with shock , shot a look across the room to his brother, Chris, who looked just as bewildered. He let his gaze flick towards their father, then returned it to Chris, raising a brow. Chris eyed the god warily, before subtly signing ‘no.’ It was a simple gesture, but it conveyed an entire response.

‘No, I’ve never seen him like this either.’

Conner tilted his head slightly and flexed his middle and pointer fingers into a half claw shape.

‘This is weird, right? I’m not crazy for thinking this is weird?”

Chris repeated the sign once, then again.

‘No, definitely not. This is weird.’

“What are you two chatting about?”

Conner- well he didn’t flinch, but it was a close thing.

Right. God of Language was another one of his dad’s titles. 

“Uh,” Conner rubbed at the back of his neck, finding it hard to summon the courage to actually look at his father, “nothing much, just…”

Look, Conner was an excellent liar. It was in his blood. Unfortunately, it is quite impossible to lie to the person who gave him that skill.

“I guess we’re just a bit surprised?” he tried, feeling quite sheepish, “I mean, you usually barely stay for more than a moment, and now you’re, you know,” he gestured to the floor, “just… sitting? With us?”

Hermes blinked and cocked his head in a distinctly avian way.

“Well, of course I’m sitting here.” he replied slowly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world “You’re my children. I need to be able to protect you. In fact,”

Hermes looked over at where Chris and the rest of Conner’s siblings were sitting, and Conner jolted when he heard a short, trilling sound come from the god. It sounded sort of like a loon’s call, but quieter. It should have been eerie, especially since he’d never heard a noise like that come out of anything but an animal, but instead Conner found himself suddenly snuggling up to his father, a feeling of calm washing over him.

Huh. You know, he felt kinda… fuzzy all of a sudden. Oh, hey, look at that, Chris was here now. And Cecil. And Julia. Oh, and Alice, too. The whole family. Hmmm, that was nice.

“What the fuck? ” someone said in a quiet, strangled voice.

Was it that Ares camper? Conner couldn’t quite make out the details of their voice over the low, crooning sound that seemed to emanate from his father’s chest. It was the loon call again, but longer this time. He could feel himself relaxing, his eyelids slipping down as a hand brushed through his hair.

“There you go, eyas, settle. I’ve waited to do this for so long.” a voice hummed, speaking in a language Conner could just barely understand through the haze that had clouded his mind, “I’m so sorry that I couldn’t be with you more. You don’t know how badly I wanted to, how close I came to dragging you and your siblings into my nest for safekeeping. I let myself get too close to Loukās, let myself indulge, thinking it would stave off the need, but it only made things worse.”

Conner blinked slowly, trying to keep up with what he was being told. This felt important, felt like something he needed to be awake for, but his eyelids were so heavy, and he hadn’t gotten any real sleep last night.

“I am a thief by nature of my very being, το πολύτιμο μου κόσμημα; I seek what I cannot have and hoard it once I manage to steal it away. Losing what belongs to me to death is a pain that I always try to avoid, but it is also one I have learned to live with.” the hand in Conner’s hair tightened ever so slightly, and the call became slightly desperate, as if there was someone who should have already responded, but hadn’t, “However, to have my greatest treasure, my children, stolen from me, is an unforgivable crime, and I will not rest until I have reclaimed what belongs to me. ”

Conner leaned into his father’s side as his strength waned, a sleepy smile appearing on his face when he felt a kiss being placed upon his head.

“You were mine from the moment you were born. All of you were.” the voice hissed softly, “You’re mine to hold, mine to protect, mine to keep . You’ll always be safe within my coils, little one, so sleep. Sleep, and dream of pleasant things. No nightmares nor visions shall reach you here. Sleep. ”

And just like that, Conner was lost to Hypnos’ domain.

Chapter Text

In the hours before he was set to go before the Olympian council, Grover found himself back in the void.

Mortality was waiting for him this time, sitting cross legged on the ‘ground’ while he played Cat’s Cradle with his string. Divinity and Tartarus were nowhere to be found, thankfully, so the satyr simply took a seat next to his friend.

“How are you holding up?” Grover asked, wincing when he saw the teen’s dark eyebags. Here, in this space, he could feel the other’s exhaustion, and it pressed down on him like a physical weight.

 Mortality shrugged.

“As well as I can be, all things considered.” he replied, “Percy is having a good day. Tartarus has been pushed down, for now, and he hasn’t thrown up yet.”

“Will he throw up?” Grover asked, “Do you- do you know stuff like that?”

“I do,” the manifestation confirmed, “and he will. The hellish waters of the Phlegethon have yet to be absorbed into his body fully, and they will reject any alternative sustenance.”

“The Phle- the River of Fire?! ” Grover bleated, “Percy drank from that? Why?!”

“It was the only way. Percy and Annabeth both would have perished without consuming what the Phlegethon offers, either from their wounds or from the poison in the air.” Mortality explained, “The waters burn and cause terrible pain, yes, but they also heal, and they will stave off starvation, though just enough for the body to still function. Had they merely been in the Underworld, it would already be out of their systems, but with the rot of Tartarus clinging to them, the waters remain, trying to drive out the illness.”

The teen rubbed at the back of his neck, looking away, “Or, at least, I think that’s what’s happening. I’m working with pretty limited info here, given the kid’s mental state.”

Well that didn’t sound good.

“...You mentioned that before.” Grover said, “Percy’s mind being messed up, I mean. What’s wrong with him?”

Mortality blinked, as if just realizing he hadn’t actually explained what was causing the memory problems.

“Oh,” he said, sitting up straighter, “oh, shit, did I not-?”

Mortality slapped a hand to his face, groaning.

“Gods I’m so tired- okay, how do I put this delicately.” he pressed his hands together and held them before his mouth, before tilting them towards Grover, “Percy is a baby.”

Grover blue screened.

“Okay, well, not a baby baby.” Mortality amended, “He’s seven, going on eight in August.”

There was a beat of silence between the two. Grover stared at Mortality, who looked rather pleased with his ability to explain the situation.

“WHAT?! ” Grover screamed, lunging forward to grab Mortality by the shirt and shake him, “My best friend is seven, trapped by himself gods know where with his memories all jacked up, and YOU DIDN’T THINK TO LEAD WITH THAT?!”

“He’s- not- a- lone!” Mortality managed out, his words stuttered by the violent shaking he was receiving. Once Grover released him, he waited for the world to stop moving before he continued speaking, “Jeeze, goat boy, warn a guy next time you’re gonna turn him into a human maraca.”

Grover felt his bristling fur lower back to a respectable level, his tail wagging slightly in relief. “Right, right. He’s with Annabeth and the others, right?”

“Yes, he’s with Annabeth and- wait,” Mortality cocked his head, “the others? Like, plural? ”

Grover nodded slowly. Was Percy… just with Annabeth? Gosh, Grover hoped she wasn’t also seven. The only thing worse than one of his best friends being seven, sick, and lost was having them both be in that predicament.

“Yeah, Thalia, Nico, Clarisse, Will and Pollux are also gone.” he said, having noticed their absence before he nodded off last night, “Based on your reaction, I’m guessing he’s not with any of them?”

Mortality’s expression was one of confusion and concern, “No, he’s not. I- I didn’t even know they were here! I- oh my gods what if they’re as small as Percy?!”

Mortality got up and began to pace, twisting his string anxiously before shuddering at the feeling. Grover gagged at the phantom feeling that flushed through the bond.

“This place is dangerous! What if they get lost? Or- or hurt? What if their abilities don’t work like they should, and they encounter a monster?” he worried, his voice becoming more frantic. The space around them seemed to react to his mental state, shaking as though an earthquake was beginning, “I- I need to find them, need to make Percy remember, even- even if it hurts. I need them safe, I can’t- I need- I need- ”

Grover flinched back as Mortality’s body rippled, golden cracks spreading like veins across his thin frame. Black, oily smoke curled up from the fissures, and the scent of burning flesh filled Grover’s nose.

“Perc- Mortality, stop!” the satyr cried out in alarm, a wave of sharp fear and panic that was not his own rushing through his body like a shiver, “You need to calm down! You’re hurting yourself!”

Unfortunately, it seemed as though Mortality was beyond listening at this point, his eyes flickering between sea-green and luminous gold. Twin screeches rang out from beyond where Grover could see; the fight between Divinity and Tartarus was about to begin again, and the Lord of the Wild would once more be caught in the crossfire if he couldn’t calm Mortality down or force himself to wake.

“This was supposed to be a good day.” the embodiment whispered, his voice sounding layered and delayed, “We were being good, but I- I need to find them! I need to protect them!”

Grover scrambled back at the feelings that raked across his skin, his muscles twitching on instinct. Apparently, Mortality was very susceptible to Percy’s fatal flaw. Emphasis on fatal, if the mind was willing to harm the body in order to get what it thought it needed,

The air tasted like ash, heavy and hot and suffocating. Grover struggled to draw breath, feeling like his fur was going to melt off his body or catch fire. The satyr wanted to go to his friend, to wrap him up in a hug and assuage his fears, but this was Percy’s mind, and he was only a guest, a temporary visitor with no sway over how things worked.

He fell onto his back, curling up with a flinch as the dual screams of the otherworldly beings echoed in his head. Grover made a noise of fear, his pupils turning to flittering slits, and suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder.

Mortality stared at him, one eye achingly mortal, the other burning with divine light; a perfect divide between a friend’s concerned gaze and a god’s possessive anger. In that moment, Grover knew for certain that, if Divinity won out, Perseus Jackson would hold Loyalty as one of his domains.

“You- need to- go now. ” Mortality grit out as he forced his divine eye shut, his flesh beginning to blacken in places, “I can’t- I can’t protect you, not here. Not like this. Everything- everything- everything hurts-! ”

“I’m supposed to be your protector!” Grover yelled, wanting to grab hold of this fragile part of his friend and keep him safe and unharmed, even if that meant facing down The Above and The Below, but he feared what would happen if he touched Mortality, “Here, g- give me your string! I’ll- I’ll fight for you!”

The look Mortality gave him in return was both parts infinitely sad and infinitely fond.

“I k-k- know you would. You- you’ve always been th- the braver one between us.” he smiled weakly, the void around them splintering into a spiderweb of white, “But they’ll tear- tear- tear you apart if you s- stay, and that would kill me anyways.” 

Mortality gently touched his forehead against Grover’s, and the contact seemed to bring him some sense of peace. Some of the cracks healed over, and the smoke receded a bit. Grover swallowed hard and pushed as much love and reassurance as he could across their bond, causing Mortality’s smile to become just that little bit more real.

“Seriously, you need to go.” he said, pulling back as the void shuddered once more, “Mr. D has been trying to wake you up for over five minutes, and he’s starting to panic. I’ll work my magic here, see if I can’t manipulate Percy’s dreams. Not today though, he’ll be too weak after this.” he frowned, and Grover felt his shame, “I shouldn’t have lost control like that, but Divinity got closer than I realized, and I can’t quite get it out yet. I have to find them.”

“Don’t hurt him!” Grover begged, feeling himself start to slip away, “Mortality he’s a child, a sick child; he can’t handle going off by himself, especially if he’s somewhere dangerous! He can’t help anyone if he can’t help himself first!”

“It’s what we’ve always done, goat boy.” Mortality replied, his voice fading with each word, “It’s all we know.”

Grover opened his mouth to reply.

“GROVER!”

Grover let out a shout of alarm as he was suddenly thrust into consciousness, his entire body jerking like he’d been shocked. He sat up, sucking in a breath of air that didn’t make his lungs want to shrivel up and die. The screaming had stopped, replaced by soft breathing, low voices, and many young hearts all beating together. Blinking rapidly, Grover felt wet eyelashes brush against his cheeks, and realized he was crying.

Beside him, both Lord Dionysus and Lord Hermes were giving him strange looks. It almost looked like concern, but the satyr was fairly certain he’d never once seen that emotion displayed on a god’s face before, so it could have been something else. 

“Khaos below, finally! ” the God of Wine crowed, the maybe-concern slipping into the far more familiar annoyance.

“You didn’t accept any open drinks from strangers, did you?” Lord Hermes asked.

“N- no?” Grover replied, his ears flicking back in confusion.

Lord Dionysus nodded, purple eyes searching for something in Grover’s own, before he seemed to finally accept the satyr’s answer, “Had to ask, Gertrude. You weren’t waking up for anything; I thought you might have been drugged.”

“Oh,” Grover blinked. Maybe that had been concern he’d seen before, “no, just a- a really intense dream. I was speaking to Percy again.” 

The two gods perked up at that, eyes sparking with interest.

“What did Peter have to say this time?” Lord Dionysus asked, feigning disinterest instinctively. His eyes, which narrowed ever so slightly, betrayed his genuine curiosity.

Grover’s face crumpled into one of distress as the contents of his and Mortality’s conversation flashed to the forefront of his mind. His ears went flat against his skull, and his hooves tapped against the hardwood floor in a sort of agitated rhythm.

“If it's alright, sir, I’d like to wait until the hearing to explain everything.” Grover sucked in another breath, the scent of warm firelogs, grapes, and various demigod scents chasing away some of the fear and upset that seemed lodged in his chest, “It’s… it’s a lot, and it's not good.”

Lord Dionysus and Lord Hermes looked at each other, irises pulsing with a faint glow; pale lavender and gold-flecked cobalt respectfully. A silent conversation passed between them, and after a moment, the two looked back at the satyr in perfect synchronization. Grover tried, and failed, to suppress a shiver.

“Well, you’re in luck, kiddo,” Lord Hermes said, false cheeriness inflected into his tone, “because we’re actually about to be late! Do yourself a favour and shut your eyes for a minute, okay?”

“Wait, what?”

Grover felt his hooves suddenly leave the ground, his stomach lurching violently, and he slammed his eyelids shut, praying that the sensation would end soon. Someone laughed in his ear, ruffled his hair, and then he was back on solid ground. He stumbled, hooves clicking against hard marble as the feeling of divine power washed over him, prickling across his skin as he adjusted to it. When he opened his eyes, the throne room of Olympus greeted him.

The usual line up was present, of course; the original twelve Olympians sitting upon their thrones, but there were also a few others, faces that Grover didn’t recognize, gods and goddesses that had been granted, per Percy’s wish, a seat at the table. A woman clad in a floor length red dress was speaking to Lady Demeter, a crescent moon tiara sitting atop her head. There was also a man lounging lazily next to the hearth, iridescent blue and brown butterfly wings sprouting from his back and a pair of black bird wings concealing his eyes like a sleep mask, who seemed to be in deep conversation with another person with butterfly wings, though hers were a bright, vibrant gold, with a rainbow sheen flitting across them every few moments. A black pegasus was laying next to her, but when it noticed Grover, it leapt up and whinnied in joyful greeting.

“Boss’s best bro! Oh man, am I happy to see you! ”

Grover grinned as the pegasus, Blackjack, galloped up to him, nuzzling the satyr happily. The gathered gods looked over at the sound, and Grover pulled away from the pegasus, stepping closer to the hearth before bowing respectfully, forcing his still sleep-weak legs to hold him steady.

“Rise, young Lord of the Wild.” Lord Zeus commanded, and when Grover lifted his head, his ears dip back slightly. The god had given up all attempts to appear human; his pinstripe suit had changed into a flowing white chiton, yellow lightning bolts lining the edges. Ivory bull horns curved up towards the ceiling, and a golden laurel rested on black and white curls. His eyes were blue, though their centers glowed a brilliant white.

His brothers were much the same, appearing far more like their ancient depictions than Grover had ever seen. Lord Hades seemed to be constantly flickering; his hair moving like wisps of smoke, always curling and flowing. His hands were onyx black, long claws tapping impatiently against the arms of his throne. Lord Poseidon was much the opposite; refusing to move the slightest inch, not even to fake breathing. Like the sea when it is dead calm, the sight made Grover feel deeply uncomfortable and cautious. In that moment, he had never looked less like his son.

“I assume you know why you’ve been called here?” Lord Zeus questioned, and Grover nodded, jolting slightly when Blackjack nudged him forward.

“Relax, goat bro. I think they’ve got a plan to help get Boss and his herdmates home. ” Blackjack nickered. Grover looked at him in surprise, before clearing his throat.

“Y- yes, Lord Zeus.” he said, swallowing his nerves. Per- Mortality thought he was brave, and he didn’t want to prove him wrong, not when Percy’s life might depend on him being right, “Yesterday, Percy visited my dream through our bond, or, I guess, I visited him. At the time, I wasn’t aware he’d gone missing, or I would have attempted to connect with him sooner.”

Grover laced his fingers together, squeezing his hands anxiously, “At first, I did not realize it was a shared dream, because it appeared far more like a nightmare. There was only a void around me, darker and more vast than any I’ve ever seen, even in sleep, and I could not see anything besides the inhabitants.”

“Inhabitants?” came a deep, sleepy voice to his right. 

Ears twitching, Grover turned and found the man with the blue butterfly wings. One of the avian wings covering his eyes lifted, and a black and lavender eye peered at him from beneath a lowered eyelid.

“Most dreams only contain one inhabitant, unless the dreamer is being shown a vision or memory.” the god continued, “If his dreamspace is as damaged as you say, there would not be anyone aside from young Perseus.”

“Forgive me, Lord…?” Grover trailed off, face reddening from embarrassment as he realized he had no idea who he was speaking to.

“Morpheus.” the god replied. The satyr fought to repress a shiver of fear, remembering what this particular god had done to him, what he could still do.

“Right. Forgive me, Lord Morpheus, but I think this might be a special case.” Grover dipped his head, his tail tucking when that lavender eye sharpened in both interest and mild offense at the implication that the god was wrong about his own domain, “When I was in the dream, I wasn’t speaking to Percy himself, but-”

The scent of ozone and sea salt flooded his nose, and Grover cowered when a low, thunderous growl crashed into him, the vibration making his ribcage rattle. Lord Poseidon had moved, turning towards the satyr as scales crawled up his skin, his lip pulled up into a sharp-toothed snarl as he pushed himself up in his throne.

“My son is beyond my reach, satyr. The impossible has become reality.” the God of the Sea growled, his voice activating Grover’s fawn response and causing him to sink down in fear, “My Roman half rages for the son he has been denied, my people fear my temper and the destruction it may bring, my children feel my emotions and are reacting accordingly, and I am not above drowning what remains of your wild places if you waste my time telling stories.”

“Brother, control yourself!” Lord Zeus thundered, “Killing your son’s companion will not help to bring him back!”

Grover bleated fearfully, and suddenly there was someone standing in front of him. Three someones, actually.

Lord Hermes, Lord Dionysus, and Lady Hestia formed a wall of defensive Olympian might, each one standing resolute even in the face of Lord Poseidon’s wrath.

“Uncle, you know harming Mr. Underwood will bring nothing but further upset.” Lord Hermes hissed, his feathered appendages flared out, “Think of how Percy would feel, knowing you’d hurt his closest friend?”

“Plus, harming Grover would also hurt Percy.” Lord Dionysus ground out, and a few vines curled protectively around Grover, “They have an Empathy Link; you’d be risking sending your son to an early grave!”

“He could already be in one!” Lord Poseidon roared, the sound so viscerally raw and full of pain and rage, it caused all the gathered gods to flinch back slightly. All but one.

“DO NOT RAISE YOUR VOICE TO HIM, POSEIDON!” Lady Hestia boomed back, no longer appearing as a young girl but rather as a furious goddess, the eldest sister of her Pantheon. The Father of Monsters reared back in shock, before quickly hunching his shoulders and shrinking in on himself, looking suddenly like a scolded child, instead of a furious god.

Strangely, Grover did not feel intimidated by her voice, though his ears were ringing slightly. 

“I know you long to see your son, but you are allowing your inability to feel your claim on him to drag you into mourning someone that, as far as we know, is still alive, and I will not have your grief extinguish my hearth, nor will I allow your rage to snuff the life out of those who rest by it.” she continued, her words as firm and absolute as steel, “You will sit, and you will be silent unless you are called upon to answer, and if you cannot control yourself I will personally drag you by your gills back to the depths myself. Am I understood?”

Lord Poseidon nodded. 

“Good.” Lady Hestia said, before returning to her usual form. She turned around and gave Grover a warm smile, ignoring the slack jaws and trembling gods in the room, “Please continue, dearest one.”

Lord Hermes dropped down in a crouch beside the satyr, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder as Grover moved into a sitting position, not trusting his shaking limbs to hold him up at the moment.

“Uhm, as I-” he inhaled as deeply as he could, exhaling slowly as he recalled where he’d been in his explanation, “as- as I was saying, Lord Morpheus, sir, I wasn’t speaking to Percy himself, but rather a- a piece of him. His mind and body seem to be…”

He waved his hands slightly, not quite sure what the right word to use was. Truthfully, he didn’t know how he was going to explain the absolute clusterfuck of a situation Percy was in.

“If I may, little one,” Lord Morpheus said, now sitting up and looking very much awake after being in close proximity of an angry Olympian goddess, “I know of an old, old spell that can project the contents of someone’s dream into the waking world. It’s why Lady Hecate, Lady Iris and myself are present today; we were planning on seeing if we could tweak it a little, and have that Empathy Link of yours show us what little Percy Jackson is seeing, but I could easily use it to simply show the council what you saw.”

‘Little Percy Jackson.’ Grover thought hysterically, ‘Gods, they have no idea how accurate that is.’

“Okay, Lord Morpheus.” he agreed, “That- that would make things much easier.”

The butterfly winged god inclined his head, the lifted wing sliding back into place, “Have a lie down, then. I am not my father, but my magic will lull you into his realm regardless.”

“I know. You put me to sleep for two months. ” Grover reminded him, and felt a little ember of satisfaction when his wings drooped guiltily.

“Ah, yes, I did do that.” he said sheepishly, “My apologies.”

“It’s cool,” Grover yawned, feeling himself begin to drift off, “just don’t go joining up with any psycho Titans again, and we’ll call it even.”

Lord Morpheus chuckled, and the soothing smell of lavender washed over the young satyr, the spell putting weights on his eyelids and beckoning him into the land of sleep only moments after leaving it.

“That I can do, Mr. Underwood. That I can do.”

Zeus watched as the satyr entered a deep sleep, pushed deep under by Morpheus’ spell. Once his breathing had evened out into that slow, soft rhythm that showed that a mortal was truly gone from the waking world, the God of Dreams began to sing. It sounded almost like a lullaby, melodic and slow, soothing and so achingly familiar to the only song he’d ever heard his mother sing the night she’d left on Crete that Zeus had to fight the urge to fall back on his habit of turning into an eagle and flying until his duties called him back whenever he missed his mother.

As Morpheus spoke the ancient words of the incantation, the wings that covered his eyes lifted entirely, their black feathers shimmering with the colours of an aurora. The aurora flared, pulling itself free of the wings and leaping into the air, where it circled the hearth, growing in size until it nearly touched the ceiling. 

Green and purple vied for dominance, neither colour able to overtake the other, before suddenly both were smothered by an influx of blue. It pushed all others out, shining in an almost proud way for a moment, before allowing itself to darken as the dream took shape.

Indeed, the place that the God of the Sky saw was unnaturally dark. It seemed to suck the light out of the room, and Zeus felt something in him twist uncomfortably. Unbidden, the memory of his descent into The Pit in search of the creatures who could help end the First Titanomachy reared its ugly, ugly head, and the god bit back a reflexive snarl. Silently, he hoped to Khaos that Poseidon was not being reminded of that place, because Zeus could feel just how close his elder brother was to snapping, and he quite liked the East Coast and did not want to see it dragged into the ocean’s insatiable maw.

The silence dragged out for a time, and Zeus began to wonder if something had gone wrong with the spell, when the most ungodly sound rippled through the air. The god felt his talons slip into existence, carving grooves into his throne as he increased his grip. He felt foolish; reacting like a scared animal at the sound of a predator’s growl, but that was just the problem: he felt hunted.

The absolute silence returned, and nothing appeared from the shadows. Zeus relaxed, just a bit, and looked over at his wife, who looked just as unsettled as he felt.

“GRRRRRRRRAHHH!”

Suddenly, Zeus wasn’t in the throne room. He was young again, staring into a slumbering abyss so dark and endless that it defied both reason and belief, and realizing that he was standing in its stomach. 

Tartarus reared up, and all Zeus could feel was fear.

Without thinking, he fractured himself, splitting off as he reached for each of his children. He could feel their blind panic, felt them shrink into his hold as they witnessed the primordial horror of the Below in its waking form, finally understanding why they were never allowed to tread into its darkened throat. Ares and Hephaestus almost burned his skin as they bared teeth and spat fire at the thing in defensive, fearful rage, their auras sharp and bristling before Hera, too joined him in attempting to hide their children from the only thing that could call itself godkiller. Athena was small, holding absolutely still and being absolutely silent, but her thoughts were loud enough that they almost matched Tartarus’ roar.

‘Is this what my daughter faced? Is this what she sees in her nightmares? How could I have let this happen? Why did I let her get anywhere near this horrible place? Why why why why why?!'

His twins curled around each other as much as they did him, their usual radiance dimmed to almost nothing. They stare at Tartarus but they do not see, having forced their sight to focus on other things, on any other thing, and for that Zeus is infinitely grateful. The Pit is the death of all light, and it would gladly swallow them if it could.

Hermes is frozen in Zeus’ hold, wings flared out and all feathers raised. He is seeing. He is seeing what his child attempted to feed the twice-over Savior of Olympus to, and is finally understanding the degree to which Luke Castellan’s mind had been completely and utterly poisoned by Kronos, because the divide between the messenger's favoured son, the one he would have made immortal had he completed his quest and risked Zeus’s wrath for doing so, and the man who allowed the Titan Lord’s twisted powers to infect his blood, to rot his ichor until his body belonged wholly to Kronos, is so vast that any father would struggle to understand how it had ever happened in the first place.

And then there is Dionysus, Zeus’ youngest godly child, who does not feel nearly as afraid as he should. Fear is there, yes, but the emotion that bleeds out of him as Tartarus bares its teeth is somehow not the indescribable terror that Zeus feels emanating from every other god, but confusion. He shifts in Zeus’ embrace, wide eyed and unsure. Awe and disbelief flicker, almost undetectable, so brief is their presence, but Zeus catches them anyway and feels the non-existent wind get violently punched out of his non-existent lungs.

Dionysus is more focused on the fact that Zeus is trying to protect him than he is on the physical manifestation of the abyss. 

Zeus does not have a stomach, not really, unless he desires one, but that does not stop him from suddenly wanting to vomit. He remembered the tail end of the conversation that he’d caught yesterday, when Dionysus had said that he believed Zeus only held favour for Artemis and Athena. He’d thought the young god was spitting nonsense, but he was so wrong. 

Dionysus, his most treasured demigod son, whom he’d born from his thigh in a way not too dissimilar to his oldest, who he’d fought to keep secret and safe until he’d been the very first to ascend by his own merit, believes with all his heart that Zeus does not love him, does not believe Zeus loves almost any of his children.

Khaos below, I’ve become my father.

The thought is so violent and repulsive that the god almost misses the moment where something luminous and bright and so obviously divine charges forth and drives Tartarus back. Zeus blinked, a habit he’d picked up from years of spending time around mortals that got creeped out if you didn’t emulate their habits, and felt cool relief soothe his burning, electrified nerves. The being in the dream (right, it is a dream, only a dream,) looks so much like Poseidon in his truest form that he almost believes that it is his brother, before he notices the different markings and the lack of extra eyes or gills that spit sea water with every exhale he chooses to breathe.

Whatever it is, whoever it may be, they are fearless as they engage the Below, snapping teeth and razor-sharp claws chasing after darkness and acid. Tartarus gives as good as it gets, leaving bleeding welts and blisters that bubble with searing liquid on every inch of the being it touches. There is a moment where Zeus is truly unsure who will win, and the tie gives him just enough time to wonder how in the name of Creation Perseus Jackson had not been driven completely and utterly mad if this was what lived in his head.

This moment of contemplation is broken when an honest-to-Khaos lifestring comes flying in out of nowhere and lassos the two beings. It is the same shade of green that resides in Poseidon’s eyes and in their mother’s eyes, which means it is also the colour of Percy Jackson’s eyes, and sure enough the boy appears as the Abyss and the god(?) get tugged apart into the nothingness. He looks tired, but he is otherwise unharmed, and Zeus feels Poseidon’s relief, both at the disappearance of Tartarus, and the sight of his son.

Zeus does not release his children, nor does he lower the protective, electric field of energy that he shields them with. None fight him on this, a testament to the sheer, terrible might of Tartarus. A quick sweep of the room, or at least, the parts of the room he can see through the spell, reveals that Hestia, Demeter and Iris are all bunched together in a mass of mist, summer warmth, and fractured light, while Poseidon and Hades press together in solidarity as the need to protect each other fades, both knowing the pain of having a child that has been touched by Tartarus’ special brand of hellish darkness. There’s a feeling of salt-imbued wind and peaceful shade brushing against Zeus' most solid form, and he realizes that his brothers had moved to protect him too. It fills him with warmth, until he remembers that Dionysus does not know nearly enough of that warmth, and he wonders if his other children are the same.

The boy is speaking to the satyr, and Zeus reluctantly focuses his attention on their conversation. Apparently, the boy’s mind is fractured, split into three different forms; Mortality, Divinity, and… Tartarus. They are locked in an endless stalemate; if one wins, the other two die.

The god shudders in all his forms. Poseidon’s favoured son is hardly Zeus’ favourite mortal, but he has undeniably helped to preserve Olympus and the health and wellbeing of Zeus’ family, and that is reason enough for Zeus to feel sharp, stabbing pity for the poor child, because this is a fate he would wish on very, very few beings, and his nephew is certainly not one of them.

To add insult to injury, the answer to the problem is both maddeningly simple and impossible to complete. The satyr knows the name of Perseus’ sword, but because the child’s memories have, once again, been taken from him, his dreamscape keeps the name from his tongue. The boy suggests that the satyr seek out the Morai, as if they are some benevolent source of help, and the dream dissolves into blinding whiteness.

Zeus eagerly waits for this terrible experience to be finished so that he can properly address his children and find out just how deeply he has managed to wound them, but then the void is back and the god tenses once more. Apparently, the satyr had more than one of these horrendous Empathy Link dreams.

Perseus’ mortality is there again, playing with Perseus’ string with such casualness that it makes even Hera balk. For all his rashness, the boy is not stupid. He actually seems quite intelligent, when he is given the chance to learn. So it is confusing to see his base humanity be so flippant with what he must surely know is something that should be treated with great care.

In his hold, Dionysus and Apollo both seem to become hyper focused on the child. They see something. That is not a good sign.

The projection of mortality continues on, speaking of how the boy drank from the Phlegethon to stave off starvation and endure the poisonous air of Tartarus’ rot-thick guts. It seems that the firewater is simultaneously keeping his nephew and granddaughter alive while also preventing them from healing, which makes Apollo and Athena both growl in agitation. He feels Apollo’s domain demand that he drive out the rot that clings to his cousin and niece, and smooths down the ruffled feathers of his swan wings that flare in indignation, soothing him as he pushes the need to heal down, rationalizing that he cannot help the teens, no matter how badly he wishes he could.

The satyr presses on a point previously mentioned, and the manifestation decides that now is the perfect moment to add an entirely new problem to their already unendingly stressful situation.

Perseus Jackson is, apparently, not the war-hardened, clever, brave, insane demigod that challenged the God of War and won, helped to slay both Kronos and Gaea, and walked out of the maw of The Pit alive. He is not a teenager with years of survival instincts all but beaten into him. He is not the son of Poseidon who knows his father’s realm is a place of power, healing, and safety.

He is seven.

Their twice-over Saviour is a seven year-old, ill with a disease that no one knows how to cure, missing the knowledge that has kept him alive despite his abysmal luck and presence in multiple prophecies, and he is separated from the very people who might be able to help him, but not alone. He does not have his camper friends, who would fight and kill and die for him. He has a child nearly as ill as he and, if he heard correctly, someone else. Another stolen demigod.

There are two it could be. Zeus hopes that it is young Castor, but Zeus is not a fool. He knows Perseus’ luck will never allow that.

Perseus Jackson is a dying babe of seven summers, and he is trapped with a poisoned man who desperately wanted to spill his blood.

Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase’s lives are in the hands of Luke Castellan, and, if the dream speaks true, then they are surrounded by danger separate from the man who may or may not still desire to cut their strings.

Hermes cries, a broken sound, ugly and rough, for his son. His most precious chick, the one Zeus is sure he held when he was small and wrinkly and worth more than the world to Hermes in that moment, is alive, but he is far from the god’s nest, and none present know how to bring him home. 

Athena screeches for her daughter, needing her close now that she understands what she has faced, understands the danger that slinks through her veins and tries to devour the ichor in her blood. 

Poseidon has become a roiling, frothing force of rapids and whirlpools, pacing along the floor like a caged animal as he keeps his many eyes locked on the dream spell. He needs his child out of danger, needs to see him protected because the god swore he would not be put in any more peril after all he’d endured. Poseidon would have ascended his son long ago if he had not loved being mortal so much, had not used his wishes to selflessly better the lives of those around him instead of his own, but now all he sees is proof that he should have just done it, consequences be damned. Losing Percy’s love would have been excruciating, but he’d have all of eternity to earn it back. 

Now, he runs the very real risk of losing his son entirely, left with no permanent proof of his existence.

The dream begins to break down as Percy’s mortality begins to crack, literally, Khaos help him, under the strain of a corrupted fatal flaw. Mortality was never meant to have a solid form; it is a concept, a thing that is meant to be everywhere in the body, not pooled in a broken mind.

Suddenly, the screeches of the beings are back, and Zeus frantically throws up more defenses around his children and siblings. 

Is this what demigods dream of? Is this normal for them? Please, mother Rhea, let this not be what plagues their children each night.

The screaming gets louder, rattling the throne room, and Zeus feels his children try to run, to get away from this unending nightmare. He almost lets them, almost joins them, but then Perseus Jackson is standing before him, body almost bursting with divinity, and a new horror keeps him right where he is.

The boy is ascending.

He isn’t far along, and he is doing his best to fight it off, but by Oblivion’s uncaring edge he is doing it. 

Percy will, in time, be a god. And, if anything and everything they’ve seen is any indication, he will be on an Olympian level.

They have to get him back, and they are running out of time.

Tartarus is screaming and Perseus’ divinity is screaming and the satyr is screaming-

Wait.

Wait, no, that’s not-

The dream dissolves, and Zeus’ eyes lock onto the cloud of mist that has formed over the hearth, not too far from where Morpheus has collapsed.

A child, pale faced with curly brown hair and tear-filled blue eyes, is panting heavily, his body shaking as he clings to another child who looks almost identical, but ever so slightly more youthful. Their eyes are slightly unfocused, fighting the effects of a god’s lullaby call. 

“Πατερούλης!” the elder one cries, and Hermes wrenches himself free, appearing before the Iris message in a flash of gold and cobalt and cobra hisses, “Γύρνα πίσω, ήρθε ο κίνδυνος στη φωλιά μας!”

A horrible, ice-cold feeling of dread envelops the King of the Gods as he realizes that the screaming he heard isn’t just one voice, but many overlapping.

Something has gotten into Camp Half-Blood, and it is after the children.

Chapter Text

It had been many years since Arepo last had young children in his home, but a father never forgot the fear that came from sitting at an ill child’s bedside, dabbing a damp cloth onto their fever-warmed face as they cried from a pain that could not be eased.

It had come on swiftly and without warning; one moment the children had been seated at the table while Arepo prepared their breakfast of tiganites and sliced peaches, having a soft conversation that ended with wobbly smiles and shiny eyes, and the next Percy had gone very pale, shaking for a moment as he opened and closed his mouth, before suddenly vomiting on the spot, barely having the wherewithal to turn himself away from the table, sparing the oaken wood from the vile liquid that came up from his stomach.

And, oh, it was vile. Arepo had never seen such a substance before, and at first he’d thought he was imagining the sight, because his mind struggled to understand how what he was seeing could be real. It bubbled and spat like frying oil, and it was a deep red in colour, with flecks of nearly glowing orange. Undigested food began to sizzle and dissolve once it hit the floor, as if it was waiting to be released from the poor child’s stomach before being digested.

He’d been stunned into place for a moment, but quickly regained his senses when Percy went tumbling towards the floor. It was only Loukás’ quick reflexes that kept him from hitting the ground, the teenager quickly pulling the quivering boy into his lap. Loukás looked up at Arepo, his blue eyes wide with fear, young Annabeth crying out as she leaned over to grab Percy’s hands.

“Quickly, bring him in here!” Arepo said, moving towards the living room. Swift as a starling, he made up a kline and had Loukás lay Percy down on it.

With practiced gentleness, Arepo lifted the boy’s head and slid a pillow under it, gently easing it back down before sliding the back of his hand to Percy’s head. He hissed in quiet alarm as the heat of an intense fever met his skin. How had he missed this? He’d seemed perfectly fine earlier, had his brief time out in the sun been too much?

He’d sent Loukás to the well to fetch water, though it had taken a moment of persuasion and reasoning to get him to go. He’d been adamant about not leaving Percy, looking ready to fight Arepo if he tried to make him go. In the end, it had taken Annabeth telling him that she would protect Percy while he was gone for him to finally make a mad dash for the well. Luke had returned soon after, sloshing bucket in hand, and Arepo had set about gathering up scraps of cloth to dunk in the water and drape over Percy, making sure to prioritize keeping his head and neck cool.

Percy continued to shake as the minutes bled into hours, his mouth salivating as his eyes gained the glazed look of someone lost to the thrall of sickness. His companions held his hands and ran their fingers through his hair in an act of comfort, but Arepo doubted the boy was aware. He began weakly calling out in a wholly unfamiliar tongue, his head tilting back and forth, as if he were searching for something- no, someone. Though the language was unfamiliar, Arepo could make out one thing; a name.

“Thalia!”

Judging by Loukás’ stricken face and little Annabeth’s gasp, he was calling for someone they knew. Arepo wondered, bleakly, if this ‘Thalia’ was still around, or if she'd passed away before these three had left their homeland. Perhaps she'd been another member of their makeshift family.

“‘m sorry, Perce, but Thalia isn't here right now.” Loukás whispered, his eyes downcast as Annabeth buried her face in his side, “She went away for a while, remember?”

Was that the truth? Or a platitude to soothe a crying child? Arepo didn't know, and he did not think it right to ask, not at this moment. There were more pressing things to worry about.

“Loukás.” Arepo said, catching the young man's attention, “My stock of herbs that can battle fever are very low. With no merchants traveling along the roads as of late, I have not had the chance to replenish them.”

Loukás swallowed, looking down at Percy with a pained expression.

“So, what, he's just going to-” the teenager inhaled sharply, voice toeing the line between anger and anguish, warm tears slipping down his cheeks as he whispered, “we just have to sit here and watch him die? ”

“No.” Arepo shook his head, reaching over and putting a hand on the other’s shoulder, “No, Loukás, Thanatos will not have him. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

The farmer stood, wincing slightly as his knees popped and ached from kneeling on the stone floor. Moving over to a small trunk in the corner of the room, he flipped open the lid and began to rummage around inside. At the very bottom he found a small jar with some wood shavings and pieces of bark inside. Picking up the jar, Arepo shut the trunk and made his way back over to the three children.

“Here,” he said, pushing the jar into Loukás’ hands, “boil this in some water and make him drink as much as he can manage. There is a village nearby, Aciri, one of the few that have not yet been overrun, less than a day’s ride if Kallippos is swift, and the gods grant me safe passage. I will go there and barter for more willow bark, and perhaps some honey and ginger root, if they have it.”

Luke looked at the jar, then back up at Arepo, his face unreadable.

“Why are you helping us so much?” he asked, “We’ve been burdens more than we’ve been useful.”

Arepo managed a weak smile, despite the grim situation.

“I was a father, and you are children with no one else to look after you. That alone is reason enough for me to help you, but I also know the pain of losing your loved ones to sickness, and it is a pain I will fight to spare you from.” he replied.

Loukás’ eyed him for a long moment, his almost unnaturally blue eyes shining too much for what little sunlight reaches them in this room, before he blinked and looked away, pulling Annabeth closer into his side. Arepo got the distinct impression that no one had ever really taken the burden of caring for these children off this boy’s young shoulders, and that thought made an ember of anger flare in his chest, hot and unpleasant.

“I will need to take my spear with me, but I will not leave you defenseless.” Arepo said, before walking back to his kitchen, snagging his small leather satchel from its place on a shelf, and returning to the living room. He opened the satchel and retrieved a long, curved tooth; the very one Kallippos had knocked out during their fight with the Chimera. He placed it next to Percy’s bedside.

“Weapons of the regular sort have great difficulty piercing the hides of monsters,” Arepo explained, “unless, of course, the gods bless them. However, weapons made from their own body parts work just as well.”

“Cut out the middleman, huh?” Loukás snorted, still not looking up as he carded his fingers through Percy’s onyx locs, gently thumbing the odd stripe of shocking white that runs through his bangs.

Arepo didn’t recognize the saying, but he made a noise of agreement anyways, understanding the basic meaning. With one final look at the trio, Arepo shouldered his satchel, took up his spear, and made his way out of his house as he set off towards the stables. 

Chiron was in the process of sorting out breakfast. It wasn’t a task he was used to doing, but the harpies had made themselves oddly scarce, and he couldn’t just deny the children a meal because they had decided to go off to wherever it was that harpies went to. 

Keeping an entire summer camp’s worth of hyperactive, anxious, ADHD-riddled demigods inside for almost three days is hard enough; neglect to feed them on time on top of that, and you’ll quickly find a complete breakdown of social order is only hours away. The children of the gods were more than capable of making the Lord of the Flies look like a simple children’s game, should they so choose.

He’d been slicing apples in the Big House’s kitchen, a few of Demeter’s children helping him, eager for something to do, for something to take their minds off the looming uncertainty of their situation that hung over them all like the sword of Damocles, when a horrible screech split the air.

It had taken him a few moments to reach the uppermost floor once his instincts to flee had been stamped down, having to slow down to ascend the stairs, and by the time he reached the landing all but the children who had been with him in the kitchen were cowering low to the ground, any available weapons and shields raised defensively. Dionysus, Ares, and Hermes were gone, leaving lullaby-drunk children behind, too stunned to react properly. They were all looking away, gazes desperately locked onto the floors, the walls, the ceiling; anywhere and everywhere but the center of the room, and as Chiron turned his head, he realized why.

The Moirai were standing in the middle of the room, holding a collection of multi-colored yarn. They were knitting an impossibly intricate blanket, though pieces of it seemed to be missing. They eyed the centaur with a displeased look on their withered faces, and Chiron felt himself take a step back, mindful of the staircase behind him.

“Χείρων,” they intoned as one, speaking as though they were a hivemind, their voices making the centaur’s hide crawl, “your charges have become untethered from our loom. Even now, more threads have begun to untangle.”

Sure enough, threads of yarn seemed to writhe from within the basket held by Lachesis and attempted to pull free from the knitted depths of the blanket itself. Shimmering, electric blue, warm, glimmering gold, gentle, shiny pink, hot, fiery orange; all moved in an unnatural, slithering rhythm. Clotho tried to smooth down the threads within the blanket, but they shrank away from her touch, quivering in what almost seemed like fear. Or, perhaps… anticipation?

“The fabric of the universe has been damaged here.” the sisters continued, turning in perfect synchronization towards the far wall, the one that faced the cabins. The children over there flinched and tried to make themselves as small as possible, older siblings holding younger ones still as they waited for the Moirai to look away, “Something forced its way through, and we know not what it was. Our visions reveal nothing; it is a blindspot unlike any other.”

Chiron allowed his eyes to flick towards the wall for just a moment, his gaze sweeping over the gathered demigods. At his side, Katie and Miranda shifted nervously, and he very slowly moved to stand in front of them. Realistically, attempting to hide from the Fates was useless; if Atropos decided it was your time, then there was no avoiding your fate, but instinct urged Chiron to keep the otherworldly beings’ attention on himself instead of the children.

“What would you have me do, my Ladies?” he asked, forcing his tone to be respectful and unaffected by his nerves.

The Fates opened their mouths to reply, but whatever they wanted to say was cut off as a sudden burst of golden light flashed from the leftmost corner of the room.

Young Magnus’ sword, the one that had been chatting non-stop with any camper who would listen and seemed to have some deep, though fairly well concealed, hatred for the gods, had suddenly wretched itself free from its owner’s grip, hovering menacingly in the air.

“It’s here.” the blade snarled, its runes a vibrant, intimidating red.

Chiron’s fur stood on end, bristling as the pressure in the room suddenly changed, causing his ears to pop. Something ice cold and simultaneously wet and electric brushed over his skin, leaving no trace of its presence aside from the lingering chill. He jolted reflexively, his front legs raising off the ground slightly as he fought the instinct to rear.

The Moirai stopped knitting.

The sword, Sumarbrander, sharpest blade to ever be forged, said to be capable of cutting through anything, hummed with unreleased energy, its pointed end following some unseen target, never leaving its confused and terrified master unguarded.

Chiron wanted to move, wanted to draw his bow and aim an arrow at the unknown threat that now had broken into his home, but his body felt frozen, every part locked in place, save for his eyes, which followed Sumarbrander’s movement religiously. The air felt suffocating and tense, like the moment before an explosive argument that you know is coming, but can’t pinpoint exactly what is going to set it off.

There was a long stretch of silence, broken only by the hum of the magical Norse sword and the chorus of rapid heartbeats that only Chiron could hear.

Then, suddenly, something in the air pulsed, pressing against every living thing, before surging forward and knocking Sumarbrander out of the air. It flew into one of the ancient support beams, just barely avoiding a young son of Ares before becoming embedded deep into the wood, muffled curses spewing out of it. The children flinched away before stiffening up again, pupils mere pinpricks of black. They were shaking, though whether it was from fear, or from the strain of being forced to stay still, Chiron didn’t know.

Young Magnus tried to shake off the paralysis and move towards his sword, but before he could even push himself off the floor, a long, fuzzy tendril appeared behind him. It almost seemed two-dimensional, like a shadow that had managed to pull itself free from the surface it was cast upon, and it hurt to look at directly, only truly visible when viewed from the corner of your eye.

The tendril brushed against the teen’s blonde hair, and he dropped down to the floor with a thud! His eyes were open, but his gaze was unseeing, as though he was sleeping with his eyes open. The tendril brushed against him again, seeming to contemplate something, before drawing away, pulling itself up like a serpent preparing to strike. Slowly, it turned towards near where Chiron was standing, as the old centaur’s gaze followed, he saw a web of the same tendrils hovering around the son of Jupiter.

The electric blue yarn leapt from Lachesis’ basket, slowly coiling around an invisible finger. The yarns within the blanket writhed uncontrollably, looking only moments from bursting free. Something tugged at the threads, causing the Moirai to jolt, their usually impassive faces morphing into ones of shock, confusion, and finally horror.

“RUN!” they hissed, before disappearing in a blink.

As if some spell had been broken, the room erupted into chaos. The campers closest to Chiron practically flew down the stairs, screaming in terror. Jason Grace was among them, nimbly avoiding the tendrils as he swung himself over the banister and vanished from view, his hands leaving fractal burns on the aged wood. The tendrils slid soundlessly towards the other demigods, who screamed and shrieked as they wildly scrambled away. A daughter of Hephaestus broke the closest window, and those who could not skirt around the flickering appendages to make it to the stairs threw themselves out onto the roof, scattering in all directions in their mad dash to get away from the danger.

As the realization that he could move again registered in his brain, Chiron charged forward, ripping Sumarbrander out of the support beam before galloping back around to plant himself in front of the still dazed Hermes cabin. They, too, were afraid, but with their father having disappeared, they would need time to come out from the influence of his lullaby call. Leaving his children unguarded and defenseless during such a vulnerable time was most unlike the god, and it made the centaur wonder what could have been so important that he needed to call his separated body away.

He bared his teeth and flattened his ears, distraught by the idea that something that had frightened The Fates was interested in taking his campers, had already taken his campers. Bow drawn, he brayed at one of the tendrils, not wanting to fire unless he was sure that his arrows would hit their mark. He could still hear the screams of his charges, followed by several crashing sounds as they ran about the Big House’s interior, no doubt trying to avoid the danger that had invaded their sanctuary.

Sumarbrander spat Old Norse insults at the nothingness, but instead of attacking, like it so clearly wanted to, it seemed to be parrying something. Its moves were defensive, driving back the attacks that only it could see. Chiron felt some of the oppressive force in the room begin to wane, and he made a split second decision. Muttering a quick protection spell, he raced across the room and mounted the final set of stairs, awkwardly clambering up the attic steps.

“I swear, once all this nonsense is over, we are getting a damn elevator! ” the centaur snarled, hauling his lower body up into the dusty space. It felt less eerie now that the Oracle had finally been allowed to take on a new host, but all manner of little oddities and objects still remained. 

Whirling around, he scanned the various shelves and chests, wizened eyes looking for one item in particular. Suddenly, his gaze locked onto something tucked into a corner. There, laden with dust and grimy cobwebs, was a translucent crystal; evenly cut and sporting a small, glowing orb in its center. He snatched it off the shelf, rubbed its surface against his coat, and tried not to break his legs as he jumped back down to the floor below. 

Sumarbrander must have chased the being off while he was gone, because it was now frantically nudging its hilt against Magnus’ cheek, trying to rouse him from whatever unconscious state he’d been forced into. Chiron wanted to help, the feeling made even more intense by the fact that the teen was Annabeth’s family, but his foals needed him, too, and he needed to prioritize calling for help. Whatever this… thing was, it is far beyond his knowledge and abilities.

Chiron dropped down onto his knees, ignoring the pain that radiated up through his forelegs. Travis looked the most awake, trembling as he tried to push himself up off the floor. He’d likely been sleeping soundly in his father’s hold, only to suddenly be dropped onto the hardwood floor. His siblings were all still fighting to come back to themselves, sleep-bleary eyes brimming with tears as they made quiet hisses and chirps, likely not even realizing that they were doing so.

‘Blast it all, Hermes! Where are you when your children need you?!’ Chiron thought to himself.

“Travis,” he started, flinching when he heard a loud crunch and felt the wards on the door begin to buckle, “Travis, my boy, I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?”

Travis blinked slowly and nodded.

“Okay, that’s very good.” Chiron breathed, “I’m going to give you a crystal.” he said, holding out the crystal he’d grabbed from the attic, “This will allow you to send an Iris Message to your father. You need to call him back here, alright? He can help keep you safe.”

Because gods know I can’t.

Travis took the crystal and fought to speak the words needed to ask Iris to accept his message. When he saw the crystal pulse with light that refracted outwards, he knew that the request had gone through. Satisfied that help was coming, Chiron stepped as quickly as he could down the stairs, cursing Dionysus all the while for deciding to make the Big House multiple stories instead of the larger, single-floor design it had been before. 

‘Stupid godly sons of Zeus and their stupid need to be close to the sky!’ he cursed mentally, neighing in alarm when his hoof nearly slid off a step, ‘Not a thought spared for the poor centaur who also has to live here! No, no, that would require him to do anything other than mope!’

Finally, after entirely too much time spent trying not to fall and break his neck, Chiron made it to the lower floor. The landing was mostly unharmed, but as he galloped into the living room, the signs of a struggle became obvious. Chairs and couches were toppled over, pictures were knocked off the walls, and various weapons and shields had been abandoned by their owners. The door was wide open, hanging off one hinge with two spears, a mace, and a sword stuck in it. 

Chiron raced outside, ears swivelling wildly as he tried to see where all the children had run off to through the unyielding downpour that pierced the camp’s protective barrier, when he suddenly tripped over something. He grunted in pain, his shoulder hitting one of the porch steps as the rest of his body toppled over onto the soaked dirt. The centaur groaned, struggling to right himself as he looked to see what had tripped him up.

Three bodies were laying unmoving on the porch behind him, their orange Camp Half-Blood t-shirts standing out in the gloom. 

Chiron let out a ragged gasp, forcing himself to stand despite the pain that bloomed in his bruised limbs. 

Oh no.

Oh, gods, please no.

Chiron knelt down, pressing two fingers to the pulse point of the first body, a dark skinned boy with… with a green…

Chiron jerked his hand back, faintly registering the fact that the boy was warm and his heart was beating strongly.

He knew this boy. 

He had burned his empty shroud, mourned his death, and had been helpless to prevent his girlfriend from meeting a similar fate. There was no possible way that he should be seeing this familiar face again.

“Beckendorf?”

Jason was running.

He was not used to this feeling; the acute knowledge that he was prey for a predator that far outclassed him. Under Lupa’s teachings he had been an equal for as long as he could keep up with the pack, and in Camp Jupiter he’d been surrounded by his fellow soldiers, proud Romans who looked to him as a leader, though he had never wanted that weight to be put upon him.

Now, as he ran through a still unfamiliar forest, he felt more like a frightened rabbit, trying its best to avoid the salivating jaws of a hungry wolf, then he did any sort of soldier worth following.

He didn’t understand what was chasing him, didn’t have a name to call it, nor any idea of what it looked like. All he had was the feeling of its touch against his skin, dragging along his muscles and igniting his nerves, inspecting him like a butcher sizing up a cow that is about to be sent to slaughter. 

That was all he needed to know that it was time to get the fuck out of Camp Half-Blood.

Jason panted as he vaulted over a fallen tree, feeling sparks leap all over his body and surge out into whatever he touched. A part of him, the one that wasn’t despairing at how difficult it was to see through the heavy rain and thick fog, was glad that it was pouring out, because he would have almost certainly started a forest fire several times over by now.

He could hear others running through the woods as well, flashes of neon orange catching his eye as campers dodged and weaved through the trees that they’d been in a thousand times. Sometimes, Jason would see one up close, a face that he couldn’t put a name to yet, and he’d catch a glimpse of their wide, terror-filled eyes, all semblance of higher reasoning having been violently shoved aside in favour of pure, primal flight response.

Jason kept running.

He wished he’d thought to put on his shoes, but before everything had gone to shit, he’d just been shaking off sleep, wondering what he’d get to eat for breakfast, and if he’d get to go on his morning jog yet. The ground was soggy beneath his feet, and he kept almost slipping on the damp grass as he searched for the border. He wasn’t sure why he was trying to get out; the world beyond the camp was more dangerous, not less, but something deep down inside of him didn’t care about that. All it cared about was getting away.

Aren’t you tired, little one?

Jason stumbled, skidding to a clumsy stop as a voice reverberated throughout his entire body. It was smooth and soft, yet it echoed in a way that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Wouldn’t you like to stop? You’ve been fighting for so long, don’t you deserve a bit of rest?

The demigod pulled his lip up in a snarl, letting his lightning envelop his body as the wind swirled around him protectively. Jason crouched low to the ground, searching for any flicker of movement. He was in his element, in a storm of his father’s making; there should be no reason for him to be afraid.

And yet.

You have been very brave, little Sky Prince, none would ever doubt that, but you can stop now.

The forest around him was quiet. Too quiet. Where was the crashing thunder? The howling gales of lashing wind? When did the sounds stop? Why hadn’t he noticed before now?

I can give you the life you’ve always deserved, one of safety and security, where you can discover who you are in peace.

Jason felt something brush against his back, the ghost of a touch, and he whirled around, the foliage around him burning under the amount of energy he was putting out. 

What was this?

Your life string is going to be cut soon, eaglet. I have seen your fate. the voice crooned in his head, sounding deeply saddened, But it doesn’t have to be this way.

Jason shivered and shook his head, his teeth chattering as the thing returned, sweeping over his chest and settling in his heart.

Electric blue eyes widened as a long, shimmering string wove in between the trees that lay before him. It danced through the rain, twirling and swooping without a care in the world. He stood there, completely enraptured as he watched the string float closer and closer. It felt… important.

He wanted it.

No.

He needed it. He needed to hold onto it, and never, ever let it go.

Come with me, and you will live forever.

Jason reached out for the string.

Something smiled against his neck, and all its teeth were sharp.

Basíleia padded into the dark interior of her den, a few droplets of blood splashing onto the stone in her wake. The remnants of her most recent kill stained her muzzle a deep scarlet, and she licked the delicious lifeblood from her fur, relishing in its taste. Soon, she would need to clean herself properly, before the blood grew too sticky and began to attract pesky little flies, but for now all she wanted to do was lay down in her den’s cool depths and nurse her cubs, who were doubtlessly feeling quite hungry by now.

Sure enough, mewls reached her ears as soon as her babies became aware of her presence. As she stepped towards the sandy lower chamber of her den, Basíleia could begin to make out the forms of her cubs. They are small, with gold and tawny fur that is smattered with dark spots, and when their eyes are open they are as blue as her Queen’s mate’s glorious sky. She has been blessed with three cubs this season; Pistós, Ischyrós, and Mochthirós. Two sons and a daughter, all strong and healthy.

So it was quite confusing when she spotted a fourth figure snuggled up next to her litter.

The lioness hunched down low, opening her mouth to take in the scents in the air. The scent of man reached her first, and she growled. Before she could lunge forward and remove this intruder with her teeth, however, she got a better whiff of the babe. The scent of wind and rain washed over her tongue, and hidden beneath that was the sweet tinge of divinity.

Stunned, Basíleia reached a paw over and gently pulled the strange not-god-not-man closer. He was a small thing, thin and whining from hunger, with light gold fur and shining blue eyes. Truthfully, he did not look too dissimilar to her own cubs, save for a soft, glowing stripe that was tied around his neck, and Basíleia felt a wave of maternal instinct fill her body at the sight of this tiny god-cub.

She knew what became of god-cubs. She had let her Queen cry into her golden fur as she mourned the newest loss that her family was suffering, she had licked the cold, stiff bodies of the babes that never drew breath in a desperate attempt to get them to cry, and she had spilled the vile, dark blood of the horrific creatures that their mortal mates sometimes birthed. Everytime, she had been able to smell the sickness, even before the god-cubs were born.

But this god-cub, for all his runtiness and lack of claws or sharp teeth, smelled perfectly healthy.

Basíleia curled around both the strange god-cub and her own babies, nudging them towards her teats. She licked their fur as they latched on, suckling her rich, warm milk. She’d need to bring this god-cub to his father soon, to the Lord of the Sky, for that is who’s scent he carried, but he needed fattening first, needed to be made strong, so that the journey to the peak of the highest mountain could be a glorious celebration, and not the funeral march that had awaited so many of his siblings. No, for now he would stay with her, and she would care for him as if he were her own.

As the lioness continued to groom her litter, she noticed that something was glowing in the darkness of her den. A small patch of One Rooted pulsed faintly, their stems and caps flashing with dim light. She perked her ears up and pressed a paw to the ground, waiting for the message. She never understood what the One Rooted ones spoke of, for the language of Not Animals was lost to her, but she knew, as all Sacred Animals did, that she must remember the beats that always came after the glow, because The Old One of the Deepest Depths could tell her what they meant.

‘Speak, most ancient messengers.’ she purred, ‘My belly is full and my eyes grow heavy, so I will not wait for you if you delay.’

The One Rooted glowed brighter.

- .... . / - .. -.. . ... / --- ..-. / ..-. .- - . / .- .-. . / -.-. .... .- -. --. .. -. --. .-.-.- / -.-. .... .. .-.. -.. .-. . -. / --- ..-. / .. -.-. .... --- .-. / .- -. -.. / -... .-.. --- --- -.. / .-- .- .-.. -.- / - .... . ... . / .-.. .- -. -.. ... .-.-.- / - .... . / -- . ... ... . -. --. . .-. / .... .- ... / -... . . -. / ... .. .-.. . -. -.-. . -.. .-.-.- / - .... . / . .- .-. - .... .----. ... / .-.. .- ... - / -.-. .... .. .-.. -.. / .. ... / -... . .. -. --. / .- .-- --- -.- . -. .-.-.- / -.-. .... .- -. --. . / .. ... / -.-. --- -- .. -. --. .-.-.-

Chapter Text

Will hadn’t quite managed to stop shaking until the group stumbled across a small river. The exhausted demigods had all but collapsed into it, greedily gulping down as much water as they could stomach. The water was cool and clear, and while he knew that they should boil it first, Will couldn’t bring himself to care at that moment. Once his stomach started protesting, he pulled back, water dripping down his chin and soaking his dirt-stained shirt. The taste of vomit finally rinsed off his tongue and his mind having been given something aside from the terrifying hopelessness of their situation to think about, Will found that he wasn’t quite as upset. 

Now, that didn’t mean he was okay; the sight of that man being torn apart would likely never leave him, and he was still extremely worried about what they were going to do, but his first real drink in days had done wonders for his frazzled nerves.

Will allowed himself a moment of tentative rest as he watched the others wipe their faces or cup water in their hands to drink. He pulled at his shirt, grimacing slightly as he took in the state of it. Clambering around this foreign wilderness had left him and his company in dire need of a bath and clean clothes, but seeing as neither options were available right now, he’d just have to make do with what he had. The blonde shucked off his camp shirt, nose wrinkling at the smell of sweat and vomit. Yeah, it was way past time to get this clean. 

Shuffling over to the river, he made sure he was well away from where the others were drinking from before dipping the orange fabric into the water. He didn’t have any soap, so he just scrubbed the shirt with, well, the shirt, rubbing the cloth against itself as he tried to wash out all the grass stains and dirt splatters. It was a far cry from whatever magic the harpies worked on their clothes, but it was better than what it had been before. 

Once he was satisfied, Will laid his shirt out on a flat-ish rock, dappled sunlight starting to warm its surface. Turning back to the river, Will cupped some of the cool river water in his hands and splashed it over his neck, shivering as it poured down his shoulders and back, warming as it thinned out on his skin. He scrubbed at his shoulders, dropping more water on himself as he worked his palms over his too-smooth skin. There was no sign of the scars that had once covered his body, nor the myriad of freckles that had spread over his face and torso as he aged. It felt… wrong to see his body like this, when he was so used to it being something else.

“You feeling better, glowstick?”

Will turned at the sound of Clarisse’s voice, nodding slightly at the girl. Clarisse, too, looked uncomfortable as she looked at her reflection in the water. He imagined the change had been doubly hard for her; Ares' children prided themselves on their well-earned strength and built forms, and Clarisse had been robbed of hers while still being forced to remember what she had lost.

Will moved to sit next to her wordlessly, the two of them peering down into the river. 

“This is so weird.” Clarisse muttered after a long beat of silence, pressing her fingers into the fat of her cheeks, pushing them up before letting them drop back down, “I don’t like this; I feel so little and, and weak. This is not the body of a drakon slayer who can protect her friends.”

“Or a trained healer.” Will added, his voice rough as he scowled at his younger frame.

Will watched as Clarisse ran her palm over her arm, brushing her fingers along her smooth, scarless skin. Her nose scrunched in distaste, and Will could understand why. Scars, at least to the demigods he’d grown up around, were considered badges of honour. They proved that you’d survived something that had tried to kill you, and for children who, until very recently, considered living to adulthood a pipedream, that held a lot of weight. Will had treated many wounds during his life, especially during the war, and he’d learned to heal injuries in a way that would leave scars, even if he could have prevented them. He knew most mortals considered scars an unsightly blemish, and most wanted their doctors to minimize the amount of scar tissue they were left with, but that just… wasn’t how things worked in their world.

Will didn’t have many scars himself; being the most gifted healer in camp after Micheal had died meant that he stayed away from most battles if he could. He did, however, have a tattoo, something that was rather common amongst the older campers.

A quick glance revealed that it, too, had been taken from him.

Scowl deepening, Will pulled away from the water’s edge, pulling his knees up to his chest as he glared at the dirt. He just- he felt so upset and frustrated at their current situation, specifically at how little control he had, even over his own body. Not even the early morning sun warming his back could make him feel better right now.

“Do you think we’ll go back to normal when we get home?” Clarisse asked, pulling Will out of his thoughts.

The blonde considered Clarisse’s question for a moment. He thought that this was more of a “ if they get home” scenario, but something told him pointing that out wouldn’t be appreciated right now, “Maybe. I don’t think Thalia’s dad would want her to stay 12, at least, and Percy will probably go and yell at them to change us back if he found out what happened.”

Clarisse snorted, smiling slightly as she scooted back from the river.

“Gods, he would, wouldn’t he?” she laughed quietly, looking out across the water as she rubbed her thumb over her spear, “Did you know that, when Prissy first showed up, most of the camp placed bets on who his godly parent was?”

“Really?” Will asked, looking over at Clarisse, “But, didn’t he, like, explode the plumbing?”

“Eugh, don’t remind me.” Clarisse cringed, “Yeah, he did, but we were all kinda in denial that he would be a Big Three kid. We all knew that if he was, things were going to go to shit.”

“Anyways,” she continued, “it was pretty much a three way tie between him being a Dionysus kid, an Aphrodite kid, or an Ares kid. Before the whole capture the flag thing, him being a son of Ares was winning.”

“That,” Will said, pausing for a moment to process that information, “actually makes a lot of sense. Now that I think about it, if you told someone about everything he’s done, I think most would assume he was an Ares kid.”

“Thank the gods he’s not. I would not be able to handle having Prissy as a brother.” Clarisse fake gagged, and Will giggled at the sound, the heavy weight in his chest lifting slightly.

The two fell into a lapse of comfortable silence for a time, watching as the others settled on the grass, their thirst finally satiated. Pollux and Castor were beginning to grow some green grapes, and his stomach growled.

“Why was him being a Dionysus kid such a popular option?” Will asked suddenly, “I mean, Aphrodite I get, but I think Mr. D would have actually had an aneurism if Percy was his son.”

“It was mostly due to the Stolls.” Clarisse replied, “They argued that, since wine is a liquid, Percy controlling water could be explained as him just having control over liquids that are a part of wine or grape juice.”

“Huh.” Will said, nodding towards the twins, “What did Pol’ and Cas’ think of that?”

“Oh, they played into it.” Clarisse grinned, “I think it was mostly just to mess with their dad, but I remember Mark talking to them one time, and them saying that they really wouldn’t mind having Jackson be their brother. If he hadn’t gotten claimed, they probably would have gotten closer to him.”

“I don’t know who would hate having him as their son more, Mr. D or your dad.” Will smiled, “Probably your dad.”

“Maybe.” Clarisse said, “Jackson can whoop ass when he wants to, though, and dad probably wouldn’t have tried to kill him if he was his kid. Probably.”

“Probably.” Will parroted. 

Neither sounded wholly convinced.

“Hey, guys!” Thalia called, and the two perked up, “Breakfast!”

Will’s stomach made its needs known again, and Will found that his appetite had returned somewhat. He wasn’t starving, but he could eat, which was an improvement over the past few hours.

Making his way back over to the group, he settled down in a patch of sunlight next to Nico, whose face flushed an adorable shade of pink as he not-so-subtly eyed Will’s bare chest. Will smiled and leaned against his boyfriend, glad that at least one of them wasn’t put off by his changed body. 

A grapevine slithered over to them, and Nico put an arm around Will’s shoulder as they enjoyed the freshly grown fruit, feeling grateful that the twins had decided to avoid any red fruits this time around. As his stomach settled and his budding dehydration headache quickly waned, Will found that he no longer felt as terrible as he had before. As he sat in the sunlight, surrounded by his friends, he allowed himself to hope that things weren’t as bad as they seemed.

As it turns out, Will had gotten his wish. Things weren’t as bad as they seemed.

They were worse.

After breakfast, the group had decided to take the day to wash up, rest, and try and hunt some small game before following the river out of the forest, figuring that the chances of finding some glimpse of civilization would be higher if they stuck to a water source. They never ended up catching anything substantial, but Thalia had managed to zap a few fish, and they’d enjoyed their first warm meal in days.

As the sun rose the next morning, all six demigods set out in search of signs of life. It had taken a few hours of walking, but they had eventually caught sight of a well-worn dirt road. The idea of finally getting some answers about where they had ended up had put some pep in their step, and Will had felt optimistic in a way he hadn’t been for sometime now.

That had been completely drained out of him when they came upon a village. Or, rather, what remained of one.

The first indication that something had been wrong was the smell. The group had been a good distance away from the village when a warm breeze blew the scent of decaying flesh their way. They’d all stopped and gagged, looking around for the cause of the smell. When they couldn’t find anything, Thalia had suggested that it might have been an animal rotting somewhere out of sight, and, not wanting to consider the alternative, they’d all accepted that explanation and continued on their way. Unfortunately, the smell hadn’t gone away, only getting stronger as they continued along the path.

Just before the village came into sight, Nico had stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes had glazed over for a moment, irises darkening until it was impossible to distinguish them from his pupils. Will had tried to ask what was wrong, but Nico had gone completely stiff and silent, staring straight ahead with unseeing eyes. In the end, they’d only been able to get one sentence out of him;

“It’s not just an animal.”

Everyone had been on edge after that, and as they reluctantly continued onwards, their worries became more and more founded.

Corpses of animals began to appear on and near the road; chickens, goats, cats, and mice all lay on the path or were half hidden in the grass. Their bodies were bloated with rot, and chunks of necrotic flesh had sloughed off their exposed skeletons. Will had nearly lost his meager breakfast at the sight, just barely managing to swallow it down with a grimace. Thalia and the twins had not been so lucky, which hadn’t helped the rancid odor that hung heavy in the humid air. 

Perhaps even more disturbing than the corpses themselves had been the complete lack of insects around them. Not even a single fly buzzed around the rotten bodies, nor were there any signs that scavengers had come to feast on the sunbaked flesh. 

Looking back, Will realized that they should have heeded the obvious warning and turned around to follow the path in the other direction, or even abandon the area altogether.

Unfortunately, morbid curiosity is horrendously hard to shake, so they made the grave mistake of choosing to keep going.

And what was their grand reward for that choice? What lay in waiting for them at the end of the road?

A complete and utter bloodbath.

Will stood atop the crest of a hill, eyes locked on the crimson-stained ground below. The vile scent of disease lay over the land before him like a weighted blanket, unnaturally contained in its destruction. The necrotic remains of what must have once been townsfolk oozed into the churned, muddied earth, almost seeming to melt into the soil. Both people and animals lay unmoving in the streets, their deaths shown clearly in the shining daylight, almost like a spotlight shining down on a trophy or artistic performance.

Which, considering who had caused all this, perhaps it was.

Will had always been more intune with his father’s ability to heal, and he was proud of that fact. What he didn’t advertise as much was the fact that he was also quite sensitive to Apollo’s inclination to start plagues and create diseases. It wasn’t a power he himself used, but he always knew when someone was getting sick, and if it was a regular illness, or divine punishment. His father’s powers left an underlying tinge of divinity in their wake, which, if you could detect it, manifested as a feeling that mimicked a weak sunburn.

Even standing beyond the village’s borders, Will could feel that familiar burn. It crawled across his skin and caused him to flinch back, his stomach twisting and rolling violently.

“Jesus Christ.” Pollux breathed out, dropping the taboo ‘JC’ bomb in his horror.

“What the fuck happened here?!” Thalia gagged, clapping a hand over her mouth

“Apollo.” Will and Nico replied, speaking in perfect synchronization.

The demigods stared at the carnage in mute terror, no one knowing quite what to say. Will wasn’t sure how long they stood on top of that hill for; it could have been minutes, it could have been hours, but eventually Nico slipped his hand into Will’s own, squeezing it gently.

“Come on,” he said, almost whispering, “we should- we should look around. There might be something we can use.”

“You want to go down there? ” Clarisse gasped, “Are you out of your fucking mind?! I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to catch whatever nasty plague your dad gave these poor bastards!”

“You won't.” Will replied, his voice hollow and dull, “They’re- it’s not contagious. It wasn’t designed to go beyond this area.”

The silence returned for a time, before a hand came to rest on his shoulder. It was Castor, and the older boy was looking at him with a mixture of pity and understanding.

“It's okay if you want to stay here, Will. Nobody would judge you for not being up to walking through… that. Me and Pollux can go take a look around and be back real quick. You don’t have to go near that place.”

Will considered the offer, considered staying on the sidelines, letting the others take on the burden of scavenging in the remains of a slaughter. It would be easy; if he just turned away from the mess of gore and rot and buried his face in Nico’s jacket so the smell couldn’t reach him, perhaps he could pretend, just for a moment, that nothing was wrong. It would be so easy.

“No.” Will sniffed, scrubbing at his face with his palms, “No, I- I can do this. I’m not a baby. We need to look for medical supplies, and I doubt you two would know what to look for.”

Castor squeezed his shoulder encouragingly, nodding as he spoke, “Okay, if you’re sure. Don’t be afraid to tap out if you need to, though.”

“We should split into groups of two.” Thalia said, “Buddy system and all that shit.”

“Pollux, Castor, you two stay together. Nico, you go with Will, and Clarisse can come with me.” the daughter of Zeus ordered, much to the displeasure of Clarisse, who eyed the many corpses warily before pulling her shirt up over her nose and mouth.

The group descended the hill, carefully avoiding as much of the bloody mess as they could. The scent of disease-riddled corpses baking in the sun was nearly unbearable, but there wasn’t a demigod present who wasn’t used to death and blood. Will himself was decently desensitized to decay and the horrible smell that signified illness or disease, and being a child of Apollo meant that he was already far less affected by the nastiness of the medical field than the average person by default.

Will and Nico decided to make their way towards the village centre, hoping that most of the important buildings would be located there. It was difficult to fight the urge to turn and run when the concentration of bodies became greater and greater, forcing them to step over limbs and torsos, their shoes becoming slick with blood that, for some reason, refused to dry.

Attempting to distract himself from the horrors that lay just beneath his feet, Will focused on the various houses closest to him. They were made of brick, with either flat or terracotta roofs. Vines grew along many of them, curling around rectangular windows. A few decorative stone walls filled in the empty space between the homes and served as railings for the few sections of stairs that littered the village, and oftentimes they ended with small marble carvings, usually dogs or birds sitting atop podiums, proudly lifting their heads skywards. Will couldn’t hold back a grimace at the sight of a white raven that was coated in blood, the crimson liquid dripping from the statue’s beak.

“Hey, Will,” Nico nudged his boyfriend, getting the blonde’s attention as he pointed to something ahead of them, “look at that.”

Will followed Nico’s finger, squinting at a wooden sign that was hanging above the entrance to a short, flat roofed building that looked rather old compared to the other buildings they’d passed so far. The sign read ‘Apothecary’ in fanciful, if faded, golden text. It wasn’t in English, but Will could read it with ease, and he knew Nico could as well.

“Is- is that sign written in Ancient Greek? ” Will asked, looking at Nico in confusion.

Nico shrugged, looking just as confused as Will.

“Looks like it.” He said slowly, “I think you might have been onto something yesterday when you said we didn’t know where or when we are.”

“Uuuggghhhhhh.” Will moaned, dropping his head onto Nico’s shoulder, “I hate being right.”

Nico wrapped a comforting arm around him, gently rubbing his back, “No, you don’t.” he said with a small smile.

“No, I don’t.” Will agreed with a suffering sigh, “Okay, let’s check that place out. If we’re lucky, we’ll find something that will make slogging through this mess worth it.”

The two demigods carefully made their way down the brick-laden road, and had almost reached the Apothecary when a sound stopped them. It was faint at first, but as they slowly inched closer, soft clinking and the brief scuffing of feet against the floor indicating that there was someone alive inside the building.

Instinctively, Will wanted to call out to whoever was inside, desperate for human interaction outside his small group, but reason quickly silenced that plan. They didn’t know what type of person lay within the walls of the Apothecary, or if it was a person at all. The chance that they might be facing a monster or dangerous stranger without any real means to defend themselves was not a small one, so Will silently sank down low as he and Nico pressed themselves against the sun-warmed brick wall.

As quiet as a mouse, Will crept towards a low window, moving at a snail's pace as he raised himself up just enough to peer inside. 

A man was inside, his tan skin pale around his face as he hurriedly looked at the various jars and vials. He was kneeling on the ground, a cream coloured chiton pooling around him as he plucked a box up off one of the shelves and removed the lid. He stared at the contents for a few seconds before scowling and shoving the lid back on.

“Damn it, Stavros, why the fuck did you not label anything!” he cursed, tossing the box back, “I swear, if you weren’t already dead, I’d kill you myself.”

He paused for a moment, before sighing through his nose and pinching the space between his eyes.

“Gods above, Arepo, what a horrible thing to say.” the man, Arepo, muttered to himself, “What would μαμά say if she heard you saying such things?”

Will felt Nico come closer to him, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the stranger. He didn’t look overly dangerous, but Will could see an odd spear-like weapon leaning against the wall, and that was more than enough to convince him to stay undetected, even as the healer in him itched to ask what the man was looking for and what he was trying to treat.

“Come on, where is it?” Arepo hissed, uncapping a jar and taking a short whiff before recapping it and setting it aside, “Okay, ginger root. That’s something, at least. Now, where is the willow bark?”

‘Ginger root? Willow bark?’ Will’s brow furrowed as he recalled what the plants could be used for, ‘Ginger is an anti-inflammatory and a pain reducer. It's also great for treating nausea. Willow bark has a lot of similar benefits, but it has been used as a fever reducer over the ages. Whoever he’s getting this for, they must be sick.’

The man continued rummaging around the various containers for the next five minutes, before finally exclaiming in excitement as he held up a simple clay pot.

“Finally!” he cheered, carefully tucking the pot into the crux of his arm before snagging the jar, “Hang on, Percy, we’ll make you well again.”

Will heard Nico take in a sharp, quiet breath next to him, and instantly knew that they were both wondering the same thing; is he talking about our Percy?

Immediately, Will’s hand shot out and grabbed Nico’s shoulder, holding him in place. He felt tense muscles beneath the jacket, and in his peripheral vision he saw Nico grit his teeth, his dark eyes flashing with restrained energy. Will understood his boyfriend’s desire to jump out and demand answers; Percy had been his most high-risk patient, and if he was here, then Will wanted to go and find him as quickly as possible, but they were unarmed and outmatched, especially in these younger bodies. If things went wrong, then their chances of finding Percy, or even getting out unharmed, would quickly diminish.

Will quickly dropped out of sight, pressing himself flat against the wall as he and Nico listened to the man exit the building. Nico pressed against Will’s hand, but the young healer held firm, not allowing the son of Hades to blow their cover. Fisting the fabric beneath his touch, Will pulled Nico down and quietly hissed “Not yet!” in his ear.

Nico bared his teeth, his sharp canines glinting in the sunlight as he hunched towards the shadow of the building. It felt a little like holding back a wolf pup; Nico was equal parts adorable and dangerous, and Will was careful not to push him too much. He didn’t force him back, but he also didn’t allow him to spring forward. 

Once the sound of retreating footsteps reached his ears, Will released Nico and pushed himself up, peeking around the wall of the Apothecary. The man was mounting a shining horse, its hooves stained red by the gore it had been ridden through. As soon as he was fully in the saddle, he pressed his heels against the animal’s side, and they were off like the wind, racing back down the bloodied streets, a trail of crimson horseshoes left in their wake.

Nico stepped forward as the rider and his horse disappeared, his body beginning to flicker with shadowy flames. He was about to shadow travel, no doubt intending on following them to wherever it was they were headed.

Will snagged Nico’s sleeve, pulling his boyfriend’s attention onto him.

“Nico, I know you want to go after them. Trust me, I want to find out if it’s really Percy just as much as you do.” Will said, lightly smacking the other demigod on the arm when he looked at Will with an incredulous expression on his face, “Don’t give me that look, you know I’m worried about him, but you can’t go running off by yourself.”

“I’d be fine. If there was any danger, I could just shadow travel away!” Nico argued, glancing back at where the man had gone.

“You could.” Will said, loosening his grip and moving his hand to rest on Nico’s elbow, “But we can’t. If you leave, we’ll be left with no emergency escape plan and we’d be down one of our best fighters. Also, you’d be exposed if you had to stop and rest.”

“We will follow him, Death Boy, because even if he doesn’t have Percy, he’s the first person we’ve seen here.” Will’s eyes flicked towards a nearby corpse, “Well, the first living person, anyways.”

Nico kept gazing off towards where the man had ridden, and for a moment, Will was worried that his boyfriend would rush off anyways, but eventually the shadows receded and Nico exhaled a soft woosh of breath.

“Okay.” he relented, “But let’s be quick in getting our supplies. We can follow the blood and hoofprints for now, but if it rains, we’ll be screwed.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Will smiled, pulling Nico into a quick hug, “It’ll be okay, Nico. If he’s here, we’ll find him. We’ll keep him safe.”

Nico returned Will’s hug, tucking his face into Will’s neck, “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Aglaia grazed upon the sweet meadow grass, walking slowly beneath the shade of the trees near her. Her stomach swayed slightly as she moved about, her restless foal kicking every so often. The mare’s ears flicked back as a little hoof struck a particularly sensitive spot, and she whinnied in displeasure.

While she felt blessed to be having a foal at all, she was absolutely done with being pregnant. Her legs ached unless she was lying down, and when she was lying down her back would ache. Some days she could eat and eat and eat and never feel full, while during others even the smell of food would make her want to run to the far edge of the field. 

Another kick made her snort and lash her tail, the long hair brushing against her rump as she nosed at a patch of clover. She knew that her foal would be coming soon, surely within the next few days, and that soothed her irritation somewhat. She wasn’t angry at her foal, just at the way her body felt while she was preparing to have her. Her stallion insisted that it would be a colt, as all their other foals had been, but in Aglaia’s heart she knew that things would be different this time. This foal, her little filly, was going to be special. After all, it wasn’t everyday when a child of Lord Poseidon appeared right before she had her foal.

Kallippos had been thrilled to tell her all about the little colt that he and their master had saved from a vile monster, and how the prince had asked before climbing onto his back, something no one had ever done before. Aglaia had thought that the stallion had been imagining things, because no mortal foal of the All Sire had ever made it past their first few breaths, but then she’d gotten to meet the little prince for herself!

Oh, he was just the sweetest little colt, and he looked exactly like his sire. He’d brought her breakfast and had called her all manner of sweet names while she ate. His herdmate, a little filly with the same eyes as the Owl Goddess, had brushed her mane and coat, scratching an itch she hadn’t been able to reach all morning. Watching the little prince jolt in surprise when she thanked them had made her whinny in jovial amusement, his eyes widening into big, round orbs as he realized that he’d inherited Lord Poseidon’s ability to speak to his creations. He’d excitedly chatted to the daughter of Athena about all that Aglaia said, and had looked so crestfallen when she’d said that they couldn’t tell Aglaia’s master about his ability. 

Apparently, the humans wouldn’t react well to his gift, which the white-coated mare thought was rather stupid. Did the other humans not realize how miraculous it was that there was not one, but two mortal children of the gods walking among them? Truly, Aglaia had never seen stronger proof that horses were the smarter species.

If her master wouldn’t shout their praises from the highest hilltops, then Aglaia would do it for him. Once her foal was born, she would take the traditional journey to the sea to receive a blessing for her filly, and she would take the little Sea prince and the Owlet princess along with her, so that news would spread of their arrival. Brightest Star Day was fast approaching, so she likely would not receive a blessing from her Lord himself, but his colt and grandfilly were always happy to take his place, and they would pass on the message, if not bring the little royals right to their parents. 

Another kick from her filly had Aglaia sighing, her head swinging around to nose at her large belly.

‘Soon, little one. Just be patient a little while longer.’

Chapter Text

Sally squinted out into the storm, her windshield wipers desperately holding the line against the onslaught of torrential rainfall and hail. It was late morning, approaching the afternoon, really, but with how dark it was outside she would have been forgiven for assuming it was nighttime. 

This was a once-in-a-lifetime storm, one that had been raging for days, growing darker and more wild as time wore on. Her apartment had been spared from the worst of it, but she couldn’t stop worrying about Percy. This wasn’t a natural storm, and if she was a gambling woman, she’d bet good money that this was the work of a certain sky god’s uncontrollable, unpredictable temper.

Or a certain sea god that had been ignoring her prayers when she tried to find out what the hell was going on.

She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, glaring out at the storm like it had personally offended her. A comforting hand suddenly appeared on her shoulder, and Sally gave her husband the best smile she could muster. 

Paul had insisted on coming with her to Camp Half-Blood, or, at least, to its borders. He wanted to make sure that she got there safely, and he was almost as worried about Percy as Sally was. He had even packed the two swords that he’d purchased after the whole ‘ancient-time-Titan-tried-to-kill-us-all’ incident. They had Sally and Paul’s names engraved on the blades.

It had been a very cute, and practical, gift.

“Is it just me, or is the lightning getting worse?” Paul asked, wincing as a near-blinding flash of lightning ripped open the sky overhead.

“It’s definitely not just you.” Sally frowned, not taking her eyes off the road, “Something’s going on, and I’m going to find out what before my son ends up with amnesia surrounded by demigods from another pantheon again. ”

Jesus, what kind of messed up world was she living in where that was a sentence she could say and have it be true?

Sometimes, on very still, quiet nights, Sally regretted ever getting tangled up with the mythological world.

Now, that's not to say she regretted meeting Poseidon and having Percy; her son was her greatest source of joy, and she would always love him, but… sometimes, she likes to imagine what her life could have been like if she’d stayed firmly in the mortal world. Her ability to see through the Mist had always been stronger than others, but she hadn’t become truly clear sighted until after Percy was born. She could have lived her life like everyone else, gone through college and written her books and not known that there was a secret war brewing just beyond where she could see, blissfully ignorant, insofar she was able, given that she would have been able to see through some of the Mist’s tricks.

Then she would remember what the world would be like if Percy didn’t exist, and the faint, near shameful daydreaming would end.

“Sally, look out!”

Sally jerked out of her thoughts and back to alertness just as a flash of movement appeared on the road. The woman yelped and slammed on the breaks, gritting her teeth as her seatbelt dug into her chest, the sudden lack of movement almost making her collide with the steering wheel. Once the fleeting shock of stopping so abruptly wore off, Sally whipped her head up, wondering what she’d almost hit.

Three teenagers, dressed in a neon shirt with a black pegasus and Greek lettering, were standing, frozen, in the beams of her car’s headlights, their wide eyes locked on the vehicle that had come very close to hitting them.

Sally gasped, practically throwing herself out of her car as she moved to check on the terrified demigods, Paul following right behind her.

“Oh my goodness- are you okay?!” she asked, struggling to keep her balance as a bitter gust of wind and bits of hail crashed over her. When she received a hesitant, jerking nod from the eldest teen, a blonde boy with grey eyes, she continued, “What are you three doing out here? Why aren’t you at camp?”

One of the teens, the eldest, blinked, then squinted at her for a moment.

“Wait a minute- are, are you Mrs. Jackson?” he asked, stepping forward slightly.

Sally made a quiet noise of surprise. She looked over at Paul, who looked equally confused, before turning back to the kids.

“Er- yes, I am.” she replied, “Well, I was, at least. I go by Mrs. Blofis these days.”

The demigods visibly relaxed, looking at her with relief even as they stood in the midst of what felt like the world’s worst hurricane.

“We know you! You’re Percy’s mom!” the youngest, a young girl with black hair and near-luminous green eyes, chirped. 

“You’re, like, a legend!” the last teen, another girl, with deep brown hair and lovely hazel eyes, exclaimed, brushing some of her waterlogged hair out of her face, “Did you really shoot a Laistrygonian with a shotgun?”

Before Sally could respond to the question, or even begin to process that she was, apparently, quite well known at Camp Half-Blood, a bolt of lightning struck a nearby tree, causing the gathered humans to leap back in surprise.

“Right, questions will have to wait until later.” she called over the storm, “Come on, kids, get in the car! I’ll call Chiron and let him know you’re safe, then we’ll get you back to camp.”

At this, the teens stepped back, looking just as frightened as they had been when they’d first appeared.

“We can’t go back there!” the blonde boy cried, “It’s not safe!”

“Yeah,” the green eyed girl agreed, “why do you think we’re out here to begin with? Some freaky shit is going down, and I am not getting snatched by that thing!”

Sally felt the blood drain out of her face. Something had gotten into camp? Something that had chased off demigods, who lived and breathed to fight monsters?

“Okay, okay just- just get in the car, we’ll find somewhere safe to stop, and then I’m going to need you to give me some answers.” Sally said, ushering them back towards the vehicle, “Paul, honey, get the swords out of the trunk, please.”

Paul, who had moved to hold open the back door, looked back over at his wife, his furrowed brow just barely visible through the night-like gloom.

“Uh, why?” he asked.

As if in response to his question, an ear-piercing shriek rang out from the woods, gravely and distinctly non-human in nature.

“Right.” he bared his teeth in a grimace, “Demigod summer camps have live monsters in their woods. Percy did mention that.”

Once the three teens were safely in the back seat, Sally slid back into the driver’s seat while Paul made his way towards the trunk. The demigods slunk into the warm interior, buckling themselves in while Sally eyed the treeline warily.

“Thank you so much for this, Mrs. Jac- Blofis.” the youngest teen said, leaning into her seat in an attempt to leech more warmth out of it, her rapid breathing beginning to even out.

“Think nothing of it, sweetheart.” Sally replied, glancing over her shoulder, “Would you like to introduce yourselves?”

“I’m Malcom.” the boy said, “I’m the head counselor of the Athena cabin.”

“I’m Britney, and this is Jade.” the brunette said, pointing at herself and then the younger girl, “We’re daughters of Aphrodite and Hecate respectively.”

“It’s nice to meet you, though I wish it was under better circumstances.” Sally said, turning to look at the passenger seat as Paul returned from his perilous trek to the furthermost point of the car.

 Her husband was now holding two sheathed swords under his arms, which he carefully set down at his feet, their handles resting near the cupholders. Once the weapons were out of his hold, he quickly shut his door and pulled his seatbelt on.

“Thank you, Paul.” Sally said, before looking back at the rear seats, “Is everyone buckled up?” Sally asked. The three demigods nodded, and Sally gave them a warm smile, “Good. Now, how do you kids feel about getting some McDonalds? You can tell us about what’s happened on the way.”

Sally’s heart broke a little at the look of absolute relief and happiness that washed over their faces. From how they reacted, you’d think she’d just offered them the most delicious meal in the world.

“Thank you, Mrs. Blofis!” the trio chorused.

“Please,” Sally said, pulling her sword up onto her lap as she began to drive forward once more, “call me Sally.”

Annabeth snuggled closer to Percy, her cheek pressed against his chest as she listened to his wet, ragged breathing. Not too long after Arepo had left, her own sickness had crept up on her, so now she, too, was coated in fever-sweat, her body wracked by shivers as she tried to sleep as much as possible.

Luke never strayed too far, leaving the two little demigods only to make more of the bitter tea that Arepo had said would help, or to get fresh water to dip the rags into. The blonde was dutiful in his care, always doing his best to make sure Annabeth and Percy both were as comfortable as possible. Annabeth had thrown up a few times, Luke holding her hair back as she hacked up liquid fire. Once her stomach stopped rejecting everything she’d eaten, the teen had pulled her into his side, rubbing her back as she cried from the pain.

Percy had been constantly wavering between being in and out of consciousness for hours , mumbling incoherently in a mix of ancient Greek and English whenever he managed to surface from whatever fever dreams plagued his rest. Luke forced him to drink as much tea as he could, but most of it just seemed to come back up hours later, along with a slurry of lava-like bile. Sometimes, he’d cry and cling onto Luke, sobbing and hiccuping into the older boy’s chest as he begged for Thalia to come back. Other times, he’d be frighteningly silent and still, save for the occasional quiver, curling in on himself as he stared at something neither Annabeth nor Luke could see.

Annabeth really didn’t like it when Percy went quiet.

He was asleep right now, but she could hear him breathe calmly and feel that he wasn’t tense with fear. One of his hands was weakly intertwined with hers, and if Annabeth let it go, it would most likely fall to his side, so she kept a gentle hold on it, her thumb resting over his pulse point. She gently brushed the soft skin, shuffling even closer.

Annabeth made a soft noise as a damp, cool cloth suddenly was draped across the back of her neck. She cracked an eye open, looking up at the tired face of her big brother.

“Hi, Luke.” Annabeth rasped quietly.

“Hi, Annie.” Luke replied, his voice low as he gently tucked a few strands of hair behind Annabeth’s ear, “How are you feeling?”

“Bad.” Annabeth said, “M’ throat an’ my back hurts a whole lot.”

“I know,” Luke soothed, gently rubbing the space between her shoulders. The light pressure helped, and she sighed, letting her eyes flutter shut once more, “I’m sorry, little owl, if I could switch places with you two, I would in a heartbeat.”

Luke reached over to a nearby bowl and grabbed another cloth, wringing out some of the water before laying it onto Percy’s forehead. Percy mumbled something in his sleep, turning over slightly. Annabeth wiggled into a more comfortable position, careful not to dislodge her own cloth from its place on her neck.

“I hope Arepo comes back soon.” Annabeth croaked, “I’m worried about him. That monster might still be around somewhere.”

“Yeah, me too.” Luke sighed, “The sun set a while ago, so he should be back anytime now.”

As if summoned by Luke’s words, the sound of rapid footsteps came into Annabeth’s range of hearing. Luke tensed up, his hand reaching for the Chimera tooth. He slowly pushed himself up, placing himself between the door and Annabeth and Percy. The young demigod lifted her head, blinking blearily towards the kitchen.

She smiled when Arepo appeared in the doorway, sweat beading on his skin but a happy grin on his face. Annabeth heard Luke exhale in relief, tucking away the tooth. 

“Arepo!” Annabeth called, wincing at the strain it put on her throat, “You’re back!”

“I am.” Arepo nodded, “And just in time, too, if you’ve taken ill as well, little one. I’m sorry I took so long, there was… an incident at the village that made it more difficult than I anticipated to get everything I needed.”

“But!” the man held up a satchel, and Annabeth could hear items clinking around inside, “I did get it. Loukás, have you been giving them the tea I left with you?”

“Yeah, but they haven’t managed to keep most of it down.” Luke replied, running a hand through his hair, “Their fevers haven’t gotten worse, but they haven’t really gotten better, either. I’ve been doing my best to keep them cool, but it doesn’t feel like enough.”

“You’ve done your best, and that is all anyone could ask of you.” Arepo said, putting his hands on Luke’s shoulders, “Please, go eat and rest. You must be simply exhausted. I will take over for you.”

“Are you sure?” Luke asked, glancing over at Annabeth and Percy with a worried look on his face, “I mean, you’ve been riding all day. Aren’t you tired, too?”

“I will be fine. I am used to doing much hard work by myself, so this has been a relatively light day, all things considered.” Arepo reassured the teen with a chuckle, “Now shoo! Go take care of yourself, επίμονο αγόρι.”

Luke hesitated for a moment, wavering between his desire to stay with his young charges, and his body’s demand for nutrients and sleep, before eventually caving to his needs. He nodded gratefully to Arepo and shuffled off to the kitchen, looking every bit his age as he stumbled slightly before catching himself on the wall.

Arepo made sure Annabeth and Percy were comfortable before following after the teen. Annabeth closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of soft conversation and the muffled scraping noise that accompanied objects being moved around. After a while, Arepo returned, and when the little girl opened her eyes, she saw that the man was holding two cups. 

“Okay, my dear, let’s get you sitting up, yes? This should help you feel better, and it will be much easier on your poor stomach.” he said, setting one of the cups down and putting a hand on Annabeth’s back as he helped to ease her into a sitting position.

He handed Annabeth the remaining cup. The wood was warm in her hands and when she sniffed it experimentally, the heavy scent of ginger reached her nose. She blew on the reddish-orange liquid and took a tentative sip. Warm tea reached her tongue, ginger and a heaping dose of honey masking any of the bitterness of the willow bark. Annabeth wanted to gulp it down, desperate for something other than the hot, gross, medicinal flavoured water that Luke had been giving her, but she stopped herself. She didn’t want to throw up again, so she forced herself to take small sips.

Once she tucked into her drink, Arepo set about trying to rouse Percy. The boy whined and fought against being brought back to the waking world, but eventually hazy sea-green eyes peeled open, and Arepo was able to get Percy to sit up enough to drink. He only managed to down half the cup before pulling away, his eyes falling shut once more, but Arepo didn’t wake the young demigod a second time.

The farmer offered to braid Annabeth’s hair while she drank, both to get it off her neck and to tie it back, just in case she threw up again, and the girl eagerly accepted. As he went to fetch something to tie off the braid with, Luke walked by again, brushing a few crumbs away from his mouth as he eyed Annabeth sleepily.

“I’m gonna go lay down for a bit, okay Annie?” he said, dipping his head towards another one of the strange couch-bed things, which was tucked against the wall, “If you need anything, don’t be afraid to come and get me, alright?”

“Okay, Luke.” she replied, “I love you, sweet dreams.”

Luke looked at her for a moment, his eyes misting over slightly, before he smiled and nodded at her.

“I- I love you too, Annabeth. Sweet dreams.”

A minute or so after Luke laid down and got comfortable, Arepo returned, a comb and a long silver ribbon in his hand. Once he sat down again, Annabeth shuffled around until her back was facing Arepo. The man began brushing out her hair, starting from the bottom and making his way up, careful to gently detangle any knots that he found. The simple, repetitive movement and the soothing tea made Annabeth’s eyelids droop, but she fought to stay awake, wanting to see the braid once it was completed.

“Arepo, will you tell me a story?” Annabeth asked, her tone polite and lightly pleading, “Please? ”

Arepo laughed quietly, giving the girl a fond look.

“Of course, little one.” he said, “Now, let’s see…”

Arepo hummed, pondering which story to tell. He knew a great many, but there were only a few that would serve as acceptable bedtime stories for a little girl.

“Ah! How would you like to hear about how the twin archers found their domains?” he asked.

“Ooh, yes please!” Annabeth grinned up at Arepo, which got a smile in return.

“Very well. Our tale begins not long after the twins were born…”

Apollo and Artemis were, like their siblings, afflicted with the same horrible curse that came for every god born after Kronos laid his curse upon those who rallied against him. Apollo gradually lost his sight as he rapidly grew from a boy to a man, and had to rely on his sister for guidance, whilst Artemis was often plagued with bouts of weakness, being unable to walk for many hours at a time. The two began to explore the great, vast world that their family’s victory over the Titans had bestowed upon them, using all their tricks and senses to survive in their weakened states. 

One day, as the two gods were making their way to a nearby forest, the sun suddenly vanished from the sky, leaving the world with only the stars for light. The twins were baffled by the sudden absence of light and warmth, wondering if nighttime had somehow come early. However, when the moon eventually rose many hours later, it only managed to stay in the sky for a few moments before it, too, disappeared.

The world fell into chaos. Animals and humans alike floundered in the eternal darkness, and without the sun’s warmth, a terrible cold began to infect the land. Frost killed crops and snuffed out cook fires, starving all of Greece. Not even the gods were spared, as sacrifices waned and the unnatural cold stole the fledgling life of Demeter’s only child, her young daughter Persephone. Enraged, the goddess demanded that the cause of the sun and moon’s disappearance be found, and the celestial bodies returned to the sky. Her brothers each sent one of their sacred animals out, but none could find their way in the darkness.

Finally, Athena, who had claimed the domain of Wisdom, created an animal that specialized in hunting in the dark, and who’s approach could not be heard. She called it an ‘owl’, and she sent the bird out to find the truth. Guided by the starlight, Athena’s owl traveled far and wide, before eventually finding something peculiar. The winds around one city were warm, and when the bird flew closer, it saw a faint glow coming from the depths of a temple built into the side of a mountain. The owl swooped through the temple’s long halls, unheard on silent wings, until it reached the center, where it beheld a terrible sight.

A serpent of enormous size was coiled around a weeping maiden, her cries unheard by the beast as it slumbered. Its luminous guts were the source of the glow, and when the monster yawned, beams of radiant sunlight shone out into the temple’s interior. The owl flew down to the maiden, and when her tears landed on its head, it saw a vision of what had happened.

The serpent’s name was Python, and he was a terrible, gluttonous beast of endless greed and insatiable hunger. Born of Gaea, he laid in wait while his siblings battled the gods, only slithering out of hiding once the fight was over. He had gorged himself on the spilled ichor, growing bigger and stronger over time. However, it was never enough for Python, and one day his hunger grew so great that he decided to turn on his own niece and nephew, Selene and Helios. He spread his wings and chased their chariots across the sky, devouring both them and the sun and moon. 

Once the world had been plunged into darkness, he settled in the city of Delphi, forcing its citizens to bring him sacrifices in exchange for him providing their city with warmth. They offered the serpent herds of cows, pens of goats, and coops of chickens, but eventually their food supplies began to dwindle. Faced with starvation, the city decided to start sacrificing young men and women to the monster. The young maiden was the latest sacrifice, set to be eaten three days hence, when Python would wake once more, unless someone managed to slay the beast. 

The owl, now burdened with this knowledge, set out to look for help. The maiden’s vision had briefly shown Apollo and Artemis standing before Python, so the bird sought them out, finding them curled up together under the drooping bows of a great tree. Neither of them truly believed that they could kill Python, not in their current states, but the owl would not be able to make it back to Olympus in time to beg help from any of the gods there, and the idea of leaving such a young girl to be eaten ignited a fire of rage inside the twins, so they agreed to try.

Together, they trekked across Greece, stopping only when it was absolutely necessary. It was hard work, their dual afflictions making travel a great labour, but both Apollo and Artemis were determined to reach Delphi before Python awoke. They passed through a few small villages, and when the villagers realized who stood before them, they knelt in reverence. They offered what little supplies they had, though there wasn’t much to give. The food scarcity had forced even the village’s women and older children to learn to hunt, and a few of those young girls and boys felt pity for the maiden trapped by Python, and so they decided to accompany the twin Olympians on their quest. 

They taught Apollo and Artemis how to track game and wield a bow. Though he was blind, Apollo found that his shots always found their marks, and Artemis picked up tracking faster than any mortal had ever seen, though it seemed as though game often willingly walked across her path. The young gods found that travelling with these young ones, providing for them and using their extraordinary senses to guide them away from danger, filled them with a sense of purpose. Soon, without realizing it, they began to form the beginnings of their first domain. Their curse began to wane, and when they reached the gates of Delphi on the early morning of the third day of their journey, both felt stronger than ever. It was not a perfect fix, for Apollo was still mostly blind, and Artemis was not confident that her legs would hold out, but it would have to be enough, for the monstrous Python was beginning to rouse.

The gods and their brave companions made their way through the city with ease, for they had grown accustomed to moving without their sight, and they soon found themselves at the mouth of the temple. The air was sulfurous and putrid, thick with the scent of death and decay, but they persevered, following the glow until they emerged into the deepest chamber. Python was indeed awake, his dripping maw poised to devour the maden, but before he could swallow her, Artemis drew back her bow and let loose a silver arrow right into the serpent’s eye. 

The beast shrieked in pain, beams of light erupting from his mouth. Python turned his attention to the group, his one remaining eye gleaming with malice as he snarled in rage. Python tried to strike the goddess, but his sedentary lifestyle had made him less of a fierce serpent, and more of a fat slug. Artemis gracefully dodged his attack with ease, distracting him so that the young hunters could fire arrows into his hide while Apollo made to rescue the maiden. Once he reached the young girl, he gently wiped away her tears, and in doing so Apollo unlocked something that had been lying dormant inside of him since his birth; the gift of prophecy. 

Possible futures spilled out within his mind before coalescing into one singular future, and he saw where Python’s weak point lay. Drawing his own bow, Apollo whistled loudly, drawing Python’s attention. He waited until the warmth of sunlight washed over him, signalling that the monster had opened his mouth, before pouring all of his divine power into his arrow and letting it fly. The arrow, like all the others he’d fired before it, struck true, going clean through the top of Python’s mouth and into his skull, killing him instantly.

The enormous beast fell dead to the floor, his scales and flesh melting into shimmering ash, and as his body dissolved the sun and moon became visible once more. The sun called joyously to Apollo, while the moon crooned to Artemis, the celestial bodies drawing the twins to them. The young gods reached out, and control over the sun and moon was given to Apollo and Artemis respectively. This surge of power solidified all the domains that they had been gathering during their quest, and the twin gods were finally cured of their ailments. Apollo became the god of Light, the Sun, Prophecy, Archery, Music, Healing, and Plague, whilst Artemis became the goddess of the Hunt, the Moon, Tracking, the Wilderness and all its bounties, and Chastity. 

The maiden they rescued was endlessly grateful, and happily became Apollo’s first Oracle, acting as his mouthpiece and sharing the strenuous gift of prophecy with her god. A few of the hunters stayed and became priests and priestess of Apollo and Artemis, while others, who had grown close to Artemis and wished to continue travelling with her, became the first of her Hunters, whom she dubbed her Teeth. She gifted them magical wolf pelts, allowing them to shed their human forms, as she could, and become fierce predators that could run at her side for eternity.

Victorious and healthy at last, Apollo and Artemis returned to Olympus as heroes. Zeus swept them up into a loving hug and praised them endlessly, ushering them into the marble halls to join in a grand celebration in their honour, where he revealed that he had constructed for them two chariots made of the lightest, sturdiest clouds in the sky, telling them that he would help them yoke any animal of their choosing to the chariots, blessing them with eternal life, assured safety in the sky, and all the swiftness of the wind.

The party went on for many days, and it was a welcome reprieve from the grief that had settled over Olympus following Persephone’s death. Demeter never quite regained her full smile after her daughter passed, and her grief caused the cold to return once a year, becoming known as Winter, a time when the days shortened and the air turned cold and sharp. Never again did the sun and moon disappear from the sky, but there would occasionally be a time when one would cross in front of the other, plunging the land into brief, unnatural darkness, a reminder of what Apollo and Artemis saved us all from so long ago.

Annabeth yawned as Arepo finished both his story and her braid, tying it off in a neat, silver bow. She held the end in her hand and marveled at the amount of small, intricate braids that had been braided into a larger one. 

“It’s so pretty!” she gushed, admiring Arepo’s work, “Thank you so much!”

“You’re very welcome, Annabeth.” Arepo replied, “Now, I believe that it's time for you to go to sleep. You need to get lots of rest if you want to get better.”

“Okay.” Annabeth said, obediently laying back down.

Arepo picked up their cups and tucked them into the crux of his arm, careful not to spill any liquid that still remained.

“I’ll be coming back soon to replace your cloth, but I’ll try my best not to wake you. If you’re up for it tomorrow, we can have some figs and οξύγαλα for breakfast. Does that sound okay to you?”

Hmm. Fruit and yogurt was one of Annabeth’s favourite breakfast options, but she worried that her stomach wouldn’t agree. Her concern must have shown on her face, because Arepo was quick to reassure her that it was fine if she wasn’t up to it yet, and that he had some plain bread that should sit well in an upset stomach.

“We’ll see what the day brings.” he said, drawing a thin sheet up and over her shoulders before walking away.

 The setting of the sun and the cool, damp cloth had made her feel a lot less hot, and Annabeth pulled the sheet just a little bit tighter around herself, turning back over onto her side as she looked over at Percy, her eyelids feeling as though they were being weighed down by sandbags as her vision began to blur.

Just before she nodded off fully, Annabeth couldn’t help but think that, in the bright, silvery moonlight, Percy’s flushed cheeks almost looked like they were tinged with just the slightest hint of gold.

Thalia stared out into the darkness, listening to the constant chirps and buzzing of the nocturnal insects that inhabited the surrounding fields. Her stomach rumbled, but she ignored it, eyes scanning for any sign of an approaching threat.

Once Will and Nico had met up with them, pockets bulging with various herbs and plants and jabbering about actually seeing someone and that Percy was possibly in the same mess they were, the entire group had pretty much immediately agreed that they needed to see if it really was Percy. Thalia herself had taken up the job of tracking the hoofprints that belonged to the horse of man that the two demigods had seen during their search, using the skills she’d picked up during her years as Artemis’ lieutenant.

They’d only managed to scrounge up a meager amount of supplies from the town; a few fruits, various dried and salted meats, a container of nuts and, most excitingly, a couple of actual weapons, and they hadn’t stuck around to search for more after learning that their friend might be in trouble. They’d set off as soon as possible and kept walking as long as they could, pausing only when they really needed to take a break. However, once the sun started to set, Thalia had called for them to stop for the night, and the group had agreed, though Nico had grumbled a bit at her decision. They’d eaten a fairly light dinner, especially by demigod standards, since they hadn’t wanted to blow through their supplies right away, and most of the group had decided to turn in early to stave off the hunger pains that they knew would start nipping at them if they stayed up.

Thalia had decided to take the first watch, a decision she was beginning to regret as her eyes began to ache from exhaustion. These last few days had been some of the most strenuous in her life; even her days living on the streets with Luke and Annabeth hadn’t been as stressful, because at least then, her chances of finding food and shelter had been fairly decent, mostly due to Luke’s penchant for nicking funds off of unsuspecting rich people. Sure, there had been monsters, but Thalia had been good at dealing with those, even back then.

Exhaling through her nose, Thalia shifted slightly closer to the embers of the fire they’d started, letting the warmth seep into her thighs and back. Fireflies blinked in and out of view as they danced across the swaying grass, their little green-ish yellow glows turning the field into a makeshift night sky. One of them landed on Thalia’s nose, and the daughter of Zeus went cross-eyed trying to look at it. When it eventually flew away, she let her gaze follow it for a while, watching as it rejoined its brethren. It joined a group of fireflies that were hovering around a shadowed rock further back in the field.

Thalia sat forward.

There hadn’t been any rocks in the field, not where she could see from her place at the fire, anyways.

Now fully awake, Thalia stared at the rock, her grip tightening around the handle of the sword she’d managed to slide out from beneath a corpse. Its blade was still partially stained by the blood of its previous owner, the crimson glowing ominously in the emberlight. Another gust of wind blew by, carrying smoldering flecks of ash into the now silent night. The insects had all quieted, leaving the swishing grass and crackling fire as the only source of noise.

Without making a sound, Thalia stretched out a leg and gave Clarisse a light kick, causing her to snort and roll over, a mean glare on her face. She’d only managed to actually fall asleep a short time ago, and the daughter of Ares clearly didn’t appreciate being woken up so soon. Thalia subtly nodded her head towards the field, hoping her eyes could convey what she didn’t want to risk saying aloud.

Clarisse pushed herself up onto her forearms and squinted out into the darkness. Thalia wasn’t sure if she understood why she’d been woken up, but Clarisse slowly sat up and stretched, using one of her feet to drag her spear closer. Thalia tilted her head to the side slightly, letting her gaze slide away from the rock while still keeping it in her peripheral vision. 

After what felt like an eternity, the rock sank down into the grass, disappearing from view. This time, Clarisse clearly did see the danger, and she was quick to move into a low crouch. Spear in one hand, she leaned over and smacked Pollux’s leg, who let out a sleepy curse before he, too, sat up. The teen opened his mouth to question why he’d been woken up, but Thalia put a finger over her lips, shushing him silently. The son of Dionysus stiffened, before nodding once in understanding, moving to wake the others.

Within a matter of minutes, the entire pack of demigods were awake and on high alert, their weapons at their sides, ready to attack and defend whenever the moment called for it. Really, they should have expected this, Thalia thought to herself. They’d been extremely lucky so far; not encountering any monsters for as long as they had was almost unheard of, but their luck had to run out eventually.

Still, as she watched the grass bend to accommodate the hidden predator, Thalia couldn’t help but mourn the loss of Aegis and her bow. If she’d been with the Hunters, she could have shot whatever this thing was a hundred times over by now.

‘Will I even get my bow back if we ever make it back home?’ an insidious voice whispered in the back of her mind, ‘Or am I no longer a Hunter? Why is my circlet gone? Did I do something wrong?’

Thalia grit her teeth and shoved her worries deep into the recesses of her mind. She couldn’t focus on that, not right now.

All of her muscles felt like coiled springs as she watched whatever it was that had been stalking them swim through the grass like a shark, unseen aside from the trail of flattened foliage it left in its wake. It moved around their campsite, circling them as it sized them up. Thalia never let her eyes stray from it, always making sure that she knew where it was. 

Waiting for it to attack was almost worse than an attack itself. It was clear that everyone’s nerves were shot, and the slightest wrong move would send the entire group into a flurry of violence. Nico was practically vibrating to her left, his dark eyes locked onto their opponent. She knew he was already stressing about Percy’s condition getting worse if he was here, and she also knew that it was really only his concern about their wellbeing that was stopping him from shadow travelling until he found where the stranger was staying. Thalia was worried that, with all the stress he was under, and the lack of proper food and sleep, that his powers might slip.

It was a concern Thalia herself held. She’d noticed that she had been intermittently letting out little shocks throughout the day. Thankfully, she hadn’t hurt anyone yet, but she had to be sure that her control didn’t waiver in a fight. A stray lightning bolt could be fatal if it hit the wrong place, and they didn’t have any ambrosia to treat any burns or electrocution pains if any stray arcs of lightning hit one of her friends.

Suddenly, the movement in the grass ceased. Thalia raised her sword, ready to charge the metal with electricity when the monster attacked. If she aimed her thrust right, and if the monster didn’t have a heavily armoured underbelly, then she could stab it in the heart and end the fight right away. All she needed was one clear shot…

All at one, the monster lunged, but not in the direction Thalia had been expecting. Instead of pouncing on the demigods, the shadowed beast surged past them, sprinting towards a nearby ridge. Thalia stared at the retreating figure, confusion clear on her face. Judging by the various side-eyed glances everyone was throwing at each other, no one had expected that outcome. 

Before Thalia could even begin thinking about relaxing, however, a scream tore the silence of the night to shreds. She gasped, almost dropping her sword when she realized that the scream belonged to a person.

“Oh shit!” Castor cursed, “That- that’s a people- fuck, a person! An actual, living one!”

“Well they won’t be for much longer if we just keep standing here like a buncha jackasses!” Clarisse yelled, “Come on!”

Thalia moved without thinking, running through the field in the direction of the ridge. As they drew closer, she began to hear the sounds of a struggle; shouting, screaming, and the fearful brays of either a horse or donkey, mixed with low, gravely snarls and the sharp clack of a toothy jaw snapping closed. Something hit the ground with a solid THUD, and Thalia heard a man's voice calling out, quavering in fear as he pleaded for his life, the sound just audible over the screams of his companions.

“Pl- please- please! I- I have a family!” he cried, “No! No, please! Help! HELP!”

“HEY!” Thalia screamed, leaping over the top of the ridge, lightning crackling down her arm and flowing into her sword as she raised the weapon over her head. The monster, which appeared to be some sort of hideous bloodsoaked, half-naked werewolf-esque monstrosity, jerked its head up, baring its saliva-soaked fangs at the demigod.

Thalia bared her own teeth in response, bringing her sword down on the werewolf’s head as she fell, her blade catching the skin just before its black nose. She expected the force of her attack to do something, but it seemed as though it was only her lightning that did any real damage. The monster howled in pain, shrinking away as it pawed at its singed snout, the fur on its muzzle scorched black, exposing red, irritated skin beneath.

“Holy shit, werewolves are real?!” Clarisse said, sliding down the ridge, the others following behind her as she gaped at the half man, half wolf, “Ew, that one is so ugly.”

Thalia gave Clarisse a disbelieving look.

“I- Clarisse, we’ve literally fought monsters for most of our lives! How is this surprising to you?!”

“Werewolves aren’t Greek! They’re, like, recent mythology shit!” she argued, pointing her spear at the monster, “I thought they were one of the monsters that weren’t real! I expect to see them in Twilight, not real life!”

“That is factually wrong on so many levels, but we don’t have time to get into that right now!” Nico chimed in, holding his bone club, “What’s the plan, Thalia?”

Thalia glanced behind her, staring at the stunned man she’d saved. He was staring at her with eyes the size of dinner plates, his right arm bleeding from a series of deep scratches. He looked pale and shaken, and she just knew he’d be useless in a fight. 

Judging by how quickly he’d been overpowered, she doubted his friends would be of much use either.

Without celestial bronze weapons, fighting the monster head on seemed like a bad idea. She’d hoped that, since she’d put a good deal of force into her swing, that her sword would have been able to do something, but all it had done was act as a conductor for her lightning. 

“We need to draw it away from the mortals.” she decided, scanning the surrounding area. There wasn’t a lot of cover, but she could see a cluster of rocks and some fallen trees not too far away.

“Pollux, Castor, Will, keep the mortals safe. Maybe grow some thorny vines to shield yourselves while you get away. Clarisse, Nico, come with me. We need to distract it.” Thalia commanded, and if anyone disagreed with her plan, they didn’t voice it. 

Normally, she’d try to avoid using her powers around mortals, because it was always a toss up for what the Mist would make them see, but they’d clearly already seen the monster, and if Nico and Will were right about where, or rather, when they were, then perhaps they didn’t need to worry about hiding what they could do.

“Hey! Hey, over here you stupid fleabag!” Clarisse yelled, waving her arms as she ran past the werewolf. 

Thalia drew a fresh wave of energy out from her core, letting it coalesce in her palms. She envisioned the energy becoming sharper and longer, and it responded to what she saw in her mind’s eye. With the form of a professional baseball star, she hurled a lightning bolt at the werewolf, catching it right in its hairless chest.

The monster howled, jumping back into a crouch before springing forward, running on all four towards the three demigods. Before it could reach Thalia, Nico appeared from the darkness, swinging his trusty bone into the werewolf’s teeth with all the force his little ten year-old body could muster. The impact forced the wolf man’s head to the side, causing it to stumble slightly as a few sharpened teeth flew out in a gob of blood and saliva. This created an opening for Clarisse, who had been heating the head of her spear as she ran. The metal now glowed red hot, and she grinned sharply at the monster as she jabbed it right into the werewolf’s mouth.

The tip lodged itself into the black flesh of the monster’s hard palate, hissing as it sank deeper in. The werewolf let out an inhuman screech, throwing its head back and forth. Thalia waited for it to crumble into dust, but it never did. Instead, it charged forward and began throwing itself around, attempting to dislodge the spear and dragging a very startled Clarisse along with it. Thalia hurried to dodge a swipe of its long, obsidian claws, their tips ripping open part of her jacket. Finally, with a great toss of its head, the spear came free, flinging Clarisse up into the air as it did so. The daughter of Ares yelped, landing somewhere in the tall grass, her spear disappearing into the shadowy foliage.

“What in Hades' name…” Nico muttered, “Why didn’t that work? That should have been a kill shot!”

The werewolf growled, and Thalia could feel the sound vibrate in her chest. Red eyes glowered at her, a stark contrast against the monster’s dark grey fur. It pulled itself up to its full height, blood dripping from its mangled jaws. 

“You…” it snarled in a deep, raspy smoker’s voice, startling the duo, “You have his eyes, and you smell of storms and prideful arrogance. Have I somehow chanced upon a bastard child of the God King?”

The monster’s intense stare sent a shiver of fear racing up Thalia’s spine, and she tightened her grip on her sword. A jet black tongue swiped across the werewolf’s fangs, licking up the dripping blood as it curled its muzzle into a deeply unnatural grin.

“I never thought I’d get the chance to devour one of his children, to pay him back for what he did to me. The gods do tend to guard their delicious little graveyard quite ferociously, though I suppose you wouldn’t be found there anyways.” the monster continued, beginning to circle Nico and Thalia, who pressed their backs together, not wanting to leave themselves exposed, “Tell me, little godling, why are you here? Did your daddy not tell you about all the dangers that roam these lands? Did he not warn you about me?”

Thalia chanced a look at Nico, who looked as confused as she felt. This must have been more than just a bog standard monster, but she just couldn’t remember.

Suddenly, Nico took in a sharp breath.

“Lycaon.” he whispered, and the monster grinned impossibly wider.

“Ah, so you do know who I am.” the werewolf, Lycaon, sounded pleased by this discovery, “I wonder… if I roasted you over a fire and carved you up, do you think your father would be able to taste the ichor in your flesh?”

“What is it with you freaks and eating people?!” Thalia cried, swallowing down the bile that had crept up her throat, “Don’t you have anything better to do?!”

She did know who Lycaon was. He’d murdered his own son and served him to Zeus in order to test if he was all-knowing, and as a punishment the god had turned him into a wolf-like monster. He was dangerous, and obviously held a grudge over having his humanity stripped away.

Lycaon suddenly darted towards them, his claws scraping the ground. He brought his arm up in a wide swing, flinging dirt into the demigod’s eyes. Nico and Thalia flinched, yelling as they tried to clear their eyes of the dust and dirt. Lycaon took advantage of their instinctive movements, knocking Nico aside with a vicious swipe of his claws before pouncing onto Thalia. She just barely managed to hold her sword up in defense before she found herself being pressed into the earth, the monster’s hot, rancid breath blowing onto her face as Lycaon snapped his teeth. She pushed up with all her might, but the beast was stronger, and he leaned full weight onto the blade of her sword, causing it to slice into her collarbone.

Thalia bit back a cry of pain, hissing through her teeth as she felt warm blood bubble up, dripping into her clothes and staining the edge of her blade. With the last bit of concentration she could muster, she poured all of her energy into her free hand and slammed it into Lycaon’s face. He roared and reared back, but Thalia could see that her attack hadn’t been enough to force him to flee. She was exhausted, and her body was too underdeveloped for the amount of power she was trying to use. What used to be her normal was now her limit, and she had finally reached it.

Thalia panted, her arms shaking as she desperately tried to force her sword back up, her muscles screaming in agony even as adrenaline flooded her body. Soon, those bloodstained fangs were back, shining in the glow of the cold, bright moon. Lycaon chuckled at her pain, slowly opening his maw wider as he leaned down, a hot, wet tongue lolling out to taste the skin of her exposed neck. Thalia squeezed her eyes shut, praying to whoever was listening to please let her death be quick. 

“AaaaaAAAAAGGGHHH!”

A new voice rang out into the night, and suddenly the pressure was completely lifted off the demigod. Thalia gasped, scrambling back as her eyes flew open. A flash of orange fabric made her assume at first that one of her friends had jumped back into the fray, but she soon realized that this wasn’t the case. The orange fabric wasn’t a Camp Half-Blood t-shirt, but rather a flowing chlamys, and its owner was far from being a young child.

A man, clad in a brown Greek tunic and shining bronze arm guards, was standing over Lycaon, smashing the blade of an epsilon axe into his chest over and over again, with enough force that it was actually beginning to draw blood. His clay-brown eyes were wild and distant, like he was lost in a memory, yet his strikes never once faltered or missed. All his teeth were bared, his lips peeled back to expose his gums. Disturbingly, it almost reminded Thalia of an enraged baboon or chimp. 

She quickly shook off the feeling, forcing her arms to hold her weight as she rolled over and pushed herself up. She drove the tip of her sword into the ground, using it as a crutch as she staggered to her feet. As she regained her sense of balance, Lycaon, too, seemed to come out of his shocked state. He snapped his jaws like a rabid dog, red, frothing spit pooling at the corners of his mouth. The man leapt back with ease, his thousand yard stare fixed squarely on the enraged monster. He spun his axe around, and she saw that the end of its hilt glowed silver in the moonlight.

Lycaon growled and spat, but Thalia saw the way his pupils constricted at the sight of the precious metal. Apparently, a werewolf’s weakness really was silver.

Off to the side somewhere, Thalia could hear Nico slowly getting up. She worried that he might have been injured, and Clarisse was still nowhere to be seen. A quick look back at the ridge both made her feel incredibly dizzy and also revealed that neither Will nor Pollux and Castor were anywhere to be found. They’d done as she asked, but she couldn’t help but wish that they hadn’t. She needed help, and as eager to fight as this stranger seemed to be, he was, as far as she knew, still mortal, and mortals didn’t tend to last long against monsters.

Exhausted, terrified, hurt and out of options, Thalia pulled her sword free and, while Lycaon was distracted, swung the blade at his throat, her own blood still coating its edge.

Ssssssshing!

Vile, tar like blood oozed into Lycaon’s dark fur as Thalia’s sword cut through his flesh like a hot knife through butter. His crimson eyes widened as he let out a strangled, gurgling howl. He staggered, swaying on his matted paws, before finally tipping over and hitting the ground with a thud. He didn’t get up again, but he also didn’t dissolve into dust. The cursed man’s body remained where it had fallen, a puddle of dark blood slowly forming beneath him as his eyes became dull and unseeing.

Thalia stared at the corpse, her legs trembling as she let her sword drop out of her hands. She wobbled for a moment, before collapsing onto the ground herself. Her breaths were coming in great, heaving pants, and she had to fight not to pass out. Her unexpected ally seemed to come back to himself after a moment, and he turned to face Thalia, kneeling down before her.

“Are you well, little eagle?” he asked. His voice was silvery and smooth, and it reminded Thalia of a kind librarian that had read her and a bunch of other kids stories when she was little.

"Guh- uh, yeah.” she ran a shaky hand over her face, “Yeah, yeah I’m- I’m okay. Just… that was a lot.”

The man made a noise of understanding.

“It was. You were very brave to come to our aid. I owe you my life, as do my apprentices.”

“Well, you got that guy off me, so consider us even.” Thalia said, “Did everyone get away?”

“They did. Your friends’ control over those vines is most impressive, and it seems like all of you possess skills beyond what mere humans can do, am I right?” the man asked, inclining his head slightly.

“Y- yeah. We’re… we’re demigods.” she admitted. There was no use in hiding it; this guy had clearly seen what she could do, but saying the truth out loud to a mortal still made her nervous. “Or, half bloods, if you want, I guess.”

“Half bloods. ” the stranger hummed, testing the words out, “I didn’t know there was a word for what I was, let alone two. How delightful!”

Thalia sat up straighter.

“You’re a demigod? Really?” she asked, “Who’s your godly parent?”

The man winced, glancing up at the sky.

“I’d really rather not say. In fact, I ask that anyone who knows the truth never speaks it aloud.” he replied in a low voice, “You never know who’s listening, after all, and they get… particularly aggressive this time of the year. But I will say that I am known for my healing skills, if you know what I mean.”

He winked like they were sharing a secret, and Thalia supposed that they were. This guy didn’t look like any Apollo kid she’d ever met, but this was Ancient Greece, so perhaps the sun god looked different in this time period. It would explain why he’d come back to help them out, and why he had only seemed pleased to learn what she was, instead of freaking out or becoming revenant or something.

“Got it.” she smiled, miming zipping her mouth shut. 

The son of Apollo cocked his head at the gesture, but seemed to grasp that it meant that she wasn’t about to start calling the gods down on their heads.

“Alright, let’s get you up. Your friends don’t seem to be in the best shape, and you look like you’re about to pass out.” the man said, wrapping a muscular arm around Thalia and pulling her up onto her feet, “My name is Nikolaos. What is yours?”

“Thalia.” the demigod muttered, groaning as her adrenaline began to wear off, “Oooughhhh that feels bad- Nico! Nico, you alright?”

“Hhhhhhhn.” came a quiet, beaten down voice from off to Thalia’s left, “Yeah, yeah, I just- I need a minute here. I got the wind knocked out of me.”

“Too bad, you gotta get up.” she called back, “Come on, man, Clarisse is still down. We need to get Will over here.”

Nico cursed, but Thalia heard him shuffle around in the dirt.

“My, does your mother know you’ve been speaking that way?” the man asked, his tone lightly reprimanding.

Thalia looked him dead in the eye and replied; “Our moms are dead.”

“Ah.” Nikolaos cringed back awkwardly, “My apologies. Perhaps I should have been able to predict that; you are quite young to be out here by yourselves.”

“Mnhm.” Thalia agreed mildly, “Well, we’re good at surviving. You know how it is; the monsters aren’t going to stop coming after you just because you’re a kid, and our parents won’t step in, so we learned to take care of ourselves.”

“Of course.” the man nodded, leading her over to where Clarisse had been flung, “That’s why I hardly leave Thebes. The only reason that I’m out here tonight is because I was supposed to officiate a wedding in this lovely little village called Aciri. It’s not too far from here, and we’d hoped to get there by midday tomorrow.”

Thalia couldn’t suppress a wince.

“Is it the one with all the animal statues?” she asked, hoping that the answer was no.

“It is! Oh, some of the most talented sculptors in Greece were born in that village.” Nikolaos sighed wistfully, “You’ve been then, yes?”

“Ye- yeah. Yeah, we just came from there.” Thalia blew out a breath, dropping her gaze, “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but… your- uh- your dad paid them a visit recently and…”

She let herself trail off.

“Oh.” the son of Apollo said softly, “Oh, oh dear. That’s…” he swallowed, “I see. Another act of senseless violence.”

He sniffed, and if she looked up, Thalia had a feeling that she’d see that his eyes had gone misty.

“How typical.” Nikolaos spat venomously, “Mindless beasts, all of them! They’re no better than that horrible creature.”

Thalia… wasn’t sure she agreed with that. She wanted to argue that not every god was bad, but… well, she’d seen how her godly siblings acted.

A groan made Thalia look up. Clarisse was struggling to her feet, leaning on her spear for support. Her head was bleeding, and she looked dizzy.

“Clarisse!” Thalia pulled away from Nikolaos, staggering as her legs adjusted to holding her full weight again, “Shit- are you okay?”

“Fuck off, Grace!” she hissed, pressing her free hand to her head, “Christ on a bike, that hurts.”

“Your friend must have hit her head quite hard.” Nikolaos said, sounding concerned, “She is speaking in tongues!”

“No, that’s just English.” Thalia reassured him, “It’s, uh, our native language. We’re not exactly from here.”

“Really?” Nikolaos questioned, his eyebrows raising, “I had wondered what accent you had. You speak Greek exceptionally well.”

“Thanks.” Thalia said absentmindedly, focusing on Clarisse, “Come on, boar brat, let’s get you fixed up.”

“I will kill you in your sleep if you don’t shut up.” Clarisse grumbled, but she let herself be led away.

By this point, Nico had caught up, and was eying Nikolaos warily as he walked, never straying too close to the man, nor too far from his friends.

“It’s fine, Nico.” Thalia reassured him, “He’s one of us.”

Nico gave the man a surprised look, but he did seem to relax a small bit.

The group made their way back to the ridge and followed the trampled grass until they came across a thick wall of thorny vines. Thalia whistled sharply, and the vines sank back into the earth, revealing the rest of their friends and Nikolaos’ two apprentices. Will set upon them like a mother hen, his healing abilities kicking into overdrive as he tried to fix them up as best he could. However, it was obvious that his own power reserves had been nerfed, and he was only able to patch up Thalia and Clarisse’s open wounds before he started sweating and shaking, prompting Nico to force him to stop.

“I would offer my help, but I’m afraid I’ve always been too afraid of catching my father’s eye to use my healing abilities out in the open.” Nikolaos said apologetically, “If you come to my home, however, I assure you that I can, and will, help you. Just give us some time to catch our mules; I’m afraid that monster spooked them.”

“Thanks, but we need to keep going.” Thalia said, “We’re looking for our friend, and we think he might be staying with a man that lives somewhere near here. He’s really sick, and we don’t know if this guy can treat him.”

Nikolaos frowned.

“I really wouldn’t feel right leaving you alone out here, especially in your states. Besides, there are hardly any people living out here anymore. The man that you seek likely resides further inland.” he explained, “In fact, I only know of one person that lives remotely close to here, and I doubt he’d help your friend. Arepo was never the same after his wife and daughter passed away.”

Nico sat up and snapped his fingers, his eyes widening.

“That’s him! That’s the guy!” he exclaimed.

Nikolaos looked at Nico in surprise.

“O- oh, truly?” he glanced away, looking out into the night, “That is… very unfortunate. Arepo is hardly what I would call stable, and he is extremely devoted to the gods. If your friend is like you and me, then I fear that he is in terrible danger. Brightest Star Day is almost upon us, and if he draws the gods’ attention…”

Thalia felt a surge of fear twist and squirm in her chest.

“What is Brightest Star Day?” she demanded, “Why is Percy in danger?”

Nikolaos’ apprentices, Hector and Georgios, flinched at the name, and Nikolaos himself shuddered.

“Brightest Star Day is, to most of Greece, the anniversary of the death of the God King’s first half blood child, and the day that all of Olympus gathers to mourn.” Nikolaos began, “However, those of us who have survived it every year know better.”

“It’s not a day of mourning; it’s a celebration. A cleansing, of sorts. The gods all gather once a year to slaughter their mortal born children. It’s why there are so few of us left, and why we’re so cautious about showing off our abilities. You took a great risk tonight, even if it did save our lives.”

Thalia’s stomach turned violently. What was this? She had never heard about anything like this!

“What the fuck?” Pollux gasped, his face pale, “Why would they do that?!”

Nikolaos shrugged weakly.

“To keep their bloodlines pure, I suppose. They want to satisfy their, ah, urges, while not allowing any proof of their weakness to live.” he said, “The only reason I have made it this far is because my mother ran away from her home when she found out she was pregnant and happened to stumble upon a secret place.”

Nikolaos leaned forward, speaking in a soft whisper.

“There is a vast cavern that lies in the shadow of a mountain, far south of here. It is shrouded by a thick mist, and it is easy to lose your way, but if you can get through, then you will be shielded from the gods' view.” he said, “That is where I live, and where you must travel to. Hector and Georgios know the way, and they know all the hidden passages that will get you there safely.”

‘Like Alaska.’ Thalia thought to herself.

“What about Percy? We can’t leave without him!” Nico insisted, and Thalia quickly nodded in agreement.

“I will go and retrieve your friend.” Nikolaos said, “I can care for him if he is ill, and if anyone can deal with Arepo, it’s me. I know all his tricks.”

“I’m going with you.” Clarisse said, her voice firm.

“No, young one, it’s not-” Nikolaos began, but Clarisse cut him off.

“You don’t know what Percy looks like, and he doesn’t know you. He’s not going to just go with you, especially when he’s sick out of his mind.” she argued, “I’m going.”

The man looked like he wanted to argue, but when the daughter of Ares sharpened her gaze into something dangerous, he relented.

“Very well.” he sighed, “You best get some sleep, then. I will go and find our steeds, as we’ll need them come morning.”

As Nikolaos jogged off into the darkness, a lit torch in his grasp, the demigods moved into a tight cluster, settling down on the soft grass. Thalia laid down next to Clarisse, who was eyeing Hector and Georgios with masked distrust.

“Keep an eye on those two.” she whispered, “I don’t trust them. There’s something off about this whole thing, especially that weirdo.”

“Why do you say that?” Thalia asked, her already upset stomach constricting painfully.

“Because,” Clarisse said, “I’ve been watching that guy since I got up. Thalia, he didn’t blink once.”

Chapter Text

Amphitrite could count on her fingers the amount of times she’d been to the surface. The light of the sun made her eyes ache, the dry, polluted air dried her skin out like nothing else, and don’t even get her started on how terrible it felt to get hot sand in her gills. Every trip to the world beyond the waters of the world just made her evermore grateful that she’d been born as a creature of the sea.

But there was one thing that she had to admit about the surface; it was always interesting.

Humanity was always at work, changing the land around them to suit their needs and desires. On the rare occasions that she left her oceanic home and traded her beautiful tail for legs, she was always treated to some new view. Grand structures where there had once been vast open spaces, vehicles that moved faster than any horse or chariot, common foods that rivaled what would have been plated before only the most wealthy kings. Many could not even see magic, let alone use it, but still they found ways to do awesome things. A great deal of those things were absolutely terrifying, especially to a being that could very well live forever on the planet that had to endure humanity’s abuse, but awesome nonetheless. 

Still, interesting or not, the land simply wasn’t somewhere the Queen of the Sea liked to be. If Amphitrite had her way, she’d stay far beneath the waves, tending to her kingdom and spending time with her husband and children.

However, she now found that it was her family that was driving her to go to the surface.

Something had happened, and it was throwing the world into turmoil. For the first time in aeons, her name was being invoked by desperate sailors, pleading for her help or mercy as their vessels were tossed around like toys in a bathtub by violent waves. The sea arched and crashed against every shore, greedily sucking in any swath of land that it could, caring not for the destruction it caused, nor the lives it took. Rain poured endlessly from the heavens as storm after storm ripped across the continents, leaving precious little space for people and animals alike to hide, and even fewer after the destructive earthquakes churned and cracked the ground, leaving gaping sinkholes and eroding canyons behind.

Yesterday, several water spirits and lesser deities had come to the palace, seeking answers and begging for reprieve. Their rivers, lakes and streams simply could not handle the influx of water and shifting earth, and if something didn’t change soon, they would be irreversibly altered, and likely deeply polluted, as Amphitrite had heard increasing reports of human infrastructure being destroyed by all the recent natural disasters.

Poseidon wasn’t answering her, and had all but disappeared after he’d broken down a few days ago. Her children were lashing out, echoing their father’s pain as they sent the sea into turmoil. Atlantis itself was mostly left untouched, but its citizens were deeply worried about the state of waters beyond the city and the wellbeing of their rulers. The uncontrolled currents hadn’t caused any real problems yet, but the hunters and foragers were having trouble bringing in as much food as they usually did, and the hippocampi were becoming increasingly upset. They were getting tangled in and cut by the debris that had been washed into the ocean when they went out to feed, and the ‘little lord’ hadn’t been coming to help them and bandage their wounds like usual.

Amphitrite had suspected that her husband’s demigod son might have had something to do with the situation, but that had confirmed it. What could have possibly happened to invoke this extreme of a reaction, she didn’t know, but Amphitrite got the sinking feeling that it was something worse than death. As far as she knew, Perseus was still alive, if doing a bit poorly. If he had died, Poseidon would rage, yes, but her husband’s brothers would not. In fact, Amphitrite quietly speculated, Zeus would celebrate such a thing, though not anywhere that Poseidon could see, lest he incur the Sea God’s wrath.

So what had happened?

If no one was going to give her any answers, Amphitrite would just have to find out for herself.

Rain and wind battled for dominance as Amphitrite stepped onto the shores of Montauk beach, the wet sand sucking at her feet. Little shells crunched underfoot as she crossed the beach, heading for the flattened swaths of dunegrass that led to the nearest road. She knew that land-born demigods had a camp around here that was not too dissimilar to Atlantis’ own Camp Pélagos, and the goddess figured that, if anyone knew what was happening, they would.

Getting there, however, was proving to be more difficult than she had assumed. The hurricane-level winds made moving a challenge, not to mention it absolutely killed her ability to see. If she’d been mortal, or even a lesser deity, Amphitrite was sure she would have been blown right back into the sea. 

The asphalt of the road was slick with mud and water, but it was the best option she had, for the surrounding woods and grassy areas had become swamp-like, laden with broken branches and other hidden dangers. She considered calling a pegasus and simply flying low so as to not anger the clearly already agitated Sky God, but with how often the sky was being lit up by crackling lines of lightning, she didn’t like her chances of arriving safely.

So, there she was; the regal Queen of the Sea and wife of Poseidon, reduced to trudging through a whirlwind of sharp, frigid rain and howling gale force winds, all because her pissant brother-in-law couldn’t reign in his temper.

“I swear, if this is over some petty argument, I’m going to go up there and tear his balls off.” Amphitrite cursed, pushing her soaked hair out of her eyes.

Her mouth curved into a sharp-toothed snarl as a branch struck her face, the leaves plastering themselves against her skin.

“Perhaps I’ll castrate all of them." Amphitrite growled, peeling the branch off and tossing it aside with an agitated huff.

The storm never once waned as Amphitrite continued down the dark road. She hadn’t realized how fundamentally different it felt to be wet with rain water versus saltwater. In the sea, she was comfortable and at ease, whereas on land the water felt cold in a way that she just couldn’t shake. These were storms born from godly rage and grief, and so they affected both mortals and immortals alike. Even Amphitrite herself found it difficult to keep herself dry for any extended period of time.

Amphitrite’s ear twitched as a sound that wasn’t wind or cracking branches reached her. She paused, water rushing over her feet as she focused her attention skyward. At first she didn’t see anything in the blackness, just roiling clouds and streaks of lightning, but after a moment, a shape appeared from the cloud. It was a pegasus with a rider, and from the wild flapping of the animal’s wings and the distressed yelling coming from its back, Amphitrite could tell that this wasn’t a controlled descent.

Unsure of what she could do, but unwilling to do nothing, Amphitrite willed a luminous glow to spread across her skin. She lifted her fingers to her mouth and, after taking in a deep breath, let out a sharp, ear piercing whistle.

The pegasus continued to flail for a few moments before finally spotting the goddess. The black steed tucked in its wings and dove downwards, swooping through the rain-laden storm clouds before snapping the feathered appendages open just before both it and its rider became a smear on the ground. The pegasus whinnied as its hooves slid across the flooded road, flapping its wings to slow itself down.

‘Woah!’ the pegasus, a stallion, apparently, tossed his head and nickered at Amphitrite, ‘Hoooo boy, that was wild! Thanks for showin’ me where the runway was, my Lady!’

“You’re very welcome.” Amphitrite replied kindly as she allowed the glow to dim, before looking towards the pegasus’ rider, wanting to see who was foolish enough to go for a skybound joyride at this time.

It was a satyr; that much was immediately obvious, as his brown fur looked just as waterlogged as Amphitrite felt. He was wearing a bright orange t-shirt and a green jacket, and his whole body was trembling relentlessly. He slipped as he moved to dismount the equine, bleating in alarm, and Amphitrite was quick to move to catch him, snagging him under the arms just before he landed face-first on the asphalt. She waited until the young satyr found his footing before letting him go, his face flushed with embarrassment.

“T- thank you, um, my Lady!” he said, his tone polite but obviously confused as to who she was.

“Please, call me Amphitrite.” the goddess smiled, “And who might you be, young one?”

The satyr’s eyes widened as he realized who exactly was standing before him, and he moved to bow, but Amphitrite stopped him.

“There’s no need to bow.” she assured him.

The satyr nodded jerkily, flinching slightly as a deafening thunderclap rang out.

“M- my name is Grover, Lady Amphitrite.” he said, hooves clopping nervously against the wet stone, “Um, what, uh, what are you doing here? Its-”

He gestured to the storm raging around them, his ears pinning back as small branches whipped by.

“-not exactly nice out.” he finished.

“That is very true.” Amphitrite agreed, cocking her head slightly.

Grover, huh? 

She’d heard that name before.

“To be honest with you, Grover, I’m out here because I want answers. My husband and his brothers are wreaking havoc, and it's affecting my kingdom. I would very much like to know why they’re behaving this way.” she said, “Your friend, Perseus, is usually at the centre of such things. Do you know where I might find him?”

Grover’s ears drooped and he looked down. The pegasus, too, looked suddenly downtrodden, his great wings going limp at his sides.

“Percy, he’s-” Grover swallowed, “he’s not here anymore, Lady Amphitrite.”

Amphitrite blinked.

“He’s dead? ” she breathed, shock filling her body. How had Poseidon not told her? She’d liked Perseus! He’d been, in her opinion, the greatest hero her husband had ever sired!

“Oh, no, no!” Grover stammered, holding up his hands, “Sorry, that came out wrong!

The satyr rubbed his arms, looking uncomfortable as he tried to figure out how to tell the goddess what exactly had happened.

“He got taken,” he started, “by… something a few days ago. Nobody knows what it is, and- and it stole multiple demigods. Percy, Annabeth, Thalia, Nico; they’re all gone, and no one can find them, not even the gods.”

Amphitrite put a hand over her mouth. Her mind was racing as she tried to understand what Grover was saying. 

“I see.” she said slowly, “And you’re sure this is not Hera deciding to meddle yet again?”

Amphitrite could still clearly remember the months when Perseus had been missing. Everything had gone from concern over where he’d gone and why he could not be found, to a near-permanent ‘oh shit’ state of panic and confusion when they began becoming torn between their Greek and Roman aspects and Gaea began showing signs that she was going to rise. If this situation was anything like that, Amphitrite wanted to know now.

“No. A- at least, I don’t think so. This is more than just teleporting someone away and taking their memories, it runs much deeper than that. I don’t think she’s strong enough to do anything like this.” Grover said, before clapping his hand over his mouth.

“Oops.” he bleated, glancing fearfully around, as if the God Queen might materialize to strike him down for his comment, “I- that’s not to say she isn't powerful, I just-”

“It’s alright, Grover.” Amphitrite said, “I understand.”

“Besides,” she continued, in a much softer voice, “I think Hera could stand to be knocked down a peg or two.”

Grover didn’t say anything, but a small smile curled up at the corner of his mouth.

“Clearly, a conversation with my husband is long overdue.” Amphitrite sighed, “Tell me, do you know where he is? I had thought perhaps he was at that little camp, looking after his son, but if Perseus is… no longer here, then I fear I’ve trudged through the mess for nothing.”

“That’s,” Grover opened his mouth, but he couldn’t quite seem to find the words, “a good question. I mean, he was on Olympus, but when I woke up, pretty much everyone was gone. I thought he went back to Atlantis, and I had to ask Blackjack here for a ride because the lightning outside was so bad, I was afraid I’d get electrocuted if I tried to take the elevator.”

Amphitrite stared at the satyr. Clearly, there was a bigger story here that she wasn’t hearing, but this was hardly the place to discuss such things.

“I would like to speak on this more, but perhaps somewhere-” a leaf flew into her face, the plant plastering itself over one of Amphitrite’s eyes, “ safer, don’t you agree?”

“Oh, of course, Lady Amphitrite!” Grover nodded as the goddess removed the offending leaf, “Camp Half-Blood isn’t too far from here. We can get there in less than an hour, if Blackjack is willing to take us.” he said, looking to the pegasus for approval.

‘Sure thing!’ Blackjack whinnied, kneeling down, ‘Anythin’ for the Queen!’

“Blackjack.” Amphitrite repeated, a smile coming onto her face, “I know you. You’re Perseus’ pegasus, the one that is always searching for anyone who needs help. The hippocampi speak highly of you both. You two have become quite the celebrities amongst the creatures of the sea these past few years.”

If pegasi could blush, Blackjack would be pink from the tip of his nose right down to his hooves.

‘Aw, shucks, we ain’t that special.’ he pawed at the ground, his tail swishing as he bashfully ducked his head, ‘But, uh, if any of those lady hippocampi are interested, give ‘em my address, yeah?’

“I’ll be sure to let them know.” Amphitrite said, patting his muzzle affectionately.

In a few moments, Amphitrite found herself sitting astride the black pegasus, Grover sitting just in front of her. The wind was still throwing fat droplets of frigid rain in her face, and bits of hail had begun to fall from the sky, but Blackjack was a source of warmth, even through his soaked fur, and he did his best to shield his riders from the storm with his wings. 

Once both Amphitrite and Grover were settled, the pegasus shook some of the water from his coat and took off down the road. The satyr gripped Blackjack’s mane, but the goddess needed no such aid to keep herself centered. This was fortunate, because apparently Blackjack had only one speed; as fast as possible.

The pegasus’ hooves clattered against the asphalt, sending up a spray of water with every step. His ears were pinned flat against his skull as his sleek, aerodynamic form cut through the howling gales with ease, his muscles twitching as hailstones battered his hide. Most pegasi would have found a safe, dry place to hide away from such tumultuous weather, but Blackjack seemed to almost thrive in it, even if his ability to fly was still impaired. Amphitrite wondered if his connection to Perseus was responsible, or if his enjoyment of dangerous conditions was a trait Blackjack had been born with.

The stallion leapt over a fallen tree, wings flaring out for a moment instinctively before he tucked them back in. Grover yelped at the impact, tipping forward before Amphitrite reached out to snag him by the hood of his jacket. The satyr let out a half bleat, half awkward laugh, tightening his grip on the horsehair in his hands.

They were like a shadow in the storm, streaking through the darkness, chased by ever increasing bolts of lighting that lit up the nearby forest, leaving behind charred trees that glowed like embers in the dark. Amphitrite eyed the road ahead with a keen, wairy gaze, looking for any signs that something might obstruct their path.

Suddenly, Blackjack’s ears perked up. His head jerked to the right, and his wings flapped excitedly.

‘Yo, do you guys smell that?’ he nickered, ‘Oil… potatoes… oh ho, man, so much salt- that's McDonald's fries, baby!’

“What is a McDonald's fries?” Amphitrite asked, her brow furrowing.

‘You’ve never had McDonald's?’ Blackjack whinnied sharply, ‘Okay, change of plans, we're takin’ a detour!’

“Woah, Blackjack, wait-” Grover started, but was cut off as the stallion launched into the air. 

This time, Amphitrite found that she did have to hold on, and she quickly reached up and crushed one of the pearls that was coiled around her dark curls in intricate, looping chains.

A ball of saltwater burst forth, and with a swirl of her fingers, the goddess willed it to loop around Blackjack’s muzzle. In a flash of light that left behind the scent of sea air, the water had turned into a deep blue bridle, silver waves embroidered along the sides. Amphitrite grabbed hold of the reins, careful not to pull too hard as the pegasus ascended above the treeline.

Amphitrite felt her lungs fall into her stomach as Blackjack soared over the pines, maples and oaks. As a being of the sea, the sky felt as unnatural to her as the driest desert. Up here, the air felt even colder, the wind even sharper. This was not a place that she belonged in, and she yearned to return to the ground, or, even better, the water.

Thankfully, Blackjack was a swift mount, and soon a yellow glow came into view. Two yellow arches shone like a heavenly beacon through the gloom, and as they flew closer, Amphitrite saw that there was a building down below. It was made of white bricks, and sported a bright red roof. Light poured out from large windows, and she could see some human vehicles (cars, she thought they were called) parked on the flat expanse of asphalt.

Blackjack touched down next to one of these vehicles, and he paused for a second, his head tilting in curiosity as he began to slowly trot around it.

‘Hey, I know this car!’ he said, nosing at its front, ‘Man, Paul got those hoofprints buffed out real nice! You can’t even tell they were there!’

“Paul?” Grover and Amphitrite said as one.

Suddenly, Grover’s ears perked up. “Oh, that Paul! Huh, what are the odds?”

“Would someone please fill me in? I’m afraid I feel a bit out of the loop here.” Amphitrite said.

“Paul is Percy’s stepdad.” Grover explained, “I wonder what he’s doing out here; this isn't exactly close to their apartment.”

‘Looks like he’s gettin’ some food with Boss’ mom.’ Blackjack said, nodding towards the building, ‘Hey, do you think they’d give me some? I’m starving after all that flyin’, and Olympus’ stables are only stocked with veggies and crap. I’m a pegasus with a refined palette; I want more than bog standard hay!’

“Blackjack, I’ve seen what you beg Percy for. Your palette is anything but refined.” Grover muttered, looking a little green as he dismounted the pegasus, “ Bleugh, I hate fast food places. The smell makes me sick everytime. I don’t know how humans, or you , stand it!”

‘Pshh, you don’t know nothin’ about good food. You eat cans, man!’ Blackjack snorted, ‘Whatever, if you don’t wanna come in, that's fine. I think I saw some very tasty lookin’ bushes on the way here. I am gonna go ask Miss Sally for some fries for me and Queen Amphitrite.’

And with that, Blackjack tossed his head and made for the door, leaving Grover to scramble after him.

When the trio reached the relative safety provided by the roof, Amphitrite slid off Blackjack and pulled the Mist around herself and her companions. Once she was sure that the mortals wouldn’t panic due to a mythical winged equine entering what appeared to be some sort of multicoloured eating establishment ruled by a, quite frankly, terrifying modern day jester, the goddess pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The second Grover stepped hoof inside the building, he froze. Every hair on his wet, shaggy legs prickled, and his nose scrunched.

“Does anyone else smell-” he began, but stopped as he stared at something in front of them.

At first, Amphitrite didn’t see what had him so unsettled. All that was in front of them were a few mortals; most sitting at various tables, and one mopping the floor, dressed in a black worker’s uniform. Then the worker turned around, and Amphitrite blinked in shock.

It was a Siren; that much was glaringly obvious. Its bare, wrinkly head was dotted with dark grey feathers, some of the plumage forming a false, patchy beard around the monster’s mouth. Its feathered arms were covered by long sleeves, and it had shifted the end of the appendages to act as crude hands, gripping the handle of the mop with gnarled, three-pronged nubs that sported curved claws that were painted a vibrant purple.

Hearing the door open, the Siren turned around, sharp teeth showing as it curved its mouth into what was likely a very pleasant looking smile to mortals.

“Welcome to McDonalds! How can I help you toda-” the monster began, before stiffening up as it took in who exactly had come into the restaurant, the smile slipping off its face as its pink skin paled.

The four stood in silence for a moment, none of them quite knowing what to do. After all, how often did a Siren, a goddess, a satyr, and a pegasus cross paths outside of a setup for a bad joke?

“Uhhhh,” the Siren blinked, its huge black eyes giving it an almost frog-like appearance, “are you, like, here to kill me?”

“That depends.” Amphitrite responded, raising a brow, “Do you intend to attempt to harm any of these mortals, or us? ”

“No!” the Siren squawked, almost dropping the mop, “No, no, of- of course not!”

“Yo, Steve-O!” a voice called from somewhere behind the counter, “You alright?”

“I’m good, Jerry!” the Siren called back, still looking nervous, “Just, uh, a little misunderstanding! I’ve got it covered!”

“Steve…O?” Amphitrite said, sounding confused, “Is that your name?”

“Uh, just- just Steve, actually.” the Siren corrected, “Listen, I really don’t want any trouble. I already told those half bloods that I wasn’t gonna hurt them, and I promise that I won't. I just wanna do my job, go home, eat a box of pizza rolls, and play some Call of Duty.”

Amphitrite only understood about half of those words, but she nodded hesitantly.

“You’re quite strange for a Siren, Steve. On a number of levels.” she said, “Why?”

Steve slumped, like he was tired of hearing that question.

“Look, do you know how hard it is to catch half bloods these days?” he sighed, “Ever since that Percy kid showed up, things have been going sideways. He blew up Mount St. Helens and wiped out pretty much the entire telkhine population, killed a boat load of monsters with a smile in the Kronos fight, and,” he lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned forward, “if the rumours are true, he did something so terrible to Akhlys that she went into hiding until he was out of Tartarus.”

The siren stepped back, dipping his mop back into its bucket.

“I am not trying to mess with that kind of power. If that kid is terrifying now, imagine how horrifying he’ll be when he ascends and becomes, like, the dark King of Tartarus, or whatever his plans are.” Steve said, “So I left the Sea of Monsters, got a new look that felt right, changed my name, and learned how to fit in. I joined a support group for monsters that want to turn over a new leaf, and they got me a job here.”

He gestured to the space around them.

“It’s not great, but it pays the bills. Well, at least, it does if you have roommates.” Steve shrugged, “Noni and Helen have a habit of eating my leftovers, but other than that, living with a telkhine and a dracaena hasn’t been too bad. It beats living on a rock with seagulls and my sisters.”

“Wow, that’s- that’s kinda awesome.” Grover whistled, “I didn’t realize there were monsters other than Ella and some of the Cyclops who didn’t want to hunt half bloods.”

“Neither did I.” Amphitrite mused, “Very well, Steve of the Sirens. I shall not smite you.”

“Oh thank goodness.” Steve murmured, looking immensely relieved, “Is there, uh, anything I can… get you? Your Highness?”

‘Fries, birdman!’ Blackjack snorted, stamping the ground, ‘F.R.I.E.S. With extra salt!’

‘My friend here would like some… fries, whatever those are, with extra salt.” Amphitrite said, “I have never been to this establishment, so I suppose I will have whatever the mortals find most enjoyable.”

The goddess looked at Grover, “Young one, would you like anything?”

“A salad would be nice.” he said after a moment of contemplation, “Do you have any of those wooden forks?”

“We do.” Steve confirmed, “Uh, if you just wanna step over to the counter, I can put your order in.”

After a few minutes of figuring out how to convert sand dollars and shells into regular American currency, Amphitrite, Grover, and Blackjack, who seemed to appear, to the mortals, as a large black dog with a blue service animal harness, surveyed the room, trying to decide where to sit.

‘Ooh, let's go sit with Boss’ mom!’ Blackjack suggested, ‘She’s probably got some clue about where the Big Boss is!’

That was enough of a reason for Amphitrite, and she allowed herself to be led over to a booth table that was near some sort of colourful amalgamation of tubes and slides. There was a couple sitting there, a beautiful brunette woman and a man that Amphitrite assumed was her husband, and across from them, scrunched into the booth, were three demigods, still wearing their bright orange camp t-shirts, the fabric just beginning to dry. 

Even from this distance, she could pick out the little tells of who their godly parents were; the boy’s keen, grey eyes, the borderline inhuman beauty of the eldest girl, and the flickering surges of magic that rippled in the air around the younger. Everyone at the table seemed to have some sort of weapon on them, even the mortals, which surprised Amphitrite. From what she’d seen, mortals didn’t really carry swords anymore.

It was the son of Athena who noticed them first, and he choked on his drink, accidentally spitting his drink all over himself and the table. As he began to hack and cough, the other people looked over at where Amphitrite and the others were standing.

“Holy shit- ” the daughter of Aphrodite began, before her younger companion elbowed her in the stomach.

“Good afternoon.” Amphitrite greeted, giving the demigods a warm smile before turning slightly, dipping her head towards the mortals, “Sally Jackson. I’ve heard good things about you. And you,” she fixed her gaze on the mortal man, Paul, “must be her husband, yes?”

The two adults wore matching expressions of surprise, looking like a set of startled owls.

‘Hi, Missus Boss’ mom!’ Blackjack squealed. At the same time, Grover waved and said, “Hello, Mrs. Blofis!”

“H- hello, Grover.” the woman stammered, tripping over her words, “It's nice to see you again, dear- I’m sorry, what is going on here?” 

“I was hoping you might be able to answer that question.” Amphitrite said, sliding into a seat at the table beside the mortals, “It seems my husband has been stricken by a case of rapid, onset idiocy and has left both our kingdom without its king and myself without any clue as to why he seems intent on allowing the sea to swallow up the coasts and all those on them.”

“Your hus-” Sally cut herself off, sucking in a sharp breath as her eyes widened, “You’re Amphitrite , the Queen of the Sea.”

The goddess inclined her head.

“I- okay, wow, I, um,” Sally ran a hand through her hair, and her husband put a supportive hand on her shoulder, both of them looking quite nervous and fearful, “sorry, sorry I just- I’m still getting over the shock of, well, all of this? Don’t you, you know, kinda hate me?”

She’d scrunched down, trying to make herself smaller. The demigods looked torn between bolting and jumping to Sally’s defense, the trio looking between themselves in confusion.

“Hate you?” Amphitrite repeated, “Oh, because you bore Perseus?”

Sally nodded awkwardly.

Amphitrite waved her hand dismissively, “No, no, no. I understand my husband’s attraction to mortals, and I have long since accepted that.” she assured the woman, “I myself have had a few affairs during our marriage, though I have yet to have a demigod of my own. I can see why he was drawn to you, and you would have fit in quite well in Atlantis, I think.”

Sally’s cheeks turned pink, and she let out a stilted laugh as she glanced away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Oh- I, well,” she rubbed at the back of her neck, and her husband chuckled softly at her bashful state, “I- I don’t know about that, but I’m glad we’re on… friendly terms? I hope?”

Amphitrite smiled.

“Friends.” she mused, “I would like that, Sally Blofis.”

“Then, please,” the brunette said, “just call me Sally.”

“As you wish, Sally. ” the goddess’ smile became a grin, her pointed fangs glinting in the fluorescent artificial light.

Suddenly, Steve the minimum wage Siren reappeared, a tray in his nubby hands.

“Here you are, your ladyship.” he chirped, “A Happy Meal, a salad, and an extra large order of fries with extra salt.”

“Thank you, Steve.” Amphitrite said, inspecting the box she’d been given, “Hmm, is all mortal food packaged this colourfully?”

“No, that’s really just a Happy Meal thing.” Paul spoke up, sounding more relaxed now that he realized his wife wasn’t going to be smote, “It comes with a toy.”

“Oh?” Amphitrite said, opening the box.

“Lady Amphitrite,” Sally began, but Amphitrite stopped her before she could continue.

“Just Amphitrite is fine. We are friends now, after all.” she said, pulling out a wrapped, circular object labeled ‘cheeseburger’ in orange print.

“Amphitrite, ” Sally amended, “You said that you were looking for Poseidon?”

By now the demigods had scooted out of the booth, descending upon the multicolour plastic monument as they left the adults to converse.

“Yes,” the goddess confirmed, turning the cheeseburger over critically, “I had thought that he might be on Olympus or in that camp, looking after Perseus, but considering the fact that he is no longer here, I am not-”

“Wait!” Sally said, turning fully towards Amphitrite, “What do you mean Percy ‘isn’t here?’”

Amphitrite stared at Sally, then slowly turned to eye Grover.

The satyr looked just as shocked, and more than a bit uncomfortable.

“N- nobody told you?” he asked, his voice soft in a way only achievable by people who know that an explosion of emotion is coming.

“Told. Me. What? ” Sally grit her teeth, her blue eyes flashing dangerously. Beside her, Paul stiffened, looking between his wife and Grover.

Grover swallowed, his hands flexing nervously. Blackjack’s ears went back, and he stopped gorging himself on fries, slowly backing away from the table.

“Percy… Percy got taken, Mrs. Blofis. He- he went missing days ago- did Chiron not tell you this?!”

“When does anyone tell me ANYTHING?! ” Sally roared, slamming her hand down on the table.

Grover and Paul flinched back, but Amphitrite remained right where she was. She knew a mother’s rage well, and she could tell that this outburst had been a long time coming. 

She strengthened the Mist.

“I’m his mother, yet somehow, I am always the last fucking person to hear about what’s happening to my son!” she cried, her voice trembling with rage, “Chiron skirts around giving me an actual answer, Poseidon won’t answer me at all, and I can’t go to Camp Half-Blood to find anything out for myself!”

Sally put her face in her hands and screamed. 

Amphitrite felt a pang of sympathy for Sally, and she reached out to take the mortal’s hands into her own. Sally looked up at the goddess, her eyes wet with frustrated tears.

“You are incredibly strong to have endured such treatment for so long. Chaos knows I would have bitten that old nag’s head off ages ago if he tried to pull such nonsense with my children.” she soothed, gently rubbing Sally’s knuckles, “I am sorry my husband has kept this from you, Sally. You deserve to know if your son is in trouble. You deserve better than this, you and Perseus both.”

Sally sniffed and rubbed at her eyes. Grover shifted next to Amphitrite, clearly wanting to comfort Sally, but not knowing how.

“Thank you.” she said, leaning into her husband, who wrapped a comforting arm around her, “I just- I always feel like I’m being left out of the loop when it comes to important things. Percy tells me things, sometimes, but I know he’s sugarcoating so much of it.”

“I know how you feel.” Amphitrite said, “My son, Triton, is always taking on as much responsibility as he can, and he no longer comes to me to share his troubles. I hardly know anything about how he really feels anymore. And, of course, Poseidon has decided that I don’t need to know anything about what’s happening beyond our city walls.”

“Am I a terrible person for finding comfort in the fact that we’re both being left in the dark by him?” Sally asked, a watery laugh leaving her lips.

“Not at all. I feel the same way.” Amphitrite said.

“Well, maybe we can chew him out together then.” Sally gave her a wobbly smile, “Chiron is coming to meet us here, to collect the kids, and he said some gods would be accompanying him. Apparently, something caused the whole camp to abandon ship. He, of course, was vague, and we didn’t want to press the kids before they got a chance to eat and calm down, but somehow I know this has to do with what happened to Percy.”

“I fear that you may be right.” Amphitrite sighed, reaching once again for her Joyous Repast, or whatever it was called, “Young Grover here mentioned that multiple demigods have gone missing. I assumed it was Hera’s fault, of course, but he believes that there is something bigger at play here.”

“I- I don’t know a lot, just that it isn't the work of a god.” Grover mumbled, nervously chewing on his wooden fork, “The Olympian Council seemed really stressed out, especially the Big Three. Ch- Chiron can probably fill you in w- when he gets here.”

“ Great. ” Sally sighed, slumping down into her palm. “So we’re playing the waiting game.”

“Indeed.” Amphitrite said, sounding equally as annoyed, “Rest assured, he will be answering your questions. I will make sure of it.”

The goddess continued to root around inside the box, her finger eventually closing around a plastic bag. As she lifted it out, Amphitrite realized that it contained some sort of figurine.

“Oh, which one did you get?” Paul asked, peering curiously at the bag.

“Hmmm.” Amphitrite hummed, sharpening her nails into claws for a moment to effortlessly slice through the plastic. She picked up the figurine, inspecting it, “It appears to be a small blue bird sitting within a pink bag of some kind.”

“Oh, the blue parakeet, nice.” the man nodded, “I got the grey ferret.”

He held up a previously unseen plastic facsimile of a ferret. He nudged the head, and it bobbled slightly. The goddess’ pupils expanded slightly, and she tapped her own toy, becoming enraptured by its simple action and cutesy design.

“What are these strange, colourful little beast statues called?” she asked, shaking the bird slightly to make the head wiggle.

“Littlest Pet Shops.” Sally replied, “They came out a year before Percy was born. They’re pretty popular with kids. And Paul.”

Her voice turned slightly teasing at the end, but Amphitrite found herself agreeing with the man’s tastes.

“I think I quite enjoy these ‘littlest pet shops’.” she said, “Can they only be purchased here? I do not wish to subject myself to your smiling jester deity everytime I want to acquire one. He unnerves me greatly.”

“Smiling jester deity- you mean Ronald McDonald? ” Paul said, his gaze sliding over to the cardboard standee in the corner.

“Yes.” Amphitrite glared in its direction, “His soulless eyes hold nothing but malice and greed.”

Paul coughed, though it sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

“I mean, he’s a corporate mascot for a hugely popular fast food chain, so,” Sally made a so-so gesture, “you’re not too far off the mark?”

“And, uh, no, you don’t need to come here to get them.” Paul added, “They’re in almost every toy store.”

“Wonderful.” Amphitrite said, setting her little blue bird down on the table as she picked up her cheeseburger and settled in fully to wait, “It seems like I’ll be coming to the surface more often.”

It was dark out when Percy finally woke up fully.

He came to awareness slowly, his eyes sticky with sleep crust. It took a few minutes, but his eyes adjusted to the darkness, letting him see that he was in the living room. He could hear the soft sounds of other people sleeping in the room. A gentle, steady breath on his neck, paired with the weight on his arm, told him that Annabeth was asleep next to him.

Percy shifted and wiggled until his arm was free, and he quietly shook the limb out, trying to get rid of the pins and needles feeling. Something slid over his eyes, and when he lifted it, he realized that it was a cloth. The fabric was warm, like it had been absorbing his body heat, and it was ever so slightly damp. Percy set it aside and slowly pushed himself off the bed, careful not to wake Annabeth up.

The room was quiet as Percy padded across it. He didn’t know why, but something inside the demigod was urging him to go outside. He crept into the kitchen and inched the door open, slipping out into the night.

The air was warm and the night was alive with the sound of nocturnal critters. The sky above was clear and full of stars, and the moon was enormous, big and round as it peered down at all the land below. One star in particular seemed to be shining much brighter than the rest, glowing like a tiny, distant moon. It twinkled, like it was winking at the demigod. Percy smiled at the sight. Something felt special about tonight, and he was glad that he felt better, and could be awake to experience it.

One of the farm’s dirt paths seemed almost illuminated by the silvery starlight, and Percy followed it. He passed the goat pen, where the little kid he’d played with days prior now slept peacefully, the cow paddock, where the bovines grazed on the green summer grass, their soulful brown eyes watching him pass from beneath thick, black eyelashes, and finally the herd of horses. Most were asleep, their heads lowered and their eyes closed, but Percy realized that he couldn’t see Kallippos or Aglaia amongst them.

Suddenly, Percy sensed something moving behind him, and when he turned around, he saw a familiar shining horse trotting up the road that Percy had just walked down.

‘Oh, there you are, Little Prince!’ Kallippos nickered, ‘I was just coming to find you, but I caught your scent on the wind and turned around.’

“Hi, Kallippos.” Percy greeted, his voice still a bit hoarse, “Why were you looking for me? It’s the middle of the night.”

‘My mare is having our foal on this blessed night, but I’m afraid this one is proving more difficult than the others she has given birth to.’ the stallion explained, ‘I had come to ask if you might be willing to comfort her. Only you have the gift of being able to understand us, and I cannot enter her stall by myself.’

“Aglaia’s having her baby?” Percy gasped, “Okay, I’ll try my best to help!”

Kallippos trotted alongside Percy as the young boy ran down to the stables, following close behind him as he made his way inside. Aglaia’s stall, Percy remembered, was all the way at the other end of the stable, and he quickly found it again. He undid the latch and opened the door, letting Kallippos in before shutting the door again. It wasn’t locked, but it felt weird to just leave it swinging open.

Aglaia was laying down in the hay, her shimmering white coat damp with sweat as she grunted and rolled back and forth. Her nostrils flared, and she lifted her head to look at who had entered her stall.

‘Ah… hello, Prince Percy.’ she whinnied softly, her voice pained but still trying to sound pleasant, ‘I had heard that you had fallen ill. It fills me with relief to see you on the mend.’

Percy sat down near the mare’s forelegs and reached out a hand, gently stroking her mane and neck. He wasn’t sure why the horses all insisted on calling him a prince, but he wondered if it had something to do with who his dad was. He still hadn’t figured it out, but he was beginning to have some suspicions. He thought that his dad might possibly be Poseidon, but the Sea God was really strong, and he… wasn’t.

“Yeah, I’m feeling a lot better now.” he said, “But don’t worry about me, okay? You’re having a baby! You need to worry about yourself. Is there anything I can do to help?”

‘You being here is enough, sweet colt.’ Aglaia nosed at Percy’s hair, causing him to giggle as her velvety snout tousled his black curls, ‘Nothing feels wrong, my filly has just decided that she needs a little bit more time before she’s ready to come out.’

‘You still believe that it's going to be a filly?’ Kallippos neighed, ‘My sweetest sugartreat, every other foal has been a colt. Why would this one be anything different?’

“I think she’s right.” Percy chirped, moving to stroke Aglaia’s cheeks as she leaned her great head into his lap, “I had a dream, and I saw a baby horse that looked a whole lot like you, Aglaia, but she had blue eyes instead of brown. I don’t know if that was your baby, but sometimes my dreams tell me things before they happen, or they show me something that is happening to someone else.”

‘That is a most wonderful sign.’ Aglaia whickered, ‘Dreams are sacred to horses. Most usually only have a few in their lifetimes, and they always mean something, or carry some sort of message from our King, the All Sire.’

“Who’s that?” Percy asked, holding back a grunt as the mare leaned further into him, her hindquarters shifting in the hay as she tried to get comfortable.

‘You don’t know?’ Kallippos asked, settling down behind him, ‘Did your dam not tell you who your sire was?’

“Did my what not tell me what? ” Percy squinted at the horse, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Kallippos’ ears flicked as he seemed to think about Percy’s question.

‘I believe the human words are… mother and father?’ he tossed his head, ‘So many words for the same thing! Do your tongues not get tired?’

“Ummm,” Percy slowly shook his head, “n- no, my mommy always said my daddy was lost at sea.”

‘I have no doubt that he is at sea, but he was certainly not lost to it.’ Aglaia said, ‘Didn’t you ever wonder why you could speak to us, or why you always carry the scent of the sea on your skin?’

“I smell like the sea?” Percy asked, grabbing his chiton and giving it an experimental sniff. He didn’t think that he smelled particularly beachy.

‘Yes, although your muzzle is quite small and short, so perhaps you cannot smell it.’ Kallippos mused, ‘You are also the spitting image of your si- ah, father. ’

“I am? ” the young demigod said, touching his face. 

Percy had always wondered if he looked like his daddy, but he didn’t often get to ask his mommy about him, not since Smelly Gabe had moved in. The man often said that Percy’s daddy was a ‘good for nothing deadbeat,’ whatever that meant.

‘Oh, yes.’ Aglaia nickered, ‘I met him once, when I was a young filly. My dam brought me to the sea the night I was born, as almost all horses do, and he bestowed a blessing upon me, giving great strength to my legs and putting courage in my heart. You have Poseidon’s eyes, the eyes of the vast, deep sea.’

Percy let out a short, gasping exhale. There it was. Someone had said the quiet truth that had been growing in the back of his mind out loud.

He was the son of Poseidon.

A snort from Aglaia pulled him from the mind-melting revelation happening inside his thoughts. The mare rolled onto her stomach, stumbling onto her hooves. She paced around for a while, before kneeling down again. Her breathing was starting to pick up, and Percy was quick to begin petting her again, rubbing her neck and back as she laboured. Her nostrils flared and she lifted up one of her hind legs. Something pale and slimy began to appear in the hay, and Percy averted his gaze. New life was wonderful and all, but the little boy did not want to see its gross beginning.

The mare panted and grunted, her ears folding back as she pushed. Kallippos tried to give her encouragement, but wisely stopped when she whirled around and snapped her teeth at his ears. Percy, thankfully, was spared from her wrath, and after another long stretch of pained grunts and uncomfortable shifting, something began to move in the hay, and Aglaia finally collapsed into the hay, breathing heavily.

Percy wanted to see the new baby, but his mommy had warned him that animal mommies didn’t like it when people went near their babies. After a minute, Aglaia pushed herself up a bit and inspected the little lump of wet fur and hay. She began licking and nosing the foal, and once she was satisfied, she turned back towards the demigod and pushed Percy forwards, causing him to slide across the stall floor until he was seated in front of the foal.

Aglaia and Kallippos’ newborn looked exactly like she had in his dream. Her coat was pearlescent; shining white with just the tiniest hint of cream. A still-damp white mane lay flat against her slender neck. Her big, pale blue eyes blinked at him, and when Percy slowly lifted a hand, she pressed her muzzle into his palm.

‘Who you?’ she asked, and Percy felt a heavy wave of deja-vu crash over him.

“I’m Percy.” he whispered, “Um, happy birthday?”

‘See? A filly!’ Aglaia said, sounding rather smug, even through her exhaustion, ‘You owe me many apples, Kallippos.’

‘So I do.’ Kallippos chuckled, the sound coming out like a breathy nicker, ‘How do you feel, my dearest one?’

‘Like I just pushed out a foal.’ the mare deadpanned.

“Percy?”

Every head turned towards the stall door.

Annabeth stood there, clad in her sleepwear and looking quite tired even as she gave Percy a weak glare.

“Annabeth?” Percy said, turning towards her, “What are you doing here?”

“That's what I should be asking you, Seaweed Brain.” the girl huffed, but her gaze softened immediately when she saw the foal, and she let out a gasp.

“Awwww! ” she cooed, carefully stepping a little bit closer before sitting down in the hay, “He’s so cute! ”

“She.” Percy corrected, scooching over to sit with his friend, “She’s a filly.”

“Can I pet her?” Annabeth asked, “Um, could you ask, Percy? Please?”

“They can understand you, it’s just that you can’t understand them. ” Percy said, but he did look to Aglaia for permission.

‘Of course the young Owlet may pet her.’ the mare dipped her head, ‘I trust the young princess to be gentle.’

“Aglaia says yes.” Percy relayed.

Annabeth grinned and shuffled forward, holding out her hand for the foal to smell. Once the filly was comfortable, Annabeth ran a hand along her back, giggling when the foal stretched her neck forward to rub her fuzzy face all over Annabeth’s. The filly’s thoughts were pretty much a constant loop of ‘Who you? What this? What that? Why? Why that?’ , which was as endearing as it was annoying.

Soon, the foal started to attempt to stand. Percy and Annabeth were the perfect cheer squad, and within an hour, she was up on her shaky hooves. Aglaia guided her daughter to her teats, which were dripping with milk, and the foal began to eagerly suckle, her tail wagging like a puppy’s.

‘Her legs are strong already.’ Agalia neighed proudly, ‘Once she’s had her first meal, I think she’ll be ready to go to the sea.’

“Are you sure?” Percy asked, “Isn’t the ocean a long way away?”

‘Tonight is a special night, Little Prince.’ Kallippos said, ‘The rules of the world will bend a little, if you know how to ask.’

“What does that mean?” Percy questioned, confusion colouring his tone.

‘Today is Brightest Star Day.’ the stallion continued, ‘Almost all the gods have gathered to mourn those that they have lost, and have turned their attention away from the world. As a result, things do not always work the way they should, and the stars reveal all secret paths across the world that they have seen, and if you wish it and they will it, you will see them, too.’

“Woah. ” Percy said, his voice heavy with awe.

“What did they say?” Annabeth asked.

“Apparently, this is some kind of super special night, and they’re going to use magic ‘star paths’ to go see the ocean in order to get a blessing for their foal!” Percy explained.

“Star paths?” Annabeth parroted, “I’ve never heard of anything like that before.”

“Me neither.” Percy confessed. It wasn’t something Luke had ever mentioned, nor something that had ever come up when his mommy would tell him bedtime stories about Greek mythology, “Maybe it's something only animals know about?”

“MaybeEEE!” Annabeth squealed, her arms flailing as Aglaia snagged her by the back of her chiton.

“Annabeth! ” Percy cried.

Before he could do anything, Percy felt himself get lifted up as well. After a moment of confused struggle, the two demigods found themselves sitting on the backs of Aglaia and Kallippos. Annabeth was on the mare, while Percy was on the stallion.

“Kallippos, what are you doing? ” he asked, yelping and quickly grabbing the horse’s mane as he began to move. Kallippos nudged open the stall door, and Aglaia and her foal trotted out, the stallion following right after.

‘We’re going to see your family, Little Prince!’ the equine replied happily.

Before Percy could protest, the horses moved from a trot to a full gallop, and the boy had to focus on hanging on for dear life.

As they burst out into the farm proper, the other horses neighed encouragingly, wishing them well and congratulating Agalia on her new baby.

‘Goodbye, Prince Percy!’ they called, ‘Goodbye, little owl!’

“Kallippos, wait-” Percy started, but got cut off as the stallion made a sharp turn, leaping over the fence that surrounded the cattle paddock. The movement and impact made his stomach flip, and Percy screwed his eyes shut, burying his face in the stallion’s neck.

“Annabeth!” a frantic voice called out, followed by the sound of a door swinging open violently, “Percy!”

 “LUKE!” Annabeth yelled back, “Luke, help!”

“We’re being horse-napped!” Percy cried, opening his eyes just in time to see both Luke and Arepo standing in the doorway, shocked expressions on their faces.

Arepo snapped out of his shock first and whistled sharply, shouting at the horses in rapid fire ancient Greek and some other language Percy didn’t understand. Kallippos’ ears went back, but he didn’t stop.

‘Ω, πιο λαμπρό αστέρι στον νυχτερινό ουρανό,’ the stallion whinnied, ‘Δώσε μου ασφαλές πέρασμα στα μυστικά ασημένια μονοπάτια σου!’

The grass before them pulsed with light, and some of the blades started to glow a brilliant silver. The horses followed the path that appeared, and the world began to blur.

“Wait, wait, wait! ” Percy begged, but it was too late to stop. With one desperate look back at Luke, the two demigods disappeared in a flash of starlight.

Chapter Text

‘Have you heard?’

‘Heard what?’

‘There’s been whispers-’

‘There are always whispers.’

‘This is different!’

‘How?’

‘They’re about Queen Basíleia. Apparently, she has a new cub!’

‘But, didn’t she have her cubs over a week ago?’

‘See, that’s the interesting part. I heard from Kelepoúri, who heard from Kafés, who heard from-’

‘This sounds like a silly rumour.’

‘Let me finish! Kafés heard from Princess Cora that the new cub is a god-cub! ’

‘A god-cub? That’s impossible. Everyone knows that god-cubs never draw breath.’

‘Are you calling the princess a liar?’

‘No, I just-’

‘Who is calling my niece a liar?’

Regina narrowed her light brown eyes at the two gossiping lionesses, her tail swaying slightly behind her. Sitári and Chóma both ducked their heads respectfully, their ears folding down in embarrassment.

‘G- good evening, Lady Regina.’ Sitári greeted, ‘I- I was just trying to say that I thought that Princess Cora had, perhaps, made a mistake.’

‘Cora seldom makes mistakes.’ Regina chuffed, her deep tawny fur bristling slightly before she moved to smooth it back down with her rough tongue, ‘Especially when she is expecting. So, what exactly do you believe she was mistaken about?’

Chóma’s tail flicked towards the highest point of the rocky hill that their pride liked to stay at during the summer, pointing towards the Royal Den.

‘Well, I heard that Kafés said that she heard from Cora that the Queen has a god-cub in her care.’ she explained, ‘Is it true, my Lady? Has the curse been broken at last?’

‘I have just returned from a long hunting trip, and I have yet to speak to my sister.’ Regina yawned, stretching and flexing her claws, ‘However, I must agree that such a thing sounds… far-fetched. I will go and see for myself if Cora’s words hold any truth.’

The two lioness’ parted as Regina walked forward. Her limbs ached from the long trek across the grasslands to and from the Hunting Lands, and all she wanted was to find a nice, cool spot beneath the boughs of a willow tree and take a nice, long nap, but Regina couldn’t help satisfying her curiosity first. What Chóma said sounded more than far-fetched; the lioness was actually quite sure that it was impossible, but her niece wasn’t one to make up tall tales. Perhaps her sister was caring for one of Pan’s satyrs for whatever reason. They weren’t really his children, being born of wild things and nature magic, but she supposed that Cora’s words might have been misunderstood by Kafés. She’d always been a bit… ditzy, to put it gently.

The Royal Den was situated in the shadow of a large outcropping of rough marble stone. The mouth of the den had, according to Regina’s great grandmother, been painted by Lord Apollo many years ago; murals of proud peacocks and graceful lions dancing together in the sun covered the white stone. The image of a pale-furred cub smiled down at her as she slipped into the cool, inviting darkness. As she walked, the stone gradually became soft, white sand, the grains swishing quietly as she made her way to the deepest part of the den.

The air smelled heavily of milk, and Regina could hear her new nieces and nephews as they mewed and squirmed as she approached. Basíleia’s tail flicked, and she quickly lifted her head, fangs bared in a silent hiss, but when her orange eyes landed on her sister, she relaxed.

‘Sister.’ Basíleia said, her voice warm, ‘I did not know that you had returned. I am sorry to have missed your return.’

‘Think nothing of it. You had your cubs to look after, and it is getting late. I had half expected you to be asleep, or perhaps just waking up.’ Regina replied, padding closer to rub her head against Basíleia’s, ‘How many this time?’

‘Three.’ Basíleia replied, leaning into the affectionate headbut, ‘Two princes and a princess. I have named them Pistós, Ischyrós, and Mochthirós.’

‘Fine names.’ Regina purred, ‘And what of this “god-cub” I’ve heard rumour of? Has Lord Pan left one of his kids in your care?’

The pride queen chuffed with laughter, her great chest heaving.

‘No, no, sister. There are no goats in my den.’ Basíleia replied, her tone mirthful.

‘Ah, so it was all hearsay.’ Regina said, moving to sit down.

‘Oh no, Regina,’ the dark furred lioness said, uncurling her body and stretching out her limbs, ‘the rumours are very true.’

Regina peered forward, her ears perked as she looked down at the three fuzzy bodies that had been previously hidden.

Wait, no, not three bodies…

The lioness’ jaw fell open.

‘Basíleia!’ Regina said in a sharp, hushed whisper, ‘What is that?! Why are you nursing a human-cub?!’

‘He is not a human-cub.’ Basíleia insisted, ‘Take in his scent. He smells of ichor and storms, sister!’

Regina narrowed her eyes in doubt but did as she was told. She opened her mouth, her curved fangs resting just above the babe’s head, and took in a deep breath.

It was like breathing in the crisp, fresh air of the open plains, right before the first raindrops of a mighty thunderstorm fell. The scent was half of the natural world, and half removed from it, the young one’s human smell being intermingled with the redolence of divinity.

Regina pulled her head back in shock, her ears pinning back as she stared at the… at the…

‘It is a god-cub.’ she breathed, looking over at her sister in bewilderment, ‘Basíleia… where could you possibly have found him? I mean, such a thing has never- they’ve always-’

 ‘I know. It puzzles me greatly, too.’ Basíleia sighed, leaning against Regina’s hind leg, ‘He was amongst my cubs when I returned from a short hunt a few days ago. I do not know where he came from, nor how he got here, but I can smell no mortal parent on him.’

‘Why haven’t you brought him to Olympus?’ Regina asked, cocking her head, ‘Surely you know that they need to know about him. Queen Hera will be furious if she finds him here, not to mention King Zeus’ famous temper…’

‘I wanted to be sure that he would make it to Olympus. He was so thin when I found him, always crying for more milk, and he shook from the cold whenever I left his side for too long.’ the lioness explained, leaning down to lick the god-cub’s crop of pale, fluffy fur, ‘I plan to bring him to the mountain soon, when I bring my cubs to be presented to Queen Hera.’

‘Sister, I really do not think it wise to wait.’ Regina stressed, ‘I had planned to speak of this to you tomorrow, after I had rested, but there was a reason that I was gone so long, and it wasn’t just a lack of prey.’

At this, Basíleia sat up fully, her tail curling around her cubs. The decorative metal band cut a line through the sand, the shimmering peacock feathers that were attached to it via beads trailing quietly behind it. One of the cubs sleepily batted at the feather, ignorant to his mother’s concern.

‘What has happened?’ Basíleia asked.

Regina pawed at the ground, watching as the pale grains tumbled over one another.

‘While I was in the Hunting Lands, trying to find something that hadn’t been scared off or eaten by a monster, I overheard a pair of vipers talking about how Lord Hermes had not spoken to the Serpent King, Lepis, in almost a year.’ she said, ‘Since I was close, I decided to pay Lepis a visit, to see if that was true.’

‘Apparently,’ Regina continued, ‘not only has Lepis not seen him, no snake has even seen lord Hermes since the last Summer Solstice. He actually asked me if our pride knew where he’d gone, since we are close to Olympus.’

Basíleia’s ears folded back, the tip of her tail twitching back and forth.

‘I knew that he had been absent, that much was obvious by how bold the monsters have become, especially on the roads, but I had thought that he was simply nursing hurt feelings. Queen Hera and Lady Artemis had spoken about how Lord Apollo had said something that made Lord Hermes quite angry at the last Summer Solstice at one of their meetups, but to hear that not even Lepis has seen him…’ Basíleia shook her head, ‘I think you may be right. Something has gone wrong, and I fear that I may have already been warned.’

‘What do you mean?’ Regina asked.

‘The same day the god-cub appeared, the One Rooted relayed a message. I was going to speak to The Old One of the Deepest Depths once the cubs got a bit bigger, but I believe that I should perhaps go now. ’ Basíleia said.

Regina dipped her head in agreement, ‘I will fetch Cora. She would be happy to mind the cubs, and she already knows about the god-cub.’

‘Thank you, Regina.’ Basíleia said, ‘I will speak to my mate before I leave for the sea. He must seek out Atticus and tell him that he must persuade King Zeus to come here.’

‘Atticus?’ Regina repeated, ‘He will be asleep by now, and eagles cannot see well in the dark. Why not simply ask Alaric to scale Olympus himself? He has always been more King Zeus’ lion than Queen Hera’s.’

Basíleia shook her head.

‘Olympus is inaccessible from the ground on Brightest Star Day, and the gods pull away from the world, too far to hear us, even if the entire pride roared for them. Only Atticus knows the skies around Olympus well enough to find a way to his King.’ the lioness explained, ‘Alaric and Atticus are συγγενικά πνεύματα; if Alaric asks, Atticus will find a way.’

Regina dipped her head and got to her paws. She nuzzled her sister once more before making her way back outside.

Night had fallen by the time Basíleia set out. Cora had indeed agreed to watch over the cubs, and since she was only a month out from having her own litter, she would have no trouble feeding them. The dark furred lioness adored her new siblings already, and she was extremely gentle with the god-cub, always making sure that he was comfortable, and that none of the other cubs accidentally scratched or bit him, since he had no fur or thick skin to protect himself. She had affectionately nicknamed him ‘ απαλό αεράκι, ’ due to his sweet nature.

Before Basíleia had left the den, the babe had been sitting on Cora’s back, playing with the princess’ tail, trying to grab the peahen feather charm she had. Every member of the pride had at least one metal band near the middle or end of their tail, something that distinguished them as being Queen Hera’s Sacred Animals, but only the royal family sported peafowl feather charms. 

‘Do you think he’ll get a feather, too?’ Cora asked, tickling the god-cub’s nose, ‘I mean, he has that pretty little stripe on his neck. It would look so beautiful decorated in shimmering peacock feathers.’

‘Perhaps’ Basíleia mused. To be honest, she wasn’t sure what that little stripe was. It glowed a soft blue, and it didn’t seem to be hurting the cub, so she hadn’t attempted to remove it. She supposed that the gods would know better than her.

‘I will try and be back before morning comes. If anything happens, your aunt will be nearby, but I have faith that you can handle watching over the pride.’ Basíleia said, giving her daughter a quick lick on the forehead.

‘Thank you, mother. I won't let you down.’ Cora said, blinking slowly.

‘I know.’ Basíleia chuffed goodnaturedly.

With her goodbyes said, the lioness made her way out of the den, where her mate was waiting for her.

Alaric was a handsome lion, with golden fur that almost glowed in the daytime, a thick, dark mane, and bright, sky blue eyes. When he wasn’t patrolling the edges of their territory or fighting off anyone who wandered too close, Basíleia would often find him lounging in a tree, sleeping through the hottest parts of the day. He didn’t hunt, nor did he make decisions for the pride, but he did handle most of the diplomacy with the other Sacred Animals. Apparently, Basíleia was “a wonderful queen and mother, but absolutely terrifying to most everyone”, so she tended to let him do the talking.

‘Blessed night, my queen.’ Alaric rumbled, pressing his great head against hers, ‘Regina says you needed me to speak to Atticus?’

‘I do.’ Basíleia confirmed, ‘You must convince him to find a way to bring King Zeus here, to the den.’

Alaric’s eyes widened, his tail curling nervously.

‘That is… a big ask, my love.’ Alaric said, his voice full of uncertainty, ‘Atticus’ vision is not what it once was, not since his accident. He may no longer be willing to fly through darkened skies.’

‘I know,’ Basíleia said, tone sympathetic but firm, ‘but this is important. I don’t know how important it is yet, but… I fear this may be an issue that requires immediate attention.’

Her worry must have shown in her voice, because Alaric’s face softened into understanding, and he bowed his head in agreement.

‘Very well. I will see what I can do.’ Alaric said, ‘Will you accompany me?’

‘I cannot. I must journey to the sea and speak to The Oldest One of the Deepest Depths. I have a message that must be translated.’ Basíleia replied.

‘A message from the One Rooted?’ the lion blinked, ‘You’d better get going then! They aren’t known for sending casual messages.’

The felines pressed their noses together for a moment, before both padded off in opposite directions. Overhead, the night sky was filled with blazing silver stars, the spirits of god-cubs long passed, and as if they, too, knew the importance of Basíleia’s quest, the lioness began to see the beginnings of a secret path, revealing the way before she could even ask for passage. She followed it, imagining the smell of salty sea air, the feeling of wet sand beneath her paws as waves lapped at her claws and tried to tempt her into the water. The world blurred in a haze of silver light and unending blackness. 

Basíleia began to run, her stride eating up vast swaths of land with each bound. She leapt over mountains of rocks and ducked under an entire forest’s worth of trees. Entire fields of grass brushed her belly within minutes. Rivers and ponds became creeks and puddles. The whole of Greece seemed to stretch out before her, and perhaps even lands beyond, if she so wished to travel there.

Tonight, however, she only wished to visit a very special part of the coast.

When greenery and rocks became sand and dark water, Basíleia slowed down. When she finally stepped off the secret path, the air was heavy with salt, and frothing seafoam lay only a few feet from her paws. 

The secret path had indeed brought her to where she needed to be. The lioness was now within a large cove, encased on all sides by steep cliffs. The sand was littered with shells of every shape, size, and colour. The water nearby lapped at the shore, waves curling and crashing over one another in the never ending push and pull of the tide.

And swimming in that water were two hippocampi.

Basíleia had been expecting this. Diondra and her daughter, Cordelia, were two of the royal messenger hippocampi that served under Lord Triton. Diondra was an illustrious mare, fierce and well-known among the Sacred Animals. Her golden coat and bronze scales made her look like a bejeweled statue brought to life. Cordelia was well on her way to reaching her mother’s level of infamy. Where her mother looked like she belonged in a dragon’s treasure hoard, Cordelia looked as though she’d be right at home amidst every poisonous creature in the ocean. Her fur and fins were a bright, vibrant pink, while her scaly tail was pure black.

Both of the messengers were wearing accessories that matched their stations. Diondra, as head messenger for the cove and its surrounding waters, was fashioned with a golden harness that almost blended in with her coat. There were small silver loops attached to it, perfect for securing satchels to her side, or hitching her up to a small chariot. Cordelia, who was tasked with guarding the cove and, if necessary, her mother or a visitor, sported blueish-green chest armour and leg guards, decorated with curved shells and wave imagery. Her hooves also had specially fitted horseshoes, each one equipped with a spike at its tip. Both mares wore braided teal bridles.

It was Cordelia who swam up to greet Basíleia first. She surged into the shallows, her tail splashing against the water. 

‘Hail, Queen Basíleia!’ she whinnied, ‘What brings you to κοχύλι ορμίσκος this late at night?’

‘Greetings, Cordelia.’ Basíleia purred, ‘I seek an audience with The Oldest One of Deepest Depths.’

‘An audience with The Oldest One?’ Diondra surfaced, her ears swivelling around, ‘You ask for much, Queen Basíleia. You know that she does not come to the surface but for the Sacred Council meetings. Besides, she is speaking with Lady Pallas.’

‘I have a message,’ Basíleia insisted, ‘from the One Rooted. I have reason to believe it is of utmost importance that it is translated.’

The two hippocampi glanced at each other.

‘Well…’ Cordelia tapped the sides of her hooves together, ‘I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to ask…’

‘Perhaps young Margarita would be willing to come in her stead.’ Diondra suggested, ‘She’s been training under her mother for years now, and The Oldest One has sung her praises.’

‘So long as she can understand the message, I do not care which of them comes.’ Basíleia sighed, before settling down on the sand to wait.

The hippocampi ducked beneath the water again, and after a moment, they disappeared from sight, leaving the lioness alone with nothing but the waves and the starlight for company.

High above, on the peak of Mount Olympus, the King of the Gods sat near a pool of water. The surface was still and undisturbed, the dark water reflecting the sky above. His ears swiveled occasionally, catching the various sounds of his family speaking to each other. Soft, tentative laughter and quiet sniffles were carried equally by the wind, and Zeus was careful not to tuck himself too far away, wanting to ensure that, if his children or siblings needed comfort, or just wanted company, that they could find him without exerting too much effort.

Still, he stayed away from the courtyard, where most of Olympus had gathered. As both the king and the God of Hospitality, Zeus usually enjoyed being at the centre of any gathering or celebration, but not tonight. This was the one day of the year that he allowed himself to stop being the ruler of the gods, and allowed himself to just be Zeus, allowed himself to mourn. He didn’t need to be strong right now.

His bull-like tail brushed across the smooth marble of the floor around the pool, the creamy fur and white fluff of hair on the end sending a few stray flower petals, which had fallen off a nearby tree, skittering across the stone. His golden scars glowed a soft yellow hue, their usual radiance dimmed by his low mood, and his curved, ivory horns reflected the moonlight that poured down upon the mountain. His cloud-like hair, which usually spilled over his chest and shoulders like a flowing mane, was tied up, held off his neck by a strip of silver leather. Pooling around him, the god’s dark grey chiton stuck out amidst all the silver and white.

“Father?”

Zeus glanced up from the pool as Artemis approached him. Her black doe pelt had been exchanged for a silver coat, a white wolf’s head acting as the hood. Her bright, glowing eyes blinked out at him from beneath the fur. 

“Hello, μικρό ελαφάκι.” he greeted, giving her the best smile he could manage, “How are you doing?”

“I am well, Father. I was just speaking to Apollo and Dionysus.” Artemis replied, sitting down beside him, “I was curious if they had seen Hermes yet. He is late.”

Zeus frowned.

“Is he? I had not realized so much time had passed.” he said, looking up at the stars above, “I could have sworn that the night was still young.”

Artemis followed his gaze, and Zeus felt his daughter stiffen.

“That- that isn’t right.” she whispered, leaning back as her eyes darted across the sky, “The stars aren’t where they should be by now.”

Zeus studied the night sky with a far more critical eye. Artemis was right; the stars overhead were still where they had been when he’d last checked, and now that he thought about it, he’d been sitting at the pool for a while. They should have moved across the sky by now, making way for others.

Anger, fierce and white hot, ripped through the god, his eyes flashing with an electric snap of gold. Who dared to do this? Who dared to meddle with the spirits of their late children on tonight of all nights? Who was even capable of such a thing?

“Can you fix this?” Zeus asked, his tail lashing wildly behind him. He would bring retribution down on whoever was causing this mess, but he didn’t want to disrupt his family’s mourning. If this could be cleared up quickly and without notice, he wanted it done.

Artemis held out her palm and closed her eyes, her nose scrunching in concentration. It was a habit she’d picked up from mortals when she was young, and she’d never quite managed to kick it, no matter how often her twin teased her about it. 

After a moment, her ears flicked back, and her eyes fell open again. She looked at her father in despair and shook her head.

“It’s- Father, it’s not the stars themselves that are frozen.” she said, her voice low and fearful, “It’s time. ”

Zeus felt his anger curdle into terror, his skin prickling with hissing sparks of electricity. The sky reacted to his shift in emotions. Clouds rolled over Olympus, black as the night and charged with lightning. Wind swirled all around, causing several gods to let out noises of surprise and confusion as the frigid gale washed over them. 

There was only one being with control over time, but Zeus couldn’t begin to imagine how He could possibly have regained enough strength, especially without anyone noticing. Surely, if there had been signs of his father stirring in Tartarus, Hades would have mentioned it, right?

As if summoned by his thoughts, the shadow of the flower tree rippled, and his eldest brother stepped out. Hades was dressed in his usual garb; a black chiton, decorated with embroidered crimson hounds that ran along its edges, but he was also wearing a veil that seemed to be made out of hair-thin, woven strands of darkness. His long, shadowy hair was tied in a way that almost gave the illusion of being a tail, Stygian iron clasps creating a low, loose ponytail. The wind made it flicker like obsidian flames, and the god squinted his void-like eyes, black, pointed ears folding back in response to the sensation.

“Brother, why have you called a storm down upon us?” he asked, stepping forward and laying a hand on Zeus’ shoulder, “Is everything alright? Do you need us?”

“Hades,” Zeus began, “has anything odd been happening in the Underworld? Anything at all?”

Hades blinked.

“More mortals have been perishing due to monster attacks, and there have been a few odd earthquakes from time to time, although I assume that is Poseidon’s doing, but aside from that, everything has been normal.” Hades replied, frowning, “...Why do you ask?”

“Uncle,” Artemis swallowed, “the stars are not moving. Something, or- or someone, is halting, or at the very least, slowing down the flow of time.”

It seemed to take a moment for Hades to understand the true weight of Artemis’ words, but when he did, his entire body bristled. His lips peeled back, revealing gleaming fangs and black gums. A low growl rumbled up from the depths of his throat.

“Excuse me, brother, it seems as though I must check something.” he ground out, his clawed hands curling into fists. In a burst of shadow and sulfur, Hades disappeared, likely rushing to see if He really was coming back.

“Daughter,” Zeus turned and put his hands on Artemis’ shoulders, pulling the goddess’ attention to him, “gather your siblings. Ensure that both they and your nieces and nephews are all accounted for, but don’t tell them about this yet. We don’t know for sure that… He is back, and I don’t want to ignite a panic. Find Hermes. I grant you permission to bring your Hunt onto Olympus, if need be.”

“I will do my best, Father, but no one has seen Hermes since the Solstice. I would not know where to begin.” she confessed. Artemis hated admitting weakness, but she knew better than to let her pride overtake her in a moment like this.

Zeus cursed, dragging a hand down his face. He knew that he should have tried harder to speak to Hermes, but his son had made it quite clear that he wanted to be left alone for a while, and Zeus had wanted to honour his son’s wishes. He didn’t believe that he was in any danger or distress, as he couldn’t feel anything wrong over their bond, but his absence was still unsettling. He was sure that Hermes was simply late, perhaps dragging his feet due to some leftover hurt feelings, or perhaps he, too, had noticed the odd behaviour of the stars, and was trying to find the cause, but Zeus still wanted to know that he was safe.

“Start at his cave. He usually goes there when he’s in a sulking mood. Perhaps ask Pan to speak with the serpents. They surely have seen him, even if we have not.” Zeus commanded, “Do not stay out for long. If you cannot find him before the dawn breaks, whenever that ends up being, then return home. I will seek him out myself, if it comes down to it.”

Artemis nodded, and with a quick turn she was off, bounding back towards the courtyard, her silver coat flashing behind her in the unmoving starlight. Zeus watched her go for a moment, before sending a mental nudge towards his other brother. Within moments, Poseidon appeared, his remaining sea-green eye alight with concern. 

“What’s wrong?” Poseidon asked immediately. Zeus hardly ever called for his siblings anymore, so they were always quick to respond on the rare occasions that he did.

“I’m not sure yet, but the signs are highly concerning.” Zeus said, his voice grim, “Time is being manipulated, and we both know who controls that domain.”

Poseidon bared his sharpened teeth, his pupils thinning into slits.

“How? ” he hissed, horse-like ears pinning flat against his skull, “He was all but turned to dust before we cast Him into Tartarus! We would have known if He was attempting to rise!”

“Regardless if it is Him or not, someone is using His domain!” Zeus snapped back, his temper flaring before he reeled it back in, “Poseidon, there are entrances to Tartarus within your domain; have you felt any disturbances near them?”

The Sea God shook his head, his dark hair falling over his face a bit. 

“Nothing. I would have spoken up immediately if I had.” he said, “Although, the entrances are near the very deepest parts of my oceans, and I make an effort to stay as far away from them as possible. I… I suppose it might be possible that I could have missed something, but if He had tried to leave through any of them, I would have felt it.”

“Okay,” Zeus blew out a breath, a hand carding through his hair, “so there is a chance that it isn’t Him. But, if it's not… Father, then…”

The two gods stared at each other, the question hanging heavy in the air. Neither one knew which option was worse. Zeus didn’t know if he’d ever felt as tired as he did at this moment.

“I will go to the depths, check on the entrances.” Poseidon finally said after a long stretch of silence, “Even if there is nothing, I should set up a guard perimeter. There are a few deep-sea Ichthyocentaurs in my court that would likely be willing to watch over them for a time.”

“Hades is investigating the entrances in the Underworld. We should know if he found anything soon enough.” Zeus told his brother.

Poseidon nodded.

“I had wondered why he left so suddenly.” he said, glancing back towards the courtyard, “How are we going to break the news?”

“Should we not wait until we have something more concrete to tell them?”

Poseidon raised a brow and shot his youngest sibling a ‘are you serious’ look.

“Hera will know something is wrong the second you walk into her line of sight; your face still gives your emotions away as easily as it did the day we met, brother. Do you truly wish to try and lie to her, especially about something like this? ”

Zeus ran that scenario through in his head, then promptly decided that he really didn’t feel like being forced to sleep in one of his brothers’ domains for the next century because he was banned from his own palace.

“You make a very good point.” he conceded with a sigh, “Very well. I will speak to my wife first, and then-”

“Screeeeeeee!”

Zeus turned his head skyward at the shrill, trilling call, Poseidon following suit. A dark shape plunged out of the mass of dark clouds, zipping down towards the two gods. Before it could strike them, it extended its long, feathered wings, slowing its descent as it circled the Sky God.

“Atticus?” Zeus said, voice heavy with confusion, “What are you doing here?”

Atticus was Zeus’ personal messenger eagle. He was a proud beast, with a mix of dark brown and golden feathers that matched the celestial bronze talon armour he’d been fitted with. Distinct, pale markings that resembled a branching bolt of lightning danced across the back of his wings. A large, disfiguring scar marred nearly half his entire face, the worst of the damage just barely sparing his eye. He’d gotten the injury during one of Poseidon’s storms, and as a result, Zeus almost never saw him out and about past sunset, unless the god called upon him, of course. Currently, it was neither day nor a clear sky, and although things were spiralling rapidly out of the hands of normalcy, he was still certain he hadn’t accidentally summoned Atticus, which left the question as to why the eagle would risk flying the raging storm system that sat around Olympus that night.

Even stranger, the bird was not attempting to settle. Usually, Atticus was the picture of obedience and formality, never even daring to nip at the god. Now, however, Atticus swooped and flapped around his master, screeching at him. He swooped forward, talons locking around the god’s horns before he began furiously pumping his wings, trying to drag him forward.

“Brother, why is your beast acting this way?” Poseidon asked, leaning back when Atticus released his hold and began flying back and forth between Zeus and the direction of the entrance to Olympus.

“I am not sure. I have never seen him act like this.” Zeus replied, his brow furrowing, “Do you think that it has anything to do with our, ah, problem? ”

“Given the timing, I doubt that it is a coincidence.” Poseidon pursed his lips, “Perhaps it would be wise to follow him. He is clearly desperate to lead you somewhere.”

“Indeed.” Zeus said, his statement made all the clearer by the fact that Atticus was now tugging on his chiton, talons hooked on the soft fabric, “Alright, alright, I am coming!”

The eagle trilled once more and swooped away, angling his wings so that the wind took him towards the edge of the mountain. Zeus muttered under his breath about the impatience of mortal creatures, before looking back over his shoulder at Poseidon. His cheeks took on a slightly gold tint, embarrassment bubbling up as he prepared to ask his question.

“Would you consider- ah, that is to say, could you-” Zeus glanced away, “will you come with me, brother? If it is… who we think it may be, then I- I would rather not-”

Chaos below, Zeus wished it was not so difficult to ask for help. Had it been any other day, he likely would have swallowed his fear and simply went alone, but not even his great pride could shield him tonight, not when he’d already allowed his walls to fall in mourning.

Thankfully, Poseidon was merciful enough not to tease the younger god, especially when it was clear that he was struggling, his emotions toeing the line between unsettlement and fear. He nodded empathetically, trying to reassure his brother. 

Of course I will come. Allow me a moment to inform the others of our departure.” Poseidon said.

“What will you tell them?”

“The truth. You have been called away by an important, potentially time-sensitive matter, and have asked me to accompany you to investigate.”

It was as good an explanation as any, so Zeus gave his approval, and Poseidon left, leaving the smell of sea salt in his wake.

After a short wait, his brother returned. However, he hadn’t returned alone.

Hera and Apollo were tailing him, both wearing expressions of worry. Zeus looked at Poseidon for answers, but the God of the Sea merely shrugged apologetically. Zeus wasn’t particularly surprised; his wife was able to spot something that was amiss as easily as a falcon spotted prey, and his son had always been sensitive to the emotions of his fellow gods. His father’s outburst, paired with whatever he was feeling from his uncles and sister, must have tipped him off that something big was happening.

“Father, what’s going on?” Apollo asked, stepping forward, a nervous hesitance saturating his movements.

“I would like to know this as well.” Hera added, removing the deep purple veil that she’d worn for tonight. Her eyes were rimmed gold, and Zeus instinctively reached to hold her. She allowed it, gently resting a hand on his cheek, “Darling, what’s wrong? You look unwell.”

Apparently, Poseidon hadn’t been lying when he said that Zeus was horrendous at hiding how he was feeling.

“I am not certain about what is happening, but I believe that I must look into it.” Zeus replied, “Apollo, what did your sister say to you?”

The Sun God perked up at his name, eyes glowing a soft gold as swan feathers spread across his neck and collarbone.

“She said that you had asked her to go off and find Hermes. Are… are you angry with him? I know he’s a bit late, but it's not been long since I lowered the sun. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

“Apollo, my son,” Zeus swallowed lightly, “it has been hours since sunset.”

Apollo blinked owlishly, and Hera stared at her husband in confusion. Even Poseidon, who already knew about the issue, glanced up, paling when he saw the evidence of Zeus’ claim. 

“I- Father, that’s impossible. ” Apollo laughed, the sound stilted and verging on hysterical, “The stars have hardly moved!”

Zeus met his family’s stares. He didn’t want to burden them with the truth, not tonight. He wanted them to just be able to grieve, and to find comfort in each other. The last thing he wanted was to instill fear in them.

In his arms, Hera tensed up. She stared at the sky for a heartbeat, before gripping Zeus’ shoulders, her iron claws digging into his skin. Her deep, brown eyes were filled with desperation, and it wounded the Sky God at his core that he could not assuage her fears.

“Mother,” Apollo called, his feathers raising in alarm as the truth of his father’s words settled over him. He’d heard the stories; all his siblings had been told about their grandfather’s horrid actions, but he didn’t want to believe it, “Mother, tell Father to stop joking. It isn’t funny.”

“Is it Him?” Hera whispered. When Zeus didn’t answer, she pressed her claws in deeper, just enough to cause an orange-ish gold bruise to appear, “Is it Him?!”

The silence was deafening.

“There is a very good chance that it is.” Zeus finally replied.

Close as they were, it was easy for the King of the Gods to catch his wife when she crumpled against him, her arms wrapping around him frantically. Zeus held her weight with ease, rubbing the space between her shoulder blades as she began to cry. 

Poseidon came up beside them, laying a hand on Hera’s shoulder as he tried to calm her. Apollo shivered, his eyes flashing green for a brief moment before he forced his prophetic sight back. It would leave him with a splitting headache later, when it inevitably forced its way out, but the young god couldn’t handle seeing what was to come after receiving that news.

“What do we do? ” he asked, though the question was to no one in particular.

“Atticus has risked coming here in order to request that I follow him, and given the timing of his arrival, I believe it may have something to do with what is happening.” Zeus explained.

“Atticus?” Hera sniffed, wiping at her eyes as she pulled back. She looked both afraid and drained, and she still leaned against her husband for support.

As if summoned by his name, the eagle appeared once more, squawking and screeching at Zeus in what felt like a chastising tone. He hovered as best he could, intense golden eyes locked onto the god as he tilted his head, clearly wondering what was keeping his master from following.

“Oh, Atticus. ” the Queen of the Gods said. She wiped away a tear and extended her arm. Atticus flew over and perched on the offered limb, chittering softly and preening Hera’s hair.

“So you’ll behave for her, but not your master.” Zeus grumbled, but there was no real heat to it.

The eagle turned and shuffled closer to Zeus, cocking his head once more and letting out a short trill.

“You should go.” Apollo said, wincing as he rubbed at his temples, “I saw a glimpse of him in my vision before I managed to shut it out. Whatever he’s trying to show you, it is important.”

“If you’re leaving, I’m coming with you.” Hera said, voice wobbly but firm in its conviction.

“Are you sure? I don’t know what we’ll find. It may be dangerous.”

 Zeus said, offering her an out he knew she likely would not take.

Sure enough, the goddess took a deep breath and pushed down her fear, letting anger take its place. She curled her hands into a fist, her wickedly sharp iron claws clinking together softly, and nodded.

“Absolutely. Besides,” she gently nudged her husband’s shoulder, trying for a confident smile, “we both know I am the better warrior.”

Zeus chuckled and gave her a smile in return.

“Very well. Let us find out what Atticus has decided we must see.”

The base of the mountain was, like its peak, rather lively that night, but not with the sounds of conversations or tearful cries. A symphony of crickets played their nighttime tune as the four gods descended down the path, following after Atticus, who flew in wide, lazy circles, always continuing to push forward. 

At first Zeus hadn’t been sure where they were being led to, but when harsh stone became swaying summer grass, and painted rocks began to come into view, he found that he recognized the area.

“My lions?” Hera said questioningly, “Why, on Gaea’s green Earth, would we need to go here?”

“Perhaps they’ve caught something? A servant of the Titans?” Poseidon theorized.

“Oh, I hope that is the case.” Zeus growled, cracking his knuckles. Overhead, thunder rumbled in perfect synchronization, “I would delight in spilling their blood.”

Suddenly, a nearby pair of bushes rustled. The gods paused for a fraction of a second, before they sensed purely organic, mortal life. Whatever it was, it wasn’t a monster.

Sure enough, a heavily-pregnant lioness pushed through the brush, pausing when she spotted the group. Zeus mentally ran through the list of his wife’s lions, trying to remember which ones she had said were pregnant. He had not been paying that close attention when she’d been chatting with him about them over dinner a few weeks ago, and, as it usually did when he didn’t listen, it had come back to bite him in the ass. He hoped she wasn’t waiting for him to acknowledge the animal.

“Hello Cora, my darling.” Hera cooed, and Zeus exhaled quietly in relief. 

The goddess knelt down, brushing the feline’s dark coat. Cora purred, the sound loud and friendly as she arched her back into the touch. She blinked slowly at the Olympians, moving to rub against their legs.

“What are you doing out here? You should be with your mother; she’s due to have her cubs any day now.” Hera said, scratching the lioness’ chin.

Cora’s ears perked up, and suddenly she moved forward, taking the edge of Hera’s chiton into her mouth. The animal pulled at the goddess’ clothes, jerking her head when Hera did not follow.

Atticus trilled, flying in the direction that Cora was pulling Hera in. The gods and goddess exchanged looks, wondering what exactly could prompt such strange behaviour from the animals, but they continued to follow. 

The frozen starlight, paired with Artemis’ pale moon, provided enough light that vision wasn’t an issue, but even if it had been a cloudy night, they still would have been able to see, for now that they were off the mountain and, thus, closer to his domain, Poseidon had begun to glow slightly. It wasn't his whole body, but rather swirling, striped markings that ran across his entire body. They made his deep blue chiton and silver jewelry shine pale blue and aquamarine.

As they approached the pride proper, more lions appeared. They were all hanging around the uppermost den, vocalizing with one another. Ears were all perked and tails swished in excitement. Not even the arrival of four Olympians was enough to pull their attention away for long. 

Atticus landed in a nearby tree, and the pride’s one adult male, Alaric, sat beneath the bird, his pupils round and dark as he looked expectantly towards the den. Cora released the chiton once the gods were close enough, padding quickly up to the mouth of the den before carefully slipping inside.

“So, we all agree that they definitely have something in there, right?” Apollo asked, staring at the dark hole.

“Absolutely.” Zeus agreed, “The only question is what? ”

The hole wasn’t very big; grown lions had to stoop down to fit, and Zeus didn’t think that anything that small would be any sort of threat. Also, there were no signs of a fight or a kill. The ground was free of blood, and none of the animals even looked ruffled, let alone like they had brought down a monster. Instead, they almost looked, well, excited.

After a few minutes passed, the gathered lions all of a sudden got up and crowded the mouth of the den. They were leaning down and sniffing at something, rumbles and yowls filling the air. Suddenly, a loud roar silenced the noise, causing the lions to step back as the lioness that had gone into the den reared up and swiped at the crowd. As that noise died, a new one began.

Crying. 

Human crying.

The pride backed off completely, revealing a small, huddled form. Pale, shaking hands were pressed over tiny ears. Blonde hair partially obscured a smooth face that was slowly becoming wet with tears. The child, a little boy, looked concerningly thin, and when he looked up, he revealed wide, teary blue eyes of a very familiar shade.

Zeus heard the gasps of his family around him, the sharp intakes of breath barely audible over the boy’s cries, but the god found that he couldn’t do the same. His chest seemed to have turned to marble, his throat constricting near painfully. He tried to speak, to ask if what he was seeing was real, but he couldn’t make his body move even an inch.

He’d seen this boy before, in his sons that had never gotten to grow up, never gotten to take that first breath. He’d seen that same pale, perfectly smooth skin, that same soft, blonde hair, those same bright, electric blue eyes, the very same ones he’d had, before the power of the Master Bolt had left them a bright, vibrant yellow. 

He’d seen this boy before, in his sweetest, most indulgent dreams, the ones that only came once every few decades and left him with a sharp, persistent ache in his heart. In those rare glimpses, he got to see what might have been, had he been born a mortal man, or if he’d simply killed his wretched excuse for a father before he’d been able to speak that damning curse. He got to see, just for a moment, his children, grown and happy and alive.

He’d seen this boy in all the tiny bodies he’d laid to rest, in the small, unmoving forms he’d so gently wrapped in burial shrouds, pretending, just for a moment, that they were soft swaddling cloths, before he had to let them go. 

He’d seen this boy before, over and over in countless different forms, but he’d never gotten to see him.

Slowly, so slowly, Zeus allowed himself to shrink down to a mortal size. His legs shook as he allowed himself to drop into a kneel, threatening to give out. He’d never done that before; kneeling before someone, and he had always thought that he never would. Now, it was all he wanted to do. He wanted, needed, to be closer to the frightened child before him.

Nobody else moved. Whether it was out of respect or shock, Zeus didn’t know, and at that moment, he didn’t care. The world could end around him, and he wouldn’t even have noticed. All his attention was on the tiny little mortal who carried the scent of the sky on his skin. The hope that this could, somehow, be real fluttered and pulsed in his chest, like frantic butterflies trying to break free, but he didn’t dare acknowledge it. Not yet. Not until he held the child in his hands and felt the thrum of ichor flowing through his veins, felt the proof that he wasn’t having an endlessly cruel dream. 

Zeus felt his arms tremble as he held them out, his skin prickling with restrained, anxious energy. He reined in every bit of divine power that crackled through him, trying to make himself as small and approachable as possible. It was a complete deviation from the mighty, imposing figure he always portrayed himself as, but Zeus didn’t care. He’d never given half a damn about what a mortal thought about him before, but he felt desperate for this child’s approval.

The boy sniffed and rubbed at his eyes. Clearly, the lioness’ roar had scared him, and fat tears rolled down his cheeks. The animal had backed off by now, quickly slinking away once she heard the crying start, and she was now sitting with the rest of her pride, watching to see what would happen. The little boy’s lip quivered, and he looked uncertainly between the feline and Zeus. One of the other lions put a cautious paw forward, and he flinched. He let out a whine and scooted away, closer to Zeus.

The god held himself completely still. He could have grabbed the child the second he’d been brought out, once his paralysis had worn off, but he didn’t want to risk frightening him. It might actually kill him if the first thing the boy felt towards him was fear.

“It’s alright.” he said, voice as soft as the first Spring breeze as he held his arms out, “You’re safe. I’m right here. Come on, it’s alright. You’re alright.”

The babe seemed to teeter on the edge of uncertainty for a moment, still whining quietly, before finally pushing himself up. His legs were shaky, like a newborn fawn’s, and his bare body was coated in dust, sand and fur, which did little to shield his thin frame from the cool night air. The god could count the ribs along the boy’s sides, and it took all his remaining willpower not to rage at the sight. 

Slowly, step by cautious step, the mortal toddled closer to the god. Finally, he stopped, just on the edge of Zeus’ grasp. Bright blue eyes scrutinized the Lord of the Sky, searching for something. Whatever it was, he must have found it, because in the next moment, he threw himself against Zeus’ chest, tiny hands fisting the fabric of his chiton. Immediately, Zeus scooped the boy up, pressing a kiss to his brow. Beneath his touch, he felt the warm, immortal heat of divine blood and felt the crack of electricity as it hummed through the child’s body, mixing seamlessly with his mortal flesh and blood. This was a child of both a god and a mortal.

This was his baby.

Chapter Text

Athena, as a rule, spent as little time around her uncles as possible.

Her distance from Hades wasn’t born out of any real malice; she just didn’t really know what to feel about him. They’d never been close in the Ancient Lands, and his late attendance to the battle against Typhon hadn’t exactly endeared him to her. He never tried to initiate casual conversation, and neither did she.

Poseidon was another story entirely. Athena was quite sure that, if given half a chance, the Sea God would drag her down into the depths and allow the monstrous creatures that called his domain home tear into her, spilling ichor into the black waters of the abyss. It was why she never stepped too close to the sea, even when her own children were braving its waters.

He’d drowned them before, just for the crime of being hers, but he’d calmed in recent centuries, moreso after the birth of his latest, and only, demigod child. Perseus, the naiads and minor water gods had long whispered to each other, must have been conceived when the seas were at their calmest, because he so rarely mirrored his father’s rage, nor his vengeful nature. The demigod seemed to soothe Poseidon, so much to the point where Athena began to wonder if the god had softened permanently.

And then Perseus had been taken again, this time beyond any help, mortal or divine, and Athena had seen that she’d never been so wrong.

Any city and town that had the misfortune of being too close to a coast was most likely gone, swamped and swept away by the walls of salt water that crashed into them relentlessly. Some of her grown children who lived near the water had been sending her desperate prayers, asking for her help to avoid the sea’s wrath, and she’d done what she could, but there was so much destruction. The situation was only made worse by her father’s distemper over the disappearance of her mortal sister, and Hades’ anger at being denied his only demigod son.

She’d hoped, perhaps foolishly, that seeing his son through the satyr’s connection might quell his bloodlust, that Perseus was as safe and well as he could be with his unintentional companions, and so there was no need to continue this pointless destruction.

And then Tartarus had reared its ugly head inside the boy’s mind, and everything had gone to shit.

They’d panicked. Any split off forms came snapping back as gleaming, poison-saturated fangs lunged forward. All her centuries of bravery and calm had gone out the metaphorical window in the twisted, warped face of such a being. She’d felt small, even though she knew she would have towered over any mortal. Athena had wondered, briefly, if that was how mortals felt when they stood before an angry god. If that was the case, she didn’t know how their children could stand to be around them, so often did they voice their indifference or displeasure.

Then, as if that hadn’t been bad enough, Hermes’ children had called for his aid, revealing that something had gotten into camp, and was now terrorizing the campers. Every Olympian, even Hera, had appeared within the camp borders, desperate to finally catch what had taken their children.

Absolute anarchy greeted them. Demigods, the few that they caught sight of before they disappeared into the dark woods or ducked into various cabins, were slipping and sliding on the slick ground, limbs flailing wildly as they cried out in terror. Broken glass and shards of wood were scattered across the porch and nearby ground. The magical border rippled, implying that some of the children had made it past and had run out into the greater world.

Chiron, who was coated in mud with a visibly injured shoulder, was half-collapsed on the porch, his ears pinned flat as his hands hovered over something that looked suspiciously like a body.

Before Athena could even wonder who’s body it was, Hades let out a low, guttural growl, his dark eyes narrowing.

“It’s brought back more.” he ground out, his teeth bared.

“Who is it? Apollo asked, making his way towards the group, his blue eyes still wide with lingering fear.

Hades glanced at the porch again, head tilting a fraction as he looked for the missing gaps in Elysium.

“There’s three. Beckendorf, Beauregard, and Yew. All fatalities from the second Titan war.” he said after a moment of silence.

Apollo made a strange sound before bolting forward, not even bothering to keep the rain and mud off his body as he ran to see his returned son.

“Silena? ” Aphrodite breathed, before she disappeared in a blink, reappearing, Athena assumed, beside her daughter, Hephaestus right behind her.

The sudden appearance of three gods clearly frightened Chiron, the centaur reeling back in surprise. He stumbled to his hooves as the Olympians checked over their children, hands gently brushing against foreheads and checking pulses. The ancient teacher seemed extremely worn out, his sides heaving and his legs trembling under the strain of holding his body up. He turned and, upon spotting the other gods, did his best to trot over, though it was obvious that the motion caused him pain.

“Chiron, what the hell happened?” Dionysus asked, gesturing to the damaged building.

“What happened? What happened?! ” the centaur threw his hands up, his face crumpling into a wince as his injury flared, “What didn’t happen?! First, the bloody Moirai showed up with an unraveling tapestry, then some- some invisible thing appeared and tried to take more of the children, which caused them to all panic and run off in every fucking direction!”

Chiron let his glare drag across the group, his tail lashing angrily behind him. He pointed a finger at Hermes, who took a minute step back.

“You were supposed to be watching your children after you put them under a lullaby call! ” he snapped, before turning on Ares and, to the goddess’ surprise, Athena, “You two were supposed to be in camp, patrolling the borders in case of this very scenario! ”

All three gods shrunk back. Hermes’ wings flared in panic as he remembered the state he’d left his children in, and he disappeared in a crack of energy. Ares huffed and growled, crossing his arms and trying to look unphased, but the uncomfortable shifting of his feet revealed his guilt. Athena made no attempt to hide hers, because Chiron was right. She’d allowed her fear to leave her children vulnerable, and the worst had happened in her absence.

“And you three,” Chiron’s eyes blazed with an ancient fury as he rounded on Zeus, Poseidon and Hades, and Athena was reminded that, despite not being a god, he was their half-brother, “I know you are upset, and you have every reason to be, but your anger is going to get many of these children hurt or worse. They are afraid, possibly injured, and almost certainly going to end up lost; the last thing they need is to have to worry about a tree falling on them or the ground opening up to swallow them whole!”

He punctuated the end of his sentence with a stomp of his hoof, the motion sending a spray of water in every direction. Normally, Chiron would never dare to raise his voice to the Olympians like this, but anyone who so much as glanced at him would be able to tell that he was well past the point of caring. His coat, normally gleaming white, was dirtied with sticky mud and plastered with grass, wood splinters, and flecks of glass. His entire form radiated a deep aura of exhaustion, and Athena was sure that, if he was dried and placed before a fire, the centaur wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to sleep.

Zeus bristled, his hair rising slightly as energy coursed through his body, and for a moment, Athena wondered if her father was going to attack Chiron. Then, he froze up, one hand flying to the centre of his chest. His gaze grew distant, and then the god squeezed his eyes shut, his whole body going slack as he turned away, leaving him looking as though the air had been knocked out of him. Hera, too, became uncharacteristically still, before her face contorted in thinly veiled pain and obvious rage.

“I hope this wretched place burns to cinders someday soon.” she snapped, before vanishing in a whirl of lily petals and peacock feathers.

For a moment, Chiron’s anger turned to confusion, before something seemed to click, and he sagged with resignation.

“Oh dear, I had hoped…” he shook his head, letting out a deep, worn sigh, “Lord Zeus, please- ”

The god said nothing, simply waving his hand before he, too, disappeared from sight, the smell of ozone and petrichor lingering where he once stood. Overhead, the lightning seemed to move away from the camp, leaping through the clouds as the arcs sought out other parts of the sky. The wind lessened, as did the rain, but it did not cease. Athena risked a glance at Poseidon, and saw that he did not appear swayed by the centaur’s words. His eyes glowed in the gloom of the storm, like the light of some deep sea creature, hoping to draw in unsuspecting prey. 

Likely sensing that any argument with Poseidon would be a losing one, Chiron huffed and, ears still pinned back, turned his back on the Olympians, making his way back to the largest building.

“As I have said, your children are scattered. I must tend to the ones that remain within camp, but I implore you to seek out those who have fled the borders. That amount of demigods in one area will almost certainly draw in monsters, and not all of them are armed; even less protected by armour.” he said, looking back over his shoulder, “If you want to help, split yourselves off. Search the cabins, since I cannot enter them myself, or perhaps aid with repairs, so that the children don’t die of hypothermia when they get back.”

Once the centaur made his way inside, where Apollo, Aphrodite, and Hephaestus had already moved their children to, Dionysus let out a low whistle.

“Well,” he said, staring at the house’s doorway, “ol’ haybreath has finally snapped. I knew it would happen eventually.”

“I’m shocked it took him this long to try ‘n chew us out. He’s been raising our br- our kids for centuries, and we haven’t exactly been ‘model parents.’” Ares muttered, making quotation marks with his fingers.

Athena stared at her brother, her large, owl-like eyes blinking from beneath the shadow of her helmet. That… was a very un- Ares-like sentence. Since when did the other War God not immediately become enraged when someone directly called him out like that? 

“You’re… right, Ares.” she said, the words sounding awkward on her tongue. Chaos below, how long had it been since she’d so easily agreed with her brother? “I fear we have long allowed our required distance to make us quite negligent.”

Poseidon made a sound reminiscent of a scoff, and Athena could feel Hades’ eyes on her.

“Perhaps you have,” the Sea God sneered, “but some of us actually care about our children.”

Athena grit her teeth at the unsubtle jab, barn owl feathers forming along her back and arms as her nails sharpened. Anger loosened her tongue, her pride rearing its ugly head.

“Yes, uncle, I’m sure you are the pinnacle of fatherly love. Surely, you have never allowed your son to do anything monumentally dangerous, nor made him feel unwanted.” she hissed back, her piercing silver eyes meeting his own neon sea-green.

The storm seemed to growl alongside its master, the wind swirling rapidly around the god. Poseidon narrowed his eyes into a frigid glare, his bared teeth sharpening into shining fangs. His form rippled, showing a swaying stingray tail and curved horns. Athena let her own godly form bleed out, wings unfurling behind her, her feathers puffed out as much as possible.

Before either one could make a move, however, Dionysus stepped forward, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.

“As fun as it would be to watch you two tear each other apart like a pair of rabid dogs fighting over a scrap of meat, I don’t think anyone here would be too happy if their kids got caught in the crossfire.” he drawled, sounding nearly as tired as Chiron, “So either take this to somewhere more isolated, or chill the fuck out and try helping instead.”

The two held their glares for a long moment, before Athena finally broke away, stalking off towards the house, her wings folding back in as her arms smoothed out. As she did, she allowed parts of herself to split off, transforming into various owls and flying off in search of fleeing demigods. Behind her, Poseidon seemed to be doing the same, and she heard the sound of multiple hooves striking soaked ground. Where the god decided to go, she wasn’t sure, but he did not follow her inside.

Shaking off the adrenaline of a nearly avoided fight, the Wisdom Goddess surveyed the damage done to the building she now found herself standing in. There were weapons all over the place, stuck in the walls and floor, or hilt-deep in a couch or plush chair. Speaking of furniture, much of it was overturned. Chairs were broken or tipped over, couch cushions were strewn about the room, and paintings and pictures both were laying discarded and ignored on the floor.

With a wave of her hand, the goddess repaired the worst of the damage, magicking away the weapons and repairing the door and windows. When she moved to fix up the furniture, she noticed that some of the pillows were missing. As she looked around, she noticed a trail of muddy hoofprints. Following them, the goddess wandered into what must have been the living room. The Elysium-stolen children were curled up together on a few of the couch cushions, Aphrodite crouched next to them as the goddess draped blanket after blanket over them. Apollo was beside her, carefully running his hands across their unconscious forms, seeking out any signs of illness or injury. Hephaestus and Chiron seemed to be gathering firewood, though they neglected to grab any sort of tinder or firestarter. Such a thing wasn’t needed when you had the God of Fire with you.

Surprisingly, Hermes was also in the room, though tucked into one of the corners. He’d made a nest out of pillows and blankets, and snuggled into their plush folds were his children, their eyes once more glazed over by the low, crooning song that spilled past his lips. The god gently wiped tear-stained faces clean and summoned a whole pack of stuffed animals to tuck beneath limp arms. His caduceus was bare, the twin serpents having found their way into the fabric pile. Every so often, a little scaly head would pop up, tongues flicking in the air. 

Hermes smiled, but his eyes were full of guilt and sadness. He carded his hands through the hair of one of his sons before leaning down to place a gentle kiss on the brow of each of his children. His gaze suddenly snapped to Athena, as if he hadn’t noticed her presence, and his pupils flickered into slits. Magpie wings suddenly covered the children, and a low, rattling hiss rang out, pitched at a frequency only gods could hear.

Message received. Athena would keep her distance. That was one snake she did not dare tread on.

A flare of light and heat filled the room. Athena turned, quickly catching sight of a roaring fire. Hephaestus grunted in satisfaction before using his cane to ease himself down to the floor. He hesitated, looking slightly lost for a moment, before slowly reaching over and tucking his son in tighter, his hand lingering on his side. It rose and fell slowly as the young man breathed, the motion steady and unchanging. In the firelight, the old forgemaster’s eyes looked just a bit damper than usual.

“Lady Athena, a moment of your time?” Chiron requested, his throat sounding rather hoarse.

The goddess inclined her head. She hated the idea of being idle at a time like this, and she figured that the centaur would be able to give her something to do.

Chiron led her up the various flights of stairs, pausing only to remove scattered weapons or rehang fallen pictures. When they finally reached the fourth floor, Athena noticed an unmoving form laying on the ground, a mop of blonde hair splayed out over the hardwood. That would be unusual on its own, but the situation was made even stranger by the floating, glowing sword that was gently tapping its hilt against the body. 

As the duo got closer, Athena began to make out more details. It was a boy laying on the ground, dressed not in a camp t-shirt, but in a worn hoodie and jeans. His skin was pale, almost to an unnatural degree, and when she caught sight of his eyes, which were, disturbingly, still partially open, a small jolt of shock ran through her. If not for the lack of her claim on the boy, she might have mistaken him for one of her sons, for his eyes were almost the right shade, but considerably more hollow, as if he’d bore witness to some great tragedy or horror.

He was also, she found, strangely familiar. 

“...Magnus? ” she said quietly. 

As soon as she spoke, the sword paused, its runes going from a pale, sickly green to a bright, ominous red. It spun itself around so that the sharp point was aimed at the two immortals. 

“BACK!” it snarled, “You've done enough damage!” 

“Sumarbrander-” Chiron started, but in less than a second the sword, which apparently could talk, appeared before him, its blade mere inches from the centaur’s throat. Athena moved to grab it, but Chiron held up a hand, his eyes silently conveying a message. Not a good idea.

“Jack.” it hissed, the glow increasing as it hummed with divine power, “My name is Jack. I am Frey’s no longer. He threw me away, left me alone for 2000 years. I belong to Magnus now, and I’m not going to let your issues take him from me.”

Athena hadn’t realized godly weapons could be sentient, nor that they could be wielded by anything but a god. She also hadn’t realized how threatening they could be when they were angry.

“Jack,” Chiron amended, carefully holding himself still, “we need to get Magnus help. We don’t know what damage, if any, he has suffered. Apollo is downstairs, he can treat him.”

“Apollo?! Eugh, I’ve seen enough of him. He and Frey met up far too often.” the weapon seemed to almost cringe in disgust (how a sword could cringe, Athena didn’t know. This was a day of firsts and she hated it.) and pulsed an ugly burnt orange before retreating back to the demigod’s side, “He has all his clothes on this time, right? ”

“Yes, Jack. Apollo is decent.” Chiron sighed, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Wow, that’s a first.” Jack said, his voice deadpan.

Athena pushed any unwanted thoughts about her brother’s cross pantheon sex escapades out of her mind and made her way over to where Magnus lay. The goddess knelt down and gently pulled the boy into her arms. As she did, she felt a sort of light shimmer of something that felt like magic on his skin. Frowning, she did away with it. As soon as it dissipated, Magnus blinked, his stormy eyes still not quite focused as he looked up.

“Auntie ‘thena? ” he croaked, his words slow and slurring.

Athena was surprised he recognized her. She’d never appeared to him before, but he’d likely heard of her from Annabeth.

“Hello Magnus.” she greeted, “How are you feeling?”

“My everythin’ is soup, Auntie.” he whispered, his Boston accent coming out stronger than usual, “Am I soup?”

“No, Magnus, you are not soup.” Athena assured him.

“Okay, tha’s good.” he sighed, letting his eyes close, “‘m already dead. I can’t ‘ford to be soup.”

‘Stars above, he must be rather out of it.’ the goddess mused, ‘I hope he isn’t concussed.’

Athena made sure that he was fully secured in her arms before standing up. Jack had settled himself on the boy’s stomach, gently nudging his handle into Magnus’ hands. The hum returned, softer now, as he glowed a warm yellow. Heat radiated off the blade, not enough to burn, but enough to keep his wielder warm. Once she was certain that the sword wouldn’t accidentally skewer her nephew if she started moving, the goddess turned back to Chiron and followed after him as he made to descend the stairs.

Just before they passed the second floor, a sound caught the duo’s attention. In one of the rooms, a phone was ringing. 

Chiron cursed under his breath before excusing himself, his gait slow and limping. Athena would need to insist Apollo see him as well. It wouldn’t do to have their best source of information about where their children might have gone be incapacitated.

Leaving Chiron to his phone call, Athena continued until she was once again standing before the hearth. The room had gained another occupant, and Athena took a moment to look at Hades, wondering why he had decided to come inside. The god had no real reason to be here; none of these children were his, after all, and he was hardly a doting uncle to his mortal nieces and nephews. Strangely, he seemed to be keeping a close eye on the trio of demigods that had been, somehow, brought back to life, his expression toeing the line between discomfort and what might, if you squinted, pass as an attempt at concern.

As Athena approached, her uncle’s attention shifted. His gaze locked onto the boy in her arms, and he visibly winced, hissing through his teeth.

“Must you bring that thing in here? Just looking at it makes my skin crawl.” Hades said, narrowing his eyes at Magnus.

Jack’s glow turned crimson again, silently warning the god not to try anything.

Athena tightened her hold slightly, frowning at her fellow Olympian.

“That thing is my nephew. ” she said firmly, “He’s Annabeth’s cousin, and I will not have you treat him like some unwanted pest. The last thing we need right now is conflict with another pantheon.”

Hades continued to glower, his dark robes shifting and melding into the shadows of the room.

“Your nephew is a living ghost, niece of mine. His soul is suspended in life by Odin’s will.” he said, voice low and gravely, “He should not be here. If he dies outside of Valhalla’s walls, he will not see any afterlife. He will fade into nothingness, lost to the eternal maw of Chaos.”

The Goddess of Wisdom’s eyes widened, and she looked, really looked, at Magnus once more. 

Now that she was searching for it, she could see the signs of a healed wound, one that would have certainly killed whoever received it. Little, hair-thin lines of silver lanced Magnus’ body, scars caused by the eternal fights Norse warriors partook in. Such things were invisible to mortal eyes, and immortals, unless they had a connection to souls or the dead, likely wouldn’t notice them, not unless they got uncomfortably close.

When had this happened? Did Annabeth know? Had she spoken to her cousin, thinking that it would simply be a normal family visit, only to discover that he had passed away? Did she know what her cousin was? 

Roman demigods and Greek demigods meeting had been a necessary, if still incredibly stressful and potentially disastrous, decision. However, it was, at the end of the day, also the safest cross pantheon meeting, because they were two sides of the same drachma. The Roman demigods were dedicated to their gods, equally reverent and fearful in their prayers and offerings.

But Norse demigods? Egyptian? Aztec? Athena didn’t know what they thought of their gods, nor how those pantheons regarded their mortal offspring. They were wildcards, unknown and dangerous. She wasn’t blind; it was clear that Camp Half-Blood saw Perseus and, to a lesser extent, Annabeth, as their leaders. Poseidon’s son was also regarded highly amongst the Romans, and his budding friendship with Jason Grace would only strengthen that bond. If- when they got their children back, there was every chance that this experience may have soured their already tumultuous relationship. 

Annabeth, her clever little owlet, had been pulling away ever since she’d returned from the Pit, but even before that, Athena couldn’t claim that their relationship had been strong. What if they took too long to rescue them? What would happen if Annabeth came back disillusioned, her faith in her godly family shaken? What would happen if she, and by extension, Perseus, decided to seek out the children of other gods, now that she knew they existed? 

What would happen if they decided that they no longer owed their loyalty to their parents?

Athena loved her daughter, truly she did, but she also recognized a potential threat when she saw it. She’d seen it when Artemis had been freed, in her bastard cousin, who had taken the weight of the sky, despite being born of the sea. She’d looked into the eyes of a boy who had battled the God of War and won, and had seen the flickering ember of pain that had the potential to grow into an inferno of rage. Allowing him to become the child of the Great Prophecy had been a gamble, perhaps more than anyone had known, as had been the decision to not force him to ascend.

If Perseus had accepted godhood, then his power would have been capped. He would have remained as he was, tucked away under his father’s domain and kept on a tight leash. His refusal had been both admirable and terrifying in equal measure. On one hand, it proved his heroism that he was willing to give up a gift that other heroes would have, and had, killed for, but on the other… staying mortal meant that he could continue to grow, to accumulate new abilities and gain infamy amongst his peers and enemies both.

He’d also stayed because he loved Annabeth. He loved her so much that he hadn’t wanted immortality if it meant leaving her. He loved her enough to willingly fall into Tartarus for her.

If he was willing to do that, was there any limit to what he would do, if it meant keeping Annabeth safe and happy? Such devotion to her daughter should have pleased the goddess; not many could boast to have such a devoted, loving partner. But in truth? It scared her. Because if Perseus would brave entering a hellscape that even gods would not dare to tread upon, would he not turn against them, if she asked?

It was right, Athena knew, to mount a rescue attempt for their children… but was it wise?

Perhaps… it would be better, simply to find a way to stop any more demigods from being taken. Besides, closing whatever unholy connection this… thing had made would ensure that he could never return. Hermes would fight this idea; he’d always lead with his heart instead of his head, but Athena did not want to risk Kronos returning if he still clung to whatever remained of Luke Castellan. Why Hermes had chosen to focus so intensely on a son that was always going to die, she’d never understand.

“Lady Athena, Lady Aphrodite.”

Chiron’s voice pulled the goddess from her thoughts. She blinked, before gently setting Magnus down before the fire. As she pulled herself back up to face the centaur, she caught a glimpse of Hermes’ face. His pupils were slitted and locked onto her, a thin fleck of black in a sea of intense blue.

Athena wondered if even the thought of his late son’s name was enough to catch his attention. She no longer wished to linger if that was true. His children could only stay sleep-drunk for so long, and if she had caught his ire, if she had reopened that never healing wound, then she was sure that Hermes would let her know with swift and brutal efficiency. 

Still, Chiron had called for her, so she figured that she should at least hear what he had to say before she tried to subtly get a head start.

Aphrodite was already facing Chiron, and when he was sure he had Athena’s attention as well, he spoke.

“Percy’s mother just called. She found three of our missing campers, two of which are children of yours. Would you like to come with me to collect them? Lord Poseidon is going to meet us there, as she seems, ah, quite irate. ” he said, not sounding sympathetic in the slightest towards the Sea God.

“Ooh, a chance to watch the famous Sally Jackson go off on her spiciest situationship? I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” Aphrodite hummed.

“Situ- what?” Athena questioned, looking at the other goddess in confusion.

“It's some new mortal slang.” Hades chimed in from his spot in the shadows, “Persephone likes to browse mortal ‘social me-di-ah’, and it's quite a popular phrase, I’m told.”

“Athena, darling, you have to come. Trust me, it’ll be worth it.” Aphrodite urged, before splitting herself into two forms. One stayed at her daughter’s side, while the other smoothed out her dress and fixed her hair, “One small bit of advice, though; do not try and interject in whatever conversation comes about. It will not end well for any of us.”

“If you’re done chatting about the potential love life drama of Percy’s mother, we should be off. You know, to pick up your children before they get eaten by monsters?” Chiron said, looking between the two goddesses.

“Very well.” Athena agreed, “Where are we going?”

“A McDonalds. It's not far from here. Argus can drive us.”

“Did somebody say McDonalds?” Apollo’s voice carried through the room. The Sun God appeared from the hallway, carrying various medical supplies and colourful bags of food, “If you’re doing a snack run, bring me back a Sprite!”

“This is going to be a long fucking night.” Chiron muttered, before stomping away towards the door.

By the time they stopped, Percy felt dizzy and disoriented. His arms were shaking, and his hands ached from how tightly he’d been holding onto Kallippos’ mane. He’d been both mesmerized and terrified by the way the world had bent and melted around him, the strange, unfamiliar sky blazing high above. Annabeth had called to him at first, asking where they were being taken, but the speed at which they’d moved had forced her to close her eyes and shut her mouth, lest she lose what little food she’d been able to keep down from her last meal.

The air around Percy smelled like the beach that his Mommy would bring him to sometimes. Cool air rolled off the waves, sweeping across his quaking form. The scent brought him some small amount of comfort, but he still startled when Kallippos began to fold his legs, the animal kneeling down to allow the boy to slide off his back. Percy did just that, his bare feet hitting the sand with a quiet thump. His legs wobbled, and he had to lean on Kallippos’ in order to stay standing.

“K- Kallippos, where are we?” he asked, looking up at his kidnapper.

‘The ocean, Little Prince.’ Kallippos nickered, nosing him forward, ‘Come, the meeting place is not far from here.’

Percy stumbled but managed to keep himself upright. Annabeth was quick to run over to him, her hand squeezing his own as she pressed into his side, never straying as they reluctantly followed the horses down the beach. The little filly was prancing around, legs kicking out wildly as she investigated every new thing. Sometimes, she’d run a bit too close to Percy and Annabeth, and she’d fall onto the ground in her attempt to dodge or stop. Every time, without fail, she’d stagger back to her little hooves, shake off the sand that clung to her pearly coat, and run off again, eager to splash in the water or whinny at an unfortunate crab.

“Well, at least she’s having fun.” Percy mumbled, watching as the foal sprang away from an incoming wave.

“Percy, I really, really don’t think we should be here.” Annabeth whispered, “Remember Luke’s warnings about the gods? What if they’re here? What if they want us to do something dangerous?”

“Hey,” Percy squeezed Annabeth’s hand a little, giving her the best smile he could, “It’ll be okay. I’ll take care of you.”

Annabeth snorted and gave his shoulder a light shove, but her mouth was curled into a smile, and she looked less afraid than she had before, so Percy counted it as a win.

Slap!

Percy jolted at the sound, his head snapping up. Up ahead, beyond a large chunk of rock that obscured the rest of the beach, something had just slapped against the water.

Both demigods paused, neither one wanting to be the first to take that next uncertain step. Percy looked to the horses, but they didn’t seem to know what had caused the sound either. Their daughter raced back to her mother’s side, hiding behind her long legs as she peered towards the rock. Slowly, Kallippos made his way forward, his ears swivelling. 

Slap! Slap!

Again came the sound, but this time it was mixed with a cry of frustration.

“Stupid nets! What are the mortals making these out of, steel?!”

Mortals. 

Percy glanced at Annabeth. This was the moment. Did they run away and try to find their way back to Luke? Or did they try and help, and hope that their kindness earned them the gods’ favour? Whatever she wanted to do, he’d follow. Between the two of them, she was always better at making plans.

Annabeth bit her lip. She looked around for a moment, before slowly creeping forward. Percy copied her, and together they approached the rock. Slow as molasses in December, the duo peered around the stone mass, trying to see what, or, rather, who was making all the racket.

A young woman was laying on the beach, half submerged in the surf. She was beautiful, with dark hair and skin that seemed luminous in the moonlight. If he’d only seen the parts of her that were on the sand, then perhaps that was all Percy would have thought she was. However, when she moved, it was impossible to miss the deep blue and gold tail that rose out of the water, scales gleaming like jewels.

So distracted was he by the sight before him, Percy almost missed the ugly, gnarled swaths of net that encircled the woman’s tail. It was wrapped tightly around some of the smaller fins, and judging by the look on her face, it was causing her a great deal of pain.

Kallippos made a sound of distress and galloped forward, spooking the demigods and causing them to trip forward, exposing themselves to the mermaid. The woman shrunk back at the sudden burst of movement, but calmed when she saw what had approached her. 

“Oh! Hello, friend, where did you… come… from?” the woman’s voice started cheerful, but quickly turned to shocked confusion when she spotted the two children.

The immortal stared at the demigods, and they stared right back. Neither party really seemed to know what to do.

The awkward stillness was suddenly broken as the little filly came romping around the rock, gangly legs flying in every direction as she galloped across the sand. Once she spotted the woman, the foal ran right up to her, her fluffy tail wagging furiously.

‘HI!!!’ she whinnied, rearing up in excitement as her mother trotted into view, ‘You smell like water!’

Percy pushed himself up, his back pressing against the rough surface of the stone. When he had pictured what a god might look like, he’d expected something… scarier? He imagined a towering, inhuman being that could swat him like a bug, or an ethereal, angel-like creature that was looking for a new toy to play with. 

The woman before him looked almost normal, if you ignored the fish tail. She didn’t have glowing eyes or crab legs growing out of her back, she just looked like a very pretty mermaid lady.

“Um,” Percy swallowed, “hi?”

The mermaid blinked once, a quick, fluttering movement, before she seemed to actually register that he’d spoken.

“H- Hello, little ones.” she said, her raised tail lowering back into the water, “What are you doing out this late? Where are your parents?”

Her voice was strained and dry, like she’d been without water for a while. That was strange, considering she was mere feet from the ocean. She looked slightly lost, as if she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. 

Percy could relate.

Annabeth shifted next to him, her fingers lacing with his own once more.

“Our parents aren’t here, ma’am. It’s just us.” she admitted. Percy thought that it was probably smart not to lie to a god, even if he didn’t like how vulnerable that made them sound, “Do you… would you like some help? With your tail?”

The mermaid glanced in the direction of her tail, her expression clearly displaying her hesitancy. 

‘It’s alright, Lady Pallas,’ Agalia soothed, ‘they mean you no harm. They are good foals.’

Pallas. A name. That was good, because Percy was getting tired of calling her ‘the mermaid’ or ‘the woman’. It felt rude.

Pallas’ pointed ears twitched, so clearly she’d heard what the mare had said. Cautiously, she began to ease herself further up onto the beach, revealing her tail again.

“I suppose some help would be nice.” she sighed, “I’d really rather not have to ask my father. He dislikes me visiting the surface as it is.”

She smiled wearily at them.

“I am Pallas, daughter of Lord Triton. Who might you be?”

“I- I’m Percy.” the boy replied softly as he took a few careful steps forward, “And this is my best friend, Annabeth.”

“Hello.” Annabeth waved weakly, looking just as nervous as Percy felt. He didn’t recognize Pallas’ name, nor her dad’s, but Annabeth had always been better at remembering the many mythological beings that Luke and Thalia had taught them about during their few trips to various libraries. Percy was really only good at identifying the ones that had tried to kill him.

His Wise Girl didn’t give him their secret sign for trouble, though, so he figured that they weren’t likely in any immediate danger.

“It’s nice to meet you, Percy and Annabeth.” Pallas said, chuckling softly when the foal pranced over to her side and began nuzzling at the exposed skin, “When I heard that I was to be blessing a foal tonight, I did not realize that I would have an audience.”

“Well, we didn’t really ask to come along.” Percy mumbled, looking for something to cut the nets with.

A dark mass sticking out of the sand caught his eye. Letting Annabeth go on ahead, Percy made his way over to where the waves lapped at the shore, never quite letting Pallas leave his sight. The immortal seemed nice, but Percy knew that gods could be tricky.

The water was cold as it washed over Percy’s feet. It should have made him shiver, but for some reason, the sensation didn’t bother him. It seemed almost inviting in a way, like the sea was reaching out to greet him, inviting him into its endless depths. 

Knowing what he did now, Percy could believe that it really was.

The boy quickly grabbed the dark lump, easing his grip when his sharp edge nicked his palm. He backed away from the water’s edge, ignoring the way the waves seemed to reach for him, the foam clinging to his ankles.

Once he had retreated to the safety of the dry sand, Percy looked down at the object in his hand, wondering what it was that he had grabbed.

A piece of shale lay in his palm, dark and sharp. Water dripped off the stone and onto the red line of his cut, the colour washing away, as if it had been little more than a streak of marker. As it did, the pain, too, ebbed away. 

He shuddered slightly at the reminders of his Otherness.

He’d seen this stone before. Now that he thought back to his dream, which felt so distant now, Percy realized that he had seen a lot of what had happened before. The foal, the journey on horseback, and now the piece of shale that he would use to cut away at the ropes of the net.

Percy’s tummy swooped in a most unpleasant manner when he remembered the last part of his dream. The figure, crumpled and unmoving. The dripping rivets of liquid gold cascading down the hollow of a chained throat. The oh so familiar eyes, peering at him from the shadows of an unknown room.

Percy didn’t want things to keep going this way. He wanted to be wrong, to have his dreams just be dreams, nothing more. 

His gut feeling like it was full of lead, Percy made his way over to where Annabeth was. The girl was carefully pulling bits of net off Pallas’ fins, her smaller hands having an easier time of it. Crouching down, Percy eyed the goddess one more time, before pulling a section of net into his hands. The chunk of shale did its job, slicing through the woven rope until it inevitably snapped and fell away. Piece after piece, the net began to give, loosening its hold on the vibrant blue and gold scales. Some of the scales shed off, having been rubbed at one too many times, and they fell onto the sand, glittering like buried treasure.

Pallas shifted, likely feeling the weight beginning to lift off her tail. She peered back at them, and when Percy tilted his head slightly, he saw her studying them more closely, her sea-green eyes almost the same shade as his own. The goddess seemed to be focused on Annabeth in particular. She squinted, then her eyes widened, her pupils expanding. She sat up, and, before either child could react, she’d swept them in closer, her still partially tangled tail curling around them.

“You have her eyes. No other has that shade of silver.” she whispered, looking down at Annabeth, who had tensed up in fear. The goddess’ gaze turned to Percy, and she brushed a hand against his cheek, a gasp tearing itself free from her throat.

“You… you’re…” she fumbled, trying to find the words, “Who are you? What are you?”

Percy desperately leaned back, trying to wiggle away. He didn’t like this. He hated how intense the goddess’ stare was, how she looked at him like he was some mysterious, sparkly artifact. Percy felt his eyes begin to water. He wanted Luke! He wanted to go home! 

“Oh, oh dear,” Pallas fretted, realizing that she’d crowded the duo, “please don’t cry! I didn’t mean to-”

Grrrrrrrrr…

All three of them froze.

The horses looked around nervously, the adults circling around the goddess and the children, their ears flattened against their heads. The filly dashed behind her parents, her pale blue eyes darting about, searching for the source of the noise.

Pallas inched her tail away from Percy and Annabeth, giving them more space to move. She eased her hand onto one of the corners of the net, slowly attempting to drag it off her tail once and for all. The ropes made a swish sound as they slid across her scales, causing her to wince.

“What was that?” Annabeth said, her voice little more than a breathy whisper.

“I don’t know.” Percy replied. Every muscle was tensed, his body ready to spring away at the first sign of danger.

Something moved just beyond the edge of the treeline. Whatever it was, it was big, crushing small plants and fallen branches as it moved.

“Children,” Pallas said, her eyes never leaving the prowling silhouette, “when I give you a signal, I want you to run for the water. I’ll be right behind you, and the ocean will protect us.”

Percy and Annabeth looked at each other. Running into the sea just seemed like a potentially less painful way to die, depending on what was hiding in the brush. Percy eyed the horses hopefully, but they, too, were fully focused on the hidden danger. Trying to jump onto their backs now would just earn them a one-way ticket to Kickedintheteeth Town.

Percy gripped his shale fragment. It was a poor weapon, made even more useless by the shaking of his limbs, but it brought him a scrap of comfort, and he clung to it like a lifeline. He nudged Annabeth, trying to get her to go behind him, but she stubbornly remained at his side. Whatever this was, they would face it together.

Ferns and long dune grass rustled, before parting like a green door as an enormous paw stepped out, black claws sinking into the sand, the pale grains tumbling all around. Another paw soon followed, tawny yellow fur turning pale in the moonlight. Percy’s mind suddenly filled with flashes of memories, blurred and distorted from sleep and fever. Fangs. Fire. Three heads.

“The Chimera. ” Percy gasped, and lo, the beast came forth.

The Chimera looked, for lack of a better word, sick. Its fur was matted and patchy, like clumps had fallen out, and it no longer walked with confidence, its gait reduced to a stumbling shamble. The fire breathing goat that had been melded to its back was flopped over, half rotted away. A sickly off white pus oozed from what remained of its face. Even the serpent seemed to be suffering, its long body drooping down almost to the ground, its scales having mostly fallen off.

The monster even smelled half dead, the putrid odour rolling down the beach. Percy gagged, fighting the urge to vomit. What was wrong with this thing? Why hadn’t it turned into golden dust yet? He hadn’t even known that monsters could get sick!

“Ew! ” Annabeth squawked, pulling her chiton up over her nose, “What is wrong with it?!”

“That’s what I was thinking.” Percy squeaked, taking a step back as the monster continued its approach. The Chimera’s black eyes were clouded, but Percy knew that it could find them just fine, even if its vision had gone.

Suddenly, the ocean seemed a lot more appealing.

Kallippos and Aglaia squealed in panic and turned their back to the monster, kicking out at it with their hind legs. Their foal panicked, breaking away from the safety of the group as she bolted, galloping down the beach. The Chimera snarled at the sudden movement, its muscles bunching as it prepared to give chase. Given the immense size difference and the filly’s inexperience with her own legs, it was clear that the monster would have no trouble hunting the baby animal down.

“NO!” Percy screamed, dashing forward and throwing the rock in his hand towards the Chimera. It struck the beast in the eye, the lion head roaring in pain as it pawed at the fresh injury.

That seemed to be the catalyst needed to send the group into motion. Aglaia ran after her daughter, tearing across the shore at lightning speeds. Kallippos reared, the stallion braying at the monster as he brought his hooves crashing down in warning. Annabeth and Percy stumbled back as Pallas spun around, the goddess now facing the water.

“Run! ” she yelled, her ears pinned back and her pupils little more than slits. The goddess dove into the water, her tail flicking off the last remnants of the net. 

The two demigods didn’t need to be told twice. They sprinted towards the waves, which were now pounding against the beach, swirling arcs of frothing white reaching across the sand, like they wanted to drag the Chimera to a watery grave.

As soon as he was in the ocean proper, Percy felt a jolt of energy surge through him. The water encircled him, pushing him in deeper, but it didn’t feel like the dangerous tug of a rip current, but more like the protective push, like when his Mommy stopped him from walking across a road before they were supposed to.

He kept a tight hold on Annabeth, just in case she lost her footing. They weren’t in too deep yet; the water was only up to their knees, but as long as water could cover your nose and mouth, it was dangerous.

The Chimera roared again, the sound wet with phlegm. Percy knew he shouldn’t, but his morbid curiosity got the better of him, and he looked back over his shoulder. The monster was charging down the beach with an awkward, loping stride. The serpent tail whipped around wildly, venom leaking from its mouth like a leaky faucet. Kallippos darted out of reach before kicking out at the monster. The Chimera swiped, a claw catching on part of the stallion’s leg. He cried out in pain, staggering away just in time to avoid the lion head’s snapping jaws. 

Suddenly, the beast toppled over. Apparently, the movement, combined with the dead weight of the goat, was too much, sending the Chimera tumbling onto the ground. Kallippos whinnied in fear before he, too, galloped away, leaving splatters of crimson blood behind him.

The monster growled in agitation, pushing itself up. The lion head sniffed the air, its ears perking up as it honed in on easier prey. Black eyes bore into Percy’s own, the sight causing him to freeze. It was as if he’d been paralyzed. Even as Annabeth tugged on his arm, pleading with him to please just move, Percy found that his limbs would not obey.

The Chimera advanced. Slowly at first, its steps staggered by its fall, but soon it was running, paws pounding against the sand as it lunged for the boy. All Percy could do was stare, his stomach twisting painfully into knots and his mind going blank. He braced for the fatal bite.

Swwisssshh!

Shlick!

The Chimera faltered, wobbling for a moment, before finally tripping forward, sending up a spray of water. A long, aquamarine and bronze handle kept its head up slightly, the sharp end of a trident lodged firmly in the beast’s throat. The Chimera gurgled, near-black blood staining the water. It blinked, twitching for a moment as its body registered the fact that it was shutting down, before going still.

Percy stared at the body. 

It did not dissolve. The Chimera continued to stare lifelessly at the demigod, its great head sagging as the water lapped at its mangy fur.

Suddenly, a hand reached forward, startling Percy. A webbed hand, tinted green and sporting pearlescent claws, gripped the handle of the trident and pulled the weapon free. It came loose with a wet shlorp, and the Chimera slipped fully into the water.

Percy looked up.

There was no mistaken this man for anything other than a god. The rest of his body was coloured the same emerald green as his hand. Glittering fish scales coated his torso, golden gills fluttering along his ribs. Twin tails were loosely coiled around both demigods. The limbs were a deeper green, sporting flecks of gold and waving lines of white that reminded Percy of waves on a beach. Powerful fins flexed in the starlight, sweeping away the vile blood that clouded the water around them. His upper half looked human enough, aside from the colour. He had the same dark hair as his daughter, and his eyes were a pale sea-green. A few small, golden scales dotted his cheeks like freckles, and his face sported a shadow of stubble.

If you ignored the fact that he had two fish tails and was green, Percy kind of thought that he looked like what he imagined his dad might have looked like.

“Are you alright, little ones?” the god asked, his face stricken with concern, “Are you hurt?”

Percy and Annabeth shook their heads. Miraculously, they had survived another encounter with the monster and had come out unscathed.

The sea god sighed with relief, a smile pulling at his lips. For a brief moment, Percy caught sight of sharpened teeth.

“Good. That’s good.” he said, leaning down slightly, eyes scanning them as he searched for any injuries that they might have somehow missed, “You know, when our oldest messenger came to me and spoke of children with both ichor and blood in their veins, I had thought that perhaps her mind had finally gone. However, her calf told me much the same, and I began to wonder. My dear Pallas happening upon you seems to have been a most fortunate coincidence.” 

“You- you knew about us?” Annabeth squeaked.

“Only recently, I assure you. You would not have been left alone to wander, had any of us known sooner.” the god said, his tone soothing and full of reassurance, “I’m so sorry you had to face that horrible creature. You must have been so frightened.”

He reached down and smoothed down both demigods’ hair. The touch was gentle, the pressure so light, Percy would have hardly felt it, if not for the light scrape of claws against his scalp.

“I am Lord Triton, heir of Poseidon.” the god introduced himself. His gaze settled on Percy, who had his head tilted back slightly so that he could look at the stranger, “And you, little pearl, are my first and only brother.”

His voice was warm and full of happiness. This didn’t seem like a being that wanted to curse Percy, or send him on a dangerous quest. Really, Triton looked like he just wanted to give Percy a hug, and the demigod couldn’t say that he would shun the offer right now.

Triton sheathed his trident, tucking into some kind of holster on his back.

“Come, we must get you to Atlantis.” Triton said, “If the message is true, then I must contact my father at once. Something terrible has happened to my sky-born messenger brother, I fear.”

Triton leaned down and opened his arms, making to scoop the two demigods up into his arms.

Sssssssswish!

The god hissed, a hand flying to his neck. His face contorted with pain as he pulled something from his skin. Ichor dribbled out of a small hole, and when Triton uncurled his fingers, something that almost resembled a thin crossbow bolt was lying in his palm. He looked at the object in confusion, before his pupils suddenly constricted, and he collapsed into the water. 

Percy and Annabeth screamed in alarm. Percy dove for his new brother, small hands shakily pressing against his neck. Triton’s breaths were steady, yet slow, as if he’d suddenly fallen asleep. However, no matter how much either child shook him, the god refused to rouse.

“Sorry to intrude on family time,” a smooth, unnatural voice said, suddenly right behind Percy, “but I couldn’t have him running his mouth just yet.”

An icy shiver of pure terror raced up and down Percy’s spine as something sharp pressed against the base of his neck.

“Hello, Percy. ” the voice purred, “I’ve heard good things about you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Percy could see that Annabeth had gone sheet white. A pale hand was on her head, fingers curled into the blonde locs. The hold hadn’t yet tightened, but if it did, it would absolutely cause the girl pain.

“Now,” the sharp object pressed deeper into his skin, and Percy whimpered, “I’d really rather not have to drag your corpses through the tunnels; it makes your flesh get quite stiff, you see, and I would hate to waste any of that golden magic in your veins by having it spill out onto the ground- but! If you fight, or scream, or try to run…”

The voice laughed, and the sound made Percy want to throw up even more than the Chimera had.

“...well, I have spares. Five of them, in fact.”

Percy swallowed his gorge.

“So, if you’d like to keep that pretty little throat of yours from being split open like a stuck pig, you’d do well to do as I say, alright?” the voice leaned in close to Percy’s ear, chuckling when he shuddered in terror and disgust. He nodded, and caught a glimpse of his captor’s grin in his peripherals.

“Good boy.”

 The pressure fell away, but was soon replaced by a hand wrapping around Percy’s throat. The skin was cold and clammy, like he was being grabbed by a corpse.

“Come along!” the stranger chirped, leading Percy and Annabeth back towards the beach, “We don’t want to be late to the party!”

‘This guy is freaking nuts!’ Percy mentally panicked. His eyes darted to the water, trying to see if he could spot any obvious weak points in the reflection of the dark water.

All he could see was fresh blood being washed off undamaged legs and a wet, orange cape that was being dragged through the water.

Chapter Text

The silence that followed the disappearance of the horses seemed to stretch out into infinity. Luke stared at the spot, his mind furiously working to process one singular thought; what the fuck just happened?

One moment, the animals had been galloping through the nearby field, Percy and Annabeth clinging to their necks, and in the next, they’d been gone, vanishing into a blinding flash of silver and white. Overhead, the stars seemed to burn with platinum light, twinkling so bright they almost outshone the moon.

The sight made Luke’s heart drop into his stomach. Whatever was going on, it clearly wasn’t natural. Their streak of relatively decent normalcy had been shattered. He should have been expecting something like this to happen; demigods like them always ran into mythological trouble sooner or later, but he’d hoped that it would be something simple, like another monster attack. Those he knew how to deal with.

What was he supposed to do about child-stealing Houdini horses?! 

Apparently, his body was thinking faster than his mind, because Luke suddenly became aware that he was running. Ignoring Arepo’s surprised shout, he vaulted the fence, rough wood scraping against his palms. He ran over to where the animals had last been, searching for any clues as to where they’d gone, and how they’d managed to do it. 

There wasn’t much; flattened grass where the horses had stepped, which suddenly stopped after a time, and a few strands of grass that flickered with silver light, before returning to their normal colour. Strangely, Luke found that he could sense something. He wasn’t sure what it was, and he couldn’t see anything nearby, but the demigod was sure that there was something different about this spot.

“Loukás!”

Luke turned his head. Arepo was at the fence line, looking at him with concern. Luke glanced back at the spot, making sure that its location was burned into his memory, before jogging over to the man.

“Loukás, what just-” Arepo started, but was cut off by the frantic teen.

“They’re gone. I- I don’t know where they went.” Luke said, running a hand through his hair, his heart pounding against his chest, “There’s something- there’s something there but I don’t know what it is-”

“Loukás-”

“-but it’s weird and I can feel it! It’s- it’s like a- a crack made of magic, or- or something-”

“Loukás, calm down, you look unwell-”

“-and I think- I know it’s important but I can’t see it and I don’t know how to use it or- or even what it is- ”

“LOUKÁS! ” Arepo reached over the fence, grabbing the teen’s shoulders and forcing him to pay attention, “You need to calm down! Breathe!”

Luke instinctively sucked in a breath, realizing that he’d been neglecting his lungs’ frantic demands for air. He slumped forward, his legs crumpling as he leaned his weight against Arepo’s hands. The farmer gently eased him down as best he could, settling him against the fence before easing himself over into the pasture.

It felt like a snake was coiling itself around Luke’s insides, squeezing him with every lungful of air he struggled to take in. He knew he was panicking, and some older, more spiteful part of his mind chided him for it, mocking him for his weakness. He did his best to ignore it, but it was so hard to think clearly right now. 

Luke shuddered, pulling his knees up to his chest. Arepo was speaking to him, but it was like the man was underwater, his words muffled. It was like he was small again, curled up in the back of a closet, listening to his mother scream about things he was too young to understand, hoping that she didn’t find him and start shaking him again. Luke squeezed his eyes shut, his nails digging into his palms so hard that they were liable to start bleeding. His breathing hitched with every inhale, which only made the tightness in his chest worsen.

He just- he just needed to ride it out. He’d dealt with attacks like this all his life, being in a younger body didn’t mean he’d forgotten how to cope. He’d struggle for a bit, leave some deep scratches on his arms or legs to distract himself, and then he’d be fine again. Really, he shouldn’t even be having this issue; he’d been through way worse than this before. What were dealing with some magic horses, compared to being held under the waters of the Styx, or having his body ripped away from him? Compared to bleeding out on the floors of Olympus? This was stupid. He was being stupid.

‘Come on, Castellan, get your shit together!’ Luke ground his teeth together until they ached, screaming at his body to just be normal. He dug his nails in deeper, and his breath caught in his throat, causing him to choke. The serpent in his guts coiled ever tighter, sending a wave of nausea through him.

Suddenly, his hands were being held. Calloused fingers eased his nails from his palms, the sharp sting and unfamiliar texture pulling the young demigod from his spiraling thoughts. Luke blinked, his eyelashes damp from tears he hadn’t realized that he’d been shedding. His vision was blurred, but he could make out Arepo’s wavering form, crouching on the ground in front of him. One hand kept ahold of his own, while the other moved to his chest, resting just below his collarbone. The weight was grounding; a much needed tether to reality.

“Breathe, πουλάκι.” Arepo said, “Follow my lead.”

The man took in a deep breath, and Luke tried to match it, still reeling slightly from the fact that there was someone trying to actually help him. All of his teachers, back when he still went to school, had just sent him out into the hall for being ‘disruptive,’ as if a seven year old having a panic attack was nothing more than an inconvenient distraction.

It took a few minutes, but, sure enough, Luke felt his breathing begin to even out. A few minutes after that, his muscles began to untense, and the pressure in his lower stomach eased, the nausea going with it. He slipped one of his hands out of Arepo’s gentle grip, feeling the grass and dirt beneath his touch. A little bug scuttled across his wrist, its tiny feet tickling him as it moved across his skin. He giggled, the sound rough and raspy, but it made the pain in his chest start to go away.

“Are you back with me, Loukás?” Arepo asked, once Luke took a full, deep breath without issue.

“Y- yeah, I think so.” Luke replied, sitting up, “Thank you. That was- it was nice. To have help, I mean.”

“Of course. I would not leave you to suffer if I could help it.” Arepo said, moving to sit on the ground, “Does this happen to you often?”

“It used to. I thought I was getting better.” Luke said. It was partially true; it used to happen, and then stopped when he was in Elysium, “Does it… do you get them? Is that how you knew what to do?”

Arepo shook his head.

“Not me, but… an old friend of mine, my best friend, actually, used to have similar issues. His home was not a happy one, and the problems that caused followed him, even when he left.” he explained, “We grew up together, you see, so I learned how to help him. Pressure always seemed to do the trick.”

Luke shifted slightly, moving to a more comfortable position. A few cows wandered closer, curious as to why there were two humans in their paddock. 

“Did it ever stop? Did your friend get better?”

Arepo’s expression shifted from distant fondness to a look of sorrow, and he sighed.

“I wish I could tell you that he did, but… he passed away, nearly 20 years ago.” the man said, his voice softened by sadness.

Luke flinched slightly, feeling very sorry that he’d asked.

“Oh my gods, I- Arepo, I’m so sorry.” the demigod replied.

“It’s alright.” Arepo said, “I just have not had a chance to speak about him in some time. I had thought that my grief would have dulled more by now, but it has not.”

“What happened to him?” Luke asked, “If you don’t mind telling me?”

“I do not mind. I think it would be good to speak our story aloud once more.” Arepo said, a faint smile pulling at his lips.

“It began a lifetime ago, back when I was but a small boy…”

When I was young, the monsters were not so numerous yet. People still lived in small towns, and little clusters of farms were a common sight. There were even a few around here, in fact. Most families’ children were already grown by the time I was seeking out playmates, but either by chance or fate, our nearest neighbours had a boy my age.

His name was Nikolaos.

He was a pale, thin little scrap of a boy, with legs like a fawn and big, brown eyes to match. No matter how long he spent in the sun, he always seemed to burn instead of darkening, and I remember spending many hours of my childhood slathering aloe vera on his skin after we were done playing. 

From the very first day we met, we were inseparable. We would do chores together, eat together, play together, and, when his parents allowed it, or when his home became too suffocating, he would sleep in my room. It got to a point where it felt unnatural to look to my side and not see him standing next to me, prattling on about one thing or another.

He was a gentle soul, Nikolaos. Once, we found an injured bird, lying on the ground beside the stables. Most boys our age would have killed the thing, either to end its suffering, or just for the sick pleasure of it, but Nikolaos was different. He scooped it up and brought it inside right away, so that no predators could get it. For many days and nights he cared for that bird. I helped, of course, but Nikolaos took great joy and pride in caring for the creature. When it was well again, we both watched it fly away, and when it disappeared from sight, he turned to me and said, “Someday, that will be us. We’ll leave this place behind, find somewhere better. I’ll be a great healer, and you can be my assistant.”

I laughed then, at the idea of us being anything other than farmers, but I think… if things had gone differently, perhaps we really could have been what he wanted us to be. I would have followed him anywhere. 

And, eventually, I did.

The second he was old enough, Nikolaos’ father shipped him off to join the army. In his eyes, it was the only way Nikolaos could earn even a shred of his respect, of his love. My own parents made it clear that they did not expect such a thing from me, but I could not leave my friend behind, not after so many years of being together, so I followed him.

Neither of us were quite suited for life in the army at first, but after a while we adjusted. I think Nikolaos relished in the freedom being there gave him, even if he still hated the bloodshed. We travelled all over, winning glory for Greece and for ourselves. I mastered the art of spear throwing, and Nikolaos became quite close with the healers. He even began working on patients after a few years, and that, too, brought him joy.

We were together. We were happy. We were… growing closer, I think, then we had been before. For a time, life was wonderful.

And then… and then we went to Sikelia.

It was supposed to be a quick battle, an easy victory. All we were doing was helping some of our allied cities defend themselves from a brewing civil war, and most of the resistance had already been stomped out. We were just there to ensure they were finished off, and to help rebuild what had been damaged. Nikolaos and I were actually rather excited to see Sikelia; Nikolaos had mentioned wanting to see if it would be a good place to move to, once we were finished serving.

And then that damn mountain erupted.

I don’t know why it happened. Perhaps we had offended the gods somehow. Perhaps it was simply a freak accident. Either way, our camp was thrown into chaos as the very ground beneath our feet rumbled and fell away. Huge chasms opened in the earth, swallowing anything that was unfortunate enough to be close by. 

Nikolaos and I, for once, were not together. He had fallen slightly ill; a simple cold that would clear up with some rest and fluids, and so he was sleeping it off in our tent. I was on the opposite side of the camp, returning from fetching water from a nearby river, when it happened. I panicked, running through camp, ignoring whatever orders were being shouted. By the time I reached our tent…

…There was nothing I could do. The entire area had been lost, reduced to a rubble-filled crack in the ground. I had to be held back, otherwise I would have jumped in, if only to try and dig him out, but it wouldn’t have mattered. There was no way anyone could have survived the fall and the rocks both.

I stayed for as long as I could. I did not want to leave him, my sweet, gentle bird, but my family and obligations to the remainder of my group forced my hand. I spent most of my funds to have a headstone carved for him, and I laid it within the roots of an ancient willow tree. It was… well, it was a special place for us. We often awoke there in the morning, instead of in our tent. It was where I spent my last night in Sikelia.

I remained in the army for a few more years after I lost him, but I no longer cared if I made it to see the next sunrise. I drowned my grief in blood, silenced my cries with wine. It wasn’t until I retired from combat that it fully sank in. Nikolaos was gone, and I would need to learn how to live without him. 

It was hard. It was hard for a long, long time. It’s still hard, some days, when the quiet creeps in. But I eventually found new things to do, and new people to do them with. I inherited my family’s farm. I met my wife, Aikaterini, and we had two beautiful children together; a son and a daughter. I raised horses and cattle and goats, and I always left some food out for the birds, because I knew Nikolaos adored them. I grieved and I raged and I cried my pain out when I needed to, and then I picked myself and kept living. I still miss him, of course, but I know we’ll see each other again someday.

Arepo dabbed at his eyes as he finished his story. Luke wasn’t much better off, his damp eyes shining in the starlight.

“I… wow.” Luke blew out a gust of air, the sound whistling as it passed his lips, “I’m really sorry. I- I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

He hadn’t ever had many friends, let alone… whatever Arepo and this Nikolaos guy had been. Demigods in his age range didn’t tend to last very long, or if they did, they escaped back to a normal life, never once looking back. He’d always been the older brother, the mentor, the pseudo camp counselor. It had sucked, but it also meant that he had less people to lose.

“I pray you never do.” Arepo said, before pushing himself up. He dusted himself off, then offered a hand to Luke, “Come on. We’re going to figure out what is going on.”

Luke blinked away his tears and took Arepo’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled up. 

Time to put on the detective hats.

“Today is Brightest Star Day.” Arepo explained, gesturing to the strange stars overhead, “Strange things occur on nights like this, when the gods take their eyes off the world. Whatever has possessed my animals and allowed them to vanish, I imagine it must be linked to this.”

“Right,” Luke said, pacing in front of the spot that he’d felt the disturbance, “but what is it? I can feel that there’s something there.”

He gestured to the spot, narrowing his eyes in frustration.

“But I can’t see what it is.”

“You mentioned that before.” Arepo said, walking over to where Luke was. The farmer looked around for a moment, puzzled.

“I… cannot feel anything, Loukás.” he admitted, glancing at the young man in confusion.

Luke bit his lip. Crap. Right, mortals didn’t have a spidey sense for magical stuff. Thanks, panic attack brain, for blurting that out.

“Maybe it's because I’m still a kid?” he offered with a shrug. It was a completely bullshit answer, but he couldn’t exactly say ‘Oh yeah, I’m a son of Hermes. You know, something that doesn’t exist for some reason.’

“Perhaps.” Arepo shrugged as well, “I do not pretend to understand how the supernatural parts of our world work, Loukás. I am just grateful that they do not cross my path often.”

“I feel that.” Luke murmured. He’d had more than his fill of mythological madness, “Also, quick question; why do you keep calling me Loukás? ”

“I had assumed that ‘Luke’ was a nickname.” Arepo replied, blinking in surprise, “I apologize if I have offended you, Louká- Luke. Would you like me to stop?”

“Nah, it’s fine. Just took some getting used to.” Luke smiled, “I kind of like it. Makes me feel more, I don’t know, local, I guess.”

Arepo returned his smile, reaching over to ruffle his blonde hair. Luke spluttered and playfully batted his hands away, an embarrassed flush colouring his cheeks.

“You look very local, Loukás.” he laughed, “Give yourself a few years here, and no one will be able to tell that you weren’t born Greek.”

Luke huffed and straightened his hair, before turning back to the spot. He circled it, keen eyes searching for any little detail that he might have missed. There wasn’t much; just that same damn feeling. With very few other options left, Luke decided to focus on that. He reached out, fingers brushing against the faint sensation. 

It was hard to explain what it felt like. It was like touching an echo, something that shouldn’t have been possible, and which hurt Luke’s brain to think about. He could almost feel a dip in the… whatever it was, not unlike a handle to a car door. Luke focused on that point, gritting his teeth as a pins-and-needles feeling raced up his arm.

Just then, right as he felt something start to give, the feeling flickered. Luke’s eyes shot upward, where the stars’ glow was beginning to dim slightly.

“Fuck, no, no, no, no!” he hissed under his breath, “I’ve almost got it, I just need more time!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Luke felt a tug in his gut. He stumbled slightly at the odd sensation, goosebumps breaking out all over his limbs. The demigod furrowed his brow in confusion. What was that?

Curious, he shifted his attention to the new feeling. He found that, if he imagined it, the tugging sensation would grow stronger. There was resistance on the other side, wherever that was, but Luke knew, somehow, that if he tugged enough, something would give.

Desperate and feeling completely out of options, Luke closed his eyes and pulled.

Like a snapped elastic band, the sensation crashed over his body in a stinging tidal wave of power. It completely bowled him over, sending him crashing down to the grass with a sharp yipe. His legs kicked out as energy crawled through his body, simultaneously white hot and freezing. Luke felt as he began to seize, but he was powerless to stop it, forced to endure the painful shaking as the power rattled around his ribcage like a pissed off cat at a veterinary office.

“Loukás!” Arepo cried, horrified at the sudden state his charge now found himself in. He tried to grab the boy, but the second his skin met Luke’s own, a snapping arc of light threw him back, clumps of dirt and grass spraying up as he skidded to a stop.

Luke wanted to scream, tried to scream, but no noise made it past his lips. He was burning. It was as though he’d been placed on his funeral pyre alive, left to burn to ashes, unable to save himself from the flames as they licked along his skin and boiled his flesh. Was this it? Was this how he died? Had he just killed himself after being given a miraculous second chance through sheer stupidity? 

It was too much. The burning freezing flames, the ever-building electrical pressure that was pushing against his bones, the way his blood felt fucking carbonated. He wanted his Mom, his Dad, fuck- ANYONE. He just wanted this all to STOP!

And then, it did.

Luke gasped as his eyes flew open as the pain suddenly receded. The world seemed to sharpen, like a camera finally coming into focus. Everything was clearer somehow. The stars were brighter, the night sky was darker, colours were more… colourful. It was as if Luke had needed glasses his entire life, and he’d just been handed the perfect prescription.

The air, too, just seemed better somehow. It was crisp and fresh as he breathed it in, soothing his throat like a cool glass of water. The grass was downy soft as it kissed his skin, and every ache and pain just seemed to… go away. Luke lifted a hand, watching in awe as his damaged palm began to knit itself back together. It wasn’t instant, or even quick, but it was happening.

He laughed, unsure and tentative at first, before developing into a real, proper laugh. The teen wasn’t even sure what he was laughing at, just that he felt good, and it seemed like the easiest way to express it.

Luke glanced back to the weird spot, and his eyes widened, along with his grin. Where there had once been nothing, there was now a bright, gleaming pathway. Silver grass and swirling wind beckoned him forward, as if wanting to reward him for his suffering.

“Holy shit- Arepo, I did it!” he shouted in delight, turning to see the man’s reaction.

His face fell when he spotted Arepo, groaning in pain and struggling to push himself up. Luke cursed and scrambled to his feet, rushing over to where the farmer lay.

“Arepo! Arepo, holy Jesus, are you okay?” Luke asked as he skidded to a stop next to him, hands hovering over him nervously.

“Urgh- I am… alive?” Arepo groaned, wincing as he slowly sat up, “Ach- yes, definitely alive. Ough, by Zeus’ beard, that hurts. Reminds me of when I made the mistake of turning my back on one of the bulls. I was- ouch- very happy when we got to have steak dinner not too long after.”

Luke helped Arepo sit up, his face crumpled with worry. There didn’t seem to be any blood, and the man could still move all his extremities, but the teen knew Arepo would be badly bruised, at the least.

After another minute of wounded grumbles, Arepo managed to crack an eye open. He looked at Luke, then jerked back, hissing at the movement.

“What?” Luke asked immediately, “Did that hurt? Are your eyes bothering you?”

Arepo rubbed his eyes for a moment, before slowly opening them again. He blinked once, twice, thrice, before he finally spoke again. 

“Loukás,” he whispered, “what did you do? ”

“What?” Luke asked again, this time more confused than concerned, “I- I mean I’m not sure, but it opened up a path! Look!”

He gestured to the silvery grass, but Arepo was still only looking at him.

“There… there is a water trough, just to your right.” he said slowly, his eyes never leaving Luke’s, “You should go and look into it. Right now.”

Luke stared at Arepo.

“...Why?” 

“Just… trust me, okay? I think… this… is something you must see for yourself.”

Luke’s excitement curdled into something heavier, but he did as he was told. Cautiously, as though he thought it may bite him, Luke crept up to the water trough. He shivered slightly, though whether it was because of fear or anticipation, the demigod couldn’t say. Once the water trough was in front of him, Luke slowly leaned forward, just enough so that he could glimpse his reflection in the water.

“AUGH!” Luke leapt back in shock, his hands flying up to his mouth. 

He stood stock still for a moment, before flying back to the water, his hands gripping the trough’s edge so hard, the metal groaned slightly.

The first thing he noticed were his eyes. They’d always been a deeper, more vibrant blue than most mortals possessed. Unfortunately, they matched his dad’s eyes exactly, something he’d grown to hate as he aged.

That wasn’t going to be a problem anymore.

Ringed around his pupils was a band of luminous gold. It seemed to shift slightly when he moved, as though someone had poured the precious metal into his irises. Even now, in the illuminated light of this unnatural night, his eyes gave off a faint glow, and they shone like an animal’s eyes in the headlights of a car if they caught the light just right.

It wasn’t just his eyes that had changed, however. The tips of his ears were feathery, shifting from skin into light brown downy fluff topped with black. A few scale-like markings dotted his cheeks and neck, resembling the scutes of a turtle or tortoise. When he opened his mouth, Luke could see that his canines had sharpened and elongated, now curving slightly, and when he pressed on them experimentally, he found that they folded back. 

Luke ripped his hands away from his mouth and fell back, his eyes wide with shock as his breathing picked up. What the fuck was this? Why was his face all messed up? What did he do?!

Luke felt the panic beginning to bubble up again. If he didn’t do something now, he was going to be utterly useless for the rest of the night.

“Nope! ” he said cheerily, clapping his hands together as he got to his feet, “I am not dealing with this right now!”

“This isn’t- ack, ouch, ouch- something you can ignore, Loukás.” Arepo argued, struggling to his feet.

“Ohoho, but I can!” Luke replied, wrapping the man’s arm around his shoulders in order to help him walk,“You wouldn’t believe the amount of stuff I’ve repressed. Trust me, I’m an expert at this by now.”

Arepo gave him a strange look.

Luke sighed, his forced smile slipping slightly, “Look, I cannot focus on what’s happening to me right now. I don’t know what kind of weird voodoo magic I just did to make that path appear, but I’d rather not waste the opportunity to use it.”

Arepo clearly wanted to argue, but after a moment, he sighed in defeat and nodded. They both knew that Luke was right; they really couldn’t waste this opportunity, not if they wanted any chance of catching up with Percy and Annabeth.

“Very well. But you cannot ignore it forever, Loukás. Whatever you did, whatever power you just gained… I don’t think it’s going to go away.” he said, and Luke figured that they both knew that Arepo was right, too.

Shifting more of Arepo’s weight onto himself, Luke took a deep breath and stepped towards the silver path, Arepo right beside him. 

As soon as his foot hit the starlit grass, it was as if he’d been thrown onto a conveyor belt. The world blurred around him, flying by in a mess of shapes and colours. Luke gaped at the view, before he realized that he really should have been running with the world, instead of standing in place like an iPad kid in front of a screen.

The imbalance in movement made the duo jerk and stumble, both men just barely able to keep from tripping off the path. Luke scrambled, his arms flailing out for a moment, before he dug in his heels and willed the movement to stop.

And then he remembered that physics exists.

Sssswooosh!

Luke felt his stomach drop as he was vaulted forward, Arepo being pulled along with him. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed that they didn’t hit a tree or a rock or-

Splash!

Oh. Water. That was lucky.

Kicking upwards, Luke breached the surface and spat out a mouthful of water. Arepo came up a moment later, hacking and coughing as he treaded water.

“That,” the man choked, “was awful.”

“Yeah, I don’t think we did that right.” Luke muttered, “Let’s see where we ended up. Hopefully we can take another crack at it.”

“I’d rather avoid more cracks, Loukás.” Arepo groused, swimming over to the shore of the lake they’d crashed into, “I think I’ve gotten enough of them tonight.”

“That’s not what I- forget it.” Luke sighed, kicking his legs until he was close enough to drag himself out of the water.

“Okay, where are we, Arepo?” Luke asked, taking a moment to stretch.

Silence.

“Arepo?” 

Luke looked around, spotting the man standing a few meters away. His face was pallor, frozen in a mix of horror and incomprehension as he stared at something beyond Luke’s line of sight. Suddenly aware of how defenseless they’d left themselves by not bringing any weapon, aside from his Chimera tooth, Luke silently leaned down and picked up the closest rock he could get his hands on. Stepping lightly, Luke picked his way over to where his companion still stood, frozen in place. Right before he reached him, Luke leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse at what Arepo was looking at.

Two figures, riding on either ponies or mules, were standing about 20 feet away. One was a man, with sickly pale skin and sunken brown eyes, and when Luke took in his next breath, he gagged at the scent that was coming off the guy. He smelled like a monster, like the worst of the worst that the mythological world had to offer. Who on Earth would be insane enough to travel with this freak-

Luke felt his throat close up. 

He recognized the second figure. The memory of hearing about her dragging a drakon corpse behind her skeleton horse drawn chariot, screaming for Kronos, for Luke, to come and face her while red flames coated her poison and bloodsoaked armour, was one that would never leave the demigod.

Clarisse La Rue met his eyes, and he saw the same hatred there now that he’d seen so many years ago.

Well, he was fucked.

Nico’s faith that things were going to get easier now that they had help went out the window the second the ground began to move.

Not in an earthquake kind of way. That, at least, would have made some sort of sense, given that they were travelling with two mortals. No, when Hector and Georgios approached a nearby hill, the earth seemed to melt as they drew near, sliding away to reveal the mouth of a dark passage. Nico stared at the newly formed pathway, his skin prickling with discomfort. 

He didn’t have a problem being underground; visiting his dad would be a real nightmare if he did, but there was something… wrong about this. The ground shouldn’t have been able to move like that, and he didn’t trust the unnatural smoothness of the tunnel. There were no rocks or roots, like you would expect to see in a magic dirt tunnel, just smooth, unblemished soil, stretching deep into the Earth. It looked, to Nico, like the hungry maw of an ambush predator, the passageway acting as its throat.

“You want us to go… in there?” Will squeaked, eyeing the darkness with obvious reluctance.

See? If Will thought it was a bad idea, too, then Nico was definitely onto something. What a smart, agreeable boyfriend Nico had.

…Okay, maybe Will just didn’t want to go because of the whole ‘lack of any sunlight whatsoever’ thing, but Nico liked to believe it was the first option.

“It’s the fastest, and safest, way back to Sanctuary.” Hector explained. He held a torch with one hand, while his other stayed tucked up close to his chest, his injured arm resting there. Will had managed to heal the scratches partially, but the wounds were obviously still sore. 

“If that’s true,” Thalia raised a brow, “then why not use these tunnels to go everywhere? Why take the risk of travelling on the roads?”

“If we could, we would.” Georgios said, moving to adjust one of the packs on the back of one of the mules, “However, there are only a few entrances to these hidden passages in Greece. There are far more in Sikelia.”

“Sikelia?”

“That’s where Sanctuary is.” Hector said, nodding towards the passageway, “Normally, such a journey would take many days, but the passages allow us to cross vast distances in much less time.”

Clearly eager to depart, Georgios led the mules forward, walking fearlessly into the dark. Hector tilted his head in a ‘come on’ sort of way, and, after glancing at one another, the demigods followed, albeit reluctantly.

Once they were all inside, the earth slid back into place, as if it was merely a door, and not part of a hill. Nico took a deep breath and reminded himself that he could shadow travel away if things went bad. He was not trapped here.

Nico felt Will slip his hand into Nico’s own, and he closed his fingers around it, giving the other boy his best reassuring smile.

Following Hector’s light, the group moved in relative silence for a time. For all that they seemed to trust this tunnel through the Earth, neither man looked particularly eager to linger. 

“Soooo,” Thalia piped up after half an hour of quiet had elapsed, “Nikolaos mentioned that you two were his apprentices. How did that happen?”

“Well, I met him years ago, when I was a young boy. I was in training to become a priest of Apollo, back before I knew the truth.” Georgios said, his hazel eyes growing distant with memory, “I’d fallen and injured myself quite badly; broke my tibia clean in half. The healer that was called just so happened to be Lord Nikolaos. I thought he was going to call upon the Sun God for aid, but he carried me to a tunnel, much like this one, and used his wondrous gift to heal my leg in just a few moments. When I asked how he’d done it, he told me the truth. The whole truth. When he left, I followed him.”

“Lord Nikolaos?” Nico questioned.

“Well, I suppose he isn’t really a lord, but he’s the son of a god, and everyone at Sanctuary calls him that out of respect.” the man explained, “When you grow up, I’m sure everyone will do the same for you.”

The gathered demigods wrinkled their noses at the idea.

“I was only enlightened recently, around three years ago. I was travelling to Thebes with my siblings when we were attacked by a pack of vicious, flesh-eating horses. I prayed to the gods for help, but my pleas went unanswered. I lost my eldest brother and a sister to the beasts before help arrived.” Hector’s voice was gravely, tinged with anger and pain, “My side was torn open. I thought that I was surely about to die, that I would be reunited with my fallen siblings in the Underworld, but Lord Nikolaos kept me alive. He personally aided in the funeral rites and ensured that my siblings would have safe passage. He asked for no coin or goods as payment; all he wanted was a chance to speak to me and what remained of my family, to educate us on the darkness that lurks on Olympus. Obviously, we listened to him. How could we not, after everything he had done for us?”

“Gods, I-” Thalia swallowed, “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what that was like, to lose someone that way.”

Nico nodded. He’d lost people; his mother, Bianca, but their deaths, at least, had been relatively quick. Getting eaten alive sounded anything but.

“It is a common story, I fear.” Hector sighed, his black hair gleaming in the torchlight, “You children are incredibly lucky to have been found when you did. If a monster didn’t get you, then your divine parents surely would have.”

The children looked at one another. All of them wanted to believe that they would be the exception, that their dads would, at the very least, not kill them for the crime of being alive, but after everything they’d seen and heard… well, it was easy for their minds to wander down a dark road. 

“Speaking of,” Georgios said, “who sired you all? Surely you cannot all be children of Apollo.”

“Uh, is it really a good idea to be name-dropping you know who this much?” Castor worried, glancing up at the ceiling.

“Oh, worry not. The gods can neither hear nor see us here.” Georgios assured, “Strong magic lines the passageways. It keeps us safe from both gods and monsters.”

Nico… wasn’t sure how to feel about that. On one hand, it was reassuring to know that Apollo or Artemis weren’t about to pop in and rip into them like a pinata, but on the other hand, he wondered who or what was powerful enough to cast such a spell. Not to mention why anything that powerful would care about the safety of some wayward mortals.

Judging by the looks on his friends’ faces, he wasn’t the only one wondering that.

“Well, I’m a son of Apollo, but you knew that already.” Will offered, not wanting to let the question hang any longer.

“Dionysus for us.” Pollux said, nodding towards his twin.

“Zeus.” Thalia responded simply, crossing her arms. She sent out a few little sparks as proof, and both Georgios and Hector cringed back slightly.

“And Hades for me.” Nico finished. 

Georgios whistled.

“That’s quite the roster. And you said Hades was your father?” he looked to Nico, who nodded, “You poor thing. I am sorry your mother had to suffer such a fate.”

Nico bristled at the mention of his mother. Who the hell did this guy think he was, insinuating that his father had been cruel or forceful? Before he could snap at him, Will squeezed his hand, his light blue eyes alight with warning. Nico settled for a growly huff, biting back the urge to bare his teeth as he reminded himself that Georgios wasn’t insulting his Hades, but rather whatever twisted version existed here.

“Having Zeus as a father cannot be easy, either.” Hector shook his head, “At least Dionysus is usually content to stay near his temples, where his followers reside. The God King’s gaze is as far reaching as the sky.”

“Well, he hasn’t bothered me so far.” Thalia said, “Though… I am kind of wondering why now.”

“Perhaps he does not know you are his.” Georgios mused, “You, all of you, would be wise not to draw anymore attention to yourselves. You will be safe within Sanctuary, but powers like that… they’ll scare people. None of them would seek to harm you, of course, but you may find yourselves alone more often than not if you show them off.”

Okay, shut up and keep your head down. Nico had done this song and dance before. He was no stranger to hiding what he really was.

“Got it.” Nico said, and the group fell into silence once more.

When Nikolaos had said that this hidden place was in a cavern, Nico had been expecting a cave with some tents or small homes on the side of a mountain, or maybe a camp dug into a ravine.

What he had not been expecting was an enormous underground city.

Stone houses, shops with colourful banners, and moss-covered temples lined the cave floor, the illuminated streets filled with people going about their lives. Dogs trailed happily at the heels of their masters as they made their way home for the night, cats napped in window sills, and children shrieked with delight as they chased goats and chickens around small farms, watched carefully by their parents. 

A vast lake lay at the farthest edge of the cavern, its deep blue waters fed by a roaring, frothing waterfall that fell through a thick cloud of fog. A few ancient trees grew by the water’s edge, their twisting branches growing like vines up and into the misty clouds. A few small boats bobbed along the water’s surface, their owners pulling in the last catches of the night. It seemed to Nico that living in a cave had changed when people decided to sleep, as it must have been rather late by now.

“Holy…” Nico breathed, his eyes wide.

“A beautiful sight, is it not?” Georgios smiled at the slack jawed demigods, “Welcome to Sanctuary, little ones. Your new home, for as long as you wish it to be.”

‘I wonder how long it will have to be.’ Nico thought to himself. If their parents were a threat, then their chances of ever getting home were slim and getting slimmer.

“Come along, now. You all must be exhausted.” Hector said, his eyes drifting over the gaggle of dirt covered, weary-eyed children.

They nodded. The trip had taken several hours, and all of them were tired, hungry, sore, and in desperate need of a bath and some clean clothes.

One by one, the group made their way down a path that led down into the cavern proper. As they passed through the city, people turned and stared at them, curious whispers breaking out amongst the population. A little girl peered out from behind her mother’s legs, and Nico smiled at her, waving weakly. She grinned in that toothy way that only small children can, waving back with much more enthusiasm.

Georgios broke off from the group, saying that he needed to unpack the mules and get the animals back to their pen. The man promised that he would meet up with them after they’d rested in order to show them around. Hector led them further into the city, guiding them through various streets before finally stopping in front of what appeared to be a temple. Who it would be dedicated to, Nico wasn’t sure. Maybe it had been built before these people abandoned their faith in the gods?

Two multi-headed, winged serpents coiled around marble columns, their heads pointed down towards the demigods. Time had worn down their features, and moss and lichen grew over most of their stony scales, but Nico swore that he could feel their eyes on him.

He shuddered and pressed in closer to Will.

“Come, come,” Hector ushered them inside, “this is where Lord Nikolaos stays when he is in Sanctuary. He says that it makes him feel more connected to the Earth, and that it soothes him. Hopefully, it will do the same for you.”

The stone floor gave way to packed earth and clay tiles the farther in they went. A small pool sat in the centre of the temple, surrounded by candles and woven mats. Pots filled with incense swayed gently from nearby hooks, often placed next to lattices covered in lavender and herbs, filling the space with a pleasant, calming scent that made Nico’s eyelids droop.

“Braeden! ” Hector called, “Come here for a moment! We have guests!”

The sound of footsteps rang out across the temple, and after a moment, a new man appeared. He was tall and thin, with sandy blonde hair that was streaked with grey, and moss green eyes. He wore a simple black tunic and sandals. No scars marred his skin, just a few wrinkles around his face. He looked, overall, fairly plain. The only things that stood out were his less-than-pleasant smell and his one accessory; a small, silver broach in the shape of a winged serpent.

“Well, hello there.” Braeden greeted them warmly. He had a voice like a kind grandpa who would sneak you butterscotch candies before dinner with a wink, “Who do we have here? Some lost little lambs?”

“New arrivals. They have Nikolaos’ approval already; helped him take down a monster that was trying to kill us.” Hector held up his injured arm as proof, “They’re, ah, like him. ”

Braeden’s eyes widened. Apparently, this guy was in on the secret.

“Are they now? Well, I thought I’d never see the day.” the man said, crouching down slightly so that he was more at their eye level, “Poor things. You must have been so frightened; running around all by yourselves. Don’t you worry, ole’ Braeden will take care of you.”

Nico felt more than a little patronized. Curse his tiny ten year old body!

Braeden straightened himself out, wincing as his back cracked. “Thank you for bringing them, Hector. I’ll take it from here. Go home and get some rest, my boy.”

Hector dipped his head and said his goodbyes, making sure to thank them again for saving his life.

“If you need anything, ” he said, turning to leave, “my home is just down the road to the left. Look for the house with the dog statue.”

“Okay, bye Hector.” Thalia said, and the rest of the group repeated the statement. 

Once Hector had left, they all turned back to Braeden. The man’s pale green eyes reflected the candlelight, turning them orange and gold as the flames danced and flickered. He was still smiling, but something seemed… off. Nico couldn’t tell what it was; nothing had changed with the man, and he wasn’t doing anything threatening. Again, the only off thing was his smell, which reminded the son of Hades of the reptile house at a zoo he’d visited once. Given all the snake imagery around here, he wouldn’t be surprised if they kept some of the animals.

“You all must be famished!” Braeden tutted, “Follow me. We’ll get some food in your bellies.”

Nico’s instincts warned him against following after the man, but his starved, exhausted mind heard ‘food’ and promptly blocked out everything else. He trotted behind Braeden, the rest of his group following behind him, mumbling quietly about finally getting to eat and rest.

Braeden led them to a small dining area. Low, couch-like chairs surrounded a simple wooden table, a plain beige cloth draped across it. Braeden gestured for them to sit, promising to return in a moment with something warm for them to eat and drink. Nico all but collapsed into the seat, Will flopping down next to him. The dark haired boy blinked slowly, each one keeping his eyes shut for longer.

Tired. So… tired…

Surely a little nap wouldn’t hurt, right? He could always eat later.

Yawning, Nico leaned back against the plush surface of the chair. As his sleep began to overtake him, he noticed that Braeden had returned, bringing with him some cups and a pot of what must have been tea. He sniffed at the air, curious as to what flavour it was.

A sharp, unpleasant smell reached his nose, and he recoiled slightly, turning away and nuzzling into the plush cushions of the seat.

“Oh! Wow, that’s- uh- an interesting smell.” Nico heard Pollux say, trying his best to be polite.

“Ah, yes, Henbane is quite odorous, I’m afraid.” Braeden chuckled, “But it is very good for you. Just a small amount will ease some of your aches and help you get to sleep, though your friend there doesn’t seem to need any.”

“Should we wake him up?” Thalia’s voice was drifting now, getting further away.

“No, no, let him sleep.” Braeden replied, and Nico just barely caught the last part of his sentence,

“I’m sure you’ll all want to do the same soon.”