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Annabeth had never been scared of the dark. 

But normally the dark wasn’t forty feet tall. It didn’t have black wings, a whip made out of stars and a shadowy chariot pulled by vampire horses. 

Nyx was almost too much to take in. Looming over the chasm, she was a churning figure of ash and smoke, as big as the Athena Parthenos, but very much alive. Her dress was void black, mixed with the colours of a space nebula, as if galaxies were being born in her bodice. Her face was hard to see except for the pinpoints of her eyes, which shone like quasars. When her wings beat, waves of darkness rolled over the cliffs, making Annabeth feel heavy and sleepy, her eyesight dim. 

The goddess’s chariot was made of the same material as Nico di Angelo’s sword — Stygian iron — pulled by two massive horses, all black except for their pointed silver fangs. The beasts’ legs floated in the abyss, turning from solid to smoke as they moved. 

The horses snarled and bared their fangs at Annabeth. The goddess lashed her whip — a thin streak of stars like diamond barbs — and the horses reared back. 

“No, Shade,” the goddess said, her voice raspy and melodious at the same time. “Down, Shadow. These little prizes are not for you.”

Percy eyed the horses as they nickered. He was still shrouded in Death Mist, so he looked like an out-of-focus corpse — which broke Annabeth’s heart every time she saw him. It also must not have been very good camouflage, since Nyx could obviously see them. 

Annabeth couldn’t read the expression on Percy’s ghoulish face very well. Apparently he didn’t like whatever the horses were saying. 

“Uh, so you won’t let them eat us?” he asked the goddess. “They really want to eat us.”

Nyx’s quasar eyes burned. “Of course not. I would not let my horses eat you, any more than I would let Akhlys kill you. Such fine prizes, I will kill myself!”

Annabeth didn’t feel particularly witty or courageous, but her instincts told her to take the initiative or this would be a very short conversation. 

“Oh, don’t kill yourself!” she cried. “We’re not that scary.”

The goddess lowered her whip and sighed. “Momos, shut it.”

Demented cackling echoed from somewhere deep in the abyss. As Percy and Annabeth watched, a short little man wearing a monochrome jester’s outfit rose from the darkness, his face caked with so much makeup that he looked like some kind of insane killer clown. 

“You have to admit, Mother, that was pretty funny,” said the clown. He spoke with a Transatlantic accent, something like a sardonic radio host from the 1920s. It took Annabeth a moment to realise his voice had a sort of muffling filter on it as well, so it sounded like he was speaking through a radio. 

Nyx rolled her shining quasar eyes and sighed again. “Little prizes, meet my son Momos, the god of satire and mockery.”

“Call me Mom for short,” said Momos with mock politeness. 

Percy raised an eyebrow at him. “Uh, no thanks. I don’t think we will.”

Suddenly, the darkness congealed around Nyx, and an army of shadows appeared on either side. 

“Ah, my other children have arrived,” she said. 

Annabeth could make out more dark-winged arai , which she was not thrilled to see; a withered man who must have been Geras, the god of old age; a younger woman in a black toga, her eyes gleaming and her smile like a serial killer’s — no doubt Eris, the goddess of strife; a sallow-skinned lady with sunken eye sockets much like Akhlys, who Annabeth assumed was Oizys, the goddess of pain and suffering; a winged lady with furious eyes and a deathly scowl who Annabeth guessed was Lyssa, the goddess of rage; a young woman in a white peplos whose form flickered between beauty and insanity, likely to be Apate, the goddess of deceit; a shadowy figure with beady red eyes that radiated pure fear — and unlike the others, Annabeth couldn’t quite put her finger on who exactly he was; and… Hera?

Annabeth blinked. There was the Queen of Olympus, hovering over the chasm of Chaos with the spawn of Nyx, distractedly breaking apart fortune cookies and burning the fortunes inside. No, she thought, That can’t be Hera. It must be Nemesis, who’s also a child of Nyx, if I recall correctly. Leo and Hazel said she appears as whoever we hate the most. She glanced at Percy, who clearly didn’t like whatever he saw Nemesis as either. His expression of disgust was clear, even through the fuzz of the Death Mist.

Annabeth wanted to run. She was facing a brood of horrors that could snap anyone’s sanity. But if she ran, she would die. 

“So…” crooned Nyx, “I suppose you know who I am, young demigods?”

“Well, you’re Night, I suppose,” said Annabeth. “I mean, I can tell because you’re dark and everything, though the brochure didn’t say much about you.”

Nyx’s eyes winked out for a moment. “What brochure?”

Annabeth patted her pockets. “We had one, didn’t we? The Tartarus tour, or something like that?”

The goddess locked eyes with her. “Annabeth Chase,” said Nyx, “Daughter of Athena and Frederick Chase. Stepsister of Matthew and Bobby Chase. Girlfriend of Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon and Sally Jackson. Friend of Piper McLean, daughter of Aphrodite and Tristan McLean; and Hazel Levesque, daughter of Pluto and Marie Levesque. Did you sincerely expect me to believe that such a Tartarus tour exists? Did you expect me to be deceived, when Deceit is my daughter?”

Annabeth was momentarily stunned. “Uh… maybe?” she finally managed to say. 

Nyx turned to the wispy black figure beside her. “Moros, is there such a thing as a Tartarus tour?”

“No, Mother,” replied the wraith, his red eyes unwavering and full of malice. 

“You— you’re Mo—” began Annabeth, but Moros cut her off. 

“That’s right, half-blood,” he said, “I am Moros, older brother of the Fates, decider of doom and destiny. And I decree that you are doomed to fall here and now.”

Momos clapped his gloved hands. “What an inspiring speech, Moron!” he applauded, his voice crackling with radio static and sarcasm. 

“Do not call me Moron,” replied Moros coldly. 

“What’re you going to do about it, Moron?” jeered Eris. 

Nyx lashed her whip, which let out a deafening crack. “Settle down, children. These young half-bloods have tried to trick me, and I applaud them for that. Not many have the courage to stand up to Night. My dears, I know you seek to find the Doors of Death.”

“How did y—” Percy began in disbelief, before stopping himself when the goddess fixed her quasars of eyes on him. 

“The quickest way to reach them from here,” continued the goddess, “is through my abode, the Mansion of Night.” She gestured to something in the abyss below. “Little prizes, for your bravery, I will grant you safe passage through my domain.”

The horses whinnied in protest, and Percy eyed them uneasily. He moistened his lips. “Is there a catch?”

The goddess’s quasar eyes shone in the darkness. “I didn’t plan on having a catch, but… how about this? If you give me your weapons, I will grant you safe passage through my domain.” 

She shared a glance with her serial-killer-daughter Eris. Annabeth didn’t know what that glance meant, but she really didn’t like it. She also really didn’t like that Percy had made this tougher for them by suggesting that Nyx include a catch in her offer. 

“Why would a primordial deity as great as you need our weapons?” she probed. 

Nyx momentarily looked at a loss, but Apate, the goddess of deceit in white robes, stepped up. “My sister, Eris, is an avid collector of dangerous trinkets, especially those with a rich history,” she said, “She would like nothing more than the legendary sword forged for Hercules by a Hesperid, and perhaps a drakon bone sword to go with it.”

“There you go,” said Nyx, “Do we have a deal, little demigods? Your weapons, in exchange for a safe route straight to the Doors of Death.”

“Hold on,” said Percy, forcing his eyes away from the horses. “Swear it on the Styx.”

Nyx seemed to be smiling. Her eyes pulsed in an erratic fashion. “I swear it on the River Styx,” she said calmly. “Now children, clear the way for our heroes to cross.”

The children of Night swooped to either side, creating a path for Percy and Annabeth to jump down into the abyss and into the Mansion of Night. Annabeth felt her drakon bone sword vanish from her pocket, and saw it and Riptide reappear in Eris’s hand. She waited for the rumble of thunder she knew signified an oath sworn on the Styx, but it never came. Then she remembered she was hundreds of miles underground. 

She looked at Percy. Although he still looked like a corpse, his expression was clear to her: he was utterly bewildered. 

“Are you sure about this?” he whispered to Annabeth. 

“Of course,” whispered Annabeth back, though she definitely wasn’t sure about this. Something about the entire situation felt very, very wrong to her. “She swore it on the Styx. It’s a binding oath. We’ll make it through the Mansion of Night safely. Come on.”

She slipped her hand into his and they began walking. As they got to the edge, Annabeth looked down. There was only blackness. Her heart pounded like a drum in her chest, and she grasped Percy’s hand tighter. 

Just as they were preparing to take a leap of faith, Annabeth heard Nyx’s voice, shrill yet smooth. 

“Keres,” the goddess commanded, “Bind them.”

Before she got the chance to anticipate anything, Annabeth found herself in the midst of a barrage of leathery wings, stubby bowed legs, and fanged mouths. She felt herself get slashed many times, and then bound together with Percy in a coil of thick black barbed wire, made of Stygian iron. Her wounds burned. Her vision was blurry. She wanted to scream, but her voice wasn’t working. 

The attack ceased just as suddenly as it had begun, but she was still in severe pain. She faintly heard Percy murmuring, “You… you tricked us…”

“Of course I did,” said Nyx, lashing her starry whip again. “What did you expect?”

“B-but, you swore on the Styx…” said Annabeth weakly, finally finding her voice. 

The goddess tutted disapprovingly. “You are not very wise for wisdom’s daughter,” she observed. “The arai, the curses, are my children and grandchildren, Annabeth Chase. And the consequence of not honouring an oath on the Styx is… a curse. An ara. His name is Horkos, the only male curse to have ever been born . And he is my grandson — he would never curse me.” 

Annabeth almost passed out right there. She thought Nyx would have some trick up her sleeve, but she hadn’t expected the goddess to be able to straight up break an oath on the River Styx. 

The goddess of the night turned to her evil brood. “We must now decide how these little prizes will die,” she announced, her black wings beating and sending waves of fear and fatigue over Percy and Annabeth. Annabeth tried to chance a glance at Percy, but they were tightly bound back-to-back, and she gave up after her attempts to turn around just worsened the pain of her wounds. 

Keres. We were attacked by the Keres. She tried to think straight. Percy was struck by them once. He was healed by— by Bob. 

Annabeth began to wonder what Bob was doing right now. Was he just standing outside the glade, waiting for them to return? Would he realise something was wrong, and barge in to rescue them? Would a Titan even stand a chance against the daimon offspring of Night herself?

She was jolted back to reality when the demonic offspring of Night began to suggest ways for Percy and Annabeth to die. 

“Let them wither until they shrivel up and collapse,” proposed Geras. 

“Let them battle to the death!” shrieked Eris. 

“Let them drown in their blood and tears!” wailed Oizys. 

“Let them tear themselves apart with fury!” screamed Lyssa. 

“Mock them to death,” suggested Momos, cackling like an unhinged man. 

Drowsiness radiated from Nyx’s beating wings, slithering over Annabeth like a foul serpent. Unable to keep her eyes open any longer, she let herself fall asleep, and drifted into the great oblivion… 

Annabeth opened her eyes and looked around. She was sitting next to Percy, in a small grey room shaped like a cube. Nyx and her clan of blackness were nowhere to be found. The atmosphere was calm and serene. She no longer felt afraid, or angry, or hopeless. She didn’t even feel any pain. It took her a while to notice that the Death Mist was no longer enveloping either of them, too. 

“Annabeth,” said Percy. “You’re not— a corpse, anymore.”

“You aren’t a corpse either, Percy,” she replied, “But where are we?”

“Fear not,” said a soothing male voice from behind them, “you are in my domain now. My siblings and my mother cannot hurt you here.”

Annabeth turned around. A young man was standing there, his skin deathly pale and silky smooth, his hair long and white and sparkling with infinite possibility, his entire form shimmering in and out of existence. A large pair of feathered, white wings sprouted from his back, giving Annabeth a nice change in scenery from Nyx’s gargantuan black pair. His irises swirled between a million different colours in a hypnotic, kaleidoscopic pattern that made Annabeth want to fall into a deep sleep again. 

“Who are you?” asked Annabeth. She was quite certain that this man was a god, but her mind was still a little addled, and she couldn’t deduce who exactly he was. 

“You look like Thanatos,” remarked Percy, “but, like, the opposite colour.”

The man scowled. “I am Hypnos, the twin brother of Thanatos. But do not speak of that failure to me. He is a coward and an imbecile. Want to know the real reason why he doesn’t come down here to Tartarus? It’s because he’s afraid of facing Mother’s wrath. She hates him for joining the Olympian gods.”

“But if you’re a child of Nyx—” began Annabeth. 

The grey room quivered, and for a second Annabeth could see the primal darkness that lay beyond. Alarmed, Hypnos put his finger to his lips in a shushing gesture. “Names have power,” he whispered, moistening his lips. “Do not speak my mother’s name if you wish to remain alive in my domain.”

“Sorry,” said Annabeth, “But why are you helping us, Lord Hypnos?”

“Not all daimons are evil,” he said soothingly, “just as not all Titans and giants have darkness within their hearts. Plus, you helped me acquire a place on Olympus and a cabin at Camp Half-Blood as a minor Olympian, Percy Jackson. I must return the favour.”

“You’re welcome,” said Percy, “and, uh, thanks for helping us out.”

“Oh, don’t thank me alone. This wouldn’t be possible without my sisters Philotes and Apate. Philotes is the goddess of friendship and affection — if she weren’t supporting you two, you wouldn’t even be friends by now. And Apate, mistress of deception — she deceived Mother into believing she couldn’t be deceived since Deceit was her daughter; but, of course, children can betray their parents, and Night was indeed deceived.”

“I wonder how many times he said deceive in that sentence,” muttered Percy. 

“But the one you should thank the most is my son,” continued Hypnos, “He was the one who saw you and alerted me in the first place. Without him, you’d still be awake and dying up there.”

“Clovis?” Annabeth guessed. 

Hypnos arched an eyebrow. “I never said it was a half-blood,” the god said. “I’m talking about an oneiros — a dream. In fact, he’s the very dream you’re in right now.”

“We’re inside your son?” asked Percy. 

“Well, yes, but when you put it that way… It’s easier to say you’re dreaming, I suppose. Yes. You’re dreaming. That’s also why the Death Mist is gone. It’ll come back once you’ve awoken.”

Annabeth frowned. “But, uh, if our bodies are still tied together on that cliff…”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” smiled Hypnos, his multicoloured eyes glittering. “He isn’t any ordinary oneiros , young demigod . He’s one of the most powerful dreams in existence, able to contain both your mental and physical forms simultaneously.”

“Who is he?” asked Annabeth. 

The wall behind Hypnos rippled, and a lean, silver-haired man melted out of it. His form shimmered and wavered just like his father’s, and his face constantly shifted and morphed into different forms, so that it was impossible to make out. Seeing the two demigods seated on the floor in front of him, he seemed to grin, and asked, “Remember me?”

“Aren’t you the guy who cursed Grover in that forest?” said Percy. “You also cursed all the mortals in Manhattan during the Titan War, didn’t you? Yeah, I definitely remember you.”

“How rude,” scoffed Morpheus. “I do not wish to converse with you any longer. Farewell.” 

He leant against the wall and melted back into it. 

Hypnos blinked. “Oh. I guess you two weren’t on the best of terms, then?”

“It’s nothing much, he just put my entire city under a sleeping spell one day,” Percy responded. 

Annabeth cleared her throat, eager to avoid a fight with the one person in Tartarus who’d actually decided to help them (besides Bob and Damasen, of course). “So, um, Lord Hypnos,” she said, “Are you bringing us somewhere? Like through the Mansion of Night or something?”

Hypnos chuckled and stars danced behind his kaleidoscopic eyes. “My mother would have you believe that the Mansion of Night is the fastest way to the heart of Tartarus,” he told them, “but there are actually… other ways. Ways that mortals and demigods can’t usually take, unless the vessel containing them is strong enough, like Morpheus. Your Titan friend, Iapetus—”

“Bob,” Percy corrected. 

The god frowned. “Is he called that now?” he mused. “Huh. Anyhow, he’s taking this route just like us.”

“Let me guess,” Annabeth said, pursing her lips, “Are we going sideways?”

Blinking like a confused cat, Hypnos scratched his chin, clearly at a loss for words. “Hmm… No, I’d say we’re going more… diagonal,” he said. “Yes, diagonal is the word for this. We’re moving diagonally.” 

He closed his eyes and exhaled, his chin resting on his palm, as if deep in thought. His expression looked so peaceful that Annabeth thought he might have fallen asleep… Then she realised he actually had fallen asleep. She snapped her fingers under his nose, like how she’d done with his son Clovis, and he awoke with a start. 

“My apologies,” the god said soothingly, not at all flustered. “I suppose I feel asleep. Huh, I fell asleep in a dream. I wonder how that works.” He looked up at Percy and Annabeth. “So, do you two have any other questions? We’re almost to the Doors of My Annoying Twin Brother, so I don’t have much time left with you.”

“What happened to our weapons?” Percy asked. 

“Ah, yes!” said Hypnos, “I nearly forgot.” He put his hand into his pocket, bringing out Annabeth’s drakon bone sword, and Riptide in ballpoint pen form. “Here you go.”

Percy ran the pen through his fingers. “So, how’d you get these back from that lady in the black dress? She didn’t seem easy to steal from or anything.”

Hypnos’s eyes twinkled like the stars of the night sky. “The Fates do not usually go against the rules they have placed upon the Universe. But in this case, they have warped the laws of physics to such an extent that your weapons went from Eris’s hands to mine.” He laughed gently. “Remember, dears, the Fates are on the Olympians’ side. They even have their own giant to deal with, that old dirtbag Thoon.”

Annabeth turned the drakon bone sword over in her hands and moistened her lips. “Speaking of Fate,” she said, “Lord Hypnos, earlier we met your brother, Mor— I mean, the older brother of the Fates, the god of doom and destiny.”

The god of sleep shivered, and his wings trembled with unease. “I know who you speak of,” Hypnos said. “He’s certainly not the best brother I’ve ever had. Go on.”

“He decreed that we would die right then, but it never happened. How is that possible, though, when he is Fate itself?”

“The power of the three Fates combined can overpower that of the god of doom, if they try hard enough,” explained Hypnos. “Thank them too, for they are the only reasons you are still alive.”

“What about our friends on the Argo II?” asked Percy. “Have the Fates kept them alive as well?”

Hypnos opened his mouth to answer, but just then, the smooth grey wall behind him liquefied, and Morpheus melted out of it again. He cast a distasteful look at Percy — although it was hard to make out due to his face constantly rearranging itself — and turned to his father. 

“Father, we have arrived at the Doors of Death,” reported the oneiros.

“Then this is where we say goodbye, young demigods,” announced Hypnos. He raised his arms and unfurled his wings to their full wingspan, striking a theatrical pose. “Do shield your eyes.”

The two dream daimons began to shimmer even more brightly as the grey box wavered dangerously around Annabeth and Percy. 

“Wait!” called Percy frantically, “What about our friends up there?”

Morpheus and Hypnos began to glow alarmingly bright, and Percy and Annabeth shielded their eyes to avoid death by looking at the gods’ true forms. 

“They are alive, as far as I know,” came Morpheus’s voice, distant and faded. 

“Good luck!” added Hypnos’s voice. “You’ll need it!”

Annabeth couldn’t see them, but she felt the gods erupting into twin columns of ethereal sparkles. Another wave of drowsiness overcame her, and she fell into a deep slumber.