Chapter Text
“I guess I have a quest.”
Chiron looked between her and Percy, utterly stunned.
“That… wasn’t supposed to happen,” he muttered as if the very laws of fate had rewritten themselves in front of him.
Percy crossed his arms. “Sorry, I broke your Oracle. Not my fault she tried to push through divine shielding.”
Chiron rubbed his temples. “No, no. That was… that was your mother, wasn’t it?”
Percy didn’t answer right away. Just looked at Chiron with the same eerie, too-still calm that always made even gods uneasy. Then—flatly: “Yes.”
There was weight in that word.
Chiron didn’t ask further.
Instead, he looked at Annabeth. “You’ve been chosen. The prophecy is yours now.”
Grover crept out from behind the pillar.
“Does that mean she leads the quest?”
Chiron nodded slowly.
Percy gave Annabeth a sidelong glance. “Do you want to?”
She met his eyes.
“I’ve been waiting for one since I was seven.”
“I think,” Chiron said slowly, “that the gods are going to have opinions.”
Annabeth straightened, jaw set.
“I’ll go west,” she said. “I’ll find what was stolen.”
Grover hesitated. “Who’s the one who will betray you?”
Annabeth looked at him. Then at Percy.
Her face didn’t change. But her hand clenched the hilt of her knife just a little tighter.
“I’ll worry about that when I get there,” she said.
Annabeth turned to Percy, still pale but already setting her jaw like a girl bracing for impact. “You’re coming with me.”
Percy blinked. “What?”
“You’re part of this,” she said. “Even if the prophecy didn’t speak your name. Even if it couldn’t. I don’t care what gods are tangled in your blood. You’re not sitting this out.”
Percy frowned. “Technically I was trying not to be part of it.”
She grabbed his sleeve. “You’re in it anyway.”
Chiron exhaled. “You should both rest. There’s much to prepare. Grover—fetch the maps. I will contact the Council of Cloven Elders and the Hesperides. We’ll need supplies.”
“Are you sure she can’t go alone?” Grover asked. “I mean, she got the prophecy...”
“Grover,” Chiron said, the corners of his mouth twitching. “You will be joining them.”
Grover went very still. “Oh. Hooray.”
Annabeth takes a deep breath “So we leave when?”
“Tomorrow at dawn,” Chiron said. “You’ll travel west. Begin your journey with the mortal world, blend in. We’ll get you passes for the Amtrak train—there’s a dryad on the Boston line who owes me a favor.”
“Dawn,” Percy repeated, already exhausted. “And they say the gods are dramatic.”
Chiron smiled faintly. “Rest, Perseus. Both of you. You’ll need it.”
Percy winced. “Can we not with the full name?”
Chiron raised an eyebrow.
Percy muttered, “It’s loud.”
Percy was halfway to the door before he stopped, turned, and narrowed his eyes.
“Wait.”
Chiron looked up from the scroll he was unrolling.
“You said earlier that you had some idea of where the master bolt might be.”
Chiron hesitated. “Yes.”
“Well?”
Chiron laced his fingers, resting his hands atop the scroll. “I believe the thief is Hades.”
Percy’s eyes narrowed. “The god of the Underworld.”
“Indeed,” Chiron said, nodding. “Think, Percy. If Zeus and Poseidon weaken each other in a war, who stands to gain? Someone with a grudge. Someone who’s been forced into isolation. Someone who—”
“Chiron,” Percy said slowly, “I don’t mean to be rude.”
A beat.
“But I’m probably about to sound really rude.”
Grover froze. Annabeth straightened, watching him carefully.
Chiron’s brows lifted. “Excuse me?”
“Do you base your knowledge of the gods on pop culture?”
The silence was deafening.
“Young man,” Chiron said, affronted, “I have witnessed the rise and fall of empires. I have trained over a thousand heroes—”
“Great,” Percy said flatly. “Then name one ancient source—not a Disney adaptation—where Hades is the bad guy.”
Chiron reared back slightly, confusion flickering across his face.
Percy went on, the words pouring out faster now, a cadence like ritual, or reckoning.
“With Persephone—he asked for her hand. From her father. That’s more than some gods have done. And she became queen. Not a captive.”
The fire in the hearth shuddered.
“He let Heracles borrow Cerberus. Under one condition: don’t hurt him.”
The books on the nearby shelves trembled.
“He let Orpheus walk out of the Underworld with Eurydice, no trick, no deception. He just said: don’t look back.”
The shadows deepened around Percy’s shoulders. Behind him on the wall, the faint outline of wings—lightless and vast—flickered once.
“The punishments he gave out?” Percy’s voice trembled now—not with fear, but with the effort of folding power into something small enough to speak aloud. “Sisyphus. Theseus. Pirithous. They earned it.”
Chiron opened his mouth—but no words came.
“And he doesn’t need to start wars. He doesn’t need thrones. Because everyone ends up in his kingdom. Every god. Every mortal. Every soul. Eventually. All a war gives him is more corpses to count . More spirits to house. More work.”
Chiron looked pale. Grover swallowed audibly.
Percy folded his arms, eyes glittering silver-green. “If anything, there’s one god who benefits from war. From chaos. From brothers turning on each other.”
Annabeth tilted her head. “You’re not saying—”
“Ares,” Percy said plainly. “It’s Ares.”
Chiron’s mouth opened. Closed.
“Ares?” Grover repeated. “But—but he’s an Olympian. He wouldn’t—”
“He would,” Percy said. “He would, and he has. He thrives on conflict. He always has. The older myths? They hated him. The Greeks didn’t even pretend to like him. They saw him for what he was—rage and fire and the sound of a thousand bones breaking. He doesn’t build. He doesn’t plan. He doesn’t govern. He burns things down.”
No one spoke.
“The gods always say they want peace,” Percy continued softly, “but none of them trust each other. So what happens if someone lights a match? Just one spark between Zeus and Poseidon—”
“And suddenly the whole world is a battlefield,” Annabeth whispered. “And who wins in that?”
“The God of War. Always sidelined. Always the tool, never the throne. Starting a war between the gods? That gives him power. Purpose. Center stage.”
Grover whispered, “That’s… actually smart.”
Percy’s grace folded itself again, wings vanishing. He looked smaller. Not weaker—just… quieter.
“I’m not saying it isn’t Hades,” Percy said softly. “But we’re pointing fingers at the wrong shadows. And some of us should know better.”
Chiron exhaled through his nose. “That… complicates things.”
“No,” Percy said. “It clarifies things.”
Annabeth looked thoughtful now. “If it is Ares… we’ll need to be careful.”
“We always did,” Percy said. “But if we’re going to walk into a god’s trap, I’d prefer to know which god we’re upsetting.”
“Multiple,” Grover mumbled.
“Definitely multiple,” Percy agreed.
Chiron looked very tired now.
“You’re going to make this very difficult for the Council, Perseus.”
Percy gave a humorless smile. “I seem to have a talent for that.”
He stood, brushing off his pants, wings flickering faintly behind him like a shadow only he could see.
“Well then,” he said. “If we’re leaving at dawn, I’d like to go pack. And maybe find a muffin.”
“Percy—” Chiron started.
“I’ll apologize to Ares if I’m wrong,” Percy said, already walking toward the door. “But something tells me I’m not.”
And with that, he stepped out into the hallway, already pulling his hoodie up over his curls, shadow at his heels and quiet rage at his back.
Annabeth watched the doorway.
“…We are bringing him,” she said.
Grover, still stunned, only nodded.