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Chapter Text

Fire.

The thick, nauseating scent of something burning was putrid and sweet; catching in her throat, the smell was so intense that she swore she could taste the leathery scent that left a lingering tinge of steak. Panic caused her limbs to flare as the red flames barreled across the floor in her direction. Somewhere, a child wailed. It took her longer to realize that the wailing child was what was on fire. Beyond the flames, she glimpsed figures sacking Troy and the gleam of blades. 

A woman screamed so loudly, so shrilly, that it could be heard over the clashing of swords and the cries of the burning child. The scream was her own, and yet while she knew that what was happening before her was merely a terrible dream, she could not understand how the hot breath of flames felt real. The child coughed and continued to cry, struggling to escape the pain of the fire, showcasing strong limbs and a strong sense of will to survive. She took notice that her white sleep gown was stained red with blood that was coming from between her legs and she whimpered, distraught by anguish beyond her body’s pain. She stared at the burning child—her burning child—seeking a way to help, when bloodied hands pulled her away by her hair, dragging her across the ruins of her family and home. She fought desperately, feeling the skin on the soles of her feet be scraped off until there was nothing left except for blood and muscle, smoke impregnating her lungs as she heard: “Troy has perished, the great city! Only the red flame now lives there!”

Her subconscious expanded—she saw the body of a Trojan soldier being dragged around the city tied behind a chariot; a young girl stood in front of a tomb surrounded by an army with her dress torn from the top of her shoulder to the middle of her waist by the navel to expose her breasts before her windpipe was cut by a sword. The bodies of more young Trojans—a beautiful, youthful man murdered; an auburn haired woman muttering insanities taken into captivity; a boy similar in appearance to the auburn haired woman murdered in a dispute over a woman, and ten more people—lie scattered on the bloody ground as the enemies rejoiced and looted the cauldrons of bronze, took the women as prisoners for their own sick enjoyment, and burned the fine weavings and texts to ashes. 

Time suddenly passed by, and the desecration of Troy became nothing more than dust rising, spreading out like the wings of an eagle, unfurling on its wings smoke and hiding the city forever. But the flames continued to burn and blood continued to spill, and Greece, Libya, Ethiopia, Iberia, Egypt, and then Sicily, and then Asia Minor, and even all the untouched lands surrounded by the ocean that the gods had yet to explore and spoil were destroyed in turn. Men, both mortal and divine, tore at each other’s throats like starving dogs fighting for scraps for generations to come. And when the sea rose up from the white cliff of an island, the face of a man seemingly birthed from the waters walked onto the sand, where he had clashed with a young woman who was dressed in full armor with a diadem made from olive branches; and with a blow from his trident, he produced a sea in the middle of an acropolis just as the woman planted an olive tree. Then a young boy and girl surfaced from the saturated soil, flooding whatever foes stood in their way, and the songs, the arts, the culture of the world as they knew it was coming to an age of nonexistent with sun rays and grapevines embracing them each respectively. 

“O, Titaness Mnemosyne, will you save us?” Voices cried out. 

And she heard the answering call: “From the well of Attica will come the Defenders of Man!”

1224 BC, Troy (or Ilion)

“My Queen, you must wake up! You’re having a nightmare.”

Gasping, Queen Hecuba sat up with a jerk, trying to catch her breath. Polyboea stood over her, concern etched on the handmaid’s weathering face. Smoke clung in the air, but it carried the soothing smell of incense, not leather…not the smell of roasting flesh. She steadied her breath as her eyes focused on a patch of dim light in the darkness. She could hear the distant pattering of rain against the shutters. It was raining. It was morning. She was in the safety of her personal chambers. 

Her room felt eerily hot and damp, as if from a fire. She could feel the tiny beads of sweat gathering on the back of her neck.

Her head throbbed. She fell back down on the bed, and the dream replayed itself in the crevices of her mind. The door swung open wide, startling the queen and her ladies, and the watchman who had been stationed outside of the queen’s apartments stepped inside, voice stern as he called out to them.

“What’s happened? Has the Queen gone into labor? What is amiss?” He demanded, barking out questions in quick succession.

One of the Queen’s ladies rushed forward to meet him, voice shrill. “It was a dream, an evil dream!” The lady cried. “An omen of great destruction—”

“Enough!” Hecuba cried out, wanting no more than to let the dream recede away. She ignored the various looks of concern as she got up to address the watchman who had been staring unabashedly at her in her disheveled appearance. It was a well known fact that the Queen of Troy was a beautiful woman, her parentage rumored to be derived from a nymph called Eunoë who was the daughter of the Phrygian river-god Sangarius and the Queen of the Underworld, and the Phrygian King Dymas who was a descendant of Phoenix, son of Agenor, but the watchman got a glimpse of the Queen in a different light. The Queen was a dignified woman, always well composed and diplomatic, but now, her dark hair unbounded and falling over her shoulders, her sheer gown had come unfastened and opened to expose the dark skin of her chest had him memorized. The Queen was absolutely gorgeous.

“Leave! You see there is nothing wrong here,” scolded Polyboea when she noticed the watchman’s stare. She helped cover the queen, more concerned for her modesty than the ramblings of the other ladies. “She simply had a terrible dream, nothing more. It isn’t unusual for expecting mothers to have odd dreams when the birth is near.” She looked accusingly at the younger ladies who were still bemoaning about how the dream was an evil omen.

“It is my duty to ensure that the Queen is well, lady.” The watchman frowned at her, making it clear that he would not leave until he was certain that there was no danger of any kind. He looked back at the queen. “My Queen, what can I do to ease your fears?”

Hecuba brushed back a strand of heavy dark hair and sighed. “I’m all right. It was just a dream of fire…and a baby.” Everyone took notice that her voice shook with fear.

“You screamed, my Queen!” Cried one of the youngest ladies, her eyes growing round. “We had thought you were burnt.”

“I assure you all, it was simply a dream,” the Queen insisted. Her voice was still shaking. “My apologies for causing such a terrible fright, but you all may return to your posts; it was no more than a nightmare. There is no fire.”

Polyboea’s lips thinned. “Mayhaps it would be best to have a sibyl at least interpret the dream, my Queen. Only just to ease your mind.”

Before Hecuba could dismiss Polyboea’s suggestion, thundering footsteps echoed across the front and the King of Troy emerged into the room with two men following closely behind him. Tall, lean and bronzed, the King stood with the confidence of one who had never doubted his right to command. There was silver at his temples—he was a man in his late thirties—but it added a distinction to his dark hair, and there were sparse strands in his full dark beard. The King’s eyes were as bright as an emerald; a beautiful green like the plants that grew along the Scamander river, though there were oftentimes, when angered, they could show colors of the murky sea during a storm.

Priam came up beside his Queen while the servants bowed and lowered their heads, dark brows creasing in concern. 

“My King, it is nothing. ‘Twas only a bad dream—” the Queen said quickly.

“Is everything well with you, my lady?” The King asked. 

Hecuba repressed a sigh. Priam would have forgiven her—he knew from a multitude of experiences that pregnant women were often short tempered, and it seemed that when it was his babies stirring around in a woman’s womb that they possessed even more fire than before. But she was the Queen of Troy, and ought to be beyond such frailty.

“I am well, my lord husband.” She mastered her irritation and gave him a soft smile that always seemed to melt his harsh exterior. The gods had blessed her with beauty beyond the ordinary, he always said to her. He was grateful that his daughters had taken after her. “Forgive me for causing such a great disturbance. I merely had a horrible dream.”

“It was an omen of great evil, my King!” One of the Queen’s ladies proclaimed. Polyboea cursed at the girl from between clenched teeth. 

Priam stiffened. He turned to one of the men standing behind him. “Check that the royal children have not been disturbed and take the women with you so that they may watch over them,” he commanded, and the guard nodded his head in acknowledgment while he escorted the scurrying ladies out of the room. Hecuba knew her husband well enough to tell that his patience was wearing thin. “Polyboea,” he called out to the oldest and most devoted of his wife’s ladies. She had been lingering, unwilling to leave her Queen when she was clearly upset. “If you could be so kind and fetch my son, Aesacus, and bring him here. Tell him that his king demands his presence at once; the queen has had a dream of great evil and we need to interpret it at once.”

Polyboea bowed before she and the watchman took their leave. 

Grateful now that her room was empty of prying eyes, Hecuba laid a palm upon the swell of her belly. The child did not kick as it usually would have, and the wetness that developed in the corner of her eyes startled her.

“It was more than a dream, wasn’t it?” The bed creaked as the King sat down and reached out to caress her hair.  

Hecuba sat up, facing him. “No…no…it was only a dream,” she insisted, but the fear was still clear on her face. 

“Beloved, I can feel you shaking. All the coloring is gone from your face as if you have seen a phantom! Perhaps it really was a message from the Gods.” He sighed, and Hecuba thought she heard an echo of thunder, although the morning sky was clear. 

“Perhaps it was just a dream,” she whispered bitterly, for she just wanted to forget the awful images. “And why would the Gods choose to speak to me? What have I done to displease them so that they’d send me such a frightening message? I swear, husband, it was no more than a nightmare. Please believe me. Our unborn child could never bring about such an evil omen!”

Sensing her tears, Priam clasped her closer to him. “Tell me what you saw.”

Hecuba allowed her head to rest against his shoulder and relaxed into the strength of his arms, taking in the faint smell of his spicy scent mixed with the oils used in his bath. “My gown was stained with blood, and I saw…I saw him, our son,” she whispered, “still freshly naked and covered in blood, but he was wailing so terribly because he was on fire! From head to toe, every inch of him was flamed, burning madly like a funeral pyre. And he walked, setting everything in his path on fire, too, until Troy was nothing but smoke and ash.” She felt her hot tears welling up as his arms tightened around her. “What could it possibly mean?”

She felt him shake his head, his voice filled with tension. “We can never say for certain what the Gods have planned.”

“There were unfamiliar faces invading our home—slaughtering our people like cattle.” Hecuba got her breathing under control, but still clutched at her husband as she suddenly felt the infant stretch and turn. “Oh, there was so much death! Beautiful men and women—our children, most of whom haven’t been born yet, I’m sure—butchered and murdered while the babe continued to run throughout Troy, setting it all on fire. And I was being dragged away, taken by the invaders to the Gods only knew where! It was too much, too horrid to witness. I was so frightened, my King, I just wanted to wake up.”

“In the name of Zeus,” Priam said grimly. They clung to each other, barely breathing. “Yes, a very horrid thing indeed. I am sorry you had to see such cruelty, beloved, but we will soon find out what such an evil thing means.”

Hecuba could only nod, closing her eyes for just a moment before Aesacus’ arrival was announced.

Dressed in the attire of a seer, Aesacus came forward without prompt and bowed his head. Hecuba surveyed the man with hesitance. Once upon a time Aesacus had been Priam’s first born son and heir. Before Hecuba, the king had first married Arisbe, the daughter of King Merops of Percote. Priam eventually separated from Arisbe and demoted her to a favorable concubine in favor to marry Hecuba and name her Queen instead, enchanted by her beauty and wit, and thus stripped Aesacus of any titles and claims he might have once had as the Prince of Troy. Aesacus had relinquished his claim to the throne without a fight much to his father’s satisfaction, but Hecuba always seemed to think that there was a nefarious plan in place, especially when he had his pretty little nymph of a wife whispering in his ears with eyes full of greed. It was known that his maternal grandfather had prophetic powers, too, and Aesacus had shown signs of the same ability from a young age, so he had been more than grateful to foster in his grandfather’s palace while being taught the various methods of interpreting dreams rather than becoming his father’s successor.

Aesacus was just as tall and bronze as his father, with the same piercing eyes. His dark hair curled loosely about his shoulders, and his face, still beardless, was as gay and calm as if being ushered awake to handle such an ordeal was all in a day's work. Hecuba, while holding no ill will towards her husband’s other children, never liked to be in their presence for too long. While Priam’s blood was strong enough that there had never been no denying which illegitimate children were born from his seed, Hecuba’s was stronger yet. Their eldest child, Hector, was already tall and solid for a boy his age, a sure sign that he would be broad-shouldered just like his mother’s people with dark hair that was more like wool, and his complexion was just as dark as Hecuba’s and only grew darker when the Dog Star rose alongside the sun. It was the same for their other sons, Deiphobus, Pammon and little Polites, while their daughters, Iliona and Creusa, looked exactly like Hecuba. If Priam were a lesser man, he would have called into question the legitimacy of their children. 

Aesacus wore a blue robe and a bag was slung across his shoulder. “I bid you good morning, my King and Queen; you requested my presence and I am here to serve however I can.” He clasped his hands before his face, then extended them towards the couple in blessing.

“Please, my son, there is no need for such formalities,” said Priam unsurprisingly, as he only demanded that Aesacus and his other natural children mind themselves when in front of a formal audience. He clasped his son close and kissed him on the cheeks. “This is a family matter, time enough to do us honors if you must. This matter is of the unborn child.”

“So I have been told,” Aesacus said in his smooth low voice. “Polyboea mentioned that you had a dream, my Queen.”

“The most horrible dream,” Hecuba said, still shaken. 

“Please then, Queen mother, tell me what it is that you have seen. The Gods seem to have sent you a message.”

There was silence in the room, except for Hecuba recounting her dream. She saw her husband and Aesacus exchange glances, and saw too, the manner in which Aesacus’ brows furrowed and the frown developing on his face as he listened intently.

As Hecuba finished telling her story, she felt as if the walls of a trap were closing around her. “Do you know what it could possibly mean, good son?”

To her surprise, Aesacus hesitated for a long time before saying, “And that was all? Yes, a terrible omen indeed. But fret not, Queen mother, the gods are benevolent to those faithful to them and the almighty Zeus has always blessed Troy. I strongly believe that what you have dreamed of is merely a warning.”

Aesacus went to the large bronze mirror, withdrew a clay vessel dyed a dark red color with a wick floating in the middle filled with olive oil, and bowed down his head as he muttered a prayer. Suddenly light blazed forth from the wick, filling the room as completely as darkness would. Light was everywhere, so radiant that Hecuba knew that her beloved Apollon was present in the room with them. Even the smoke of the fire that smoldered on the makeshift altar smelt different than usual; the scents of laurel, sage, amber, and musk sunk heavily in the air. Behind her, Hecuba saw a reflection of a handsome, beardless man as she looked at the mirror, distorted, misshapen, shimmering with heat as it does on the hottest of days, giving a dream-like quality to the figure, before the image suddenly cleared then vanished. 

Aesacus then turned back to her. “The Gods have sent you a message, Queen mother, and it is one that you must heed with great care. It is so that you will give birth to a son before nightfall, and the child will bring ruin to his homeland. Troy will fall, because of him.”

Hecuba felt a momentary unsteadiness, but could not tell if it came from the abnormal warm temperature of the room, or from her own heart. She looked to her husband, but he sat frozen, his face a grimacing mask. 

Priam forced the words out. “What must be done to avoid this fate?”

Aesacus looked very sad. “This child born of royal Trojan blood must be killed to spare the kingdom, or else the prophecy will come into existence.”

Hecuba stared at them, understanding, before rage slowly broke through against the numbness. Then she flared at them. “No! Not my child, I will not let you touch them! I will not allow the Gods to play at skipping-stones with my child! I have always been faithful, respectful of them—and now you mean to tell me—” the words caught in her throat. There would never be any way to explain to the men what they were asking her to do; even the Gods would better understand her despair. She could say, I would rather never have another child ever again, or I would not be strong enough to kill any child, or I would readily switch places with my son because I would rather die than lose my child before he had a chance to live. But any of those would have been simple excuses, only conveying the smallest part of how she truly felt.

She then glared at Priam with stifled resentment of betrayal, as she had done her duty valiantly and without complaint, submitting to her fate as she accepted her husband’s customs and never once made an outcry in regards to his other children and many mistresses living within the same walls as her. But this? Never, Hecuba told herself silently, they would never take her children away from her, Gods be damned. She shook her head stubbornly. 

“I am sorry, beloved,” Priam said. “I have begotten you this awful augury, though we cannot ignore the Gods; it is the life of our child that they demand, and we are but simple servants, forced to obey their commands without question. It is written in the stars, beloved, and as the King, I have a duty to keep my people safe from all evil, and that includes from my own family. Troy is our subject’s home just as much as it is ours, and I will continue to have peace as we have had for all these years, and then after I am gone Hector will keep that peace just as his child after him will do. Such a reign is greater than all of us in the end. Would you let our people, and the children we have now, suffer, beloved, all because of one life?”

Hecuba bent her head, barricading her mind from the tenderness of the king’s words. She had always known that it would not always be easy being Queen, in fact, it never was, but Hecuba had always managed to complete her duty with a calm sense of purpose. But a Queen was only as strong as her King, and Priam was the most formidable man she could have ever been blessed to have as said husband and King. She felt a pricking behind her eyes as Priam spoke. This hardened King who had witnessed the deaths of his father and older brothers, the somber man who she had once feared, shocked her deeply, touching her heart with his resolve to keep his kingdom alive. 

Yet she said stubbornly, refusing to look at him, “You speak of peace, husband, but if you take this child from me I will never know peace again. Surely our son cannot be so much beyond all other sons born in Troy. What rights do the Gods have over our child’s life? To send such a horrific nightmare to an expecting mother is such a cruel act, even more so since myself and my people have never once angered the Gods!”

Priam’s eyes blazed; he rose, and for a moment Hecuba believed that he would strike her in the face. “You will not speak to me in that voice, woman!” He had said sharply, his deep voice rising to echo throughout the room, and his face turning dark with wrath. Hecuba shielded her face out of fright. “Do you think your bleeding heart will move the Gods to take back what they have decreed? You have not understood me, wife. Did you think I would allow this child to live after this? I tell you, woman, I have been kinder to you when another man would have reared you in already by casting the child out of you before you could even leave this room today with his bare hands, but I see now that I have allowed you too much liberty, and I tell you, in the name of Zeus, this child will not live.”

Hecuba felt her knees weaken and her whole body loosen at the joints, she felt icy cold. “Will I be allowed to at least hold him just once before I am to let him go forever?”

Priam opened his mouth for an angry retort, his demeanor still threatening, when, with great effort, he mastered his anger and frowned at her. “Yes, wife,” he coaxed, putting out his hand to stroke her hair. She flinched at the contact. “I am not so barbaric to deny you that. You may not believe me, and you might never, but I am not pleased with this decision either. I adore all my children, and this is done with a very heavy heart. But I am the King, and Troy comes before all else.”

And as Priam extended his thanks to Aesacus with a kiss upon his cheeks as he escorted his son out of the room, Hecuba put her head down and wept and would not speak again for six days. 

Hecuba wished to die.

Death would have been merciful, it would have ridden her of the racking pain of her body, of the shuddering heat and coldness. She knew that she laid like that for five days, soaked with a steaming cloth, which grew cold and was taken away and brought back heated once again. She knew that the midwives forced a herbal remedy down her throat to fight against the fever and the body pains as the others knelt around her bed to pray to the Olympian Artemis, who was a Goddess of childbirth and considered as a midwife herself as she had assisted her mother in giving birth to her glittering twin. While the days and nights passed by her as she laid in bed and burned and shivered and exhausted herself from her suffering, she bared through it all to keep herself conscious to ensure that they would not take her baby before she at least held him. 

Only once had her sister, Theano, a priestess of Athena, come and said to her sullenly, “Sister, you can avoid such suffering once you accept what the Gods have decided.” 

Seated before the door was the dark shape that restricted the natural course of her labours, and Hecuba could now see her face: it was the Goddess of childbirth and labour pains, Eileithyia, the daughter of Zeus and Hera, who used her magical grip to stay the birth, ultimately hoping to kill the baby even if the mother would perish in the process—just like she had done to Alcmena and Heracles at her mother’s request years ago. But Hecuba did not have a handmaiden like Galinthias to risk her life to save mother and son. Instead, her children visited her; Hector, her strong boy, acted brave for the sake of his younger siblings who showed their fear clearly, but as her eldest looked down at her, Hecuba could tell by his somber expression that he was frightened. She had wanted to reassure him that she would be fine, but she had been too exhausted to even speak. And Priam was there, too, but he didn’t stay long, and it was deemed as unseemly for her to call out any other man’s name other than her lordly husband’s; no one would think less of her if she was to cry out for him. But even though she was dying with his babe poisoning her womb, she did not want Priam’s name to be the last thing she uttered. For the past six days, she wanted nothing more to do with him in either life and death.

Was Theano right, could she be relieved of her pain? Could she truly accept what was already written, or was it all a test of her own strength and courage? What would happen to her other children if she did die? It seemed that she was being weighed down by the thickest, warmest wool blanket in existence and she could not help the way that she had wanted to close her eyes, but the muttering prayers of her ladies kept her alert, and so she continued to fight. By what right did the Moirai have to spin such a thread of that of her child who hasn’t yet been born? She had been told the stories before, that Zeus Moiragetes, the god of fate, was their leader, and that one’s fate was not inflexible; Zeus, if he chose, had the power of saving even those who were already on the point of being seized by their fate. Yet even Zeus, as well as the other gods and men, must submit to the three sisters when it was decided that the eternal laws must take course without obstruction. There was a fever burning throughout her veins, raging through her, and she found herself dreaming again. She was wandering endlessly through fire, trying to find her child who was lost in it, only to find the young boy and girl from before standing there, wearing a crown, the crowns made up of the sky and sea and nature itself. Then she saw herself standing before Hector, both of whom were older and she was clearly distraught, pleading with him, then there she was stricken with anxiety before Priam, who later brought to her Hector’s body…and then there was nothing else more than darkness and silence.

And then there was sunlight brightening the room and Hecuba stirred, only to discover wetness between her thighs.

“Lie still, my lady,” said Polyboea, “your labor has begun.”

Hecuba was surprised to find herself able to speak. She whispered, “If I have birthed six healthy children before, I am confident I will survive this. What day is it?”

“Only a few days until phthinoporon, my lady, you’ve been resting for nearly a week. I found you burning with fever a while after the king and Aesacus had left you. You did not know anyone, not even the children, and then you would not speak. The king blames himself, believing he was too harsh despite your delicate condition.”

Thankfully, that was a reasonable explanation. Only Hecuba knew that her sudden illness was more, a punishment for meddling in sorcery, a condemnation from the gods for trying to save her unborn child and change fate, so her body and mind was inflicted upon the point of being drained almost entirely with no chance of recovery.

“What of—” Hecuba stopped herself; she would not inquire about the babe, she had accepted what was going to come next. “What of my children?”

“All fine, my lady. They’ve visited you twice a day and sometimes the little ones sit and talk to you. Hector’s been beside himself with worry, but he’s been keeping them all in line. He’s a good boy,” Polyboea said. “But you mustn’t fret anymore, my Queen, you must lie down and prepare yourself for the birth. The child will come just before nightfall, I am certain.”

She could do nothing but lay there as silent tears ran down her face, and she closed her eyes. She did not know whether she slept or died.

Chapter Text

1220 BC, City of Sparta, Lacedaemon

Streaks of golden light lanced through the trees as the setting sun lingered below the clouds, washing the forest landscape in rays of gold. The Queen of Sparta had joined the rest of the palace women in picking out the various fruits and flowers for the annual festival that was to be held in the next few weeks, her long black hair glistening in the pale sunlight as she walked through the forest path with a sense of jubilation that none other had seen before. It had rained earlier in the day. The thick, saturated forest that still covered most of Sparta was damp and quiet, and the leaves on the low bearing branches had droplets of water blessing them as they scattered along their faces. 

Leda breathed deeply. The moist air, heavy with the scents of the woods, the wildlife, and the incense of her perfume brought back the memories of her childhood of her father’s smoky halls back in Aetolia. Instinctively she straightened, trying to walk like the queen her husband’s people whispered she wasn’t—primitive, they said of her own people; speaking a difficult language and eating their food completely raw they rumored; semi-barbaric, warlike, and predatory—lifting the basket full of her offerings in her best effort of balanced gracefulness. And, just for a moment, her body moved with a rhythmic swing both unfamiliar and completely natural, as she had been walking in this particular forest all her life. In the forest at that moment, she surely felt the presence of Apollo, the god of tame nature.

Only after giving birth to her third daughter had she been allowed to venture out of the palace’s walls to enjoy the last few days before Demeter Hôrêphoros would mourn her daughter’s absence during her annual descent to the Underworld. Her moonblood had begun again, and while her husband’s advisers were quick to suggest that they couple once again in hopes for the eagerly anticipated son, Leda had persuaded Tyndareus to wait while she still had Philonoe at the breast, pleading to continue to suckle the child through the summer months since she was still so little. Tyndareus had indulged her, though she knew he was discontent with the fact that he had three daughters and not even one son. He, too, knew that many children could die if they were weaned too soon, so he silenced his council and postponed the son he wanted for half a year. Leda would always be grateful that her husband took into consideration her words, and, because of his patience, she found herself wanting to give him the son he was eager for sooner rather than later.

Perhaps the gods will have mercy and bless my womb with a son tonight. Closing her eyes, Leda could imagine holding the prince of Sparta, of Tyndareus throwing such a grand feast in honor to parade the boy around. 

“Leda, where are you?” Hypermnestra’s voice startled her out of her thoughts. She nearly stumbled over a tree root and almost dropped her basket. “You’re lagging like a lame pig! It will be dark before we get back to the palace if you do not hurry.”

Hurrying, Leda scurried after her sister, blushing furiously. But the gentle rush of the nearby spring caught her attention. In a moment of unexpected transfixation, Leda found herself putting one foot in front of the other, walking to where the path dropped downward into an unbeaten stretch, and she continued to where she found a cleft in the rocks where water trickled from between them and created a pool. A long time ago when the Titans ruled the land, men had set stone around the water; they had once used it as a place for worship. She unconsciously noted that there were branches of oak trees which weren’t normally dominated in these parts, and were much smaller than the ancient olive trees that had grown there.

She settled herself beside the spring and gently placed down her basket full of offerings. It was a small body of water, where people no longer had use of it anymore for worship, but Leda felt as if though she was being transported to some time in ancient past where for many years women brought their offerings, hoping to be rewarded by perhaps Achelous, the oldest and most honored of the river god offspring of Oceanus; and the father of all springs and the nymphs associated with them.

Suddenly a little warm from the breeze carrying unsuspected humidity, Leda pulled off her gown and set into the pool.

“Sacred mothers, I come before you as naked as the day I arrived from my mother’s blessed womb. Demeter Chloe, Aphrodite Kolias, Hera Pheresbios, and Karpophoroi, bless me so I may bear new fruit into the world,” Leda prayed as she scooped the water in her hands and let it trickle down her stomach and betwixt her thighs. 

“Sacred spring of the Naiads, bless my womb with a son. As you nourish the world with your blest waters, allow me to give my husband what he so thirst for.” Her nipples tightened, tingling as the water washed over them.

“Oh goddesses and spirits, please look upon me in favor. I offer to you my body, my heart, my womb, I ask that you grant me the power to once again bring life into the world.”

Leda looked down at the rippling surface, seeing the reflection of her dark skin and eyes glimmering back at her as her reflection took shape and eventually stilled. But as she continued to stare into the mirror image of the water, she was startled to find that the face looking back had changed. She saw a mature man with a beard, his complexion darker than her own as if he were always out in the sun, and dark curls in which silver highlights glinted like sparks of lightning, and she had never seen eyes the perfect reflection of the stormy sky before. 

“oh-OH!”

As the swan broke her concentration, Leda blinked, and the face in the water was her own again when she glanced back down. Despite the warmth of the breeze, Leda stood there shivering, wrapping her arms around herself to try and combat the sudden chill. The swan that had appeared out of nowhere made a noise again, as if trying to garner attention from her. Then the animal came closer, stepping into the spring, gliding towards her without any apparent distress that the creatures normally had around humans. Enchanted by its beauty and gracefulness, Leda jolted when she heard a voice, soaring and rich and powerful, speak directly into her ear.

“Leda,” the voice commanded. In the distance she heard the rumbling of thunder, and the air felt dangerous as if it were about to storm. She shrank away at the riffle of wind that stirred her hair wildly. “Come to me.”

Lightning cracked across the sky, setting everything in its path alight, and silhouetted behind the swan she saw a muscular man. Leda held her breath; was it so that the gods had heard her prayers and had chosen to bless her with divine intervention?

But the god did not speak no more, nor did he take any physical form of a man; he only moved towards her as the swan, and something told her that despite the trepidation that should have taken over and make her flee from fright, that this god would pursue her and have her no matter what. Why would a god choose her to lay with, she did not know, but by the errant sounds of thunder each time the swan ruffled its wings, and the way her body tingled with intensity as lightning skittered across the top of the water yet never harmed her, was enough for Leda to know who was before her. With a shudder that racked her entire body, she knew that Zeus Olympios, in the form of a swan, was going to ravage her body and womb despite being married to his descendant.

She knew of the tales of old; she had sat at her grandmother’s feet many times during her younger years as she listened to the older woman recount her own youth about how the gods would walk vivaciously amongst the humans, and that she had gotten herself a belly when visited by Ares Enyalius. And years later she still had preened herself; she had been picked by a god to carry his seed. Leda, even now as a woman grown, did not understand the appeal to such a venture; like any god, Ares had many children whose mothers were mortal, and many were born into royal households just like Leda’s father. 

Unlike his warlike son, Leda knew that bearing the seed of Zeus Olympios would be a challenging undertaking that she had no desire to pursue. She had no desire to make enemies with Hera Anassa. She respected the Queen of the gods, especially under the name of Gamēlios when she and Tyndareus had offered a sacrifice to the goddess on the day of their wedding to ensure a happy marriage.

She drew back; perhaps her show of unwillingness would deter him and he would leave her alone to find another woman to fulfill his needs. The swan’s graceful neck dipped, then a flicker of lightning, following the dramatic flapping of its wings. She knew that he would not leave her.

The swan encased her within its huge wings, and obediently, swallowing the sudden inner dread—would her skin be consumed by his divine lightning with a single touch like the Theban princess?—she wrapped her arms around the long, sturdy neck. The fur was almost hot to the touch, and she winced internally at the feel of both the temperature and the oddity of gripping animal’s hair between her fingers. She dared not look up, not wanting to perceive the face of a swan, even though she knew wholeheartedly that it was the King of the gods in disguise. 

As he drew her under his wings, pulling her closer so she could feel a particular hardness pressing against her naked flesh, Leda felt her body contract in a curious frightened spasm. 

There was no escape.

She hardly slept in her bed, turning and tossing as she listened to Tyndareus’s quiet snoring; now and again he would fret in his sleep, reaching out for her as he normally would after they made love, and Leda soothed him with the soft crooning of her voice and guided him against her breast as she would have done with their children. She laid wide awake beside him, the hour late, and she found herself thinking about Zeus Olympios. How did it feel, to know that he could have whatever it was that he desired, and to know that he would not have to face any consequences, that of divine or mortal? She twisted anxiously, wondering if the god’s seed had indeed taken root within her, that she was, at that very moment, pregnant with his child. At last she drifted off to sleep, and as she floated out of her consciousness, she dreamt of a world on fire, of Sparta being consumed more and more by the flames; it seemed to Leda that she was trying to find a way out, lungs heavy and body exhausted, seeking for her only chance of escape, wearing the face of a beautiful woman who she did not know, beseeching the gods to give her a reason for why they have forsaken her when she had done nothing to warrant divine cruelty. And while the world continued to burn around her, she suddenly found herself standing on the grainy banks of the Achelous river with her feet buried beneath the sand, and in the middle of the river was Zeus Olympios in the form of a swan again, and when she tried to run away, looking everywhere for an escape, the sound of roaring thunderstorms drowned out her cries. 

Then, in the dream, in a human form, he seized the end of her braided hair and drew her close to him with it, and he pressed his mouth to hers; and there was a sweetness to the kiss, a sweetness that she had never expected to feel from the King of the gods, and she found herself melting into the kiss, felt her moral obligation giving way to her more based desires. She looked into his bright and striking eyes, like the color of a lightning bolt, and thought, I stand here in the literal eye of the storm, I now understand why my grandmother was so prideful of herself. The god said, “Bear my children and I’ll ensure that they will be immortalized in the stars.” He drew her closer then, laid his body atop hers, and Leda, feeling such warmth and sweetness and an actual body of a man instead of a swan, gave in to the pleasure that suffused through her whole body. This time she willingly brought her lips to his, but woke suddenly with a startled gasp to find that Tyndareus had drawn her into his arms while he slept. The sweet, hazy pleasure still tingled throughout her body, and so she draped her arms around her husband with drowsy compliance. She soon grew impatient, waiting for him to be done and to fall back into a deep, snoring sleep. And she lay there, shaking, until the dawning, wondering what had happened to her.

All that week life went on, and every night Tyndareus came to her hot and wanting, determined to have her swollen with his child. One night he said, “I have dreamed of them, our children, a son and a daughter, both strong and intelligent in their own ways. Another beautiful princess who is the spitting image of her mother; and our long awaited prince, an exceptional horseman and hunter who has a thirst for adventure. Their names will be remembered for centuries to come, of this I am sure.”

But even the simple pleasures of the preparation of the Kárneian festival had paled in light of Leda’s inner turmoil; they had been blessed with fine weather, and Leda, who had been plagued with severe headaches, sat quietly in her chambers and mended Tyndareus’s clothes, the children’s and her own, and continuously dreamt of the mountains of her girlhood. She took the opportunity to begin teaching Phoebe and Timandra how to spin needle and thread. In the second week her monthly bleeding did not come, and she felt both optimistic and distressed; she had, after all, gotten pregnant like she had wanted, but she knew not who the father was. She was just a mere mortal, she could not be carrying the baby of the god of the sky, weather, law and order, destiny and fate, and kingship! She found herself thinking more of the tale of the Theban princess who had also been loved by Zeus Olympios, about how the goddess of marriage, women, the sky and the stars of heaven learned of the affair and grew jealous, and how she tricked the girl into having Zeus Olympios swear an oath to appear before her in his full glory. Bound by his pledge the god did so and the princess was consumed by the divine fire of his lightning-bolts. If the Queen of the gods were to ever discover her, Leda thought fretfully, she was scared to imagine what would be done to her. It had been the King of the gods who had come to her and taken her when she had been hesitant and afraid! But then she thought of her dream, torn between disbelief and dismay. Zeus Olympios and Tyndareus had both said it: her children would be immortalized through the centuries of time for all to revere and remember. 

And she was young and healthy, and as queen it is her duty to give her king a son. She began to weep in sudden despair when she realized that she was unsure of which king she was referring to. Within her womb there might’ve been a bastard, and she potentially had ruined her marriage. She was an awful wife, undeserving of her husband’s kind nature, and would be judged harshly when she would venture to the Underworld! She took to her bed and told Tyndareus that she was ill.

She was visited by Hypermnestra when she had refused anyone’s company one particular day. She felt like directing her frustration and misery at her sister—it should have been her! Hypermnestra was a widow whose husband had accompanied Heracles, the divine protector of mankind, in his campaign against Troy and was ultimately killed by the former king of Troy, Laomedon. Hypermnestra had not much to lose unlike Leda! But she was surprised by her rude thoughts towards her sister when Hypermnestra had done nothing to warrant such unthinkable things.

“Tyndareus says to me that you feel unwell, sister; shall I call for a healer?”

She looked at her in despair. “Nothing can make me feel better. I am doomed, sister, doomed!”

Her older sister stroked her dark hair and said, “I thought you would be pleased to be with child again so soon, have I thought wrong?”

“What is there to be happy about when I have been unfaithful, and I know not if the seed growing within me is divine…”

“Shush, shush,” Hypermnestra soothed. “You should not talk like that, should the walls suddenly develop ears or the wind carries word to Olympus. You are newly with child, and are weary and tired; you will feel better in the next coming weeks. It is best to think like this, Leda.” The sharp look her sister gave her reminded her how easily Hypermnestra could read her as if reading her mind. The look in her older sister’s eyes was bright with warning.

“I feel—scared,” Leda said, and put her head down and wept and cradled her stomach. She didn’t know what else to say, she felt so overwhelmed. 

Hypermnestra stroked her blotchy cheek. “What you need is a good night’s sleep, sister. Our own mother was ailed by sickness during the first moon of her pregnancies, and sleep was the best remedy for her. I will pray to Morpheus that you have no dreams to disturb you.”

She wondered if something should have been done about the pregnancy, and wondered whether her thoughts were her own way of taking responsibility or merely wallowing in shame—perhaps it would have been better to not have conceived the child at all; it might’ve been a small mercy to cast it from her. It would have been so simple, she knew the types of herbs she could dose her wine with and no one except other women would be none the wiser to what would appear to be a miscarriage, and such a thing was not uncommon for women who were still in the early stages of pregnancy. And then she thought of what a wicked woman she was. Tyndareus was a good man, and he was a very dotting father to their little girls; could she truly take away something that brought him such joy?

When she called for Tyndareus later that evening, it seemed that once again Zeus Olympios was watching her, hovering behind her husband like a shadow casted by the receding sun, taller than him, and lightning that only she could see played around his form. She turned her face away from them, feeling, when Tyndareus touched her, the typical coolness of his embrace instead of the lapping heat that the god possessed. 

“Rise, my dear, you cannot sleep the entire day away; it is not good for your body,” Tyndareus said, lounging on the bed beside her. “I know you are sick and tired, you must be exhausted from carrying our child so soon after giving birth just weeks before, but I know that you will be well soon enough. I have news for you if you’re willing to stay up and listen.”

“What do you want to tell me, husband?”

“Final preparations for the Kárneian are nearly finished,” he said. “All of Sparta is in high spirits, and it would be surely upsetting if their Queen would miss out on the festivities. We will also announce the arrival of their future prince. Isn’t that wonderful? Not only will we celebrate and worship Apollo Karneios, but our people will celebrate the coming of our son and the gods will bless him, too.”

Leda whispered, “Do you not believe it too early to be making such announcements?”

“There is nothing to fear, I truly believe that. I know that you carry our son, I have dreamed of him many times already now. And I wish to share such joy with our most loyal subjects and know they will pray to the gods for your continued health. You deserve to be celebrated, my dear, for you have given more than I could ever wish for.”

Lead, feeling abashed and even more guilty at the softness of his words, shook her head and pushed him away from her when he joined her in bed. She feigned exhaustion, and though he sighed heavily, Tyndareus turned away and fell asleep almost immediately. Trepidation came over her again when she saw the shadow of Zeus Olympios loitering in the background of the room still. She told herself, no matter what, that the child growing inside of her would only know one father, and that would be Tyndareus, the kind man laying beside her now. And that brought back memories of when she had first married him, of when she was filled with sadness and wept for her home, and of when Tyndareus had first shown her his kindness. He had soothed her through her early days of fear and anger, had given her jewels of beautiful things, trophies of war, had taken in her sister because he knew that it would make her smile, and treated her always as his equal. She could ask for no more. She felt tears well up in her eyes, and bit her lip to quiet her sobs, not wanting to wake Tyndareus.

Hypermnestra said that she would pray for her sleep to be dreamless to help ease her misery, yet it felt like she was living in a never ending nightmare. She was afraid to sleep, but she was afraid to stay awake with only her thoughts. For she knew that she would drive herself to madness, if she allowed it; perhaps Hera Olympia was already cursing her. And, although she was certain that the Queen of the gods knew not of what transpired between her and her husband, Leda almost dared to pray to the goddess for the sake of getting on with her punishment since Zeus Olympios would face no consequences other than his wife’s ire. 

He is truly the father…Leda felt the tremor of fear in the back of her throat; for the first time she allowed herself to form that thought. How could she think otherwise—why wouldn’t his divinity overpower Tyndareus’s mortal seed? And how could she know that once Tyndareus found out the truth, for she would not keep this a secret from him, that he would still want her as his wife? How could she lay at one man’s side and birth another’s child? 

My sister did not judge me harshly, but men do not live with the same kind of fear that women do…am I simply being childish and naive to think that he would understand that it wasn’t my fault?

She did not sleep that night.

“Can you see that you are well loved?” Tyndareus set down his golden cup of wine to lay his arm about Leda, drawing her closer. Tyndareus had always been a big man and was still strong, years of muscles built upon strong bones. Leda had always adored how small he made her feel. 

The hot bright air of the outdoors was a blessing from Apollo Karneios, and it had baked away the clammy coolness that had clung to her skin when she had refused to leave her bed. Nothing else was talked of in the city for several days—people rejoiced when it was announced that Leda was expecting yet another child. They cheered for her health and for the baby’s; they joined in prayer for her to deliver a boy in half a year’s time. Being among her people had eased the tightness from her neck and shoulders, and lifted her spirits greatly. She even enjoyed wearing the new gown she had stitched the final pieces together for this very occasion. Rather than styling her hair in her typical fashion, she had brushed it out until it shone a deep, rich black color to resemble the polished surface of an onyx gemstone; and when she had looked at herself in the mirror—she felt so silly when she had fretted over her reflection like some young girl and not the sophisticated queen she was—she wondered with a sudden sense of disheartenment if Zeus Olympios was watching her. Already the change around her midsection was noticeable, as just the other day it had been confirmed that she was carrying more than one child, and she was more certain than ever before that she carried divinity inside of her as multiple babes were not common in either her or Tyndareus’s family, but it was for Zeus Olympios, who was the father of the twins who represented the wildness and tame nature respectively. 

All through the long ceremony of imitation of life in camp, Leda watched intently as the officiating priest—the man’s body filled and overflowing temporarily with the incarnation of a spirit of vegetation—decked with garlands was being chased by the five unmarried youths called the Karneatai, all chosen from each tribe. The five followed the priest; to catch him signified that the fertility of the land would prosper, that the soul would survive the darker months and the crops would grow again next year. The crowd rejoiced when the hunted man was eventually captured, all their prayers for the welfare of the city were answered, and Tyndareus’s reign was once again seen as beneficial and would fare well. 

The musicals produced joyful songs, praising and offering thanks to Apollo Karneios, and the voices of the masses sounded joyous and inspiring. Afterwards the nine houses dined outside together, with delicacies and wine and much ceremony being passed around.

Long before it was over, Leda began to feel drowsy. But at last the sacrificial ram was guided towards the altar where it was tied down, and while the men and women congregated around the landing of the structure, still dining on the wine and food, Leda stayed rooted in her seat, watching as Tyndareus moved toward the altar; beside him the purple-robed priest produced a sharp blade that was blessed by the same god that they were worshiping.

Standing tall, the priest raised his arms, stretching towards the sky, the blade grasped firmly, and as he spoke his voice vibrated oddly. “Phoebus, of you even the swan sings with clear voice to the beating of his wings, as he alights upon the bank by the eddying river Peneus; and of you the sweet-tongued minstrel, holding his high-pitched lyre, always sings both first and last. And so hail to you, lord! I seek your favour with my song.”

A lifetime of worshiping the divine twins had taught Leda all the ways of setting aside the senses of her mortal body to be able to feel their presence and warmth overtake her consciousness. And as the priest continued to praise the gods, he brought down his blade, swiftly, and cut the throat of the ram; the blood poured down the stone to stain the soil beneath the altar and the crowd then cheered in reverence for the goodwill that was provided to them by the gods. As she clapped for their continued good fortune, smiling at Tyndareus’s exuberance, Leda suddenly had a moment of uneasiness, but could not tell if it came from the effects of her pregnancy or from something far beyond their world. She looked to the priest, and her heart stopped when she saw that he was frozen, his face a grimacing mask, eyes already dilated by trance. 

“Ungrateful.” The voice was quite different from the priest’s, melodious and ringing. “I’ve been so grateful to you, King Tyndareus, and yet you do not honor me. Why have you forsaken me so?”

And then, as the smoke from the fires swirled and cleared, for a moment a figure stood before them, materialized out of fog and mist: Aphrodite Enoplios, the goddess of love, beauty, pleasure and procreation. Nude, with her minion and constant companion flying over her shoulder, the winged godling Eros, the goddess’s eyes were like stars in the darkest depths of the sea; they flashed with a brightness that illuminated her silhouette. 

Tyndareus went pale. “Potnia, I meant no disrespect, forgive me for my ignorance.” Leda could hear the strain in his voice. “Tell me, Potnia, what you wish for me to do to make up for my grievances, and I shall do as you say—for I am your most humble servant.”

There was a moment of silence. “If you were truly my most humble servant, then you would not have neglected to give me your devotion,” the goddess said, low, with contempt. “But, indeed, I will ensure that you will come to understand that my gratefulness is not to be taken for granted, King Tyndareus. Do you expect me to be merciful in the face of your insolence? Hear me, if what you lack is devotion, then so shall your children.”

The goddess let out an unexpected, bitter laughter; and Eros locked eyes on Leda, causing her to shudder and lay a protective hand over her stomach. She stared at the goddess and her winged companion with wide open eyes. And inside her was a new agitation, that it wasn’t Hera Olympia who she had to worry about harming her or the children inside of her, that it was her husband’s own misguided oversight and still her children were going to be punished, even as Tyndareus was on his knees before the goddess as he begged for her mercy and forgiveness. Was this merely an unfortunate coincidence, or a devious plan plotted by Hera Olympia? 

“Potnia,” Tyndareus said, but she silenced him with a gesture.

“Enough!” Aphrodite Enoplios’s voice, like the loud clang of great bells, shocked them all. Her eyes blazed. “I have no patience to hear your pathetic excuses. I swear to you: since devotion means so little to you, twice and thrice wed shall your daughters be, and deserters of their husbands. Let this stand as an example for you all; for one shall wreak murderous vengeance on her lord husband, and the other shall cause men to suffer in a fierce battle with their hearts consumed by a jealous fever with no compassion shown. And you, King Tyndareus, will do all but nothing, for I do decree.”

Stung by the injustice of the evil report cast upon her daughters, Leda felt as though she could hardly breathe, like walls were closing in around her. Before Tyndareus could retort, the form of the goddess had wavered into the shadows and disappeared as if she had never been there. Leda blinked; both Aphrodite Enoplios and the godling Eros were gone. As the echoes of disturbed murmurs increased around her, the strength suddenly faded from the priest’s body and he fell to the ground.

Leda, feeling her heart pounding in her breast, turned her face to look at Tyndareus in anger, and felt confusion and despair. In spite of the fact that she carried children not of Tyndareus’s blood, and had yet to tell him as such, she found it justly unfair that the children were already being punished beyond mortal comprehension without having taken their first breath, and she knew for certain that Zeus Olympios wouldn’t intervene, not daring enough to undertake the Olympian of love and beauty’s wrath without gardening the attention of his wife. She recalled her dream, where she was in the body of another woman who wondered why she had been shunned by the gods, wondering how she had gained their contempt. It was no ordinary dream—Leda was sure beyond doubt. She couldn’t begin to explain the unadulterated nature of her disorderly emotions; that her whole soul and body cried out within her for the reality of all this was just only a dream. 

Their exultation had become a miserable experience. Leda put her hands over her face and wept. Tyndareus stared at her, dismayed and helpless, his face openingly showing his own distraught.

In complete and utter silence, Leda allowed Hypermnestra to lead her back to her room, where she collapsed onto her bed and wept until she had fallen into exhausted sleep.

Chapter Text

2010 CE, Unknown Void (Originally Manhattan, NY)

“Come to me,” a voice reverberated through the vacant and infinite space of darkness, the chasm between heaven and earth containing the elements of all things that emerged into being. “Hear me, hḗrōs, and come to me.”

Neither of them knew why, but they found themselves listening, drawn to the archaic voice that lulled them out of the dark and dismal depths where they felt like they were suspended in the gloom of fog and mist; just aimlessly floating in the air with no end in sight within the dark midst of the deep hollows of the earth. It thrummed through the dark aether that encased them; reaching out to them, comforting them in ways that they had long forgotten about. 

“You were never meant for Oblivion.”

And then, there was light, swallowing the cocoon of blackness; it caused them to flinch and turn away in order to shield their eyes from the sudden brilliance and intensity which had caught them off guard. 

“Do not fear the light, hḗrōs,” the voice consoled them. “This is all merely a little brush with death, for there is a more powerful purpose waiting for you beyond. Come, come.”

Light, bright colors filled the space of the solid black void, which made for the perfect backdrop for the most brilliant of hues to dance around. The intricate woven rays of the illumination invited itself to wrap around them as it continued to take up more space than the dark and fell freely upon them; allowing them to soak up the delicate and warm nascent rays.

“Find me,” the voice urged, so very close. “And be reborn.”

Percy couldn’t believe his eyes as he was suddenly standing outside of the apartment building where he had once lived with his mother, twin sister, and…him. 

His mind raced as he let himself into the empty building, wondering if he was finally starting to lose his grip on reality. But he had to keep it together; if he wanted to find a way out of wherever he was then he was going to have to keep his wits about him, and he damn sure wasn’t going to rest until he found his sister; because somehow Percy just knew that she was somewhere in this confusing mass, too. Maybe it was a twin thing, he thought, or maybe it was because they had sworn to never leave each other behind no matter what. 

“Reese?” He called out, ignoring the unsettling feeling in his stomach when the door to their old apartment opened with the faintest of touch and with barely any noise. The odor that lingered in the stagnant air had him grimacing at the memories it invoked. Everything looked exactly as he remembered it as he glanced about the room from his post with his back to the door in case he needed to make a quick exit; he ignored how shaken the disturbing scene made him feel. 

The living room and kitchenette area was empty, but he noticed the once favored dark blue hoodie of Reese’s that she had outgrown oddly thrown haphazardly on the floor in the hallway leading towards the bedrooms. Percy picked it up and called out again. “Reese? You there?”

After getting no response, and despite his better judgement, he began to walk down the hallway. He could physically feel his body tingling with apprehension and unease as he got closer and closer to their old bedroom; he was trying to mentally prepare himself for whatever nightmare fuel was waiting for him. 

“Reese, if you’re there say some…” Percy’s words fell short as he pushed the bedroom door open and looked inside. His eyes fell on the empty twin size bed that was tucked underneath the window; then they went to the mess of clothes that were strewn all over the floor, and then to the dresser drawers that were all left open and emptied, and to the closet that didn’t have a single hanger left on the rod that was snapped in half. His unease doubled. 

Percy stepped further into the room, leaving the door wide open behind him. “Reese!” He kept calling out as he peered underneath the bed, but found nothing. He frowned; he realized that he was beginning to panic somewhere in the recesses of his mind. They had been laid side by side each other in their cabin, entangled together until it was hard to see where one began and the other ended just as they used to do when they were children, as they were forced into bed rest since they were too weak and tired from their unforeseeable return from Tartarus and hadn’t healed fully yet. So where the fuck was she? He remembered how cold and incomplete he had felt when he had been separated from his twin the first time—similar to the sensation of a phantom limb—despite his divinely invoked amnesia that hadn’t been powerful enough to erase the memory of her. Impatiently, he dismissed those memories; those thoughts didn’t matter because he would find Reese no matter what and get them out of here.

He began to turn to the door when he stopped suddenly in his tracks. Mrs. Hwang, the elderly widowed South Korean woman who used to sneak Percy and Reese candy from her home country and had no qualms with expressing her transparent dislike towards Smelly Gabe, stood directly in the middle of the doorway, blocking the exit, dressed in a bloody sleep gown.

“Mrs. Hwang?” Percy said in surprise, eyes wide as he looked at her. His voice wavered, and he knew he was looking at a ghost, because Mrs. Hwang had passed away in her sleep a few weeks before they had moved. He blinked away his trepidation. “Have you seen Reese?” A shiver ran down his spine, knowing that it was stupid to approach her, but a little danger had never stopped him before. “I can’t find her anywhere—please tell me you know where she is.”

The woman didn’t respond; in fact, she didn’t give any indication that she had heard him in the first place. She simply stared at him with eyes wide and glossy, pupils unnaturally dilated, with the whites completely covered.

“Mrs. Hwang, are you okay?” Percy asked, trying to catch her gaze. He was half tempted to wave his hand in front of her face. He didn’t need his divine instincts to start setting off warning bells that something was wrong. It wasn’t beneath him to admit that he was afraid; it felt like ice was being poured down his back as Mrs. Hwang continued to stare absently at him, her eyes seemingly holding him motionless as if he were prey. “Do you need help…”

A stomach-churning noise resounded from the woman’s throat all of the sudden, almost as if she were choking. She bent forward, continuing to cough violently, and Percy jumped back when she began to expel black blood; she made a sound similar to that of a snarling beast when she lifted her head and bared dark, gnashing teeth and claws at him. 

He hadn’t realized that he had uncapped Riptide until the sword was in his hand, and he instinctively swung at whatever creature was in front of him in the form of Mrs. Hwang. The blade made contact with the skin of her wrist, and she screamed ear-splittingly loud, tossing her head back, sounding like a thousand nails on a chalkboard when the appendage that was cut off by his blade sizzled and erupted with boiling black ichor and steam. Percy’s eyes locked on the ominous form of the woman screeching as she grasped her twitching, bleeding stump of where her hand had just been. Wings suddenly lashed out from her back, and she used them as weapons to push him away from her with a sudden torrent of air. 

Percy protected his face against the slashing winds, glaring at the woman as he tried to make sense of what was in front of him. She grunted with displeasure, a wet gurgling sound like she was trying to cough up mucus, and he saw that the limb was already beginning to grow back. Percy didn’t hesitate as he swung the sword again at her hands, power surging as he used the winds to his advantage to direct a more forcible strike against his opponent to slow down the regenerating process. 

“Stop!” His voice seemed to echo through the entire room, causing the building to shudder like it used to when it would storm; his eyes blazed. 

With the winds now blowing against her, Mrs. Hwang growled at him as she fought back to stay upright, that nauseating sound still emanating from the back of her throat. When her disproportioningly large, clawed hands that had grown back fell after shielding her eyes against the whipping winds, Percy took in the sight that chilled him to the bones: Mrs. Hwang’s face had transformed into a more bird-like structure—her nose turned into opposable beaks that looked strong enough to crush bones; her arms stretched and the bones made sickening popping sounds as the wings on her back meshed with the flesh of her arms by manipulating the appendage and created three claws in the middle of the wings; and her eyes grew concerningly larger in size, the color of them turning a striking red. 

Percy kept his sword between them. “What are you?” He asked, his voice now one with the storm, now sounding like a loud clang of thunder. She had a similar appearance to the Erinyes, but something about her felt different; like she was something that was more ancient than even the Titans and the Moirai. “Where is my sister? Where’s Reese?”

The woman backed away from him with a hiss that sounded like it belonged to a mountain lion, using her wings to put an ample amount of space between them. Percy’s mind raced with the madness of it all, and he scrambled to think back to the myths that his mother used to tell and the lessons Annabeth taught in order to understand what exactly was in front of him. He felt his face harden into iron when he finally recognized the daimon: a Ker. He had seen hundreds if not thousands of them haunting the battlefields in the distance, foaming at the mouth with intense cravings for blood as they feasted on the mortally wounded. He faintly remembered those from the Nemesis cabin and what was left of the Apollo cabin valiantly beating and clawing the Keres off of their fallen friends and siblings while the daimons fought amongst themselves like vultures over the dying. They were the embodiment of violent and cruel deaths; including death in battle, by accident, murder and ravaging diseases. 

Mrs. Hwang flew at him with an unearthly grace, an inhuman snarl ripping through her throat as she lashed at him, attempting to disarm him. While initially surprised by the action, Percy managed to deflect it with ease and this time the sword made contact with one of her wings; the sound that echoed through the room was like a wet crunch, as if someone were snapping hundreds of stalks of celery at the same time. The Ker screeched, and it was unlike anything Percy had ever heard before; the sound resembling a mixture between a human screaming and the cawing of a bird. Percy drove his sword further into the creature’s wing, causing it to trash and growl as it tried to escape. She seemed surprised by the brutality of Percy’s attack. The Ker flailed its body wildly and Percy finally lost his grip, causing them both to tumble to the floor. 

Like a bat out of hell, the Ker vanished from the room in a fury of wings and screeches; he hadn’t wasted any time in running after her. Mrs. Hwang crashed into the walls as she made her awkward escape towards the stairwell, the injury sustained to her wing hindering and causing her to lose control of her motor skills. All of the sudden, Percy was stunned as he began to cough through a cloud of plaster and dust and exploded debris; watching in shock as the Ker had decidedly made a mad dash through the wall, into another unit, in order to evade him. He followed the sound of her shrill cries echoing through the building.

Once he was close enough, he used the momentum of the wind to lunge at her. In a flash, the Ker’s powerful, regenerated wings appeared and swatted him away violently. Percy yelped in pain as he smashed through the plaster of the wall, narrowly avoiding crashing through a window, and fell roughly to the floor. The Ker growled at him in warning when he started to pick himself up, wings flapping slowly as she crouched down on all fours; he shook his body vigorously, ignoring the smarting pain blooming over his upper torso. A surge of strength coursed through his body. With a tilt of her head, the Ker watched Percy with vapid eyes as the air around them grew thick with the scent of an incoming storm; a rumble of thunder and sudden rainfall made the building rattle ominously. Just like Percy, the Ker wasn’t planning on going down without a fight; such was obvious from the way the creature began to close in on him; mouth open to present the dark, sharp teeth that would surely maul him to death if he got caught in them. 

Percy took a deep breath, bracing himself for the attack; and when the Ker struck with unnatural grace, like a bird of prey swooping upon its target, every single window in the building shattered inwards, showering them in broken glass. They both shielded their faces, and there was a little stir near the door, and there stood a lone figure in the center of the room. The Ker’s manic grin melted away, eyes that were just bright with anticipation and something darker lost their gleam as a nonplus expression took over their face. 

Percy was rooted in place, unable to get his brain and legs to function properly together, his heart racing. The darkness took the shape of a man. Who the hell is this? He wondered, dreadfully aware of the darkness that they were sinking farther into. 

“You’ve deliberately disobeyed me,” said a low, calm and collected voice. And even though Percy struggled to make out a face through the shadows taking over, and dimly wondered if the reference to the Lion King was on purpose or not, the sound of the voice sent a violent shiver down his spine. “You were supposed to collect the boy—nothing more, nothing less. Such a disgrace.”

“Father,” the Ker said in apprehension, her voice sounding more like the caw of a crow. “Forgive me. He attacked—” Her voice abruptly changed to a startled, loud, high pitched squawk which turned into a sickening gasp for air. Percy hadn’t meant to gasp, but he was startled by the sight of the shadows seemingly coming to life as they wrapped around the Ker like tendrils and engulfed the creature in what looked to be a vicious hug; squeezing and squeezing until there was a wet splat and the rich aroma of ichor filled the air. Percy held his breath; the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, the flesh on his arms breaking out into goosebumps. He didn’t need Annabeth or anyone else to warn him that whoever stood before him was dangerous; he could smell it in the air. 

Percy began to retreat. He kept his sword at the ready and never once took his eyes off of the stranger who hadn’t even blinked once until he could feel the cool brass metal of the doorknob and prepared himself to bolt out of the room.

“I’d have no choice but to kill you if you run. You just cost me one of my daughters.”

Percy froze, heart pounding dangerously loud. He knew that the man wasn’t lying. Grip tightening on Riptide, Percy planted his feet and glared defiantly. He hadn’t shown fear in the past four years as he faced multiple deities, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. 

“Who are you?” He asked, confusion and fear causing his throat to spasm. The figure did not move, but the shadows around them did; like flower petals opening up on the first day of spring, the Stygian clouds peeled away to reveal a man. Percy studied the man; he was tall, taller than even the Gods when in disguise as humans, the chiton covering his body made up of an ebony outline. His skin was incredibly dark, inhumanly so, and his hair, which was very long and defied the laws of gravity, was the exact same color. 

The man seemed to be studying him, too; he tilted his head, a tiny movement that would have gone unnoticed if the rest of him hadn’t been so terribly still. Percy took notice of his eyes: they were blacker than pitch; the oily, Tartarean shadows that had previously been concealing him now swirled around aimlessly in his eye sockets. Percy had never seen eyes so deep and so dark before. 

“How very curious,” he finally mused in the same cool, low tone. “It has been of many, many millennia since I have been asked who I am rather than what I am.”

There was no doubt in Percy’s mind. He knew now what he was up against, what exactly stared him down from across the room. He was standing there, alone, with a Primordial God. And there was no one to help him. 

Percy bristled through his fear, curling his upper lip.  “Well, what do you want?” Anger, frustration and enmity bubbled up in his chest; why the fuck did the whole Greek Pantheon think that they had the right to always deprive him and Reese of whatever sense of peace they had? “Where exactly am I?” His emotions were making him stupid, but something had snapped and he couldn’t help himself as he was finally able to take a breath. “And where is my sister? Your daughter was no help.” 

Looking back, Percy could admit that he had attacked the Ker first; but how the fuck was he supposed to know that it hadn’t meant him any harm?! Appearing to him in the form of his dead neighbor wasn’t the best strategy.

A cold wind blew in through the shattered windows, stirring up dust and sending the debris skittering across the floor. There was nothing but silence; neither of them moving, standing in the quiet and the dark. They continued to stare at each other, and it went on for long enough that Percy had been starting to curse himself for getting smart with with the Primordial; he had known that it was a bad idea in the first place, but he lived a life with little regret and sometimes his mouth worked before his brain could catch up. He almost didn’t care. He still wouldn’t apologize and beg, if that’s what the Primordial was waiting for. After the whole ordeal pertaining to the Second Giant War, Percy learned that unlike the Olympians and even the Titans, Primordials didn’t have a sense of passion or empathy; there were no emotions that he could hope to appeal to. They were basically soulless. If he wanted Percy dead then there would be little chance for him to be able to defend himself to get away. He’d give one hell of a fight, though.

Creepily, the Primordial smiled; a slight curl of the corner of his lips on his granite face. “I am Erebos, the Protogenos of darkness and the consort of the one and only Nyx,” he introduced himself calmly, and took one step closer, the shadows following his lead. “And you, Perseus Achilles Jackson, are coming with me if you ever want to see your sister again.”

The Ker let out a hiss and sank into a deep crouch, unfurling her wings as a sign of intimidation. Reese kept an eye on the nails that were more like talons; they were very long and black and very sharp, rivaling the size of a grizzly bear’s claws, leaving indentations in the pavement as if it were made out of foam and not concrete. 

Reese unclasped her bracelet and grasped the trident that manifested itself, drawing it in one smooth motion with perfect precision that came from months and months of intense practice. “Come on, bitch,” she taunted her attacker, readying herself for the moment the Ker would pounce.

She hissed again, looking more beastly than anything remotely human, and sprang forward without hesitation. Reese met her halfway, the trident piercing through the air. The Ker was moving faster than she had anticipated; slashing, snapping, leaping back and forth, lunging at any opportunity to overwhelm her. Though she looked like a humanoid bird, the Ker moved more like a feral feline, springing on all fours at Reese, swiping at her with those talons that were intent on shredding her into bloody ribbons. Reese inwardly cursed at how brisk the Ker’s movements were, she was almost too fast by the way she was avoiding the weapon’s deadly impact; spinning out of its way, black gnarled teeth gleaming dangerously as she shrieked and sliced and jumped around her. As the fight went on, Reese felt a cold sweat break down her spine. For the past four years she had been fighting, having no choice in every kill or be killed situation. But this wasn’t one of those types of fights; this was a brutal, bloody free for all with no end in sight between a violent, millennia old daimon and a demi-goddess who had been called a monster more times than she could count. Reese didn’t care about whether or not she could outmatch the Ker, it only mattered that she had no other choice than to beat her. She ignored the pounding of her heart. She was doing just fine, she reassured herself; matching the Ker blow for blow, evading the attacks and striking back ruthlessly when she was able to, fending off the vicious talons of death by causing a whirlpool of air and rain droplets. There were a few times when the Ker almost tore her apart, and she felt the bleeding, gaping wounds to prove it. 

She had been so focused on the one in front of her that she had forgotten all about the second Ker; unsuspecting of the razor sharp claws poised to rip through her throat. It was like the air was screaming at her, warning her to turn around; to not get so distracted by the theatrical actions of the lethal dance of the Ker attacking while her partner stalked from behind for the kill. Before she could piece together a singular thought, her hand shot upwards towards the sky instinctively, as the clouds massed together to form a miniature tornado that ensnared both the shrieking, clawing Keres and disoriented their attempt at flying away. Reese directed the wind storm and sent them crashing through a wall with a sickening sound. One Ker crumbled to the ground in a heap of broken wings while the other slid across the ground. 

Reese knew it was too good to be true that the bird bitch would stay down and admit defeat, but a girl could fucking dream. The force she had generated with her mini tornado had been enough to literally throw them through a brick wall like it was a house of cards, and if the Keres had been human they’d most certainly would have been dead. But, no—the one who moved like a feline roused not even a minute later and shook herself back into the moment. She didn’t even look dazed.

Now Reese was just over it. She was tired, and aching, and confused, and angry at the fact that once again she and Percy were separated unexpectedly because of the fucking Gods who wouldn’t let them fucking breathe. She had hoped that the fight was at least halfway over, but both Keres were now up and circling her, growling. Taking a deep breather, Reese waited patiently, her trident at her side. Blood was pouring down from a deep gash along her hairline from where she had narrowly avoided the Ker scratching her eyes out, but she had barely registered the pain. As they moved closer, they broke off, circling her like birds of prey. Reese raises her trident, copying their movements, relying upon the wind to be her second set of eyes since she couldn’t watch the both of them.

Just like she had assumed, one of the Keres attacked first, advancing with a snarl, and Reese turned to face her. The wind dipped and dove around her, carrying on the breeze a warning that only she could hear. “Your back,” was the missive she heard blowing through her ears. “Your back is defenseless, watch out.” The Ker that had pounced suddenly changed direction and moved out of the way just as the other one lunged at Reese’s back. Faster with adrenaline coursing through her veins, Reese whirled around, thrusting her trident at her attacker with a powerful and vicious blow; she knew that her back was once again open for an attack, and that was exactly what the Keres had planned. The Ker she was now facing had a ghastly grin as she ducked out of the way; silent and deadly as she flew at Reese again. Reese saw the triumphant gleam in their abnormally wide eyes, believing that they had her cornered and defeated, but as they both leapt towards her—fangs bared, talons ready for the fatal strike—Reese felt the corner of her lips twitch slightly.

She didn’t move, having them right where she wanted them; the points of her trident stabbing backwards where it ripped through the ribs of the Ker who was trying to attack her back, tearing right through her. The Ker screeched in equal parts of pain and anger, digging her talons into Reese’s shoulders. Reese quickly removed her weapon from the Ker’s abdomen, spinning around and cutting off her head in one quick motion.

The head bounced off the cement ground like a basketball, rolling towards the other Ker before it stopped only a few inches away from her feet. Reese swallowed the crummy feeling hardening in her gut, ignoring the decapitated head that stared at her with a vacant glare and a permanent snarl etched into the facial expression, and returned her focus to the other Ker. In righteous rage, the Ker screeched so loudly that Reese felt her eardrums rattle, and with her black fangs elongated, she lunged at Reese with her claws aiming directly at her heart. Reese took one step back as her worldview suddenly narrowed and came into focus; her palms began to tingle with warm, pulsing energy that she had felt only a few times before, and something violently stirred within her. She could feel it crashing around inside of her, just as strong as before, like the sensation of the ocean waves thrashing over her and pulling her under no matter how hard she fought against the current. Reese entered a state of non-thinking and was guided by pure instinct; and by the mysterious energy coursing through her. 

She planted her feet, drew back the trident, threw it, and watched as it sang through the air before it made contact with the Ker; puncturing the chest cavity with so much brute force that it sounded like someone crushing tin cans beneath their feet. The body was slung backwards, like a puppet strung up with strings comically being yanked away, and collapsed between the trident and the wall. 

Reese pressed her lips together. A trickle of blood slid down the side of her face. Now that she was able to breathe, she winced at the smarting ache that she felt all over her body and she felt so stiff, as if she was being weighted down by tons and tons of rocks. As the trident turned back into the bracelet adorning her wrist, liquid lava spread through her veins when she gingerly turned her head. She couldn’t stop the scream from spilling out of her mouth, agony spreading from the inside, out; the pain wasn’t necessarily unexpected, but it took her by surprise as it nearly incapacitated her. Her head ached, her ribs felt like they were probably broken—she came to the assumption when she felt something sharp pressing against her sides—and she just felt like one giant bruise. 

“Ok, girl,” she whispered to herself. Pressing her hand against the gaping wound in her side, Reese glanced down at her hand and noticed that she was still bleeding profusely, seeing that her hand was covered in blood. The ground beneath her swayed and was stained with blood. Reese could feel the blood from her head wound still running down her face, dripping from her lips and chin, and the scent filled her nose. “Let’s just get ourselves together.” She took one step and tripped over her feet; she hit a wall and closed her eyes as she tried to gain her bearings. “And let’s figure out where the fuck you are.”

“You are in khaos,” said a deep voice from behind her, and Reese spun around, jumping out of her skin. A woman with long, wavy dark hair loomed over Reese, tall and sublime. Her body was filled with star-like specks, making her appear as though she was not clothed in fabric, but in the very fabric of the cosmos itself. Her glowing white eyes that pierce through the darkness were a little too wide for her face, but it only added to her sensuality. “You prayed for help, to put an end to the war.” The woman looked at the bodies of the Keres. “You also killed my daughters.”

“Who…who are you?” Reese asked, tensing as she tried to stand up straight, blinking away the disorientation. Frowning suddenly, she narrowed her eyes at the woman; she had a strong sensation of déjà vu washing over her. “Were you watching the whole time?”

“I wanted to see what was so special about you, Nerise Posedeia Jackson,” the woman said, her face partially obscured, as if covered by a veil that blended seamlessly into the night sky. “I cannot recall the last time someone was able to defeat one of my daughters, let alone when it was two versus one; even the Olympians do not fare well against them. But we’re not here for that.” Her deep, low voice was laced with the faintest trace of amusement. “I’ve come to deliver you to my mother.”

Reese felt a shiver running down her spine. “Thanks, but no thanks. I gotta go,” she said slowly, pushing through the lightheadedness. She started to walk away. “I have to find my brother; we got split up, but I know he’s somewhere close. And, you know, the whole stranger danger thing—”

“My husband has Perseus,” the woman said calmly. “And if you ever want to see him again, I suggest that you come with me. Erebos has taken him to where our mother is waiting to speak with you. The sooner you stop being stubborn, the sooner you can see him.”

Taken. Copious amounts of emotions pummeled painfully against her chest; just like when she had woken up to an empty cabin with no trace of Percy and later discovering that he had been kidnapped by Juno before understanding the greater purpose behind the goddess’s questionable actions. With a sneer, Reese glared at the woman with unadulterated abhorrence. “No,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “You could be lying.”

“I assure you I am not,” the woman insisted. “I have no reason to lie to you.”

Reese had a sudden, crazy urge to snarl and bare her fangs; she could feel the points sharpening and elongating, causing her mouth the ache as they pressed against her gums, trying to burst out. She stifled the impulsive thought, instinct telling her that she wouldn’t stand a chance of winning that fight. Still, she stood firm and scowled. “That’s what all you gods say, and it’s bullshit.”

The woman raised an eyebrow, chuckling as she shook her head; her mouth curled upwards into a resigned smirk. She looked at Reese in amusement. “Oh, I am no god,” she replied, stepping closer as Reese suddenly noticed that she could no longer see the early morning sky. There was nothing else except the veil of the night wrapping around them in a dark cloud. “I am the Protogenos of night.” The woman’s grin grew wider, and Reese could do nothing but watch dark misty wings unfurled from the primordial’s back. “I am Nyx, and you, demi-goddess, have only but two choices. You can come with me, where you’ll be reunited with your brother and listen to my mother’s proposition. Or—” she cocked her head oddly, and Reese felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise on end as eyes as solid as night pinned her in place. “—you can stay and try to survive on your own, but know that I will avenge my daughters and rejoice in your blood being spilled then.”

Reese clenched her fists, trying to calm her sudden rage as her mind raced. Reese was in khoas. Percy was also somewhere inside the void with another primordial. Her chest felt tight, and she bit her lip, trying to weigh her options, the pros and the cons. She still didn’t have a single clue about what was going on, but right now, she had bigger fish to fry. 

She stood nose to nose with a primordial. And, despite everything, she wanted to live—she wanted Percy. 

Nyx waited patiently, only her wings flapping delicately. Reese might’ve not trusted her as far as she could throw her, but she was the only thing Reese could depend upon at the moment. “So,” she said while looking Nyx dead in the eyes even though a sudden panic was creeping along her chest. Resentment boiled, and an old, familiar fear bloomed together. She ignored it, though. “We talk to your mother; then what?”

Nyx paused, then said, “That is up to my mother.”

“Who is your mother?”

“All your questions will be answered.” She turned as if to leave, but stopped to look back at Reese. “If you will follow me.”

Reluctantly, Reese stepped forward. As they entered the alley, she resigned herself to the fate she was facing, and allowed the darkness to embrace her into the welcoming arms of unconsciousness.

With tan legs curled to her chest, dusted with specks of sand, Reese sat on the shore of Montauk Beach, her eyes moving from sand to stone, rock to breaking waves as they lapped at her feet; it was cool, and her fingers wiggled in the water as she listened to the symphony that the body of brine created with each percussion of pebbles at the shoreline. Reese’s grin grew slowly into a broad smile. The beach was painted sepia in the twilight; the sand more orange than golden, the water darker. She tilted her head up towards the sky where the stars were already rising, and in that moment—as she breathed in deeply the briny aroma—she felt that she could remain there forever; listening to the lullaby of the waves as the gulls flew overhead. She hadn’t felt peace quite like she did in such a long time.

“Whoa, you weren’t kidding, this place really is peaceful, huh?” An upbeat voice asked.

Reese looked over to see Lee Fletcher sitting to her right, stretching both arms and legs out to mimic a starfish; that smile was the prettiest thing she had seen in a while. He was handsome from the depths of his golden, whisky brown eyes to the gentle expressions of his face every time he looked at her. He was handsome for his generous actions and his unshakable determination that made him a great leader who made others feel safe and confident. She loved the way his voice would quicken when he literally shined like the sun as he spoke of topics he was passionate about; she loved the way he would lose himself in a song, or how he took care of anyone’s injuries without batting an eye. It had been a no-brainer to give Lee her heart because she knew that he would always keep it safe, that was just the type of person he was. 

“Yoo-hoo, earth to Reese! Is anyone home?” Lee asked, startling her when he waved his hand in front of her face. He drew her attention back. 

Reese blinked at his curious expression. “Sorry, Lee,” she said. “I zoned out for a minute there.”

Lee tilted his head to the side, and Reese watched as the dimming light of the sun changed his blond hair to warmer, deeper, darker tones as the lighting changed. It almost looks red, Reese thought, like when the giant…

“I was just commenting on how nice it is here, that’s all,” Lee said, interrupting her train of thought. His eyes flickered back to where the ocean and the sky were touching. “Who would ever wanna leave?”

Reese thought back to her childhood, when her mother would whisk her and Percy away from the hustle and bustle of the city to this place, where they would huddle together in the cabin and listen to their mother tell stories from what they had thought were originally Greek myths to the short time she had spent there with their father. For younger Reese, there was no place she’d rather be than Montauk. “This place is great,” Reese mused, looking at the ocean, “but Camp is even better.”

Lee shook his head. “Think about it,” he said quietly, crowding her against his chest. “Think about just you and me. Staying here forever with the sun and the sea. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Reese looked at him in wonder. We used to stay up all night talking about buying a home here to have our own private beach. She had wanted to bring Lee to Montauk for one summer, but that had been impossible because of all the trails and labors that they were put through. I know he would love it here, she thought, it’s the perfect place for people like us. Reese was suddenly overcome with a sadness she couldn’t comprehend, frowning a little, thinking about why she was so upset about not bringing Lee here sooner.

Lee said, smiling, “There’s no reason to frown.” He took his thumb to smooth the deep crease between her eyebrows. “Why are you sad?”

“I’m confused,” she admitted, staring down the horizon. 

Lee didn’t say anything to that; he continued to hold Reese close as they sat there in silence. 

Reese looked out over the sea from the shore. She stared into the dimming light and mists, and she wondered why she felt more like she was dreaming rather than actually being in the moment and enjoying the rare opportunity of being alone with Lee. She said, grasping at the first thing she could think of to say, “This doesn’t feel real.” She said it more to herself than to Lee. The fair and brilliant sun that made the ocean just as brilliant as a jewel began to fade in the shadows of sharp and craggy black rocks as a violent storm brewed in the distance.

Lee smiled alongside her; he had taken down her hair at some point and ran his fingers through the knots, massaging her scalp. She could feel herself wanting to melt into his warmth. “That doesn’t sound like such a bad thing,” he said.

She hadn’t noticed at first, being dazzled by Lee’s presence and lured into a peaceful moment on the beach, but she realized that something was wrong with the moment she found herself in and someone important was missing. 

“What’s wrong?” Lee mused. The sky was darkening as storm clouds massed around them and drifted closer to the shore. “Everything’s fine, there’s nothing to worry about. Stop stressing.”

“Where’s Percy?” Reese wondered, gathering her wits quickly. “Where are we really? It looks like Montauk, but it’s not; it’s too quiet. There’s nobody else here.”

“It’s like our own little slice of paradise—awesome, right? And I’m sure Percy will pop up soon. It’s never too late to work on the codependency issues the two of you have,” Lee said, smiling, and he reached out his hand, touching her face as if she were something delicate. Reese felt a thrill of exhilaration bubble up within her chest at his touch; she could smell his familiar scent, spicy-sweet and clove-like. She pushed aside her delight, refusing to let the fog in her brain take over her thought process again, and she felt a curious unease, a sensation she had felt many times before. 

Reese scowled, untangling herself from Lee and pushed herself to her feet. She looked sharply at him. “This isn’t real,” she began hotly, and the grey clouds grew thicker and darker as they billowed over the horizon. The ocean stirred as the winds picked up, waves crashing furiously as they mimicked her emotions. “This is a dream, a hallucination, like the Lotus Hotel and Casino.” It struck her with sudden trepidation why the muddled haze of her mind felt so familiar, noticing that the sun hadn’t moved at all and that she couldn’t even hear the sounds of cars or people in the distance. It was as though they were the last two people on earth. 

“Stop it, Reese.” Lee’s face twisted and looked wry. “Why can’t you just relax and enjoy yourself?”

Reese regarded him with a skeptical glare. The clouds continued to tumble over the sea with the promise of a storm; in the background, a threatening echo of thunder absorbed the air. “Where am I?”

Lee, who had also gotten to his feet, looked at her with a deep glower. “You could be happy here with me. You wouldn’t have to worry about prophecies, and there’d be no more wars, and you could just be a normal teenager. We can finally be together in peace! Don’t you want that?”

The wind grew cold over the turbulent and unforgiving waves which were frothing in a form of anger, flashes of white in the grey. The rage of the tempest sky bore down; the wind was a zealot in a hellacious mood, the fierce pelting of the rain cut in blindest rage, and the waves crashed louder than an explosion. Suddenly, those very same waves rushed at the shoreline swiftly and unpredictably, forming a wall of water, cold and powerful. Reese’s eyes reflected its frigid, dark appearance; no emotion, no thought, no hesitation. She was ready to fell anything and everything in her path. 

“What are you?” Reese asked, voice one with the echoing ferocity of the gales. 

Without surprise, she watched as Lee’s face and expression turned cold. His voice dropped several degrees. “At the beginning of creation there was only myself. Deep, gloomy Tartaros was not yet a storm-wracked prison; wide-bosomed Gaia was not mother of all the deathless ones; starry Ouranos had no existence. I surrounded the lands of the earth in a gloom of fog and mist. I caused those very same lands to shake and rise and disappear, but the destruction was not done out of punishment, but because that is the way of nature. The purpose in that destruction was to create something in such an infinite and vacant space; to evolve the lower realm and perfect myself.”

Something shifted behind the roiling clouds. Something vast. 

“And finally nature began to constrict. As it tried to squeeze all of me with great force, it divided the chasm into the two hemispheres, and after that the matter sorted itself out and I was no longer alone.” 

Never in all her life had Reese been filled with such reverence and terror at the same time as she stared at the entity’s body that contained both creation and annihilation. It was colossal, massive and grotesque; a fusion of divinity, nightmares and the celestial world. With a towering, many limbed body, it looked both humanoid and monstrous. The limbs folded and pressed together in a gesture reminiscent of prayer. From the fingertips flowed streams of blinding white light, cascading downwards like a celestial river. A gigantic crescent moon encircled the head like a luminous crown, and within the smaller crescent was a pallid, masklike visage, serene yet utterly devoid of human warmth, glowing with an eerie light. But what petrified Reese the most was the vast black void in the middle of its chest; a gaping darkness that seemed to pull inward—an image of an endless abyss, a black hole, or a cosmic womb. 

Reese was unable to take her eyes from the undulating mass of cosmic firmament that coiled upon itself like a mountain of shadow. Reese, feeling her heart pounding in her breast, was surprised that she could still talk in spite of her blood running cold. “You’re Khaos.”

The crescent crown blazed above, stitched from night and silver flame, the inscriptions burned into her eyes, and from within the silver arc, the mask regarded her; not hostile, not benevolent, but with the recognition of a predator finally cornering the prey it had stalked for a lifetime. It spoke, but the mouth did not move. Instead, Reese heard the voice inside her head. “I have watched you and your brother’s every breath. Your first cries. Your first time tapping into your powers. Your first prophetic dreams. I traced your steps when neither of you could walk, tasted your fears before you knew what they were. A spark burns in your marrow; a power not born of your choosing. I am its witness. I tasted it. I hunger for it. And now, I am its claimant.” 

The abyss of its chest yawned, infinite and swallowing, revealing a hollow wider than creation and darker than memory. A pull seized her, as though the breath of the Primordial was inhaling her soul. Yet instead of immediately devouring her, it lingered, as if savoring the moment. 

Standing in the kind of silence that happened before a hurricane, Reese stared at the Primordial for a moment, then she asked, “Where is my brother?”

The mask leaned close enough for Reese to see the etched cracks in its featureless face. Then, the void in its chest expanded, except this time it didn’t pull. It breathed outwards, the blackness swirling like liquid night, and from within emerged a familiar shape, shimmering with the same light that streamed from its fingers. In Khaos’ hands—those cathedral-sized hands—was Percy, cupped gently like a priest bearing a holy sacrament. Reese’s eyes stung, taking her by surprise at how emotional she became at the sight of her twin. 

“Percy,” Reese gasped, rushing to her brother’s side when he was placed in the sand, strands of shadows still wrapped around him. She could feel his pulse. “Hey,” she said softly, smoothing her hands down the sides of his face to gently coax him awake. “Open your eyes.”

At first, Percy didn’t even stir, still under the influence of Hypnos. Reese tapped his cheeks with a bit more force, which finally caused him to groan. She smiled. “Percy, you need to wake up for me. You’ll never believe where the fuck we are.”

Her brother stretched his arms and legs, emitting a low, throaty yawn that sounded like it began somewhere deep in his chest. Then he sighed, smacking his lips together, his bright eyes that resembled the serene colors of the ocean fluttered open. He smiled softly when his eyes focused on her. “You’ll never believe the dream I had, Reese,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep. “I was on a date with Annabeth, but she got angry when I kept asking where you were at, and she turned into this giant monster that looked like it came from Tales from the Darkside and then it sucked me into its chest like a giant vacuum cleaner.”

Reese stroked her brother’s head lovingly. “I don’t think that was a dream. And that giant monster just so happens to be Khaos—who’s standing right in front of us, by the way.”

Percy lifted his head and gazed around. His eyes widened as an expression of shock took over his face as he gazed upon the form of Khaos. “You! You’re the one who was messing around with my mind,” Percy said in an icy voice, pushing himself onto his feet. He planted himself between Reese and the Primordial. “Where are we? What do you want?”

Reese knew that they should’ve been afraid and more careful with their words, especially when Khaos rose, dwarfing them completely, a colossus draped in the shadows of the infinity, but they both felt the sparks of anger igniting within them once again. Their vision blurred, and they felt the rawness of unshaped creation, the power in which gave birth to all matter of the world. 

“Children of clay and ichor, seeds of my abyss, you have been watched. You have been weighed. You have not been broken. Your defiance pleases me.”

Reese curled her lip defiantly. “We have nothing left to offer. Not for Olympus. Not for anyone. We just want to be left alone in peace.”

Khaos shimmered, shifting. “You have mistaken me for the deathless ones. I am not Kronos. I am not Zeus. Nor am I any born after me. You have walked where no deathless ones would ever dare. The paths in which you have walked have drawn you nearer to me, and I have grown curious as you both have grown stronger and have yet to be consumed by the divinity that burns in your veins.”

“What about us could possibly be so intriguing to the likes of you?” Reese asked fearlessly, tightening her mouth against despair. Percy grasped her hand tightly, squeezing.

Khaos bent closer, seeming to study them. “You are unlike the others. From birth, you have always carried power that even the Titans and Olympians feared: acceptance. Never once did either of you attempt to change your fate despite the horrors that you’ve endured. And you even gave up your victories for the sake of others; you spurned immortality when it was rightfully yours for the taking, but instead you demanded glory not for yourselves but justice for the others like you so that the Gods tend to their mortal children more carefully. You have lived not as the heroes of old, but as a sovereign flame. You have become the inspiration for many.”

“But we’re dying, aren’t we?” Percy asked, feigning the bravado Reese knew he didn’t really feel as Khaos’ blank gaze switched to him. Reese bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out in sorrow, grief, and fear, feeling it in her bones that Percy was right. They had both known that there would be a consequence for having escaped the Pit; they just couldn’t have imagined that it would be death. Their hands shook, and suddenly they were afraid.

“You are dying, yes,” Khaos said after giving them a long, eerie stare, as if sizing them up. “The vessel is damaged beyond repair, but you need not pass into the Dôma Aidao. I have watched you both for long enough to know that you were never meant to be half of a god, nor half mortal. You were always more.”

The world seemed to breathe again. Reese and Percy waited several minutes, unmoving, letting the words of Khaos sink into their heads before they responded. They were dying, perhaps they were already dead. Reese wished she could’ve said that they weren’t afraid to die; wished that they had the courage, the strength that everyone thought they possessed, to stick to their convictions. But when in reality, with their very existence laid bare before them and in the presence of the first being to emerge at the dawn of creation, Reese realized that she and Percy never truly lived. They had fought so hard, unknowingly doing so their whole lives. They weren’t ready to die. 

Finally, Khaos said, “Let me show you what I have seen.” From its many fingers streamed torrents of cold white radiance, descending like rivers of starlight, crawling across the surface until the shimmering light reached them. The moment it touched them, memories of their lives crashed into them: visions of poison corroding their blood, seas of destruction bending to their will, tumbling into the dark mouth of the Pit. They stood motionless as their lives played out before their eyes, shivering, clutching at each other before the trance was lifted and they both drew in a long breath. They felt dizzy. 

“Do you see now?” The chest that housed the circular void, the bottomless maw of darkness, opened once again and from the depths they could see the visions of temples never before constructed rising, cities growing under an unknown deity’s appraisal, and mortals singing hymns to names that had not existed before. Beneath it all, they sensed a power older than creation, raw and unshaped. A past rewritten. “I offer this to you, Perseus Achilles and Nerise Posedeia Jackson: Rebirth. Not as a fading shade in the dwellings of Haides, nor a hero immortalized by the centuries like your namesakes. Be remade in the time of Ancient Greece; be reborn again as a god, as you should have been. Take your place among those who failed to protect their children. Alter what comes after. Shape the future not through self-sacrifice, but through power unbound.”

“Or?” Percy whispered.

The starlight dimmed, as if the universe had sighed. “Or you will rest, nameless and noble, and the world will continue on unchanged. The struggles of demi-gods shall remain. Your sacrifices will be remembered by few, but forgotten by many.” Then Khaos bent closer, terrifyingly enough. “But if you accept, then you will be awakened anew beneath the sun of antiquity. You will bear the power that was denied to you, and I, Khaos, will continue to watch over you.”

As they stood there, Reese and Percy looked each other in the eyes, having a silent conversation as their minds reeled. They were dying. They were dying, and this Primordial—the first of the primordial gods to emerge at the dawn of creation—was offering them a way out. They had come so close, so close to changing something; to possibly making a difference in their screwed-up world that was riddled with ancient laws and even more ancient grudges that the children had to pay for. They had wanted to create a new world where they no longer had to fight to stay alive, to have their parents undying love and support for simply existing because that’s how it was supposed to be, and to not have to keep everyone at arms length because there was a high probability that they would die in front of them. Such a world had been possible, once upon a lifetime ago now it seemed. Maybe if they hadn’t been so ignorant in the beginning, so little prepared, then maybe they wouldn’t have failed themselves and so many people. But none of that mattered now. They were dying, and the war continued on just as it always had: dark, bloody, and hopeless. The Gods and those who came before them would always draw those lesser than themselves into their battles without a single care, and Percy and Reese hadn’t been able to change any of it. 

But the other choice gave them an opportunity to make a difference. It gave them the opportunity to survive. The chasm between life and death split with possibilities. 

“You have made your choice.”

For a moment, feeling their hairs rising on their forearms, the twins drew a long breath and they could only nod. 

It was as if the universe pulsed faintly, like strands of moonlight vanishing and reappearing as though it were one gigantic heartbeat. When it encircled them, it didn’t feel cold; it felt like their own pulse, but deeper. Khaos’ face tilted slightly, as if imitating a nod. And as the last breath of their mortal bodies slipped free, they were gathered together by ginormous hands, their eyes flickering shut as the abyss swallowed them into their new beginning.