Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 1

POV: Alex Reyes, 21, NYC barista

Alex adjusted the straps of his backpack, earbuds snug in place, and tried not to spill coffee all over his jeans as he jogged across 5th Avenue. He was late for work. Again. Another double shift, another grumpy manager, another day wondering if his student debt would finally outweigh his will to live.

The usual.

New York was loud and busy, but predictable. Tourists, horns, flashing ads. Familiar.

Then, the billboard above the H&M store flickered. Once. Twice. And on the third blink, it didn’t come back. Not the ad, not the screen — the sky. A ripple spread across the air like someone was dragging a paintbrush through reality, peeling it back. The sky shivered and distorted. People stopped walking, phones went up in the air, a child gasped surprised, another started to cry.

Alex stood frozen. He squinted at the air above the Empire State Building where, just barely visible at first, something shimmered. At first, he thought it was a drone show. Something theatrical. Marketing. Political campaign. But then… it solidified, twisting and shining in the July sun. Marbles spires, gold trim. Huge bronze doors floating midair. A literal freaking palace. It was beautiful. It was impossible. It was just there.

Around him, the city was quiet. Horns stopped honking. Street vendors stopped yelling. Tourists (and everyone else really) were quiet, phones recording and eyes wide. Looking at the impossibility that had just appeared there.

Then came the screech.

Everyone around him flinched. A flock of pigeons — Alex could’ve sworn it had been a flock of pigeons a second ago… but not it wasn’t.

Claws. Wings. Feathers.
A woman’s face with glowing eyes and sharp looking teeth.

Alex’s cup hit the pavement.

The creature-woman-thing snarled and Alex saw a cop inside his car raise a gun and fire. Once. Twice. Three times.

The bullets hit. They didn’t bounce off. They sank in, but no visible wound formed, no blood, no sound of pain. The monster shrieked — angry— and tore through the police’s car’s roof with ease, dragging the driver out by the collar. Blood — red blood— hit the windshield.

And then more came.

Two more of those creatures hit the street. People ran, Alex didn’t. He couldn’t. His feet were glued to the pavement as his brain desperately tried to play catch-up. He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. Because there was no way a freaking harpy was flying straight at the lady next to him. Her claws were outstretched, glinting like knives in the sun. Her wings beat the air with thunderous force, scattering paper cups and napkins and the last fragile illusion that this was all some CGI prank.

“Oh my God”, someone sobbed behind him. “Oh why God”. But God wasn’t answering.

Another harpy flew by. This time her (its?) eyes locked on him. Alex ducked, trembling. Something inside him — instinct, animal panic, some ancient ancestor’s ghost — screamed at him to run. But he couldn’t. His feet didn’t seem to hear him.

There was no framework for this. No myth, no comic book, no dream. This was raw. Real. And it was coming for him

The harpy’s scream split the air. A sound made of metal and fury and something ancient that had waited too long to be seen. She was close. Too close. Alex blinked, heart pounding. He was going to die.

And then—
A blur shot past him. A teenager — maybe thirteen or fourteen — blond hair, orange’s t-shirt, jeans, a worn backpack. In his hands, a sword. Glowing, hissing on the summer air.

The kid didn’t hesitate.
He jumped, spun, and sliced.

The monster exploded in a million specks of gold dust.

But the kid didn’t stop. Alex saw more golden dust hit the street before the kid stopped.

“Are you okay?” the teen asked

“I—I—what was that? Who are you?"

The boy grimaced. “No time. You need to go. Get inside. I was always told to get inside when monsters are around”.

He took off running, his sword flickering like a flame in the sun, disappearing in the chaos. Alex stood there, trembling, heart racing.

He didn’t know who the kid was. But as the sky above him continued to ripple, and the golden structure above the Empire State Building grew more solid, he realized something deeply terrifying: the world had been a lie. And someone had just torn off the veil.

POV: Lady Hecate

In her sacred domain, where the air buzzed with the hum of spells and the heavy weight of secrets, Hecate felt the threads of the world begin to unravel.

The Mist—her greatest gift to the mortal world—was bleeding.

She stood barefoot on an obsidian floor, surrounded by scrying pools. Every pool showed the same thing: cracks. Not in the glass. Not in the magic. In reality itself.

She whispered a spell to reinforce the weave.

It snapped in her throat like a dead vine.

A tremor ran through her. Not of fear. Of certainty.

The mortal world had seen.

She didn’t know how. A forbidden spell? A ritual forgotten? A curse triggered? Or something simpler—some tipping point finally reached, after so many centuries of silence and suppression.

She raised her hand, light sparking at her fingertips, and the air around her folded inward like silk. In the next breath, she stood in Olympus. She spoke the old invocation — the one reserved for crisis. Olympus answered.

“Well. This better be good”, said Zeus.

“The Mist is falling.”

Hermes’ voice came first, sharp with disbelief: “What do you mean, falling?”

“Exactly that,” she said. “The veil is falling. They see us now. All of us. Or they will”

She could feel the reactions ripple across the Pantheon:

Hera’s fury. Apollo’s chill unease. Ares’ restless eagerness.

Athena was the first to speak with certainty. “This may be mortal meddling. Some foolish attempt at clarity. A demigod with too much ambition, perhaps.”

“Or one of yours, Hecate.” Hera said icily. “Your bastards like to play with things they do not understand.”

“Or maybe it was you, Hecate”, came Demeter. “You were a traitor not so long ago. Maybe this is another of your tricks.”

“She’s not lying”, murmured Apollo. His golden eyes burned brighter. “I can feel it. In the way they look at the sun now. They are seeing it.”

Ares snorted. “Let them see. Let them tremble. Maybe now they’ll remember what fear of the gods feel like”.

“The mortals will not take this quietly”, Hecate said. “They will fear first. And when fear fails them… they will try to fight”.

“And fail”, said Hermes

“And die”, muttered Hera.

No one spoke after that.

Above the Empire State Building, Olympus shimmered into focus.

The age of lies was over.

Chapter Text

POV: Director Evelyn Shore. National Crisis Response.

Evelyn was feeling overwhelmed. Two hours ago her phone— the special one— had woken her up and she’d been told to get ready, someone would pick her up in 2 minutes.

Now, an hour later, she stood in a room full of people, trying to wrap her head around the new reality she found herself in. Monsters were real. There was a floating palace above the Empire State Building. Also, the fucking sun was some kind of mess.

4 minutes for impact

The reaction had been instantaneous.

Most people panicked and tried to escape. A video of a boy with a sword, telling people to get inside went viral and civilians took the advice as gospel. Although to be fair, they weren’t hiding from the palace itself, but from the monsters that took to the streets just a few minutes after it appeared.

Others thought— they didn’t get that chance. The number of deaths was staggering and continued to rise. Monsters— they had all been killed by monsters. Her mind flashed to her husband. She had left him still asleep in bed inside their small apartment, so maybe he was safe— he had to be safe.

3 minutes for impact

But she had her orders, so she took a deep breath and focused on the information in front of her, spread out across an entire wall. In the middle of everything, the viral video of the boy kept repeating on a loop. Next to it, a map had been marked, highlighting his possible route and current location.

On the other side of the wall, several videos kept playing on repeat: police officers (and random civilians as well) using firearms to try and stop the monsters and failing at it. The bullets hit the target but the monsters didn’t seem to care, they continued on, not hurt, not even annoyed… it was as if they couldn’t feel the bullets.

But the kid… the kid and his sword had sliced through three of them leaving only golden dust behind.

That sword. Bronze, maybe. Ancient-looking. And more importantly: it could kill the monsters, whereas their own weapons had failed

So she had her orders, but her eyes kept returning the boy’s expression and it gave her pause. He looked so young. Blond, shaking, standing between monsters and innocent people like some kind of superhero.

But that sword could kill monsters!

And it was only that sword — other swords didn’t work. Someone had already that.

2 minutes for impact

“Please! This is insanity!”

The voices behind her grew louder as the timer went down. The first group—the bigger group—was focused on the floating palace. Those were their orders.

She didn’t turn around, she had her own orders, but she could still picture them arguing in front of the live footage of the floating palace that could be seen in the huge screen that occupied the centre of the room. She knew the timer was next to it.

1 minute for impact

“Could be a weapon”, someone had said at the beginning of the meeting, almost an hour ago.
“Could be a generator”, another one had said.
“Could be a threat”, had been the general consensus.

A few hesitant voices— historians, professors, one soft-spoken archaeologist from Cornell — had tried to explain. It matched ancient descriptions. Its orientation and design were correct. The runes weren’t just decorative; they were inscriptions, prayers, and protections.

“It’s Olympus. It must be. Please… don’t touch it.”

10

Evelyn turned around at that— the final countdown.

9

The academics looked resigned.

8

The generals looked grim.

7

It was a desperate move and they all knew it — a rushed decision taken in a closed-door meeting with no debate, no oversight — just fear disguised as leadership.

6

But Evelyn knew that fear makes people reckless. She had seen it before — and often.

5

She glanced at the live video of the floating palace and a red dot approaching.

4

They would probably call it a preemptive strike.

3

A surgical hit.

2

Evelyn didn’t think the general public would care what they called it — just that they had launched a missile at the floating palace.

1

At the space above the Empire State Building.

Impact.

But there was no impact.

The missile should have hit but it simply… fizzled. No boom. No smoke. Just silence and a ripple in the sky like someone had dropped into a still lake. Harmless but still visible for a while. That’s what they were— a ripple.

“It’s untouched— Olympus is untouched” the professor from before mumbled.

And Evelyn paused, because if that was Olympus — and they had tried to hit it with a high-caliber missile — then they had forgotten a vital fact: gods didn’t bleed.

“I have something” Evelyn— and everyone else— turned to the younger man pointing at his laptop. Footage from a surveillance camera showed them the kid, still holding the sword. Evelyn could see the generals’ eyes—they were all the same: greedy and scared.

Sorry, kid.

“Send a squad. Get that fucking sword.”

POV: Kai Solis. Son of Apollo

Kai would never again ignore Will’s advice.

It was supposed to be a quick thing, visit his friend for his birthday, spend the day with him, have a sleepover and return to camp the following morning.

Kai was 14, a demigod, and had been training every day since he was 10… he could handle visiting his friend alone. He had done it before. But every single time, without fail, the older campers took it upon themselves to give him advice— plenty of advice.

So he had rolled his eyes at the endless recommendations from Will and had just nodded yes when Percy handed him a cellphone—safe for demigods but “expensive as you wouldn’t believe, kid. So take care of it!”—and told him to call if he got in trouble.

Now, hiding inside an empty café, he thanked the gods for Will’s overprotective tendencies— and Percy’s general Percyness.

He was tired and scared, but most of all, he was confused.

He had been walking to take the bus that would get him closer to camp when people started muttering and pointing upwards at… Olympus? He had frozen when everyone started to freak out at the monsters because— they could see them? He had then watched in horror as the monsters attacked random mortals they normally ignored, and finally unfroze so he could stop them and protect the apparently-now-clear-sighted mortals.

He then decided to give them the same advice Percy always gave new demigods at camp: if you see a monster, try not to engage— escape and call for backup.
Of course, mortals didn’t have backup— so he told them to escape: get inside. Hopefully his message was understood— he had been a little overwhelmed by the whole ‘mortals-can-now-see’ thing.

So he had stopped the harpies and then tried to continue on his way to camp, but it was too much. Too many monsters. Too many screaming mortals. He may have had training — but that was too much. So he listened to his own advice and slipped into an empty-looking café.

He then proceeded to text Percy and ask for help. He did not feel embarrassed— Percy would never judge him. And he breathed a little easier when he got the confirmation that help was coming… Percy was coming.

And so there he was, sitting on the floor in an empty café. Lights off and back against the wall, focused on the door and waiting for Percy to arrive.

But then they arrived. Mortals. Soldiers. They were all wearing uniform and had guns and rifles — Will had taught him about weapons and those were powerful ones, and they were all pointing at him.

Kai froze. He was confused… were these monsters in disguise? Did they think he was a monster?

“Please.” He did not recognize his own voice… it sounded scared and hollow.
“Hand over the weapon,” the one who seemed to be in charge said— more like barked

Weapon? They wanted his sword? But—it was his sword.

Kai thought back to his eleventh birthday when he had been hiding with the Pegasi, crying about being the only Apollo camper with zero talent for archery… how he was defective… weak.

He remembered a freshly seventeen-year-old Percy Jackson finding him and sitting next to him. He remembers telling him everything. The taunts from the other campers, his siblings’ well-intentioned—but still hurtful—comments. His fear of not being good enough. “I lost my mum, Percy. But I found a home here— what if dad doesn’t want me because of this?”

Percy had looked at him with gentle eyes and told him that he would always have a home with them. He then proceeded to tell him stories until Kai felt better. The next day, Percy had found him in his cabin and taken him to the beach. There, Kai learned how to fight with a sword, Kai had felt so happy— he was very good at sword-fighting, Percy had said so. But still, a part of him felt he was letting his dad down. He hadn’t told Percy, but he was sure he knew. Then, one month later, he received a package. It appeared on his bed: his very own sword, it had a note attached. Happy belated birthday, Kai. Love, dad.

Kai had run to show Percy. He named it Ílios and never looked back.

And now— these soldiers wanted it?

“But—”

“Hand it over” he was interrupted by the same man. His voice was more serious, more dangerous and Kai felt his eyes prickle with tears.

It was his sword. Proof he had a home

“I—”

Pain. Burning, searing pain. His leg was on fire.
The man had shot once and hit his leg.

“He bleeds red” another soldier, in the back.

“Then he can die”

Another shot and Kai doubled over in pain. His stomach. This wasn’t good.

“Please”

“The sw—”

The man didn’t get to finish.The air shifted and the door opened with a bang. Percy stood at the door. His expression was severe and his eyes were furious. Rage twisting his face into something cold and closer to godly than any other demigod he knew.

But Kai wasn’t worried anymore because he had arrived. Percy was there. Safe. Kai was finally safe.

The soldiers moved to fire at the new threat but were too slow.

Percy moved his hand and the soldiers froze. Literally.

A new thing Kai knew he had been practicing — use the water in the air and freeze it.

“Please” it was the leader of the soldiers. Apparently it was his turn to beg. “Please we just— the sword— we need—”

Kai blinked up through tears and Percy was there, face still severe but eyes gentle and worried.
“Got you kid, don’t worry I got you.”

“Hurts”

“I know, it’s okay, you’ll be okay.”

He picked Kai up like he weighed nothing, grabbing the sword as well.

“Please!” The soldier was now full on begging.

“You shot my kid” was Percy’s only answer.

Blackjack was waiting outside. And before he knew it, they was in the air. Percy’s arms holding him safe.

Kai muttered a “Hey,” to the pegasus. He really liked Blackjack.

Kai was losing blood.

His vision was fading.

And then—

Golden light.

Warmth like sunlight after a storm.

He opened his eyes to find his dad’s eyes on him. Worried and soft. Radiant and real.

“Don’t worry, little sunbeam,” the god said softly. “I’ve got you now. You are okay now.”

Chapter Text

POV: Henry Brown - Homeland Security

The wall screens flickered in the dim briefing room, Brown’s eyes fixed on the paused video:
A tall man in jeans and a dark hoodie, hand raised mid-gesture, a squad of soldiers caught mid-step— ice blooming across their uniforms like frostbite in fast-forward. Pressed against his chest, half-hidden, was the original target: Kai Solis. The sword—the real target—was strapped to the man’s back, out of reach.

Brown had been staring at it for almost two hours straight, ever since they found out the café had working security cameras.

Two minutes of footage. Analyzed down to the microsecond. And yet he had no answers.

Olympus had been confirmed three hours ago—after the missile strike that… hadn’t worked. The higher-ups had brought in everyone they could think of: historians, archaeologists, even a few robe-wearing “modern priestesses” who swore they could feel the gods stirring. None of them could put a name to the man in the hoodie.

The consensus was tentative but consistent:

Ice powers—possibly water, judging by the eye color.

Commanding presence.

Called Kai “his kid.”

Kai was fourteen and the man didn’t look older than 20— it didn’t add up.

“He’s a god,” someone had said in the first briefing after getting the footage, two hours ago.

“Which one?”

Silence.

So they knew nothing about the man.

But Kai—Kai they could dissect.

Blood samples scraped from the café floor gave them everything they needed.

Kai Solis. Fourteen. Born in Queens.

Mother: deceased (date of death: 4 years ago yesterday). Father: unknown.

School records: erratic — transfers every year from ages 6 to 10. Suspensions for “delusional outbursts” and “violent incidents,” later downgraded to “accidents.”

ADHD. Dyslexia.

Last four years in a “private program” with no address on file. No further reports.

Neighbor statements: “weird kid,” “kept to himself,” “goes to some fancy school,” “we only see him on the anniversary of the mother’s death.”

Human blood. Red. Normal labs.

Normal… except he’d put down three monsters with a sword the size of his arm.

Brown leaned back in his chair, the thought crawling through his mind like a cold current:
If the monsters were real, if Olympus was real, then maybe—

A very powerful man who couldn’t be older than twenty calling a fourteen-year-old his kid.
 Maybe—

His daughter had had a phase, hadn’t she? And every single Halloween—

Half-human. Half-god. A demigod.

Kai bled red. But Kai could fight those monsters. A demigod?

And if one demigod existed, there were more.

If there were more demigods… there were more weapons.

Find the demigods, find the weapons.

And maybe—just maybe—find a way to fight back.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and got to work.

90 minutes later, Brown stood in front of the room.

“I have something. Half-human, half-god. Myth says they’re born when a god takes a mortal lover. Stronger than baseline humans. They know things we don’t. They can do things we can’t. Including, apparently, wielding edged weapons.”

A few suits shifted uncomfortably. Others smirked, like this was the part of the meeting where sanity officially left the building.

“I’m aware how this sounds,” Brown said, slicing through the skepticism. “This morning, I would have laughed, too. But this morning we didn’t have monsters in Midtown, or a floating palace over the fucking Empire State”

He tapped on his tablet, and new files appeared behind him for everyone to see—school photos, surveillance stills, witness accounts.

“I say we start with behavioral flags: frequent school transfers, unexplained injuries, witnesses describing ‘weird’ or ‘unrealistic’ events around them. Medical records showing high pain tolerance. Track them through juvenile reports, ER visits, psychiatric evaluations. Then we cross-reference with recent monster incidents.”

A junior analyst raised a hand. “That could be hundreds of kids in New York alone.”

“Good,” Brown said. “We’re casting a wide net.”

The room was silent for a beat. Then a suit nodded.

An hour later, they got their first hit.

Elias Rivera, fifteen, Bronx-born, currently suspended from Public School 187 after shoving a locker door so hard it bent in half. Witnesses swore he’d dodged a moving car last week.

Brown watched from the surveillance van as local NYPD lured the boy outside with a fake “missing phone” claim. The kid looked scared — everyone looked scared after a whole day of monsters walking around— but still so teenager, chewing gum, defiant glint in his eyes, backpack slung low over one shoulder.

The takedown was fast. Two agents grabbed him, another pulled the bag.

Inside: protein bars, a flashlight and a small wooden bat.

No sword. No celestial glow. No divine anything.

By the time the boy’s terrified mother came charging out— wielding her own bat — the profile was already falling apart. Elias was just strong from baseball practice. The car? It had braked in time, his mother said.

False positive.

Brown didn’t apologize. Couldn’t. They didn’t have the luxury of caution. Somewhere out there, the real targets—the demigods—were walking around with the weapons the government needed to kill those monsters and protect civilians.

He thought of his daughter, home from her first semester at college. Thought of how scared she’d been that same morning, how she’d survived but her face would probably always bear those scars. Thought of how she had looked at her daddy to protect her, and how useless he had been against a fucking dog.

A big, savage, mythological dog.

He took a slow breath.

They needed those weapons, and they were going to get them.

Half an hour later, at exactly 9pm, Brown’s “watch list” was already drafted, rewritten, and run through PR filters until it read like any other Homeland Security alert. The language was careful—no mention of gods, no talk of Olympus, just the right blend of threat and vulnerability.

PUBLIC SAFETY NOTICE – CATEGORY UNKNOWN

The Department of Homeland Security advises all law enforcement and community leaders to be alert for young individuals matching the following behavioral indicators. Subjects may be at heightened risk of harm from ongoing anomalous activity, and may also pose a danger to the public if approached.

Indicators include:
• Frequent school changes without documented family relocation
• Unexplained physical feats or strength inconsistent with age/size
• Repeated presence near violent incidents involving unidentified assailants
• Reports of “unrealistic” events surrounding the individual
• High pain tolerance in medical records

Members of the public are urged not to engage with potential subjects. Report sightings to DHS via the dedicated hotline.

Subjects should be considered both dangerous and in danger.

It went live on the DHS socials within the hour, disguised as a civilian warning.

To the public, it was just another post to scroll past between conspiracy threads and shaky monster videos.

To Brown, it was a net.

The hit came twelve minutes later.
A DM from a random account— real but unimportant: Saw this kid. Matches your alert. He had a spear. Attached was a shaky phone picture. Blurry, but the shape of the weapon was unmistakable.

“Where?” Brown demanded.

“We have his address,” the analyst said, already pulling up maps.

The van rolled hard through the streets. Brown’s pulse was steady, the way it always got before a takedown. This felt real. This felt like one of them.

They arrived just in time to see the target walk out of the house, a backpack over his shoulder, the spear clutched in his hand. He spotted them and eyed the guns pointed at him.

“Father?” He called, voice small and hesitant.

A tall man in bronze armor stepped out of the house. His red eyes locked on Brown’s, and a sudden, primal urge to fight surged through him. He took a step forward and then another— He would have kept going if not for another boy bursting out of the house, shouting:

“You can’t just take the freak and leave! What about us? The monsters are out there!”

The man turned his head, slow, predatory.

A woman called out from inside the house, voice shaking: “Ares, please!”

Brown froze. Ares. She’d said it like she knew him.

Ares’ gaze cut to the boy, flat and cold. “I could curse you for those words,” he said, voice low enough to chill bone. Then, almost lazily, “Consider yourself lucky, mortal. And of course you’ll stay here… you are mortal, you are born to die.”

“Please!” the mother sobbed, reaching as if she could grab them back. “You said he was mine”.

He shifted his attention to her. “You can thank the ones over there for this,” he said, jerking his chin toward Brown’s team. “They already shot one. They won’t get the chance again.”

Then, Ares grasped the target—his son— by the shoulder. In the space of a blink, they were gone.

The street was silent except for the mother’s choked sobs and the brother’s ragged breathing.
 Brown stood there, the weight of it all pressing down like lead. They weren’t just late. They were already losing.

And the gods were keeping score.

POV: Hecebolus Apollo — The Olympic Council

Apollo could still see the streak of red on the marble floor. Mortal blood—probably dry by now, but stained forever. The echo of his son’s cries tore through him like a snapped bowstring, sharp and unforgiving. He had almost lost him.

Now, an hour later, he stood in the center of the throne room. Fury hummed beneath his skin like a war drum, beating for retribution. He thought of Kai’s pain. He thought of Will’s worry as he carried his healed brother to the infirmary. He thought of Kayla’s quiet tears as she followed them.

He thought of Percy— his eyes, his voice — explaining that Kai had been shot by mortals for one reason: they wanted Ílios, the sword Apollo had gifted his son.

The time for hesitation is over

“The time for hesitation is over,” Apollo said, voice cold and clear, reverberating through the silent chamber. “Our children are targets. This is no longer a matter for debate—I petition they be brought to Camp Half-Blood. Now.”

Zeus said nothing.

Ares grunted, boots crossed on the edge of his throne. “Finally, something we agree on.”

Athena’s gaze was sharp. “They are hunted. Humans do not understand. They react with violence.— made obvious when they tried the little trick on us”

“They shot my son,” Apollo cut in, voice cracking like lightning, before another argument could start. “One of ours. They didn’t care what he was. Only saw a weapon they could not grasp.”

He turned, fire in his eyes. “Hecate warned us. The Mist was never our shield. Mortals cannot harm us— but our children are vulnerable to their attacks. The Mist was their shield.”

Hermes nodded grimly. “Now the mortal world sees too much. And what they see, they fear. And when mortals fear, they strike.”

Poseidon inclined his head, slow and grave. “Camp must be fortified. Warded beyond anything we have done before. Every demigod must be protected.”

“No exceptions,” Apollo agreed. “All our blood—hidden no longer. They must be protected”

Murmurs stirred—some nodded in grim agreement, others weighed of the cost.

Hephaestus asked, “Shall we send questers to retrieve the children?”

Apollo’s eyes flashed. “No”.

A memory stabbed trough him— Kai grinning by a campfire, hair a sunlit mess — only to twist into jagged fear. He imagined Will in his place, Kayla, the twins.

“No.” He repeated, each syllable dropping like molten lead.

He turned to look at Zeus “Lord father… we must go ourselves. Sending others risks exposing more of our blood. The time for messengers is past. Please, Lord father— ignore the ancient rule this once.”

“Rules are there for a reason” Demeter said. “The last time gods walked freely among mortals— the last time gods were allowed to interact with their children, entire cities burned”.

“But Apollon is right” Aphrodite chimed in. “It would be illogical to send safe children to mortals”

“Satyrs then?” Dionysus offered

Artemis’s voice was tight. “Three satyrs tried to escort a child from Chicago an hour ago. None made it past the first mile.”

Silence.

Ares growled. “The monsters are getting stronger—fed by mortal fear and belief. Satyrs won’t hold the line.”

Finally, Zeus spoke. “Each god will go and retrieve their own children. The demigods must be brought to camp, and the contact must stop there. Those of us without children in the mortal world, we shall assist fortifying Camp’s protection.”

Apollo bowed his head slightly. “My thanks, Lord Father, I shall begin immediately”

Demeter’s voice cut in. “And the weapons? Humans will seek them. They already have.”

“They will try again,” Athena said. “Those weapons are the key to a war they do not understand.”

Apollo's sneer was pure steel, bowstring tight before firing. “Then curse the mortals. Let their hands blister at the touch of what is ours. No blade, no bow, no divine-forged weapon shall be wielded by mortal flesh.”

Silence fell like a stone—heavy, sacred.

Hera’s voice rang out. “No. The Romans’ force is mostly legacies— their divine heritage so far back they may as well be mortals themselves, yet they still defend our world. They must be an exception”.

Poseidon’s voice rumbled “Then bless them— and only them. Apollon is right. Mortals don’t get to touch our weapons”.

Hera lifted her chin. “So be it.”

The twelve Olympians rose. Hands lifted in solemn oath. Ancient words spilled from their lips, weaving a spell older than some of the gods.

The air shimmered and cracked. A wave of divine power rippled across the world like a silent earthquake.

A new law was born.

Mortal hands would never again lift a divine weapon. Their flesh would burn. Their nerves would reject what was blessed.

Apollo felt no triumph— only the cold calm of justice done, and a fury sharper than any blade, still burning.

He thought back to the marble floor, where blood had dried and memories had scorched themselves into being.

In a blaze of gold, he vanished—urgency in every stride—as the hunt for his sons began

Chapter Text

POV: Corporal M. Johnson - US Military

Mark had always been able to see the monsters. As a kid growing up in Mississippi, he had learned to keep quiet, to not say a thing and to pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary… he wasn’t about to get thrown into a loony bin (or worse, exorcised) by his well meaning but very religious mother.

So he learned to ignore it.

The big dog everyone swore was a chihuahua… of course it was a chihuahua.

The monster with claws and red eyes wasn’t there… it was just his imagination.

The horse with wings flying high in the sky was actually a helicopter.

That man did not have only one eye.

The woman with wings was just a flock of pigeons.

It wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be.

As long as he ignored them, they ignored him back. He learned to focus on his breathing and slow down his own heartbeat. He had a whole method he had perfected by third grade. Look elsewhere casually— you didn’t see a thing. Focus on breathing, slow and deep to slow down your heartbeat. Walk away— never run.

But everything had changed yesterday morning.

Mark had been doing his daily run when he saw one of the big dogs that liked to walk around Central Park. He lowered his eyes and kept on jogging, turning to make a left instead of his usual right when a woman screamed behind him. He turned immediately and saw a lot of people—runners like him— gaping and pointing at— the dog?

They—they could see it too?

And then the dog, as if sensing their eyes— their fear— snarled and jumped onto the screaming woman.

Everyone ran away but Mark couldn’t. You never run. Never.

Except this dog had decided to change the rules.

Mark turned his head as if he couldn’t see a thing, focused on his breathing and tried to avoid looking at the dead woman on the floor. But the dog didn’t ignore him back. He snarled and advanced on him. Slowly.

That was not right. Mark had a system: you ignore them, they ignore you.

A sudden noise interrupted his sudden panic. A police officer, opening fire onto the dog. The dog just snarled as if annoyed and turned to attack the cop instead.
Mark turned around and ran.

Fuck the method. Obviously the rules had changed.

Now, thirty hours after everything went to shit, he stood with his fellow soldiers, hiding and waiting. His rifle felt wrong in his hands… felt useless.

After all, they had all seen the footage and read the official not-for-civilian-eyes information packet. Their weapons didn’t work.

That was number one priority: get weapons that did work.

Of course, not everyone agreed with the methods employed.

But Mark had been seeing these things since he was a child. And now he was so close to actually be able to fight back (and also, the fact that the targets had always had access to these weapons and they never chose to kill the monsters was telling. Mark couldn’t even begin to count how many dead bodies he had seen before even starting high school. There was a reason he didn’t think twice about joining the military).

As far as Mark was concerned, the demigods didn’t care about them, they had something valuable that could save millions of lives and still refused to cooperate… and needs must.

So he kept an eye out for possible monsters but mostly focused on the road… if their intelligence was correct, they were really close.

Mark did feel slightly bad about Stelle, who had come crying to him about some random man kidnapping her child. She couldn’t go to the police because nobody could leave their house unless they wanted to be killed by monsters, so she went to her military neighbor instead.

According to Stelle, the man had just appeared in her living room, told her that he was taking his daughter and to say goodbye.

Mark listened as she insisted that he looked like the man she had met seven years ago… exactly the same as if time didn’t pass for him.

She begged him for his help and told him everything she remembered… including how seven seven years ago he had talked about a special summer camp she should send the child to if there were ever any weird things happening.

Mark had taken the information to his sergeant, who took it to their superiors and now here they were, as close as they could get to the mysterious location, eyes on the road, waiting for one of them to appear.

The steps came almost an hour later.

Mark took a deep breath and got in position, finger on the trigger of his rifle, watching a blond kid—a literal kid—walk cautiously down the road, coming from the opposite side they had been watching, coming from where the camp was supposed to be.

Maybe nine. Maybe eight. A child.

He was wearing a bright orange T-shirt. His hand on the hilt of a sheathed knife. Bronze. Ancient-looking.

“Target acquired,” the commander whispered. “That’s one of them.”

Someone behind him swallowed. “He’s… he’s just a kid.”

“He’s one of them. Look at that knife. You think a normal kid carries a bronze weapon? You think he doesn’t know how to use it?”

No one answered. The kid looked nervous, constantly glancing over his shoulder, as if expecting somebody to follow. Monsters?

Privately, Mark thought the target looked just like any other scared kid. But he wasn’t allowed to think that.

The commander gave the signal.

They opened fire.

It wasn’t even a battle— they couldn’t risk the kid calling for his parent.

The bullets tore through him, and he dropped like a rag-doll, his sword clattering to the ground beside him. His mouth opened in a scream that never came. He never even drew the blade. Blood pooled fast and dark beneath him.

Mark blinked.

Silence fell.

Then cheers. Relief. Adrenaline.

“We got one!”

“The weapon! The knife—get the knife!”

They all ran to it, reverent, like it was hope and salvation. The commander crouched beside the fallen body, muttering something about victory and survival and how this would change the game. If they could reverse-engineer it, if they could understand its power, maybe they’d stand a chance.

The commander reached for it.

Mark never forgot what happened next.

The moment the man’s fingers touched the hilt, light burst from it—white-hot and blinding. A flare of divine energy not meant for mortal hands. The commander screamed, but it was already too late. The fire swallowed him, but it wasn’t just fire. His scream tore through the air, warped into something not even human. Words spilled from his throat in a language no one recognized — jagged, ancient syllables that scraped against the ear like broken glass. His eyes melted first, burning into molten gold that streamed down his face in blinding rivulets. Every muscle locked, twisted, as if unseen hands were wrenching him apart from the inside.

And then silence — sudden, absolute. Only the crackle of dying flames remained, and the feeling of something far older and crueler than fire itself.

Everyone was silent. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air.

The knife didn’t melt. It just waited, humming faintly, like it had judged them and found them unworthy.

One of the soldiers backed away. Another dropped to his knees, whispering a prayer to a god he didn’t believe in yesterday.

Mark just stared.

All their plans—gone. Their only hope—dead in front of them.

The knife was right there.

And they couldn’t touch it.

POV: Annabeth Chase - daughter of Athena

Annabeth didn’t feel guilty about tuning out Piper’s impassioned speech about helping the mortal world — “They could be our parents, our siblings, our teachers and friends. And they’ve been left to die!”

Don’t get her wrong. Annabeth was proud of Piper. There wasn’t a drop of charmspeak in her voice, just conviction, logic, and the kind of fire that made you want to follow her.

But Annabeth was running on fumes. The last thirty hours had blurred into one long, sleepless stretch, and she was too tired to care about speeches.

Ever since the Mist had collapsed — for reasons even Hecate’s kids couldn’t explain — it had been disaster after disaster.

First: Percy, stumbling into camp on Blackjack, Kai strapped against his chest. The boy had been barely conscious, and Percy’s face hadn’t looked much better. Will had sprinted across the field to meet them, only to be beaten to the punch by his own father. Apollo had appeared in a flash, knelt beside Kai, and laid glowing hands on him while saying something quietly to Percy. Kai was carried off by his siblings to the infirmary and Percy stayed behind with the god. Them talking wasn’t unusual — but the fury on Apollo’s face as he walked away had been. Then again, Apollo loved his kids. Of course he’d be angry.

For one precious hour after that, camp had felt… almost normal. The sun on the cabins, laughter in the distance, the kind of fragile peace Annabeth would have bottled if she could.

And then the flood started.

Kids. Kids. Kids. And more kids.

Camp didn’t just grow — it exploded. Overnight, seventy-something campers had turned into two hundred, with more pouring every hour. They arrived in clusters, dragging battered bags, wide-eyed and crying, taken by — and clinging to — siblings they hadn’t known existed until yesterday. siblings barely older than they were. Some clutched weapons they didn’t know how to hold. Others carried nothing but the clothes on their backs.

All of them delivered by their godly parent. No need for claiming when Hermes looked you in the eyes and said this one is mine.

And not a single one of the gods had thought to bring their mortal parents.

Who was supposed to take care of literal babies?

“It’s not about us versus them.” Piper’s voice cut through the restless murmurs, her eyes burning as she faced the crowd. She was trying — begging — to rally the cabins to fight for the mortals.

Everyone except Apollo’s children, of course.

Annabeth’s gaze drifted past the crowd to Kai, sitting stiffly behind Will, surrounded by his siblings. His small hands clenched around his sword like a lifeline. Apollo had spoken to his children already: they would not fight for the mortals who had attacked their brother. That was the god’s decree. And most of his kids weren’t complaining.

But some were.

Behind Piper, about fifty campers — the majority of them new — were nodding, hanging on her words. They wanted to leave camp, to fight for the mortal world. Most were thinking of families left behind. Problem was, most of them had never swung a blade. Even the ones who had fought before were hardly seasoned.

So here they stood: Piper, trying to convince the rest of the camp, the veterans to fight — and die— beside them.

Or for them.

Or just instead of them.

But Annabeth had too many things to worry about. Too many kids. Too many weapons. The gods had abandoned crates of steel in the armory like parting gifts, but what use was bronze to a child who couldn’t stop crying?

Her brain was spinning: more cabins, bigger cabins, more beds, sheets, blankets, tables. Caretakers, teachers, special food, clothes, diapers—everything they didn’t have. The list only grew heavier, and Annabeth couldn’t keep up.

She’d snapped at Malcolm earlier. At everyone. And she hated herself for it. The kids were terrified, some screaming Where’s my mom? Where’s my dad? until their throats went raw, and Annabeth had no answer.

Now she had a baby in her arms. Athena’s, of course. Annabeth rocked the child against her shoulder, but the weight felt more than physical. Too much of her mother had already haunted her these last hours. Too much, and not nearly enough.

“The gods turn their backs on them, but when have we ever let rules stop us?” That argument could use some work. Annabeth saw Clarisse’s mouth flatten into a straight line. A bunch of new kids stood behind her, and Annabeth knew she wouldn’t go against Ares— not when she had so many new siblings to take care of.

And that was true for most of them. Most of them couldn’t go against their divine parent.

They were not Percy after all.

Although, to be fair, Percy didn’t go against his father’s wishes. Poseidon just had no issue letting him do whatever he wanted. The favorite son.

He—he wasn’t even there. He’d left at dawn, Poseidon giving him permission to fetch his mother. Of course Sally Jackson was a special case, and Annabeth respected her more than almost anyone alive… but still. Why Sally, and no one else? Why couldn’t the gods do anything for the rest of these children?

Annabeth wanted to scream. She wanted her best friend here, because Percy could look at his father in that way only he could, and maybe squeeze an island or two out of him. Maybe Rhode would help. Maybe Sally would have advice—what did a baby even need? Annabeth had no clue.

Instead, she was left holding everything together with fraying hands. (And also a baby, oh by the gods there were so many babies).

Annabeth was tired and angry and so, so stressed— and just ready to collapse.

“Annie”

She turned at Malcolm’s voice. His eyes were serious.

“Come. Something happened.”

Her chest tightened. “What?”

“Just… come. And wear armor.” She already was.

She handed the baby to one of her sisters and waved at Piper with a silent apology. Another thing apparently needed her attention.

Nico was waiting for them outside the new amphitheater— the place they’d been using for their meetings— and fell into step with them as they walked, silent and grim.

They left camp. Annabeth straightened, eyes sharp and ready, but Malcolm just kept walking.

“Nico found him… or felt him… I don’t know but—”

Annabeth stopped listening when she saw.

Peter Thomas. Eight years old. He’d arrived yesterday and immediately wanted to leave, said he wanted his dad. Annabeth had given him her own bed and told him everything would be okay, that they would figure it out. His eyes were gray just like hers. Her brother.

But what was he doing here? He was supposed to be safe at camp. When did he leave? How did she miss it?

He lay still, the remains of what appeared to be a military man by his side. In one hand, her brother clutched the little knife she had given him. In the other, a photo of his mortal family.

Annabeth dropped to her knees beside him. Her throat closed. She reached out, eyes burning, and gently gathered his small body into her arms. He was too light. He was just a child.

“The rites must be given,” she whispered.

Behind her, Malcolm shifted. She didn’t look at him, but her voice was steady when she said, “Athena’s cabin won’t fight for the mortals.”

He nodded once. And together, they turned back toward camp.

Chapter Text

POV: Sally Jackson - Keeper of Xenia (xenodokoi of Olympus) and mother of Perseus Jackson

Sally had known that Percy would come for them.

It had been Paul who came across the news. Everyone could see monsters now, and panic had swept through the city like wildfire. He’d shown her a video — a viral clip of Kai, that sweet boy Percy spoke about sometimes, warning people to stay indoors. Sound advice, she’d thought. So, they stayed.

When Estelle went down for her nap just after lunch, Sally turned to Paul and said quietly, “Start packing. First the essentials — things we cannot part with. Try to keep it light, honey. We don’t know how much we’ll be able to take.”

Paul nodded without a word. He didn’t mention that Percy hadn’t called yet. He didn’t need to. They both knew their son would come.

While Paul carefully folded Estelle’s clothes — making sure her favorite plushie and the big blue shell from her brother were tucked safely inside — Sally took her old backpack from the closet. Into it went the irreplaceable: the single photo she had of her parents, Percy’s handmade gifts from childhood, and all the snapshots of the years between. Percy as a baby. Percy as a gangly boy with missing teeth. Percy as a young man with the ocean in his eyes. And then the family ones: Percy holding Estelle, Estelle on Paul’s shoulders, Poseidon shaking Paul’s hand at Percy’s high school graduation.

Her memories, all of them.

Then she added a change of clothes and zipped it shut.

An hour later, someone knocked.

She knew it wasn’t Percy yet, but she was so used to visitors that she didn’t hesitate, she opened the door and found a girl, about 13 and shaking.

“Please” she said. “Please, they’re after me”

Monsters, most likely. Poor thing.

“C’mon in, honey. I offer you Xenia”

The girl’s shoulders relaxed immediately, and Sally smiled, opening the door wider.

She hadn’t always used the old word. But she’d learned it helped. These kids came from chaos, hunted and mistrustful. A stranger’s kindness often felt like a trap. But Xenia — hospitality sworn under divine law — that they understood.

“I’m Sally Jackson,” she said softly once the door was closed. “That’s my husband, Paul.”

“I’m Eva,” the girl replied. “You’re… you’re Percy’s mom.”

“That I am. It’s nice to meet you, Eva. Are you hurt, darling?”

“No… I’m fine. It didn’t get me.”

“I’m glad,” Sally said, guiding her toward the living room. “Would you like something to eat?”

“Yes, please. I— I—”

The girl’s voice broke, and Sally slipped into that instinctive calm that had soothed a thousand scraped knees and nightmares.

“It’s all right, sweetheart. You’re safe now.”

Eva cried quietly by the small household fire — their altar flame, flickering soft and blue.

“I just don’t understand,” Eva whispered. “I trained so hard, but I couldn’t beat that harpy.”

Paul came over with a sandwich and a soda, his voice soft.
“It’s always different in real life, kiddo. Doesn’t mean you’re not strong. Eat something.”

Eva nodded and thanked him. She tore a small piece of bread and dropped it into the fire.
“Hermes. Hey, Dad. I’m safe.”

Then she took a bite, sniffling. “I fought a harpy before. But this time… it felt different.”

“It was different” the voice came from the door.

Sally turned.

“Lord Hermes”

“Hey Sally, thank you for helping Eva here”

“I’m honored to help, my Lord”

“What do you mean it was different, dad?”

“The monsters are stronger kid, mortals can see them and so they believe in them, they fear them too. That in turn makes them stronger, faster, more dangerous. Like they used to be back in the day… worse even, there are more mortals now. There are more monsters too”

Eva’s breath hitched, a small, helpless sound. Sally reached out, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. No matter how tactless the gods could be, she wouldn’t let this child face that fear alone.

“So I’m screwed. I’ll never make it back to camp with these super powered monsters around”

“No kid, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I’ll help. I’ll get you to camp as soon as you finish that sandwich”

“But— Percy said that the reason you didn’t help before is ‘cuz you couldn’t. Because of the rules…”

“And Percy was right. But my father has decided to make an exception just this once. I will help you get to camp, Eva. Don’t you worry, you’re safe with me.”

Eva’s tears fell freely. She nodded, finished her sandwich, and stood.

“Thank you Mrs Jackson”

“You are most welcome, dear”

“Bye Sally”

“Lord Hermes”

Sally bowed her head, and when she looked up, they were gone.

She exhaled slowly. Usually the children stayed longer — until a satyr or older demigod came for them. This one barely had time to breathe.

In the kitchen, Paul was helping Estelle with her pasta, patient as ever.
“Help yourself, love,” he said. “I’ve got the little one.”

She kissed his cheek “Thank you, darling.”

The phone rang soon after

“Mom.”

“Percy, sweetheart. How are you?”

“I’m coming to get you, I’m sorry, we’ll have to stay at camp for a while… it’s not safe”.

“Thank you, honey”

“I’ll leave tomorrow morning. Today is just impossible, dad said it would be too dangerous for everyone. But I’ll be there tomorrow. Please stay inside”

“Don’t worry, honey. We’ll be fine until then”

“Love you mom"

“Love you too. See you tomorrow”

When the call ended, the house felt very still. Sally continued packing, careful and quiet. She tried not to think of Hermes’ words — stronger monsters — or Percy’s — too dangerous.

Her hands shook once, but only once. She placed a photograph at the top of her bag, next to Estelle’s toy shell.

Her Percy would be fine. He had to be.

Sally woke before dawn.

The house was quiet except for Estelle’s soft breathing and the faint hum of the refrigerator. She moved through the rooms on autopilot — folding, checking, packing again — though she wasn’t sure how much they’d actually be able to take. She’d forgotten to ask. Still, keeping busy helped.

At ten o’clock sharp, the door opened.

And there he was.

Her baby, taller than she remembered, with the sea in his eyes and exhaustion in his shoulders. Sally crossed the room before he could even say a word, wrapping him in her arms.

“Hey mom”

“Oh sweetheart. How are you?”

“It’s bad mom”

Percy started talking — fast, anxious, focused. About Kai and the military. About the gods working overtime to guide their children to safety. About the toll it was taking on the older campers, about the curse on mortals, about the chaos spreading through both worlds. Sally listened in silence, her hand resting on his arm. She didn’t interrupt. She never did.

There was so much he didn’t say.

He didn’t tell her how he’d fallen to his knees before a very surprised Poseidon the day before, begging his father to convince Zeus to let his mortal family into Camp Half-Blood.

He didn’t tell her how terrified he’d been — not of dying, but of being told no.

He didn’t tell her how he’d prayed to every god he could think of while he waited, or how he’d cried with relief when he learned Zeus had said yes.

He didn’t tell her how he’d wanted to leave that very second, and how his father had made him wait for dawn.

He didn’t have to. Poseidon had already told her in dreams.

It was peculiar, co-parenting with a god — having half your son’s life play out in divine whispers while the other half unfolded in the kitchen over coffee. But Sally had long ago learned not to question miracles.

She just held her son tighter and kept listening.

When the time came to leave, Percy outlined the plan.

“We’ll drive at first. But East Hampton’s a mess — people trying to escape. From there, we’ll have to walk. It’s about five hours, but we can take as many breaks as we need. We’ll be fine.”

“That’s all right, sweetheart. We’ll only take the essentials.”

Percy shook his head with a small grin. “No need, Mom. Hermes will help. Dad already talked to him.”

He showed her a handful of shimmering Hermes Overnight Express slips, each with a tiny leather pouch for coins. Sally laughed softly, a mix of disbelief and fondness.

Even in the apocalypse, Hermes still ran a business.

They worked efficiently and Sally made some snacks for the journey. At twelve o’clock, they locked the door. The sky was overcast — strange for midsummer.

“Apollo’s mad,” Percy muttered as he climbed into the car.

Sally didn’t doubt it.

They’d only been driving half an hour when Percy went still. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, and that soldier’s instinct — the one she both loved and hated — came alive.

“Pull over, Paul.”

Before she could ask why, Percy was out of the car, sword in hand. Sally turned just in time to see her son mid-leap, bronze flashing, slashing through the air as a cheerleader with flaming hair screamed and dissolved into golden dust.

Empousai. Five of them.

Sally’s heart clenched, but she stayed silent. She watched him fight — the fluid precision, the strength in every movement. His form shimmered faintly, as if the air itself bent around him. He was a storm contained in human skin.

When it was over, he turned toward them, sunlight breaking faintly through the clouds as if the world itself leaned closer to him.

He looked divine.
And yet, terrifyingly human.

Sally could see it in his eyes — the exhaustion, the cost. Hermes’ warning echoed in her head: stronger, faster, more powerful.

“Let’s go, guys,” Percy called.

She couldn’t stop watching him.

“I’m all right, Mom,” he said gently, sensing her gaze.

She smiled faintly and turned forward. Paul drove on.

By the time they reached East Hampton, nearly three hours had passed — three hours and five monster attacks. Sally had stopped counting the near misses.

Percy stepped out, placing the last Hermes Express slip on the car’s roof. “Hermes will take the car from here.”

And just like that, the vehicle shimmered and vanished.

“Okay, guys,” he said, adjusting his backpack. “This way.”

They walked for twenty minutes through the thickening mist when a child’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Help! Somebody help me!”

No doors opened. No one else answered.

"Mommy please"

Percy froze. His eyes flicked to Estelle, then back to Sally, torn.

“It’s okay, dear,” she said softly. “Go.”

He hesitated. “Please stay here, Mom. Could be a cyclops, or a trap. Yell if you need me.”

Sally nodded, her throat tight.

He ran toward the sound — the same reckless courage he’d had since he was twelve — and returned minutes later carrying a little boy no older than six. Both were covered in monster dust, glowing faintly in the sun.

Sally hurried forward, Paul followed after her, Estelle safe in his arms.

“So,” the boy said solemnly, peering up at Percy, “you’re like Spider-Man… but a fish bit you instead.”

Percy blinked. “I— I guess you could say that.”

“Thanks for saving me, fish-man.”

Percy snorted. “You’re welcome, kid. Now head home, okay? I’ll be right here.”

The boy nodded and ran toward a large white house in the distance.

“Kid was bored,” Percy muttered, brushing golden dust off his arms. “Nanny wasn’t paying attention. I don’t think he’ll do that again.”

Sally smiled and squeezed his hand three times — the same signal she’d used when he was small. I love you. I’m proud. You’re safe.

He looked at her, that same boyish smile flashing beneath the weight of everything he carried.

“Let’s go,” he said.

And so they walked — Sally and Paul behind Percy, their guardian, their son, their quiet miracle.

She watched him ahead of her — tall, sure, the faint shimmer of power clinging to him like sea mist — and thought, he’s still my boy.

She breathed deep, the scent of salt and summer air filling her chest.

They would be all right.

They had to be.

POV: Barbara Elizabeth - priestess of Lord Apollon

When Barbara first created her social media as a priestess of Apollo, her only goal was to talk about Him — to tell people about this incredible god of old who was still here, still listening, still willing to help if you cared enough to reach out. She had built her first altar at sixteen, when she was sick and desperate. A month later, she’d heard Him for the first time, and from that day, she had been devoted.

Ten years later, healthy and steady in her faith, Barbara decided to share that devotion. Her channel never went viral, but she gathered a small, loyal community — people curious about the modern worship of the Greek gods, eager to learn, to discuss, to share. Barbara loved those conversations: the exchange of stories, the debates, the sense of rediscovered wonder. It felt like being part of something ancient and alive.

She never imagined that her quiet act of worship would one day lead her to work with the military.
But twelve hours after footage of real monsters attacking civilians went viral, someone knocked on her door.

She had been kneeling at the altar, candles flickering as she begged her Lord for guidance, when the soldiers arrived. Innocent people were dying, they said. They needed her help. The flames on her altar had burned brighter than ever before.

So she thanked her god — and went with them.

Barbara tried to ignore the knot in her stomach. She didn’t trust governments or the military, but Lord Apollon had been clear — or at least, she thought He had been. So almost twenty hours later, she found herself sitting in a cramped cabin surrounded by soldiers, eyes fixed on a wall of cameras, waiting for a signal. Her task was simple: speak to him. Convince him. Pray that he listened.

She’d warned them she hadn’t felt Apollo’s presence since leaving home — told herself He was simply busy, but the silence weighed on her like lead — but they had refused to listen.

On the screen, he was fighting — protecting a little girl, his sword flashing faster than the cameras could follow. Barbara caught her breath. She didn’t know his name, but she’d seen dozens of clips of him saving people. Strong, yes, but also kind. Maybe this wouldn’t be so terrible.

And yet… something felt wrong.

She couldn’t shake the sense that she was in the wrong place, doing the wrong thing.

Maybe she’d misunderstood her Lord’s instructions. Maybe she shouldn’t be here at all.

Before she could think further, a decorated officer barked an order. Everyone moved. The operation had begun.

They took position in a clearing. Barbara didn’t know tactics, but even she realized their formation gave them the advantage — hidden, weapons ready. It didn’t feel right. She stepped back and bumped into a soldier who hissed, “Don’t move, witch.”

She opened her mouth to protest — she wasn’t a witch — when movement on the road caught her eyes.

He was walking toward them, about fifty meters ahead, the sun breaking around his shoulders. He carried a little girl in his arms, a man and woman following close behind. The three looked travel-worn but determined, the family staying close together as they made their way down the cracked asphalt.

When he finally noticed the soldiers, he stopped mid-step. Barbara saw his eyes harden, sea-green darkening like a storm. Even from this distance, the air seemed to hum with his presence.

This is no mere man, her mind whispered.

She was still debating over the need to drop to her knees in worship when several things happened at once.

He whistled — a sharp, clear sound that echoed off the trees — and passed the child to the man beside Him. Then He stepped forward, placing himself squarely between the soldiers and the family.

A sudden gust stirred the leaves as a shadow swept across the field. Something descended fast from the clouds — wings wide, feathers black as night. A pegasus landed on the road in front of Him, hooves striking sparks against the pavement.

“Yeah, buddy,” He murmured. The pegasus nickered softly, then moved to the family’s side, spreading its wings like a shield. He stood alone now, a living barrier between them and the rifles pointed their way.

“You may want to drop those” He said.

Around Barbara, the soldiers hesitated, then lowered their rifles. For a moment, she dared to hope.
Then His gaze flicked to her left. She turned — and froze.

One soldier still had his gun raised, aiming straight at the family.

His eyes flashed and His hands moved. The soldier let out a scream as his hands seemed to freeze. Ice bloomed from his hands and kept climbing up his arms and shoulders, then down his torso, legs and feet. In less than a minute the soldier was encased entirely in ice

When she turned around to look at Him again, she almost screamed. A huge dog was standing next to Him. Black and terrible. A hellhound. A monster looking at Him. The man said something and the dog turned around, walking to the family and standing in front of them. Oh. He had called for a monster to protect the family from Barbara’s group.

How had she ended up there?

“Keep going. I will catch up in a second.”

The family moved and the hellhound moved with them, standing always between the family and the soldiers. The pegasus walked behind them all, wings still wide.

After a minute, Barbara took a deep breath and tried to speak, to remember her speech

“I am but a servant of Lord Apollo, keeper of his shrine and his songs. Yet in this hour of terror, another power has come — You, O Unknown God. If Apollo has sent You, then we are blessed. If You come of Your own will, then we fall to our knees in gratitude. The monsters devour our people, and without Your hand we are lost. Aid us, Great One, I beg of You.”

Green eyes focused on her.

"Does your god talk to you anymore? Now that you are working with those that tried to kill his son?"

Barbara couldn't breathe.

They— they had— her Lord's son?

No— no—

What had she done.

“You may want to rethink your choices, priestess"

Tears blurred her vision. Apollo had done so much for her. He had healed her, guided her, given her purpose
—
and she had betrayed Him.

She fell to her knees.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't know— I’m sorry my lord. I’m sorry”

His eyes were gentler now.

“Talk to your god, priestess. It's his forgiveness you seek, not mine”

Barbara’s strength broke. She collapsed forward, forehead to the dirt, trembling as He turned away.

“What do you want” His voice cut through the silence like a blade.

“We—we—”. The officer with medals stammered

“You are threatening me while I help a mortal family”

“We know it’s your family, Perseus Jackson” the man said, apparently finding his bravery— or maybe his idiocy.

Still, His family. Not a god then? Was this a demigod?

Or was it maybe another Dionysus situation? Born mortal turned god?

“Even worse” His voice grew even colder. “You are threatening me while I was carrying my little sister. After shooting one of my campers, killing another one and trying to kidnap countless others… You really think I’m going to let that slide?”

There was power in His voice. Power and fury.

Barbara kept her head touching the ground, prostrated before divine power

“We’re sorry. Please”. It was a woman’s voice. Another soldier. “We— we don’t know what we’re doing. We didn’t know about that. We just— we need your help. Protection. Please. You— they can fight the monsters. Please, we’ll give anything”

“They. You want children to fight for you?” His voice didn’t rise, it wasn’t necessary. Everyone was silent, hanging onto His every word. “YOU started a war with Olympus. YOU hunted down kids like animals. Now you want them to protect you?”

“We’ll do anything. Please”

Perseus stepped closer, the air around him seemed to vibrate and spark.

“They’re safe now. That’s all that matter. They’re safe and that’s how they’ll stay. You want protection? Go pray. Maybe someone will listen”

He turned around and started walking down the same way His family had gone. The solders around her didn’t move.

But Barbara did.

She stood up on shaky legs and walked away too. She had so much to do.

“Forgive me, Bright Apollo, sweetest of gods, healer and harper. This unworthy servant was deceived, her hands stained by false counsel. I did not know I stood with those who sought the life of Your child. Great Lord, look not upon my folly with wrath, but with mercy. Let Your light burn away my error, and make me clean again.”