Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nico was irritated, so he didn’t bother knocking. He also, however, hadn’t heard Annabeth out yet—he couldn’t be angry at her until he knew the full story. So he didn’t shadow travel, either. He just silently opened the door and slipped in the room, closing the door just as silently behind him.

Something heavy in his gut told him this would be a closed door type of conversation.

Annabeth was curled in a ball on her bed, facing the wall with her arms wrapped around a grey pillow and one foot under her blanket. Her breathing, while even, was shallow, and Nico had to focus on his own to keep from matching hers; it was all too easy to remember how hard even just that had been after Tartarus.

He stood for a moment and looked her over; her hair was dull and matted, and her sallow skin was covered in dirt and golden dust and dried blood. She was putting off a much-needed shower. Nico thought he might know why.

“He’s not dead.” Annabeth damn near jumped out of her skin as he spoke. He had to dodge her pillow, and when he turned back to her, she had a sword out and pointed at him. A sword made of bone. Nico stared at it, and behind the aura of death earned from the things it had killed, he could see the bone’s origins.

It was drakon bone—part of a leg bone, carved very carefully, and tempered in the Phlegethon.

Annabeth said nothing, but lowered her sword. She wouldn’t meet Nico’s eyes. “Percy isn’t dead,” he repeated, louder and more forcefully. “So why isn’t he here?”

“I—“ Her voice broke. “I left him,” she whispered, voice hoarse and raspy and Nico couldn’t tell if it was because she’d been crying or if it was because of Tartarus. “He…he was—torture…”

Fury grew in Nico’s stomach. “He was getting tortured and you left him?“ He snarled.

Annabeth’s eyes widened. “No—no, Nico, no. He was the one doing the torturing.” Nico stopped. His fury paused, confused, because Annabeth just left Percy in Tartarus, but…Percy was torturing someone? It didn’t—that didn’t sound like him.

(Did it?)

Then again, it was Tartarus. Nico had learned more about himself and his powers than he ever wanted to know, and maybe Percy was, too. “Tell me,” Nico demanded, because Percy wasn’t dead, and if—when he got out, Nico needed to know what to expect.

Percy, just as he was, with heavier eyes and worse trauma? Or Percy, grin on his face, blood on his sword, and murder in his heart.

Nico knew which one he’d prefer.

He also knew which one he’d likely be getting. His nightmares told him as much.

His nightmares showed him Percy, surrounded by demons in Tartarus, something sadistic and twisted and happy gleaming in his eye as they screamed and cried and begged for death. Percy, fighting a giant in the harsh sun, throwing a hand out and something exploding before Nico woke in a cold sweat. Bob the good Titan, half his face a putrid, decayed, fleshy mess, a sword sticking out of his throat, and when he disintegrated into golden dust, Percy watched, wrathful and satisfied and terrifying.

Thank the gods Annabeth started talking when she did; it wouldn’t be the first time Nico had gotten lost in waking nightmares.

“He—Akhlys wanted…us dead,” she started haltingly. “She—she summoned poison…gods, Nico, an ocean of poison—and he, he was dying, and then he wasn’t.” Her typically sharp eyes stared fearfully into nothing, her typically steady hands trembling as she recalled, “He stood back up, and he smiled, and then she was the one that was dying.

“He turned that poison on her so fast, and…he wouldn’t s-stop. It was—it was like he couldn’t hear me. No matter how much I begged, how much I pleaded—he just pushed harder. Gods, she screamed. She was in so much pain…”

Nico wasn’t sure he’d ever find it in him to forgive her, not for leaving Percy behind, but that didn’t mean he didn’t understand, now. “Annabeth…”

“And the look on his face—he loved it, Nico. The power and the pain and the hurt he was causing. And if I had stayed, if I had tried to hold him back, he—“ Annabeth choked out a sob, “—he would’ve left me, instead.

“And I can’t take that. Not him.” Annabeth’s wild eyes met Nico’s, and he could feel how it killed her to leave, how it ached down to her very soul. “My whole life, everyone I’ve ever loved—all of them have left me: my mom, my dad, Thalia, Luke…if Percy had left me behind, I finally would have broken.”

Chapter Text

The crisp, clear ding! in the middle of the battle certainly turned a few heads, because when Percy stepped out of the elevator, he was surrounded.

Dracaena. Earthborn. Cyclopes. Hellhounds. Myrmekes. Telkhines.

Percy grinned. Easy. In an instant, he lashed out, already plotting a course through his opponents, through the battlefield, to the giants in the center of the Parthenon.

It was a dance Percy knew well. Slash, parry, stab. Dodge, duck, roll. Make up something new on the spot, then keep going. The monsters were falling in droves. He was getting closer to the center, and fast.

And then he fumbled one of the moves he made up, which couldn’t really be blamed on him rather than the hellhound that dove into his elbow space, and Percy had to stop for a moment.

An earthborn took advantage and shoved him backwards. Percy hit the ground, hard. Instead of letting it faze him, he grabbed the vibration it caused and magnified it. Everything standing within range stumbled and fell. Most were impaled on the weapons of the trembling monsters next to them. The few that weren’t, Percy handled with a thought; their vessels burst, blood digging into their organs and tearing them apart from the inside.

The only thing left alive in a fifty-foot radius was Poseidon. He offered Percy a hand, hoisting him up off the ground and into an enormous hug. “My boy…”

Percy almost tensed. Almost. Instead, he burrowed into the hug, pressing his face into his father’s neck and clutching at him as if he would vanish with his next heartbeat. “I was alone,” was all he said, the only explanation he would give for the things he had done and would continue to do.

“They said you were dead,” Poseidon muttered into his ear. “I hoped…I knew, in the way a parent always knows, but I couldn’t be sure—“

“It’s okay. I knew enough for both of us.”

The sound of fighting died down around them, the last of the giants and monsters finished off. If he had to guess, based on the gasps and curses he heard, the demigods and Olympians were gathering around him and Poseidon, realizing he was alive.

He didn’t care. For right now, his father still loved him. For now, he was accepted. He didn’t know when that would change.

Fairly soon, if The Fates had anything to say about it. A piercing shriek shattered the relative silence of the post-battle air, and Percy pulled away from the hug. He knew that shriek. That was the Maeonian Drakon—

He turned toward the sound.

—and at its side stood one last giant: red skin, red scales, with rust-colored hair, wielding a bone sword.

Damasen.

“What?” Somewhere behind him, Percy heard Annabeth’s shocked gasp.

“Damasen,” Percy said. The giant eyed the group, gaze sweeping over the other demigods and gods, until they landed on Percy, and then flicked to his left.

“Percy. Annabeth. I wish we met again under better circumstances,” he said.

“And what circumstances are these?” Percy asked.

“This is a battle, is it not?” He asked. “I truly wish we could have continued on as friends.”

“We still can,” Annabeth insisted. She’d walked up behind Percy, though she was staying well away from Poseidon.

Damasen shook his head. “You told me to fight destiny,” he told her, “and it was destiny that dictated me the peaceful giant. Perhaps a war will do me some good.”

“That’s not what we meant!” Annabeth shouted, and when Percy looked back, saw her for the first time since the cave, there were tears in her eyes. She wasn’t letting Damasen go without a fight, which was more than she’d done for Percy. “We meant, be peaceful with us.”

“I’m afraid that’s no longer possible, daughter of Athena.”

“Why?”

Percy looked the giant up and down. He’d seen that weapon before. Damasen had spoken to his father, and Tartarus had sent him here.

“You went to your father.”

Damasen nodded. “I have its blessing.”

Well. Any friend of Tartarus was an enemy of Percy’s. He raised his sword. “So you’ve already made your choice,” he said coldly, staring the giant and his drakon down. “You want a fight? I’m right here.”

“Percy, no!” Annabeth cried. Percy ignored her. She couldn’t hold him back anymore.

He wouldn’t let her.

Percy charged.

Damasen was clearly an inexperienced swordsman. His swings were too broad and his footwork was sloppy. The sword itself wasn’t a balanced fit for the giant, either. He stumbled when he lifted it after a strike and he nearly dropped it when Percy parried.

The drakon was a bigger threat. It stayed on the defensive, swiping at him when he got close enough to injure Damasen. What he wanted was for it to spray poison at him, to give him something he could use. It wasn’t.

Percy backed down, changing gears from vicious offense to mindless defense, and focused on the drakon. That venom had to come from somewhere. He followed it, felt the glands running from its gums back to its throat, down to its lungs and to a pouch next to its heart.

Jackpot.

A grin grew on Percy’s face, and he took a few steps back. “You made a mistake, Damasen,” he said.

The giant lowered his sword, all too glad for a reprieve in the fighting. “It seems I have made many,” he panted. “To which are you referring?”

“Your drakon.”

Damasen looked back at his pet and frowned. “What of it?”

“It’s venomous—” Damasen’s eyes widened, “—and poison belongs to me.” The giant’s mouth formed the word Godkiller, silent and reverent and fearful, and Percy smirked.

A clenched fist, and a ragged whine tore itself from the Maeonian Drakon’s throat; moments later, it exploded. Gold dust and bright green poison flew outwards, engulfing Damasen, splattering nearby monsters, stopping just short of the now-crowded gods and demigods behind him.

The pained and tortured wailing fell on deaf ears; the only one here able to speak to this poison was Percy, and he was happy with how slowly these monsters were dying. Maybe now, they’d think twice before trying to destroy the world; maybe now, they’d let him rest.

Some poison landed on him, too—in his hair and on his face. He smiled as it rushed to rest on his wrist, ready and waiting for when he needed it.

Percy stalked forward, taking his time, stopping only to drizzle some venom on the occasional monster that wasn’t howling loud enough.

Damasen wasn’t wailing or howling or shrieking. Damasen laid on his back, covered in the remains of his drakon, slathered with venom slowly eating into his skin, and cried. At first, Percy thought he was hearing it wrong—with the hissing of melting flesh mixed with the clamoring of any living thing caught in his destruction, mishearing was a possibility.

But as he trudged closer, he knew; the sobbing was such a soft sound compared to the cacophony behind him.

“Make it stop, please,” Damasen wept as Percy walked up to his head.

“Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll let you die soon,” Percy said softly. “Is Tartarus coming after me?”

He had to wait for his answer; Damasen took a while to catch his breath, considering how close to his lungs the poison was. “It’s not happy, but…as far as I’m aware, no.”

Percy just grunted in reply. “I wish, Percy, that I had found another way to subvert destiny,” Damasen cried. “I truly am a creature of peace.”

“You can think it out back in your swamp,” Percy replied coldly. Tartarus’ sword lay abandoned in the dirt. Damasen’s eyes closed, and Percy hefted Riptide, and the only sound as the giant dissolved was Annabeth’s soft sobbing.

Percy fell to his knees, gulping down as much nontoxic air as he could. Fuck, it’s been so long. He hadn’t thought about it while he was fighting, but the atmosphere on earth was so much thinner, so much cleaner than Tartarus. Shit, he couldn’t get enough.

Hazel skidded to a stop at his side and threw her arms around him. Percy managed to keep from tensing, and eventually hugged her back. He’d missed her. He’d missed them all.

Well. Most of them.

And then Hazel gasped and backed up, and Percy opened his eyes, and everything was still a shit show. Hazel was kneeling to someone behind him, head bowed reverently, so Percy figured it was probably a god and stood up. Wouldn’t want them mistaking exhaustion for respect. “Lady Hecate,” Hazel breathed.

Percy turned to find the goddess from Epirus, from his dream. “You,” he said simply.

“Hero,” Hecate said, the word leaving their lips and turning the air around them sour. “I come to deliver a warning, as a favor.”

Percy frowned. “Then I don’t accept. I’ve killed too many of your children to be comfortable in your debt.”

Percy pretended not to hear Hazel gasp as Hecate’s features darkened. “So presumptuous,” they hissed. “No, Perseus Jackson, this is not a favor for you. It is for the world. You will have a great or a terrible destiny, hero.” Hecate looked off into the distance, eyes unfocused. “Or perhaps both. The paths of your crossroads are difficult to determine, but it is certain that with your power comes a significant fate.”

“And how is warning me of this supposed to help the world?” Percy asked. He knew what happened when people knew the future; by trying to avoid it or bring it about, they usually brought along their own downfall.

“When I said terrible, hero, I meant truly terrible,” they replied. They met his eyes and the world disappeared.

He saw the Empire State on fire, pieces of the palace above crushing the buildings below; saw a group of Sea Gods, each and every one of them terrified to the bone, and opposite them, himself, armed only with Riptide and a sharp grin; saw the throne room of the gods, each seat of power getting destroyed by something—someone, maybe—Percy himself a destructive whirlwind, deadly smirk on his face as he fought the weakened gods.

He saw himself leading the demigods against an army surrounding Camp; saw the ocean rising from its bed to violently attack a monster chasing some demigods; saw himself trying to hide behind Thalia as a statue of him is revealed on Olympus; saw himself leading sing-along at the campfire, except he was older and looked happier.

He saw good possibilities, and some not-so-good. Some he wanted, some he craved, and some he feared.

He saw his crossroads. And then Hecate looked away, and the world came spinning back into focus. It took everything in him not to fall to his knees again. “Will this warning push you closer to the good, I wonder? Or will it tip you in favor of the bad?” They shook their head. “But then, who are we to say what is good and what is bad? Know, demigod, that your Fate rests entirely in your own hands, and with it, perhaps the Fate of the entire world, as well.”

“So, nothing new, then,” Percy muttered under his breath as Mist swirled around Hecate. They were gone when it disappeared, and Percy looked back at Hazel. Percy knew he wasn’t imagining the tears in her eyes, but she took a step back when he turned.

“I…I missed you,” she whispered. Night, she looked so small standing there, surrounded by puddles of Percy’s poison and piles of golden dust, skin covered with the dust and dirt and dried blood. The sword in her hand was almost as long as her legs, and it hit Percy just how young she was.

Hazel was thirteen. Hazel was thirteen years old and she’d just defeated an army of monsters and giants and prevented Gaea’s awakening, and Percy was going take that accomplishment and tear it apart himself. His heart broke for her. His blood boiled for her.

“I missed you, too.” Percy reached a hand out, and when Hazel took it, he led her back to the others.

No one moved to touch him, and he allowed himself to relax just a bit. Frank, who seemed to have come out of the battle nearly untouched, had an arm around Jason, who had a massive red bump on his head, and the two were grinning like madmen. Leo, whose entire right leg was haphazardly wrapped in duct tape and bloody rags, tried to give him two thumbs up, but in doing so nearly toppled over before Hephaestus caught him.

Piper, whose only visible injury was a split lip, stared at him through unreadable eyes. He slowed and stared back; behind her impressive pokerface were the barest traces of fear. Next to her, Aphrodite gave him an intense, mournful look.

Through it all, Percy just kept walking. Once he got past the demigods, he dropped Hazel’s hand. He only spared the gods a glance; his vision was tunneling on one person. Zeus stared pensively at him. Poseidon couldn’t keep his relief off his face and out of the air around him; it was vibrating and hot and humid. Ares was staring at Riptide with barely-hidden horror.

Percy walked past them all until he was face-to-face with Annabeth. They stood in a tense silence until Annabeth couldn’t stand it anymore. “How did you get back?” She asked, her voice trembling.

Percy raised an eyebrow. “You mean after you freed the Doors and left me down there?” In an instant, the air surrounding them grew hot and dry and stifling, and Percy had to physically rip control from his father in order to make it stop.

“You told us he was dead,” Hazel bit. “Why—?”

“She lied to you, Hazel.” Percy’s eyes stayed glued to Annabeth’s as he said it. “She got scared, and left, and then lied to you about it.”

“I had good reason,” Annabeth countered, voice shaking. Her gaze stayed pinned on Percy, muscles tense and hand wrapped around the hilt of her sword. “You were becoming a monster.”

Percy furrowed his brows. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

“Yes,” she spat. “That is what I’m calling torturing a goddess, with a fucking smile on your face, laughing as she screams in pain.”

The silence after that was oppressive. Percy rolled his eyes. “Come on, Annabeth, have a little faith in me. I didn’t stop at torture. I did put Misery out of her own misery eventually.”

Annabeth let out a distressed noise. “Eventually?”

Percy just shrugged. “Eventually.” After he’d finished lazing in the gentle warmth of his poison. After he’d had his fun, letting it touch Akhlys in small drops that slowly and painfully bored holes in her skin. After he’d nearly drowned her with her own tears, only to replace them with venom. “Practice makes perfect, after all, and I did need practice with my poison.”

“Your poison.”

“My poison,” Percy confirmed.

“And you didn’t stop, not once, to think that maybe what you were doing was wrong?” She asked.

“What, morally wrong?” Percy shrugged. “Yeah, sure it was. But, Annabeth, we were in Tartarus. There are no morals down there. It’s kill or be killed, torture or be tortured. So you’ll have to forgive me for not taking the moral high ground.”

“I don’t think I can,” she told him. “Poison doesn’t even align with your domain, Percy—“ And didn’t he almost laugh at that, because Annabeth had unknowingly contradicted one of the teachings Nyx drilled into him.

Domain. Annabeth meant, his father’s domain that had been passed down to him. She didn’t know that, despite his mortality, poison was his domain. “—and some things aren’t meant to be controlled.”

“Oh, please,” Percy scoffed. “We’re at war, Annabeth. You think I’m becoming a monster?” He shrugged. “We need monsters. Am I pushing boundaries? Sure. Breaking the laws of nature? Aren’t we all. Doing everything in my power to make sure we win? Fuck, Annabeth, if I was doing any more, I’d be carrying the entire Night-damned war effort myself. And if I want to take a quick break from focusing on the impending apocalypse and torment a goddess who tried to kill me—if I feel like melting her skin off, choking her with poison, and liquefying her organs? Who’s gonna stop me?”

“No one should have to stop you, Percy! Some things aren’t meant to be controlled—“

“You keep saying that, but aren’t they? If they’re not meant to be controlled, then why can I control them?” He asked. Annabeth opened her mouth, but Percy kept going. “I’ll tell you why. I’m destined for poison. It is meant to be controlled, and it’s meant to be controlled by me.”

Annabeth shook her head. “No. I don’t believe that, Percy. I don’t believe that such a-a terrible and monstrous power could be a good thing—“

“Why does it have to be?”

“What?”

“Why does it have to be a good thing?” Percy asked. “Who cares? It’s mine, and it can help us win, good or not.”

“I—we’re supposed to be better than our enemies, we’re supposed to make sure what we’re doing is right, hold back—“

“Hold back? The sea doesn’t like to be restrained, Annabeth. Neither do I.”

“That doesn’t make it right, Percy! This isn’t something I should have to explain to you!” Annabeth exclaimed, and, ugh, they were back on morals. They were just going in circles.

Night’s sake. You know what? Fuck it.

“Then don’t explain,” Percy bit. “Just realize, Annabeth, that yeah, it might be wrong, but I’m tired of doing the right thing.” He turned away from her; they clearly weren’t getting anywhere. They were too different: Percy wouldn’t leave anyone behind, least of all Annabeth, and Annabeth—well, Percy wasn’t sure he knew her anymore. He couldn’t guess what she’d do.

His eyes found Ares next. “Why don’t you all give Ares and I a minute alone, hm?”

The shock was palpable, but even Zeus complied without complaint. Bonus of escaping Tartarus and proving that claims of your own death were greatly exaggerated: you got a bit of a grace period before people started calling for your head on a pike.

Percy sent a scathing glare at Poseidon, and a harsh prayer telling him to behave. Revenge is a dish best served later because Percy had some people to talk to and then a primordial goddess to kill.

When the crowd was a good enough distance away, Ares muttered, “My curse.” He stared at Riptide. “It caught up with you down there.”

“It did.” Percy cocked his head to the side. “Don’t tell me you’re feeling remorseful about it.”

“I—no, I—listen, it was never meant to reach you in Tartarus. It was meant to happen here.”

Percy scoffed. “Oh, so I’m only allowed to die painfully where you can see it?” He bit.

“Perseus, shut up for a minute, because I will never be this kind to you again.” Ares took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. “It was never meant to reach you down there because no matter how much I may hate you, you’re not my worst enemy, kid. And being without a weapon in fucking Tartarus is something I wouldn’t even wish on them.” Ares shook his head. “There are horrors down there you wouldn’t believe—“

“Wouldn’t I?” Percy asked dryly. Ares froze. “Preaching to the choir, cousin.”

“I—shit. You know what I meant. I know what’s down there, and you know what’s down there, and it’s awful, and no one should find themselves weaponless against such threats.”

And, yeah, Percy knew what he meant. “I appreciate the sentiment, man,” he said. “And I’m not holding it against you. It was—fuck, years ago, dude, and to be honest, I’d forgotten about it until it happened, and you didn’t mean for it to be down there, and I’m way too tired to hate you over it.”

“I can see why you might be tired,” Ares agreed, eyeing the dissolved remains of dozens of monsters that had found themselves suddenly turned to dust when the Maeonian Drakon exploded.

Percy nodded. “Yeah, man, once this is over, I’m gonna nap for a year,” he told him. “See you then, asshole.”

Ares clapped him on the back. “Make it a decade. If I never have to see your ugly mug again, it’ll be too soon.” Percy rolled his eyes and flipped the god off before they walked, shoving each other all the while, back to the group.

“Piper, can y—“ Percy ducked away from the War God and strategically put Frank between them, “—can you tell me how close we were?”

“Hm?” Percy had noticed Piper and Annabeth sidled up next to each other. He needed to gauge how she felt about what Annabeth did and whether this was the first she was hearing of it.

He also needed a sit rep. Two birds, one stone. “How close was it with Gaea?”

“Oh! You want—got it. Not many casualties: Jason got a nasty bump on the head, but didn’t bleed; Leo broke his leg when some griffins went for the Argo II, but no blood reached the earth; Frank had a close call, but with his shifting, all they got were some feathers—“

“Flight feathers,” Frank sulked, and Percy glanced down to see a rash on his arm, but no blood.

“Sorry, Frank. Hazel and Arion took a tumble but didn’t bleed, and Annabeth and I are fine.”

“So no one bled on the ground.”

“No,” Piper confirmed.

Percy pursed his lips and nodded. “I see.”

He hadn’t betrayed anyone yet. Gaea was still asleep, and the world was safe so long as no one bled. But if he didn’t go through with it, he would be betraying Nyx, and it had more than earned his loyalty in the time it trained him.

He found, when he thought about it, that the idea of betraying Nyx was more upsetting than the idea of betraying the demigods.

Decision made, Percy took a deep breath and lunged at Annabeth. In a blink, Riptide was out. The blood was on the ground before anyone realized what happened.

He’d sliced Annabeth’s forearm. “Percy!” She shouted, jumping to cover the wound—it was too late, and she knew it. The gods and demigods surrounding them stared at Percy in shock, while Annabeth gripped her wound and glared at him.

“Do you know why you left me, A?” Percy asked. Before she could answer, he continued, “It’s because you finally realized that I’m not a good person. Sure, I’m a hero, but only because I was born to be one. Before a hero, though, I was born a son of Poseidon—a destructive force of nature—and I’m done holding back.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He sliced his own palm with Riptide, and met Annabeth’s eyes and he let it drip. He smirked at her, standing over a small pool of sizzling blood. “I’ve got a primordial to kill.” He started walking away. The ground was weakest over…there.

“She’ll—she’ll be going to…Camp,” Jason said, shock and confusion evident in his voice. “That’s where the Athena Parthenos is.”

“Oh, trust me,” Percy called lazily over his shoulder, “she’ll come back.” With that, he bowed his head, and moments later the ground began to shake.

Chapter Text

Deliberate earthquakes were new to Percy. His first—accidental—had coincided with the eruption at Mount Saint Helens. It had caused it, in fact.

The ocean had found him, miles away from its shores, and it could not help him. So it stayed in his mind, offered its support, and sent the earth to save him from the telkhines instead. The quaking had triggered the volcano, and resulted in Percy crashing his first funeral.

The earthquakes he’d started during the Battle of Manhattan had also been accidents. He did not consider summoning an earthquake in the middle of a battleground, surrounded on all sides by skyscrapers, a good move.

And so his first conscious practice with his earthshaker powers was in stopping the quakes.

He had never summoned one on purpose before. How hard could it be, though? Feeling the ground, finding its strong and weak points was easy. As he moved to the weakest, he focused on the minuscule vibrations his footsteps made.

He could amplify them, no problem. He just had to find the right trigger.

He didn’t need a trigger to control water, anymore, but his emotions still set his powers off like crazy. And when he’d first learned he had powers, he’d had to rely on his emotions to help him control them.

So Percy closed his eyes and remembered.

He remembered his mom’s blue cookies, the happy look she got when he fussed over them and not-so-sneakily tried to steal the cooling rack with the cookies still on it. He recalled the time he’d dropped one and collapsed on the floor with a pained scream. He thought about the times he’d gotten caught sneaking the batter, and he and Mom ended up in a food fight, with more batter on them and the floor than in the stove.

The ground stayed still.

So Percy remembered his friends. His brothers-and-sisters-in-arms. The ones he’d lost, that they all lost, during the Second Titan War. Silena. Zoë. Bianca. Beckendorf. Michael Yew and Lee Fletcher. All of the Campers that had died or betrayed the gods.

Luke.

And it hurt, it killed him, the sadness and guilt clawing at his chest, but these emotions could not move the earth.

So Percy focused on his anger. His upset at the gods for not keeping their promise. Piper and Leo should have made it to Camp way sooner. Calypso should have been freed. They should have cared.

The ground trembled.

Percy thought more about Luke. About an older demigod he’d looked up to, who’d betrayed him—tried to kill him—when he was twelve. Who had spent years hurting his home and his friends. Who poisoned Thalia. Who kidnapped Annabeth. Who killed Beckendorf.

He’d been instrumental in defeating Kronos, and Percy had focused on that for so long. But that didn’t erase the rage he felt at the guy who’d manipulated him and hurt him and almost killed him so many times.

The ground roared with his thoughts.

Percy had been avoiding thinking about Annabeth. He’d loved her so much for so long, and her betrayal had blindsided him. Sure, he’d scared her, but by leaving him she forced Percy to discover a part of himself that had scared him, until Night taught him better. Every single bad thing that happened after the Doors were freed was her fault.

It was Annabeth’s fault Small Bob died at his hands. And Iapetus had said she all but killed Bob herself. Polybotes, and all the pain he’d wrought—Night, he could still feel the trident inside him if he thought about it for too long—it was all because she’d decided that he was too dangerous.

She had decided that it was her duty to keep him from his family.

Percy lost himself in the all-encompassing hate and wrath and hurt that reared its head. How could she? It wasn’t up to her to decide where he belonged. And to decide he belonged in Tartarus? Because he had scared her once?

The betrayal stung. More than anything, it stung—the corner of his eyes, the back of his throat, the center of his chest.

But it didn’t have to, did it? His body might sting, might hurt, might feel the pain as fresh as any wound, but the earth didn’t. He could escape there.

The dirt at his feet rumbled and shook and trembled as he poured himself into it. The steadiness of it, even while it was dancing to the tune of Percy’s rage and bitterness and anguish, was a comfort.

The stubbornness, matched by his own, was familiar and he sank into it without a second thought. He was everywhere and nowhere. He was a pebble and he was the whole planet.

The barest trace of a palm cupping his cheek drew him back to the Parthenon, at least. The gods braved against the rocking ground beneath their feet like it was a boat during a storm. The demigods weren’t faring any better, thought Percy was pleased to note Hazel was completely still.

The touch on his cheek vanished, and a stronger hand gripping his shoulder dragged him back to his body.

Gaea had arrived.

Chapter Text

Her laughter echoed throughout the Parthenon, cruel and gleeful and amused. “Imagine my surprise,” her melodic voice whispered, sending shivers down the spines of everyone with enough sense to fear even her words, “when I feel Mount Olympus begin to crumble, and it’s not me tearing it down.”

She smiled at Percy, and it was kinder than anything he’d seen in weeks. “It’s you.”

Percy shook his head. He reached out, and the tug in his gut answered. “No. I can’t—”

“You can,” Gaea countered. “You were—and you can keep going.” She hummed. “All that power at your fingertips—such destruction already, and you’ve only just begun.” The pulling in his gut grew. The grip on his shoulder tightened. The blue sky darkened. “Finish it,” she urged. “That mountain has stood untouched for far too long. It is a monument to all that is wrong in this world. Destroy it—deal the biggest blow to the gods yet.”

“No. I’m not doing anything for you. You’ll kill everyone.”

“I won’t. You can make sure I won’t. Join me,” Gaea goaded, “and together we can protect those you love. I can be so much better than the Olympians. Just give me the chance, Godkiller.”

Strength, it was tempting. It would be so easy. Gaea was right—the power at his fingertips, the vacuum in his gut…they called him Godkiller. They had no idea how accurate that was. All those futures Hecate had showed him, he could force them into reality. He’d already given the gods their chance—he’d asked them to change, demanded it. They swore on the Styx. But they weren’t changing. They weren’t trying.

Except…

Percy found his gaze pinned on Annabeth. She was shaking, her eyes wide. She made no effort to hide her fear, and it wasn’t a fear Percy was used to seeing from her—this time, it was fear of him. She thought he was going to betray them all, and probably that it would be her fault.

It would be, something in him whispered. Your trust in everyone, everything, has been shaken. If she had stayed, would your trust not be intact?

It would be fitting—betrayal in the face of betrayal, except he’d make damn well sure the cycle ended with his. He could. It would be so easy, but…

Maybe the gods had changed.

To Annabeth’s left was Poseidon. Percy’s glare softened. There was no fear in his eyes, on his face, in his posture. Only a storm of rage as he looked at Gaea’s hand on Percy’s shoulder. Poseidon had seen Percy massacre dozens of monsters at once, using their blood against them, and in reply he hugged him. He watched Percy slaughter the drakon with nothing but the venom inside it, and was still ready to fight on his behalf.

Despite what Polybotes thought, Poseidon still loved him. He was proud.

The gods, they hadn’t changed a lot, and not nearly enough, but…it was a start.

He let go of the pressure in his gut. A raindrop fell on his cheek.

Gaea was still waiting for an answer. “I’ve spent too much of my life afraid of myself and what I can do. I won’t do that anymore.” Percy threw his head back, a violent crunch coming from Gaea’s nose on impact, and ducked out of her grasp. “But if I wanted the gods dead, they’d be dead. I wouldn’t need you.”

In a flash, Riptide was out and leveled at her chest. “I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

Gaea clicked her tongue. “And you showed such promise, too.”

Hazel gasped, then vanished, and not even a second later, a spike erupted from the ground where she’d been standing. “Hazel!” Frank shouted. She reappeared in Percy’s peripheral vision, unhurt but shaken, and Percy let loose.

The drizzle grew until it was a downpour. Where before the air had been still with fear and suspense, it now howled with a violent wind. Thunder roared angrily, and moments later, lightning arced across the sky. It danced in the heavens until Percy called to it, and when he did, it responded eagerly.

Gaea lit up as the lightning struck her, hot and powerful and sadistic. A growl tore itself from her throat and the thunder growled in response. “I think,” Gaea snarled, “that you’ve outlived your usefulness, Godkiller.”

“You’re only useful to me dead,” Percy shot back, throwing his focus into the winds. He didn’t know how similar Gaea was to Antaeus, but separating her from the ground could only help, and the mindless, miniature hurricane he’d made when fighting Hyperion wasn’t enough for that.

A particularly strong wind brushed up against Gaea, dancing around her and testing its chances, and she laughed. “You think this will be that easy?” She bit. She dug her toes into the ground like it was sand at a beach, and soon enough her feet vanished beneath it as well, and the dirt solidified around her ankles. “Nice try.”

Next time, Percy decided, he was going to keep the wind on a tighter leash. As it was, he split his focus and poked at the ground, as well. For this to work, he’d need to harness both aspects of his father’s powers, working in tandem—Stormbringer and Earthshaker.

Gaea wasn’t making it easy. He would get the ground beneath her to loosen, just a bit, and she’d launch a boulder at someone—this time, Jason. And Percy had to throw his progress out the window to grab his blood and yank him out of the way, and by the time he turned back, it was as if he’d never touched the ground.

There had to be a better way to go about this. Percy switched to defense, leaving Gaea anchored to the earth. An earthquake wasn’t likely to throw off her balance, but maybe it’d affect her aim, he thought as he deflected a rock aimed at Piper’s head. He reached for the ground, gathering energy and storing it in the weak points.

The dirt at Annabeth’s feet started pulling her down, no matter where she stepped, and Percy split his attention. With some effort, the ground at Annabeth’s feet solidified. As she tried to regain her balance, a leaf smacked her in the face.

Percy fought down a smirk and kept fighting. While the earth stood, tense, waiting, the skies needed reigning in. The wind stopped dancing lackadaisically and started howling, curling tighter and tighter around Percy and Gaea. The rain was coming down in sheets, pounding into the ground in its own kind of silent warfare. Thunder and lightning flashed periodically, and while Percy couldn’t control it, per se, he could ask it for help. Lightning is a fickle thing, and it was all too happy to declare war on the earth.

In Percy’s peripheral, he saw the gods holding onto the demigods, as if scared they’d get blown away. If all went according to plan, they wouldn’t be the ones blowing away. He reached for the energy he’d poured into the ground. Now.

The tug in Percy’s gut amplified, and he doubled over, but kept pushing. Gale-force winds tore at Gaea, and as she resisted, the ground below her trembled and cracked. “You’re playing with things you don’t understand,” she howled over the wind. “You think you can use my element against me?”

Percy did think that. In fact, for just figuring out how to make earthquakes, he thought he was doing really well. Gaea didn’t agree, clearly, and had made it her mission to teach him just how out of his depth he was.

But really, he could just deflect whatever she threw at him, he had been for—

Unless Gaea wasn’t going to be throwing it at him. Percy swiveled around to face the others. He didn’t care about the gods—they’d reform. But the half-bloods? Ares had an arm around Frank’s shoulder, keeping him close. Annabeth was curled in her mother’s arms. Jason was hovering a few feet above Aphrodite, who loosely held Piper’s hand. Leo was in Hephaestus’s arms, gritting his teeth against the pain of his broken leg being jostled.

Percy’s eyes searched wildly. Hazel, where was Hazel—

A pained scream. More shouting. No—

Percy spun. Aphrodite kneeled on the dirt, sobbing softly. Jason had fallen from the sky to kneel behind her. Hazel—oh, thank Night, Hazel—was standing next to Aphrodite, a gentle hand resting on her shoulder. In front of them laid Piper, pale and unmoving. Percy reached, and her blood replied—her throat was cut, and he felt her heartbeat slow to a stop.

No…Piper. Piper, who was destined to put Gaea back to sleep. Percy did this. If he hadn’t woken Gaea, Piper would still be…

While he stared, Jason howled in rage and turned toward Gaea. The sky lit up, and lightning raced downwards with intent and purpose Percy could feel in his bones. Where lightning agreed to help Percy, it bowed to Jason.

As it struck, a massive spike burst from the ground. Percy barely had time to dodge—it brushed against the scar on his side strength, it was like the trident was right there as he fell backwards and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Gaea took advantage of his distraction. When he hit the ground, it didn’t stop his fall. His thoughts turned to the fall into Tartarus before he realized what was happening and a whole new set of unpleasant memories rushed to the surface. He sank into a pit of mud, just like the muskeg.

It had been…Nyx, it had been weeks since he’d thought about it. Longer still since panic had seized him like this. His throat was too tight—was he suffocating in the mud, or was he too scared?

Percy clutched at his throat. He felt for the water in the mud and forced it away from his face. He called to his storm and begged for rescue.

It didn’t do much. The stars playing along his vision told him that. He’d been so close, but instead of killing Gaea for Nyx, he was going to suffocate in a pit of dirt.

His limbs felt heavy.

He had woken Gaea intent on killing her. She’d already killed Piper. If he died here, he doomed the others to a fight they hadn’t wanted—had successfully avoided, until he came along.

Percy struggled more, tried to get out, fought to command the earth around him, but this wasn’t his domain. It was Gaea’s.

His eyes refused to stay open any longer.

Thunder rumbled—lower, louder, angrier than Percy’s had been. No, this Percy could hear through the mud of Gaea’s homemade muskeg, even through the fog of suffocation. This was divine thunder, the kind that followed a god’s wrath. Another bout of thunder roared, and then Percy was spat from the ground. As he retched and gagged up chunks of dirt, his first thought was the lack of oxygen had made him blind—he couldn’t see a thing. The darkness was reminiscent of Night’s Mansion and the surrounding void. Percy was certain. He’d lost his sight.

And then it began to recede; like a wave, it fell back, revealing the sun, the sky, the Parthenon. It vanished all too soon. Percy had felt safe in that dark.

“Oh, that meddling…” Percy, still on his hands and knees, turned to face Gaea. “It seems we are at an impasse. I find myself unable kill you.”

“What?” Percy rasped incredulously. She’d been doing a pretty fucking good job of it half a second ago.

“You have been…claimed, so to speak. Unfortunately, it’s a covenant that even now I cannot break.”

“Claimed?” Percy wrinkled his nose. That sounded…not ideal. How could he have—oh. The darkness, the thunder. Of course. Rest here, knowing you have my Blessing. It hadn’t given him its blessing to just sleep there, it actually Blessed him. Finally, Nyx’s voice sighed in his ear, a hint of a smile accompanying it.

“Killing you is no longer an option,” Gaea mused, “but there are other ways to ensure you behave.” Her form blurred, and when she was solid again, it was right in front of Percy. She grabbed him by the throat and shoved, pushing him to his knees. As he struggled, she pressed her fingertips to his forehead.

No—

Everything vanished. All he could see was a rush of gold, all he could hear was his blood roaring in his ears. Then he caught the faint rush of Gaea’s voice—a soft whisper, at first, then louder and louder until it brought him back to his senses—and the gold cleared, leaving only her face. She let him go and took a step back. “Enjoy your eternity, Perseus.”

Percy’s heart skipped a beat. “What?” Eternity? No, she didn’t mean—she couldn’t. “No—“

“Oh, yes. You may be unwilling to join me now, Godkiller, but that will change before long. I have tied your fate to the Olympians’. Only after you kill the gods and topple their thrones will you finally be granted the rest you desire so desperately.”

Percy’s thoughts screamed in his head, going a million different directions at once. He was on fire; he was numb. He was panicking and completely calm. Nothing was different, except everything was. “No, no, I—you can’t—“

“Can’t I? In fact, can’t you? It’s nothing you haven’t done before.” She smiled. “Misery was just your first, Perseus, and she won’t be your last. She won’t even be your favorite.” And Percy was reminded of how good it felt, killing Akhlys. How right.

Would killing the other gods feel the same?

Would he ever find that out?

He didn’t bother blinking away the tears in his eyes, but neither did he let them fall. Immortality. The gift he’d refused, the curse he now bore. He had so few people left that he loved and loved him, and now, because of Gaea, he was going to watch all of them die.

You don’t have to, a traitorous little voice sang to him, Kill the gods and you can die, too.

But why did Gaea get to decide that? Why did she get to control his fate? Why couldn’t it be his choice, with no interference, whether he killed the gods or not? He’d probably get tired of their shit all too soon, for Night’s sake!

Hecate had said—they’d told him, his Fate was his own to choose.

None of it made sense. Percy needed time to think, to sit down and feel all of the emotions swirling around in his head. But he couldn’t have that. Not yet.

Gaea was still alive.

Gaea, who took his choice from him, who took the future he was working towards and crushed it like a bug under her heel. Gaea, who killed Piper.

Oh, Gaea was going to wish she had left him mortal.

When Percy had killed Misery, he was angry. It was how he’d broken her control and exerted his own over the poison. Now, he had control. His rage served no purpose beyond worsening Gaea’s torment.

Percy stopped the rain. He released the winds. He thanked the lightning, and set it loose to dance in other skies. He didn’t need them anymore.

The earth stood stoic and still as Percy stared Gaea down. He didn’t need that, either.

The ground was littered with puddles—rainwater, and poison. He didn’t need the rain; those puddles evaporated with a thought. The poison, though. His poison, sensing his rage and hurt and fear and despair, crawled toward him. Not unlike how it had surrounded him at first, in Tartarus, now it lapped across the ground, circling him and Gaea.

For the first time, the primordial showed a hint of fear.

“You’re right,” Percy said quietly, relishing in the poison’s hot, dry anger; its upset at how Percy had been hurt; its sadistic desire to hurt Gaea back, a thousandfold. “Misery won’t be my favorite. You will.” And the venom lunged forward.

It was just as addicting as Percy remembered. The feeling of being whole, of a lake full of power that was his to take since he’d shattered the thick sheet of ice covering it, came rushing back. Poison itself gave Percy a clear focus he’d never had before, but this? If this is what killing gods felt like, Gaea wasted her time and power making him immortal. He never wanted to stop.

All the grief consuming him, all the anxiety buzzing around in his chest, all the fury crushing his lungs, all of it unwound and flowed out, into his poison. No longer was it some separate entity, no longer was it just ‘poison’ or ‘puddles’ or ‘venom’. His poison was extra eyes, extra arms, extra teeth and fangs and claws.

He lashed out, and his new limbs lashed out with him. He tore at Gaea with his army of new claws, grabbed at her and dragged her into the air with his new arms, bit and gouged and slashed her.

While his body attacked, his mind changed gears. Gaea didn’t have blood; through her veins ran a muddied, brackish ichor. Under Percy’s command, it started to change. Polybotes was weak. Percy didn’t need a trident to turn blood into poison; all he needed was his fury.

Gaea gasped, and the end begun. Percy’s claws and fangs dove for her mouth, for her nose, for her eyes. It bored holes in the dirt that made up her skin, melting its way to more vital organs.

Gaea’s struggling only egged Percy on. She twitched and shook and tried to throw the poison off, and all she accomplished was rubbing it in deeper. The hiss of dissolving flesh paired with Gaea’s pained, terrified scream made Percy grin.

He had tried killing her with his father’s domains, had tried being a stormbringer and an earthshaker. But what would finally kill her was Percy using his domain. His domain, no matter how twisted and cruel the others might think it, was going to save the world.

His domain, that couldn’t save Piper.

Enjoy your eternity.

With one final howl, Gaea turned to dust.

His anger didn’t dissipate. How dare she die that quickly? How dare her death be so, so…anticlimactic? How dare she die so readily after she killed Piper? How dare she upend his whole life, ensure that he’d outlive everyone he loved and she gets to die that easily?

He wanted to bring her back. He wanted to kill her over and over again until he was satisfied with how much pain she’d been through. Until his anger drained out of him. Until she fixed him, made him mortal again.

He wanted to torture her until what he did to Akhlys looked like mercy.

Percy fell to his knees. Nothing felt real. Everything was numb. Would the numbness just get worse as he lived on, forever?

Footsteps behind him wrenched him from his misery. “What have you done?” Zeus asked softly.

Percy looked up at him, held his gaze. “Nothing you wouldn’t expect from someone sired by the Father of Monsters,” he replied evenly. Zeus’ hand tightened around his lightning bolt, but eventually he seemed to remember that he couldn’t kill Percy now.

“We must…discuss,” he frowned, “what has transpired here today.”

“You can discuss between yourselves.” Percy gestured at the gods. “We need to…Piper needs a proper burial. I can barely keep my eyes open. And, hell, if the others don’t need sleep, they’re stronger than I am.” Percy turned to look at the demigods behind him, and those who weren’t staring at him in shock or staring at Piper blankly were nodding and looking at the Argo II wistfully.

“Very well,” Zeus relented gruffly, still eyeing Percy weirdly. “You may return to your ship and prepare for your trip back to Camp.”

“Brother, we can’t just—“

“Poseidon, I swear to the Fates—“

“—saved the world, in my son’s case for the second time—“

“—times must I tell you not to interfere—“

“—send them home? It can’t hurt anyone—“

“—able to travel on their own—“

“—just a few hundred miles, what’s the harm—“

“How about,” Percy loudly interrupted the bickering brothers, “you take us to Camp or I do it, and trust me, if I do it, we’ll all be joining Piper shortly. Sound good?”

Zeus paused; eventually, he must have realized that Percy knew nothing about being a god and was telling the truth, and withered under Percy’s glare. “I suppose that could work,” he grumbled.

“Couldn’t it?” Percy agreed dryly.

Zeus ignored him; he walked up to Jason and held his hand out. Jason blinked in confusion, but grabbed it, and vanished. Zeus went around to each of them—Annabeth, Leo, Hazel, and Frank—until he found himself before Percy, offering his hand. Percy gripped his arm, and Zeus tightened his hold. “We’ll lay her in the infirmary. But prepare yourself, Perseus. We are not the only ones who want an explanation,” he said, and Percy’s surroundings vanished.

Zeus’ hand disappeared from his grip as the open Athens sky melted into the walls of his cabin. The trickling of his fountain replaced the gods’ tense silence. The gleaming bronze hippocampi replaced the setting sun. Bunk beds Percy hadn’t seen in over a year replaced the ruins of the Parthenon. And five exhausted, confused, and grief-stricken half-bloods replaced the gods.

So that’s what Zeus meant.

Shit.

Chapter Text

“Percy…” Jason shook his head. “What the hell was that?” Percy just had to glance at him to notice how he was shielding the others; a step ahead of them, arms out placatingly, but also discreetly corralling them behind him.

“Jason,” Percy replied. “You’ll have your answers, I promise. I’m just asking for five hours to sleep, first.”

“Piper is dead, Percy. She was killed by a goddess you woke up,” he spat.

“Listen, Jason, if I had known, man, I never would have—”

“Why would you even wake her in the first place?” Jason demanded. “We killed the giants. If we had just left, she wouldn’t have been a problem!”

“I made a promise—“

“To whom?” Jason’s heart was pounding against his chest, demanding to be let out if only so it could kick Percy’s ass.

“You’ll know, Jason,” Percy told him, pushing his blood back, slowing it down just enough that his heart rate would fall. “I promise, you’ll know everything. But I’m beat, man. Look at the others. Leo’s on the ground, Hazel’s eyes are closed—just five hours.”

“I can’t wait, Percy, not now that Piper’s—“ His voice faltered and he let out a heavy sob. His heartbeat slowed, Jason’s anger fell away to reveal his grief.

“You know how long it’s been since I slept last, Jace?” Percy asked. Grieving demigods were easier to bargain with than angry ones. “I got maybe half an hour a few days ago, man.” Which may or may not be true, he wasn’t sure. Time and Tartarus don’t mix, after all. All Percy knew was, the words in his mouth felt like lead and telling the whole story might actually kill him then and there. “I’ve got a killer headache, and I can barely keep my eyes open. You need to rest, too, man. You’ll know everything you need to, after we sleep.”

Jason blinked tears from his eyes and glanced back at Annabeth. When it became clear she had no objections—or, at least, was unwilling to voice them—he sighed and bowed his head. “Yeah, alright, man. Five hours. That’s it,” Jason pressed sternly, poking Percy in the chest. And hell, Percy knew he was trying to be just menacing enough to drive the point home, but he wasn’t exactly intimidating.

He didn’t tell Jason that, though. “Thanks, Jason.” Percy turned to his bunk and collapsed in it, noting the others whispering to each other as they filed out the door. There was a silent pause, and then it shut.

Only when he was alone did Percy relax and close his eyes. Sleep crept in slowly, but eventually Percy was overtaken by a lightness that typically comes with a demigod dream. Huh. Could he still get those?

He opened his eyes.

Percy was surrounded by darkness—an infinite, living darkness that pulled on the edges of his being. “Nyx?” He called out.

“Godkiller,” it greeted with a smile. “Thank you for returning my sister to me.”

“Did you know?” Percy asked with a shaking voice. “That she would make me—“ He cut himself off and shook his head, “—that she would do this?”

“Oh, young one…” A hand caressed his cheek and Percy let out a shuddering breath and burrowed into the touch. “Had I known, I would never have asked this of you. Did you know, it was under your own power that you stayed mortal when you killed my daughter?”

He blinked. “What?”

Night nodded. “Such is the burden of Misery that should Akhlys be killed, her killer must guard her domain until her return. But you, Godkiller…you were so attached to your mortality that you subverted fate, cast off Misery, and remained mortal.”

Percy snorted derisively. “Well, it didn’t really matter, did it? Gaea just—“ He grit his teeth. “Why couldn’t she kill me?” He demanded. “Tartarus was able to do it! I would’ve preferred to die there than—than be this!”

The void around him grew heavy with sorrow. “I am so sorry, my Blessed. Had I known—“ It shook its head. “We primordials have an ancient covenant, similar to your gods’ ancient laws. Put simply, it stops infighting and violence between us.”

“You guys can’t just get along?” Percy demanded sarcastically.

“Would you take the risk?” Night replied. “Imagine a war between Earth and Sky. Imagine the chaos Night fighting Day could cause. Think of how rapidly life would cease if Tartarus declared war on Earth. How quickly all would perish if Mountain fought Sea?” Percy pursed his lips and nodded. Fair point; that didn’t sound like a good time.

“And so, under the covenant, life is protected. One primordial cannot act against another without severe penalties.”

“Except I’m not a primordial—“

“Ah, but I am, and you are my Blessed.” Understanding flooded through him. “To kill you, godling, Gaea would have had to pay a massive toll. She would have been weakened to a point where defeat would be inevitable. And so, since she had no chance of victory, she made it so you both lost.”

“But…Tartarus killed me. Why…?“

“There are none more powerful than Tartarus, especially in its own domain. Should it need more power, it can simply siphon more from reforming beings. It paid the price for your death, Godkiller, and yet it was of no cost at all.”

Percy furrowed his brows. “Could it do it again?”

The darkness around him grew angry. “That, I think, I will not deign to answer.” Percy huffed and bit his cheek. Worth a shot. “What you need, Godkiller, is time. Time to recover, time to mourn, time to get used to your new reality. Decide what to do next after things settle down.”

“Next?” Percy asked.

“Your immortality is conditional, is it not?” A chill ran up Percy’s spine. It was. “Then you have a decision to make, my Blessed. I will support you, so long as that decision is not made in haste.”

“You would help me kill the gods?”

“I would help you end the world, if you asked,” Night replied simply. Percy’s train of thought stuttered. He knew Nyx had earned his trust, his loyalty, but…had he earned its? While it would always be older, more powerful, this conversation felt different than before. Instead of primordial and demigod, mentor and student, this felt like a conversation between friends…maybe even family?

For all he had lost to Tartarus, he was glad this was something he’d gained. “I…Thank you,” Percy managed.

“Of course. Wake now, young one. You have company.” And the living darkness, the one that had grown to be a comfort, receded, leaving only the faded black behind Percy’s eyelids.

He became acutely aware of the trickling of his fountain, the waves crashing on the beach in the distance, and most importantly, a fast, anxious heartbeat. There was only one person it could belong to. “If you’ve come to kill me,” Percy said, and the heart skipped a beat, “you’re a few hours too late.”

He opened his eyes to the sight of an empty cabin greeting him. “I thought the hat didn’t work anymore.”

A pause, then, “The statue,” was all she offered in reply. It was all that was needed.

His eyes trailed the intricate bronze hippocampi hanging from the ceiling. “Why did you leave?” Percy asked softly.

Annabeth’s voice cut like hard steel. “You became a monster, Percy.”

He scoffed. “You really expect me to believe that’s it?”

“It’s the truth!” Annabeth spat. “You didn’t even try to stop it. You dove in headfirst. You turned yourself into a monster.”

“So did Luke.” She didn’t have to be visible for him to know she flinched. “First he turned himself into a monster, and then a Titan, and the whole time, you tried to save him rather than leave him behind or kill him.” Percy let out a shaky breath. “Why wouldn’t you do that for me?”

If she noticed the break in his voice, she didn’t comment. She didn’t say anything at all, and it wasn’t until she slowly removed her hat that Percy realized she was crying.

“Because…I could survive Luke choosing Kronos over me. But…if I made you choose? You would have left me,” Annabeth sobbed softly. Percy opened his mouth to object, but she pushed forward: “Don’t pretend that was for me, Percy. Don’t do that to me. If you were doing it for me, you would have stopped when I begged. That was for you, and you were so…so violently thrilled that I couldn’t snap you out of it.” And…he would have, wouldn’t he? He would have stopped, if it was for her. But he didn’t—because to him, Misery’s pain was satisfying, was righteous.

“I had never been that scared before, and I wasn’t scared of you, I was scared for you. I thought I was caring for you when you weren’t; I thought you’d…wake up, and be horrified at what you had done, but…then you started smiling. You were smiling, and then you laughed, and when she started screaming, you laughed harder.

“And then I was scared of you; scared of you, and what you would do if I stopped you. The look in your eyes…I’ve seen it before. I knew, with everything in me, that you would leave me if I tried to stop you.”

Annabeth was wrong, though. Nothing had been as important to him as she was. Percy’s blood was singing, was crying, was screaming that No, Annabeth, I never would have left you. Never.

But some new part of him wondered. Would he have given up his poison for her? Would he give it up for anyone? What would he have done if she had offered him an ultimatum—his new powers, or her? He wanted to say it wouldn’t even be a choice. That he wouldn’t hesitate for a second. He’d never cared about having power, never wanted more, but this? Would he let his poison go?

He would never know.

Annabeth sniffed and wiped at her nose. “You would have ended up leaving me anyway, when I tried to hold you back. And I can’t take that, not from you. If you left me, it would have been too much. I would have finally broken. My mom, my dad, Thalia, Luke—all of them, I could handle. But you?” She shook her head as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Not you. Never you. So, instead of letting you leave me, I—I left you.”

He would never know, but neither would she.

Annabeth took a deep, shuddering breath. “And—and it was the ha-hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I—but I’d do it again in a heartbeat to s-save myself from you.” She ended in a whisper.

The reason this hurt so much was because both Percy and Annabeth were right, and they were both wrong. They could spend the rest of their lives agonizing over it, but they’d never know.

“I can’t blame you for being scared, Annabeth,” Percy started. She looked over at him cautiously, waiting for the catch. “But I can blame you for leaving. And I both can and will blame you for everything that’s happened since. It’s your fault that I had to kill Iapetus.” It’s your fault I butchered Small Bob, he didn’t say. He knew what he’d done, but saying it out loud would make it real. He wasn’t ready for that. “It’s your fault that Polybotes almost turned my blood into poison. It’s your fault that Tartarus itself killed me as I was leaving.”

“You died?“

“Died? I was slaughtered, Annabeth. And fuck, looking back, I wish I stayed dead, but Death owed me a favor, so I’m here, and I’m immortal, and I blame you for that, too. Night, A, I don’t want to hate you. Maybe one day I won’t. But if you hadn’t left, I wouldn’t be trapped in an eternity I don’t want. I’d be mortal.” Piper might still be alive, he didn’t say. She might have survived, or they all might have died. It was another what-if scenario.

But Piper was dead, and it was Percy’s fault. It was Nyx’s fault. And it was Annabeth’s fault.

There was only one way to keep the hollow feeling in his chest at bay—keep moving. He could mourn Piper later. He could rage at Annabeth later. Now, he had scared demigods to placate.

“It’s time.” Percy hefted himself off of his bed. He opened his drawer in the cabinet next to his bunk, and stared. Hell, how long had it been since he’d put on clean clothes? He grabbed the shirt that looked the softest, paired it with his favorite jeans, and went to change in the bathroom.

He didn’t look in the mirror. He could feel the blood caked on his skin, the dark circles under his eyes, the golden monster remains dusting his hair, the healing cuts and raised scars he’d gotten. Maybe, when he cleaned himself up, he’d look. For now, all he had time for was deodorant.

Annabeth was standing at the cabin door, waiting for him. Strength, it was a sight he was so used to, but it was different, now. He’d always been giddy whenever she’d go somewhere with him, before. Now it felt like she was waiting to walk him to the gallows. “Get the others?” He asked, closing the door behind him.

“Rec room?”

“Where else?”

Wordlessly, they split.

Annabeth had four demigods to find. It would take a while. Long enough for him to slow his pace and stare at everything like it was his first day.

More cabins had gone up since last summer. The expansions took the cabin area right to the edge of the strawberry fields. Some of the cabins, Percy recognized from the plans he’d commissioned from Annabeth. Others had newer designs, each catered to the god whose children it housed.

He nodded to Hestia at the hearth as he walked past. The smile she sent him was sad.

Percy couldn’t muster up a smile in return.

He’d been on high alert since before he fell—Night, he still didn’t know how long he’d been in Tartarus. All he could gather was that it was late summer, and school wouldn’t start for another few weeks—some kids he recognized as summer campers were still here. Here at Camp, though? This might be the only place in the world where he could relax.

The tension bled from his body as he passed the canoe lake, the lava wall, the forges. Finally, he reached the volleyball court, and approached the Big House. As he grew closer, he became more aware of the campers staring at him in awe. A tidal wave of whispers followed him, but no one stood in his way. Maybe it was because he was covered in grime. Maybe he was radiating “don’t talk to me” vibes. Either way, he was glad of it.

The porch was empty. Percy let himself inside.

He almost laughed as he closed the door behind him. Despite everything that had happened—despite being kidnapped, chased across the country, across the ocean, across the ancient lands, despite falling into Tartarus, becoming a monster, becoming more, despite returning and killing the earth itself—despite everything that had changed, it still smelled like the same shitty instant coffee Chiron liked, and Dean Martin was playing softly in the background.

It was like nothing had changed at all. If Percy had more time, he’d revel in the fantasy. As it was, he flicked the off switch on the radio and headed to the rec room. Seymour whined at him as he passed, and Percy relented and turned back to quickly scratch his ears.

Percy slid the door to the rec room open, and immediately slid it shut again.

There was a goddess sitting on the ping pong table.

Percy opened the door a crack and took a quick peek.

Correction: there was a goddess sitting on the ping pong table, quietly crying her eyes out.

Percy took a deep breath, and walked in. Aphrodite looked up, saw Percy, and started bawling even harder. Fuck. “I am…” Percy shook his head, “so sorry, Aphrodite.” Her only response was more tears. “I know it’s my fault, and if I had known, I never would have—“

“Oh, Percy,” she cooed softly, “I don’t blame you.” She held her arms out for a hug, and Percy felt he owed her at least that, so he wrapped his arms around her. “I only blame Gaea, and you killed her.” With one last squeeze, the goddess let go. “I try not to have favorite children, you know,” she said tearfully, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

Percy sat in a fold-up chair and looked up at her. “Really?”

She nodded. “And typically, I’m good at it, but…” Aphrodite turned to look Percy dead in the eyes. “Love isn’t kind, Percy. It’s wild, and cutthroat, and the strongest bond, yet the most delicate thing there is. My children all encompass love, and so, it’s rare that they’re kind, too.”

Aphrodite looked down, and Percy noticed the pictures in her hand. In one, Silena sat on Beckendorf’s shoulders, reaching for the sky with a huge grin covering her face. In the other, Piper sat by the campfire, staring at Jason like he was the sun, the moon, the stars. Aphrodite smiled at the pictures, even as a tear dripped on them. “But my kind children…oh, Percy, my sweet, kind, often naive children? Every single time, they manage to worm their way into my heart, and I love them all the more.”

“We all did, too.” Percy stared at the picture of Silena, remembering how there wasn’t a single kid at Camp who’d speak ill of her. And Piper—she was rougher around the edges, less confident in her parentage, but loving and kind all the same. “Piper was…” Percy had been trying to shutter his feelings since she’d died.

First, he’d had a fight to finish, and then he needed sleep, and then he’d rushed into meeting with the others. But focusing on other things wasn’t fixing the devastation he felt. He didn’t know Piper nearly as well as the others had, but he could have seen her becoming one of his best friends, given time. He could see it in her jokes, in her style, in her attitude. “I didn’t know her well, you know?” He started. “And, that’s made it easy to mask, I guess, to pretend I’m not affected.” He shook his head. “The truth? Her death is entirely my fault, and I can’t even stop to mourn her, because I’m still in the middle of the action. The war isn’t over yet, not for me, and until it is, I can’t mourn her, not like she deserves.”

“Are you planning to kill us, then?” Aphrodite asked calmly.

Percy shook his head. “Not today, at least.”

“Then just sit with me?” She asked. “We can mourn Piper now, until the others show up.”

Percy nodded slowly. “I can do that. I can mourn her with you.” He pursed his lips. “But once they get here, it’s go time. Is Olympus ready for a post-war debrief?”

“We can be,” Aphrodite replied.

“One last thing?” Aphrodite hummed her assent. “You promised, once, to make my love life interesting. I need to know—was it you?”

“Oh, Percy,” Aphrodite said mournfully, placing a hand on his cheek. “I wish I could give you someone else to blame. I wish I could say it was me, that I ripped you apart. But even my influence cannot reach into Tartarus. Her choice was her own.”

It was what he’d expected, but the words still pierced his heart. Percy nodded his thanks, and the two fell into a comfortable silence. Only when Aphrodite grabbed Percy’s hand and began to sob softly into her kerchief did it break.

It wasn’t long, but it was enough. The porch door opened loudly, and Leo’s complaints about his leg drifted through the house. Percy squeezed Aphrodite’s hand as he stood. “Piper might be gone,” he said, “but you do have other children. I know they’d really appreciate it if you went to mourn with them.”

Aphrodite’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I’d love that. Thank you, Percy.”

“Thank you, too.” She smiled, and when she vanished, she left behind only the faint scent of sea foam and roses.

Percy squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and slid the door open. “He’s already here!” Leo exclaimed. “You weren’t waiting long, were you?” He asked. He gestured to the wheelchair he had been relegated to. “We’d have gotten here faster, but neither Jason nor Frank would give me a piggyback ride.”

“I told you,” Frank frowned, “it’d jostle your leg. It can’t heal right if you don’t keep it still.”

“Hey, is this our broken leg?” Leo snarked. “No? Then keep your trap shut, Zhang, and give me piggyback rides! You can turn into how many animals and none of them would work? That’s sick, man. Sick.” Frank scoffed.

Leo wheeled himself in and parked the chair at the head of the table. Jason filed in after him, taking the stool to his right. Frank and Hazel took the chairs to his left, and Annabeth took the other head. Percy propped himself up on the rickety old barstool in the corner.

As Leo finished poking at Frank, silence fell, and their eyes turned to him. “So,” Percy pursed his lips, “where do we start?”

“What happened in Tartarus?” Hazel demanded. It hadn’t escaped Percy’s notice that she was as far from Annabeth as she could be. “Why did you two split up?”

Percy spared Annabeth a glance. “You want this one, A?”

She looked miserable. “My side, then yours?”

Percy shrugged. “Sounds fair.”

With a nod, Annabeth began, “It started when he killed Arachne.” Percy raised his eyebrows. This part was new to him. “He was so fast, I didn’t even see him move. It just…made me realize. That Percy, more than any of us, has been trained to exterminate these monsters, no questions asked. He’s the best of us, but…I just started to wonder. That can’t be healthy.”

“Okay, maybe save the psychoanalysis until you’ve at least talked it over with me first?” Percy asked. Annabeth’s eyes widened, and she blushed. Percy knew that look; so much had happened and they’d argued so much since he came back that she’d forgotten what they had and hadn’t talked about.

“Right,” She muttered, biting her lip. “Right. The next time was when Bob the friendly Titan came to help.”

“Who the what-now?” Leo asked.

“Titans aren’t friendly,” Jason puzzled.

“No, they’re not,” Percy told them, “unless, of course, you throw them into the River Lethe and tell them, when they come out, that their name is Bob and you’re great friends.” Percy shrugged. “Then they’re very friendly.” Blank stares and dropped jaws were the only reactions.

When half a minute passed and still no one said anything, Annabeth continued. “Bob showed up, and he was just…so innocent, and friendly, and it occurred to me that Percy had been manipulating him for years. While he lead us through Tartarus, Percy convinced him to do even more things to prove their friendship. He talked Bob into killing Hyperion before he could finish reforming, and…it just…didn’t sit right, you know?”

Percy blinked. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Did you want me to tell you to stop manipulating the Titan right in front of the Titan?” Annabeth bit, and Percy had to shrug. That was fair.

“And finally, Bob lead us to the goddess of misery.” The demigods subconsciously leaned in. They’d been given crumbs of knowledge, and now, finally, the whole story would be theirs. All eyes were on Annabeth, ready to listen with rapt attention. “The plan was, she’d give us Death Mist, as a cover to hide from the monster army surrounding the Doors.”

“She didn’t want to give it up, did she?” Leo guessed.

“No, she gave it to us all too easily. But it literally turned us into smoky corpses, and she took advantage of that. I…she almost killed Percy. There was—there was so much poison…an ocean of it, surrounding him, and he fell and I thought it was over.” Annabeth shook her head, and Percy glanced down at her trembling hands.

“It happened in a split second—suddenly, Percy wasn’t dying and Akhlys was.” She swallowed. “I told him to stop. He kept going. She was choking on her tears, and dissolving so slowly…she was in so much pain, and Percy kept going. He wasn’t stopping. It was so slow, and purposeful, and…and he was laughing. So I ran. I ran out of the cave, and took Bob the Titan with me, and I had him lead me to the Heart, where the Doors were.”

“And you freed them and left without Percy,” Frank finished, and Annabeth confirmed it with a nod.

“How’d that go, by the way?” Percy asked. “I got there…I don’t know, minutes later, and everything was gold.”

“Bob and I used the leftover supplies from Damasen to make Phlegethon-water Molotov cocktails, and they were…really effective. Then we fought the Titans guarding the Doors and that was that.”

And that was that. Percy was looking forward to telling his story, sharing how Bob died the moment Annabeth left him, just like part of Percy had. “My turn?” He asked.

“Go for it.”

And Percy did. He described in explicit detail what he did to Akhlys. He relived it as he told the story, and Night, maybe he’d have to tell the story a dozen more times. Pride wasn’t typically his thing, but it wasn’t himself he was proud of—it was his poison. Together, they’d broken a goddess, and fuck if it wasn’t an addicting thought.

“That was when I noticed Annabeth wasn’t there.” Hazel winced, and Annabeth dropped her head. “I made to leave, but the chasm on the other side—you remember, A? Chaos was there, but so was Nyx.”

He didn’t go into as much detail talking about Night. Something about their conversations felt private, personal almost. He told them it gave him advice, and that it gave him access to its Mansion, and that was it. He compared the Mansion to the Labyrinth, explained how he got lost and then found his way again.

From there, it was a scant few details until he started describing his own experience at the Heart. “No Doors,” he confirmed. “Only a huge, empty doorframe, and Bob standing next to it, holding the button.” His gaze pierced Annabeth. “You left him behind, too.”

“It…it was the only way. Someone had to hold the button, and he was the only one I could trust—“

“That’s bullshit and you know it. You knew that I was planning on staying behind to close them myself. You knew I’d try to send you up alone, but you were too scared to face me and you deserted Bob.”

“I—“

“I got there,” Percy spat, voice shaking with rage, “and he was catatonic. He just stood, holding the button, repeating lines of prophecies—and looking back now, it makes sense why—and when he woke up, he wasn’t Bob anymore. Bob was dead.” Annabeth’s eyes widened. “My friend was dead because he didn’t want to live knowing he was so easy to abandon, and Iapetus was a bitch to kill.”

“The Piercer?” Frank exclaimed.

“Yeah. He’s great with a broken broom handle, man.” Percy rubbed his side. “But I managed. And as soon as he died, I got knocked out.”

They all groaned. “Demigod dream,” Frank muttered.

“Demigod dream,” Percy confirmed. “I saw you guys, fighting a giant in a cave, and then I saw Annabeth lie to all of your faces and shut Nico up and—“

“Nico!” Hazel’s eyes widened and she slammed her fist on the table. “I can’t believe it. I’m going to be an only child again.”

Frank furrowed his brows. “You don’t have to—“

“No, no, I am,” Hazel nodded, “I’m going to kill that depressed Italian midget so hard—“

“But then I’d be sad,” Percy cut in. Hazel floundered for a moment before conceding, but she crossed her arms and glared at the table like it was the reason they were in this mess in the first place. “So. Demigod dream. I have to wake up and fight Polybotes off, which got a lot harder after he turned half my blood into poison—“

Leo did a double take. “What the fuck—“

“—but it’s all good though, I took care of it. Polybotes fucks off to wherever giants fuck off to when they’re in Tartarus, and I go back to Misery’s Cave, because it’s the only relatively safe place I can think of, and I’m half-dead and barely awake.”

Frank furrowed his brows. “But…Nyx—“

“That’s where it gets interesting,” Percy interrupts. “Night was actually—“

The door slid open. “Oh, and what is this paltry little gathering?” Mr. D asked, sticking his head in the room.

Annabeth opened her mouth to explain, but Percy beat her to it. “Fuck off, Wine Dude,” he bit. “We’re busy.”

Dionysus raised an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t get that decade-long nap yet, did you, Perry?”

“Nope.” Percy shook his head. “And I won’t, until after we finish up here and meet with the gods. Feel like being the messenger?”

“Feel like being a dolphin?” Percy just held his gaze. “Oh, fine,” he relented. “I need to speak with my father anyway. Brat.” The door slammed shut behind him, and Percy turned back to the group.

They stared at him. He stared at them.

“I was talking about something.” He frowned. “What was I talking about?” Strength, Gaea went to all the effort to make him immortal and still he had to deal with ADHD. What a bitch.

“Nyx’s cave,” Leo volunteered.

“Right!” Percy snapped. “The cave. Nyx was…really chill, actually. It let me stay and promised it would keep me safe while I slept. When I woke up, we talked. Nyx had seen what I did to Akhlys, and it told me…it said that I had enough power to kill Gaea. In exchange for helping me escape, it wanted to train me in my powers, so that I would use them to kill her. They’d be reunited.”

“Night was lonely,” Hazel realized. Percy nodded.

He skimmed through what happened afterward. The deal was the most important part. He brushed over the basics of his training, and gave few details of his journey to the Keres. He swiftly and firmly shut down any questions about Tartarus showing up, his death, and how he came back.

“That catches us up to Athens,” he bit, daring them to make him talk about the things he very specifically did not want to talk about. “If you need me to tell you about what happened there, your short-term memory is a lost cause and I won’t bother to explain something you’ll just forget again anyway.”

Leo scoffed. “Well, maybe I wanted clarification on why Zeus was wearing that color toga with those sandals, but go off, I guess,” he muttered as he made a face. Hazel stifled a laugh.

“Maybe I wanted clarification as to why you managed to keep everyone safe up until Gaea killed Piper,” Jason bit. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that none of us got a scratch while you two were fighting until then.” The tension that had given way into shock and horror during his story returned tenfold.

“I tried, Jace. I really did. And for a while, you guys were safe.” Percy looked over at him. “Didn’t you hear what she said right before? She was proving that her control over her domain was absolute.”

“So my—so Piper’s dead because Gaea wanted to prove a point to you? Gaea, who you woke up?” Percy could see where this was going. It wasn’t exactly a surprise, but he’d hoped telling them all why he woke Gaea up would make them see his side of things.

“I just told you why I did that, man—“

“Yeah, because some primordial you’d spoken to twice asked you to! What about us? You knew we were fighting to keep her asleep, had already successfully prevented her from waking up, and you just betrayed us and woke her anyway! I thought you were supposed to be loyal!” He ended in a shout. The others all froze as anger previously uncharacteristic of Jason took over.

Percy narrowed his eyes. “And who would you expect me to be more loyal to, Grace?” he asked lowly. “What have you done that entitles you to my loyalty? What, just because you’re a demigod means I should be ready to sacrifice everything for you? Or is it because we’re both part of the prophesied seven, or maybe that we’re cousins?” Percy shook his head. “We were sent on a quest together, but just because we spent months cramped on a warship doesn’t mean you get my loyalty. So I should pick you, Jason? Over Night? Who saved my life in Tartarus, who helped me get out? No biggie, right?”

Jason furrowed his brows. “If it meant keeping us safe—“

“Gaea would have woken up somehow, Jason. One way or another, sooner or later.” Jason didn’t back down as Percy kept going. “And, sure, I met Nyx twice total. But in the half-hour of actual conversation we had before I made that promise, it had been more useful to me than you had in weeks.”

Percy leapt off his chair and started toward the doors. “If you want to question my loyalty, Jason? Question whether you ever had it in the first place. I don’t owe you loyalty.”

The room was dead silent but for whispers of Dean Martin flitting through the door. Hazel shook her head. “We can’t blame Percy, Jason. None of us were able to keep her alive, either. We didn’t even use the Physician’s Cure.”

Jason jolted upright. “The Physician’s Cure. Where is—I need—“

Annabeth shook her head, eyes downcast. “We…we tried, Jason. It needs to be administered immediately, and…we were too late.” Jason cried out. Percy didn’t even know what they were talking about, but Jason looked like he had the sky resting on his shoulders.

All sympathy Percy may have had for him was gone, thrown out into the air with Jason’s accusations. “I’m done explaining myself to you,” he said instead. “It’s time to meet with the gods.”

Jason whimpered. “How are you still going?” He asked.

“I’m just better at compartmentalizing than you are.” Percy turned, intent on leaving the remaining mortal Five in the rec room. He slid the door open violently, and immediately got punched in the chest.

“Oh, my gods,” Nico gasped. “You are back.” And Percy found himself wrapped in the shortest, warmest hug he’d had in months. He looked down at Nico’s mop of black hair as he dug into the hug. This kid…

“Nico, I—“

“I don’t know what happened down there.” Nico turned his face up to look Percy in the eyes. “And I don’t care. I just care that you’re here and you’re safe.” He burrowed into the hug again, and this time, Percy hugged him back.

He ignored the sting in the back of his throat. He ignored the prickling in the corners of his eyes. He ignored everything that wasn’t his cousin—his little brother—in his arms, hugging him because for now, at least, he still loved him.

Percy hoped against all hope that that wouldn’t change.

“Oh!” Nico finally pulled away. “I almost forgot. The Romans are moving.”

Oh, for Night’s sake. He’d forgotten about the fucking Romans.

Chapter Text

Percy stormed out of the Big House, mentally mapping out his next move. It would either go very well or very poorly. The good news was, Nico hadn’t left his side. He still had time to get information. “You said they’re moving?” He asked as Hazel and the others filed out of the door behind them. “Moving how?”

“They can’t get through the border,” Nico told him. The two of them started towards Thalia’s tree, trudging through the strawberry fields. The fruit’s sweet aroma filled the air, mingling with the tension that had settled around the Camp. “Chiron and the Hecate cabin messed around with it, and it keeps them out, so they’ve been laying siege. But now, they’re gearing up and getting in formation.”

“Do we know why?” Nico shook his head. “Has anything changed in the last 24 hours?” Another head shake. Percy pursed his lips.

“Do you have a plan?” Nico asked, ducking a few wayward vines.

“I have maybe…12% of a plan,” Percy replied.

Nico crossed his fingers. “Is it at least a good plan?”

Percy gave him a look. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

“I had a brief moment of hope,” Nico sighed. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m not…completely sure yet,” Percy replied. “I’m gonna need Clarisse and Malcolm at the tree.” Nico nodded and shrunk into one of the growing shadows of the approaching dusk. Percy strode forwards, building his plan in his mind’s eye. All he had to do…

Leo cursing loudly behind him, swearing on anything he could think of that he’d one day build an off-road wheelchair, made Percy stop and think. There were five demigods of prophecy behind him. Those were kind of a big deal—if anyone knew that, Percy did.

His plan grew to include them, and with them, the chances of success grew as well. This could work.

Percy reached the bottom of the hill and turned. Frank was carrying Leo, bridal style, while Annabeth had the wheelchair folded up and thrown over her shoulder.

Hazel and Jason trailed behind—Hazel, deep in thought; Jason, staring at him intently.

Percy turned and started up the hill, purely because he couldn’t cover his smirk in time. This really could work. Nico, Malcolm, and Clarisse stood around the tree. “Nico,” Percy called. “I need Will and his first aid kit, too.” Nico’s face spasmed, and he turned away and melted into Thalia’s Tree’s shadow before Percy could ask why.

Malcolm welcomed Percy back to Camp with a warm smile and a nod. Percy returned the gesture. Clarisse, on the other hand, decked him in the jaw the second he turned toward her. His head flew to the side and he stumbled back.

“I missed you, too, Clarisse,” Percy bit. “Did the Romans see that?”

Malcolm peeked over the hill. “Not that I can tell,” he guessed. “No one’s cheering.”

“Ha, ha,” Percy sneered, sticking his tongue out. A quick survey of the heartbeats on the other side of the hill had him convinced that Malcolm was right. No one had noticed them yet. He didn’t have to retaliate.

“I need opinions, very specifically from you,” he pointed to Clarisse, “and you,” he turned to point at Malcolm.

“Alright. I think you should kill them all,” Clarisse huffed. Jason let out a shocked exclamation.

“That is the very last resort and not what I need to ask about.” She raised an eyebrow, because she could hear the honesty in his voice and clearly wanted to know more. “I was thinking, I could just issue a challenge for a duel to the death,” he mused aloud.

“Percy,” Jason stressed, “you can’t die. That’s completely unfair—“

“Only if I lose,” Percy countered. “Which I wouldn’t, so it’s fine.”

“I’m on Percy’s side, here,” Clarisse chipped in. “No chance he doesn’t win. Not against some Roman.” Jason’s jaw dropped with a huff. He stared at Hazel and Frank, not understanding why they weren’t more upset about this.

“No.” Malcolm shook his head. “Percy would have to last the whole fight without getting a single injury, or the ichor would give it away—“ Which was a fair point, but Malcolm had obviously stopped in the middle of a sentence. The others all stared at him. He blinked. “Percy?”

“Yeah, Malcolm?”

The son of Athena exchanged a quick glance with Clarisse. “You could die, last we saw you.”

Percy’s eyes widened. “I swear it wasn’t on purpose.”

Nico’s laugh came from behind him. “Only you, man. “I didn’t mean to become a god,”” Nico mimicked. “”It was an accident.”” Will snorted.

“Oh, good, you’re here!” Percy ignored the jab, because Nico didn’t get it. It hadn’t been an accident. It had been deliberate and painful and cruel. “Here’s the plan—“ Percy stopped.

“Welcome home, Percy,” Chiron smiled from behind Nico and Will. “Please, carry on. Tell us your plan.”

Percy studied his teacher. No way the mild-mannered old centaur would let him go through with it. It was too extreme, went too far over the line. “I missed you.” Chiron smiled and opened his mouth to reply, but Percy cut him off. “You can’t be here.”

“Excuse me?” The centaur raised an eyebrow and his eyes filled with concern.

Percy shook his head. “Chiron, you are my second favorite child of Kronos, so I really hope I’m not hurting your feelings when I tell you, you need to leave.”

“Why?”

Percy pursed his lips. How much could he tell Chiron? Too much, and he’d interfere; not enough, and he’d interrupt. “I am planning…” Percy started, slowly and deliberately, giving himself time to think of an excuse, “to use the fact that you won’t be here to stop me as leverage.”

“Leverage.” Chiron examined Percy, taking in his tired eyes, the blood and dust and mud caked on his skin and in his hair. “Should I stop you?” He asked. It was a skill Chiron had: sometimes Percy thought the old horse could look straight into your soul and read it like a book. Now, though, he knew that couldn’t be true.

There was no way Chiron would let him stay at Camp if he had seen Percy’s soul. That ice-covered lake that Percy was diving into—when he surfaced, he was freezing and soaked and alive with adrenaline. Chiron would see that. He would notice the difference.

“Yes,” Jason stressed. Chiron ignored him, still staring at Percy.

“Should you?” Percy shrugged. “Probably. But you won’t. Not if you want to avoid war with the Romans.” He and Chiron stood, staring at each other, while his teacher thought.

Finally, he nodded. “Alright, Percy. I trust you. Keep our Camp safe.”

“Are you kidding?” Jason exclaimed. “All he’s done so far is offer up a duel to the death! You’re letting him handle negotiations?”

“There won’t be any negotiations,” Percy told Jason. “Either the Romans listen to me and back off, or…” He shook his head, “or I make them.”

“You can’t just do that!” Jason pushed. “This isn’t good versus bad, this is two different camps with different cultures clashing. Negotiating is the best way—“

“Jason, I need you to forget for a second that you’re angry at me and think about this rationally. The Romans worship Mars Ultor. They worship war. And the only way I can think of to get that army to back off is to make the war they want too costly.” He ignored Chiron, who had yet to walk away. He had his word he wouldn’t interfere. Percy leveled his gaze at Jason, and proposed the first part of his plan. “I need to walk down there, and I need to be terrifying enough for them to turn tail and run. And if you’re standing next me, and you’re scared?” Percy shook his head. “We’re that much closer to peace.”

“That doesn’t make it better—“

“Look at them,” Percy told him. He pointed to the crest of the hill, and just over the peak, the back flank of the army was visible, standing at attention. “If negotiating were an option, they wouldn’t be in formation. They don’t want to negotiate. They want war.”

Jason looked lost, but shook his head and didn’t argue any more. “What do we do?” Clarisse asked. Percy surveyed the group around him: Jason, Frank, Hazel, Annabeth, and Leo; Will and Nico; Chiron, Clarisse, and Malcolm.

“Frank, Hazel, and Leo need to stay back. I’m going for intimidation; Leo’s injured, and Frank and Hazel are too low-ranked for the Romans to pay them much attention. Clarisse, Jason—you’re with me. Nico and Annabeth—Reyna respects you; stay back, but in her line of sight. When I start threatening people, all of you need to look as scared as possible.” Nods of understanding prompted him forward.

“Malcolm, you take Annabeth’s cap. Your job is the onagers. I want them nonfunctional. Maybe get some greek fire to hide in their ammo, if you think you have time.” Annabeth tossed her hat to her half-brother with a determined nod. Malcolm nodded back. “Will, you’re our medic. I might have to punch Jason. Your job is to make any damage I do look a hundred times worse.” Jason just rolled his eyes and shook his head, clearly unhappy.

“If they think you’re hurting your own people, they’ll fear you even more,” Will realized. Percy just looked at him grimly. “You realize you’ll be demonizing yourself to an entire pantheon of demigods? Are you okay with that?”

Percy didn’t tell him he’d already started. He didn’t tell him how Annabeth was scared of him, how Jason was angry with him, how Piper died because of him. Percy was climbing dangerously close to the sun, and all he could think to do was keep climbing and prepare for the fall. “If it’s only one pantheon, I’ll consider it a success.”

And with that, he marched down the hill. Clarisse jogged to catch up, and he could hear Jason trailing behind him. He’d have to trust that the others would do their part.

Cries of “Motus!” arose from scouts as they were spotted, and Percy could see the Centurions stationed in front of their cohorts stand at attention and look to Reyna.

Reyna stood with Octavian, a few meters in front of the Third Cohort. Spanning on either side were the First and Fifth, and Second and Fourth, respectively.

Percy came to a stop in front of Octavian and Reyna. At his right, holding herself confidently, loomed Clarisse, and at his left, stiff as a board, stood Jason. A glance behind the Praetor told Percy each Roman was armed to the teeth, and he could see the onagers loaded and ready to fire hidden behind the Legion. “Ave, Praetor. Augur.”

Reyna bowed her head in greeting. “Percy. Jason.” She looked to Percy’s right.

“Clarisse,” Percy introduced. Reyna inclined her head in greeting. Octavian stayed silent during the exchange, but a satisfied smirk rested on his face.

“Something tells me you’re ready for war.” Percy peered behind them.

Reyna sighed. “Pluto’s Ambassador and I returned the statue, but that’s not enough. It seems the Greeks have twice now benefitted—first, with the attack on the forum, and now, with the Parthenos. Rome must be compensated.”

Percy raised an eyebrow. “Compensated?”

“It has been determined that the Greeks must pay in blood,” Octavian crowed, “to make up for the Roman blood spilt in the attack on our city and in the quest to retrieve the statue.” Never mind that the quest to retrieve the statue had been Annabeth’s.

Clarisse reached for her sword with a growl, but Percy put his hand on her arm to stop her. “Blood…” He mused. Jason shuffled nervously beside him. “How much?”

“As much as it takes for the message to sink in,” Octavian replied gleefully. “Never mess with the might of Rome.”

“I can offer you a duel to the death, Octavian,” Percy said. “I’ll fight any champion you choose, in any manner you like. But I will not let you drag my Camp into a war it doesn’t want.”

“Percy,” Jason warned lowly. “No. We all agreed—“

“Fine, fine,” Percy relented. “No duel. We’ll do it your way, and put that many more lives at risk.” He shoved a hand in his pocket, feigning nonchalance. “How is the might of Rome doing, these days?” He asked.

Octavian frowned and glanced at Reyna. She answered, “Rome will be well soon. Once it collects its due from its debtors.”

“You want payment in blood. I have something else to offer. Tell me, Praetor, does Rome still respect power above all else?”

Reyna’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Rome will always respect power,” she said. “That doesn’t mean—“

Percy interrupted her. “Good.” He grinned darkly and slowly began to raise his hand.

Jason shoved his arm back to his side. “Can’t we just negotiate?” He asked desperately.

“Get off him, Lightning Rod,” Clarisse hissed.

“Jason.” Percy turned, gripped his shoulders, and looked him in the eye. “Look at that.” He pointed to Octavian. “Look at it. Do you see that, Jason? Do you?” Jason turned to look at the Augur and nodded. “You want to negotiate with that?” Percy’s nose wrinkled.

Clarisse snickered while Jason frowned. “He doesn’t have to be here. We could only negotiate with Reyna?”

He and Percy might be at odds, but it felt good, being able to have fun, just for a second, while bullying Octavian, whose jaw dropped. “Hey!”

But Percy was at war, and he couldn’t afford to slow down or stop. Not yet. Not before he won, not before his family was safe—safe from Gaea, safe from the Romans, safe from the gods, safe from him. He gave himself a moment to savor the offended look on Octavian’s face before steeling himself and stepping forward. “I told you, Jason, I’m not negotiating.” He didn’t miss the almost nervous glance Reyna and Octavian exchanged.

“You know what, who put you in charge?” Jason burst. “All you’ve done since Athens is order us around, and I’m tired of it! You’ve decided you’re not negotiating, fine. Don’t. But I am, so back off.” Percy stopped and turned to look at him.

“Are you?” He asked drily. Percy had told Will to be ready. He swung at Jason, catching him in the cheek, and swept his leg out from under him. The son of Jupiter went down hard. It was enough to get his point across to Jason; however, Percy had to prove a different point to the Romans. So he crouched down, grabbed Jason’s collar, and roughly lifted his head until only he could hear Percy’s whisper.

“You’re predictable, and pathetic,” he spat. “You can’t stomach what needs to be done to keep peace, so stay out of it.” And, in a display of backstabbing dishonor that would hopefully convince the Romans that he wasn’t above harming anyone who stood in his way, he slammed Jason’s head into the ground.

By the time Will reached the out-cold demigod, Percy had stood up, casually brushed his hands off, stepped over Jason, and walked back over to Clarisse, Reyna, and Octavian. “I’m sorry about the interruption,” he said lightly. The Roman leaders exchanged a glance, and looked over Percy’s shoulder, where Will was doing his job beautifully and sounding incredibly panicked as he examined Jason’s injuries.

The hesitant look on Clarisse’s face when she looked at him only helped to sell the act. Percy hoped it would remain an act, and he wouldn’t be forced to enact the part of the plan that he hadn’t told the others about.

That all depended on Reyna. Percy continued, “Now that that’s been dealt with—“

“What do you mean,” Reyna interrupted, eyes leveled at…not Jason, so probably Nico and Annabeth behind him, “when you say you won’t be negotiating?”

“It’s pretty simple, Praetor. You’re surrounding my home with an army; I want that army gone. There are only two ways that happens: you leave, now, and don’t come back unless you’ve got an invitation, or I do what I do best and save my home from the enemy. If you’ve decided you want blood, I’ll give it to you. I just have to warn you, it won’t be Greek blood.”

“Is that a threat?” Octavian demanded.

Percy raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes. Was I not clear enough?” He shrugged. “I can spell it out for you, Augur. You have two choices: cut your losses and return home with your army intact, or give your army the order to attack. If you take the first, the Greeks will be happy to agree to any terms regarding your claim on the West Coast. If you chose the second, I will decimate your army, with a smile on my face and a song in my heart, and once I’m done with it, I’ll head over to New Rome to finish the job.”

Reyna’s hand inched toward her weapon. “One man can’t take on an entire army and win.”

Percy stood still. “I think we both know that’s not quite true.” Reyna scoffed, but it sounded weak. “If you don’t believe I can do it, why are you so scared?” Percy began tapping his foot impatiently, and if the ground around him mirrored his impatience, trembled with it…well, only he and Reyna would know. “Is that a chance you’re willing to take?”

Octavian stepped in front of Reyna. “There is no chance to take. It’s obvious that you’re bluffing. Even if your allies stepped in,” he gestured at Clarisse, and then the others standing behind Percy, “the armies of Rome won’t be bested by such a small band of warriors.”

“Are you sure?” Percy asked.

Octavian narrowed his eyes in a scowl, then a smile graced his lips. “Okay, fine. I’m not sure.” He looked way too smug. “Prove it,” he taunted. He thought he was calling Percy’s bluff, when in reality he was playing right into his hands. “Show us this power of yours that can defeat an entire army.”

Reyna frowned and shook her head. “Octavian—“

He could let Reyna take over, but this was too good to pass up. Octavian was just handing his life over to Percy, and he didn’t want Reyna to stop him. “Are you sure you want proof?” Percy interrupted.

“I’m certain,” Octavian confirmed. “In fact, I demand it.”

Percy inclined his head in a mock bow. “As you wish, Augur.”

At first, nothing happened. Octavian’s smile grew, venomous and vindictive, and he met Percy’s eyes, intent on gloating. He opened his mouth, and froze. The smug pride in his eyes gave way to confusion and terror. Percy watched, dark satisfaction blooming in his chest, as the Augur gasped out choking, wheezing breaths.

“Gods of Olympus,” Reyna gasped, her heartbeat skyrocketing as she rushed to Octavian’s side. He exhaled shakily, and blood started dripping from his nose and mouth. That was the last breath he took. Octavian started to convulse as more blood poured from his mouth, and only when he collapsed, pale and unmoving at Percy’s feet, did Percy realize that he was smiling.

Percy was aware of how he probably looked: covered in blood, golden dust, and grime, standing in front of an army without armor or a visible weapon, with a deranged grin on his face as a kid—because that’s what they all were, in the end, kids—died at his feet. He probably looked like a monster.

He felt like one, too. Only a monster would bask in how blood felt when it twisted in its veins and danced to a tune only he could hear, when it stopped at his command and burst. Only a monster would kill someone so brutally and personally and love how their blood sang and danced to his tune, like he was a demented pied piper stealing it away in the dead of night.

And Percy might get to do it again. His ultimatum had been delivered, and there was a chance he’d end up decimating the army before him. The anticipation, the hope that he’d get to keep going bubbled up in his chest, and Percy tamped down on it.

It was a twisted, venomous hope, and it terrified Percy as much as blood excited him. He shook his head to clear the thoughts; that wasn’t him. He was better than that, kinder. Right?

Reyna’s hand fell to her sword. “Legio, arma parata!” She shouted. The Romans moved as one. The front line of each cohort locked shields, while the second row shoved spears in any openings. The rest grabbed their spears, swords, and bows, and aimed at Percy.

Which would have been fine. Percy was perfectly fine with people aiming weapons at him. What he was not fine with was people aiming weapons at him, along with the people around him. He narrowed his eyes and his focus, and in seconds he had control of every hand with a weapon in it. After a split second of hesitation, he also preemptively found every heart standing against him.

If he needed—if he wanted—they’d stop on his command.

“You give that order, you all die,” Percy warned Reyna lowly. He took a moment to look out at the Legion. “There are 572—“ Percy stopped and glanced at Octavian’s body, “—571 heartbeats in this army and I swear on the Styx I will stop 571 hearts the second an order to attack is given.”

Thunder boomed loudly, and Percy could feel the promise tying him to the blood of the Legion.

Reyna kept her mouth shut, but kept glancing between Percy’s companions and her Legion. He could see the dread and resignation in her eyes, and couldn’t help but wonder—was she resigned to losing her Legion, or to stepping down and retreating?

He didn’t get a chance to find out.

Red lightning struck an onager, and everyone turned to look. “Discede!” The bellow came from the ruins of the siege engine. From the wreckage, the distinctive form of Mars emerged, clad in gold armor, with a cloak that looked all too much like blood flowing from his shoulders.

Hesitantly, the army listened, dropping their shields and weapons and bowing as Mars walked past them all, up to where Reyna, Percy, and Clarisse stood. Percy may have entered a truce with Ares, but Mars was a different story.

He uncapped Riptide. The War God came to a stop in front of him. “Rome surrenders!” Mars announced, voice carrying across the field.

“My Lord—“ Reyna began, alarmed.

Mars continued. “Olympus knows a losing battle when it sees one.”

Percy raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” Funny, he thought, how the god only interfered after Percy had sworn on the Styx to eradicate Rome. “I didn’t know the Olympians were that smart.” Mars rolled his eyes.

“If there is one thing we Roman gods know, it is self-preservation and the conservation of the Legion,” he bit back. In the depths of his eyes, angry red flames flickered. Percy bit down a smirk. Mars might know this was his best option, but he clearly didn’t like it.

As it was, relief that he wouldn’t have to delve even deeper into monstrosity flooded through him. Percy buried the disappointment beneath it and let it wash over him like a balm. “I accept your surrender.” He turned to Reyna. “I’ll give you twelve hours to mobilize your troops.”

“If you ever step foot in New Rome again...” Reyna threatened. She was shaking, barely—adrenaline, most likely. Whichever decision she had made would have had dire consequences for both of their pantheons.

Percy snorted derisively. “What, you’ll kill me?” He guessed. “Believe me, Reyna. I wish you could.”

“Perhaps it’s best that she can’t kill you,” Mars cut in. “Olympus requests your presence.”

The last predictable event of Percy’s war: a meeting with the Olympians. “We’ll be there.”

Mars nodded in acknowledgement, then shouted, “Oculos avertat!” and began to glow. Percy rolled his eyes, but glanced away. Mars’ true form would not be the first Percy laid eyes on.

When the glow died down and everyone’s eyes were back on target, Percy turned to Reyna. “Shall we?”

Her narrowed eyes fixed on him. “Excuse me?”

“We just received a summons to Olympus; best get going.” He turned to Clarisse. “Get the rest, and while we’re gone, find Malcolm?” She nodded and walked off. “Unless you’ve got something better, we’ll probably have Argus drive us.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Reyna bit. “I have troops to mobilize, and they only summoned you.”

Percy shook his head. “They’re going to want to speak to every one of us who played a more…major role in this war. That means everyone who crossed the Atlantic. You, Nico, and the Seven.”

“And you know this how? Mars didn’t say all that.”

Percy shrugged. “I’ve met them. They’re dramatic and vague on purpose. They think it makes them cooler.” Reyna blinked. “So? Carpooling?”

“You just threatened to kill every one of my soldiers and you want to carpool?” Percy shrugged. Personally, he didn’t care. His focus was on the upcoming meet with the Olympians, and the threats he’d have to issue to them. “I suppose…” Reyna frowned. “That would work. You’re the ones who know where Olympus is, after all.”

Oh. Right. The Romans didn’t typically interact with their gods at all. Olympus was foreign to them. “Sounds good. Should we discuss places for the Legion to stay, while we wait for the others?”

“A local would be helpful. Come, this way, to the planning tent.” Reyna would never trust Percy again, he knew that. That she was accepting his help at all was either a miracle, or a sign that she would be keeping a very close eye on him for a long time. It didn’t bother him either way; he would just be happy when the Romans were gone.

Percy followed Reyna to the tent

Chapter Text

Percy almost felt like he could breathe again.

The atmosphere in the van was so tense he could have sliced through it with Riptide, and even then, he was breathing easy for the first time since he’d escaped Tartarus. Gaea and the giants were dead, and would not be coming back—hopefully ever. He’d told his side of things to the rest of the Seven—and Piper’s loss hurt, but Percy could ignore it and push forward.

The Romans had been taken care of. Short term, the Legion was moving from Camp and setting up along Montauk. It felt almost like an invasion—that beach was his—but the distance ensured none of the legionnaires could go back on Mars’ surrender and attack Camp. Once Reyna returned from Olympus, they’d be returning to California.

Things were looking up.

That is, of course, if Percy ignored just about everything else. His newfound…bloodlust, almost, and how quick he was to use his new powers. His immortality, forced on him until he betrayed his father and the other gods. The looks he was getting from Jason and Annabeth in the backseat—Jason’s angry glare coming from behind a black eye, a minor concussion, and a bruised jaw.

That wasn’t weighing on Percy too much.

Percy was focused on two things: the sky, and the gods.

The rational part of Percy’s brain, the strategic part, the part planning out his war, was coming up with a list of things he needed to address on Olympus: his abduction, the fall, his immortality. The other part of Percy’s brain—and, unfortunately, it was the larger part—was staring at the setting sun and trying to convince itself that everything was okay.

He knew why he’d seen two sunsets today. He and the others had changed timezones pretty abruptly; from nighttime in Greece to evening at Camp. That’s how timezones worked.

It wasn’t Kronos.

Time was passing normally.

Kronos was dead, and even if he wasn’t, Percy was stronger now. He could kill the Titan in a heartbeat.

Argus lightly slapped Percy on the back of the head. The engine was sputtering, and Argus was raising an eyebrow at Percy. “Sorry,” he muttered, and the tug in his gut eased up as he let the gasoline go.

And shit, wasn’t that just great? Yet another deadly liquid Percy could control outside of the realm of normal.

After a few moments of silence, Jason scoffed from the back. “And no one’s worried about that? He was controlling gasoline.”

“Could have easily been antifreeze or oil,” Leo muttered from Jason’s left, half asleep and curled up against the window.

To his right, Annabeth shrugged. “Not the most worrying thing he’s done in the last twelve hours,” she pointed out.

In front of them, Reyna raised a hand. “I’m worried,” she volunteered, wiggling her fingers.

“Dibs on slapping Percy next,” Nico called from the floor by Reyna’s feet.

Will was also on the floor, facing Nico. He shook his head. “No,” he vetoed. “No beating Percy up, you’re taking things easy. Doctor’s orders.” Nico turned and narrowed his eyes at him.

“Remind me why you’re here, again?” He grumbled. Hazel, squished between Reyna and Frank, giggled.

Will shot him a sunny smile. “Have you met you people? Someone is gonna need a medic before this meeting is over.”

“And you’re here to take bets? Or be the medic?” Leo’s eyes were open and bright, now that there was something besides awkward silence filling the air.

Will shrugged. “Why not both?”

The banter was so lighthearted, felt so normal, Percy had to smile softly. Leo was certain Jason would get knocked out, and Hazel and Frank chimed in with their own bets. Nico was staring strangely at Will, and Annabeth was frowning at the back of Reyna’s head.

“Are there any issues we should get out of the way, just us?” She asked over the din of joking demigods. “Anything we don’t need the gods to know about?”

“You’re hiding things from the gods?” Frank asked, shocked.

“Of course we are,” Percy replied with a shrug. “If they wanted badly enough, they could easily find out. They just don’t typically care about us at all.”

Annabeth stared at him through narrowed eyes. “They care,” she argued, in the hard tone she always takes when the topic steers too close to Luke and his ideals. “They don’t have the time—“

“They have the time,” Nico said quietly. “They don’t let themselves care.”

“Whatever.” Percy rolled his eyes. “Ironically enough, I don’t care.” It was quiet for a moment before Percy got back on topic. “We don’t tell them about Night.”

Jason frowned. “How are you going to explain why you w—“

“I’ll think of something. But you don’t mention Night.” Percy stared at him through the rearview mirror until he looked away and nodded.

“I’m going to mention Night,” Nico said. “Unless, of course, you give me context?”



Percy shrugged and opened his mouth to explain, but Annabeth shook her head, sad eyes fixed on the younger teen. “Nico…it’s not—“

“I’m not a kid, Chase,” Nico bit. “We not-quite-as-prophesied demigods over here are still capable of beating the answers out of you.”

Well. Good enough for Percy.

“Annabeth and I fell into Tartarus. You know that part. You also know she left me behind.” Nico nodded while Reyna swiveled around to look between Annabeth and Percy, shock evident. “Nyx helped me. Taught me things I needed to know to survive. Taught me how to use my power. Taught me how to get out.”

“From an outside perspective, it looks like it corrupted you,” Jason muttered. Percy understood how a black eye and a bruised jaw could make someone grumpy, but that was a step too far.

“There are three rules in Tartarus, Grace. Be strong. Be ruthless. Be smart. I followed all of them.” He turned around and fixed Jason in his gaze. “You’re noble; you’re an idealist. Good for you. You’d have died for your beliefs down there. I just bent mine to match the law of the land.” Percy turned, once again facing front. “Night helped me, and asked a favor in return.

“It wanted me to kill Gaea—with its sister in Tartarus with it, Night wouldn’t be lonely anymore. So I did.”

“Up here, we had successfully prevented Gaea’s rising,” Hazel said. The ache in Percy’s chest—the one mourning a childhood Hazel didn’t get to have, the one mourning the achievement he ripped from her grasp—made itself known.

Not yet. The war wasn’t over. Percy shoved it back down.

“Percy woke her up anyway,” Leo said flippantly. He wasn’t very good at hiding how shaken he was, but it was an admirable front.

Leo joked to calm down. Something subtle…maybe it would help. Percy quirked his lips at Leo in a gentle smile. “I did also kill her. Like, I see where you’re coming from, but I feel like that’s an important detail to add in there. She is very dead right now.”

Leo smiled in return, latching onto the joking tone like the lifeline it was. “Semantics.” Frank snorted and shook his head.

“Piper’s dead, too,” Jason volunteered, forced cheerful tone crushing the light atmosphere. Leo’s smile withered and he curled in on himself. Annabeth squeezed her eyes shut. Frank and Hazel burrowed into each other’s sides, the reminder that the other was there and alive and well a visceral need.

Percy had mourned Piper already, and would only be able to again when his war was over.

“She’s dead because Percy woke Gaea up,” he continued, rage in his voice and tears in his eyes.

“Blame me,” Percy told him. “You should. I got Piper killed. It should never have happened. But not everyone mourns the same way you do. You need to be able to mourn in your own way, but make it a way that won’t hurt the others like you are now. Preferably, do it silently, until it’s not so fresh.”

Jason took a shuddering breath. “But how am I supposed to—she—“

“You lost the most important person in the world to you. Trust me, man, I get it.” Out of the corner of his eyes, in the rearview mirror, he caught Annabeth’s flinch. “And the survivor’s guilt isn’t gonna go away any time soon, but focus on what you didn’t lose.”

Jason argued, “I lost my world—”

“At least you’ll see her again in Elysium. When my world dies? They’ll be gone to me forever.”

The van fell into another uncomfortable silence. Percy had attempted to change the topic, to help keep the mood light, but he was done trying. He’d been reminded of the eternity that awaited him, and no one here could fault him for brooding.

Night, Reyna must really regret carpooling.

The silence lasted a while before Nico groaned. “Are we there yet?” He asked. Argus’ eyes zeroed in on Percy, all but begging him to shut him down before he got annoying.

Percy was happy to oblige. “So help me Night, I will turn this van around if you start nudging,” he threatened.

“The floor is hurting my butt, though,” Nico complained.

“That’s what you get for letting Hazel beat you at rock, paper, scissors. Shut up.”

“Yeah,” Will agreed, despite also having lost a game of rock, paper, scissors to Frank, and also having an aching butt. “Besides, you’re not helping the mood.”

“Oh, like you can do better?” Nico challenged.

“Oh, I can do so much better,” Will boasted. He dove into his first aid kit, intently searching for something. Once he found it, he triumphantly pulled his hand out and fist-bumped the air. From his closed fist dangled a silver chain.

“Percy,” He said, turning to face the front. “Your brother left this at Camp for you.”

He handed Percy the long chain, attached to a beautifully crafted set of dog tags. Etched onto the first tag was a replica of Poseidon’s trident, with Percy, Triton, Tyson, and Poseidon’s names stamped into the waves around it.

The second tag, as small as it was, depicted an incredibly detailed family tree diagram, with four names: Sally and Paul, Percy himself, and one other—Estelle—written in fine cursive.

Percy’s breath hitched. “There’s—“

“The timing might not be the best,” Will said with a glance thrown at the others in the van, “but congratulations, Percy. You’re gonna be a big brother.”

All the emotions Percy had been successfully locking away bubbled to the forefront of his mind. Another glance at the family tree told him everything he needed to know. He was—his mom…He was going to be a big brother, to a small, fully mortal Estelle.

There was going to be a baby in his apartment.

The horror in his chest left no room for anything else. He had already been terrified he’d hurt his mom or Paul, but now? Now, he could end up hurting his baby sister. Percy gulped in a deep, shuddering breath as his heart dropped in his chest.

He couldn’t go home.

“Argus, stop the car,” he ordered hoarsely through unshed tears. A few glances from a few eyes told Argus Percy was dead serious, and he pulled the van up to the nearest empty stretch of sidewalk. Percy couldn’t open the door fast enough, couldn’t barge out of the van fast enough. He turned to Argus and managed, “Get them to Olympus.”

Argus nodded.

Percy heard, “I don’t think you helped the mood either,” before slamming the door behind him. He didn’t stop to see if Argus listened. He didn’t stop for any of the people on the sidewalk. Percy didn’t think. He slipped the chain around his neck and dodged pedestrians as he bolted towards his apartment.

Counting streets as he passed them helped him keep a lid on his emotions, but only just; the previously clear skies had vanished behind dark, angry storm clouds, darkening the dusk even further. As Percy ran, it began to drizzle. The sky was crying for him, because he couldn’t yet.

Too soon, and not soon enough, Percy found himself staring at his building’s fire escape. Slowly, carefully, he started climbing, as silently as he could. His heart was pounding in his ears. His stomach was in his throat. His nerves were on fire.

He didn’t need to look in the window to know his room was empty. He just had to search with a sense he hadn’t had last time he was here, and knew no liquid—water, poison, or blood—was in his room.

He pointedly ignored the moonlace on the windowsill.

His window opened silently, and Percy crawled in. Everything was as he left it. The blue covers of his unmade bed, the summer homework strewn across his desk, the hoodie hanging on his doorknob. Night, it still surprised him sometimes. This room was his. He didn’t share it with anyone, not like his cabin at Camp, or their apartment before this one.

He’d come back from boarding school as a little kid to find his room had become Gabe’s storage unit. Summer would end with it still smelling like stale cigarettes and beer and whatever the hell else the asshole felt like tossing in there.

And, sure, at Camp, while the Poseidon cabin was largely ‘his’, Tyson could show up at any second. He loved his little brother more than anything, but guaranteed privacy was…really nice.

It would be a long time until he had somewhere to call his own, now. Percy closed his eyes and listened, focusing on sounds in the apartment beyond his door.

His mom was in the living room, probably on the couch, next to Paul, chatting with him as a movie played quietly in the background. Paul was probably giving her his full attention, his replies short and encouraging. Both had slow, steady heartbeats.

Harder to hear but very strong and very determined was a damning third heartbeat. His little sister’s. Estelle’s.

That tiny heartbeat sealed Percy’s fate.

He would never see this apartment again. He would never see his mom again.

This would be the last time he’d be in his room.

Sally laughed. It was quiet, and a little bit forced, but genuine and there all the same.

A tear fell from Percy’s eye. He couldn't breathe. She’d be okay with Paul and Estelle, if they could make her laugh like that. Sally Jackson might mourn him until the end of her days, but she’d be able to move on. She’d be able to live a safe, normal life. She’d be okay.

Percy took a deep breath, ignored the prickling in his eyes and in his throat, and turned away from the sound of his family. He took a deep breath.

Nyx.

The corners of the room grew darker. My Blessed, it hissed in Percy’s ear.

Sally’s heart beat strong and sure. His future might not be easy, but he would be strong and sure, too. Just like his mom. He would always have her strength. Percy’s resolve hardened. I need to get to Olympus. Quickly.

Close your eyes, Godkiller. Percy did. The dark behind his eyelids grew more potent, grew stronger with each second, and in his mind’s eye, Percy found himself back in the cave.

“Godkiller,” Nyx greeted warmly.

Percy frowned. The air was as thick and dry as he remembered. Something about it, though…it was almost refreshing. “I’m…really here. How did I get here?”

A smile wrapped itself around him, amused. “We can be in as many places at once as we need, Blessed. That is how you are here and there.”

Here and there. “I’m still in my apartment,” Percy realized. If he focused hard enough, he could hear the heartbeats, the faint sounds of New York City from behind his window. He took a deep breath, and the toxic air of Tartarus mixed with the faint smell of blue cookies and his mom’s favorite beach-scented candle.

“Indeed.” Nyx’s smile shifted, showing a more serious edge. “But to leave, to get to Olympus? A single step is all you need, Godling.” Percy furrowed his brows. How…

“But…”

“Time and space are nothing to us,” Nyx said, almost proudly. “Where you are now doesn’t matter. What matters is where you’re going. Close your eyes, clear your mind, and take the step to Olympus.”

Percy tried. He closed his eyes, attempted to separate himself from time and space, tried to escape the forces that had reigned over his life as a mortal. Hesitantly, he took a step forward, and almost fell over. His eyes flew open and he threw his arms out for balance.

He’d certainly managed to go somewhere. Percy was about ten feet from where he’d been before, foot on the edge of a decent-sized pit in the ground. Nyx’s amusement tickled the air around him. “A commendable first attempt.”

Percy couldn’t help but sneer playfully. “I just broke up with space and time, Nyx, give me a bit to adjust,” he bit. Its chuckle danced through the air around him.

One more try saw Percy on the precipice of Night’s Mansion. The cave was far behind him, and if he focused hard enough, through the all-encompassing dark, he could see his windowsill, adorned with moonlace that was sparkling like diamonds.

This next one would be it. Percy could tell, could already taste the ozone and hear the storm. The hardest thing he had ever done, would ever do, was step out of his apartment, because he knew in his heart he’d never go back. Percy reached up to run his thumb over the dog tags. This was to protect them.

A deep breath, a “thank you,” to Night, and the next time Percy opened his eyes, he was at the doors of the Empire State Building.

Ignoring the thunderstorm trying to drown New York City, he walked inside.

Annabeth stood, explaining to the new half-bloods and the Romans how they’d get there. Will and Nico were standing a few feet away, pointing at different mortals, whispering, and holding back laughter.

Percy approached the group. “Hazel,” he said. She jumped to attention, eyes lighting up as she heard his voice. Percy gestured at the mortals in front of them. “We were here first.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, adding a salute. Percy tried not to wonder if Estelle would be like her: bright and happy and beautiful, even during hardship.

Percy turned and walked to the front desk. When he got there, he just leaned on the counter, eyebrow raised expectantly, and cleared his throat. The desk clerk finished typing and met his eyes.

They startled and scrambled around, frantically looking for the key. “They’re ready, My Lord,” the clerk said, bowing as they handed the key over to Percy.

“Good,” Percy replied. A glance ensured the demigods were following as he led the way to the elevator.

The doors shut behind them, and Percy very pointedly did not think about the last time he was in an elevator. Apollo’s Muzak playlist certainly made it easier, breaking the silence that wrapped around them like a blanket.

“Are you okay?” Will asked sheepishly. No, he wasn’t, but the concern was touching.

“We go in as a group,” Percy told the others. “If this is your first time speaking with the Council, you’ll be silent until you’re spoken to, if you know what’s good for you.”

“And if it isn’t?” Nico asked.

Percy gave him a look. “You know what to do.” Nico smirked.

The elevator stopped. Percy said, “Welcome to Olympus,” and the doors started to open.

Chapter Text

“Welcome to Olympus,” Hera greeted magnanimously. Her voice echoed through the hall. A gracious smile lit her face. “My heroes, your part in our victory has not gone unnoticed. Thanks to you, your actions, and your dedication, my plan worked brilliantly.”

Percy and Nico shared a look. “Not how I’d put it,” Percy muttered to Nico, at the same time Poseidon turned to Zeus and whispered, “Her plan that nearly started a war between the pantheons?” Percy coughed, but in an impressive display of self-control and taking the high road, did not interrupt. Zeus also snorted quietly and rolled his eyes.

Hera’s smile froze on her face, and she took a deep breath before continuing. With barely restrained annoyance, she said, “We should all rejoice at our victory, heroes. This war has been won with minimal damage.”

“Bullshit,” Nico blurted. The demigods turned to him with wide eyes. Nico himself looked shocked, but hardened his resolve and kept going. “Minimal damage is something that can be easily fixed. Minimal damage is something that can be replaced. This wasn’t minimal damage.”

He took a confident step forward. “We will never get those months with Percy back. We’ll never get the people we lost back. You idiots saw another war coming, and instead of doing anything about it, instead of warning us, you closed Olympus. Hera’s plan never should have needed to happen. You should have stepped up sooner.”

Hades, sitting at the hearth with Hestia, looked nervously at the Rulers of Olympus. Zeus’ eyes were narrowed, a scowl on his face. Hera sat stiffly on her throne, glare pinned on Nico’s small but stoic figure.

Percy could taste the ozone in the air before Zeus even moved to reach for his weapon. He stepped in front of Nico. “Careful, Zeus; one might think you’re not grateful. Nico just united two pantheons and settled the dispute between your aspects. He just saved the world.” Hades’ sigh of relief carried through the room. “He’s right, too.”

Percy leveled a challenging glare at any god that would meet his eye. “We had just won an entire war focused around whether or not you’re decent parents. The verdict was that you aren’t; I had to make you swear on the Styx to be better. And then you turn around and cut all contact? No warning? No, ‘Hey, kids, we’re in danger and pain please help fix us’?”

He shook his head. “You’re pathetic. You’re lucky Hera had me in a coma; I would have shut that down before it even happened.”

“You think you hold power over the Council, boy?” Zeus challenged.

“You think you hold power over me, old man?” Percy shot back. “I don’t give a shit about power. I don’t want it, I don’t need it. But if that’s all you care about? Then yes, I do hold power over you. You handed it to me when you swore on the Styx to honor my request, and if you don’t, I will use that power to hold you accountable.”

He leveled a glare at Zeus. “And part of that promise to be better parents means that you can’t just threaten to kill us when we argue with you, or disrespect you. You don’t deserve respect. You need to earn it. And that starts now.”

Poseidon cleared his throat and meekly raised a hand. “Well, ah…perhaps we can start in a few minutes? While I see your point about gratitude, my son, one of these demigods has incurred my wrath.”

Oh. Poseidon had behaved himself incredibly well so far—Percy had almost forgotten that he probably wanted Annabeth dead for what she did. Did Percy want Annabeth dead?

Stall for time. Figure it out. “Oh?” He asked, tilting his head. “Who was that again?”

Poseidon’s expression grew stormy. He clearly wasn’t impressed. “Perseus,” he scolded, “you are my favorite son. A trespass against you is a trespass against me, and I will not tolerate such cruel treatment.”

Percy raised an eyebrow. His childhood reared its head to contradict his father’s declaration. “Really?”

“Must I remind you? You are my son, Percy. I protect my own.” I protect my own. It was a sentiment Percy knew well. He protected his own, too. And until recently, Annabeth had been one of his people. Until recently, she was his to protect.

Keep stalling. “So you want her punished—“

“I want her dead,” Poseidon snarled. “I will settle for punishment, for you.” Annabeth, dead. Annabeth, punished, cursed by his father.

Stall. “For me?”

“Had she left any of your friends there, you’d have killed her yourself, and jumped into Tartarus to rescue them for good measure. But since she left you, it’s okay? No. You are just as important as those you love and I’ll be damned to Tartarus myself before she gets away with abandoning you.”

Why…why did he have to make sense? If anyone—even Annabeth—had left Hazel, or Nico behind? Akhlys would thank him for showing her mercy, in comparison. But, it was different for them. It had always been different. Percy had tolerated Gabe when he was just an asshole to him, but once he dragged Percy’s mom into it? The pig hadn’t survived more than two months after Percy found out.

Why was it different for him? Why did Percy hold himself to a different standard than his loved ones?

Because they were good.

They changed the world for the better, with everything that they did. They were the real heroes. Percy wasn’t a hero. He would do the right thing for the wrong reasons, and the wrong thing for the right reasons.

He had saved the world not because it was the right thing to do, but because that was how he could protect his mom and his loved ones. He would abandon his mom, leave her to a lifetime of grief, to keep her safe from him. He would kill the gods in a heartbeat if they tried to hurt his friends.

Percy shook his head. “I’m not the hero of everyone’s story, dad. And at that point in Annabeth’s story, I was a villain. I can’t blame her for seeing me like that.”

“No,” Poseidon accepted, “but you can blame her for abandoning you. You can blame her for leaving you.”

“I think I see your point,” Percy conceded. “But still, I don’t want her dead,” he argued. “Why do you?”

Poseidon huffed out a deep breath. “Because you are incapable of taking offense on your own behalf,” he stressed. “I would gladly leave her punishment to you, but you cannot seem to accept that what was done to you was wrong.”

“It’s not worth it—“

“You. Are. Worth. It,” Poseidon said. “Perseus, I would drown the world for you. I would sink nations in your name. I would wage war on Tartarus itself for you.” Percy could feel the weight of his words in his bones. He could hear the truth in the god’s heartbeat. His conviction rang throughout the quiet room.

Percy blinked back tears. “I—“ He shook his head. “No. You can’t just say that—you don’t know what I did. I tortured Misery, I killed her so slowly, I—“

Poseidon got up and approached Percy. He wrapped him in a tight hug. “Oh, my son.”

“You…did hear me, right?” Percy frowned and pushed his dad away slightly. Poseidon’s hand did not leave his shoulder. “I killed a goddess, tortured her with poison; you’re not scared? You don’t want me dead like—like Annabeth?”

“Percy, I have told you, countless times, that you were my favorite son.” Poseidon squeezed Percy’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “That has not changed. No matter what happens, no matter how you and your powers grow…I am proud of you.” Poseidon pulled Percy into another hug. “Were you still mortal, I would burn Ancient Laws myself. I will be here for you, no matter what.”

Percy’s eyes prickled. Since Annabeth left him behind, since she abandoned him…he’d been convinced everyone else would as well. He’d become twisted and dark and ruthless, but his dad…his dad, who despite abandoning Percy and his mom when Percy was conceived, was standing by him now and offering support Percy hadn’t even dreamed he’d be getting.

His dad, who Polybotes insisted would hate him, would be disappointed and terrified, who was hugging him—

But he had to be sure. He wouldn’t let his dad just leave him like Annabeth did. He needed proof.

Percy pushed him away again, harder this time.

“It was trivially easy,” he hissed, staring his dad down in silent challenge. “I could have torn her apart from the inside if I thought it would have been a more fitting way for her to die. I could do that to you, right here, right now. The only reason I didn’t do it to her is because the poison was slower.” He tried to grin wickedly. He didn’t feel wicked; he felt unhinged and manic and desperate for his father to keep hugging him. “It hurt more, for longer. And I kept her alive, delirious with pain, only conscious enough to feel it burn, for—strength, forever. And you know what, dad? I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

Poseidon looked down at his feet, radiating resignation. “I had hoped…you always displayed traits associated with my calmer aspects,” he sighed. “I had hoped that you were indeed borne of my better nature. It would have made your life so much easier.”

Percy raised an eyebrow as Poseidon continued. “Alas, you seem to be a true child of the sea—powers reminiscent of me, in all of my aspects, in all of my temperaments.” Poseidon met Percy’s gaze. “Life with such dark powers and desires will not be easy for you, so attached to your mortal side as you are. You will ache to use your powers—all of them—and though your goal will not be to cause pain, if you must cause it to get what you want, then so be it.”

Poseidon grasped Percy’s shoulders. “You may begin to think of yourself as a monster. But, Perseus, know this: I am not the Father of Monsters for no reason. If I did not still love my monstrous children, if I was not still proud of them, I would have cast that title aside long ago.” Poseidon gave his shoulders a firm squeeze, then dropped his hands. “You are my favorite son, Perseus. If I must also call you my favorite monster? I will do so with pride.”

Percy dove back into his father’s arms. He could crush Poseidon in his grip and still his dad wouldn’t know just how much that meant to him. As it was, Percy was certain he was rivaling Tyson’s rib-crushing hugs.

“Percy?” Poseidon asked expectantly. And Percy gave his answer.

“She didn’t hurt you,“ Percy whispered to him. “She hurt me.”

Poseidon pulled away. “Ah,” he breathed. “I defer to your judgment,” he conceded with a low bow. “Should you wish for my help, you need only ask.”

“Thanks, Dad, but I’ve got it.”

Poseidon returned to his throne. Percy turned to Annabeth.

Night, he had loved Annabeth. She’d been the one to show him how to survive in their world, how to thrive, even. She’d stayed by his side, knowing the entire time that he was probably destined to die. And then she’d left him.

“You remember,” he started, turning to look at Annabeth, “our first kiss?” She nodded slowly. He smiled sadly. Their best underwater kiss, their only one. He shook his head. “Don’t ever go underwater again. You won’t be able to find your way back up to the surface if you do. The sea doesn’t forgive, and it doesn’t forget.” Annabeth’s breath hitched in fear, but Percy wasn’t done yet. “The sea is cold, and cruel, and dark, and should it catch you where you don’t belong…” He finished with a hoarse whisper, “It won’t let you die quickly.”

He swallowed hard. “Strength, when I realized you’d left, I was hollow and paralyzed and that is my curse for you; that emptiness and that hurt and that rage. Your heart will stutter, and falter, and you’ll live in fear that it’ll give out on you. Now you start praying, Annabeth Chase, to every god you hold favor with, that you never meet another ara.”

Poseidon wouldn’t be satisfied until Annabeth was dead, but Percy could feel his contentment at her fate in the air; it buzzed and popped in his ears and Percy had to focus to get it to stop. He was so focused, he almost missed Zeus launching into a tirade.

“While we are doling out punishments,” the king of the gods fretted, “Apollo—“ The god’s head shot up, panic written on his face.

Percy furrowed his brows. “What did Apollo do? I thought he just spent the war chilling on his island.”

Zeus frowned at the interruption. “My son’s descendant, the Augur Octavian, escalated this war to a level that could have ended in disaster. This was because Apollo had ignored my rule and initiated direct contact—“

“You mean the rule that we just told you was bullshit and wrong anyway?” Percy cut in. “Nuh-uh. We’re not punishing Apollo for doing his job as the god of prophecy. Feel free to sit back and do nothing yourself, but he had duties and he was seeing them through. It’s not Apollo’s fault Octavian was a crazed, bloodthirsty piece of shit. And Octavian got what he deserved; he died slowly and painfully. That’s the end of it.”

Zeus’ frustration sparked over his skin, miniature lightning dancing and twirling around his hands and head. “Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do within my own Council?”

“Well, apparently, the guy fated to kill that Council.” That earned him silence. “You didn’t forget that, did you? I can’t die until you do. So,” Percy walked over to Apollo’s throne and planted himself between the Olympian and his father. “You want to get to him? You’ll have to go through me first.”

The silence stretched on.

Eventually, it was broken by slow applause coming from the door. “Well said, Praetor.”

She was beautiful. Long, vibrant hair flowed down her back in waves, and her sharp features were held in a smug smirk. She walked over to sit at the hearth with Hestia, poise written in every fiber of her being. She was elegant and at ease and alluring and Percy hated her immediately.

Her dark eyes reflected gruesome tableaus of violence and death and war. The anger that rose unbidden in his chest reminded him of when he first met Ares, and immediately, he knew who this was. “I think I speak for everyone when I say that one war god is enough,” he bit.

“You can never have enough war gods when discussing a war,” Bellona replied easily. Okay. Not Percy’s throne room, so he couldn’t kick her out. Fair, but he could argue with her as much as he wanted.

“I’m not the Praetor,” he replied. “Reyna is. Frank is.”

“The Grace boy handed Zhang a power he did not have the right to give. You were never officially removed from office. As such, that was your Legion you just threatened to slaughter.”

Percy held her gaze. “Well, then. My Legion had it coming.” He turned to Frank and said, “All yours, dude. I don’t want it.” Bellona smiled, watching Percy with interest.

Poseidon cleared his throat. “Bellona. You’re late.” Reyna stiffened and her gaze snapped to her mother.

The war goddess turned her gaze to Poseidon. “Terribly sorry,” she replied, not sorry at all. “I tend to prefer more…disciplined company.”

Zeus rolled his eyes. “Then let us proceed, so we can all go back to our preferred company.” Zeus closed his eyes, rolled his shoulders, and changed.

His wild curls grew more tame, his beard shorter and more trimmed. A white toga with a vibrant purple sheen replaced Zeus’ favored suit. When his eyes opened, sky blue pupils glared out across the room.

“Hmph,” Jupiter harrumphed. He pointed at Percy. “You, boy, are lucky you deal with him rather than me.”

Percy laughed. “Me? You’re lucky I haven’t gotten to you, yet. Don’t think for a second I’m just gonna let that child army shit slide.” Oh, Percy had wanted to comment on that for weeks.

The Greeks had no choice. Adulthood was a privilege. It wasn’t guaranteed, and the few that made it to adulthood didn’t just fuck off to a safe haven, they stayed and fought with the Camp. But the Romans? The Roman army was run by two teenagers. It was comprised of children that answered to a Senate full of adults, an entire city full of them.

And they sent the children to fight?

Percy knew he had to pick his battles. His Camp had to come first. But Camp Jupiter and the people of New Rome had better pray he decided to stick to the East Coast, because the thought of kids, like Hazel and Nico, not even old enough to drive, fighting the wars so the adults didn’t have to, made his blood boil.

Percy knew, in his bones, that one day he would fight for them.

Jupiter glared. “The children fight for the might of Rome—“

“Bullshit. The children fight because the adults make them. You, Jupiter, are lucky you deal with them rather than me.” At his own words being thrown back at him, Jupiter growled. “Because I would shut that shit down in a heartbeat.”

“Percy,” Reyna tried, but he ignored her.

“No adult should send children to fight for them. The entire city of New Rome is guilty of child endangerment and you know what? If I had killed them all today? Those adults wouldn’t care. There is no need for a child-run military camp beyond the fact that the adults don’t want to be the ones doing the fighting. Your people are cowards, Lord Jupiter, and you are, too. You’re the biggest coward of the lot for failing to protect those kids.”

One day, he would fight for them. But not today. Today, all he could do was rip their king a new one and hope the message sunk in.

Poseidon interrupted. “Percy. Can you please stop picking fights with gods for ten minutes?”

Percy pursed his lips. “Alright. Ten minutes.”

Jupiter sent Poseidon a glare. “He is entirely your fault. You all lack discipline.” And with that, Jupiter took a deep breath to flatten his ruffled feathers and looked to Jason.

“My Son, you have done well,” he declared, voice carrying through the throne room. Jason stood, eyes wide in shock, staring at his father. Percy hated that starstruck, almost worshipping expression. None of them should look at their parents like that. None of them should be abandoned like Jason was.

“In honor of your great deeds, Jason Grace, the Olympian Council recognizes you and appoints you Pontifex Maximus.” The Romans gasped. “Your promise to Neptune’s progeny has not gone unnoticed. Educate the people of all the gods, and bridge this millennia-long gap between Greece and Rome.”

Jason hurried into a low bow. “Thank you, Father. I will make you proud.”

“See that you do.” Jason straightened out, face carefully blank. Jupiter nodded at his son, before closing his eyes and melting back into Zeus.

“Never thought I’d be happy to see you,” Percy muttered. Poseidon sent a glare his way. Percy made a face and mimed zipping his mouth shut.

Bellona stood and stretched, taking her sweet time. Her movements reminded Percy of a predator. “Reyna, darling.” Reyna stood at attention, and she smiled fondly. “For your bravery and commitment to saving the world despite rules that may have been in your way, and for the sacrifices you made while doing so, I present to you the grass crown.”

Reyna gasped and shook her head. “No.”

Bellona raised an eyebrow. “No? The grass crown is the highest honor, only presented to those whose actions save the Legion.”

Reyna bowed. “I am honored, Mother, my Lady Bellona. However, the grass crown must be presented by the Legion that has been saved. If my people see fit to reward my actions, they will do so.”

Bellona smiled proudly. “Well done, Reyna. I leave you with this: the promise that your people will recognize your effort to protect them, and my blessing.”

Reyna stiffened, eyes wide and mouth ajar. Percy understood. This was her first time meeting the gods, meeting her mother, and a blessing was a big deal. She bowed again. “Thank you, Mother.” Bellona walked over to Reyna and cupped her cheek. Reyna closed her eyes and bowed her head.

“Goodbye, Reyna,” Bellona smiled. The war goddess turned back to Percy. “Another time, Godkiller.”

Percy didn’t reply. Bellona left, and he looked to Ares and said, “Hey, you should go with her.” The god sneered at him. Poseidon groaned and dropped his head into his hand.

“Are you just incapable of getting along with war gods?” Nico asked.

“Generally, yeah,” Percy told him. Nico shook his head and rolled his eyes.

Apollo cleared his throat and awkwardly put his hand up. “Me next.” His eyes flicked over to his father, and when Zeus stayed quiet he sat straighter.

“Frank Zhang,” he said more confidently, smiling softly from his throne, “you used to pray to me, asking me to claim you. You weren’t mine to claim. I can, however, give you my blessing. I’ve seen your archery, and I’m very impressed.”

High praise. Percy turned to look at Frank; his cheeks were pink and he was avoiding eye contact with everyone. Eventually, he remembered where he was and who he was talking to, and threw himself into a bow. “Thank you, Lord Apollo!”

“Maybe we can shoot together, some time.” Frank’s eyes widened comically and he bowed again. Percy smiled fondly. He didn’t hate Apollo, and Frank deserved some time to hang out with one of his heroes.

Apollo relaxed in his throne, and Hades adjusted his position, turning away from Hestia’s fire and towards the demigods. “Hazel Levesque.” She looked at him shyly. “Pluto can’t see you; he’d have to take you back to Asphodel.” Hazel nodded, looking down at her feet. “I, however, have no such restrictions.” She met his eyes. “You’ve become a formidable witch. I may not be your father, but I can tell you he is proud, and will continue to be.”

Hazel nodded quickly, tears filling her eyes. She understood; her reward for saving the world was her life, but she hadn’t expected Hades’ kindness. “Thank you,” she stressed.

Hades smiled at her, then sobered. “Nico.”

Nico slightly bowed his head. “Father.”

“Souls who go for rebirth are dipped in the Lethe.”

Nico’s demeanor visibly soured. He furrowed his brows and frowned, biting his cheek as he looked away. “Yeah, I know—“

“That means they don’t remember the other two lives they’ve lived,” Hades finished. It took a moment. Percy watched Nico as the realization dawned on him. If Bianca was her soul’s third life… “The Isles of the Blessed are open to you, Nico, should you be interested in visiting them.”

Nico hesitated. “I—“ He blinked quickly and looked over at Percy. Percy nodded to him, not even trying to quash the hope and love he felt for his little cousin. His war could allow this. Nico bowed. “Thank you, Father.” As he straightened up, he quickly turned away and covered his mouth with his hand.

Hephaestus stood next, taking a few steps forward. “Leo, my boy…” He fiddled with a wrench and frowned. Percy remembered how Hephaestus was never one for words. “Your workmanship on your trireme was extraordinary. I understand the operating system is a friend of yours, so…I figured, we could rebuild him, if that would make you happy.”

Leo had Jason help him walk over to the god, then handed him the crutches he was using. Hephaestus dropped the wrench just in time to catch his son. Leo tapped a pattern on the god’s shoulder as he hugged him. “Thank you, dad.” He gave Hephaestus one last squeeze before hobbling backward and bowing as well as he could on his broken leg. “That sounds awesome.”

Hephaestus smiled softly. “I can’t wait.” He gently clapped Leo on the shoulder before walking back to his throne. Jason helped Leo get situated before they walked back to the group of demigods.

Athena waited until she was sure they were finished, then turned her gaze to Annabeth. “When last we spoke—“

“You were kind of a bitch,” Annabeth told her. Percy snorted. Athena started to get angry but he watched as she stopped, considered, and shrugged.

“That is one way of phrasing it. I will not offer excuses. I was callous, and I disregarded your feelings. I am sorry, Annabeth, and I will do better in the future.” Annabeth’s jaw had dropped. Her mother was easily the most prideful Olympian, barring Zeus. A demigod receiving an apology from Athena…Percy wouldn’t be surprised if it had never happened before.

Athena continued, gesturing to the Yankees cap rolled up in Annabeth’s pocket, “I gifted you that hat when you were barely more than a babe. I think perhaps it is time for an upgrade.” She waved her hand, but nothing seemed to have happened. “You completed a quest that has taken children from me for centuries. I don’t think any of us could have expected it to be so…grotesque. Your cap is a ward, now; I think you have faced enough spiders for a lifetime.”

Relief grew on Annabeth’s face at her mother’s words. There were even tears in her eyes, and Percy knew she was actively trying not to cry in relief. Her eyes were shining in that way they shone when she was holding back tears. “Thank you, Mother. Thank you so much.”

Athena smiled at her, and didn’t reply. The room was silent for a few moments, gods all looking at each other, like they were asking “Who’s next?”

Percy did a mental headcount: Will had come to keep them from murdering each other, so his reward would come from the demigods; Nico and Hazel had spoken to Hades; Leo had talked with Hephaestus; Jupiter and Bellona spoke with Jason and Reyna; Frank had talked with Apollo, and Annabeth with Athena.

Oh, shit. He was next.

Ares cleared his throat. Oh, no. They were going to make this a whole thing. “Perseus.”

“Percy,” Percy corrected under his breath.

“I gave you that curse when you were twelve,” Ares continued.

“Trust me, I remember,” Percy muttered. Nico elbowed him.

“And it caught up with you in Tartarus.” Ares shook his head. “That was more punishment than I intended.” Percy opened his mouth, and immediately Nico elbowed him even harder. All that escaped was a squeak, and as Percy closed his mouth and glared at Nico, Ares continued. “You will never need to worry about a curse from me, or any of my children, again.”

Percy pursed his lips and nodded. From the corner of his eye, he saw Nico pull his elbow back in preparation. “Thank you,” he said simply, and his side remained unhurt.

“Percy.” Aphrodite was next. “I once promised to make your love life interesting. I never expected this; I’m so sorry.” Percy just shook his head; he had nothing to say. “Now, though, I can promise you this: if you’d like, love will never hurt you again.”

At first, Percy liked the sound of it. Night, just thinking about the raw, tearing pain he’d felt when he’d realized what she’d done… Nothing could compare. Not the crushing pressure of holding the sky; not the waters of the River Styx tearing him apart from the inside out; not the boiling, molten waters of the Phlegethon searing his lungs.

And then Percy remembered.

His mom. Paul. Estelle.

It hurt to leave them behind. It killed him, Night, the thought of his family ached. And if he took Aphrodite’s offer, he wouldn’t hurt anymore. He wouldn’t care anymore, and the one thing he would never do is stop caring for his family.

“Thank you, Lady Aphrodite,” he said, “but I can’t accept.”

She smiled at him, and nodded. “Then may love be kind to you, moving forward.” He bowed his head in thanks.

“While we’re just giving things,” Dionysus started, “I would be thrilled to pass along the mantle of Camp Director—“

“No,” Zeus emphasized. He raised an eyebrow at Dionysus, and the younger god just sighed and cursed under his breath.

Poseidon ignored his brother and nephew. “Percy.”

Percy turned to his dad. This was the first time he’d looked at him—really looked at him—in months. The god of the sea looked older than usual, his black hair peppered with white, his goatee bushier than normal, the lines around his eyes from both smiling and worry. But as he looked at Percy, his sea green eyes were shining in a way they hadn’t since before the wars, back when he and Percy had just met.

He looked proud, and regal, and so much more alive than he had during the Titan War.

“Dad,” he answered.

“I don’t know if you’ll like this,” Poseidon told him.

Percy shrugged. “I trust you.” And he did. Poseidon had proven himself to Percy, had stayed by his side and supported him even when he didn’t think he deserved it. Percy couldn’t think of anyone else he trusted more, right now.

“It’s an offer. You can turn it down—“

“I trust you, Dad,” Percy repeated. Poseidon nodded and took a deep breath.

“I’d like to formally declare you a Prince of the Sea, Percy. Third in line to the throne of Atlantis, too, if you want it.”

Poseidon had been right. Percy didn’t like it. But not for the reason his father thought.

Percy couldn’t start planning for the future yet. He still had to cut ties with his past. He couldn’t move forward with his mother waiting for him to come home every day. He couldn’t keep going forward and leave her behind like Luke did. Sally Jackson had Paul and Estelle, but she would never have Percy again. He wouldn’t let her become another May Castellan, constantly waiting, making lunches and baking cookies for a son she’d never see again.

Percy wasn’t in Sally’s future; he wasn’t in Paul’s, and he wouldn’t be in Estelle’s. But he could be in Poseidon’s.

Percy had let himself loosen up on Olympus; this was the end of his war, and he’d enjoyed watching his friends get their rewards. They deserved them, deserved to be happy that their war was over, despite all the sacrifices that came with it.

It was time to put his armor back on and fight in one final battle.

He barely turned before telling the demigods, “Get out.”

“Percy?” The frown in Annabeth’s voice was audible.

Jason sounded confused. “But—“

“I said, get. Out,” Percy ordered. He wouldn’t let his armor slip, wouldn’t let them see how much effort it took to keep the tears out of his eyes when he thought about how he’d never see his mom again. This was his war, and he’d finish it alone.

Nico nodded, gently bumping Percy’s elbow with his own, and then herded the others out. Percy could hear Hazel whispering at her brother furiously, and Will hissing at Jason and Annabeth to keep Leo off that leg or so help me Hades you’ll be in crutches with him while Leo complained, but he didn’t turn around. Only when the door shut did he look back at his father.

Poseidon scratched his neck nervously. “I did say you probably wouldn’t like it—“

“It’s not that, Dad.” Poseidon looked up in surprise. “You’re asking me to think about my future.” Percy shook his head. “I can’t do that, yet.”

“Percy, the war is over. We’ve won.”

“You may have. I didn’t.” A raised eyebrow prompted him to explain. “I’m not ashamed of my power, and I’m not scared of it, either, but it’s not safe to be around me while I’m still learning control. What happens when I go home and accidentally kill mom? What happens when I have a nightmare and kill half of New York in an earthquake? What then?”

“Control will come with time—“

“That’s time I don’t have. Those are lives I won’t risk. Atlantis is probably the safest place for me to be, Dad, but I can’t go yet.”

“What do you need from me?”

Percy smiled maniacally. If he didn’t smile, he’d start crying. He swallowed hard, then said, “You’re going to go home, and you’re going to tell her—“ He cut himself off and took a deep, trembling breath.

He couldn’t stop his eyes from burning. He couldn’t stop his lip from trembling. He couldn’t stop his throat from closing up, clogged with unshed tears, just so he wouldn’t have to actually say the words, so he wouldn’t have make it real—

He furiously wiped at his eyes. “You’re going to tell her I’m dead.”

Poseidon gasped softly. Percy powered on. “She’ll either be in the living room, the kitchen, or her bedroom. You’re going to find yourself in one of the rooms she isn’t in, and you’re going to loudly fall to your knees. When she comes in to investigate, you’re going to look up at her, and your eyes are going to be full of tears, and you’re not gonna say anything. You’re just going to shake your head. Your breath is going to be trembling, your arms shaking.

“She’s going to fall to her knees too, and you’re going to hug her. You’re going to comfort her in a way that screams mourning and pain and anguish. You’re going to offer her help with anything she might need in the future, and then you’ll be gone. You’re going to leave her sobbing and broken in her apartment, because that’s how we keep her safe. That’s how we keep her alive.”

Poseidon shook his head. “Percy, I can’t—“

“It’s not a matter of if. It’s a matter of when. Her survival depends on my death.”

“Percy—“

“You called her a queen among mortals,” Percy bit. “You offered to make her immortal, to give her a palace underwater with you. You would give her the world if she asked, but you won’t give her life back to her?”

“You’ve never lost a child, Perseus,” Poseidon snapped back. “This is not giving her life back. This is taking it, slowly, painfully, and finally.”

Percy shook his head. “She’ll move on. But I promise you, if I kill her, I won’t. If her death comes at my hands, it will be the end of Olympus.”

Silence.

Zeus cleared his throat. “You cannot think of any other way?”

Percy closed his eyes. “No.”

“Poseidon,” Zeus quietly told his brother, “it’s for the best.”

“This will…take time,” Poseidon managed. “The Council should be dismissed.”

Percy watched Zeus dismiss the rest of the gods with a wave of his hand. Despite the mistrust between the brothers, despite the power plays and feuds and bad blood between them, they still loved each other. He saw it in the way Zeus yielded to his brother’s order, even when anyone else giving him an order would make him bristle. He saw it in the way Poseidon gave in when Zeus agreed with Percy.

“Atlantis is open to you, Son, when you are ready,” Poseidon said.

“Thank you, Dad.”

With a nod, the god vanished. With a nod, Percy’s future was set.

Chapter Text

Zeus bit his cheek. If Poseidon hadn’t left to talk to Sally, Percy would have cursed him for leaving at all: he and Zeus left alone never went well. The god cleared his throat. “I, ah…I understand this is a hard time.”

Percy may not like his uncle, but he could appreciate the decorum. “It is.”

Zeus nodded and frowned; clearly, his phrasing was deliberate and as unobtrusive as it could be when he said, “There are still questions that have been left unanswered—“

Percy knew there were things he wouldn’t be getting away with. “I’ll answer civilly if you ask civilly,” he promised. Zeus nodded in agreement.

He spoke slowly, and his words were carefully picked. “Efforts had been taken to prevent Gaea’s awakening.”

Making things civil was not the same as making them easy. “Is there a question there, Uncle?” Percy asked.

Zeus raised an eyebrow. “May I ask why, Perseus, you felt the need to undermine that effort?”

“Of course.” Percy nodded. “How long did that effort buy us? Had her waking been prevented forever? Or just for now?” At Zeus’ furrowed brow, he continued. “Gaea had been asleep for millennia. It was only natural that she was waking up. If I had left her asleep, how do we know she would have stayed asleep for any significant amount of time? I won’t risk her rising again in a few years.”

“Purely theoretical,” Zeus argued. “The damage that would have been wrought had she won is not.”

“She wouldn’t have won. My original plan was simple: lift her off the ground long enough to cut her into a million pieces. That it didn’t happen that way doesn’t change the fact that she’s dead.”

“Like Ouranos,” Zeus muttered. “Like Kronos.”

Percy’s brain screamed at him, that names have power, stop invoking their names, stop trying to get their attention—but these names were different; Kronos and Gaea had died recently enough there was no way they’d reformed yet, and Ouranos was strangely missing from all of history since his death. It had been long enough—especially with Tartarus itself able to use its power to help or stop things from reforming—that he should be back by now.

Percy was close to certain that there wasn’t a primordial of the sky anymore.

“Exactly.”

“And you believed you could manage this on your own?”

“Can you keep a secret?” Zeus nodded solemnly. “Will you swear on the Styx? Because I swear on the Styx that should you reveal this secret without my permission, Olympus will fall.”

Zeus swore. Thunder rumbled.

Percy took a deep breath. “I met two primordials in Tartarus. Both showed interest in my power. They told me I could kill Gaea, that they’d be watching with interest. So, I knew I could manage it on my own; it was just a matter of finding the right method.”

“I’ll admit, I was concerned when the ground swallowed you.” The thunder. The darkness. Gaea letting Percy live, when moments before she had him at her mercy. His Immortality. Zeus was questioning all of it.

“My best guess,” he started slowly, knowing full well that his best guess was backed by more facts than he would share with the god, “is that one of the primordials I met didn’t want me dead. That they interfered.”

“And the primordials you met—“

“The Pit,” Percy told him, “and Night.” There was a heavy silence. “You don’t like it.”

“I don’t.” Zeus sighed, running a hand over his face. “I rarely like things, when the primordials get involved.” He pursed his lips, then stood. “You have given me much to think over, Perseus. If you need a lift back to Camp—“

“Thank you, Uncle,” Percy interrupted, pleasantly surprised, “but I’ve got it.” He sent his uncle a mischievous smirk, backed up a bit, and turned around.

Rather than the doors of the throne room, the cozy atmosphere of his cabin greeted him. Night, what he wouldn’t give to have seen Zeus’ face when he just vanished.

His eyes traced the details of the bronze hippocampi Tyson had made. How the bronze gleamed gold in the sunlight, and dust never seemed to settle on top. The one in the front was obviously a little rendition of Rainbow, and Percy marveled at his little brother’s amazing craftsmanship. After he was sure he memorized them, his gaze jumped to the IM fountain. Each crack and nook and cranny in the stone, the dent where he’d dropped a shield on it. Then his bed, the small trunk he kept his stuff in, the Minotaur horn on the wall. He took in each important item, each important feature of his cabin.

The Poseidon cabin.

It had become his, in the years since his claiming. With each night he spent in his bunk, each belonging of his that he’d put in his trunk, each time he left and came back and felt at home, this had become Percy’s Cabin. He wasn’t sure how much time he’d be spending here, anymore. He wasn’t sure if he’d be spending any time here, ever again.

He wasn’t sure he had a reason to.

Percy groaned before unceremoniously face planting on his bed and closing his eyes. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, with his legs hanging off the bed and his torso at an odd angle on the edge, but he didn’t bother moving. Discomfort had become something of a friend. He was fine.

He could feel his body getting lighter as he drifted off. The dark behind his eyelids faded into a familiar misty crimson. Percy looked around and found himself at the confluence of the Styx and Phlegethon. The pale, spindly trees and branches poked up from the ground in jagged groups. On the shore opposite him stood Tartarus.

His hand was halfway to his sword when the primordial spoke. “There is no need to draw your weapon, Godkiller.”

“I had to last time,” Percy immediately argued, and why, he lamented, was his first instinct to argue with the thing that Literally Killed Him? But hey, go big or go home, and Percy had already tried and failed to wake up. “I tend to base these sort of things on precedent.”

“You escaped my wrath on fair terms, Godkiller,” it told him. “My anger shall not pursue you to the world above. Instead, I will watch your growth with interest.”

Dionysus had spiked his nectar. Never mind that he hadn’t had any nectar in weeks. Surely, that’s what this was. A drug-induced fever dream. His first impression of Tartarus told him that it wasn’t really the type to give up, or people watch. “Thank you,” he answered, managing to sound composed and not at all on the verge of a nervous breakdown. “Anything I can do to make sure you stay not mad at me? Toss your sword back down to you, maybe?”

It let out what Percy hoped was a laugh, and not a growl, because the world was shaking and he was decently terrified and strength, why couldn’t he wake up? “Perhaps you should keep it; it is a weapon befitting of a Godkiller.”

“I don’t think I want to. It killed me.”

“Which makes it that much more appropriate.” Great. Percy had a new sword. Yay. “However, I called you here not to give you gifts, but to give you an apology.”

Percy’s brain stopped in its tracks. “A what now?”

“I would like to consider my sibling, Nyx, and I close. I wish no harm upon Its Blessed.”

“You did a day ago.”

“A day ago, you were throwing poison left and right with no thought about how…irritating it might be.” Night, had Percy annoyed Tartarus into killing him? Everyone he’d ever met had been right; he did get himself killed by annoying an immortal. It couldn’t help that the poison he’d left everywhere probably hurt, if only in the way bug bites do. “A day ago, another demigod had managed to escape unharmed after setting My Heart on fire. A day ago, my anger was my priority.”

“I guess that’s fair,” Percy conceded, banishing the tiny, desperate part of his mind that wanted to make it angry again. “Could it do it again?” he had asked Night. He wasn’t going to find out now.

“But today,” Tartarus continued, “my priority is reconnecting. My sibling and I are in the company of our sister for the first time in eons; I would not start this time off with bad blood.”

“There’s no bad blood here,” Percy told it. No, no bad blood. No grudges. Just the appropriate terror of a gnat in front of a spider. Thankfully, this spider was content with peace. “If I can ask a favor?”

“Ask.”

“Can you tell Gaea she’s a bitch?”

There it was again, that laugh-or-growl that made Percy’s hair stand even more on end than Tartarus’ voice. Oh, hell, he didn’t go too far immediately after making peace, did he? “It shall be done.” Oh, thank fuck.

“Thank you, Lord Tartarus.” Percy didn’t bow, but Tartarus didn’t seem to expect one. The next time he blinked, his eyes opened to his cabin. He’d been dismissed. And if the ground rumbled angrily a bit, well. No one was around to hear him tell it to fuck off and stop being an asshole.

Percy didn’t move a muscle. For the first time in months, he didn’t have to. The world wasn’t going to end if he just laid there; he wasn’t going to be eaten or killed if he didn’t move. Nothing was relying on him to get out of bed instantly. It was over. Everything—even Percy’s own war, for now—was over.

It felt weird. The ghost of urgency danced around his thoughts. The echoes of danger and pressure and tension hadn’t yet left him alone. Peace hadn’t settled in quite yet. It stood in line, waiting for him to process his hurt and grief and anger and fear. It would wait for a while yet, but it would be there when he reached for it.

What was he going to do with himself?

He couldn’t continue going to high school; his mom thought he was dead. Along with that, she’d probably have Poseidon help her get him legally declared dead.

He may have burnt the whole New Rome bridge, too. Their college and city would probably not be open to him anytime soon.

Would he stay at Camp? He could. His cabin was here. Blackjack and Mrs. O’Leary were here. Chiron, Clarisse, Malcolm. Although, Malcolm might be pissed at Percy for cursing Annabeth, and Clarisse had been wary of him after the incident with the Romans. She knew he didn’t make empty promises.

Poseidon had said Atlantis would always be open to him. Was this how Percy wanted to go, though? Run from his home at Camp because everyone either hated him or feared him? Would he have a choice?

Knock, knock. Thump! “Ow! Holy mother of Pan—”

Someone was at Percy’s door. Someone Percy hadn’t seen in a very long time. He took a second to close his eyes and dip into the connection he’d almost forgotten was there. A faint sting on his palm told him all he needed to know.

Grover had smacked his cabin door as hard as he could, pounding out the rhythm to Queen’s We Will Rock You. Night, it was such a Grover thing to do, Percy couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he walked over to get the door.

The first thing he noticed were his horns. Grover’s horns had grown out, curled around and almost looped in on themselves. “You slept through yesterday,” Grover started with no preamble.

“Yeah?” Percy asked. Grover nodded. “Good.”

They just stood for a moment, each staring the other down, taking in everything about the other, noting any differences they could find. Grover’s eyes fell on Percy’s face, and he gasped softly. “You got—there’s a—“ Percy hadn’t seen his face in months. He waited for Grover to continue. “You got splashed, with something. Right here.” Grover pointed to his own cheek, back by his ear, and dragged his finger down to his jaw.

Percy pressed his fingers to his cheek. The skin was raised and bumpy, and Percy remembered: one of the arai, that had found the cave during his training. He slashed one through the chest, and from the wound burst a stream of lava. He’d just had enough time to think, The telkhines— before it hit. Night had had him summon the fire-water of the Phlegethon afterward, for healing and practice.

Unlike the thin, silvery scars ambrosia left, the Phlegethon merely accelerated healing, and left large, angry, raised scars behind.

“I ever tell you,” he asked, as a half-assed way of changing the subject, “that I’m a little bit fireproof?”

“Gods, what have you been up to without me?”

“Going to hell and getting killed.”

The hug came out of nowhere. Percy couldn’t even flinch, couldn’t even think before he was throwing his arms around his best friend and burrowing into his embrace. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” Grover’s teary voice promised.

“Good,” Percy replied, trying to keep the tears out of his own voice, “I need my protector.”

“Clearly.” They didn’t move for a while. “What now?”

Strength, what now? The first thing he needed to know to decide— “What’s the date?”

Grover let go. “You need to get caught up,” he realized. “Gods, I didn’t even think—I forgot you wouldn’t—“ He shook his head. “Shower first. Then I’ll tell you everything.” Shower first. Percy nodded and invited Grover in. “Oh—It’s August 3rd.”

August. That made it almost 11 months since he’d been taken. Night, it hadn’t even been a year since the Battle of Manhattan. Percy nodded in thanks and headed to his bathroom.

He’d been avoiding this, but it had to be done. Gently closing and locking the door behind him, Percy leveled his gaze at the floor, and walked over to the sink. A deep breath, and then—before he could change his mind, Percy raised his eyes and looked in the mirror.

His hair was a mess. Where it normally looked windswept and messy, it was longer, now, and closely resembled a tangled bird’s nest. There were bruise-like bags under his eyes, and they were darker than he remembered; the bright sea green had melted away to a deeper shade more closely resembling the green of Akhlys’ poison. His poison. He was paler than he’d ever been, and probably skinnier, too, but that could be fixed with food and sun.

The scar on his cheek Grover had commented on—and wow, how hectic were these past few days that he was the only one to point it out?—stretched back to meet his ear and down to his jaw and was only one of many. It twisted the corner of his mouth into a seemingly permanent scowl. On the other side of his face, his eyebrow had a pink, raised slice bisecting it, starting just under it and running up to disappear in his hairline. Starting on his collarbone, the top of the cut from Polybotes and his cyclops was just visible. That wasn’t counting the pock marked scars on his arms and palms because of the glass sand, and other scattered injuries he hadn’t noticed yet.

He’d been marked during his time in Tartarus, inside and out. This was who the monsters and immortals saw when they called him Godkiller. This was Night’s Blessed. This was the monster that killed Small Bob.

This was a stranger.

Percy looked away. He could shower without looking at the mirror again. Maybe someday, he’d settle back into his own skin, but it wouldn’t be today.

Grover was lounging on his bed as he emerged from the bathroom, still damp because the water felt amazing after so long without it. “How long—?“

“Not long enough,” Grover joked. “Gods, you still smell like monster.” Percy didn’t have the heart to tell him that was probably just him. Instead, he just laid next to Grover and turned his head to face him.

“So, what’d I miss?”

Grover talked at him for hours. Percy laid next to his best friend and listened as he recapped any and every minor detail he remembered from the past year. He updated Percy on his relationship with Juniper, how his restoration of the Wild was going, how the nature spirits he’d visited were. He told him about the other campers—Clarisse had graduated high school, along with Travis Stoll. The Ares cabin was undefeated in Capture the Flag for the last six months. Since Percy had been taken, someone had been vandalizing Zeus’ Fist—the rock formation was covered in doodles of sea monsters and waves and multicolored fish.

Tyson had stayed with Ella for a few weeks before going back to Atlantis, leaving behind promises to return soon. Harvey had forged his first war hammer, and immediately broken someone’s femur in Capture the Flag. Chiron had shouted for the first time in fifty-three years, because someone at Camp was worse than Percy at archery and shot him in the arm.

By the time Grover caught him up on drama from last week, the sky was dark again. “—and that’s when the Romans started mobilizing.”

“I remember that part,” Percy said with a nod.

“You’ll have to let me know how that went,” Grover thought aloud. “I was working with the Apollo cabin to ready the archers.”

Percy’s stomach twisted itself in knots at the thought of telling Grover how far he’d fallen, just how much of a monster he was. “Gro—“

“Not now,” Grover reassured him. “Right now, I’m starving. It should be about dinner time. Come with?” Percy nodded.

Not for the first time, Percy was glad Grover could sit wherever he wanted as they sat at the Poseidon table. Although, he was a god now. He probably could, too. Grover chatted throughout dinner, this time about what he would be doing next. He had a few meetings lined up in New England to conserve their forests. He’d be gone most of the winter.

Percy’s heart sank at the thought. Only Poseidon, Nico, and now Grover were acting like nothing had changed. Since threatening the Romans, Clarisse kept a careful eye on him, and Malcolm was sticking by Annabeth’s side like glue.

“—and you know, I really could use a companion,” Grover’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, “because pegasi are great, and all, but cars are so much more comfortable long term, and I don’t have my driver’s license, which wouldn’t be a problem if this wasn’t such a long trip…” Big, brown puppy dog eyes pinned Percy in place.

“You want me to…?” Grover nodded, adding in a trembling lip for appearance’s sake. Percy couldn’t help the smile growing on his face. “Yeah. Yeah, man, I’m in.”

Grover pumped the air. “Yes!” He turned to face Percy completely, one leg over the bench. “It’s going to be great. You’ll love the crystal clear lakes, and sunrise over the Maine coastline is to die for! It’ll be you and me all winter, and we’ll go camping, and hang out away from Camp without some stupid prophecy looming over us, and it’ll be awesome.”

Excitement bloomed in Percy’s chest, and for the first time, he could imagine the future. “All winter long, G-Man. Just you and me.” All winter with his best friend, with his brother. After the last five years of non-stop schools and quests and monsters and wars, it felt like freedom.

Even better, it felt like peace.

Percy’s eyes caught movement on the other side of the pavilion. Annabeth had stood, and was moving towards them. “Hey, Grover, I gotta go check on Tyson and talk with my dad. Let Chiron know I’ll be a few days?”

“Yeah, sure, man. Just don’t go missing again. I will come down there to find you.”

“I’m never gonna live that down, huh?” Percy left the table to Grover’s laughter. He didn’t look back; now that his war was over, now that he could stop and relax and sort through his feelings, he found he really didn’t want to talk to Annabeth.

Someday.

After his road trip with Grover.

He made a beeline for the beach, diving into the waves as soon as the water hit his hip. He would go to Atlantis. He’d find his brother, and get crushed in a hug. Then he’d find his father, and crush him in a hug. That was as far as his plan went, and that was okay. It was all he needed.

Things were looking up.